Back to You

by Jessica Scott

  As the hearing to determine whether or not Trent’s case would go to court-martial drew closer, a feeling of deep unease took up more and more space in his belly. It wrestled with his nightmares and the general anxiety he felt about being at home, pushing away the goodness from last night with Laura.

  The fear he still struggled with had blossomed inside of him the day he woke up in the hospital bay, unable to hear, unable to move because of the wicked wound that had ripped his flesh from his bones. He’d fought to get back out with his boys, refusing to leave them in the thick of the battle without him. Maybe if he hadn’t been so stupid, the wound would have healed better. The scar over his heart had long since healed but the relentless fear had woven itself into his skin as it knitted back together.

  That fear was a permanent companion now. He didn’t believe Emily when she said it would fade but he wondered if he would ever live another day without the constant terror that he would lose those who mattered most to him. And while he was pissed and hurt that Story had known about Randall, he still wanted his old friend to be out of combat.

  He understood what drove Story. The same urges had driven him to combat again and again. And now that Story was back downrange and Trent was not, a new, unfamiliar feeling twisted in his guts. Guilt sliced at him for letting his friend go back to war without him.

  Shane cleared his throat. “So listen, this ah, wedding is kind of a big deal to Jen.”

  Carponti leaned between the front seats of the car, his iPod cradled in his prosthetic hand. “And it’s not to you?”

  “Don’t be an ass. Of course it is. But this is… I need to do this right for her.”

  “And you need us because…?” Carponti said.

  “Because I have no idea how to be married. Not in a normal marriage where I actually love my wife.”

  “You loved Tatiana once,” Trent pointed out.

  “I loved the idea of Tatiana more than I loved her. I know that’s a callous thing to say but it’s true.” He swallowed and dragged one hand over his face. “I haven’t told Jen about the deployment. I don’t know how to tell her.”

  “You’re assuming you’re going,” Trent said.

  “You’re still gimped up from getting blown up last year,” Carponti shifted and sat back in his seat. “I qualified expert last week on my M4. The commander was amazed.”

  Trent grinned. “How hard was it to learn to shoot left-handed?”

  “Pretty fucking tough. It’s really weird but I figured it out. I spent a week with a shooting coach from the Ranger Regiment out at Benning. Helped a ton.”

  “That’s awesome. Guess the commander is going to let you deploy?”

  “Hell yeah. Plus, I threatened to call the division sergeant major if he didn’t. And we all know that Sergeant Major Giles is part of my fan club. He’d put in a good word for me.”

  Trent choked back a laugh. “He is no such thing. He hates you.”

  “He just acts that way. He told me he was going to shove my prosthetic up my ass if I didn’t get it out of his face two weeks ago. But he said it in the most loving way.”

  Trent laughed and shook his head, turning to look at Shane. “When are you going to tell Jen that you might be on this deployment?”

  “I have to tell her soon. Like before we get married. I need to give her that out.”

  “Wait, what the hell?” Carponti leaned over the seats again. “You think she won’t marry you if she knows you’re deploying?”

  “I have no right to ask her to wait for me like this. We’re already six years into this war and eight into Afghanistan and we don’t know how long the war will be. I asked her to marry me when I was still hurt. There was a good chance I was getting out of the military. If I get to stay in… She deserves to make that choice. Before I marry her.” His voice grated rough with emotion.

  “She’s not going to walk away over this,” Trent said. He sucked in a deep breath. Once he’d thought the same thing about Laura and he’d damn near lost her. He wasn’t going to feed into Shane’s fears about Jen but he wouldn’t disagree that he needed to be honest with her.

  But Jen knew what she was getting into by marrying the big sergeant. She was marrying a man who would leave and go back to war. When Laura had married Trent, the war hadn’t started yet. They hadn’t yet known what half a decade at war would feel like, what it would do to them.

  He rubbed the scar over his heart. He’d gotten a second chance with her. He didn’t know how but he had. And no matter what he did, he refused to screw it up.

  Because having her back filled the dead space inside of him with something good, something he would do anything to hold onto.

  * * *

  “I’m not coming out.”

  Laura leaned against the wall of the changing room as Nicole and Jen laughed hysterically outside the curtain.

  “Jen, this isn’t funny. This dress makes me look like a fat cupcake with sprinkles. Why would you do this to someone you call a friend?”

  The dress was worse than horrid. Bright silver with sparkling red jewels draped over her breasts. The bust was the only redeeming part. Right below her ribs, the fabric exploded into a ruffle of fabric and fluff that made her look like an overdone… cupcake.

  “Oh come on, you have to let us see.”

  “No. Pick a different dress. I love you like a sister but I’m not wearing this.”

  Nicole finally stopped laughing for long enough to make a threat. “Either come out or we’re coming in.”

  Laura took another look in the mirror and decided that she even hated the bust. “How come you’re not wearing this monstrosity?” she asked Nicole.

  “Because I wanted to see how it looked on you first.”

  “Not funny.”

  Jen giggled and the sound of her friends’ laughter bloomed in Laura’s heart. Once upon a time, she’d worried Jen would never laugh or smile again. The cancer had taken its toll on her but she’d fought back, refusing to let it beat her. “Yes it is. Come on, let us see it.”

  “Laura, do you have the car keys?” Laura closed her eyes as Trent’s voice broke through the hysterical laughter outside the curtain. She could not let him see her in this. “What’s wrong?”

  “Laura won’t come out and show us one of the bridesmaid’s dresses that Jen asked us to model,” Nicole said. “Go in and get her.”

  “No!” She hadn’t been able to get the dress done up in the back. It was gaping open, a giant flapping maw of material.

  But the curtain was already moving as her husband stepped into the tiny changing room, filling the space.

  He still had on the tuxedo pants and crisp white shirt that he’d tried on in another part of the store. The shirt was open at the neck, revealing a sprinkling of dark hair at the edge of his collar. She lifted her gaze from the hard lines of his chest to his face. His lips curled with a teasing smile that flattened when his eyes flicked down her body and back up again.

  A quiet look passed between them and the world faded away for a moment. It was just him and just her. Like they used to be. When she’d still loved him unconditionally.

  Loving him was not the problem, she thought as his gaze swept down her body encased in the horrid dress. It never had been. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled, exposing the corded muscles of his forearms. Veins stood out against his skin. She lifted her gaze to his face, his expression unreadable.

  “What did you need the car keys for?” she asked softly.

  “I needed to get the cell phone charger out of the car.” His eyes darkened as he watched her.

  She offered a faint smile, trying to ignore the heat that ached in her belly. “Tell them this dress is horrendous.”

  He glanced down, his nostrils flaring slightly as he studied her. Her blood warmed beneath his scrutiny and then he lifted his eyes to hers. He flicked his tongue over his bottom lip before scraping his teeth over it. Memories from loving him last night blossomed inside her, like a flower reaching toward the
sunlight.

  “It is pretty bad.” His throat moved as he swallowed. He didn’t smile.

  “You look hungry.” His expression was tense. “Maybe looking like a cupcake wasn’t such a bad thing,” she whispered.

  “I can help you out of it if you want.”

  She suddenly became aware of the silence from the other side of the curtain. “I think I’ve seen this movie,” she whispered, her voice sounding husky even to her own ears. “Is this the part where we have hot make-up sex in the changing room?”

  “We haven’t fought lately,” he murmured, stepping as close as the dress would allow.

  “No, not lately.” She kept her voice low as she ran her finger along the cool fabric of his shirt. The collar was sharp against the tip of her finger, warmed by his skin. “You look nice.”

  She tipped her chin to study the man of her dreams. The man she’d loved since the ninth grade. And she felt like the luckiest woman alive.

  He smiled warmly. “I’d say the same but…”

  Laura laughed. She couldn’t help it. “I know. I look like a red velvet cupcake.”

  It was all so achingly normal. He brushed a strand of hair from her eyes.

  “What would you say if I admitted to thinking inappropriate thoughts right now?” he whispered, his breath hot on her ear.

  “What kind of inappropriate?” It felt good, teasing him. This play of words dancing between them, twining their bodies together like velvet ropes.

  He licked his bottom lip, drawing her gaze to his mouth. “The kind of inappropriate that involves you wearing a lot less than this dress.”

  She lifted her hand, her palm resting over the scars that covered his still beating heart. Her mouth was dry, her blood heated. Arousal, that’s what this was. Arousal caused not by her own hand but by the proximity of her husband.

  “Hey, no getting naked in the bridal shop!” Carponti’s voice was close to the curtain—too close.

  “Go away, Carponti,” Trent growled. He moved, shifting his body so that she’d be blocked from view if Carponti ripped back the curtain, which wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.

  Yards of fabric separated them, but he was so close that the heat from his body radiated off him and into her. She lifted her face to his.

  “I’m kind of stuck in this dress,” she admitted, lifting her gaze to meet his, the question laced with suggestion. “Can you get the rest of the zipper for me?”

  * * *

  He knew it for what it was. A simple, loaded request. A lesser man would have walked away, avoiding the torment of seeing his wife’s naked back without being able to do anything about it. But after the other night, after feeling the pleasure of her body beneath his, he was like a dying man gasping for air. He couldn’t turn away from her. Not now. Not ever. How had he ever run from this? From her?

  From them?

  But Trent was not a lesser man. Trent was hungry. Starving for his wife’s body beneath his lips. He breathed in deeply, unable to speak as she turned, offering him the sensitive skin of her back.

  He met her gaze in the full-length mirror. He wanted her now. His blood pounded in his ears as he lifted his hand to her shoulders, unable to resist the temptation of her bare skin. The ruffles of the dress kept him from stepping closer.

  She lifted her arms, tucking her golden hair beneath her palms and raising them up, exposing the soft curve of her neck. The swell of her breasts was barely contained in the bodice.

  Almost afraid to touch her, he finally traced the pad of his finger down her neck, down the centerline of her back.

  She shivered visibly, arching beneath his touch. Her lips parted and the only sound he heard was the quiet gasp of her breath.

  He shifted his erection away from the painful zipper of the tuxedo pants, then focused his erotic attention on the delicate curve of her spine beneath the black of her strapless bra. Slowly, so slowly, he met her gaze as he traced his thumb down her spine. Her mouth was beautiful, her lips parted and flushed. But her eyes, heavy with arousal, were what held him captive as he pushed the offending zipper lower, lower as he sought to free her from this monstrosity of a dress.

  She moved to pull the dress off, but he cupped her upper arms to stop her. “Let me?” he whispered. He nuzzled her ear, her skin hot beneath his touch. “I can’t get enough of touching you, Laura.”

  Touching her now, her response was a gasp, a silent huff of breath against his cheek as she turned her face to his, her mouth asking for his taste.

  Slowly he traced his fingers up her arms, and over her shoulders. They skimmed the swell of her breasts in that sexy strapless bra and the dress fell in a pool at their feet, forgotten.

  He watched her reaction in the mirror. Watched as her eyes closed to the barest slits, and she arched her hips against his. While he was fully clothed behind her, she wore nothing but the strapless bra and panties. He loved how small she looked in his embrace, felt a thrill of power spike through him as she surrendered to his touch.

  He could take her then. Right there in the dressing room. If he slipped his hand into her panties, he knew he would find her wet and supple and swollen, so ready for his touch. It would be fast and intense.

  It would barely scratch the surface of what he wanted to do with her. He urged her back against him, felt the heat of her skin penetrate the clothing he wore. Felt the soft curve of her ass against his erection, the sweetest friction of softness and fabric. It was torture touching her, loving her and not feeling her body wrapped around his.

  He skimmed his hands down her belly, skirting closer to the heat that drew him. He wanted so badly to touch her. To feel her arousal coat his fingers. He could watch her face contort as he stroked her, the risk of getting caught adding to the erotic thrill of having his nearly naked wife in his arms.

  “God you’re beautiful,” he whispered against her ear. He cradled her hips, framing them in the mirror, loving the gentle swell of her belly and the curves that she’d always hated. But she was a woman, a woman who’d given him two beautiful children. Her body was no longer flawless but watching her skin flush beneath his touch, he knew he would never find greater perfection. Even if he went to the ends of the earth, his wife would still be the only woman who did it for him.

  He traced the edge of her panties with his index finger, loving the thrill of pleasure that shivered over her skin.

  This. This was what he’d missed. The beauty of his wife’s arousal. The soft cries she made when she was coming apart in his arms. This was the memory he had carried with him into battle.

  The fear came from out of nowhere, stealing up from a dark place in his soul, raw and primal, ripping through him like a beast. Promising the loss of the thing he loved more than anything else in the world.

  He wrapped her tight in his arms, pulling her flush against him, burying his face in her throat. Inhaling her scent, the warmth from her skin. Feeling her body shudder in response as she wrapped her arms over his and simply stood. Letting him lean on her.

  Letting him hold her. A simple embrace laced with unspoken things, twining them together.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “So I was called in yesterday by the prosecution’s team of lawyers,” Shane said as he flipped through a book of candles and flowers. It was a strange sight to behold: a big bald man with black tattoos threaded down both arms and yet, there he was, flipping through a book of pink and white and delicate.

  Trent would have smiled if not for his comment. “And?”

  “Well, she asked me about the paperwork and routine crap. Then things got a little interesting,” Shane said. He looked up. “She asked me if I’d ever seen you lose your temper.” Shane shrugged. “Said nothing came to mind.”

  Carponti smiled. “Yeah, it was funny how nothing came to mind when I was asked either.” He paused. “But why is that relevant at all anyway? I mean, we all argue and fight. So what?”

  Trent looked down at his hands. “I don’t know. But Patrick has me seein
g a counselor, working to build a clean bill of mental health for this case.”

  Shane swore quietly. “This isn’t about you deploying too much. It can’t be.”

  “Maybe it can be,” Trent said. “Maybe they’re going to paint me as stressed out, et cetera and use it to show my judgment was questionable. Makes it easier to believe I would forge paperwork to sell parts to buy off Iraqis and keep them from blowing us up, doesn’t it?”

  “Not really,” Carponti said. “I mean that’s a pretty convoluted fucking theory. Why isn’t it easier to believe that Randall just did some illegal shit for money?”

  Trent smiled. “That’s the point, actually. The simple answer to the problem is the easiest. This case they’re trying to build against me is complex and difficult. Makes it harder.” He looked at Shane. Trent shook his head as they headed out of the bridal shop and he wound his way back through the racks and hangers of a thousand different wedding dresses.

  Jen had staunchly refused to show her wedding gown to the men in the room but that hadn’t stopped Laura and Nicole from modeling dresses. After Laura’s disastrous cupcake dress, they’d summoned all of the men over to look at what seemed to be dozens of other dresses, each worse than the last. All of them looked like they had been made by mad wolverines. On acid.

  Carponti had declared that he loved his wife but if he had to sit through one more dress, he was going to kill himself, a comment that had earned him a slap on the back of the head from Shane and an elbow in the ribs from his wife. The physical abuse had done nothing to keep him from laughing, and he had still been cracking up as the three men started for the coffee shop next door. Trent had peeled off from the others not only because he needed his phone, but also because he wanted one last look at Laura.

  He was eager to get his wife alone. The memory of her nearly naked, encased in his arms in the dressing room earlier, was driving him out of his mind as the afternoon had progressed with mind-numbingly painful slowness. All the things that had gone wrong between them no longer seemed important.