Capturing Peace (Sharing You 0.5)(35)

“Parker, wait!” I heard Erica say just before I heard my son’s voice. “Coen!”

Coen easily slid me off his lap, a large smile replacing the worn-out mask from our fight. “Hey, bud!”

“Are you going to be my dad?” Parker jumped up on the couch on the other side of Coen and waited expectantly for an answer.

Even though Coen knew this was probably coming, even though we’d just talked—er, fought—about this, my body still tensed at what Coen’s reaction would be.

Coen seemed to think really hard for Parker’s benefit before shrugging slowly. “I don’t know, bud. Your mom and I still have a long ways to go before we’ll know that.”

Parker’s face scrunched together, and I knew he didn’t understand why Coen didn’t have a definite answer right now.

“But I promise you this: You’ll be the first one to know if I get to become your dad. Deal?” Coen asked, holding out his hand.

Parker slapped his hand against Coen’s and smiled widely at him. “Deal!”

Get to . . . he said get to become your dad. My heart warmed and somehow seemed to ache even more when I realized I’d almost taken this away from all of us. Again.

When Parker took off for the kitchen, Coen leaned toward me and pulled my legs over his lap again. “Jesus. Thank God you warned me about that. If I would’ve gone into that blind, I might have taken off.” Coen blew out a heavy breath before giving me a teasing grin.

I slapped his stomach and narrowed my eyes at him. “You just ruined this perfect illusion I was having of you.”

He smiled warmly and pulled me closer to place kisses behind my ear. “Then we’re right where we should be, Duchess, because I’m nowhere near perfect.”





Chapter Eight

Coen—September 16, 2010

A GUTTURAL YELL tore through my throat as I flew up into a sitting position and looked wildly around me. My breaths were coming too fast, and it took my mind too long to comprehend that I was once again here. My condo. Where I was every morning I wasn’t at Reagan’s.

But everything had once again felt too real. I could feel the dry heat, hear the tortured screams, smell the rust, human waste, and gunpowder, see the—

I pushed the heels of my palms against my eyes, and let out an agonized breath.

Standing from the couch I’d fallen asleep on sometime late this morning, I pulled my sweat-soaked clothes off my body and threw them in the hamper as I walked toward the bathroom. Turning the water on as hot as it would go, I paced anxiously as I waited for the room to begin steaming up before standing under the scorching spray. I gritted my teeth against the initial sting, but soon my body began relaxing under the relentless pelting, and I rested my hands against the wall, letting my head hang as I tried to forget.

Some of the men on base told me it was best to let go. Let go? I couldn’t f*cking let go. They were gone. My men were gone . . . and I hadn’t saved them. I’d had to see their wives, their children, and their families when I’d returned. I’d had to look one of their very pregnant wives in the face and tell her I hadn’t been able to keep my promise in bringing her husband back.

There was no letting that shit go. Not when the only reason I was here, instead of in the ground with them, was because I’d fallen into a trap—which triggered the ambush—and was knocked unconscious while they were all captured. I should have been paying better attention. I should have seen it coming. And I hadn’t.

Yeah . . . there was no way to “let go.”

Stepping out of the shower, I grabbed a towel and was drying my skin when I heard my phone go off in the other room. Moving quickly toward it, I frowned when I saw the name on the screen. I swear, it was like he knew now was not the time to talk.

But for some reason, I still answered.

“Yeah?”

“Steele! How’ve you been?”

I sat down on the couch and bit back a sigh. “Good. What’s new in the Saco house?”

There was silence for a few moments before he said, “Did you have a nightmare?”

I finally released the sigh and sat back on the couch, running my hand over my face. “I asked what’s new in the Saco house.”

“And I asked if you had a f*cking nightmare.”

“Of course I had f*cking flashbacks, I have to sleep at some point!”

“Steele . . . man, you’ve got to talk to someone.”

“Don’t need to. They won’t understand. All they’ll do is piss me off because they’ll act like they know how I feel. They’ll act like they know what I went through. And why? Because they have a goddamn degree? Fuck that. No, I’m not talking to anyone.”

“You can’t do this to yourself. You can’t live like this. I thought—I thought you said it was getting better.”

I stared blankly at the ceiling and shrugged even though he couldn’t see me. “It is.” He didn’t respond, and I didn’t expand on that for a few moments. “It’s her, Saco. I don’t know what it is about her. But when I’m around her, it’s all gone. There’s nothing. No missions. No men left behind. No—” I cut off and ground my jaw.

I’d told Saco all about Reagan and Parker, and the struggles I’d gone through just to get Reagan to give us a chance. I just hadn’t told him that she also made all the bullshit disappear, because at the time there hadn’t been a reason to.