Chapter Eight #3
“Missed you more,” she whispered against his lips, pulling back just enough to look at him. His eyes held that warmth, but she saw the shadows, too, the ones that spoke about the fatigue from solo dog duty, the lingering edge from the Calder hunt. “How are the boys?”
“Waiting impatiently. Maynard’s been pacing by the door like he knows you’re coming.” Jock grabbed her suitcase off the carousel, then handed her the dropped bag, his free hand entwined with hers. “Let’s get you home.”
They’d been traveling only for a few minutes when Silly remembered something she’d meant to tell Jock. “Oh, hey, I did one session that really stood out to me. Not because of the art that went into the tattoo, even though that was awesome, but the why behind the tattoo.”
“Yeah? Tell me, baby.”
“He had on insignia that put him in the sand wars, so I asked about it. Thanked him for his service.”
“That’s always awkward as hell. I never know if I should say ‘welcome’ or what. How’d he handle it?”
“He said, ‘My honor.’”
“Oh, that’s good. I’ll have to remember it.”
“His tattoo was a memorial one. The bulk had already been blocked in, but he wanted more detailed work than the apprentice in the next booth was comfortable with. I spent probably six hours working on him, and he sat like a stone. Never moved unless it was a request from me.”
“Memorial for men lost?”
“Yeah, that. But also for innocence lost. The weeping angel was patterned with butterfly wings. Not classic, but still so beautiful. And on each postdiscal interspaces of the angel’s wings was a set of initials and a date.”
“A what? Was that English, Silly? I know you’re bilingual, but you don’t have to show off.” He was laughing as he spoke, and his hand on her leg tightened.
“Basically the space between the veins on the big wings. He didn’t have a long list of men, but he said the weight was still considerable. He said serving with men as you went through hell made bonds that couldn’t be broken, not even by death.”
“Brother was right with that. When you’ve watched the man next to you white-knuckle his gun and still do the right thing, you know he’ll always have your back.”
“So that...Does that ring true for you?”
“I’ve told you about that last day, when I shouldn’t have been outside the wire.”
She nodded. “You have.”
“What I haven’t talked about are the thousand days that led up to the final one.
A thousand ways my brothers were part of me, and I was part of them.
A hundred sweeps that went like clockwork.
Another hundred escorts that ended with everyone coming home.
All that time builds rapport, brotherhood, and a deep and profound love. ”
“That’s a lot, Jake.”
“I’m going to be working a lot harder in therapy.
I want to be a better person, a better man.
Not for you, though that’s a side benefit.
I need to be better for me. For Tank and Maynard.
And yeah, for you.” He squeezed her leg again.
“For really the first time, I feel like therapy could help, and I think that’s my willingness to do the work talking. ”
“My client sounded very similar.”
“I know my story isn’t new or unique, but I own it.”
The rest of the drive was a blur of soft conversation between them, with her recounting other show highlights and him updating her on Maynard’s progress.
“He’s doing everything better, but nights can still be rough. I keep reminding myself we’re only a week out from the injuries,” Jock said, glancing at her. “Your voice messages help, though. Calms him right down. Me too.”
Silly squeezed his hand. “Can’t wait to see him. And Tank. Oh my god, Tank. I’ll bet he’s been your shadow.”
“More like Maynard’s babysitter.” Jock chuckled, the sound rumbling deep.
They talked about Calder, too, the arrest a relief but the trial looming. “Wrench says the evidence is solid. Other victims coming forwards.”
“Good,” she said fiercely. “That bastard deserves to rot.”
Home loomed as they turned onto their street, the familiar house a beacon. Jock parked, and before they could even open the doors, barks echoed from inside—Tank’s deep woofs mixed with Maynard’s higher yips. Silly’s heart swelled. “They’re excited.”
Jock grinned, unlocking the door.
Tank barreled out first, nearly knocking her over by leaning strongly against her legs.
“Hey, big boy!” She knelt, burying her face in his fur, his tail whipping like a helicopter.
Maynard hung back, tail wagging more tentatively, his scars visible but clearly healing well.
Silly approached slowly, hand out. “Hey, sweet Maynard. Remember me?”
The pit bull sniffed, then pressed forwards, his head butting her palm. She scratched gently, avoiding tender spots. “Good boy. You’re looking so much better.”
Jock watched, his expression soft, as the dogs vied for attention.
Inside, the house smelled like coffee and dog treats. Home. Her suitcase was abandoned in the hall as they settled on the couch, dogs piling on. Silly leaned into Jock, Maynard curling at her feet, Tank’s head on his lap. “This is perfect,” she sighed.
The conversation never flagged, Jock seeming as intent as she was to share each of the missed days between them.
But as evening fell, the air shifted, and she shivered.
Jock’s hand trailed up her arm, his touch igniting sparks.
“Been thinking about you every night,” he murmured, lips brushing her ear.
The dogs stirred, but he stood, pulling her up. “Boys, stay.”
They backed towards the bedroom, giggles escaping as Tank tried to follow. Jock closed the door firmly, muffling Maynard’s whine. “They’ll survive,” he said, turning to her with heat in his eyes.
The room was dim, lit by a bedside lamp casting golden shadows. Jock’s hands found her waist, pulling her close, his kiss slow and deep, savoring. Silly melted, her fingers tangling in his hair, bodies pressing. He walked her backward to the bed, then eased her down, his weight a welcome relief.
Clothes were shed with whispers and vows, her shirt slipping off, his tugged over his head.
“You’re beautiful,” she breathed.
His hands explored, unhurried, mapping her curves with reverence. Lips followed, trailing fire down her neck, collarbone, breasts. She arched, gasping, as he lingered, teasing with tongue and teeth. “Jake, please...”
He moved lower, kisses featherlight on her stomach, thighs, until she trembled. His mouth found her center, slow and sensual, drawing out moans that built like a crescendo. She clutched the sheets, lost in sensation, his rhythm patient, devoted.
When she shattered, he rose, shedding the last barriers, entering her with a groan. They moved together, unhurried, bodies syncing in a dance of intimacy. Eye contact held, souls bared, each thrust a whisper of love. “Silly...my Silly...”
Her next climax crested slow, and Jock was right there with her, their waves crashing in unison, leaving them breathless, entwined. He held her after, stroking her hair, the dogs’ distant whines a reminder of life outside. “Welcome home,” he whispered.
She smiled, content. “Best homecoming ever.”
The night deepened, but sleep evaded her at first, thoughts swirling.
The show had been a success, providing great exposure, a few new clients, and a thousand ideas ricocheting around inside her head.
But being away had clarified what mattered: this man, these dogs, their shared strengths.
Maynard’s healing mirrored Jock’s, and hers, their tattoos covering old wounds, love mending the rest.
Morning light filtered in, Jock stirring beside her. The dogs scratched at the door, insistent. She laughed, pulling on a robe. “Duty calls.”
They let the boys in, a tumble of fur and joy. Breakfast was lazy, time ignored as they kissed over mugs of coffee and eggs. After, Silly sketched while Jock played with the dogs.
“We should get Maynard a proper tag for his collar,” she said, watching him romp pain-free.
Jock nodded. “And start training in earnest. I held off doing anything too intensive while he’s been healing. I think he’s ready.”
The day unfolded into boring and gloriously domestic walks, errands, and her showing off the various swag and samples she’d picked up for her tattoo shop crew.
“Oh, I meant to ask you. If I go to the show next year, what do you think about traveling with me? We could drive instead of flying, take the dogs with us? Rent a house instead of doing the hotel thing?”
“Oh, hell yeah. Can I be your assistant? I’d love handing you ink and needles. Does anyone else in the shop go to this one?”
“No, most of them like the Dallas show instead. That’s next month. We’re already scheduling around everyone but me being gone.” Hands still full of samples, she looked up at Jock. “You can be my assistant anytime, big boy.”
As the evening unfolded, they cooked dinner together, laughing at improvised ingredients. As they ate, she kept thinking of even more details to tell Jock about the show, the various tattoo and body artists she’d seen in action.
During a break in the conversation, Jock opened up a little bit. “Calder was a knockback for me. Took me back several steps I didn’t expect.” He was silent for a beat, then added, “Seeing Maynard thrive...It helps my own shit.”
She took his hand. “We’re all healing together.”
As stars emerged, they sat on the porch, dogs at their feet, planning out their futures. Silly held her breath as they touched on everything and nothing as the night wore on. Her introduction to the topic of babies was a sock in the belly, Jock immediately realizing the impact.
“Do you want babies?” His voice was quiet, intense.
“I do. Before I’m too old to enjoy them too.” She blew out a heavy breath, then another. “Don’t know why that’s scary to admit, but it is.”