Capturing Peace (Sharing You 0.5)(40)

“Cool!”

I smiled over at Reagan, and we both mouthed, “Cool.”

“I don’t think I’ve been to this side,” she mumbled, and grabbed the ends of her hair.

Grabbing for her hands, I pulled them away and wrapped my fingers securely around them. “So . . . our impromptu shoot last week gave me an idea.” Glancing at her, I watched as her cheeks stained with heat.

“W-what, uh, what kind of idea?” she stammered.

As soon as I stopped the car, I pointed out her window. “It’s over there.”

Her brow scrunched together for a few seconds. “Is that . . . ?”

“My equipment? Yeah.”

She turned quickly, her face lit up with excitement. “You’re going to shoot us?”

“You’re going to shoot us?” Parker asked loudly, horror lacing his tone.

I barked a laugh before I could compose myself. “No way, bud. Not like that. I’m going to take pictures of you and your mom. Its called a photo shoot, that’s the kind of shoot she meant.”

A relieved look crossed his face. “Oh. Cool.”

Looking back at Reagan, I leaned close. “Is that okay?”

“More than okay.” Taking off her seat belt, she opened her door and stepped out before leaning back in. “I do love when you surprise me, Coen Steele.”

I just plain loved her.

Getting out of the car, I pulled my camera out of the trunk, and walked over to where Reagan and Parker were waiting for me. “Ready?”

Parker grabbed my hand and nodded hard once. “Ready!”

My chest tightened and I looked at Parker before looking up at Reagan. A soft smile was slowly covering her face as her eyes stayed glued to our hands, and just before she began walking, her hazel eyes met mine and I knew she was feeling this too. She loved me, I had no doubt of that. But it wasn’t just the two of us, my love went so much deeper than just Reagan. I loved her son, and I loved the three of us together. And from the look she’d just given me, I knew she felt the same.

We walked up to the hill I’d had two of my friends set up my equipment on, and after introducing them to Reagan and Parker, we got started. Parker wasn’t into it at first because he was still afraid someone was going to shoot him, so after having one of my buddies take pictures of Parker and me flexing, and fighting with imaginary light sabers, then a few of Reagan and me together, he was more than ready for his turn to take pictures with his mom—which he let us know by jumping into the pictures of us.

And as I stared at the two of them from behind the lens of my camera, a feeling unlike anything I’d ever experienced washed over me. It was calming, freeing, and I knew I would do anything to make it last. Parker laughed loudly at something Reagan said to him as I changed the setting on my camera, and the sound filled me—making me smile. I quickly captured the moment before it could end, and finally realized what the feeling was.

Peace.

Reagan—October 1, 2010

CRACKING MY EYES open, I frowned when I saw what time it was. I had thirty minutes before I had to get Parker up and ready for school. Which meant twenty-nine minutes before the warm body wrapped around mine would leave. At least it was the first Friday of the month, which meant we would be spending the day together . . . but I hated watching him leave in the mornings.

Rolling over, I curled up against his bare chest and placed soft kisses there as I let my free hand lightly trail up his back. Goose bumps covered his skin, and I smiled before moving up to his throat and jaw.

His chest rumbled. “Duchess.”

“Morning,” I said softly, and waited for what I knew would come next.

“Time?”

“Six.”

Coen breathed in deeply through his nose, and a smile crossed his face. “Amazing,” he murmured, and tightened his arms around me.

“Tell me why?”

His eyes barely opened, and he didn’t speak, but the question was clear on his face.

“You’re sleeping here about three times a week, and each time you just can’t seem to believe that it’s morning when we wake up. You’re always in awe, why is that?”

Dark eyes now fully on me, his face remained blank.

I moved so I was lying on my stomach, and played with the sheet below me, studying it intently. “Keegan said something at the very beginning of us seeing each other.”

“And what was that?” he asked, his tone dark—and I knew then, whatever this was had to do with whatever was haunting him.

“He asked if you slept. But at the time we hadn’t slept together, so he dropped the subject.” Risking a glance at him, I asked softly, “Do you not sleep?”

Coen studied me for a long time before releasing a harsh breath. “Not if I’m not with you. I mean—I do. But I don’t like to. Some nights I don’t sleep at all, others I get an hour and a half to two hours . . . and that’s if I’m not able to wake myself up after thirty minutes.”

“Thirty . . . what? Why thirty?”

Rolling onto his back, he stared blankly at the ceiling and rested his hands on his chest. “I have flashbacks if I sleep.”

“From whatever happened two and a half years ago?”

“Mostly. Sometimes other missions.”

I watched the haunted look fall over his face and pressed my palm to his cheek, turning his head so he was looking at me. A calmness slowly filled his features, and he grabbed my hand to kiss it.