by L. A. Witt
My heart fluttered. “So you’d . . . Two years? That’s it?”
“Give or take a month.” He frowned, stroking my face. “There’s still a possibility of a combat tour during that time. But it’s not a guarantee.”
“I think I could live with that.”
Casey’s smile came to life for real. “Me too. In fact, I kind of like the idea of being a civilian again. I think I’m done here.”
I kissed him gently. “Well, if you do go, I promise I’ll take care of myself. And I’ll be here when you come back.”
“I want you to take care of yourself anyway,” he whispered. “And anything I can do to help . . .”
“Thank you.”
Casey searched my eyes. Touching my cheek, he said, “Think reunion sex after months apart will be as good as makeup sex?”
I laughed. “It’ll probably be even better.”
He chuckled but turned serious as he slid closer to me. “I know it’ll be hard on you if I go over there.”
“It’ll suck for both of us.”
He swallowed hard as he nodded. “Yeah. But that’s the game we’re signing up to play. If it’s not something you can handle, I—”
I kissed him, and held it until his lips relaxed like they’d given up on saying the words I couldn’t stomach hearing. Then I touched my forehead to his. “I know what I’m getting into. And no, it won’t be fun if you go over there, but it’s nothing compared to not having you at all.”
His breath gusted across my chin in a warm rush. “You definitely give me something worth coming back to.”
I smiled despite the lump in my throat. How much saner would I have been if there’d been someone here when I’d come back? Suddenly sleeping alone in an empty apartment without my brothers-in-arms sleeping nearby had driven me almost as insane as the nightmares. The warmth of someone else beside me wouldn’t have saved me from the PTSD, but maybe it would have made the nights a little more bearable.
I held him tighter. “I’ll be here when you come back,” I said again, and my voice was shakier this time.
Casey kissed me. As he drew back, he watched his fingers trailing down my arm. “You’ve, um, been going to a therapist, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You think . . . you think I can get her number from you?” He shifted. “I mean, if it’s not weird for us to both be seeing the same person.”
“It’s not. There are two others in the same office, though.”
He nodded slowly, and after a moment, met my gaze. “Maybe she can help me deal with all this, you know? With figuring my shit out?”
I cupped his face. “I can definitely get you her number. I’m sure she can help.”
“Thanks.”
I pressed a kiss to his lips before I said, “Maybe she can also help us. Together.”
“How do you mean?”
“Like, how to handle what we’re both going through without . . . well, without what happened the other night. For if and when you get deployed, and just in general.”
He gave another slow nod. “That might not be a bad idea.”
I held his gaze as I ran my fingers through his hair. “You’d really do that? I mean, not just for your own thing, but so we can make this work?”
“Of course.” He covered my hand with his and kissed my palm. “And it’ll make it easier for both of us if I get deployed.”
“Yeah. It will.”
“I know none of it will be easy, but whatever we can do to mitigate it, you know?”
I nodded. “Whatever it takes.” I draped my arm over him to pull him close. “And if you do go to combat, you can talk to me about it. Any of it. You know that, right?”
Casey moistened his lips. “That won’t . . . I mean, with your PTSD, do you—”
“It won’t do either of us any good to keep it out of each other’s sight.” I slid my hand up his back. “I’d probably be in a way better place now if I hadn’t kept it to myself all this time. I don’t want you going through what I did.”
“I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” He smiled. “I’ve got you.”
I smiled back and drew him in for a kiss. The conversation faded away, and we made out lazily. I didn’t know if we’d wind up fooling around again, but I was in no hurry to jump out of his bed. I just held him and kissed him and thanked God over and over that Casey had taken me back.
There was the possibility of deployments in his future. A lot could happen in two years, and if he was deployed, he was deployed. No way around it. Whether they’d be combat deployments? Anyone’s guess.
Being apart wouldn’t be easy. Knowing he was in a war zone would be hell. But I meant it when I said I’d be here when he came back. That he could tell me anything. Whatever I could do to help, I would. No doubt.
Because I loved Casey more than I’d ever loved any other man. Would it be easy? No. Worth it? Absolutely.
I prayed like hell he’d never see or do the things I had, and that he wouldn’t come home haunted and broken.
But if he did, I’d be here.
I wasn’t going anywhere.
Explore more of the Anchor Point series:
Just Drive
Afraid to Fly
Chief’s Mess
Rank & File
Going Overboard
Once Burned
Sink or Swim (coming soon)
www.riptidepublishing.com/titles/series/anchor-point
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Anchor Point series
Just Drive
Afraid to Fly
Chief’s Mess
Rank & File
Going Overboard
Once Burned
Sink or Swim (coming soon)
Bad Behavior series, with Cari Z
Risky Behavior
Suspicious Behavior
Reckless Behavior
Romantic Behavior
Get a Grip (a Bluewater Bay story)
New Hand (a Bluewater Bay story)
Kinky Sprinkles
Rain Shadow (a Bluewater Bay story)
Starstruck (a Bluewater Bay story)
Running with Scissors
Roped In, with Marie Sexton
Finding Master Right
Static
Writing as Lauren Gallagher
Stuck Landing (a Bluewater Bay story)
Razor Wire
Writing as Ann Gallagher
Lead Me Not
All the Wrong Places (a Bluewater Bay story)
Writing as Lori A. Witt
The Tide of War
See L.A. Witt’s full booklist at: gallagherwitt.com
L.A. Witt is an abnormal M/M romance writer who has finally been released from the purgatorial corn maze of Omaha, Nebraska, and now spends her time on the southwestern coast of Spain. In between wondering how she didn't lose her mind in Omaha, she explores the country with her husband, several clairvoyant hamsters, and an ever-growing herd of rabid plot bunnies. She a
lso has substantially more time on her hands these days, as she has recruited a small army of mercenaries to search South America for her nemesis, romance author Lauren Gallagher, but don't tell Lauren. And definitely don't tell Lori A. Witt or Ann Gallagher. Neither of those twits can keep their mouths shut . . .
Website: gallagherwitt.com
E-mail: [email protected]
Twitter: @GallagherWitt
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