Captured(78)

“What?”

I run my hand over his scalp, over the inch-long blond fuzz. Again and again, relishing the feel of him really, really here with me. “We are having a baby. Not me. We. And you are father material. You’re husband material. You’re my material. That’s all I know. You’re missing a leg. All right. You’ve got PTSD, and nightmares. Okay. You need physical therapy, psychological and emotional therapy. Fine. Shit, so do I. But you know what? We can do it. Just…stay with me. Okay? I don’t mean just physically staying, as in not leaving, I mean…I mean you have to believe in yourself. In me. And in us.”

“Of course I believe in you, it’s just—”

“Do you?” I cut in. “Do you really? Because that means believing in my ability to love you and be your girlfriend or your lover or your wife or whatever it is we are or could be. You have to believe that I can and will love you, and be there for you, and be what you need, no matter how scary things get.”

“Oh.” He breathes in slowly, as if inhaling the scent of my hair. “That…that might be a little harder. I believe in you. I do. But I’m not sure what else I believe. If I’m being honest, I’m not sure if I—”

“Derek.” I take his face in my hands. “All I’m asking is that you give me all of you. Just give me you, one day at a time.”

He lets out a shaky breath. “That I can do.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

He nods, and I climb back into the driver’s seat, get us going again, homeward. The silence is less tense now. Eventually, we start talking. He asks questions about being pregnant, and I answer them. It’s funny, actually. He knows nothing about pregnancy. So I fill him in. Morning sickness, which is starting to get pretty bad. The first ultrasound scheduled for twelve weeks is not too far away now. Then we can find out the gender if we want.

I can tell he’s trying to figure out how to ask a particular question, so I answer it for him, save him the trouble. “And yes, we can have all the sex we want. It won’t hurt me, and won’t hurt the baby.” I grin at him, taking his hand.

He glances at me, and the look of relief on his face makes me laugh out loud.





CHAPTER 21





DEREK





The first month is f*cking hard. Reagan is back to trying to work the farm on her own again, and that makes me feel impotent. I do finally, after the first week of trying on my own, head down to Houston and find the physical therapist. Turns out the therapy is exactly what I need. She pushes me. Hard. Makes me feel like I’m accomplishing something. Gives me something to work for.

The weird thing is, Reagan and I haven’t had sex yet. I’m not sure of myself, I guess. Not sure of her desire for me as I am now. That sucks. The doubt comes from me, though, and I know it. I know she loves me, and I think she’s starting to get frustrated. But, for some reason, until I can walk on my own with no crutches—shit, I’d even settle for a cane—I don’t think I want to make love to her.

She’s going crazy trying to keep everything running, and I feel increasingly useless as I watch her get up at five and bust her ass till dark, on top of taking care of Tommy as well as my sorry ass.

Lying in bed, late one night, I watch the moon and a million stars twinkling in the sky out the bedroom window. I can’t sleep. Nightmares keep getting me as soon as I close my eyes. So I put on my leg and a pair of shorts. Using the crutches, I hobble carefully down the stairs, outside, to the dock. I take off my leg and set it aside. I dangle my foot in the warm water and lie back and watch the stars, watch the moon move across the infinite sky.

I don’t hear her until she’s padding up behind me on the dock. She sits sideways to me, pulls at me, and I sink backward and lay my head on her lap. Crazy, beautiful woman that she is, she’s in nothing but a T-shirt.

“Derek?” My name is a question, and is all the emphasis she needs. She’s referring to everything.

“Can’t sleep. Keep having bad dreams. The crash. That other guy, what happened to his—his face.” I close my eyes and shudder, pushing the image away.

Her fingers slide through my hair. She traces my nose. My eyes, cheek, chin. Lips. “What else? You know what I’m asking.”

“I feel useless. It’s hard to feel like…like a man, when I can’t do a damned thing to help you. You’re drowning out there, Reagan. You can’t do it all, and I can’t help you. Maybe I’ll be able to someday. But I can’t, not right now.” I stare up at her, into her pale blue eyes. “And that helplessness, it makes me feel like…like, what good am I?”

She runs her hand down my chest, up and down my sternum. “You haven’t so much as touched me since you’ve been back.” She looks away, out at the water, green ripples in the silver starlight, moonlight. “Is it me? I’m starting to show, I guess. It might be hard for you be attracted to me as I get bigger.”

“Ree. God, no. You’re more beautiful than ever.”

“Then why? It’s been a month, and—I need you, Derek. I need to feel close to you.” She presses her lips together, looks up, struggling. “I am drowning. It’s so hard, doing it all. And I know you hate feeling useless. I don’t know what to do. I’m trying to be strong, but I’m not. The more pregnant I get, the harder it will be. And then when I have the baby, it’ll be…it’ll be impossible. And the only thing that’s getting me through it is that I love you, and I know you love me. You’re going to therapy, and you’ve come really far. You can move around almost on your own, and god, Derek, that’s just amazing. I’m so proud of you. But…Jesus, how do I say this without sounding needy? I need to feel close to you. It’s not just…I don’t just want to have sex with you. I do. But I need to feel you. I need to know you’re…here. With me. That you’re mine. That I’m yours. I need to feel like a woman, and not just…Reagan. The woman working a farm. The mother. The whatever else I am. I know it’s hard for you, harder than I could ever imagine. But all you have to do is show me—show me you want me, and that you need me, too.”