“The falls are a lot better than Bragg,” Lindsey says with a chuckle. “So do you still ride?”
I nod, understanding what she's doing. Bikes were always our safe zone. We could talk about them for hours. Gears, shifters, pedal arrangement and geometry—we could geek out safely about that no matter what. “You'd be proud of me. I'm riding a Specialized now too. Since I stopped doing tris, it's a bit of an expensive toy now, but I still get out and ride on weekends when I can. What about you?”
“She rides a lot!” Lance interjects, looking up at me. I look down at him and feel a wave of disbelief hit me again. His eyes . . . they're hazel. Like mine. And while it's a bit blurred with his little kid chubbiness, he's got a cleft chin. Like mine. “I get to ride on back.”
“Well that's gotta be good for the workout. Do you cheer your Mom on?” I ask, struggling to hold back the question that suddenly pops in my mind, and he nods. “Good. It's always better when you have a partner to ride with.”
I look up to Lindsey, who is smiling strangely, and I smile back, even though I want to say more. “He's well spoken.”
“Smart as a whip,” Lindsey says, ruffling his blond hair, so like his mother's. “Aren't you?”
“She says I’m named after Lancelot,” Lance declares proudly. “The knight.”
“I see. And how old are you, Sir Lancelot?”
“I turn four in Febooary,” Lance mispronounces, and I do the quick math. February birthday, almost four years ago . . .
“I . . . I see,” I tell him, looking up at Lindsey, panicked and a little bit pissed off. Am I? Her eyes are beseeching, and I shut my mouth. Obviously, if I am, the boy doesn't know. And frankly, this isn't the time or the place to talk about it. Instead, I give her a slight nod, reassuring her for now, even if inside, I'm about ready to go off. “So when did you pin your E-5?”
“Just before leaving Lewis,” Lindsey replies, relief in her voice and in her eyes.
“And now you're with the MPs?” I ask, seeing her nod. “I know someone over there.”
“Captain Lemmon?” Lindsey asks, and I feel like I've been kicked in the head again. “He's my CO.”
I nod, stopping my cart. We're at the eggs, and I help her get her damaged carton out of her cart, putting it in my basket before putting a replacement in hers. “Here, I'll pay the commissary for these.”
“Thank you,” Lindsey says, opening her mouth to speak again, but before she can, the PA system interrupts us.
“Attention, Commissary shoppers. The Commissary closes in fifteen minutes. Please finish your shopping and come to the front to check out as quickly as possible.”
Lindsey looks up, surprised, and I gulp. I know what she's thinking, and I don't want this to end. “Aaron, this has been nice, but . . .”
“Wait,” I say urgently, stepping closer. “We have a lot to catch up on . . . and things I think we need to discuss.”
“But . . .” Lindsey says, and I stop her, shaking my head. No, not this time. I won't let it happen again, especially with the suspicions running around in my mind.
“Four years ago, I made one of the worst mistakes of my life by walking away. I just want to talk. We can do that at least, right?”
Lindsey takes a deep breath, nodding. “Got a pen? You guys always do.”
I laugh and reach into my chest pocket, pulling out my notebook and pen. “They make us keep these things even in the shower.”
Lindsey laughs lightly and flips to an empty page, scribbling down a number. “Here. Call me tonight. After eight thirty, but before ten. Lance goes down around eight, and I think you want to ask questions I don't want to answer where he can hear. And I've got PT in the morning. I can't be staying up much past ten thirty.”
“Thank you,” I say, trying not to reach out and touch her. I'm upset, but still, seeing her perfect face right in front of me, I want her again. “I'll call you tonight. My cell.”
“In the meantime, I need to get some pasta unless he's eating microwave popcorn and eggs tonight,” Lindsey says, gesturing toward Lance, who's looking around like a normal three-year-old. “It . . . we'll talk later, Aaron.”
Lindsey scoops up a suddenly protesting Lance, who waves as they leave in the cart. I let them go around the curve before hurrying off in the opposite direction. Lindsey was right. I don't have half my shopping ready, and I need to get something in my cart if I'm going to be eating anything tonight. If anything, I need some more damn milk.
My fingers shake as I look at the phone number on the piece of paper, and I wonder again if I'm doing the right thing. My heart and body are saying one thing, and my brain is saying another. I've been lonely for too long. I haven't even gone on a date past a couple of group things with other junior officers on post in the past six months, and seeing Lindsey, I know what I want. I want her. Seeing her just reignited the burning ache that's been sitting inside me for all these years.
But that's the problem. I want her, and I can't have her. Hell, I don't know if she even wants me still. Sure, maybe I saw something in the commissary, or maybe my imagination was filling in gaps that weren't there. What can't be argued is that triple chevron that rests in the middle of her chest, or the butter bar still in the middle of mine.
But I have to know, even if it's dangerous. Even if I just talk to her this one time. I have to find out. I have to ask questions that have haunted me for four years, and more importantly, the questions that have been running around my head for the past two hours.
Finally, I tap in her phone number, hoping that she picks up. The phone rings two, three times . . . “Hello?”
“Lindsey? It's . . . it's Aaron.”
There's fear and worry in her voice, but also a bit of what sounds like relief too. “Aaron. I wasn't sure if I was going to pick up or not.”
“I wasn't sure if I was going to call or not,” I admit, sighing. “The idea kinda scared the hell out of me.”
“I know what you mean,” Lindsey says, letting out a shaky laugh. “Seeing you today was like seeing a ghost.”
“I hope I'm a little livelier than that,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.
Lindsey's chuckle is more relaxed, and I find myself leaning back onto my couch, my body thrilling at the sound. It feels like the old days again, and I relax a little bit more. “Yeah, I guess so. I'm sorry if I surprised you.”
“You gave me a lot of surprises,” I tell her. “And to be honest, I've got about a hundred thousand questions running around in my head.”
“I figured. I could see it in your eyes. If it helps any, I've had my own questions, and there have been things I've wanted to tell you,” Lindsey says, her voice dropping. I don't know if she's doing it intentionally, but she's back in that sexy, throaty whispering purr that used to drive me crazy when we dated, the voice she used when we were making out in the woods, her fingernails dragging down my back, and my cock twitches at the memory.
“I know it's dangerous, but I have to see you,” I tell her. “These questions, some of them aren't the type that should be asked over the phone while I'm sitting in my ACU pants and wondering if I can wear them for work tomorrow for Sergeant's Time.”
“I live on post, Aaron. There's no way that you could come by and not be noticed.”
“That's okay,” I hastily reply. “I rent a house off post. It's in a quiet neighborhood, and there isn't another soldier in my entire block. Hell, my neighbors are two gay guys, and the house on the other side next to me is empty.”
“I don't know, Aaron. It feels . . . dangerous,” Lindsey says. “And I don't mean because of the Army regulation issues.”
“I know,” I reply. “But Lindsey . . . I think this is something that has to be done. Bring Lance, and I'll set up the little gas grill I've got. I'll make some food. Are you single?”
“I am,” Lindsey says, then chuckles. “A good man is hard to find as a single mom.”
“A good man . . .” I muse, thinking how that saying could be switched so
easily. A good woman is hard to find, too. “So, what do you say? Civvies. I'll make sure to pick up my dirty t-shirts, and if you're lucky, my socks too.”
Lindsey laughs, another little thrill running down my body as she does. “Okay, okay, how can I turn that down? Saturday afternoon, say one o'clock?”
“That's great,” I reply. “So . . . what does Lance like to eat? I assume he can eat barbecue food?”
“Keep it mild, but if you pick up the stuff to make cheeseburgers, he's a happy camper. Put cheddar on it, and he'll be your best friend for life.”
“Cheddar it is then. Any other requests?”
“Yeah,” Lindsey says softly. “No sugary stuff. I like putting him down for a nap on weekends around two thirty or so for an hour, and I think you might want some privacy for your questions. Mine too.”
“Well, it might not be his bed at home, but this couch of mine is soft and fluffy. In fact, I rack out on it often. I'm sure he'll like it,” I tell her, running my hand over my comforter from my Academy days. This 'green girl' has seen a lot of nights wrapped around my shoulders. “So how about instead of one, maybe twelve thirty? I'd like to talk to him a little more.”
“We'll see, Aaron,” Lindsey says. “But I'll see you Saturday. What's your address?”
I give her my street address and tell her the nearest gate on post to use to get there easily. I hear Lindsey writing, then she hums. “Okay. Aaron, I can't promise you all the answers. And you may not like the ones I give.”
“I know. But I can’t wait anyway.”
“That helps me a lot, hearing you say that. Even if we know that could be more difficult than we want to admit,” Lindsey says reassuringly. “Okay, I'll see you Saturday. Good night, Aaron.”
“Good night, Lindsey.”
I hang up, smiling to myself. I'll have a busy Friday night, but that's okay. There's a twenty-four-hour Walmart down the street from me, so even if work runs late, I'll be good. I can pick up all the supplies I need to make a decent barbecue that any three-year-old would enjoy.
Right now, though, my green girl is looking very comfortable, and I could use an early bedtime myself. Time to get some rack.
Chapter 12
Lindsey
Pulling up outside Aaron's house, I can't help it, I'm feeling nervous. I don't feel like I dressed up too much, just some jeans and a blouse, but still, I did take a little bit of time to put on some light makeup, something I don't normally do in uniform. Even Lance notices, and as he looks out on Aaron's house, he's fidgeting in his seat. “Mommy, is this where we're having lunch?”
“Yes buddy. Now remember, Aaron's an officer, but he and I knew each other before you were born, and he was really interested in meeting you. So we're going to be on our best behavior, right?” I ask, getting out of my seat and going around, unbuckling him. I shoulder his diaper bag, just the quick one since the rest of his stuff is staying here in the car and lift him out, setting him down to wait for me. He's wearing his big boy pants now anyway. He's very proud of keeping them clean. He'll be good.
Lance takes my hand and we walk up the short curved pathway to Aaron's front door, where I ring the doorbell. It's twelve forty-one, and I hear footsteps inside the house. “Lindsey?”
“It's us,” I say, opening the door carefully.
“Come on in,” Aaron says, coming out of what I guess is his kitchen. He's wearing an apron and a t-shirt, I can't tell the type, along with jeans that are nearly an exact match for mine, and I can't help but marvel at how handsome he looks. He's a bit more muscular than before, he's probably gained some weight with not doing triathlons all the time anymore, but it's good weight, all in his arms and shoulders. “I was just getting the burgers together.”
“Burgers?” Lance asks, his eyes twinkling. “Really?”
“All beef, premium grade-A Angus burgers,” Aaron says, squatting down and offering Lance a fist, the two bumping moments later. “I was just about to put the cheese on each of them before taking them out to the grill. Want to lend a hand?”
“Yeah!” Lance says, charging into the kitchen. Aaron lets him by before looking at me, and a smile comes to his face.
“I'm glad you came,” he says softly, stepping closer. His eyes widen, and he sees the chain around my neck. “Is that?”
“Yes,” I answer, touching the chain. I made sure to wear a shirt that lets it be visible all the time, a sign to him even before we've asked question one. “And before you ask . . . no, I don't take it off. Come on, the rest can wait until after we get some burgers.”
We go in the kitchen, and I'm shocked to see Lance with two slices of cheese half-stuffed in his mouth, a guilty look on his face as we come in.
“No worries, that's why I bought a whole pound block,” Aaron says with a laugh. “I love good cheese too.”
To say that Aaron is preparing a feast is an understatement. Six burgers, all the pre-formed type but still thick and juicy-looking, wait on the platter, along with a plate of cheese and other fixings all ready. “Nice spread.”
“When I invite a big guy like Lance over, I gotta do it with style,” Aaron says, his eyes twinkling. He gives me a knee-quivering look but then turns his attention to Lance, and for the next forty-five minutes, I'm able to sit back and relax, watching as my son and his father meet each other for the first time. Lance doesn't know it, of course, but that doesn't affect the way he reacts to Aaron. And while Aaron and I haven’t had the talk yet, it’s pretty obvious he knows, or at least has a strong suspicion.
Lance, for his part, adores Aaron, feeling included and needed as an assistant in cooking all the burgers up. He even gets to put the cheese on, Aaron using the gas control to make sure he doesn't get burned while Lance carefully puts one slice on three of the burgers. “Can you go get me the buns too now?”
“Sure,” Lance says, hurrying inside the house. It leaves me and Aaron alone, and he looks at me, smiling. His eyes are still smoldering, but it's different now. He's truly happy to be spending time with us.
“He's a good little boy,” Aaron says, keeping his voice low. “You've done a great job with him.”
“Thanks. And thank you for focusing on him,” I tell Aaron, looking over my shoulder. “It's nice to see.”
He smiles but gives me that we need to talk later look. While most of the guys who have met me have just ignored Lance to directly focus on what's between my legs, a few have tried to use him as a prop to work their way into my bed. Needless to say, it didn’t work. “Come on, these burgers have about two minutes left.”
We sit down to eat, and Lance plows through his burger and even his veggies at hyper speed, something that shocks me. Like most three-year-olds, he normally hates veggies, but when I try one, I realize what Aaron did. They've been soaking in sweet pickling vinegar and have a tangy crunch to them. “Where'd you learn this?”
“You get to swapping all sorts of weird stuff during Ranger school,” Aaron says with a shrug. “One of the guys had a hobby of cooking. I added just a little bit of sugar. I hope it's not too much?”
I munch on a carrot stick and shake my head. “Perfect. Thank you.”
After Lance goes down for his nap, snoring away on Aaron's spread out comforter on his couch, I help Aaron wash up the dishes, drying them after he washes them and setting them in his rack. “Did you enjoy lunch?”
“We both did,” I say with a small smile. “I've said it a lot today, but I'll say it again. Thank you.”
Aaron grins, then nods as he scrubs his spatula until it gleams and hands it to me. “I didn't want you to feel like I went to great lengths. I mean, I know that's not your style. Or at least it wasn't. Some of our best times were with about two bucks in snacks and walking through the woods.”
I laugh softly, nodding. “That's true. We never did need much to have a good time.”
Aaron grows serious and turns to look at me. “I guess it's that time, huh?”
“I guess,” I say, not frowning, but my smile dimming
. “This isn’t a conversation I’ve been looking forward to, you know. So if I stumble or say something stupid, can you cut me some slack?”
Aaron's tense little laugh and nod reassures me a little bit, but I’m not quite convinced. He goes over to the small dining room table he's got, where we both sit down. I can see him reach for my hand, but then he pulls back, uncertain. “Sorry. Old habits are popping up seeing you. You . . . you haven't changed that much since West Point.”
I shake my head, looking back over my shoulder at the living room, then at him. “I've changed a lot, I think.”
Aaron follows my gaze, nodding. “Uhm, can I ask?”
“Yes.”
A heavy silence drops between us as Aaron reads the meaning of my words. When he speaks again, there's a hint of anger. I guess I can understand that. “When did you find out?”
“When I went through processing at Fort Lewis. Best guess, Lance was conceived that last weekend in New York city,” I tell him quietly. “Please don't be angry, Aaron. If I could have told you, I would have. Lance . . . Lance is the greatest gift you ever gave me.”
Aaron’s hand is clenched, but he's trying to keep himself under control, and there's only a hint of tension in his voice when he speaks up again. “I understand not saying anything officially, even if I don't like it. But Lindsey . . . why not tell me at least unofficially? My God, what were you thinking?”
Before I can say anything, Aaron gets up, his eyes blazing. And even though all I’ve done is confirm what he already knew, he's pissed, and I worry. Aaron takes a deep breath, letting it out in a shuddering exhalation. “Excuse me, Lindsey. I thought I was ready to hear it. I mean, I suspected it since I first laid eyes on him. I've spent a few days expecting this, but I need to take a moment outside.”
I nod, swallowing my fear as Aaron stalks out of the house and into his back yard, where I watch him pace back and forth. While I can't hear him, I can read his lips as he talks to himself.
Four years. Four fucking years!
Duty: A Secret Baby Romance Page 11