Chapter 25
Well, that had been one of the longest nights of his life.
That had been the stupidest move he’d ever made, kissing her like that, now, when he was only here because she was desperate.
And that kiss had brought on memories of hotter, even sweeter kisses.
Which in turn had brought on dreams of what that kiss would once have led to, unreeling in his mind like some adults-only movie.
He was grateful to see the faint lightening outside, telling him they were at least in astronomical twilight, probably close to nautical twilight. He told himself not to even guess at how much sleep he’d gotten, because it didn’t matter. The mission was on, and he would roll out.
At least in the hospital he’d been drugged up enough that he hadn’t really been aware of exactly how much time passed.
Crazy how this seemed almost as painful as those seemingly endless days full of pain and fear.
Fear that this was never going to end…and fear that it would, abruptly, when his heart finally gave out or his brain decided he’d had enough and shut down.
But somehow, every time he had gotten close, close to giving up, to surrendering, he’d felt slender, warm fingers wrap around his hand, felt a soft, tender kiss on his cheek, and even when he wasn’t entirely clear on why, he knew he had to keep fighting.
“She takes copious notes,” one of the ICU nurses had told him. “And never misses a thing. We’re all on our toes when she’s around.” The man had said it with an appreciative smile. “She’s one gutsy lady. In that part of life, you’re a lucky guy, Captain.”
He had the sudden thought that he’d never told Erin what the nurse had said. Maybe it would mean something to her, coming from a stranger—although he’d felt like a friend by the time they finally said goodbye to him—but one who had observed her firsthand.
He sat up on the edge of his son’s bed. He’d started out the night as he had both nights he’d been here, sitting on the front porch, in the dark, watching for any activity, not so much hoping Ethan might come home, but that he might try to sneak back to get something.
What he’d taken might have been enough to get through a few days, but then he was going to be out of money.
Which would mean starving, or stealing. Since he’d already started the latter, it wasn’t that big a jump from rodent food to people food.
Or worse, expensive items that could be converted to eating money. Or worst, drugs.
With a smothered sigh he got to his feet.
He walked over to the small desk under the bedroom window.
He flipped on the desk lamp, and sat in what he guessed was a gaming chair, like he’d seen some of the guys using in the rec hall.
He wondered how hard it had been for Ethan to leave that pretty fancy-looking game rig behind.
Methodically, he started going through the drawers. He’d done the dresser that first night, looking for anything his son might have hidden, a clue to where he might have gone, but had found nothing unusual. He’d looked at the desk, but had only done a cursory search. He’d remedy that now.
The only thing that had grabbed him was when Erin had appeared in the doorway and said quietly, “I did a more thorough check. He took your shirt with him.”
He remembered giving her a puzzled look. “What shirt?”
“He has one of your T-shirts from flight school.”
Realization dawned. “The one with the Huey on it? I wondered what happened to that.”
“He wears it on his birthday.” She had taken a deep breath before adding, “And on yours.”
It had been like an RPG straight to the gut. He’d bent over to put his hands on the dresser, afraid his knees were going to give out. He remembered wanting to go out and ask Rafe if they could go back to plan A and crash at the Foxworth headquarters.
He shoved aside the image in his head and went back to searching the desk. Erin said she had gone through everything, but there was always the chance she’d missed something, or that there was something that was meaningless to her but not to him. Or Ethan.
In the center drawer he found a few school papers, with big red A’s marked at the top.
One math, one science, it looked like something about weather.
A manual for his gaming system, still sealed in plastic.
Obviously he hadn’t needed it to get up and running.
In the top, side drawer he’d found some other boxes and paper instructional inserts for various cables and smaller tech items, all tossed in loosely.
There appeared to be more of the same in the bottom drawer, except…
He pulled out the brochure from the very bottom of the drawer.
The USMC recruiting brochure. And inside that one he found the flyer on becoming a Marine Corps pilot.
He didn’t know what to think. Was Ethan just curious, because of him? Or was he thinking about…joining?
Maybe he had been. And maybe he’d gotten over it, and that was why the stuff was buried at the bottom of this bottom drawer.
Or maybe he’d been hiding it from his mother.
The thought of how Erin might have reacted if she’d found this made that a more distinct possibility.
He put the things back in the drawer and shoved it closed. No real clues there, except a peek into who his son was. A kid capable of excellent grades, a gamer, and one who, thankfully, hadn’t forgotten his father.
He stood up again, yawned widely and stretched. Then he walked to the foot of the bed, grabbed up the clothes he’d set out for today, and headed for the bathroom down the hall for a shower.
He managed not to look toward her bedroom door at the far end this time, unlike the first two nights he’d spent here.
It did not, he found, help much. His imagination was still quite capable of filling in the blanks.
Remembering how she used to like to sleep, that some part of her had to be touching him, even if it was only a toe to his calf.
How when she woke she would turn to snuggle up to him, often whispering her recommendation for an effective wake-up call into his ear.
He used to tease her by saying he needed a fuller description to decide.
And she gave him one, although they usually only got halfway through before he was so hot for her he had to start on her suggested path.
Hell, he was getting hot now, just remembering.
He had his hand on the doorknob when the slight sound from his right made him snap his head to that side.
She was there, standing in her doorway, staring at him. Her hair was tousled, and she was wearing a pair of clingy shorts—damn, her legs really were that long—and a T-shirt cropped enough that it showed her trim abdomen.
And you’re standing here practically buck-ass naked, already hard from just thinking about her.
Yet he couldn’t seem to move. He told himself he was imagining the desire he thought he saw in her gaze, but those words she’d said kept coming back to him.
That I don’t talk to you isn’t because I’m done with you. It’s because I’m not.
He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to run down that hall to her, sweep her up in his arms like he used to do, and carry her to bed.
And when she suddenly looked away and darted back into her bedroom, he wanted to call out to her, stop her, somehow put them back the way they’d been, together, whole, and meant for each other.
He remembered the urge that had driven him to kiss her, and how futile it had been to fight it.
How he’d had to count on them being out in public to rein himself in, since he was apparently incapable of doing it himself.
And the feel of her mouth beneath his, even that slight, short brush of lips, had nearly done him in out there on the street.
The sight of her now, disheveled from sleep—or had her night been as restless as his own?—had been like that punch to the gut all over again. And he faced the truth he’d managed to mask for a long time now, that wherever he went, whoever he met, nobody affected him like Erin did.
When he hit the shower he never even touched the hot water faucet. And thought that even in November California wouldn’t produce water cold enough to cool him down.