While I was reading about giving birth in warm water, I heard my name being frantically called. I looked up to find Brock in a state of panic, throwing the comforter off the bed, searching for me. When he didn’t see me, he ran a hand through his hair, his chest heaving as if he couldn’t catch his breath.
Standing, I rushed toward the terrace door and threw it open. “I’m here.”
Brock sank to the floor and leaned against the bed, taking gulps of air.
I ran around and knelt near him, shaken by his reaction but not surprised. He’d been through too much, and as much as he’d been trying to act as if he had it all under control, trauma always had its say. It would always demand to be dealt with.
I took his clammy hand. “Brock, look at me.”
His head turned toward me. The panic in his eyes was replaced by embarrassment. “I’m fine,” he was quick to say while he tried to pull away from me.
Refusing to let go, I cradled his hand and let it fall into my lap. “You’re not, and that’s okay. No one expects you to be.”
“You know that’s not true,” he scoffed.
I thought about his father, and even the nation, who seemed to be celebrating his triumphant return and making assumptions about his life. Our life. Not that we hadn’t fueled the misconceptions. “I don’t expect you to be,” I amended my comment.
His face softened. “You don’t need to worry about me or start leaving pamphlets around for me to read about PTSD.”
I smiled, thinking about all the pamphlets I had gotten from my friend, Dr. Morales. In my opinion, she was the best therapist in Colorado. She had certainly helped Ariana deal with her past trauma, and she had helped me face my own demons created while I was in foster care. If only I could confide in her now. “Fine. I’ll just give them to you.”
“It’s not necessary,” he half growled.
“Humor me.” I wasn’t going to let him off the hook.
“I’ve passed all my evaluations, and I’ve been cleared to go back to work part time,” he said, as if that would put an end to our conversation.
“I’m sure you have. You know exactly the right things to say and do.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m fine, Dani.”
My eyes drifted toward his bare shoulders, which were scarred by red, angry marks. I’d caught a glimpse of his back earlier and it was more of the same. I assumed his captors had caned his back, but he never spoke of it. He silently bore his emotional and physical scars.
“If you say so.” I patted his hand and let it go. I began to stand, planning on returning to the terrace and my book, but stopped when Brock placed his hand on my thigh as if asking me to stay.
“What are your plans for today?”
I sat back down. “Your mom mentioned something about lunch and shopping before the family dinner tonight.”
Brock cleared his throat. “How would you feel about spending the day with me instead? I was hoping to show you around some of my old stomping grounds.”
An unmistakable shot of hope surged through me. It frightened me more than anything. “I’d love to. Do you think your mom will understand if I cancel on her?”
Brock grinned. “I think she was counting on it.”
“When do you want to leave?” I found myself anxious to start the day and feeling more energetic than I had in a long time.
“As soon as we’re ready.”
I was ready. Ready to start my life with Brock.
~*~
I strung my arm through Brock’s as we strolled his old high school campus where he had attended school when his dad was a senator. It was an historic private institution that acted as a boarding school or day school for those children who lived close by, like Brock’s family had. The campus was stunning, with white brick buildings adorned with green shutters, cobbled pathways, and what seemed liked millions of trees. Yellow and red leaves littered the pathway and landed among the hundreds of gold chrysanthemums. The smell of roasted coffee beans and hazelnut wafted in the air from the campus coffee shop. It was perfectly autumn-like. And, thankfully, didn’t make me nauseated. In fact, I was less sick today than I had been in weeks. I wondered if my morning sickness had more to do with my aching heart.
Brock seemed different here—more at ease. He placed his hand over mine, which tightly held his bicep. “Let’s take this path.” He maneuvered us toward the left. “I want to show you where we had rowing practice.”
I loved hearing the excitement in his voice. “What big regatta did you take first place in again?” Over the years, Brock and Brant had always bragged about it, but I could never remember the name.
His eyes lit up. “The Stotesbury Cup Regatta. It’s the world’s oldest and one of the largest high school rowing competitions.”
Brock was so excited he picked up the pace, making his visitor badge bounce against his button-up as we followed the path down toward the river. The closer we got, the more I could smell the musty, earthy scent of the water.
Brock stopped, took in a deep breath of it, and closed his eyes. “Do you smell that? Our coach used to say it’s the smell of camaraderie and victory.”
“Is that what that smells like?” I teased.
Brock smiled at me, hitting me full force with his powers. “Do you doubt me?”
“Can you prove it?”
“Come with me.” He took my hand, and we dashed toward the river. There we found two crews getting ready to enter the water. Brock informed me the boats were called shells. He helped me settle on the grassy bank before sitting next to me. The wind near the river picked up and blew through my hair, making me feel more alive and connected to the scene in front of us.
Brock looked longingly at the young athletes. “Everyone has to work together to balance the shell. You must be one with your team and the shell. Timing is everything. Even if someone doesn’t have a good ergometer time, if they have good technique and can stay in sync with the crew, they will be a valuable asset. Much more than someone who is faster but erratic. Rowing is the ultimate team sport,” he spoke so reverently.
I thought about how he and Brant had been on the same rowing team and how much that had meant to him. How if it hadn’t been for Brock, I wouldn’t have Children to Love. I had the passion, but it was his connections and business know-how that had made it happen. Together, I felt like we could accomplish anything. “Being a team is important to you.”
He picked some of the grass and nodded.
“How do we become a team again? I want to be in sync with you.”
He lay back against the cool grass, his hands behind his head, staring at the marshmallow clouds lazily drifting in the sky.
I lay back, too, and stared up, patiently waiting for his reply.
“Dani.” He reached down and clasped my hand. “When you’re rowing, you have clear direction. You know exactly what your goal is and how important it is to stay on course and deviate as little as you can from center. It’s also important not to make an adjustment after every stroke. Doing so can make you lose valuable time.”
“What does that have to do with us?”
His head slowly turned, and mine did the same until our eyes locked. Until I could see the specks of violet in his baby blues.
He took a moment to gather his thoughts. “All my life, I’ve always been able to see each goal I’d set for myself and the clearest path for how to get there. Except when it came to you. With you I’ve zigzagged all over the place, not sure where we would end up. I never pictured it like this, though.”
“Why did you agree to it, then?” my voice cracked.
“Because when I was in Afghanistan and I thought I was going to die, my only regret in life was that I hadn’t made the adjustments I could have, should have, to include you in my plan. You were right when you said I had put my career and country first. I made selfish choices, without considering your feelings. Because of that, we not only lost time but . . .”
“Everything,” I whisp
ered.
He ran a finger down my cheek, leaving a trail of heat. “I hope not.”
“I hope not either.”
“You know? I’ve known crews who have never won a competition all season, but when the conference championship came around, they ended up besting everyone.”
“How is that possible?”
“Because sometimes it takes a while to come together as a team. To trust each other. To become one with each other.”
I turned more toward him and tugged on his shirt. “So, what you’re saying is, it doesn’t matter how many times we lose, eventually we’ll figure it out?”
He gently swiped my bangs. “That’s the end goal I see.”
A warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the noonday sun beating down upon us. Hope like never before filled my veins. “Let’s get to rowing, then.”
Chapter Eleven
I settled onto the couch in the hotel room. It had been a long but good day. I smiled while thinking about how we had skipped dinner with his parents and Brant and Jill. Instead we’d ended up at a jazz and supper club that Brock had been to several times on his trips to DC. Brock loved jazz and blues artists like Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. This place didn’t disappoint. The live entertainment was amazing, and their triple chocolate cake was just what the baby was craving. For some reason, it was the only thing that sounded good to me. Brock didn’t bat an eye when I ordered the cake as my entrée. I think he was relieved to see me eat, as it was a hit-or-miss activity for me. And honestly, I don’t think he wanted to talk about the baby yet. I could understand that. I was hoping that as we learned how to figuratively row our shell together, we could become one in regard to the baby too.
I snuggled under the blanket and sank into the pillow Brock had used the night before. I planned on taking the couch tonight. Though I knew as soon as Brock got out of the shower he would balk at the idea. I wasn’t short by any means, but my frame fit better on the couch than his did.
I breathed in the sandalwood scent Brock had gifted the fluffy pillow. The hotel’s blanket felt like velvet against my skin. Though it wasn’t where I’d hoped I would be sleeping during this trip, it wasn’t uncomfortable by any stretch of the imagination. And it was better than sleeping alone in the master suite on the king-size bed. Choosing the couch of my own accord made me feel less rejected. Hopefully, I would sleep better than I had the night before. The baby was demanding rest after a day of walking and sightseeing. A day spent in the company of my husband. It had been a long time since we’d had such a wonderful day together. With that thought, I closed my eyes.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew I was being gently jostled awake. My heavy eyelids drifted open, and I turned to find Brock kneeling next to the couch. His hair wet, chest bare, with tiny water droplets clinging to his glorious skin. His clean scent filled my senses—along with his chiseled jaw that sported a day’s worth of stubble.
“Everything all right?” I asked sleepily.
“Yes, except you’re sleeping in my spot.”
“You take the bed tonight. It will be more comfortable for you. Good night.” I pulled up the blanket and turned toward the back of the couch before I accosted him. Every part of me wanted him, and in my half-asleep state, my self-control was at a low.
“Dani, come on. Take the bed.”
“I’m good where I’m at,” I said, muffled into the couch, using all my willpower not to beg him to slide under the covers with me.
“Don’t be stubborn.”
“That’s good advice.” I wasn’t giving in. I wasn’t going to spend another lonely night in the agonizingly romantic room. The crystal chandelier was set to cast a dim light throughout the room, and the surround sound system had every sexy tune known to man available on it. To make the situation worse, the satin-covered bed had red rose petals sprinkled on it every day, and gourmet chocolates were placed carefully on each pillow. No way. I was going to stay on the chenille couch and maybe watch Netflix if I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t sleep.
He huffed and puffed for a moment but said nothing else, so I figured it was settled. That was until he swept me up into his arms with no warning and cradled me against him.
“What are you doing?” I asked breathlessly, finding myself up against his taut chest with only my thin black slinky nightgown between us. I should have brought some flannel, but I’d kind of hoped maybe I could tempt my husband. He was certainly tempting me. My hands were begging to nestle into the hair of his chest. Instead, I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck, even though I felt secure in his strong, capable arms.
Brock headed toward the bedroom. “You’re taking the bed.”
“No, I’m not.” I tried to wiggle out of his arms, but he held tight.
“This isn’t a debate.”
“Why? Because you say so?”
His brow furrowed. “You know I’m not that kind of man.”
“I know. Which is why I’ll be taking the couch.”
He stopped once he crossed the threshold of the bedroom. “Why won’t you just sleep in the bed?” He was getting frustrated.
I looked up to the ceiling at the ridiculously big crystal chandelier that looked like it was dripping in diamonds. “Because . . . it reminds me of how alone I am.”
I felt his entire body exhale. “Dani,” he whispered.
I couldn’t bear to look at him. I hated feeling so vulnerable.
“Please look at me.”
My eyes betrayed me and filled with tears before they rose to meet his. “Please put me down.”
“I will, but you need to listen to me first.” His words were soft and kind. “You’re not alone. We’re just figuring things out. Sharing a bed would only . . .”
“Only what? I wouldn’t touch you, if that’s what you want.”
He swallowed hard. “That’s exactly what I want,” he said, his voice suddenly husky. “It’s taking everything I have in me right now not to take you to bed and make love to you.”
Shivers went down my spine. I brushed my fingers across his chest, creating a trail of raised skin. “We are married,” I purred. I began to kiss the angry red scars left on his shoulder, wishing I could take all his pain away.
“Dani,” he whispered.
“Yes?” I continued to kiss his bare shoulder.
“We shouldn’t do this.”
“Why?” I breathed against his skin.
He didn’t respond other than to close his eyes and flex his fingers against my sensitive ribs and thigh.
My lips worked their way across his collarbone and up his neck, inching ever closer to his lips. Soon our breath began to mingle together. He drew my body closer to his. My fingers slid up the back of his neck and entwined themselves in his hair.
He groaned before he could no longer resist. His lips captured mine, wasting no time parting my own. His tongue took its time exploring my mouth. There was no urgency, as there would be if this were to be the last time we would kiss. This was more like a first kiss, a new beginning. While our tongues danced together, he walked us toward the bed. With each step, my heart pounded harder. Tonight, I would become his wife in more than name only. We would become one.
Brock’s lips slid off mine only to press against my neck as he lay me across the bed, his body flush against me. Between gasps I whispered, “I love you.”
His head snapped up. His wide eyes penetrated my own. I could see the turmoil swirling among the sea of blue. He scrambled off me and stood by the bed staring at me, running his hands over his face. “We can’t do this.” He sounded angry with himself. With me.
Though I wasn’t naked, I felt exposed. I sat up and grabbed a pillow, holding it against me, wishing it could shield me from the anguish coursing through me. That it could hide me from Brock and myself.
“Sex is only going to complicate things,” he spouted off.
“Complicate things?” I was confused.
; Brock squeezed his eyes shut. “I still picture you with my brother. As hard as I’ve tried not to, I can’t forget it. I wonder what would have happened between you two had I not come home. Would you be here with him now?” His words were cold and unforgiving.
Tears silently streamed down my face. It was like we had taken one step forward today only to take ten steps back tonight. He was never going to forgive me. “I’ve told you how I feel. You either believe me or you don’t.”
His eyes flashed open, and his body instantly flooded red. With a withering scowl, he turned and marched out the door, slamming it as he went.
I crumpled onto the bed, listening to him throw obscenities around for several minutes before another door slammed.
He had left.
In his absence I was encompassed by silence, though my thoughts screamed at me. I hated myself for telling him I loved him, even though truer words had never been spoken.
I curled into a ball, shivering but too overwhelmed to pull a blanket over myself. I was consumed with memories, past and present. Brock was right—sex was complicated, or at least it always had been in my life. For once, I’d hoped it wouldn’t be. That it would be the way I’d promised myself it would be when I found the right person to share my life with.
My first experience with sex had come too early and at the hands of a man much older than me. A foster parents’ son had turned my desire to be loved to his advantage. He’d shown me affection and then taught me a sick, twisted version of love. No, it wasn’t love. But, oh, how I had longed for it to be. For someone to love me—a girl who’d never known any sort of love. Instead, he had exploited my need to get something he wanted. Not only had he used my body, but he had almost killed my soul, as well, by manipulating me to do his bidding. I cringed when I thought of all the things I had done for him; all the way from stealing to selling and taking drugs. All enumerated on John’s lists of things he could use against me. Things I’d thought I had already paid for in regret and time in therapy. Yet here they were again, not only holding me hostage but making me question my worth and judgment.
In Name Only (A Pine Falls Novel Book 2) Page 9