Chapter 47
FORTY-SEVEN
ZOE
The hush pressed in, as though the whole world had stepped away to give them this moment. The storm, the rain outside, felt far away.
Jackson’s hands skimmed her waist, the warmth of his palms seeping through the thin fabric of her shirt. It wasn’t close enough. Not nearly. She wanted the roughness of his calloused hands on her bare skin.
She lifted her arms, wordless, and he understood. He tugged the T-shirt over her head, the static hum brushing her hair as it slid free. His mouth was on hers before the garment even hit the floor. She cupped the back of his neck, holding him steady so she could drink him in.
“So beautiful. Forever my dream girl,” he murmured between kisses, his breath uneven.
Her fingers fumbled with the hem of his wet shirt, nerves tangling with need, before she finally got it over his head. Cool air brushed her skin, tightening her nipples, or maybe it was the way his eyes darkened, hunger and reverence woven together as he took her in.
His hands were slow, deliberate, tracing a line down her stomach. He paused at the dip of her waist, circling lightly, then slid back up. When his palm cupped her breast, her breath hitched.
Jackson lowered his head, his lips brushing a featherlight kiss over the swell of her chest before closing around her nipple. The sensation ripped through her like lightning. His tongue teased, swirling slow, deliberate strokes until her back lifted from the couch with a gasp.
“Jackson…” Her moan trembled out, soft and desperate, her fingers threading into his hair.
Then, without warning, he scooped her into his arms. A startled laugh escaped her, breathless and shaky.
He carried her down the short hall, the storm still pattering faintly against the windows, and nudged her bedroom door open with his shoulder.
The familiar space—her quilt pulled back, the lamplight casting warm pools across the room—suddenly felt alive, every detail magnified by the thrum in her chest.
He set her down gently, arranging her so her ankle was propped against a pillow before he stepped out of his wet jeans.
Zoe barely had time to appreciate the view as he climbed onto the bed and began trailing kisses lower, lower, down her body.
He pressed her knees apart with steady hands, careful of her injured leg, and his mouth found her with slow, devastating precision.
Zoe gasped, her head tipping back against the pillows. Every nerve ending lit up as he teased her with languid strokes of his tongue, circling, retreating, then giving her just enough to make her hips lift off the bed.
He didn’t hurry. He savored. Every flick, every glide, felt deliberate, fine-tuned to her. She fisted the quilt, her knuckles aching as pleasure gathered, unstoppable.
When release tore through her, it stole her breath, left her gasping his name into the quiet. He held her steady, coaxing her through every quiver, until she slumped back, boneless and undone.
Jackson rose, his mouth brushing hers, letting her taste the evidence of her own pleasure. His erection pressed hard against her hip, and heat flooded her all over again.
Jackson’s chest was broad and ink curled over his skin, the black lines and shapes stark and beautiful against his corded muscles. Her gaze lingered, tracing the tattoos, then caught on the scars. Pale lines. Faded marks.
Every inch of him was beautiful, not despite those scars, but because of them. They told his story, the one he carried quietly, the one he never boasted about.
And then his eyes lifted to hers. Dark, intent.
Her soldier, she thought. Hers.
Jackson leaned over her, and she instinctively shifted to rise, wanting to touch him, to worship him the way he had just worshipped her. But as she moved, her ankle gave a faint protest.
He noticed instantly. His hand came down, gentle but firm, against her thigh. “Easy,” he murmured, his voice thick with restraint. “I’ve got you.”
He pressed a kiss to her temple before carefully easing her back against the pillows.
“Tonight,” he said, brushing a thumb over her cheek, “you don’t have to do anything but feel.”
She swallowed hard, her chest tight, but nodded.
He bent to kiss her again, deep and slow, one hand braced beside her head, the other skimming down her side before settling between her thighs.
When he slid into her, her breath caught.
He moved slowly and deep, filling her inch by inch until there was no space left between them.
Zoe’s head tipped back, a cry tearing from her throat as her body stretched around him.
He stilled, forehead pressed to hers, his chest rising and falling in heavy breaths.
“You okay?” His voice was hoarse, barely holding together.
“More than okay,” she whispered, her hands clutching at his shoulders. “Don’t stop.”
He moved slowly and deliberately, careful of her ankle but unrelenting in the way he claimed her. Each thrust sent fire spiraling through her until the storm outside was nothing but memory.
Her body bowed against him, her injured ankle cushioned and safe, forgotten in the torrent of sensation. She could feel her desire gathering, wild and insistent, impossible to hold back.
When it broke, it shattered her completely. Her cry filled the room, her body clenching around him in tight, pulsing waves that dragged him under with her. Jackson groaned her name like a prayer, thrusting once, twice, before his body shuddered with release.
He stilled, buried deep inside her, his weight pressing her into the mattress, their ragged breaths tangled together. The storm outside had faded to silence, leaving only the sound of their hearts pounding in sync.
Zoe pressed her face into the slope of his neck, her lips brushing the warm, damp skin.
He shifted, easing onto his side and gathering her close, careful not to jar her ankle. The movement was protective without being possessive. His thumb traced idle circles along her back, and each slow stroke unraveled what little tension remained in her body.
Zoe felt cocooned in Jackson’s arms. She listened to the rhythm of his breathing until hers matched it, the quiet rising and falling in perfect time.
Minutes passed like that, slow and unhurried, until her thoughts blurred into contentment. When he brushed a kiss against her temple, she smiled against his throat, half-asleep and wholly at peace.
“Zoe,” he said finally. “I need to tell you something.”
She lifted her head.
“I took your advice. I’m going to talk to a therapist. And one of the things I’ve realized is that talking helps me. It makes the trauma not have as much power over me.”
“I’m here to listen, anytime you want…”
Jackson held Zoe close; her head was on his chest while he spoke.
“We were two weeks from rotating back. Sun so bright it erased the edges. We were out on a patrol—you’ve seen enough movies; you know how that looks.
Only most of the time it’s nothing. Long stretches of boring emptiness—until it isn’t. ”
His fingers skimmed an invisible pattern on her skin. A small figure of eight, over and over again.
“We were patrolling a town when it happened. One step and then—” He exhaled, shook his head once.
“Sound turns into a wall. Everything lifts. You don’t know which way the sky is.
When you come back down, the world’s wrong.
There’s ringing and… there’s blood where it doesn’t belong.
I caught shrapnel in my side and back. Not the worst in the unit.
Not even close. We lost Micah.” The name scraped out of him.
“I was closest to him, and I still couldn’t—” His voice broke, a crack in old concrete.
He steadied it. “I replay it. Where I stood. Whether I should’ve seen it.
Whether one different decision would’ve…
I know what they tell you. That it wasn’t your fault.
That these things happen. But the mind doesn’t care about the report.
It takes the guilt and stitches it into you. ”
Zoe slid her palm to his cheek, thumb brushing the rough edge of stubble. He leaned into it as if it hurt and healed at once.
“I came home and I—” He searched for the word, found it.
“I closed doors. A lot of them. I wanted noise I could control: engines, the clatter in a bar, anything that drowned out the quiet where the pictures play. I kept thinking I didn’t have the right to have anything good.
Not after the body count kept going without me. Not after we folded flags.”
She didn’t say I’m sorry. She didn’t say he was wrong. She said, simply, “I’m here.”
He waited one beat, then two, as if he thought more might come, as if this moment might be the key that opened whatever door she, too, kept shut behind her eyes.
She felt the nudge of it and almost spoke.
Almost told him about the appointment, the form she’d filled out.
Almost told him about time, about how she felt like it was slipping away, and she couldn’t stop it.
But Whiskers chirruped from the back, the sound small and delighted, and Jackson’s hand curved over her shoulder, thumb stroking a calm, steady line. Zoe tucked closer instead, borrowing his steadiness for just a little longer.
“Stay,” she said.
“As long as you want me,” he answered.
The next morning, Zoe woke earlier than usual. The storm had passed, leaving a blinding sunrise flaring through the gap in her blinds. She blinked against it and scooted back into Jackson’s embrace.
He was warm behind her, his arm draped around her waist as if he had no intention of letting go. His breath moved in a slow rhythm. Steady, untroubled.
For a moment, she tried to sink back into sleep, but her body reminded her of the night before. Her muscles hummed with a pleasant ache, and when she shifted, her ankle twinged. She stilled, not wanting to wake him.
After a minute, she slipped free of his arm and sat up. The movement made her ankle protest. Muttering, she limped to the bathroom, shook two Tylenol from the bottle, and swallowed them with tap water. The throbbing would ease soon enough.
Back at the doorway, she paused, letting her gaze linger on Jackson sprawled across her sheets. The line of his jaw, the sweep of dark hair, the breadth of his shoulders against her pillow. She wanted to press the sight into memory.
But something in her chest twisted. Guilt crept in. Because last night Jackson had bared his soul, and she’d stayed silent.
Tomorrow was her IVF appointment. If Jackson were just anyone she’d recently started dating, she would have asked him openly if he wanted children. But this was Jackson. She had wanted him for so long that risking everything now felt impossible.
She feared she already knew his answer. She imagined him shaking his head, saying his scars ran too deep to be a good father. Hadn’t that been why he’d held back before, because he hadn’t believed he was enough?
The weight of it pressed on her and quietly, she left the room.
In the hallway, Whiskers hopped from the crate and greeted her with a demanding meow. Zoe crouched, wincing at her ankle, and scratched behind the cat’s ears.
“How are you holding up, little mama?”
Whiskers purred and rubbed her head against Zoe’s hand. Zoe filled her bowl in the kitchen, then cut a small piece of salmon for her. She peeked in at the crate. The kittens were a soft, breathing pile of fur. The sight tugged a smile from her, and a sharp reminder of tomorrow.
She knew she needed to talk to Jackson, but not by waking him with heavy news. First, breakfast. Which meant a quick trip to the market.
She slipped on joggers, a sweatshirt, and tied her hair up before heading out.
The air was cool, washed clean by the storm.
Cherry blossoms were strewn across the pavement and there were puddles everywhere, but the storm hadn’t caused any significant damage.
Maple Falls was quiet, save for the hum of a delivery truck near the bakery.
She breathed in the faint aroma of cinnamon rolls drifting from the inn.
“Hey, girl,” Krista called, waving a to-go cup, her other hand holding Frankie’s leash. “You’re out early. Where you headed?”
“The market. Jackson stayed over last night. And I have news!”
Zoe pulled out her phone, showing photos of Whiskers and the newborn kittens. Krista leaned in, delighted.
“They’re so precious,” she said. “Whiskers looks like she knows exactly what she’s doing.”
“She does,” Zoe murmured, throat tightening.
“Speaking of babies… tomorrow’s your appointment, right?”
“I know. I’m going to talk to Jackson. This morning. Ask him if he wants children one day.”
“Good. I’m proud of you, Zo.” Krista smiled.
“I’m scared,” Zoe admitted. “What if we’re not aligned? What if it turns into another Ben? It’s possible neither of us can have kids anyway. Maybe I shouldn’t push it.”
“Maybe you should stop talking yourself out of what you want.”
Zoe huffed a laugh. “You’re right.”
“If you two can’t have kids, that’s different from not wanting them. You know that.”
Krista allowed Frankie to pull her down the sidewalk. “Call me later?”
“What if he says no?” Zoe replied instead.
“And if he says yes?”
Zoe’s heart clenched. “That would be everything.”