Chapter Thirty Seraphina
Chapter Thirty
Seraphina
The city lights off in the distance blinked a few times, like the buildings were signaling good night in morse code. It was after eleven, but it felt like we were already borrowing hours from tomorrow. It’d been a long, long day.
I waited for Ryder to realize I was now in the bedroom with him.
For him to turn around and give me his attention.
He had to have heard the bathroom door open, and yet he kept his back to me, his focus out the expansive window.
His jeans were all that he’d taken the time to put on since leaving the bathroom.
He set his hand on the window, stretching his fingers open as I strode up behind him, searching for his gaze in the reflection.
“You’re going to get the window dirty.” I tied the belt of my robe, cinching it tight, and he tracked the movement of my hands in the glass before sweeping his eyes up to find mine.
“If only dirty windows and zippers were our greatest problems,” he said as somberly as I had last weekend. Well, minus the window part.
“If only ...” I let my voice trail off with a sigh, leaving it there like a beacon of hope maybe we could both follow.
I shifted directly behind him and trailed my hand over his back, sweeping my finger along the hard ridge of an old scar.
“Shrapnel from an IED in Iraq,” he answered without me having to ask.
I moved on to another wound. “And this one?”
“Afghanistan. From a sniper. Not sure how I survived. Somehow missed every vital organ and made a clean exit.” There was a gruff texture to his voice, as if he had to fight off demons to get those words out, and that hurt my heart.
“You were in both wars?” I followed the line of another jagged scar that ran adjacent to his right shoulder blade.
“I was in both, yeah.” Those words came out even breathier.
“How long were you in the army?” I circled his waist and hugged him, drawing my cheek to his back.
He lowered his hand from the window and covered mine with his. “Fourteen years. My goal was twenty, but I couldn’t do it.”
“Why not?”
His hand slid under the sleeve of my robe, and he gently stroked my skin in calming motions.
“Are you sure you want to hear this?” The dark undertone to his words reverberated from deep within his chest, cut straight through his back, and hit me as I clung to him like the lifeline he’d become since we first met.
“Sounds like you don’t want to tell me.” I closed my eyes and held him even tighter.
“I’m worried you won’t like the man you see anymore if I do. Because if I really think about everything I’ve seen and done, then I probably wouldn’t be able to look at myself either, so ...”
I untangled myself from his touch and pulled away. Not as rejection, but to face him and prove I had every intention of looking him in the eyes and not changing how I saw him no matter what he said.
When I urged him to turn around, he set his back to the window and anchored his feet to the hardwood while leaning against the glass.
He took hold of my hips, walking me closer to him. I slipped my hands up his chest.
“How’d we go from oral sex to why I assume I’m going to hell?” One side of his lip lifted as if undecided whether he wanted to smile or frown.
“Why would you ever think you’re going to hell?” My palms climbed higher on his bare chest, landing at the sides of his neck before I let one hand wander up into his hair.
He relaxed a bit, allowing me to run my fingers through his wet locks.
“I killed a lot of people.”
I continued to massage the side of his scalp. “Not your fault. You were in the military.”
“But is that an excuse for killing fathers, sons, and brothers?” He hung his head, closing his eyes.
I waited for him to continue, knowing he would when he was ready and didn’t need prompting.
“One night, my unit had breached a house in Iraq. Zero three hundred in the morning, the guy drew his weapon, and I took him down without a second thought. And then it dawned on me ... what would I have done if someone broke into my home in the middle of the night? I’d have defended myself, my family, and my property.
Maybe that’s all he was trying to do. Maybe I was the bad guy? ”
We’d gone from one intimate moment in the shower to a much different one now, and I wanted to be here for him in the same way. Hold him. Touch him. Heal parts of him the way he was already helping me heal.
“So, that’s why I decided not to re-up, and I got out once my contract was up.
I had a feeling the next house I breached, I’d hesitate and question whether to shoot to kill, and that could endanger my unit.
But civilian life didn’t agree with me. The work I do is different now at least, but maybe I just didn’t know who the hell I was without a gun in my hand, so I—”
“No.” I let go of his hair to hold his face, needing him to look at me. “You didn’t know who you were unless you were helping people, which is why you’re still helping people now. People like me. Nothing to do with a gun.”
He opened his eyes but remained quiet.
“I need you to forgive yourself for whatever you think you’ve done and move forward, because you’re not going to hell. Not on my watch.” A shaky exhalation fell from my lips as I stared at him, as I waited for him to heed my orders.
“You don’t know anything about me.” His forehead pinched, resistance tight between his brows. “Not really.”
I expected his stubbornness, but he’d get mine back, and by now he had to know that.
“You’re right. You’ve given me bullet points without context.
So give me more, and then problem solved—I’ll know you.
What you’ve told me so far hasn’t changed how I see you.
” I whispered, “To be very clear, I want you even more now than I did five minutes ago. You took my pain from me this morning, so let me take yours from you.”
“It doesn’t work that way. You need to accept that I will never let you hurt if I can help it.”
“But someone or something, not just being in the military, hurt you. You’re in pain beyond that, and I want to help you. It’s only fair. I want context so I can do that.”
“You don’t need—”
“I do need to know.”
I’d been the one to suggest we keep our hands to ourselves until the mission was over, and now there we were, doing the opposite of that.
Opening up on so many levels. Physically and emotionally.
I had no plans to backpedal or flip-flop on that decision; instead, I was prepared to charge ahead even more.
He moved my hands down to my sides and straightened his posture, as if towering over me would prevent him from giving in the way I was asking him to do.
When he leaned in and kissed my forehead, I reacted on instinct, whispering, “Forehead kisses should be illegal without a commitment.”
He stood tall, threading his fingers through my hair before he dipped in to kiss my forehead again.
“Is that you conceding? Are you letting me know you’re going to let me help you the way you helped me?”
A small but still kind of sad smile crossed his lips. “I don’t need help.”
“Yes, you do.” Stubborn, stubborn man.
He momentarily distracted me by unfastening my belt with one hand, allowing the silk to fall open. He wordlessly palmed my hip, drawing me closer, smashing my tits to his hard chest.
His other hand left my face, going to my bare back, traversing up and down my spine. “Tomorrow is only a week since we met.”
“And that means, what? That it’s too soon for you to drop your baggage at my feet?
Meanwhile, you’ve had me doing that since day one.
” I did my best to stand my ground and not fall victim to those gorgeous eyes of his and the way he was touching me, like he was trying to coax me into forgetting about his problems.
“I don’t know what it means.” His voice was strained and tight, yet his touch was anything but. It was sweet and soft. Imbued with kindness and warmth. Grace that he didn’t seem to want for himself.
“Well.” I parted my lips, hiding my teeth behind my tongue as I considered the best route to take with a man hell-bent on carrying both his burdens and mine squarely on his shoulders.
“For some context from me, my parents met while on vacation. They never spent more than two days apart after that. Insta-lust, or love—whatever you want to call it—turned into thirty years of marriage. My dad claimed it was love at first sight.” I couldn’t help but smile, despite wanting to cry at the memory of how he used to tell the story.
“Love at third sight for her, though. Three days for her to reciprocate his feelings.”
His mouth tightened as he continued to stroke my back.
“I wish I could’ve met them. Maybe your father could give me advice on how to handle his stubborn daughter.
Tell me what to do next with her.” Soft breaths left his nostrils as he took a moment to pause.
“He could tell me how to navigate these feelings I’ve never experienced before, since I didn’t have a father to teach me. ”
A shiver fell down my spine that he had to feel with his hand at the arch of my back. I unpacked his words and their meaning. “Your father’s who hurt you.”
He tipped his head, eyes narrowing on my mouth to escape looking straight into mine. “Maybe,” was all he said, and I had a feeling that was all he’d give me right now.
“Well, I wish you could have met my parents. Talked to my dad.” I blinked a few times, freeing tears in the process.
“My father would’ve loved you.” There was something else I had to tell him, something he needed to hear since his own dad hadn’t been around to tell him.
“My parents may not have been born in the US, but my dad had been so proud that his son was going to serve in our military. And I know he’d be so damn proud of you and your service, too, and—”
“Ah, fucccck,” he interrupted, emotion choking up his words.
With his eyes finally back on mine, I could see him fighting like hell not to give in to his feelings.
“You’re going to make me cry, and I told you I don’t cry.
” He opened his mouth, searching for air without ever losing hold of me.
Still rubbing my back, soothing me in the way I wished he’d let me do for him.
“You’re allowed to cry. It doesn’t make you less manly—you know that, right?” I chewed on the side of my lip, reaching between us to anchor my palms on his cheeks, tethering us together in this moment.
“Did your dad ever cry?” The man was still holding back. Tapping into all his strength not to let me witness the emotion I’d expressed in his arms only this morning.
“He did. Mostly during movies, though. I think he used watching them as an excuse to let go.”
“I guess I need to watch a movie, then? Got any recommendations where a dog dies? Those will undoubtedly do a number on me.”
“One or two,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Ryder, I—” I dropped my words at the knock on the bedroom door.
“Yeah?” Ryder stepped away from me, shaking his head as if trying to regroup and remember where we were and why.
“There’s something we need to show you both,” Alex called out.
“Yeah, uh, okay,” Ryder answered quickly. “Give us a minute.”
Alex didn’t bother to respond, and I had to assume he’d already taken off to offer us privacy.
“You okay?” I asked him as he went over to his shirt on the floor and quietly began stretching it over his head.
“Of course.” He picked up his boots and sat on the bed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
I pulled the red silk together and tied the belt. “Ryder.” I stamped out his name hard into the air.
“Would you like my middle name so you can three-name me for more effect?” Boots on but unlaced, he looked up at me, smirking.
A switch had been flipped. He’d zipped up his emotions and his pain and hidden them in some distant land or universe, where I had a feeling he hoped they’d never be found again.
“It’s David. You know, for future reference. ”
I hoped there would be a future with us and that he wouldn’t push me away once I got too close. I had a habit of doing the pushing thing myself, so I recognized a fellow “pusher” when I saw one. This was one time I wanted to do the opposite. Pull. And pull hard.
“I was wrong this morning. About waiting until the mission is over.”
He discarded a deep exhalation. “I got the feeling you felt that way, since you let me put my tongue between your legs.” A lazy smile that distracted me moved across his mouth.
“You’re deflecting.” I lifted a hand. “I know, I know. Pot calling the kettle black, here. I’m a hypocrite.” This morning, not to mention what had just happened in the shower, and our conversation here was the definition of stalling.
He stood there for a few moments, simply observing me, then strode over, held on to the sides of my arms, and kissed my forehead.
“Just so there’s no mistake in what I want,” he rasped.
“Meet you in the office when you’re dressed.
” He let me go, went to the door, then shot me a backward glance and tossed out, “Technically, this is day three. Just so you know.”
He opened the door, then walked out and closed it behind him, leaving me alone to process that kiss and what he was trying to say to me.
Saturday, we first met. Thursday was the fight club. Today is Friday. Those were the days we’d spent time together in the last week. I peered at the door, feeling a bit lightheaded. Are you asking me if I’m like my mom and I’ve fallen for you? Or are you telling me I already have?