Love Me (One Night with Sole Regret Book 12)

by Olivia Cunning

  “Thanks for waking me, girl. Did I scare you?”

  Hawn whined and nudged him beneath the chin with her snout.

  “I guess making Lindsey go home so I could try out my new bed on my own was a mistake.” He snuggled even closer to Hawn. Lindsey wouldn’t be able to stay there for a few more days; he was afraid the paint fumes would harm the baby. So, he’d have to impose on his brother for a few more days, because he did not intend to suffer that nightmare again.

  He lay awake in the dark for a long while, petting Hawn, who had stretched out beside him, happy to be allowed on the bed for once.

  “I told him I’d save him,” Chad said to her, the dream making the events of the day he’d lost his leg fresh in his mind. “I told that kid I’d save him, and he bled to death.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that rushed out.

  “People call me a hero,” he said, “and I couldn’t save one person.”

  Hawn whined and licked the wetness from his cheeks. He was so glad he had her there beside him. She wasn’t a substitute for Lindsey, but not every soldier had the privilege of a human angel to comfort them.

  He couldn’t bring Jawa back or even bring himself to apologize to Emerson’s family for failing their son, but maybe he could make a difference in the lives of soldiers who’d made it back from that hell. Maybe he could use what he’d learned as a Dawg to carve out a meaningful future for himself and help others at the same time. He could pay it forward, because he sure as hell couldn’t go back and change his past.

  “Do you think I can do it, girl? Train dogs to help veterans?”

  Hawn barked enthusiastically, wagging her tail so hard, the bed rocked. Chad took that as a yes.

  “Next time, feel free to wake me sooner,” he said, stroking the silky fur of her ears as he tried to settle back to sleep. He’d have to remember to keep some of Hawn’s favorite treats in a tin near the bed so he could reward her for waking him from nightmares. She’d always caught on to training quickly, and he was sure he could teach his old dog a few new tricks.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Heart hammering, Lindsey sat up in bed, clutching the covers to her chest. She’d just had the strangest dream of her life. Her baby had been born with a full-grown adult’s head. And it had belonged to someone she hadn’t seen about in months: Joe Bainbridge. In the dream, the doctor had held the newborn up, but it had been Joe’s face that had turned to her and his voice that said, “You said yes.”

  What the fuck had triggered that crazy dream?

  “Gross,” she said, massaging her closed eyelids with both hands to scrub the image from her thoughts.

  Why was she dreaming about that jerk at all? He’d been the first to turn his back on her once the story spread about her wild Christmas Eve with the band. Because he’d always seemed to like her, she’d never understood how he could become so cruel. She’d even entertained the idea of giving him a chance and had finally accepted one of his date offers when she’d been more than a little drunk at a New Year’s Eve party that they’d both attended. She’d actually let him kiss her when the ball dropped at midnight. Not a good kiss by any stretch of the imagination, but she hadn’t puked, so there was that. The rest of that night had been an alcohol-induced blur. Somehow, she’d made it home safely, though she didn’t remember how, and she’d expected him to call her the next day to arrange their date, but she hadn’t heard from him directly again. No, instead of calling, he’d written some incredibly mean things—hurtful words—on her Facebook wall for the entire world to see, and she was pretty sure he had urged Mrs. Weston—their shared boss—to fire her. That fuckwad had been the entire reason she’d deleted her social media accounts.

  So why was she dreaming of Daisy being born with his head and talking in his voice? Lindsey shuddered with revulsion. Dreams could be so bizarre.

  She rearranged her pillows and stared up at the dark ceiling, missing Chad terribly. Before she’d started sleeping beside him, she’d often had nightmares about the baby. All kinds of terrifying dreams about her baby being unhealthy because of something she’d done wrong. Various television doctors had screamed at her, blaming her for the baby’s illnesses, malformations, and for being born with a tail. She’d dreamed her mother telling her she should give the child up for adoption because she was unfit to raise a baby. She also remembered one where she’d left the baby at the hospital and when she’d gone back to claim him, they gave her two pints of chocolate ice cream—one labeled Ben and the other Jerry—swaddled in blue blankets. When she’d insisted she hadn’t given birth to twins, they told her it was best to breastfeed and sent her home in a pink Cadillac. She’d even had a particularly vivid dream where she’d given birth to puppies who all looked like Muffin Top, except they were rainbow colored, and Vanessa gave them away to her new friends in the National Guard.

  There must be something about Chad being wrapped protectively around her in her sleep that kept those nightmares and weird dreams at bay. She wondered if she’d ever be able to rest easily without him beside her and hoped he was sleeping peacefully in his new bed a couple blocks away.

  She also wondered how he really felt about her. She’d never lived with a man before. She figured he wouldn’t have asked her if he didn’t care. She saw evidence of strong, protective feelings for her, but was it love? Would he ever say those words she longed to hear from him? He wouldn’t even talk to her about anything that had happened while he’d been deployed. Did that mean he didn’t trust her? Or was he worried about how upset she’d be when he told her all that he’d been through? She wanted to be there for him just as he was there for her, but she knew his silence was one way he coped. If he ever decided to confide in her, she’d be honored to listen and assure him that everything was fine, that he was safe and loved, but she wouldn’t press him for details. Sometimes it was easier to move forward if you didn’t look back.

  Her phone flashed on the nightstand. She had it set to silent, but it still lit up when she got a text. Who would be messaging her at this hour?

  She squinted at the screen. Chad. She smiled as she read his note.

  Miss you. Hope you’re sleeping instead of reading this.

  It took her forever and a day to send him a reply with the stupid number pad on her incredibly lame flip phone. The first thing she was going to buy for herself when she finally landed a job was a new phone. Not a fancy one, but one that didn’t require pushing keys as many as three times to form one lousy letter.

  hd bad dream miss u2

  His reply was instantaneous in comparison. I’ll be right there.

  Less than fifteen minutes later, he was true to his word. His crutches on the stairs apparently woke Owen, who met him in the upstairs hall.

  “You scared the shit out of me,” Owen said. “I couldn’t figure out what the fuck kind of beast was tromping up my stairs at two in the morning.”

  “Lindsey needs me,” was Chad’s only explanation.

  She smiled, feeling loved even though he never said the words.

  When Chad slipped into bed behind her, his skin was slightly chilled, but he felt good against her. So right.

  “Mmm,” he murmured into her ear as he snuggled close. “Much better than snuggling with a dog.”

  She snorted. “Uh, thanks?”

  “That’s a compliment, angel,” he assured her.

  “If you say so.”

  He was quiet for a long time, and she figured he’d fallen asleep until he said, “How would you feel about bringing more dogs into our house?”

  “Our house? It’s your house, silly. You can have as many dogs as you want.”

  “I want you to think of it as your house too. I probably shouldn’t have showed it to you until it was totally done, but I’m sort of proud of it and couldn’t wait.”

  “You should be proud,” she said. “What kind of dog were you thinking of getting?”

  “Dogs I can train to be companions for military veterans.”
<
br />   She waited for him to elaborate, a bit misty-eyed that he wanted to give more to the military when he’d already given so much.

  His tone was hesitant when he finally said, “It’s a stupid idea, isn’t it?”

  She rolled over in his arms and cupped his face between her palms, her fingertip finding the jagged scar near his ear. She loved that scar. Loved more that he no longer hid it under a bandage. She pressed her forehead against his as if every wonderful thing she thought of him, felt for him, could be transmitted from her mind directly into his.

  “It’s not stupid at all, Chad. It’s perfect. I know you’ll love working with the dogs, and you’ll help so many vets.”

  “Hawn woke me from a nightmare and gave me the idea.” He chuckled. “Trust a dog to show me the way.”

  “So that’s why you’re awake,” she said. “You had a nightmare.”

  He released a shaky breath. “A bad one. I’d forgotten how horrible they tend to be.”

  She smoothed his hair with one hand, the gesture as comforting to her as she hoped it was to him. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  He shook his head slightly, rubbing his forehead against hers. “Not yet,” he said. “But someday I might.”

  It was a step in the right direction. He usually outright refused whenever anyone broached the subject. “Whenever you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here.”

  “And if I’m never ready?”

  “I’ll still be here.”

  He kissed her softly, and she didn’t need a light to know he was smiling.

  “My PTSD angel.”

  “At your service,” she whispered.

  *~*~*

  The next morning, they rose early and went to Chad’s house—or their house, Lindsey supposed—to tackle some small projects. When Lindsey’s phone rang a little after nine, she looked up from painting yellow stars on the blue letter S—S is for stars—she’d soon be hanging in Daisy’s nursery. She recognized the DNA clinic’s number on her caller ID, but hesitated to answer. Did she even want to know who had donated the sperm for her child? What if the father wanted custody of Daisy? She didn’t have the financial means to fight a legal battle, and she already knew the best father for Daisy was Chad, DNA-sharing relation or not. Chad wanted to be Daisy’s father. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have gone to all that trouble to make a nursery for her. It was the only room in the entire house that was completely done. He wouldn’t be sitting there painting whimsical letters instead of staining hardwood floors if Daisy didn’t matter to him. Jacob or Adam might not even care that she existed. So did it matter who’d actually gotten Lindsey pregnant? Three months ago, she’d thought it was the most important piece of information in the world, but she felt entirely different now.

  “Are you going to answer that?” Chad asked as he painted the white daisy petals on the purple D—D is for daisies—he was working on. They’d started painting right after a breakfast of bagels and cream cheese, which they’d enjoyed on the partially stripped door supported by two sawhorses in the dining room. Now her phone vibrated noisily across the wood of the makeshift table as it continued to ring.

  She didn’t want to answer the call—not at all—but knew the clinic would leave a message and she’d have to call them back anyway.

  She took a deep breath, pressed a button, and held the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Good morning,” a man said. At least it wasn’t that rude woman who’d called the first time. “May I ask who I’m speaking with?”

  “This is Lindsey Parker.”

  After verifying her identity with her birthdate and the last four digits of her social security number, he said, “We have the results of the paternity test.”

  “I’m ready.” But was she? “Go ahead.”

  “The sample we received from J. Silverton was negative.”

  No. She whimpered and covered her belly with one hand. But that meant . . .

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Daisy was Adam’s.

  Fuck.

  “Okay,” she managed to say. She disconnected using a shaking finger.

  “You okay?” Chad asked. “You’re pale.”

  She was glad she’d been sitting down when the news came.

  “That was the paternity test results.”

  “Oh,” he said flatly. After a moment, he set his paintbrush aside and took her hand. “Do you want to tell me or—”

  “It’s not Jacob’s, so that leaves Adam. Adam is Daisy’s father.” Saying it aloud didn’t make it feel any more real.

  “I see.” Chad rubbed a thumb over the back of her hand in a soothing, repetitive motion that served only to unnerve her further. “Are you going to tell him?”

  “I don’t have a choice, do I?” Hot tears leaked from both eyes and slipped down her cheeks. She dashed them away. What good were tears? They didn’t change anything.

  Chad slid an arm around her back, and she stiffened. She didn’t want to be comforted. She wanted different test results.

  “It’s not so bad,” Chad said, his deep voice soothing. “He’s a good-looking guy. Incredibly talented.”

  “He’s a drug addict, Chad. I don’t want him around my daughter.”

  “That’s not fair,” he said. “Adam’s been working on getting clean for a couple of years now. You haven’t even given him a chance.”

  “Whose side are you on?”

  “Daisy’s,” he said. “I want whatever is best for her. Whose side are you on?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “My poor baby. Her life is already complicated, and she hasn’t even been born yet.”

  “She’ll be loved and cared for, that’s what’s important.”

  Lindsey sat quietly, trying to sort through the tangled mess of her thoughts. Chad held her hand and let her stew. She was so glad he was there to support her and to challenge her thinking. She had the tendency to see only from one perspective.

  “Do you think Adam will try to take her from me?” She hated to voice that fear aloud, but that was what was really bothering her.

  “I honestly think he won’t want anything to do with her, but I hope I’m wrong.”

  “Well, I hope you’re right,” Lindsey said. “That kind of guy has no business being a father.”

  “You’re being awfully judgmental,” Chad said.

  She scrunched her face up, wishing she could deny the truth in his words. “I’m sorry. I should tell him and see what he says. And then I can deal with any issues that come up.”

  “We can deal with them. I’ll be with you through it all, angel. This doesn’t change how I feel about you or her.”

  She scooted from her chair into his lap and pressed into him, wrapping both arms around his body. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you in my life. You’re so good to me.”

  He kissed her forehead. “You’re good to me too.”

  “How can I ever repay—”

  “Don’t say it.”

  She snuggled closer to him. She’d forgotten that her trying to repay people for helping her was one of his triggers, but she would repay him. By being as good to him as she knew how to be.

  “Should I call him?” she asked, shifting to look Chad in the eye. When Chad didn’t answer right away, she nibbled on a fingertip. Unable to take the silence between them, she said, “Or maybe I should tell him in person. If you were in his shoes, what would you prefer?”

  “What’s easier for you? I think he’s going to baulk no matter how you deliver the news.”

  “Texting would be easiest, but that’s pretty impersonal.”

  “I’m not the best person to ask for advice,” Chad said, nuzzling her ear. “I selfishly hope he makes a run for the border, and I’m not exactly known for sharing information with others.”

  Understatement of the century. But she understood why he kept certain secrets locked inside.

  “I’ll give it a day,” she said. “Let the news sink in a little.” And strengthen her resolve a bit. Bec
ause the thought of telling Adam Taylor that he was going to be a father made her feel sick.

  Chad kissed her softly and helped her shift back into her chair. “Have you decided what I’m supposed to paint on the Y yet?” he asked.

  She loved him for changing the subject.

  “Nothing too complicated. I suck at this.”

  His daisies looked remarkably good to her. “Yaks.” She said the first y-word that occurred to her.

  “I can’t paint yaks,” he said. “How about yo-yos?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, paint yo-yos or paint yes because it starts with y?”

  “Paint yo-yos. That’ll be cute. How about ice cream for I?” She pulled the green letter I toward herself.

  He gave her an encouraging smile. “Perfect.”

  She was so glad they weren’t talking about the elephant in the room anymore. She needed time to process.

  Adam Taylor was going to be a father.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chad settled his residual limb into the socket of his newly adjusted prosthetic leg. His prosthetist, Keith, worked Chad’s stump into the silicon sleeve using a plastic sock that he pulled out—one tug at a time—through a little hole near the knee. It felt weird having the flesh of his thigh siphoned into the silicon cuff, but it was the only way to get a secure fit. Chafing—he’d been told—was a serious issue that could result in him not being able to wear the leg until his skin healed again, so the device couldn’t move around.

  Once his limb was fitted into the sleeve, Keith showed him how to seal it tight by using a valve near the knee. The prosthesis fit snugly—there was no way that sucker would fall off—but it was no longer too tight, as it had been at Chad’s first fitting.

  “Looks good,” Keith said. “How does it feel?”

  “Good.” Chad was so eager to try it out, he might have lied even if it hadn’t fit right. “Great. It feels great.” Constrictive and odd, but great. Like freedom. Like opportunity. Like a new beginning.