A Broken Christmas (10 page)

“Oh, that.” She chuckled. “Right. No dark clouds.” Shifting the packages, she adjusted the weight in her arms. “I’m taking these upstairs. Want pizza for dinner?”

Her casual attitude erased the last of his doubts, and he reached for his cane.

Levering himself out of the couch, he answered, “I think I can manage to do that.”

Chapter Eight

Aimee dropped the bags on the floor then used her toe to shove them under the bed. No longer in the mood to wrap the meager things she’d picked up, she sat down on the edge of the mattress and gazed out the open bedroom door. For the first time since Kyle walked into her field medical station, she had lied to him.

Truthfully, she hadn’t even considered the IUD she had removed the month after he deployed. Until the miscarriage, she’d never used one, and the eight months following had passed in a blur. After removal, life returned to the way she had always known things. Not once, in the last year—two and a half, if she counted their deliberate attempts to start a family—had she given preventing pregnancy thought.

Well, not beyond the fact of how very ready she was to have the child they’d lost.

Kyle’s offhand remark, however, brought everything front and center. What stood out most was his obvious relief she was still protected. Given that she wasn’t, the robust round of sex in the hall took a drastically different turn. She had exposed herself to a risk she was more than willing to accept—with Kyle, or without him.

Why shouldn’t she be? She had a good job lined up. Her VA Benefits were outstanding. She was thirty years old, not a naïve twenty-something, and if she wanted to have a child, she could make that decision.

Still, not giving Kyle the opportunity to decide whether he wanted to be a father didn’t feel right. Out of sheer respect, she ought to tell him she’d had her IUD removed. At the same time, she already knew how he would react. Beyond the fact he wasn’t in a mental state to embrace parenthood, he would flip his lid over the fact they weren’t married. He might have had more than his fair share of women, but he held deep, core fundamental values. One of which—children came
after
marriage, no exceptions, and until they’d taken their vows, he’d gone out of his way to insure pregnancy wouldn’t become an issue.

Sure as shooting, if she went downstairs and spilled the truth, all the breakthroughs that she’d made—however insignificant they might be—would amount to nothing. He would stack more bricks around himself and pull even further away.

Damn.

“Aimee? Pizza’s ready.”

She drew in a deep breath and straightened her slumped shoulders. She had time to deal with this. Nothing could be done about it now. If she got pregnant, they’d just have to tackle that obstacle when it became necessary. With no guarantee she was, she didn’t need to add to Kyle’s stress. He had enough to deal with presently, and the most immediate argument she couldn’t escape was the matter of Conner and Mom Walsh’s desire to spend Christmas with them.

Meanwhile, she needed to broach the subject of Major Renfield’s offer and steer Kyle that direction. Once he had something working to his advantage, he would be far more receptive to the possibility they might yet have the child they had tried for.

She pushed herself to her feet. Dinner first. Then Conner and his mother. After that, if Kyle was still speaking to her, she’d see if she could convince him to put the star on the tree. Christmas wouldn’t wait forever. They could pass on the wine, on the romantic fire. She refused to have another Christmas go by without a complete tree.

Aimee quickly combed her fingers through her hair, straightened her lopsided hoodie, and bounded down the stairs into the kitchen. Kyle stood at the stove, cutting board placed over the burners, carving the pizza into meticulously sized slices. He didn’t cook often, but when he did, she could bank on the fact each spice had been measured precisely. Another fascinating Kyle-ism—he didn’t improvise off the field of duty. Even then, what she knew of his decisions involved careful calculation of odds, assessment of risk, and fiercely rational logic.

The perfect soldier.

“That smells wonderful,” she murmured as she approached. Setting her hand in the small of his back, Aimee leaned around Kyle and picked up a plate.

“I sampled it. It is wonderful.” He gave her a quick grin. “I think I dreamed in Technicolor about chicken alfredo pizza while I was in the hospital.”

Aimee stilled. For the first time, he referenced his extended stay in Germany without being prompted. “You did?”

He set two pieces on her plate, loaded his with three. “Yep. I’m dying for a slice.”

Progress. Keep him talking.
“What did they feed you over there?”
Nice and easy, Aims.

Kyle chuckled as he hobbled to the table and took a seat. “You should know. Standard hospital fare. It’s no better there than it is here.”

“Ew.”

His laughter warmed her from the inside out. She sat across from him, returning his smile, amazed by the sudden change in his behavior. Maybe this morning did him more good than she had anticipated. He certainly seemed to be a bit more like the old Kyle.

She bit into her pizza, chewed. “It’s good to hear you laugh, Kyle.”

His smile faltered, the hint of tension creeping into the corners of his mouth. But then, the tightening lines smoothed, and he nodded as he tore off a bite. Quietly, he answered, “Feels good, too.”

****

It did feel good to laugh, Kyle couldn’t deny. If he could just convince the part of him that said he had no right to amusement to shut up, it would feel even better.

Aimee reached across the table and laid her palm over the back of his right hand. His gaze dropped to her long fingers, the short manicured nails she never painted. The weight of her touch inched up his arm, and though he couldn’t feel the warmth of her skin, his memory conjured the familiar, comfortable heat. Her hands were always so soft. Like satin.

He loved those hands, almost as much as he loved the woman they belonged to.

He tucked his thumb over hers and willed his fingers to give a gentle squeeze. Lapsing into silence, Kyle savored the serenity of sitting with her over a simple dinner. Moments like this, he missed most of all. Before her breakdown, they’d shared so many unspoken conversations. Her hands, her body, hell, her eyes, conveyed thoughts like she possessed the ability to tap into his head and share the wanderings of his mind. Like now, when all he wanted to do was tell her how sorry he was for this morning, yet he already read understanding in her tender gaze.

“Do you think…” she began, then glanced sideways at the living room.

He followed her gaze to the corner where the unlit Christmas tree stood. “Think what?”

Aimee swallowed as she dragged her ale-brown eyes back to him. “Do you think you might put up that star?”

Kyle’s chest inched together like someone had fastened a belt around his ribs. Engage in tradition, when they were so far removed from the habits they’d started? He didn’t want to give her the wrong impression. Didn’t want to create a sense that things had changed between them. They couldn’t go back to where they were, no matter how Aimee might want to.

But as he held her uneasy stare, he realized he didn’t want to fight with her more. None of this was her fault, and she’d been beyond patient with him. If she’d divorced him without a word of explanation, he’d have probably strangled her. He certainly wouldn’t be sitting down for dinner and doing all he could to keep the peace.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I can put up the star.”

Merely saying the words spread a pleasant burn through his veins. He resisted the sensation, adamant it wouldn’t go to his head and make him second-guess the decisions he’d made. Tradition held comfort. Putting the star on the tree didn’t mean he wanted to put his marriage back together again.

Aimee’s slow smile made that enticing burn flare white-hot. Oh, hell, who was he kidding? He wanted his wife. He just refused to drag her back into emotional hell, and he couldn’t survive an eternity of keeping himself closed off from the one person he loved more than life itself. They
couldn’t
go back. They weren’t the same people. Death had changed them too much.

“I ran into Betty Renfield today.”

Kyle’s spine stiffened. “Oh?”

“She told me Wilson offered you a position.”

The curious glint in her eyes eased Kyle’s apprehension. This wasn’t entirely about Afghanistan. The ramifications maybe, but not the things that kept him awake at night. He could do this. He could talk about simple work.

“It’s a desk job. You know I hate them.”

“It would be better than filing papers, right? Or sitting at home knitting?” A grin pulled at one corner of her mouth.

“Knitting.” Kyle bit back a bark of laughter. “Yeah, right.” He bounced the fingers under her hand. “I’ll get right on that. This new dexterity is kick-ass.”

“I don’t know.” The teasing uplift to her full lips curved into coyness. “I think it works quite well for you.”

Her insinuation kicked Kyle sideways. Briefly robbed of air, he blinked. Visions of the rough way his fumbling fingers had squeezed her breast leapt to life in his mind. Her soft cry. The ragged fall of her breath after. She actually
enjoyed
his aggressive assault. Holy hell. How was that possible?

He shifted his weight in his chair, the sudden press of her fingertips against the deadened back of his hand, intolerably enticing. “You didn’t…”

Dark eyebrows quirked. Her coquettish smile deepened. “Didn’t what?”

“Like…” Damn. What was the matter with him? He had never found discussing sex awkward. Why now? Annoyed, he spit out the first words that surfaced. “You got off on that?”

Aimee’s laugh was low and husky. “I’d be happy to show you again.”

All the pleasant warmth simmering in his veins transformed into a blistering boil. Images of Aimee spread out beneath him, his body driving into hers, her soft cries filling his ears, flashed through his head. Beneath the loose cotton of his sweats, his cock stirred against his thigh. His pulse kicked up three notches, and down deep inside, that dangerous animal instinct he’d unleashed in the hallway awakened.

To stop the instantaneous agreement that rose to the tip of his tongue, he tore off a bite of pizza and concentrated on chewing while he stared at his plate. Her twinkling eyes were dangerous. If he looked up, he’d cave. And oh, how he wanted to cave.

Still concentrating on the bits of parmesan cheese on his plate, he changed the subject. “So tell me about this job?”

The last thing he cared to hear about was an emergency room several states away that would take Aimee out of his life forever. But the subject was benign enough that the desire stirring to life in his body might go back to sleep.

“It’s just a job, Kyle. Though I will be taking over the lead position. Same thing I’ve done all my life—aid the doctors, handle minor injuries, triage. Four days a week. Only it’s in a children’s hospital.”

That brought Kyle’s gaze level with hers. Pediatrics. Aimee would face the possibility of losing children day in and day out. Good God, what was she thinking? That would cripple her in no time.

“Lead position in a children’s hospital,” he repeated, dumbfounded.

“Yep.” Her smile returned, tenaciously. “While you were gone, I was at the park one afternoon when a little boy fell off the monkey bars and broke his arm. He looked up at me with these alligator tears, and all I wanted to do was make it better. I’ve never felt that kind of pull, and I’ve seen a lot worse.”