Authors: Katherine Owen
I strip down and step into the bath water. It's just hot enough. Perfect. I actually smile and sink down under the water and allow my thoughts to drift. I've managed to take in ten whole seconds of peaceful bliss, when I remember the pregnancy test that I'd inadvertently left on the bathroom counter this morning. I push up out of the water and look over. The counter's bare.
Shit.
It's gone.
I swing out of the bathtub and go over and stare at the empty space where the test should be for a long time. My mind races. I bought it when I arrived in Malibu a week ago. Chinese take-out and a pregnancy test. Incompatible things. I bitterly smile and begin opening all the drawers, one by one. In the last drawer, I find the First Response box. I frown. Did I put it there? Or, did Brock? Or, the cleaning lady? Then, I remember the Evian water.
Brock.
Damn it.
I shiver, realizing the only thing I have control of right now is taking a bath. There's no sense wasting perfectly warm, scented bath water over a pregnancy test and who might know about it. I climb back in.
I'll have to come up with something. I just need to think.
Think.
Perhaps, I should just take the test.
I climb back out of the bathtub. Read through the directions with shaking hands and do the test. Then, I put everything away, including the test stick that may foretell my future. I push it all into the back of the cabinet behind the cleaning supplies. Thirty seconds later, I gratefully sink back into the tub and take a deep breath.
A quick knock at the door is followed by Brock's entrance.
"Are you decent? Oh, sorry," he says.
"You don't look sorry."
"I'm not." He smiles wide.
"Thanks for all the lit candles. The lavender bath salts. It's nice."
"You're welcome. I wish I could say I took the time to buy them somewhere like L'Occitane and not the gift shop at Dulles, but I can't." He gets this hopeful look.
"How did you get here? To the States? I thought your tour ended in April."
"Kate pulled the paperwork. She came all the way there and rescinded her sign-off."
"Kate."
"Kate," he says with a shrug. "I was having some trouble concentrating on the missions. I'd lost you and I was thinking about my dad and Max too much of the time. I wasn't focused." He frowns. "I had three sniper partners in as many months."
The intermittent sound of dripping water is all there is for a while.
"You lost your edge," I finally say.
"I lost my edge," he says with surprise.
I hesitate before saying, "I'm sorry."
"Are you?"
I invoke his propensity for silence and then finally answer, "No."
"I'm not either. I never should have gone back. I never should have left." He stops talking and gets this anguished look. "You. I never should have left
you
."
"Who left who?" I say with a wan smile. Then, I shake my head. "I'm not ready for this conversation." To prove my point, I sink down further in the tub and essentially ignore him. The water's cool now. I keep myself from shivering in front of him by clasping my arms across my chest and clenching my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering.
"Are you going to tell me about it?"
"Tell you about what?" I ask testily.
"The pregnancy test."
I nod slowly, vying for time and a weak attempt at maintaining my composure. I've barely registered the existence of this baby to myself let alone to someone else. "There's not much to say about that," I say slowly. "I was careless. It happens." I give him this nonchalant shrug. "I'm not sure what I'm going to do."
This shadow crosses his features. He looks troubled, unhappy.
"I'll take care of you regardless."
"I can take care of myself."
"I'm not leaving."
"Stay as long as you like." I flick my hand around. "Look. I've had a long day. I'm tired." I give him this pointed, please-leave-me-alone look.
"Did you tell him?"
"Tell who?"
"The baby's father?"
I nod slowly. "He knows."
I covertly watch his reaction. He looks even more despondent now. The words,
it's yours,
almost escape my lips.
Instead, I say, "Bad timing."
Breathe.
He turns away from me. "I'm not leaving," he says again.
"Don't make promises you can't keep."
"I don't. Not anymore." He sounds so defeated that I sink further into the water to keep from reaching out to him. "Good night, Jordan," he says from the doorway.
"Night."
≈ ≈
I wait another fifteen minutes before I step out of the tub. Now, I'm freezing cold and shivering uncontrollably. I wrap myself in a towel and move quickly through the master bedroom, hoping he's asleep by now. I turn the clock radio on low, so my movements are muted by the sound.
Within a half hour, I've managed to dry my hair, reapply a bit of make-up, and get dressed again in jeans and a long white cable sweater. I spend a few minutes trying to style my hair, but it's hopeless, curling in impossible waves when I normally flat-iron it straight. But, I need to get going. Impatient now, I tuck most of it under the knitted cap from earlier and slip on my white winter coat from the living room's coat closet. I'm cold and hot at the same time from all the rushing around the past half hour.
I scramble around for pen and paper and write him a quick note:
Brock,
The timing's bad. You know this. I have some things I need to do. I'll see you later. I'll be back in the late afternoon. I suppose there are some things we should say, that need to be said, before you go.
Jordan
I stare at him for a long time in the semi-darkness. The long plane ride he must have taken from halfway around the world has caught up to him. Brock sleeps deep.
I'm reminded of Ethan when he first came home from his tours. He told me once that there's so much peace in being home that it always took him a couple of days to get used to it, to fully leave behind the stresses and constant terror that resided within him in Afghanistan. Ethan always said he constantly craved the sleep and peace of home. Brock is probably the same way.
Without thinking, I reach out and touch his face. He startles awake. In the next second, he grabs me by the arm and flips me down on the bed before I even have time to react.
"What? Who?" Brock shouts.
For a moment, I'm allowed a glimpse of his personal terror. He doesn't see me. He sees the darkness of a world I've only begun to comprehend.
"Get a grip, soldier." I breath heavy and can't help but be frightened by his crazed look. "It's me. It's Jordan."
The light of recognition returns to his eyes. "Oh. Jordan. Sorry. Forgot where I was," he says.
I'm still beneath him and yet I openly gaze up at his handsome face and try to breathe.
This is not good. Just go.
My body has other ideas and begins to respond. I'm so busy trying to quell these sensual feelings that it takes a few seconds before I register that he's just grabbed the note from my outstretched hand.
"What's this?"
"Nothing. Give it back."
I slide to the right as he reaches over and turns on the bedside lamp.
We both blink with the sudden light. He glances down and begins reading my note.
"What do you think we'd do if the timing was actually ever good for us?" he asks quietly after he finishes.
"What would we do?" I ask in wonder.
I stare at his bare chest. My eyes stray down to his sexy boxer briefs.
I've slept with the man. I've grieved with him. But, have I ever stopped long enough to let myself really love him?
My eyes begin to sting. He reaches out and traces my lips.
"Where are you going at almost three in the morning, Jordan?"
"Oh, the places we'll go, the places we'll see," I say in a lyrical voice, mimicking one of Max's favorite Dr. Seuss stories.
"Oh, the places we'll go," Brock says. He rereads the note and frowns. "I suppose there are some things we should say, that need to be said, before you
go
? That's kind of cold." He runs his hand through his hair and sighs.
"The timing's bad. You
know
this."
"Okay, if that's what you want me to believe, fine. But, where are you going at three in the morning?"
"I'm doing a jump at Camarillo Airport. Skydiving, remember? I have to pick up Seth. As you very well know, we have a date. Seth and I. We have a date. Me and Seth." I stare directly up at him with this try-and-stop-me look.
He runs a hand through his hair. I bite my lip to keep from physically reacting to the movement.
"It's a forty-minute drive to Camarillo," he drawls. "There won't be any traffic this early in the morning. So, where are you
really
going?"
"I just need to go."
"What if I asked you to postpone your jump by a day or two?" Brock asks so softly that I strain to hear him. "I know I'm asking a lot, but if you just waited a day or two. For me. So I could say everything. Would you do it?"
He sounds so sincere. I want to believe him. I need to believe him.
"Have you been to Austin?" I ask in a low voice.
"No. I came to see you first." He hesitates. "I thought we could spend Christmas together. That we
should
spend Christmas together. Just you and me. Not Seth and you. You and me. The two of us. I haven't been home for Christmas in four years. And, I want to be home.
Here.
With you."
Tears spring up. He looks sad and lost and I'm still too close to him. It must be the damn, raging hormones making me feel this way. I nod slowly still trying to decipher everything he's just said.
"Home."
"Wherever you are. That's home to me."
His words begin to undo all the complications. I emotionally soften with each word he utters. There's this shifting going on inside of me again. I wipe at my face with the back of my hand and try to stall for time. It seems to be slipping away from me the longer I gaze at him.
"Christmas, huh? That's two weeks away," I say slowly. "Isn't it?"
"Something like that."
"What would we do? That day? Christmas Day."
"Whatever you want. Whatever you need to do, we'll do it, together."
He gets this intense look and appears to be holding his breath, waiting for my answer.
I do the same and affect this nonchalance as I slide off the bed.
I grab my cell phone and turn away from him. With shaking fingers, I text an apology note to Rob that basically tells him I can't make it because something's come up. I send a similar text to Seth. Who, I imagine, will oversleep anyway.
Something's come up and he's lying in the bed over there.
He's alive. He's here. He came back.
The shifting inside gives way completely. Joy surges. I believe him. In his promise. In what he's said.
"Okay," I finally say.
"Okay, what?"
"Okay, I won't do the jump for a day or two and I'll listen to what you have to say and you can stay. For Christmas."
"Okay," he says. "Come here then." He pats the empty side of the bed and looks uncertain. "I promise I won't touch you. Frankly, I'm pretty tired, but I need you to be right next to me."
My body moves of its own volition. I slip out of my coat and jeans, pull off the knit cap, and toss it toward the chair. I walk over to the bed and slide underneath the covers and try to breathe.
For the next ten seconds, I shiver beneath the cold sheets. And then, he turns out the light and moves in next to me and wraps his legs around mine, effectively trapping me. I want to argue with him, don't I? But he's warm and I'm still cold, so I move further into his arms and chest.
"This I miss," he says, sniffing my hair from behind.
"You had what? Twelve hours with me?" I turn towards him in disbelief and stare at him. "Nobody can miss that with just twelve hours."
"Want to bet?"
"No," I say with a shaky laugh. I turn away, suddenly shy, and fully aware of him. And, deep inside, I'm flying high.
He's here. He's alive. He makes me feel alive, too.
How did I end up here?
My mind races with all these unanswerable questions. He must feel me tremble.
I
can feel me trembling.
"Jordan, it's okay. I'm not going to touch you. I'm too tired. I just want to hold on to you. Is that okay?"
"Okay."
After a few more minutes, my body settles down. I tremble less. I slide further back into him and feel his length stretch alongside mine. His breathing becomes steady and shallower within minutes. He's asleep for real this time. His left hand encircles my abdomen. This kicking sensation stops my breath as the baby moves.