A Broken Christmas (3 page)

It also stirred to life all the memories he’d tried to bury. Good things that he didn’t deserve—not after killing his friend. His friend, for God’s sake. Why the fuck had Walsh dragged him out of that hell hole? Kyle deserved to die with Denton, Parker, and Jones. He’d had the suspicion. Failed to act on it.

Aside from the unforgettable fact he’d pulled the damn trigger, he had been responsible for not clearing out of Saif’s hut the minute he suspected something wasn’t right.

“Kyle?”

Aimee’s quiet voice pulled him out of his dark thoughts, and he realized he’d stopped walking. His right leg was behind him again, his foot angled out perpendicular to his body. Damn it. Not even fifty feet, and he already managed to look like a fool.

Bracing his weight on his cane, he hitched his body in the opposite direction until his leg stood beneath him once more, toes pointing forward. He tested the numb limb by bending his knee. It moved, but he couldn’t feel a thing. Only the odd sense of pressure as he set his heel back down. Like someone had permanently injected his leg with Novocain.

He didn’t answer Aimee. Instead, he moved forward again, sighting in on the closest golf cart.

“So, I get the silent treatment still? C’mon, Kyle. At least say hello.”

His gaze skidded sideways, observing her in his peripheral vision. One hand still tucked into his elbow, she kept the other in her coat pocket. She ducked her chin into her collar to keep out the December breeze. For all intents and purposes, she looked adorable. Soft, pretty, and made to snuggle up with by a fire.

Kyle let out a heavy sigh. “Hello, Aimee.”

She tipped her face toward him. Long ebony lashes fluttered up, and a smile crinkled the corners of her ale-brown eyes. “It’s good to see you, Kyle.”

It was good to see her too—too damn good. That angelic, lip-glossed smile had his pulse jumping, cranking his body into one slow, but certain knot. If he broke down and kissed her, she’d taste like bubble gum. And judging by the freezing cold weather, probably like Starbucks Mocha Mint. This time of year, she went nuts on those things.

Before he could stop himself, a smile pulled at his mouth.

“You look good,” she commented as they reached the golf carts.

He chuckled. “Yeah, right.” Shaking off her arm, he eased behind the wheel. He crossed his left foot over his right so he could manipulate the gas pedal. “I hear canes are high fashion.”

Frowning, she tugged off his cap to run her fingers through his hair. The absent gesture sent delightful chills rolling down his spine, and for a moment, he struggled to breathe. Then, as if she’d realized what she had done, she jerked her hand away and smashed his cap back on his head. “No, you look good.”

Before Kyle could fully recover from the unexpected intimacy of her fingertips, she rounded the front of the cart and slid into the seat beside him. He blinked. “What are you doing?”

“Going to the car.”

The car.
His
car was still in their driveway. She’d dropped him off the day he shipped out.
Her
car should be seventy-five meters in the opposite direction, where her veteran’s permit allowed her to park.

“I’m heading to the gates for a cab, not going to the lot.”

Aimee folded her hands in her lap and shook her head. “No you’re not. I’m taking you to the house.”

Alarm bells blared in Kyle’s head. He had survived ten minutes with her. Any more than that, and he’d crack.

No way would he make it through the twenty-minute ride across town to his house without forgetting he’d divorced this woman. He swallowed down a sudden bout of nervousness and struggled for a casual smile. “Really, a cab’s great. Thanks though.”

To his absolute surprise, she reached across the seat between them and set her hand on his right knee. The surreal awareness he was being touched combated with the inability to feel more than a slight weight, provoking him to frown at her hand. As his gaze fell on the wedding ring she still wore, he’d have sworn someone kicked him in the gut.

“No, Kyle,” she said quietly. “I know you think you can do this alone. But there’s no way you can handle that house and those stairs.” She gestured at his cane, driving home her point. “I’m taking you home, and you’re just going to have to deal with me until we find you a nurse.”

A nurse. A
fucking nurse.
He gritted his teeth against a rush of fierce pride. “I’m not an invalid, Aimee.”

“No. You’re not.” With a pat to his thigh, she clasped her hands in her lap once more. “Besides, it’s Christmas. I’m not leaving you alone this year.” Gesturing at the parking lot, she added, “I haven’t moved out anyway, so drive.”

Chapter Two

She hadn’t moved out.

Kyle absorbed the bomb Aimee dropped without so much as a flinch. Over twelve months of doing everything he could to push her away, two months divorced, and she was still living in their house.

As he eased the golf cart to a jerky stop beside her car and she stepped out, he slid her a sideways glance. Walsh must have put her up to this. Damn him. Evidently he couldn’t get the message either—Kyle wanted to be left alone. But Conner Walsh had a way of screwing everything up.

How, in the name of God, could he survive living with Aimee?

“Are you coming?” Aimee called from inside her car.

More than anything in the world, Kyle wanted to tell her no. Not because he resented her too-accurate assessment of his physical limitations, not because he wanted to move on and forget about her. No, he wanted to tell her she was out of her mind because the idea of going home with Aimee made him jittery.

“Yeah,” he mumbled with disgust. Coordinating cane, good leg, bad leg, and numb hand, he worked his way to his feet and limped to the passenger’s door. At least she hadn’t opened it for him—he’d have died right there if Aimee thought he was that incapable of tending to himself. His career might be toast, he might be crippled, but he was
not
an invalid.

And he was not hiring a nurse, damn it.

Kyle slid into the passenger’s seat with a grimace. The old pain started in his knee, worked its way up to his thigh. Muscles that had taken months to reattach and bind to bone protested the cold. Rebelled against the time he’d spent standing on the plane, just to prove to himself he could.

“Why didn’t you move out?”

Aimee keyed the engine and dropped the gearshift into reverse. Looking over shoulder as she backed out of the space, she answered, “I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

“What
have
you been doing?”

As she shifted into drive, her foot on the brake, she gave him a meaningful look. “Searching for a job.”

“Oh.” Kyle lapsed into silence. He drummed his fingers on the center console, mentally ticking off the numerous reasons why staying with Aimee in the house they’d bought as husband and wife was a bad idea. Beyond the fact he loathed the idea of her tending to him like she might one of her former patients, she smelled too incredibly good after a shower, and he didn’t know how to keep his hands off her.

Already his brain formed fantastic pictures of them in the bed, reuniting in ways that would make Hugh Heffner blush. In the kitchen, on the dining room table, lathering each other in the shower…

Like he’d just run into a brick wall, the slow burn of pleasure that crept into his blood came to a frigid halt. He let out a derisive snort. Shower—right. He couldn’t handle the shower solo, much less with Aimee’s hands all over him and soap slicking his body. His leg wouldn’t hold up, the wet tile would make him slip. Christ, he couldn’t even make love to her if he wanted to—he couldn’t feel a damn thing in his right hand. He’d be no better than a bumbling teen. All thumbs, no finesse, and a damn sight rougher than what her fragile skin could handle.

So much for that little fantasy. Aimee deserved a whole man. Not one who’d been reduced to benches in the bathtub.

He ground his teeth together as a fresh burst of anger raced through him. The doctor’s said to give it time, maybe the nerves would reroute. That had been four months ago, and all he’d regained was an occasional, maddening tingle in his right pinkie.

No way in hell would he stay with Aimee and subject himself to that level of humility. First thing tomorrow, he’d find a hotel.

“Are you in pain at all?” Aimee asked in a low voice.

“No.” None he intended to tell her about.

She let out a heavy sigh. “Look, I know you don’t want me here. I’m sorry I selfishly wanted to see you. I accepted a job in San Antonio that starts after the first of the year. I’ll be out of your hair then.”

Fuck. He’d hurt her. Exactly the reason he’d divorced her—every time he turned around he managed to find some way to wound her. She never said anything, but he heard it in her voice. The brittle edge to her words, despite her calm demeanor, revealed pain she struggled to keep from him.

But what else was he supposed to say? Sure, he might have toned the sharpness out of his response. Softened his voice a little. Still, it was honest. He ached, just not enough to call it pain. No, the pain came from the inside. From seeing Denton’s face one too many times in his dreams. From hearing that fatal gunshot so often that sometimes he woke up in a cold sweat. He couldn’t tell Aimee about that day in Afghanistan. She had known Denton. No doubt, she’d gone to his funeral and grieved alongside Denton’s girlfriend, Gina. She wouldn’t understand.

Worse, she’d view Kyle as a monster.

Sometimes, he wondered if he wasn’t.

“Kyle, would you say something to me?” Aimee steered around the corner and cut a quick glance his way.

In a near whisper he answered, “There’s nothing to say.”

“Nothing?” Her voice rose. “How about what happened over there? What have the doctors said? Why the hell did you want a divorce?”

He flinched, knowing he owed her an answer to at least the last question. And yet, the part of him that died alongside Denton refused to let his tongue work. Sheer meanness kept him chewing on the inside of his cheek, waiting for this intolerably long car ride to come to an end so he could escape into the quiet of their house.

His heart worked its way through the anger he couldn’t keep at bay, telling him Aimee hadn’t caused all this. Regret forced his hand off the console and onto her slender thigh. He squeezed her leg. “I’m sorry.”

****

Sorry wasn’t exactly the response Aimee had hoped to hear. Something more along the lines of an explanation remained at the top of her list. But for Kyle, whatever he was apologizing for meant something she knew better than to dismiss. That he’d reached out and touched her meant a whole lot more.

She nosed into their driveway and pushed the garage door opener. Time ticked by, heavy and oppressive, while she waited for the door to open. When it did, she eased inside and shut off the engine. Twisting in her seat, she faced Kyle. He looked up from where his fingers grazed her jeans, green eyes invitingly warm.

“Two weeks, and you’ll have your freedom. I just want to make sure you’re…safe before I leave.”

Her heart cracked at his short, succinct nod. Bled when he reached for the door handle and let himself out without further conversation. If he’d just talk to her, clue her in on something, she’d know better how to deal with him. She’d know what he needed, what would give him the most benefit. But he’d always been so damned determined to keep his work out of their marriage and his experiences locked away inside. Not just because the nature of his top-secret assignments forbade him to disclose details, but beyond that. And he’d gotten worse after the miscarriage. It became Conner who told her things Kyle refused to even hint at. Conner’s information was the one reason she’d stayed sane this last year.