Survivor (First to Fight #2)(42)

“What do you mean?”

“Seeing you in my shirt, being here in this room, having a taste of you. It’s like no time has passed. I like all those things too f*cking much.” He turns over and flicks off the light.

In the darkness, surrounded by him, it’s easier for me to let the truth out. “I like it too,” I say.

“What do you want from me?” he asks finally. “Whatever you want, you’ve got it. I can be your friend. If that’s all you need, I can do it. I just want to have you in my life again. And not like it’s been these past few years where we act like strangers. I want my best friend back. Even if that means that’s all we’ll ever be.”

I bite my lip as I consider. “I don’t, I mean, I’m not sure if I can do more than that.”

I try to keep a bit of distance between us, but his hands wrap around my waist and tug me into his arms. Even though his shirt is like heaven, being snuggled up to him is a million times better. I wish, not for the first time, I’d had him those first years in college instead of just his shirt.

“We can take it easy,” he says. “If that’s what you need. I just missed you, Sofie. So f*cking much.”

“I missed you, too,” I say against his chest, my breath shuddering in my own. “I’m so sorry for leaving like I did.”

“Shhh,” he says. “That part is over. You didn’t do anything wrong. I wish I’d known, I wish I could have helped you, but I’m not going to blame you for what you did to cope.”

“I was just scared,” I say.

He tucks me closer, his heartbeat a steady drum under my ear, his arms a cage all around me. “I know, baby. I know you were. But you don’t have to be scared anymore. If I hadn’t been so blinded, I would have seen it. I should have seen it regardless.”

“It’s not your fault. Not any of it. I don’t blame you.”

“You should,” he says, and I can feel his pain in the dark because it’s an echo of my own. “You should blame me. I should have known who he is, what he could do. I should have kept him away from you.”

My hands rub his back. “No one can know what lies inside a person. It took me a long time to understand that, accept it. I didn’t know either, not really. Some people are just evil. I’m sure you know that.”

He tucks my head under his chin and I sigh, remembering how well we fit together. Like two pieces of the same messed up puzzle.

“Yeah, I guess I’ve seen my fair share of that.”

“Was it hard? The deployments, I mean. I thought of you when you were there and I think that was the worst, knowing you could die and I wouldn’t be there.”

“Hey,” he says, tipping my face up. “Don’t. I’m okay. We’re okay. No more looking back.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “No more regrets.”

“No more regrets,” I repeat.

“And yeah, it was hard. Though probably not in the way you’re thinking. It was hard coming home. Knowing I was leaving my guys behind to face it without me. Always wondering who could have lived if I’d stayed. I left them there,” he says.

“I’m sure they understand,” I say.

“Of course they do, they’ve got families and all, but when you’re there, the guys you’re with become your family.”

“Do you ever think about going back?”

He’s silent for a few seconds, then he says, “Yeah. Yeah, I do, sometimes. You should get some sleep.”

“Thank you,” I say into his chest. “For being here.”

“Any time.”





A few days pass and we fall into a routine. One of us gets the boys ready and takes them to school or practice, the other picks them up and takes them home. We all eat together, goof around, then we go to sleep. Waking up to find Jack in bed with me is quickly becoming my new favorite pastime. At first, I don’t realize where I am and in those few seconds of bewilderment, I don’t panic like I normally would, afraid and alone in the dark. My body recognizes, even if I don’t, that he’s near, that I’m safe.

I open my eyes to a broad expanse of chest, rising and falling with each soft inhalation. My arm is wrapped around his waist, my head still cradled on his shoulder. The T.V. is off, and the only light in the room comes from the pre-dawn glow through the thin curtains.

For a moment, I’m frozen, staring up at his sleeping face. The years had done him good. I always knew he’d be the type of man to carry age well. In twenty years he would probably still be sexy as hell. Maybe a little bit of gray will streak along his temples. Maybe a few laugh lines around his mouth or the corners of his eyes. A woman would be lucky to have him by her side. Damn lucky.

I give in to the impulse to feel his hair between my fingers and run a hand back from his temple and down past his ear to his neck where his pulse beats steadily against my fingers. He turns his head to me and nuzzles against the caress, causing my fingers to slide down to the firm line of his throat.

My breath catches in my throat, the contact more illicit than the past ten years’ worth of my sexual experiences combined. I can feel the bead of his nipple against the palm of my hand. He shifts again, and I retract my hand, though, I can still feel him like a brand.

I retreat to the far side of the bed and hope that the cool air will calm my burning face. When that doesn’t help, I snatch up the water bottle from my bedside table and press it against my forehead.