Capturing Peace (9 page)

“You’re right, Reagan. Actually being a father hasn’t crossed my mind. And, no, I don’t know how I would have reacted if Parker had asked me if he could call me that; but I know it wouldn’t have made me bolt for the door. Because I knew he came with you. And you? God, woman, you fucking know how to piss me off . . . but that doesn’t stop me from wanting you so damn bad. But I do know this. I know that your son is the coolest fucking kid I’ve ever met. I know that last night was the best night of my life. The
whole
night, not just after Parker went to bed. I know that I want a lot more nights just like it. And I know that what
did
freak me out, was the thought of not having it again when you were telling me it was over this morning.”

“Coen . . .” I swallowed roughly and looked away when his thumb brushed against my jaw. “I’m trying to save all of us a lot of hurt down the road. This can’t work between us.”

“How do you figure? Because last night and this morning, I could’ve sworn you were thinking the opposite.”

My cheeks heated and I tried to push away the memories that kept assaulting me from our time together. “Almost all of our conversations begin with arguments. Have you realized that?”

“Yeah,” he said without missing a beat. “And how have all of those arguments ended? Just like this one. With you in my arms, and with you fighting what you want.”

“That’s not something to be proud of, Coen. It can’t be healthy for people in a relationship to have most their conversations start as fights. What if Parker starts catching on to that? And I don’t willingly go into your arms, you always back me up against something so I don’t have any other option!”

Coen just smiled and shook his head once as he got somehow, impossibly, closer to me. “We argue because you’re a bitch and I’m a dick, and neither of us know how to keep our mouths shut. We argue because you’re usually fighting me on something, or trying to protect yourself and Parker, and I’m trying to get you to see how ridiculous you’re being. We argue because that’s
our
way of talking through things. We get loud, yeah, but we don’t scream at each other, we don’t throw shit, and you will never in your life see me raising a hand to you or any woman. So we argue? Who fucking cares, Reagan? At least we don’t have to worry about our first fight. At least we don’t have to worry about communication issues. This is how we talk, and when we’ve talked everything out, we’re fine.”

“Always the charmer, Coen. You really think you can call me a bitch, and I’ll just swoon or something because you tried to justify it?”

He looked at me for a few seconds before whispering, “Yeah, Duchess, I do.”

“That’s not how—” My words cut off on a high-pitched whimper when his mouth pressing firmly against mine, and it took a few seconds of giving into his kiss before I pushed him back. “No, I’m not done being mad!”

Coen’s dark eyes held mine, the humor now gone. “You’re not mad at me, Reagan. You’re trying to protect yourself again, and in doing that you’ve tried to find reasons to be pissed. If anyone should be mad here, it’s me. You tried to take you and Parker from me because
you
thought I would run. You tried to take away my say in
our
relationship. If I really thought you wanted to break up, then this wouldn’t be happening. But I know what you’re trying to do, and I’m not going to let you.”

“I’m—”

“Scared. You’re scared, baby, I know.”

My jaw trembled harder and tears pricked at the back of my eyes.

“We can have this argument a thousand more times than we already have, Duchess, and I’m still going to be here, fighting for our chance. What Parker said scared
you
today. Not me. You. But like I said, I know you don’t want to break up. I know you want this just as bad as I do. We can go back a few steps, we can slow things down. I won’t come over, I won’t stay the night . . . whatever it takes for you not to be scared.”

“We can’t, Coen, that’s just it. Did you not hear what I said to Keegan? Everything’s fast with us, but fast feels right when I’m with you. I just—” I cut off on a strained sob and dropped my face into my hands. “This isn’t some insecurity of mine that you will leave me. This isn’t me being ridiculous because I don’t want to lose you. I can’t have Parker lose you, do you understand? I can’t have him fall in love with you and lose you! It seems dumb to you, it may seem dumb to everyone . . . but
his
heart is my priority . . . not mine.”

Coen moved my hands from my face, and tilted my head back so he could brush the tears back. He stayed silent for long minutes as he cradled my face in his hands, and I braced myself for when he would finally agree with me. Agree that he couldn’t do this.

“I can’t promise a future, Reagan,” he began softly. “I can’t promise a future because I’ve seen too many lives cut short. Nothing is certain. But with what you know about me, with how I feel about you; you can be assured that leaving you—leaving the woman who silences my demons—is the last thing I want. You asked me why I pushed so hard for this . . . do you not see me still fighting for us? Fighting after only a couple weeks for something that neither of us can guarantee?”

Blinking away more tears, I looked up into his pained expression, and everything in me ached at the hurt I saw there.

“You’re terrified of what will happen to you and Parker if I leave . . . have you even realized that you already gave me a taste of what it would be like for
you
to leave?”

“Coen,” I cried out, and covered my mouth with shaky hands.

“I can’t promise you forever. But neither can you. All I can promise you is that I want you, I want to be with you, I want to be there for your son—and I can’t begin to fathom hurting either of you.” His dark eyes moved back and forth between mine for a few seconds. “Okay?”

I nodded and managed to choke out, “ ’Kay.”

A soft breath blew past his lips as relief settled over his face. “Now can we stop with this bullshit? I told you, I’ll have this same fight with you a thousand times, but Duchess, that doesn’t mean it
shouldn’t
stop. There has to be some kind of trust between us. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” I whispered.

Brushing a kiss across my lips, he wiped my cheeks with his thumbs once more before letting his forehead fall against mine and releasing a heavy sigh. “Jesus Christ, Duchess. I told you, you’ll be the death of me,” he said softly, before stepping back and bringing me away from the wall.

Walking us back toward the couch, he pulled me down so I was sitting sideways on his lap and wrapped his arms around me. “I’m sorry.”

His hand paused for a second before continuing on the path up and down my back. “I know you are. But we fought it out, talked everything through, and it’s behind us now. So there’s no need to say you’re sorry anymore.”

I couldn’t even remember if I’d said sorry before, and I needed to apologize for everything I’d done. I looked up at him, and waited for his dark eyes to meet mine. “I’m not sure if I agree with—”

“Parker, wait!” I heard Erica say just before I heard my son’s voice. “Coen!”

Coen easily slid me off his lap, a large smile replacing the worn-out mask from our fight. “Hey, bud!”

“Are you going to be my dad?” Parker jumped up on the couch on the other side of Coen and waited expectantly for an answer.

Even though Coen knew this was probably coming, even though we’d just talked—er, fought—about this, my body still tensed at what Coen’s reaction would be.

Coen seemed to think really hard for Parker’s benefit before shrugging slowly. “I don’t know, bud. Your mom and I still have a long ways to go before we’ll know that.”

Parker’s face scrunched together, and I knew he didn’t understand why Coen didn’t have a definite answer right now.

“But I promise you this: You’ll be the first one to know if I get to become your dad. Deal?” Coen asked, holding out his hand.

Parker slapped his hand against Coen’s and smiled widely at him. “Deal!”

Get to . . . he said
get
to become your dad.
My heart warmed and somehow seemed to ache even more when I realized I’d almost taken this away from all of us. Again.

When Parker took off for the kitchen, Coen leaned toward me and pulled my legs over his lap again. “Jesus. Thank God you warned me about that. If I would’ve gone into that blind, I might have taken off.” Coen blew out a heavy breath before giving me a teasing grin.

I slapped his stomach and narrowed my eyes at him. “You just ruined this perfect illusion I was having of you.”

He smiled warmly and pulled me closer to place kisses behind my ear. “Then we’re right where we should be, Duchess, because I’m nowhere near perfect.”

Chapter Eight

Coen—
September 16, 2010

A
GUTTURAL YELL
tore through my throat as I flew up into a sitting position and looked wildly around me. My breaths were coming too fast, and it took my mind too long to comprehend that I was once again here. My condo. Where I was every morning I wasn’t at Reagan’s.

But everything had once again felt too real. I could feel the dry heat, hear the tortured screams, smell the rust, human waste, and gunpowder, see the—

I pushed the heels of my palms against my eyes, and let out an agonized breath.

Standing from the couch I’d fallen asleep on sometime late this morning, I pulled my sweat-soaked clothes off my body and threw them in the hamper as I walked toward the bathroom. Turning the water on as hot as it would go, I paced anxiously as I waited for the room to begin steaming up before standing under the scorching spray. I gritted my teeth against the initial sting, but soon my body began relaxing under the relentless pelting, and I rested my hands against the wall, letting my head hang as I tried to forget.

Some of the men on base told me it was best to let go. Let go? I couldn’t fucking let go. They were gone. My men were gone . . . and I hadn’t saved them. I’d had to see their wives, their children, and their families when I’d returned. I’d had to look one of their very pregnant wives in the face and tell her I hadn’t been able to keep my promise in bringing her husband back.

There was no letting that shit go. Not when the only reason I was here, instead of in the ground with them, was because I’d fallen into a trap—which triggered the ambush—and was knocked unconscious while they were all captured. I should have been paying better attention. I should have seen it coming. And I hadn’t.

Yeah . . . there was no way to “let go.”

Stepping out of the shower, I grabbed a towel and was drying my skin when I heard my phone go off in the other room. Moving quickly toward it, I frowned when I saw the name on the screen. I swear, it was like he knew now was not the time to talk.

But for some reason, I still answered.

“Yeah?”

“Steele! How’ve you been?”

I sat down on the couch and bit back a sigh. “Good. What’s new in the Saco house?”

There was silence for a few moments before he said, “Did you have a nightmare?”

I finally released the sigh and sat back on the couch, running my hand over my face. “I asked what’s new in the Saco house.”

“And I asked if you had a fucking nightmare.”

“Of course I had fucking flashbacks, I have to sleep at some point!”

“Steele . . . man, you’ve got to talk to someone.”

“Don’t need to. They won’t understand. All they’ll do is piss me off because they’ll act like they know how I feel. They’ll act like they know what I went through. And why? Because they have a goddamn degree? Fuck that. No, I’m not talking to anyone.”

“You can’t do this to yourself. You can’t live like this. I thought—I thought you said it was getting better.”

I stared blankly at the ceiling and shrugged even though he couldn’t see me. “It is.” He didn’t respond, and I didn’t expand on that for a few moments. “It’s her, Saco. I don’t know what it is about her. But when I’m around her, it’s all gone. There’s nothing. No missions. No men left behind. No—” I cut off and ground my jaw.

I’d told Saco all about Reagan and Parker, and the struggles I’d gone through just to get Reagan to give us a chance. I just hadn’t told him that she also made all the bullshit disappear, because at the time there hadn’t been a reason to.

“Nothing,” he said suspiciously.

“Nothing,” I confirmed. “And when I sleep with her, I actually sleep. For hours . . . uninterrupted, no flashbacks, nothing. Reagan and Parker are my peace,” I mumbled the words I’d told Reagan almost a month ago, not at all worried about Saco judging me for them. He knew what this meant for me.

“And does she know about this?”

“She knows what she can.”

Saco was quiet for a long time before he finally huffed a short laugh. “Does she have any idea what she means to you?”

“Not a clue. But I’m trying to show her.”

“Good, man. I’m happy for you. I bet Hudson is too.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know about that. I mean, he is, but I’ve already been punched once.”

Saco laughed loudly and I rolled my eyes.

“Keep laughing, asshole.”

“Why’d he punch you?”

“He walked into her apartment when we were on the couch. She was riding me. Fucking bastard needs to learn how to call before he just shows up.”

Saco just laughed louder.

“So tell me what’s going on in Oregon. How’s your son?”

“Tate’s great, man. I wish you could see him. Little man looks just like me.”

“Ugly as shit?”

“Fuck you, Steele,” he teased, but there was no doubting the pride in his voice. “You guys really do need to get over here though. Maybe I can convince you and Hudson to come out for his first birthday in May or something.”

“Aw, do we get to be his uncles? I’m touched, Saco, really I am.” There was a long silence as we tried to avoid what we both knew came next. “And Olivia?”

There was a weighted sigh on the other end of the call, and I knew things with his wife were just as bad as they’d always been. They’d only been together for the sake of having someone to fuck when she’d gotten pregnant and he’d married her. Something all of us, and his family, had tried to stop him from, but he wanted to do the right thing.

“Liv’s being Liv. She spends most of her time with her parents. We only really talk because of Tate, but she’s barely around him. Only to feed him and dress him, because apparently I don’t know how to dress a child. Other than that, he’s with me all day unless he’s sleeping. So, I don’t know. It’s awkward. Like, we both know we can’t stand each other, but don’t say anything.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

“Don’t say it,” he warned.

My eyebrows pinched together. “What?”

“Don’t tell me you told me so. I did what I thought was right for Olivia. She shouldn’t have had to go through that alone . . . and now I know I did the right thing for Tate. He needs two parents.”

“I wasn’t going to. I said what I had to say before you married her, and when she wouldn’t let you see your son. But I’m not going to sit here and tell you what I think of your decisions every time we talk. You did what you had to. End of story.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, and then cursed. “Tate’s up. I gotta go.”

“All right, man. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Sounds good. And Steele? Just because Reagan gives you some relief, doesn’t mean you have to suffer the rest of the time. You can’t live like this. You
need
to talk to someone, please think about it. You have—you have to start moving on.”

“Start moving on? Are you shitting me?”

“No, I—”

“You saw what I’d been in for those hours before you rescued me. You only saw the aftermath, you didn’t watch it happen to them. You weren’t forced to watch every fucking second of it. You didn’t feel like a worthless piece of shit who did
nothing
—”

“You couldn’t, Steele,” he said, cutting me off. “When will you realize that? You couldn’t do anything. Just like the others weren’t able to do anything when the rest were killed. It could have just as easily been you. I’m sorry you were forced to watch that. Steele . . . I’m so goddamn sorry we didn’t get there earlier. But I couldn’t spend my life being tortured by what happened, knowing that my team was too late to save the rest of yours. So don’t let your life slip by while you’re being tortured by something you had no control over. Get some help.”

I let the phone fall onto the couch beside me when he ended the call, and leaned forward to hold my head in my hands. If only it were that easy.

Reagan—
September 17, 2010

“H
EY THERE, STRANGER
,”
I called out as I shut the door behind me to Coen’s studio and ran into his waiting arms.

“Good morning, Duchess. How’d you sleep?”

I pressed my lips to his chest and pulled away, but kept my hand firmly in his. “Not nearly as good as I do when you’re there, but pretty well. You?”

Coen’s eyes flashed to one of the couches, and his face fell for a second before he laughed awkwardly. “Uh, I’m pretty sure I got about twenty minutes in there somewhere.”

I stared at his dark eyes for a long time, looking for any signs that he hadn’t slept . . . but he could go without sleep for days, and I’d probably never know. He hid things that well. But with Keegan’s odd question about Coen sleeping, and then the first night Coen had spent the night and had seemed to be in awe over the fact that he’d slept . . . I wouldn’t put it past Coen to be telling me the truth.

Deciding not to breach that subject right now, I looked at his laptop and my eyes widened. “Oh my God. Coen, is this one of your shoots?”

“Uh, yeah . . . I guess we haven’t really talked about this yet.”

I shot him a confused look before stepping closer to the laptop. “Can I look through them?”

His dark eyes widened and he shrugged before reaching for a coffee cup. “If you want. I just finished editing those before you got here.”

Sitting down at the desk, I clicked through a shoot of a tattooed girl on a couch in nothing but a lacy pair of underwear. Her arms had been perfectly positioned to cover her bare breasts in the different positions. It was beautiful and seductive, and I’d frowned by the time I got to the last one.

“Are there more shoots?”

Coen was staring at me like he was waiting for something.

“Do you not want me to look at these?”

He kept looking at me before flashing his eyes at the screen. “I’m waiting for you to get mad.”

“Why would I get mad?”

Nodding in the direction of the laptop, he kept his eyes pinned on mine. “She was topless. She only had underwear on. This was a week and a half ago. I’m just waiting for you to react like a normal girlfriend.”

My lips twitched. “And how would a normal girlfriend react?”

He put the hand holding the coffee cup out in front of him and raised his shoulders up. “I don’t know. Yell. Say you don’t want me doing those kinds of shoots. Be jealous, I don’t know.”

I widened my eyes and acted like I was really considering doing just that. “Well, we both know how much I love to argue with you. But that”—I gestured toward the screen—“is amazing. Besides, Keegan already told me you did those kinds of photos sometimes. It’s not like it was a secret.”

“Of course it wasn’t a secret, Reagan. But it’s one thing to know about it, its another to see it.”

I smiled softly at him. “Does it
bother
me? I would be lying if I said it didn’t. Do I think what you did with that shoot was beautiful? Absolutely. Do I wish I had her body? Hell yes.” Coen made a face, but I kept going. “Would I ever ask you to stop doing those shoots? No.”

“Where did you come from?” he muttered.

“The way I see it, you were doing these long before we started seeing each other. So I know that if there
was
something to be worried about with these shoots, then it would have been going on even back then, and we would have never started dating.”

Coen stared at me in awe for a few seconds without saying anything. Just before I asked if he was okay, he asked, “Can I pull a Parker?”

“A Parker?”

“You, Duchess, are the
coolest
.”

I laughed loudly before turning back around in the chair to face the laptop. “Can I see more?”

He stepped up behind me and kissed the top of my head as he clicked through his files to where all his shoots were. “Knock yourself out. If you don’t want to stay through the whole shoot, I’ll call you when I’m done, all right?”

I nodded and tilted my head to the side when he brushed his lips against my neck, and shamelessly watched as he set up his studio. But by the time his client got there, I’d barely spared the guy a glance before getting caught up in the thousands upon thousands of pictures on Coen’s laptop.

There were some more like the first one I’d looked through. Some couple shots and weddings. The ones of the guy when I’d first come to the studio, and a lot of this guy I was having trouble figuring out if he was a firefighter, model, or fitness athlete. Then there were the more artistic ones, where every new set had me leaning closer to the laptop, and falling more in love with Coen’s style.

Clicking on the last file, labeled “bullshit,” my eyebrows rose and eyes darted to Coen before quickly going back to the screen. My mouth slowly fell open as I clicked through picture after picture of Coen. It was at probably the twelfth photo that my eyebrows dropped and pinched together, before I rapidly clicked back to the beginning and started over again, this time going through faster.

Sitting back in the chair, I folded my arms over my chest and angled my head to the side as I stared at the picture of him filling the screen. I don’t know how many pictures I’d finally gone through of him before stopping. Close to one hundred? Every one of them had been amazing, or funny, or artsy, or just sexy as sin. But that’s not why I couldn’t go through any more. I couldn’t go through any more because in every single picture, Coen’s face was somehow covered. Either by a shadow, glasses, mask, hat, cameras, paint . . . something. There wasn’t one that was just him.

“I didn’t think you’d sta—find the lame folder.”

Looking up at him, I pointed to the screen. “Do you have an issue with your face?”

He looked at me like I was losing it before laughing awkwardly. “Uh. What?”

“Your face”—sitting back up, I pushed down the left arrow and let it flip through the pictures—“is covered in every single one of these pictures. Why?”

“I don’t know, I like being weird? Or going for that artsy shit.”

“You sure that’s it?”

Coen shook his head slowly, like he didn’t know what other answer I could possibly be expecting. “I’m pretty sure. I mean, you’ve seen my face. If I had an issue with it, I wouldn’t let you see it.”

“Exactly,” I whispered when I looked back at the screen.