A Broken Christmas (14 page)

Kyle’s nearly inaudible whisper stopped Aimee in the doorway. “Stay with me.”

She turned, uncertain whether she’d heard him correctly or if her imagination created the wishful fantasy. Propped on his good elbow, his gaze held hers unblinking. The meaning of his request hit her like a Mack Truck and nearly knocked her backwards out of the room.
He wanted her.

This was the man she had married. The one who turned to her when something chewed him up on the inside. Her brave soldier who knew the horrors of a battlefield and stoically accepted duty, then sought humanity once again in a tender embrace.

Aimee’s pulse skipped several beats before she found the ability to move her feet and return to her side of the bed. Hesitant, afraid he would change his mind, she pulled the covers down and slipped in beside him. His arm came around her waist. A gentle tug guided her back against his warm—and delightfully naked—body.

“I need to hold you,” he whispered into her hair.

As she slipped her ankle between his, she nodded. He could hold her until time ceased to exist. It was all she had really ever wanted. For a little while, even if this fantasy crashed to an end when he awakened, her life could be normal. One thing, however, meant more than the incredible feel of his protective hold and the thump of his heart against her shoulder blade. He wanted her,
needed
her. That wouldn’t go away with dawn. And the stunning admission fueled the fragile hope she had nurtured for the last year.

His breathing leveled. The weight in his arm became lifeless. She nestled deeper into the plush mattress, closed her eyes, and a soft smile drifted across her lips. Kyle had come home at last.

****

The
tap-tap
of a woodpecker dragged Aimee from blissful slumber, and she opened her eyes, convinced last night had been some sort of weird dream. Yet as she oriented with the bright sunlight streaming through her window, the familiar warmth pressing into her from shoulders to ankles soaked in fully. Unwilling to leave the haven of Kyle’s arms, she twisted her head to inspect the clock.

Almost eleven. Good grief. She hadn’t slept this late in years.

Slowly, she rolled over. Kyle lifted his arm to accommodate her movements, and as she settled her gaze on his handsome face, she found his green eyes on her. Aimee ran her fingertips over the stubble along his jaw. “Good morning.”

“It’s almost noon,” he murmured.

“Yeah.” The smile that refused to stay buried surfaced again. It seemed a lifetime since she woke in Kyle’s embrace, and her heart soared at the scent of his clean skin, the stirring of her hair beneath the gentle fall of his breath. “How are you feeling?”

“I hurt like hell.” He gave in to a yawn. “And I can’t keep my eyes open. Don’t give me one of those things again.”

Aimee chuckled. “I won’t. It will wear off in a few hours. I stopped taking them for the same reasons—remember?”

“Yep.” He snugged his arm around her waist, drawing her closer into his body. Despite the thin layer of clothing that separated her from his bare skin, she felt the hard press of early morning arousal against her belly.

Temptation called, hollowing out her womb with longing. But his rejection the night before stilled her hand from exploring the rigid contours of his body. She contented herself with a soft kiss over his steadily drumming heart.

“You feel good,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t be here, but damn, you feel good.”

“You belong here, Kyle.”

Before he could argue and the sudden tightness in his forearm could spread, she flattened her palm against his cheek and drew him into a gentle kiss. His resistance ebbed, the play of his lips against hers equally tender as his arm relaxed around her waist. Everything inside her sighed in contentment at the languid stroke of his tongue, the scratch of whiskers against her chin.

Kyle eased the kiss to a lingering close and ran the tip of his index finger across the bridge of her nose. “Did I hurt you badly?”

“Nah. It’s a little tender. But, it’s okay.”

His fingertip drifted beneath her right eye, and he let out a quiet groan. “You’re going to have a black eye.”

“Won’t be the first.” Giving him a teasing grin, she poked him in the middle of the chest. “I’m a soldier, remember?”

“Yeah, but those didn’t come from me.”

Aimee pressed her lips over his mouth. “Hush. I’m not the first nightmare victim. I doubt I’ll be the last.” She changed the subject before regret could carry him back to that unreachable place he retreated to. “I’ll fix us something to eat. You want to come down or stay up here?”

His chuckle skittered her hair across her cheek. “I don’t really have a choice today. I can hardly move my leg.”

“Okay. You stay here. I’ll fix you breakfast in bed. Then, I have some last minute shopping to do if you’ll promise you won’t try the stairs.”

The first genuine grin she’d seen in a long time lifted one corner of his mouth. He marked an imaginary X over his chest. “I promise, Doc.”

Reluctantly, Aimee wriggled out of his embrace and left the bed. Progress. She had finally made unmistakable progress with Kyle. The reminder gave her the ability to leave the haven of their bedroom and put aside the fear that she might never again wake to find him lying beside her.

Now, if she could only break through the last of his walls and understand what had brought them to this dark place. If confronting his physical inabilities had brought him this far, only one other thing could drag him the rest of the way—Conner.

Rather, Conner’s mom.

Chapter Twelve

With Kyle resting in bed, a tray full of snacks on the floor at his side, Aimee grabbed her coat off the peg behind the door and dashed out to the Jeep. The bright sunshine was an illusion. Frosty winter air blasted through her clothes, making her teeth chatter as she unlocked the driver’s side. She climbed in, keyed the engine, and turned the heater on high. While she waited on the frost to clear off the windshield, she rubbed her hands together to generate warmth.

Winter was one of her favorite seasons, but mornings like this she could do without. Twenty-six degrees, with wind gusts at thirty miles an hour bringing in more snow overnight. Perfect for Christmas. Terrible for shopping the day before.

More than anything, however, the deep chill reminded her of growing up in Northern Maine and holidays spent wondering whether her father might show up or not. The cold was second nature. Kyle, however, had made the season bright.

When her teeth stopped chattering, she backed out of the driveway, put the Jeep in four-wheel drive, and navigated down the snow-covered street. At the bottom of the hill, Aimee turned east, heading across town.

What she was about to do might border on unforgivable in Kyle’s book. But if it helped him heal, she was willing to take that risk.

Twenty minutes later, she nosed into Mom Walsh’s ranch house driveway, right behind Conner’s dark blue SUV. She frowned at his back window.
He
wasn’t supposed to be here. In typical Conner last-minute fashion, he was supposed to be shopping. She’d been more prepared to run into him at the mall than at his mother’s house.

Aimee turned off the engine, debating the wisdom of going to the door. Conner wouldn’t make this easy.

To hell with it. Conner could fight her all he wanted; she didn’t intend to walk out of Mom Walsh’s house until she achieved what she came here for.

In long, determined strides, Aimee crossed the sidewalk and stepped onto the covered front porch. Nervously, she pushed the bell. Listened to the echoing tone beyond the door.

“Coming,” Mom Walsh called.

“I’ll get it, Mom.” Closer, Conner’s voice resonated through the side-panel glass.

Aimee muttered a curse beneath her breath. Maybe she could find a way to coerce him into leaving for a while. In the last several months, Conner had become her best friend, but that was precisely why she didn’t want him here. He’d call her plan foolish. Accuse her of not thinking things through.

The door swung open. Sandwich halfway raised to his mouth, Conner’s eyes widened. “Aims. What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to Mom.” Without waiting for an invitation, she ducked around Conner’s broad shoulders and let herself inside.

“Come in, why don’t you?” Laughter fringed his words.

She flashed him a grin. “Thanks, I think I will.”

“Aimee? Is that you?” Mom Walsh called from the back of the house.

“It’s me!” She shrugged out of her coat and tossed it over the back of a recliner chair. Then, she turned a sugary sweet smile on Conner. “Why don’t you go away for a while? Fetch me some Starbucks or something.”

Baby blues twinkled as he gnawed off the corner of his ham and Swiss. “That’s a little obvious, don’t you think? Mom’s finishing up laundry. She’ll be out in a minute. Want a sandwich?”

“No thanks. Late breakfast.” Grumbling, Aimee followed him up the stairs into the kitchen. So much for excerpting Conner out of this conversation. Well, he’d just have to deal with all the things he wouldn’t want to hear…and she’d just have to accept she had a fight ahead of her.

At this rate, she should buy stock in boxing gloves.

Conner passed her a cold can of Pepsi. As she accepted, he gestured at the dark spot under her right eye. “Fighting over a gift at the mall?”

“Um. No.” She popped the top and took a long drink.

“No?” One rascally eyebrow arched. “What gives, Aims? You’re awfully secretive today.”

Aimee sighed. “Kyle nailed me while he was sleeping.”

“Kyle hit you?” Though his voice rose, his mouth twitched with unspent laughter.

“Kyle Gardner hit you?” Mom Walsh repeated from behind Aimee, her question nowhere near the teasing nature of Conner’s.

Aimee turned around in a hurry. “Yes, but it’s not what you think. He was asleep. Dreaming.” Her gaze slid accusingly toward Conner. “About Denton and whatever
you
won’t tell me.”

“I think that’s my cue to get more firewood.” Conner stuffed the last of his sandwich in his mouth and grabbed his jacket off the kitchen chair.

Aimee shot Mom Walsh a pleading look and jerked her head toward the front door. “Make him leave,” she mouthed.

Mom Walsh patted Aimee’s shoulder as she slipped past her son and went to the cupboard for a stoneware mug. “Conner?”

“Yep?”

“I really need a can of cherries before the store closes.”

Conner’s attention jumped to Aimee. Though she tried to keep her smirk from registering on her face, she felt the corner of her mouth twitch. Score one for Mom. Conner would get even later, no doubt about it, but this conversation wasn’t meant for his ears.

The threat of retaliation glimmered in his narrowed eyes. He pulled his coat on slowly. “I’m going. But I want to know what this is about. What are you plotting now, Aims?”

She gave him her brightest, most innocent smile. “Just Christmas. Now shoo.”

“We’re not coming over,” Conner called as he headed for the door. “Kyle doesn’t want us around, Mom. This is a bad idea.”

Aimee held Mom Walsh’s concerned gaze as Conner left the house. Breathing easier with him out of earshot, she sat down on a tall bar stool at the island and spun her Pepsi between her hands. “I need some advice.”