His to Defend (Lake Powell Firefighter Romance Book 2)

by Jewel Allen

  I allowed myself a moment of self-pity until I recognized like a slap on my face that I was the mistress of my own destiny. My husband’s promises could come true or not, but I had control over my ship. I didn’t need to simply stand by and watch the prow hit the rocks. I could steer it myself into safety. Or I could escape before the vessel careened into a disastrous fate. Either way, I needed to do something.

  If I couldn’t do it for myself, I would have to do it for my kids.

  I blinked back the tears and squared my shoulders. Turning toward the top dresser drawer where I stored my underwear, I opened it and rooted in the bottom for my checkbook register. Stratton and I had always set aside some money during the fat years for each other’s “allowance.” He paid the down payment on his truck with it at one time and I dithered about how to spend mine until every impulsive purchase simmered on the down low.

  I had maybe one or two months of a safety net. Enough for rent somewhere cheap.

  Like a puzzle, the last piece locked into place and I got a clearer picture of what I needed to do. Before I could lose my nerve, I started packing my stuff.

  Chapter Four

  Stratton

  The house was silent when I entered it a little after my shift ended at seven. I set the bouquet of flowers I’d picked up from the grocery store on the table and looked around. It had its usual messes with two children living in the house, but it wasn’t out of control or anything. Good. I hoped it meant that Kennedy settled down and felt better after our strained encounter at the hospital.

  I should probably have called after Kennedy and I parted ways, but it got busy again and by the time I thought about it, I honestly didn’t know what more I could say to her. I figured, I could come home the next two days and we could hash out what needed hashing out.

  Crossing my fingers.

  I went to the kids’ rooms first. In Evie’s, I noticed the little cot and my wife asleep on it, to the side of the crib. My poor, sweet Kennedy. On top of my being gone all the time, she’s had to deal with Evie being sick all by herself.

  I would have to be doing a lot of making up the next couple of days. I leaned over and touched my daughter’s hair. It was so blonde it was almost white, like mine was when I was a kid. If she grew to even half of how her mother’s beauty, she would set out to snag hearts.

  Like Kennedy captured mine ten years ago.

  Had it really been that long ago—that moment when I walked into that bar dragged in by my younger brother, half-expecting to see my father drunk or worse with some strange woman? And instead, my life changed that day—seeing Kennedy across the room, an angelic vision in her slim jeans and white tunic blouse.

  I turned my attention to my wife, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest under the sheet, her long silky blonde hair fanned out around her face. I craved her, wanted to be next to her and inhale her essence, to hold and comfort her.

  I let her sleep for a few more minutes while I checked on Ben. His light brown, wavy hair was getting overly-long, but Kennedy liked it that way. I actually did, too. It made him look younger. Like we could hold on to him longer before he grew up.

  Coming back to Evie’s room, I walked over to Kennedy’s sleeping figure. She would probably get mad at me, but I needed to take the chance. I peeled back the sheet and scooped her up.

  “What--!” she gasped, instantly awake and disoriented.

  I didn’t satisfy her curiosity and simply winked. I whisked her out of the room and headed to ours, setting her down on our bed and pulling back the covers from under her.

  She was awake fully now, gazing up at me with round eyes. She didn’t need spelling out of what I intended to do, but it was hard to read what she was thinking. Her expression was neutral as she watched me shrug off my shirt and undress to my boxer shorts. A flame seemed to leap then in her eyes, a spark of life and desire I had hoped for. And something else that I couldn’t figure out.

  I joined her under the covers and kissed her—hungry and full of longing. We may have parted angrily, but I hoped we could put all that behind us for the moment. She responded warmly if tentatively, making my heart exult. She was softness to my tough veneer, everything I needed to make myself whole again. The drownings, the stress of the past few days, the guilt, all of those things fell to the wayside.

  That was when I noticed that her face was wet. Not a little trickle of tears, but an all-out weeping as she crumbled in my arms and caved her shoulders like she was in a whole lot of pain.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” I said, “I’m so sorry that the past few days have been so rough on you…”

  “Stratton,” she said, at first in a strangled voice, and then, after a deep breath, a strange sort of calm, “I want a trial separation.”

  My breath stilled. She was still warm in my arms, but a chill descended upon us. I tried to make sense of her words. She was leaving me? Us?

  Her teary gaze flicked to the right. I followed it with mine and saw her suitcases standing side by side. Two boxes next to them.

  I blinked in confusion. “I don’t understand…”

  She pushed me off and I let her go without a fight. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

  With trembling fingers, I put my shirt and pants on and followed her out of our room.

  Chapter Five

  Kennedy

  It had taken super-human effort to stop Stratton from making love to me. I could have let him. It would have been a nice little send-off to our new normal. I wanted my husband. I missed him so very much. But we had done that in the past far too many times, patching the gaps in our ailing marriage with physical intimacy that left us feeling no closer than before. And possibly even more vulnerable with the next rift.

  My body still tingled from that initial rush of desire at his impulsiveness. When he had first carried me off into our room, I floated in his arms as though it were a dream. It was like the old times, full of passion and fire. But as my eyes took in the suitcases on the floor—the ones I had packed carefully and in numb pain, I was reminded that I needed to do this hard thing. For me. For the kids

  I ran my fingers through my hair and gave up on trying to make myself presentable. It was too late for any of that. What mattered was getting my thoughts out in a way that he could take me seriously. It was so important that he believed I was serious about this. Because I needed to believe this myself.

  He came out with an impassive face. It probably would scare a stranger, looking at that granite sculpture. He had done heroic deeds most of his adult life, some of which I didn’t even know details of, but he was also capable of physically hurting someone if he needed to. He flashed that stoic appearance every so often, especially when it came to his widower, alcoholic father. He reserved emotions for babies and hurt humans and animals, but I knew he had retreated to his safe place, where no one could hurt him. Not even his wife who was leaving him.

  He sat across the table from me and let his arms dangle to his side. “What’s going on?”

  “I told you…”

  “You’re leaving.” A nerve ticked on his jaw. “Yes, you said. But I don’t understand. Are you that miserable in our marriage?”

  The answer was not clear-cut. I glanced around for inspiration, but all the furniture around me simply sat, unhelpful.

  “It’s been a hard past few weeks—”

  “You got that one right!” He pounded a fist on the table.

  I knew he would react, but anger? That was rich.

  “Years, really,” I said, trying to not rise to his level of emotion.

  He stood and paced before sitting back down. “I’m operating on very little sleep, Kennedy. Sorry.” His voice didn’t sound very contrite. “Are you sure we couldn’t talk about this after I take a nap?”

  “It won’t take long.”

  His shoulders sagged as he leaned back. “Fine.”

  I chose my words carefully. “I don’t want a divorce, that much I know. Right now.”

  He watch
ed me, no sign of relief in his eyes.

  “I think we need time and space to see if we want to continue on in our marriage the way it is. Actually, I have been thinking that we can’t go on the way it is, but I can’t figure out what is a better way. So I thought it would be helpful if I moved out with the kids while we sorted out things.”

  “The kids.” His voice deepened and sounded ominous.

  “You’re never home so of course I’m taking them. When you are available, you can spend time with them.”

  “Do you have to do this now?”

  “As opposed to when?”

  “As opposed to never, ideally.” He flashed me a wry smile that faded quickly. “As opposed to after my testing is done and we can go in for counseling and fix things…”

  “I would probably go insane before that. Or worse.”

  His eyes reflected need. “What’s worse than going insane?”

  I swallowed with difficulty, bleak reality staring me in the face. “I could meet someone else and decide to have an affair. You could decide to have one.”

  His gaze hardened. “And being apart won’t encourage that?”

  I understood his skepticism. That was a risk we were taking. “We’ll both agree to not see nor date nor flirt with anyone. We’ll still be married.” I couldn’t help shoot back, “I’m not giving you permission to have a fling with that nurse.”

  He closed his eyes and opened them, exhaustion etched on his face. “Shanna means nothing to me.”

  “Please,” I said, warding off the words with my hand. “Please don’t say her name.”

  He looked away then back, his eyes mutinous. “I wish you wouldn’t let someone who’s of no true importance get between us.”

  I took a deep breath, the hurt coming back. I wanted to lash back at Stratton, but the distance of time had tempered my impulses. “I think I knew that, but it looked horrible yesterday.”

  He winced. “Yes, it did. I’m sorry. I was in a bad place, and I turned to the first human that showed me some kindness.”

  “Why couldn’t you turn to me, your wife?” My voice rose. Almost like a plea.

  He lifted his eyes to mine, probing me with his blue gaze. “Could I have?”

  I wanted to believe he could have, but maybe he was on to something. It had been a while since either one of us had turned to each other for comfort.

  I lowered my gaze to my lap, to my hands that I’d clasped together in prayer so many, many times the past years. Praying for his safety. Praying for our marriage. At a certain point, prayer was simply not enough.

  “You’re right,” I whispered. “I had nothing much to give you. I have nothing much to give you.”

  “Please don’t sell yourself short, Kennedy.”

  “I’m not,” I said honestly. “I feel nothing at times. Like right now, looking at you, I’m spent, simply spent. I need to rediscover some things in myself, and I won’t be able to do that in this same old rut.”

  He flinched. “I thought you were happy despite some of our challenges.”

  “And maybe I was. I’m not ungrateful!” I clenched my fists and put them on the table. “You’ve been a loving husband and father. You’ve made something of yourself despite all the odds against you and your upbringing, and you’ve given me material stability. I still want the marriage to work—”

  He leaned forward. “Do you, really?”

  “Do you truly doubt that?”

  “Then stay!”

  “See?” I gave him a sad smile. “You will try to wheedle me into making everything right instead of actually fixing what’s wrong in our marriage.”

  He lowered his head and shook it. “I don’t understand you. This.”

  “I wish I could translate things easier. But I’ve never had to speak this language before.” I stood and his gaze followed my movement. “I could have left you while you were gone, but I wanted to be decent about it.”

  He slowly raised his head. His eyes brimmed with pain. “There’s no nice way to break my heart, Kennedy.”

  “I thought this would be kinder. Maybe I was wrong.”

  “Why don’t you stay in the house, and I can bunk up with my brother?” He sounded resigned.

  I thought of his brother Jem, who’d been living like a bachelor since his contentious divorce. “I think you’ll put a cramp in his style, but thanks. I’ll sleep in Evie’s room until I can move out.”

  At the memory of him carrying me into our bed, my cheeks heated up. He gazed at me as though he was thinking of that too. Thank goodness I was staying in our daughter’s room, or it would be an impossible situation.

  Hurt filled his eyes. “You have a place and all already?”

  “I’m going to talk to my folks about staying there for a few days and hopefully find a nice little rental in town.”

  “Happiest day of your parents’ lives,” he deadpanned.

  “You think?” I eyed him. “You’ve grown on them. I think they want our marriage to work out.”

  “Don’t lie, Kennedy.”

  I didn’t argue. “I’ll also get a job.”

  “You don’t have to worry about money.” He frowned. “Our account is yours, you know that.”

  “I wasn’t sure,” I admitted.

  He ran his fingers through his blond hair with a smattering of gray. I wanted to reach up and smooth the strands that were sticking up, but I resisted.

  His mouth twisted. “I’m not that spiteful.”

  “It could have gone either way, Stratton, and you’d have been entitled to cutting me off. I will keep that in mind, but I want to make my own way.”

  “You’re so stubborn.” He blew out his breath.

  The way he said it, with that little sexy gruffness that made my heart sing… almost had me changing my mind.

  Almost.

  The ship had sailed and it would take massive amounts of opposing wind to bring it back to shore.

  After the kids woke up, we ate as a family, with Stratton acting like a robot in the kitchen. Shell-shocked, more like it. I thought he might say something that would lay a guilt trip on me, but he didn’t. He even helped me get the kids ready and to the car. The kids asked where we were going, and I said, simply, “To grandma’s, so Daddy can sleep,” upon which they cheered with delight.

  “I have a question,” Stratton said softly, as I paused before sliding into the driver’s seat. I looked up at him, bracing myself.

  “Yes?”

  “During this separation, can I ask you on a date?”

  His question stumped me. We would live apart, not date other people, and would still be married. Dating never figured into the equation. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Also, we’d been so out of practice dating, I didn’t think it would be an issue.

  “I think so,” I said, non-committal.

  He swallowed visibly and stepped back from the door. His movement left me bereft, like a tender plant suddenly exposed to a strong wind. “Good. I’m glad.”

  “Kids, say bye-bye to Daddy.”

  He nodded and waggled his fingers at the kids, who blew him kisses noisily. When he turned to me, his expression was heart-wrenchingly sad. It was a weird goodbye, but the tightness in my chest eased up as I drove off.

  Chapter Six

  Stratton

  After my family left, I wanted to shrivel up right on that spot on the driveway and die.

  I made myself walk back into the house and closed the door to the outside world. I looked around with unseeing eyes and tried to ignore Kennedy’s touches on everything. That floor lamp with the silly pink shade she insisted on shortly after we were married. The plush white rug that was totally impractical with kids but which started out to be our favorite nuzzling spot. A jar of peaches she’d bottled and was sitting on the counter, unopened. The white cupboards she refaced the dark brown ones that came with the house.

  Did she look at this space with my appreciation like I was feeling at the moment, or did she gaze at the four wall
s like some prison? I made sure she never lacked for anything, even when I made that leap into truck ownership. My captain salary more than provided for us. Why did she feel like she needed to work? For a second, I imagined her in this house, taking care of the kids the past six years, her life revolving around them. And then suddenly I understood with painful clarity that I’d been content having her stay at home as if that was enough for the both of us.

  My body needed sleep, but I was operating on second wind. I texted Kennedy.

  Me: You left a jar of peaches out. Can I eat it?

  It was kind of a dumb text, but I hoped it would be the start of many texts on our way to healing our hurts.

  I didn’t expect her to answer right away, but she did, almost instantaneously.

  Kennedy: It’s for you.

  Me: I figured. Thank you.

  Kennedy: You are welcome.

  Me: Are you at your parents’ yet?

  Kennedy: Sitting on their driveway. Stalling.

  Despite the recent pain, I smiled wryly. I pictured her knuckles, white, as she clutched the steering wheel tightly. Whenever we visited them, she would go from lively to quiet, reduced once again to a young woman who felt like she needed to watch what she said or did.

  This time, I was the cause of her anxiety. Like I was when we first got engaged and she took me home to a disastrous first meeting. They finally had to accept me into the family when we came back married, having eloped.

  Despite my whole role in the process, despite the fact that the reason she was sitting on that driveway willing herself to go in was because she left me, I sent her back an encouraging text.

  Me: Buck up, buttercup.

  I immediately regretted sending it. I was sure she would be offended, but her answer came shortly after.

  Kennedy: Yessirree Bob.

  I smiled. I didn’t want her gone from my house. From my bed. From my life. But I was also looking forward to having this spunky Kennedy come back to herself and to our marriage. It was hard to see past the hurt, but I knew I needed to hope or good luck to us all.