Chapter 11
Erin heard the movement inside Ethan’s room and sleepily had the door open before she remembered who was inside. And all sleep vanished, despite the early morning hour.
Blaine straightened up from where he’d been checking the drawers in Ethan’s dresser. Normally, she probably would have been irritated by the prying, but if digging through Ethan’s stuff would help find him, she was all for it.
But then Blaine spun around and her mind went blank.
She’d managed not to stare at his backside—well, for long anyway—in those nicely fitting jeans, but she only realized when he straightened up and turned to face her that he was shirtless.
And the view of that broad chest and shoulders, those ribbed abs, set her pulse racing as they always had.
And the fact that his jeans were half-unzipped only kicked up the pace.
Her mouth went a little dry as she tried to suck in air, and she spared a brain cell to be thankful she wasn’t drooling instead.
But then her gaze sharpened, and she focused on the scar on his right side, where a piece of shrapnel had hit him across the ribs.
Oddly, it had done the least damage although it had left the biggest scar.
There were others, true, some just as jagged, but the scary ones were the tidier ones from all the surgeries to deal with the rest of the injuries he’d suffered, which had been internal.
She’d stolen a look at his hospital chart one afternoon, and the list of them had sent her reeling into the small bathroom to throw up before she’d gotten halfway through it.
That he was here, now, as steady and strong as he looked—and as beautiful—was nothing short of a miracle to her.
The doctors had told them he would be hurting for a long while.
They hadn’t lied, but the only way she knew that was because she knew him.
Someone who didn’t would never have noticed the slight tightness of his jaw or the way he bit the inside of his lip when a movement hurt him.
But she had.
He had never complained. “I survived to come home to you and Ethan,” he’d told her anytime she brought it up.
She and their son had been the lodestar of his life. The reason he did what he did, to assure them a safe country to live in, and why when badly injured he fought to survive. To come home to them.
And she’d thrown it away.
Of course, that was easy to say now, two and a half years after she’d filed the papers to end it. Now that enough time had passed that she felt an ache inside at the loss of what they’d had. Now that her fears, her horror at what had happened to him had ebbed.
Ebbed enough that you call on him to do it again?
She couldn’t deny that there was possible risk here. She was hoping beyond hope that the possibility of a gang--related connection was merely that, a slim possibility. But if it was not…
For the first time she thought she understood the “mission first” mindset of the military. And so she stamped on her instinctive sensual, erotic response to him being half-dressed.
“Come here,” he said. And she had to stamp on it again.
“Why?” she asked warily.
For a moment he just stared at her, brow furrowed. Then she saw realization dawn. “Jeez, Erin, do you think I’m going to jump you? Now? Especially here in Ethan’s room?”
If I get the front door closed before I jump you it’ll be a miracle.
His words from long ago careened into her mind. She didn’t know why that was the occasion that kept coming back to her. Maybe because it had been one of the hottest, sexiest nights of her entire life.
“I just need to know what else he took with him,” he said when she didn’t—couldn’t—speak.
“Oh.”
She felt ridiculous. Of course he wasn’t going to jump her. Why would he? She’d made sure he would never want her that way again.
She tried for the most businesslike tone she could manage.
“I haven’t pulled out everything, but what I know is missing are two pairs of jeans—the others are in the laundry, I checked—all of his clean underwear, socks, about half of his T-shirts.
” She hesitated, then went on. “His favorite shirt, the Marine Corps one he’s almost outgrown, was in the laundry basket. He pulled it out and took it, too.”
She thought she saw that move she’d just been thinking about, that bite of his inner lip. But she went on.
“From the closet, his favorite sneakers are gone, and his lace-up boots, They’re bulky and would take up most of the backpack, so I assume he wore them.” She took a deep breath and finished it. “And the Marine Corps jacket you sent him is gone.”
For a moment those dark blue eyes of his closed. And he looked as if he’d absorbed a blow he couldn’t quite hide. She herself felt as if she’d been kicked in the gut.
“He made it pretty clear which side he’s on,” she said, remembering the nausea she’d felt when she realized he’d taken with him anything connected to Blaine, and left anything that had to do with her—including excising her from that wedding photo.
Blaine had turned back to the bed he’d slept on last night and grabbed up his shirt, but when she said that he spun back sharply.
“Side? Why did he feel like he had to pick a side?” She felt as if his gaze was some kind of laser she could feel. “We swore that wasn’t going to happen, we weren’t going to hurt him like that!”
“And I didn’t,” she said, her own voice a little sharp now. “I have never said anything to him against you. Ever. In fact…in fact…” Her voice wobbled as her throat tightened unbearably. She tried to swallow, but the tightness was too much, she couldn’t even do that.
“In fact what?” he demanded.
“I told him to blame me. That I was the one who wanted the split. That I was…” She wiped at eyes that were swimming yet again, furious at herself. “That I was the one who couldn’t take it.”
“But you did take it!” He didn’t quite shout it, but it was close. “You got me through it, you were there fighting for me when I couldn’t. And then when the worst was over you were gone.”
She couldn’t seem to get enough air to speak. He’d never understood. He never would, because he didn’t have a cowardly bone in his body. The silence stretched between them, taut as if it were some visible wire about to snap.
There was a cough from behind them. She saw Blaine’s head snap to his right in the instant before she whirled around, just as startled. Rafe stood in the doorway, the dog at his side. The slight waft of cooler air she felt told her they had probably been outside.
And then the dog walked into the room. For a moment the strikingly colored animal just looked from her to Blaine and back again, and she had the oddest feeling they were being assessed.
And for a moment all she could do was wonder what would have happened if she’d given in to Ethan’s desire for a dog.
She remembered the discussion they’d had, about how it wasn’t fair when they had to move so often.
That had ended as so many had, in anger and yelling.
And once they’d settled here, where it might have been possible, he hadn’t even asked.
But now she wondered if the presence of a pet might have held him here.
Or would he simply have taken the dog with him?
Never having had one in her life, she had the feeling she didn’t quite understand the bond that developed between dogs and their humans.
But looking at this one had her wondering if there was more to it than she’d ever realized.
Rafe’s tone was a little too neutral when he said, “If you two can manage not to punch each other out, I’ll fix breakfast.” He smiled crookedly. “I’m told I make some mean scrambled eggs.”
She felt hideously embarrassed that this man who had come only to help had witnessed their little screaming match. And relieved when he left it at that and headed down the hall toward the kitchen. The dog, however, stayed behind. And continued to look at them both in that assessing way.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re rendering judgment, dog?” Blaine muttered.
“Maybe because we deserve it,” she said. “I’m sorry, Blaine. I keep doing this, when there’s no energy to spare for old, tired emotions. We… I need to be focused solely on Ethan.”
“Agreed.” He sounded as brusque as she had. But then, in a softer tone, he added, “But tuck this away to think about later. That maybe telling him he should blame you were instructions he followed, not how he really felt.”
He was gone before she could react to that unexpected olive branch.
And for the first time ever, she considered the possibility that if she hadn’t been so mired in her own misery, hadn’t been neck-deep in blaming herself, Ethan might not have blamed her quite as much.
Either way, she had driven him away. And that was something it was going to take a very, very long time to get past. If she ever did.
That it was Blaine who had made her think about this, that he, who had suffered the most in all this, had the grace and kindness to try and ease her burden, made her…she wasn’t sure how it made her feel.
Other than that, running away from not him, never him but his life, was probably the stupidest thing she’d ever done.