“I wish you hadn’t come here.”
“Too bad, I’m here. Deal with it.” She moved onto his lap and moved her hands over his shoulders. “What’s the problem?”
“Stop this,” he whispered.
“You want me to kiss you. You want to kiss me back.” She could see it in his eyes, the need, the desire, the question. “Is that what you want, Michael?”
“What would that prove?”
“Does it have to prove something? Can’t a kiss be a kiss?”
“No.”
“Typical man.” She leaned within a fraction of his lips. “Don’t you remember high school? Don’t you remember when a kiss meant everything?”
In a sudden move, he grabbed the back of her head and ground his mouth against hers. She knew the intensity was meant to shock her so she matched it with her own. She sat on his lap and plunged her tongue into the recesses of his mouth until he moaned. His free hand squeezed her breast through the thin material of her blouse but, instead of hurting, it ignited her blood.
The Michael she knew still lived inside this man. She felt him in the warmth of his mouth, the strength of his hands on her body, the restrained power of his touch.
She couldn’t stop touching him, hands moved through his hair, over his face, along his shoulders. Alive. Here. She fought back a Hallelujah.
Chapter Three
His hands stopped punishing and started appreciating. He had almost forgotten how incredible she felt. Almost. He dragged his mouth from hers. “I hate that I’ve missed you. I hate it.”
“I know.” She smiled against his mouth before kissing him again. Her hands slid beneath his shirt and flattened against his bare chest. “Thank God you’re okay. I prayed so hard that you’d survive, that we’d be together again.”
Their mouths clung together as hands fumbled for skin. His fingers undid the buttons of her shirt until he found the swell of her breasts over her bra.
“Have you forgotten me?” She nibbled his neck. “Have you forgotten how we were together?”
“No.” His fingers traced the swell of her breasts. “I could never forget you.”
God, he’d missed her. He would never tell her, but he dreamed of her every night, fantasized about touching her, holding her, talking to her, laughing with her. He closed his eyes and inhaled her scent.
“You need to go.” He hated the word but knew he had to say them. For her sake he needed to let her go.
“I’m not leaving.” She tightened her hold and pressed her face into his neck. “Can’t you just give in? Tell me that you want me to stay. I know you do. Tell me.”
He twisted his hands in her hair and held her close for a minute more. He never wanted to let her go again. “Moment of weakness. We’ve always had chemistry, but it ends here.”
“Stop lying.” She kissed him again.
He couldn’t resist. Hell, he’d never been able to resist her. He kissed her back as if savoring the moment and storing it away for lonely nights.
“I’m trying to let you off the hook,” he admitted quietly against her lips. “No one knows about us, well, except for McGee and Lisa. Give me divorce papers and I’ll sign them. You can walk away, no hard feelings. Go live your life. Let me go. No one else will ever know.”
“I’ll know.” Her thumbs traced the scar. “Give me a chance. Let me surprise you.”
He stared into her eyes, transfixed by the gold flecks at the depths of emerald green. Long red bangs skimmed the top of her cheekbones flushed with emotion. Her hot breath caressed his mouth. Her breasts pressed against his chest, the heat alone enough to send him into cardiac arrest. For a minute, he indulged in flicking his gaze over her face that hovered a fraction away.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this for them, that’s all he could think as bitterness swelled inside his chest.
“I don’t need you, that’s what you’re not understanding, and you sure as hell don’t need me.” Hands strong, he pushed her away until she slid from his lap. “Get. Out.”
“Kiss me one minute, push me away the next. You don’t know what you want or what you need.”
“Maybe you’re right,” he shrugged away the truth, “but I think it’s best if we both move on. I can’t be the person you need me to be. This needs to end.”
Fire snapped in her eyes when she pointed a finger at him. “Don’t pretend you don’t love me anymore. Even you trying to protect me by pushing me away feels like love to me.”
“Stop humiliating yourself.” Cruelty was his only option.
“This is like a fucking nightmare and I can’t wake up.” All fire and fury she paced in front of him. Shirt still undone and arms gesturing toward the ceiling, she looked exactly like the ball-buster he remembered. “I don’t believe you.”
He hated himself for hurting her. He couldn’t look at her anymore. He turned his chair and moved toward the bedroom. “Go. My family is coming with dinner. I can’t imagine explaining you to them.”
“Explain me? Explain me?” In the blink of an eye, she blocked the doorway to the bedroom. With a yank, she held up the chain where his wedding band hung and tossed it at him. “Explain this.”
The wedding ring landed in his lap. He couldn’t bear to touch it.
“Give up,” he said like a prayer.
He could see her body shaking, watched a vein pulsate in her neck, noticed the clenching of her fists and knew she restrained herself from strangling him.
“No, that’s not an option.” With a long sigh, she buttoned her blouse and walked around him.
He turned when he heard her fumbling in her bag. Two picture frames in her hands, she stood with her profile to him and red hair streaming around her shoulders. She tossed them onto his lap where they covered the wedding ring.
“You don’t deserve these, but I’m leaving them here anyway.”
“Is this what the big scene was about? You giving me back my ring, dropping off some photos, letting me feel you up, kissing me? Let me guess, now I’m supposed to snap back in line and crawl back to you, right?” God help him, he didn’t want to look at the pictures. “Well, I can’t crawl.”
“You’ve been through a lot, I get it, but none of that is an excuse to be cruel.” She pulled the leather jacket on while keeping her back to him. “Feel sorry for yourself, if that’s what you want, but we’re not over. You’re lashing out because you’re mad and frustrated and maybe--although I’m sure you’ll never admit it--scared.” She looked over her shoulder while pulling hair from beneath her collar. “This game of yours ends today. I’m not pretending anymore. I’ve given you enough time to figure things out, but now that’s over. You’re my husband and I’m going to make sure people know it.”
“What’re you going to do?” He stiffened, knowing she always followed through with threats.
“Raise some hell, rock your world,” she said with that wicked smile he’d fallen for nearly two years ago in a dusty hotel lobby a world away.
“No, you won’t.” He squinted, certain she was bluffing. After all this time, why would she show her hand now?
“I’ve waited long enough. I’m out of patience.”
Against his better judgment, he looked at the framed pictures. The top one was of the two of them wrapped in a sheet on her hotel bed, her hair cascading around bare shoulders, face illuminated by pale light, green eyes full of love and laughing as he took their self-portrait. The picture came to life in his hands...he tasted her, smelled the room, felt her naked body next to his, heard them laughing, felt the love.
When he glanced up, he saw that she was fumbling through her bag and hoped she didn’t pull out any more surprises.
With a sigh, he looked at the second photograph. It was their wedding photo, although an outsider would never realize that. He stood tall with his white shirt unbuttoned to the waist and laughter lighting his face. He had been so happy and in love that day as he’d watched her skip up the aisle with her hair flying around her shoulders and the se
tting sun reflecting on her skin. In the photo, her arms were wrapped around his waist, head against his chest, white strapless dress billowing around her legs and smile wide. Their friends, McGee, Lisa, Peter, Sally and Samson flanked them. Three of those friends were now dead.
“I’m leaving, but I’ll be back.” She looped her bag over her chest and lingered near the door. “And, you’re right, I pulled some strings to move you to the top of the waiting list, but I had no idea you’d be here already. From what I understood, you weren’t ready to be released from Walter-Reed. But, yeah, it’s true I knew you wanted to be close to your family even if you’d rather poke both of your eyes out than admit it, stubborn bastard.”
“I’m sick of not having a say in what I do or don’t do. You can’t do this. Just because I’m trapped in this chair doesn’t mean I don’t have a say about my life and I want you out of it. Get the hell out and leave me alone. I don’t want to be married to you and, unless something’s changed in the good ol’ USA, you can’t stop me from divorcing you. Listen closely, babe. I. Don’t. Want. You.”
Rage consumed him. Rage for what could have been, what should have been, for a life lost. Rage for everyone acting like he had no rights anymore, like he couldn’t make his own decisions. He tossed the wedding ring and pictures across the room.
Looking horrified, she covered her mouth with her hands and walked to where the frames smashed against the floor. As she bent, her bag spilled, contents ranging from liquid soap to a flashlight scattered across the tile. She fell to her knees, hands shaking as she scooped up the items. Broken glass crunched beneath her. Hair shielded her face from view, but he knew she cried.
He remembered another time with her on her knees when that bag had saved his sanity. Bombs had rocked the walls. Blood had dripped into his eyes. Dizziness weakened his legs. From that bag, she’d retrieved bandages, protein bars, and bottles of water. He had thanked God for her and that oversized bag.
“I’ll make sure I call next time,” she said in rushed, quiet voice, “wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”
“I’m sorry.” He dropped his hands to the arms of the chair and stared at her bent head. “I don’t know how to handle any of this anymore, Hope, especially you.”
She froze at his words. “Especially me, huh? I’m the one constant in your life, if you haven’t figured that out yet. Despite all the bullshit, here I am. Me, stupid me, still needing you as much today as I did a year ago.”
His chest caved in at the sight of her eyes glistening with tears. He wanted to take it back, every word.
“I don’t know how to do this, how to be married, how to be back in the States, how to be a civilian again, how not to walk,” he admitted.
“You break my heart,” she whispered.
“How could I possibly break your heart?”
“By not seeing how strong you are, how much you mean to everyone in your life, how worthy you are to be alive, how heroic you’ve been, how much I love you.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Maybe I need to stop trying to hold on. Maybe you’re right.” Sighing, her shoulders slumped. “We were this close,” she held her fingers an inch apart, “to having a life together when everything blew up in our faces. Literally. What else do I have to lose, right? I already lost my dignity when I begged those damn bureaucrats to let me see you in Germany. And when I say begged, I mean I begged, pleaded, bartered, whatever I could possibly say or do to get in and they told me that you,” she pointed at him, “said no, you told them I lied about being married to you. McGee backed you up. I looked like a fool and a liar.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Now you’re doing it again, denying me. You’d rather sit in this place alone than admit to the world that I’m your wife. It’s true.” She nodded, gaze gluing him in place. “I gave up my everything for you. My life. My pride. My dignity. I gave it all up for you.”
“Why?” he choked out the question. “I did everything to get you to let me go. I don’t want you to give up anything for me; can’t you see that? You were born to be in the spotlight, dodging bullets, charming your way into and out of trouble. I’m an anchor to you now; you know it but refuse to admit it. I want you to forget me. Why won’t you let me go?”
She closed her eyes, face tilted toward the ceiling. “Because maybe I went crazy over there. Maybe we weren’t this close,” again with the fingers, “to having a life together. Maybe we were already there. Maybe it wasn’t conventional, but it was real, it was us. Maybe I misunderstood sex for more. Maybe I thought that our wedding meant as much to you as it did to me. Maybe I’m the biggest fool to walk planet earth.”
“But now I’m broken so...”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Nodding, she looked away and brushed the back of her hand over her eyes. “And I’m too shallow to be the person you need, right? Too superficial? I know the truth. I know that you should be capable of limited mobility, that you are not trapped in that chair, that you have sensations in your right leg and have even managed to stand for a brief period of time here and there. Didn’t you think I’d do some research on your injuries? I may have kept my distance, but I have a knack for getting people to talk to me, remember? Yes, you’re in a wheelchair, but your situation isn’t hopeless. You’re the one who gave up, but for the life of me I don’t know why. It’s not like you. You’re a goddamn colonel in the Marine Corps. You don’t surrender, so what’s going on with you?”
Her words stung. He had heard them for months now and he didn’t know the answer. He couldn’t explain anything to anyone, not even himself.
“You need to be in New York or in the middle of the action. You’re the It Girl, isn’t that what they called you? Headed for a network anchor job one day, right? Your own show? Watch out Manhattan, here comes Shane. You’ll have them eating out of your hand within months.”
“Maybe you don’t know me as well as I thought,” she said with a bitter twist of her mouth. “I’ve been waiting...don’t you see? I could care less about a network job and you know it.” She finished stuffing the contents into her bag before standing. “I love you. I thought you loved me, too. Until you can look me in the eye and tell me you don’t, that you never did, I’ll keep coming back.”
He grabbed the picture frames from the sofa cushion where she’d tossed them and looked at the broken glass. Guilt and confusion ate away at his brain.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like for me not to know what to do? I’m a decorated officer. I made decisions minute by minute that affected the lives of my unit, yet I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know what to do about this,” he smacked the arms of his chair, “I don’t know what to do about you and I definitely don’t know what to do about Dalton. I’m fucked up. I hate not knowing what to do. You’re right...it’s not like me. Don’t you think I know that?”
With a muttered curse, she sat on the edge of the sofa and blinked at the ceiling. He noticed her hands trembling as they gripped the strap of her bag. The room seemed abnormally quiet without her storming around and threatening him. He didn’t like her docile and reflective...it threw him off.
“I’m sure it’s hell. You were always in command. For months now, you’ve had one surgery after another, been under constant care with zero privacy, me pestering you with my endless notes and your family hauling you across the country without anyone asking what you want. No one is respecting the officer in the room.”
He squinted at her. “Exactly. People talk about me rather than to me.”
“Yet expect you to snap out of your funk and get on with your life.”
“But I don’t know what that means.” Her understanding shook his resolve, weakened his resistance.
“And you haven’t tried because you’ve been mourning your old life and don’t know what the new life is yet.
“Everyone thinks I’m a rotten, self-pitying bastard.”
“Because that’s what you want us to think so we leave you
alone.” She shoved both hands through her hair and sighed. “You’re exhausting.”
“I know.” He smiled for the first time in months. “I exhaust myself, too. I’m really sick of my crap.”
“Well, that’s something.” She grinned, eyes dark with defeat. “I haven’t respected the officer in the room, have I?” She skimmed her thumb across the scar on his forehead. “I love you, if that means anything to you at all.”
“It means something to me.” He snagged her hand, but she yanked it away and stood.
“My business card is on the table near the sofa if you need me, want to talk or whatever. My cell phone number’s on the back.” She hesitated at the door before looking over her shoulder. “I want my husband back.”
His mother opened the door, flanked by his father and Dalton. Arms full of shopping bags and a pizza box, they stopped short at the sight of Hope.
“Ms. Shane?” Gwen asked. “Hope Shane? The reporter?”
“And the worlds collide,” he muttered.
She kept her gaze on his face. There was so much left to say, wounds to heal. She blinked away the tears he had seen in her eyes before facing his mother and extending her hand, camera smile in place. Impressive.
“Guilty as charged. You must be the family I heard so much about,” she said.
“You did? You two were close over there, weren’t you? I thought there was bias in that Time’s article.” Gwen squeezed her hand and smiled as if finally being given some good news.
“There was no bias in that article, why does everyone keep saying that?” She shook Miles’ hand before nodding at Dalton who hung behind Gwen’s legs. “You must be Dalton. Your dad talked about you the most, said you love hockey.”
Dalton’s eyes widened but he remained firmly planted behind Gwen.
“Can you stay for dinner?” Gwen breezed through the room like a strong wind. “We would love to have you join us.”
“She was just leaving.” He turned the photographs face down on his lap and avoided making eye contact with her. “Weren’t you, Shane?”