Rare and Precious Things

“You will be,” I told her when I laid her out on our bed.

IN the SF, Captains lead troops of five men. Small squads for tactical ops that require zero detection. My men were the best the BA had to offer. Mike, Dutch, Leo, Chip, and Jackie. That day we found the boy and his dead mother in the middle of the road was the final day we were all alive at the same time. The last time brothers, husbands, fathers, and sons of Britain drew breath. Twenty days later, that number was reduced to…one.

Mike was the only other besides me to make it out of the ambush in the street. It would have been so much better if he hadn’t…

IMMERSED in the bathtub with luxurious scented water warming my body, I processed through the last twelve hours. Jesus Christ, it would take more than a soak in the tub to figure it all out.

Ethan had fallen asleep so soundly after we finished the second time, he didn’t even stir when I slipped out of bed. He usually followed after me when he heard the tub filling, if he hadn’t been the one to start it in the first place. But not tonight.

I imagined Ethan was exhausted from the pretense at the hospital. I could tell that he was torn up inside about having to ask me to go. We didn’t have a choice though. Lucas Oakley was going to secure the presidency for Benjamin Colt because of a twist of fate that made his son a war hero at just the right moment. Handsome young Army officer gets his leg blown off in the war. Oh, and the handsome young officer just happens to be the son of the nominee for Vice President of the United States of America. The polls were already predicting a landslide victory, and everyone knew it.

The really scary part though? Once Senator Oakley was the Vice President, he would only be a heartbeat away from being…The President. The very thought made my heart ache. The normal response would be to rub over the area to ease the sting, but I cradled my belly instead—my first instinct to protect my little butterfly angel. I’d done what I had to today. I had to secure some kind of assurance that my sordid past with Lance couldn’t do damage to his father’s future, or to mine. And I would willingly do it again, too. Anything for my butterfly angel.

Lance… When I had woken up this morning, he was the last person I ever imagined seeing. I wasn’t ready to deal with him yet, but I was realistic enough to see that Lance Oakley was not going to go away. Especially now. “Brynne, please come back to see me again. I have to tell you how sorry I am for what I did to you.”

Which had led me to my second shock. He was sorry? I didn’t know what to make of his request, but I understood Lance only wanted me to hear because he asked me in a secret whisper. It didn’t matter. I wouldn’t go back there to see him again. I didn’t need to. Oddly, I was okay with how things stood. All in all, the way the visit had played out, was not as traumatic for me as I thought it would have been. I was strong during our meeting, and I did everything I was asked to do. As did Lance.

I didn’t really dwell on the idea of what this all meant in regards to my emotional health, because I didn’t have the time or the inclination to delve into it. I had a life to lead, with a husband who loved me and needed my support, and a baby who needed me for everything. All of the past crap with Lance would just have to take a back seat in the driving force that was now my life. I didn’t see any other way to move forward.

And I was determined to move forward. I brought my hand to my stomach again and tried to feel for more movement, but baby wasn’t in the mood, I guess.

I couldn’t let Lance, or his scheming politician father, stop me from what I needed to do. The meeting had really stunned me in the way Lance appeared so different than he’d been when we were together. Like, complete-one-eighty different. I still had some trouble connecting the man I’d seen today, with the one I’d known before. They didn’t even feel like the same person. Maybe he had changed over the course of the years. His body sure had changed with all the tattoos—

“—Noooo! Mike, I’m sorry, brother. I won’t do it again! Awww, f**k no. MIKE! God, please no. FUCK! NO, PLEASE DON’T DO IT. NO...NO…NO!”

Ethan. I heard him shouting from the bedroom and understood immediately. My man was having another night terror. I stood up from the bath, water streaming off my skin, and reached for my robe. I drew it on over my dripping body and rushed out of the bathroom. He needed me, and I had to help him. Simple as that.

I bolted up from the bed gasping, both hands around my throat, just hanging there taking in oxygen.

Breathe, motherfucker. In, out, in, out.

That flashback was the worst. My deepest torment—one that could never be erased from my mind. I knew I was doomed to carry that one inside of me forever. He’s at peace now. I told myself that, whenever the guilt seared into me to the point where I was right then. It didn’t help a great deal, but some. And it was the best I could do.

In, out, in, out.

“Ethan, baby…” Her gentle voice told me she was awake this time.

I was afraid to look at her. Fucking terrified to lift my head and face my sweet girl. If I did, she would see my shame and my weakness. Fuck all knows what I’d shouted out. I felt like I would be sick.

But Brynne didn’t do what she had done on the other occasions. She didn’t get upset or demand I start talking. Didn’t judge or question. She just put her soft hand to my chest and brought herself close so I could take in her scent, and know I was in the here and now, and not lost in my past. She let me see that I had her safe beside me. “I’m here, and I love you,” she crooned at my ear. “How can I help you?”

Pure, flooding relief cascaded over me at her words. I pulled her into me and held on for dear life. The idiom was a perfect description of me. I held onto my girl for dear life.

THE hair at the back of her neck was a little damp. I could mess about in her hair for hours. I loved the softness of it, the texture, the smell, everything. As soon as she’d asked me how she could help me, I’d showed her exactly how.

I think she knew because she had “helped” me before, allowing me to find a small measure of comfort in her body by using sex to drown out the demons. Now came the hard part. The part where I apologized for my beastly reaction of using her like a tranquilizer.

Spooning on our sides, I breathed her in and cradled our little bun-in-the-oven with my hand. I was looking forward to feeling a kick or a fist pump, but hadn’t been so lucky yet. Brynne brought her hand to cover mine on her stomach and sighed in contentment. Which made me feel miles better. A satisfied Brynne was a good start.