Unbroken: A Second Chance Romance

by Aria Ford

  “Well, then!” Reese said brightly. “Maybe we’ll go bowling instead. The kids are just getting the hang of it…so it seems like a good idea for everyone.”

  “Yes!” Amelia laughed triumphantly as Brett walked in.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I am so going to beat you,” Amelia said, grinning at her brother. He laughed.

  “You probably will.”

  We all laughed. Then Brett fired up the computer and we all admired his designs for a new apartment block to be built somewhere in Berkeley

  I stood behind Brett and absolutely refused to let myself think about how close Amelia’s body was to mine, how I could, if I leaned fractionally left, bump against her. How her hair smelled. What I would do to just hold her in my arms right now.

  “It’s a neat project,” I said admiringly.

  Brett turned to grin at me.

  “Thanks, man.”

  Amelia’s giggle warmed my heart. I closed my eyes.

  Carson Grant. Stop it. You left her so you wouldn’t hurt her. Why would you want to go through that again?

  I had never expected to walk straight back into feeling this way about her, but it had happened. And now I had absolutely no idea what to do.

  I hadn’t been for therapy but I knew enough about myself and about other army buddies of mine to know that there were lots of rough edges. Lots of hidden wounds. I wasn’t really ready for a relationship. At least, I didn’t think so. But here one was, tantalizing, right before me and tempting me like hell.

  You hurt her once, Carson, I reminded myself. I wasn’t going to give myself a chance to hurt her twice.

  “I should go and check my mail,” I said tightly. Amelia looked up at me, big blue eyes questioning, and I forced myself to break the eye-contact.

  “Okay,” she said softly. “We’ll see you later.”

  “Later,” I said, my throat tight again, and hurried up the stairs to the lonely refuge of my bedroom. Before I got myself in any deeper.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Amelia

  The day went on with everyone minding their own business in an easy, familiar rhythm that stretched back to my childhood. Brett went to town for some things, Reese took the kids to a friend’s home and stayed for coffee with their mom. Carson went jogging and I took a walk. It was good to be out in the open.

  That evening, Brett appeared from the garage with a triumphant smile.

  “I have an idea,” he announced grandly. “Let’s do a barbecue. Like old times, eh, Carson?” he grinned.

  Carson groaned. “Am I going to have to compete with you over who can do the best grill again, Mr. Barbecue?”

  We all laughed.

  “Well, I plan to beat you,” Brett chuckled. He turned to me. “I got butternut squash for you, sis,” he added as an aside to me.

  “Oh, good.” I smiled, relieved. I hadn’t eaten red meat for years, and Brett’s success with barbecuing anything else tended to have limits. Reese had invented a dish for me last time I stayed that consisted of grilled butternut squash and a sauce she had yet to teach me how to make. My mouth watered at the thought of it.

  “Okay!” Brett sounded pleased. “We’ll have to go on the back terrace. At least it’s out of the wind.”

  “I bought some chestnuts,” Reese added, appearing from the sitting room, her handbag on her arm. “We can do those to start off.”

  “Whee!” Josh said. “My favorite.”

  Cayley patted her brother’s soft hair. “You’ve only had them once before,” she pointed out.

  “I still know it’s my favorite,” he insisted. I smiled at the naïve truth in amusement.

  You don’t have to have had something more than once to know it’s your favorite.

  That thought shouldn’t have made me think of Carson, but it did. I felt a delicious tingle in my belly at the memory of our time together. From the first night, I’d known he suited me. Limited experience aside, there are some things instinct just tells you. That was one of them.

  In ten years, it hasn’t been exactly disproved.

  I’d had several lovers but none of them had even come close to satisfying me the way Carson had in that year of being together.

  I smiled and listened to the kids as they recalled the last time they’d had chestnuts. It seemed to be the previous Christmas, when the family had gone to a German-style market. Hearing their talk made me feel excited about Christmas myself.

  “You look happy,” a voice commented. Carson. I looked into his warm gaze.

  “I am,” I said quietly. “It’s nice to spend Christmas here. Makes me nostalgic.”

  His eye caught mine before I could look away. “Me too.”

  I swallowed hard, rising excitement flowing in me. That wasn’t exactly what I’d meant—that I was nostalgic about us—but nevertheless I was not sorry he’d taken that meaning. It was also true.

  “I…” I paused, not sure what to say about that. His head moved closer to mine and I moved forward, not even aware I did so, so that my lips almost brushed his own.

  “Shall we move to the dining-room?” Reese asked, cutting through the tension. I blinked, seeing her standing beside me.

  “Okay,” I agreed. I felt dazed.

  In the dining-room, we all sat around the table. Carson sat beside me and I was conscious of his closeness without having to look in his direction. It was as if my body was aware of his every move, my skin tingling with his closeness and my body tense.

  Brett was outside on the terrace, making a fire in their grill and Reese sat opposite me, preparing chestnuts, assisted by the kids who seemed to have been possessed of a kind of Christmas fervor. They were singing carols and they sounded happy.

  “It’s great, isn’t it?” Carson whispered.

  I nodded, seeing the look of fondness in his eye as he watched my brother’s two children enthusiastically rolling chestnuts in aluminum wrap.

  “It is,” I agreed.

  “It makes me think of when I was a kid,” he observed, chuckling. “The excitement, Christmas morning…gifts.”

  “Looking up the chimney for Santa,” I laughed, before I could stop myself.

  He grinned. “You did?” his eyes were tender and I blushed.

  “Yeah. I don’t know why, but I always thought the guy might be stuck up there.”

  He laughed, eyes bright. “No way! That’s smart.”

  I squeezed his hand, without thinking about it. He drew in a breath. I let go.

  We looked at each other. Slowly, deliberately, he moved his hand so that it covered mine. I felt my heart tense in my chest, as if it would never start beating. As if this moment was all there was, and all time had stopped here on its shore.

  “Amelia,” he whispered.

  I looked into those eyes, noticed his pupils had narrowed with longing. My body melted. I leaned toward him, hand shifting in his to stroke his skin. He tensed.

  “We shouldn’t,” he hissed.

  I nodded. Closed my eyes. I didn’t remove my hand but I stopped stroking his wrist. He smiled at me when I looked at him.

  “Sorry,” I said shakily. “I shouldn’t have.”

  “No,” he said. “It was my fault. I just couldn’t stop it.”

  “Nor could I.”

  We both looked at each other, then I glanced down to where our hands lay on the table, still clasped. I looked about. Reese was out on the terrace, engaged with my brother in some complex discussion about the temperature of the fire for chestnuts. Josh was on the floor, making a race-car from leftover tinfoil. Only Cayley was at the table.

  I noticed her watching us, then look hastily away. She hadn’t looked shocked, or interested, or amused, as I might have expected a ten-year-old to be, seeing adults behave like we did. Instead, there was a softness on her face, almost as if she understood something momentous had happened for us. I sighed.

  “We shouldn’t do this,” I said, moving my hand.

  Carson made a face. “I guess no
t.”

  I nodded. When Brett came in, a smile of triumph on his face, we were sitting side-by-side, not looking at each other. He cleared his throat.

  “Two minutes before the first course arrives,” he announced grandly.

  “Chestnuts!” Josh cried. “Hurray!”

  “Let’s go see!”

  Cayley and her brother raced outside to stand around and watch the process of roasting chestnuts. Reese tried to keep them from touching the foil. Brett came and joined us at the table.

  “Right, Grant,” he said, addressing Carson by his surname. “Are you ready for the challenge?”

  He laughed. “Okay…I guess.”

  We all laughed. Brett went on to outline his idea of a competition: they would each grill half the meat and compare the results.

  “How will we know who grilled what?” Carson asked reasonably.

  “We’ll put them in different pots as we’re done. And no cheating, mind!”

  I smiled. The friendly contest was just like something they would have done years ago, when they were friends at college and I was at home, watching the two of them interact. I had spent a lot of time around Brett when he was with Carson. I guessed it had been transparent, but it seemed neither of them realized my sudden intense interest in football had been to spend time with Carson.

  “Okay! We have to start together, or the first person gets a handicap,” Brett insisted. “Come on!”

  Reese appeared in the doorway with the chestnuts and ordered them both back to their seats, laughing at the rueful faces.

  “Like two kids,” she complained, grinning at me as we unwrapped chestnuts and transferred the steaming contents of the foil wrap to the table together.

  I nodded. “They were worse when they were.”

  She grinned. “I can imagine.”

  “We’re two kids,” Josh complained. “We don’t do that.”

  I laughed, and saw Carson guffaw with mirth.

  “That’s us told, bro,” he said.

  Brett hung his head. “Oh! How embarrassing…” he grinned.

  We all laughed. The next ten minutes were taken up with eating and enjoying roasted chestnuts. The spicy warmth filled my senses, drifting my mind back down the years to the magic of childhood Christmases. And the one holiday Brett and Carson spent together.

  When I looked up, Carson was watching me. His eyes had an expression so gentle that I felt I would melt, become all soft and melty like the chestnut I was eating. He was evidently thinking of the same time as I was, because he whispered to me.

  “Memories, eh?”

  I nodded. “So many memories.”

  We smiled at each other. The night was dark and close, the Christmas lights on in the corner and the air was redolent of cinnamon and cloves. My heart overflowed with warmth. My leg pressed against his and he didn’t move away. Rather, his leg stayed where it was, making my heart soar.

  As I forced myself to look away from his bright, merry gaze, I found myself wishing I could think of something—anything—that would bring down the barrier that ten years had built.

  I wanted to get back together with Carson: all I needed at this time was a way to do just that.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Carson

  I went through to the kitchen to help Brett clean up after dinner. I could hear Amelia talking to Reese in the dining-room. Her voice was a turn-on, just like the rest of her. I shook my head, trying not to let a silly smile show.

  “It went off okay,” Brett said to me as he passed a greasy baking-tray across to me to rinse.

  “It did,” I nodded. “Kudos for the barbecuing skill.”

  He chuckled. “You’re still better, bro. The pot with the things you did emptied quicker.”

  “Not so much quicker. And the kids enjoyed the butternut you did too.”

  “I think Cayley is planning to follow her auntie’s example,” Brett grunted, bending to wipe a stain off the floor. “She’s also planning to give up meat. Just like Amelia.”

  “She seems to admire her, yeah,” I nodded, sliding another tray into the dishwasher.

  “She does,” Brett agreed. “I’m not surprised. She’s a great girl, my sister.” He straightened up and stood, his face strangely blank.

  I wondered if that last comment was meant to be accusatory. I looked at my friend with a raised brow but he looked as peaceable as ever as he collected plates and glasses to pass to me. He had never reproached me for breaking up with Amelia. I thought he might actually have been glad. It was the best thing I could have done, at least in my opinion, anyway.

  “She visits often?” I asked, curiously.

  “Not often, no,” Brett admitted, handing me a wineglass carefully. “About once or twice a year, actually.”

  “Oh?” I was surprised. It was about a six-hour drive between her home and theirs, admittedly. But the way she enjoyed spending time with the kids, I would have thought she’d do it more often.

  “Work commitments,” Brett said succinctly. “She’s got the Carlyle work obsession.”

  “I remember,” I nodded. Amelia had always been unusually diligent, like Brett. I had never been like that. I guess I had never thought about doing anything with my life but the military. And, while good grades and a tertiary qualification certainly helped, they weren’t a necessary requirement.

  “It’s good to see her relaxing here now,” Brett commented, heading to the kitchen table to clear up the bowls and equipment still standing there from before the barbecue.

  “She seems happy,” I said. I was hesitant to ask Brett anymore personal things about Amelia. If she had lovers—even a boyfriend—I didn’t really want to know. It wasn’t like it could affect me anyway, I told myself crossly.

  “I guess,” Brett agreed, borrowing my dishcloth a moment to wipe off the table in a fairly-desultory way. “It’s hard to tell. She seems happy now.”

  Again, I wasn’t sure where that was going. If he was trying to tell me I’d cheered her up, or if it was a general, blank comment. I decided not to think about it and stacked the dishwasher.

  “You think she’ll come down here more often?” I asked, pausing a moment to see if the dishwasher could be packed more optimally. As it was, it looked like a forest—cups and bowls and dishes sticking out all over the place. I sighed and knelt down, making some readjustments as I went along.

  “I hope so,” Brett said. “And you?”

  “Me?” I swallowed uncomfortably. “I don’t know what’s going on in my life.”

  “Oh?” He sounded genuinely interested and I sighed.

  “It’s just…I want to find a job, Brett,” I said honestly. “I need some meaningful work in my life. I did some volunteering, of course, but…it’s not the same. I miss feeling useful.”

  “You’re always useful,” my friend said casually, giving me a pat on the head. I smiled.

  “I try to be, Brett,” I said, grunting as I bent lower to move some heavy dishes from the back of the dish-rack to the front, nervous that they would slip. “I do try.”

  “Well, you never know,” Brett continued, turning back to the counter top where he now had an array of bowls and plates collected. “There’re lots of opportunities, jobs perfectly suited to guys with your background. Even at our company, a guy with a background in tactics could go a long way…logistics might be a direction you could follow,” he added helpfully.

  “That’s a good idea,” I said thoughtfully. I really did want to find a niche for myself. I felt cut off and purposeless now that I was out of the army. Finding something to occupy my mind was a nice thought.

  “I could ask around, brother,” Brett added, handing me a plate carefully. I rinsed it and stacked it in the dishwasher carefully. “I mean, look at that thing. There’s an organized mind at work,” he laughed, making a sweeping gesture at the dish-rack, where everything stood with, I realized, blushing, military precision.

  I laughed. “Heck! You can take the guy out of the military…”
>
  “But it doesn’t come out of the guy,” Brett finished, smiling.

  “Quite.”

  He passed me another plate and it seemed like we were almost done. I sighed. “Time for coffee?”

  “Sure,” Brett nodded, reaching distractedly for a tray. “I’ll just put it on…”

  He stretched over to the kettle, passing me the metal tray at the same time. I was just rising from where I knelt by the dishwasher and I bumped Brett, making him drop the thing.

  The sudden crash hit me like a wall. I jumped back and caught myself on the counter, then stood there, chest heaving, my hand on my heart.

  “Hell, Brett,” I shouted at him. “You asshole! What’d you have to do that for?” I was furious, adrenaline pumping in my blood, making my heart race. My whole body shook and I felt blindly angry.

  “What?”

  Brett blinked at me, surprised and a little scared, and I instantly felt awful. But part of me was furious still and needed respite. I stalked away across the kitchen and leaned on the drainboard. My body slowly stopped shaking.

  I turned back into the kitchen, where Brett had bent down to lift the tray, wiping soap suds off the floor while he was down there.

  “I’m sorry,” I said in a hollow voice.

  “Sorry, man.” Brett was apologetic as he stood slowly from the floor and turned to face me. “I didn’t mean to give you a turn like that.”

  “I…I’m fine.” My body was cold, heart heaving, and I knew I barely had a grip on myself.

  Brett stayed where he was. He didn’t say anything. He was looking at me with shrewd eyes, appraising, I thought. I felt uncomfortable. What did he think? Did he pity me? What was it?

  “I’m fine, man,” I said, feeling aggressive suddenly. “You can quit staring.”

  “Sorry,” Brett said, low-voiced. He finished rinsing the tray himself and turned away abruptly. “I didn’t mean it, you know.”

  I felt bad. “Brett…” I sighed. “I…I don’t understand what gets into me.”

  He sighed and put instant coffee in two mugs and turned to face me. “Want to talk about it?” he invited. I shrugged. The kitchen was clean, all but a few bowls rinsed and ready to be washed. Reese and Amelia were upstairs. I could hear their bright voices coming from her bedroom. The kids were in bed.