Long Road Home

by Marie Meyer

  “Shit,” I mumble. “I should be going with them.” I shake my head, disgusted that I can’t be in two places at once. It kills me knowing that my boys are headed back to that hellhole without me and my mom is stuck here, in her own personal hell. For once, this is a situation I can’t fix…a situation with no right answer, and it pisses me off.

  Pivoting on my heel, I give the tray a final glance, straighten the silverware, and pick it up. There’s nothing I can do for the guys, but I can make damn certain Mom has all her favorite foods: French toast with butter pecan syrup, cheesy grits, and a banana. Hopefully, this will get her to eat something, gather up some strength.

  I climb the stairs, careful not to spill the açaí berry juice on the tray—I read somewhere that açaí berries are great for cancer patients. Not sure if it’s true, but what harm is there? They’ve got to be healthy. I’m at her door in three strides. I listen for a second, praying nothing happened during the night.

  Inside, the muffled sounds of the TV break through the silence, but nothing else. I knock lightly. I need to make sure she’s all right, but I don’t want to disturb her if she’s still asleep.

  “Cayden?” Her voice is weak. Is she still nauseous, or just tired?

  Balancing the tray on one hand, I push the door open. “Morning, Mom.” I walk into her room and am once again blown away by her tiny body swallowed up in the queen-size bed. She’s lost so much weight since her treatment began—colorless skin stretched over a tiny skeleton. I truly know what the term “skin and bones” means and it breaks my heart.

  “How are you feeling?” I cross the room and sit down on the edge of the bed.

  Mom pulls up and rests her back against the headboard. “Better today.” She smiles and pats my hand. “What is this?”

  “Breakfast.” I wink. “Got to get you back to fighting weight.”

  “Thanks, hon’.”

  I shift the tray from my lap to hers. “I’m going to be heading out in a few. Blake’s wedding.”

  With the knife and fork in her hand, she cuts through the French toast and snags a small bite, pulling it off the fork with her front teeth. “Oh,” she sighs, her mouth full. “Maybe I should go.”

  “Uh-uh.” I shake my head. “No way. You’re staying right here. I’ll give him your love; he’ll understand.”

  Mom chews slowly and pushes her food around the plate with the fork. I can almost see the wheels turning in her head and I know what question’s coming next.

  “Really, you’re not taking anyone? I can give Lacey a call, I’m sure Allyson would go with you,” she presses one last time. “Weddings are so romantic, Cayden. I’d like grandchildren one day, you know. You shouldn’t go alone.”

  “And that’s my cue to leave.” I pat Mom’s leg and stand. “I’ll have my phone on me. Call if you need something.”

  “Go”—she waves, shaking her head in disgust—“I’ll be fine, dreaming about the pitter-patter of my grandbabies’ feet.”

  I stand and point at her. “That’s evil, Mom.”

  “It’s all I can do; guilt trips don’t require physical exertion.” She winks.

  I shake my head. She is ridiculous. “I mean it, if you need anything, call me.”

  She points her bony index finger at me. “Got it.”

  Bending, I plant a kiss on her cheek. Her skin is cold against my lips and paper-thin. Cancer’s a coldhearted bitch. I stand. “’Bye. I’ll check in later.”

  “Have fun. Tell Blake how happy I am for him and Dylen, and that I love him. Dance with all the pretty bridesmaids.”

  “You just don’t stop,” I say with a chuckle. With one last wink in Mom’s direction, I walk out of her room, wondering why I agreed to go to this wedding in the first place. I hate putting on a suit. And what the hell is Mom thinking, dance with all the bridesmaids? I can’t dance.

  * * *

  I swing the F-150 into the nearest parking space and kill the engine. With a quick glance at my watch, I have two minutes before Blake’s shindig gets underway. I pull the door open and my feet hit the pavement. Taking the stairs in front of the church three at a time, I reach the heavy red doors and yank them open.

  I’m greeted by a couple of bridesmaids in pink dresses and put on the brakes, careful not to run them over on my way into the sanctuary. “Ladies, pardon me.” I dip my head in apology.

  The taller one nods in return and the beginnings of a smile pull the corners of her lips upward. “It’s okay, sugar.” She unapologetically sends her gaze trailing over my body. “I’ll let you make it up to me with a dance at the reception.” She winks.

  She’s gorgeous, despite the awful pink dress she’s wearing, and she’s my type—dark hair, tall, and fit, with just the right amount of curves. An image of Renata Daniels sparks my memory from yesterday. Damn, now that woman was my type. Those come-hither dark eyes…Jesus. I shake my head, trying to get Renata out of my system.

  “You bet…sugar.” I return her endearment and her wink, then continue my way into the church, listening to the giggles of the two women behind me.

  I find a seat near the back and as soon as my ass hits the pew, the music starts. At least a hundred people turn in my direction, their eyes fixed on the aisle. One at a time, ushers escort Blake and Dylen’s family members to their seats at the front. Mrs. Thompson notices me and waves as she walks down the aisle.

  The music changes and the bridesmaids line up at the door. My dance partner is second in line. She’s tall enough to see over her friend standing in front of her, and I watch as she scans the crowd. When she catches my eye, her smile turns from happy to sultry in a matter of seconds. Tonight might not be so bad after all.

  One after the other, the pink ladies step-touch down the aisle, taking up their marks at the altar. The music shifts again, this time, to a tune I recognize, Pachelbel’s Canon in D—a song Mom loves to play at Christmastime.

  I turn my head and look to the back of the church again. Standing in the doorway, ready to walk down the aisle is a tall, slender woman, the shiny material of her pale pink–ivory dress outline the contours of her stunning body. I know her.

  I pull in a deep breath, floored. The maid of honor is Renata Daniels?

  Fuck me.

  She glides past my pew, down the aisle, a smile that could set the world on fire brightening her face.

  I cannot believe she’s here…and a really close friend of Blake’s bride, no doubt. It is a small fucking world.

  This wedding just got a whole hell of a lot more interesting. And I hate to disappoint the other bridesmaid I already promised a dance with, but there’s no way I’m letting Renata speed away from me this time.

  I can’t keep my eyes off her. I barely register the “Wedding March” blasting from the organ and everyone rising to their feet. I’m reluctant to take my eyes off Renata fearing she’ll disappear or just end up being a figment of my imagination.

  I stand, tossing a quick look at Dylen and her father making their way down the aisle. She’s a lovely bride, Blake’s a lucky man, but Dylen is not who I’m interested in. I turn my head back to the front and lock my gaze on Renata.

  I don’t have the best view of her from the back of the church, but I can make out the shape of her full bow-shaped lips. They’re painted a deep shade of pink, like a rose. I’m not a fan of lipstick, but in this case, the added color helps bring out her features.

  Dylen makes it to the front, standing to the right of Renata. “Who gives this woman to this man?” the reverend says.

  “Her mother and I,” Dylen’s father replies with a thick French accent.

  The reverend nods and Dylen’s dad steps back, giving Dylen room to stand at Blake’s side.

  The ceremony continues but I’m oblivious to what’s going on. I watch the way the light casts shadows on Renata’s dress when she moves her hips, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. My hands twitch at the thought of running my hands over the smooth fabric of her dress, along the conto
urs of her slim waist and outer thighs. She’s tall enough to complement my six feet two inches.

  With her tiny waist in my hands it wouldn’t take much to pull her to me and kiss that lipstick right off.

  My thoughts don’t stop at kissing and soon I’m leaning forward in my seat, trying to hide an inappropriate church erection.

  Great, Cayden. You’re in church, man. Church. Knock it off.

  The last time I got a hard-on in church, I was fourteen and Kelly Fleming was sitting in the pew in front of me. Kelly Fleming had a nice ass. Not as nice as Renata’s though. Damn, that material is magic.

  Shit! Stop thinking. Just STOP!

  I close my eyes and try to focus on work stuff. My SWAT interview coming up next week. How much I want that position.

  A loud shuffling pulls my thoughts away from work and I open my eyes to see everyone standing. With my situation under control, I stand and take a deep breath. What the hell is my problem? I’m worse than a horny teenager with a stash of Penthouse magazines under the bed.

  “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the reverend says. Blake and Dylen turn and face the congregation. “It is my pleasure to present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Blake and Dylen Thompson.”

  The organ joins the applause and Blake puts his hand on Dylen’s cheek. She leans into his touch, giving him her full attention. Bending to meet her lips, Blake kisses her.

  It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a woman and damn, would I love to do the same thing to the maid of honor.

  * * *

  Unfastening the top few buttons of my shirt, I take a long pull on my beer. “Shit, it’s hot in here.”

  “No kidding.” My old high school friend Gabe puts a finger inside the collar of his shirt and pulls, trying to loosen the fabric. “Did they forget to turn the air on?”

  I shrug and take another drink, looking around the room. Blake’s reception is like a high-school class reunion, except that most of the people here didn’t run in my circles. Friendly acquaintances at best. But Gabe, he crossed the academic–jock line, formidable debater and skilled football player. Brains and brawn. The ladies loved him.

  “The wedding party’s limo just pulled up.” A very pregnant woman comes to stand beside Gabe and puts her arm around his waist.

  Gabe drapes his arm around the woman’s shoulders, hugging her to his side. “Cayden, this is my wife, Elise. Elise, Cayden.”

  I put my beer in my left hand and run my right hand down the side of my pants to dry the condensation from the bottle before I extend my hand in greeting. “Nice to meet you, Elise.” I give her a smile as we shake hands, then look at Gabe. “I didn’t know you got married.”

  “Two happy years, man.” He turns to Elise and gives her a quick kiss. “Our first little one is due next month.” He runs a hand over the swell of her belly.

  While I was overseas, it seems all of my old friends decided it was time to get married and start families. Where did the time go? I feel very out of touch with the people I grew up with. I’ve always wanted to find a woman that would put up with me, marry her, and have a bunch of kids—I never liked being an only child—but, I thought that would all come later, when I was older…more grown up. When did getting married and having kids happen at twenty-something? When did that become the “grown-up” age?

  “Congratulations, you guys. Great news. Do you know what you’re having?” I ask.

  “A boy.”

  “A girl.” Gabe and Elise answer together and then laugh.

  “We both have our suspicions, but no,” Elise explains. “We decided to wait and be surprised.”

  “Well, he or she is lucky to have you two as parents.”

  “Is there a Mrs. Sinclair?” Gabe raises an eyebrow.

  I pick up my beer and put it to my lips, taking the last swallow and shaking my head. I set the bottle down with a loud thump. “No. My tour in Afghanistan didn’t leave me much time to date.”

  Gabe waved away is comment. “Oh, I’m sorry, man. That came out the wrong way. I didn’t mean anything—”

  “Honestly, Gabe”—I cut him off—“I’ve been so caught up in advancing my career, I put my love life on hold. And I’m taking care of my mom, she’s not well. Now’s not the right time.” I shake my head.

  “I’m sorry your mom is sick,” Elise chimes in. We don’t know each other, but it’s nice of her to show concern.

  “Thanks, Elise.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the DJ’s deep voice booms through the speakers. “Put your hands together for the wedding party.”

  Dance hall music blasts and the crowd begins clapping to the heavy beat. A rush of excitement goes through me as I wait for the DJ to call Renata’s name. I hope she’s not here with anyone. Do you really think that’s possible? Did you see the way she looked? Even my conscience thinks she’s hot, and definitely not single. I’m so screwed.

  After five minutes, the DJ has gone through most of the wedding party. The best man and the maid of honor are all that’s left, besides Blake and Dylen.

  An upbeat rock version of “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah” floods the room and the doors open. “Give it up for Ren Daniels and David Thurston!”

  Ren. She must go by Ren. My heart pounds in my chest just like it did yesterday when I pulled her over. I can’t put into words how stunning she truly is. Watching her dance, my mouth goes dry. I pick up my beer bottle from the table and bring it to my lips. Shit, it’s empty.

  I set it back down, but don’t take my eyes from Ren. David, Blake’s best man, twirls her on the dance floor, and I can hear her melodic laugh even above the loud music. She looks happy. Are she and David a thing? Fuck, I hope not, because I have got to get to know this woman.

  Leaning toward Gabe, I cup my hand around my mouth and ask, “Know anything about her?” I nod in Ren’s direction. “The maid of honor?”

  Gabe shakes his head. “Not really, just that she and Dylen were college roommates.”

  “She here with anyone?” I’m dying to know.

  “Don’t know, man.” Gabe looks at me and shrugs. “You should find out though; she’s hot.”

  Elise hears Gabe’s comment and knocks her fist lightly into his shoulder. “Watch it, bud.”

  Gabe puts his hands up in surrender. “Not as hot as you, Leesy.” Lowering his arms, he wraps them around her, folding his hands on her stomach. Gabe kisses her cheek, she smiles, and the two of them sway together to the music.

  Maybe I do have my priorities fucked up. Seeing how happy Gabe and Elise and Blake and Dylen are, maybe I should have listened to my parents and put more effort into finding someone and settling down.

  But then I think about everything I’ve been through. Bombs echo in my head. All the death and destruction I saw in Afghanistan—those nightmares still plague me. Asking another person to share those scars would be asking too much. And my job, the potential danger that comes with each call or traffic stop. Who knows when my number will be up? I can’t get involved with someone right now. What kind of life would that be for my girlfriend, or wife? There’s always the distinct possibility that I won’t come home. I put my life on the line each day because I enjoy helping people, keeping people safe. Can I ask someone I love to live with the fear that I could be injured or killed? I want a family, but are my career ambitions asking too much of someone?

  And Mom. She needs my undivided attention. I don’t need a relationship getting in the way of what is important—making sure Mom keeps fighting.

  I watch Ren, smiling, dancing, and having a good time. Selfishly, I want nothing more than to get to know her, despite all the risks.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Ren

  “Oliver and I are going to dance,” Lexie says, grabbing hold of her boyfriend’s hand. “You gonna be okay?” she asks. She’s the last of my friends to hit the dance floor.

  I wave a dismissive hand and toss back the last of my champagne. “Go, I’m good.” I yank the bottle from the ice bucket and give it a
once over. I could save myself the work of pouring multiple glasses and just drink out of the bottle? Nah, got to keep it classy for Dylen’s sake.

  Lexie frowns. “I feel bad. Are you sure?”

  I look to Oliver. “Will you get your girl out on the dance floor?”

  He smiles and nods, pulling Lexie along. I waggle my fingers at them as they disappear into the crowd and chug glass number three. I pour another and enjoy the numbing heat that spreads over my cheeks. I’ve craved this feeling all day long.

  What is it about weddings that makes being single feel like a contagious disease? People stare at me funny, and I can read their thoughts, What’s wrong with her? Why couldn’t she get a date?

  Getting a date isn’t the hard part, putting my trust in a man is where I break down. Tears sting my eyes and I reach for the champagne bottle again. Fuck, I hate weddings.

  Holding my glass as steadily as possible I tip more bubbly into the flute. I can feel the music thump in my temples. The glittering lights bounce off the disco ball at the center of the dance floor, making me dizzy. I put the nearly finished bottle back on the table and close my eyes for a second, hoping the vertigo will pass.

  After taking several deep breaths, I open my eyes and the swirling, dancing specks of light have disappeared behind a giant shadow. I look up and see a guy standing in front of me.

  He’s tall and has the broadest shoulders I’ve ever seen. He’s already ditched his tie and unbuttoned his collar, but that only makes the white dress shirt and tailored suit pants look all the more sexy—very GQ. Bringing my gaze up to his face, there’s something familiar about him.

  With his lips curled up at the corners, he extends his hand. “I’m Cayden.”

  Through the haze of champagne, I shake his hand. “Ren.”

  “Would you like to dance, Ren?”

  His voice…a memory tickles the back of my brain. I’ve heard it before. Who is he?

  Anxiety washes over me. I hate it when I can’t remember shit. Bad things happen when I can’t remember things.