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BOOK OF THE MONTH: HOMEFRONT
CHAPTER 7
Melanie stared at the television, not really seeing the news. The wine in her glass was tepid but she kept swirling it aimlessly.
Except for going to school, Jamie hadn’t come downstairs since the epic battle over her door. Which had been two days ago. She stomped out of the house first thing in the morning and stomped back in after school. Melanie had cooked dinner but Jamie hadn’t eaten. At least, not with Melanie.
There were dishes in the sink in the morning, though, so she knew her daughter hadn’t resorted to an active hunger strike.
Melanie regretted taking the door off Jamie’s room. But what was she supposed to do? She’d threatened to take it off so many times and Jamie kept ignoring her. And hadn’t the therapist said that there were boundaries and consequences for every action?
It wasn’t some vapid paranoia.
It was a fear grounded very much in reality.
She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin in her palm, staring into the swirling white wine. A tiny vortex of sparkling clarity. Too bad she didn’t know how to get that clarity with her daughter. She wished she knew how to break the cycle of fighting and bitterness. This epic clusterfuck of a relationship.
Her phone vibrated from the other room. She thought about ignoring it. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with any drama from the office. If she was getting called to go in because the intern forgot to turn off the coffee pot again… She tossed back the rest of her wine and padded into the kitchen, the glass dangling limply in her fingers.
A smile toyed at the edge of her lips when she saw Gale’s name in the caller ID. It was too easy to smile. Too easy to let herself pretend that all those lonely yesterdays hadn’t happened. “Hey.”
“Hey.” His voice was warm and welcoming on the end of the phone. A bright spot in the shitstorm of her afternoon. “Any improvement on the temperamental daughter front?”
Mel glanced toward the ceiling. “I wish I could report otherwise but no, she’s still not talking to me.”
“Want me to come over and try to talk to her?”
She frowned, glancing at the wine bottle on the center island, then decided to pour another glass. “I hadn’t really thought about that,” she admitted after a moment.
Gale said nothing. “I’m not trying to be bitchy,” she said quickly. “I just… I’m not used to you being around. That’s all.”
A resigned, heavy sigh before he spoke. “I know.”
Screw it. “Come over. Come try to talk to her. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“She could start hating me instead of you?”
Mel smiled even as her eyes burned. He’d been making a joke but it still hurt to hear. “That would be a nice change of pace.” Her heart cracked a little in her chest but she wouldn’t let him hear her cry.
She hung up the phone and tried to keep her messy emotions from cracking open the vault where she’d locked them. Everything with Gale was messy.
Headlights flooded the living room a few minutes later. She opened the door, surprised to see him in civilian clothes. Casual jeans and a button-down shirt cuffed at the wrists.
She took a step back to let him into the house. Maybe that second glass of wine hadn’t been such a good idea. It made her feel loose and warm as he walked toward her. He paused, his eyes warm and dark. “How are you holding up?”
“Been worse, I suppose.” She lifted the glass of wine to her lips. It was sparkling and sweet on her tongue.
She felt like every movement was under a microscope. Like she was being watched by a hungry beast. For a moment, Melanie felt something she hadn’t felt in the war zone that her home had become. She felt alive. Aware of the heat in her veins, the tightness of her skin.
She reminded herself it was all an illusion. An illusion that started with the man in her foyer and would end with her heart breaking again.
Because Gale Sorren was a soldier. And that meant that anyone in his life always came second to the Army. It was a mistake to let any fantasy take hold. A terrible mistake.
Gale wouldn’t stick around long enough to convince her it was real. So why get wrapped up in the fantasy, no matter how nice it was thrumming through her veins at that moment?
The rough hair at the base of his throat drew her gaze. The hard line of his collarbone collided with the edge of his shirt and Mel suddenly had a hard time breathing.
“You’re bigger than I remember,” she said, needing something to say, to fill the hushed space between them.
“I’m about fifty pounds heavier, if that’s what you’re getting at.” There was a faint curl at the edge of his lips.
“Fifty pounds?” She looked over the broad expanse of man in front of her. Wide shoulders and rough hands. If there was fifty extra pounds on the man, he wore it well.
Really well.
She turned away before he realized she was mentally undressing him. And wouldn’t that be fun—and awkward—to explain?
Yeah, that second glass of wine had definitely been a mistake. It was taking her mind on a road trip that started at Gale’s throat and traveled down that amazing chest to… She turned away, flicking on the outside light as the sun sank into the central Texas hills.
Oh Lord, she needed to go on a date. Or take a hot shower. Maybe both.
“Mel?”
His words brushed over her hair. He was standing too close. Her spine tingled from the heat of his body. It took every ounce of control not to lean back against him like she’d done when they were younger.
She didn’t know if he’d moved or if she had. But one moment she was standing still. The next he was behind her, his body flush against hers. His big, powerful chest against her back, warmth from his body penetrating hers, wrapping around her and holding her close.
She felt his lips against the top of her head. His hands slipped up her arms. A gentle caress by rough, war-worn hands. He skimmed her exposed flesh. Teased the warmth pulsing through her to a fevered pitch.
It would be a simple thing to lean into him. To close her eyes and lower her head back to his strong shoulders. To let him hold her in a way she hadn’t been held since…since the last time his arms had been around her.
It would be such a simple thing.
***
Gale didn’t know what had possessed him. But when she’d started undressing him with her eyes, it had done something powerful to the need he’d been restraining since he’d returned to her life.
He’d known when he’d gotten his orders to come back to Fort Hood that he’d wanted to be part of Jamie’s life again. He’d hoped beyond hope that maybe it wasn’t too late. He’d made that decision when he’d been stuck in Iraq while his little girl was in a psych ward and his wife—his ex-wife—faced that trial alone.
He’d almost quit then and there. But he hadn’t. Because as much as he’d needed to be home, he’d been in the middle of a bad fight in Tal Afar.
He knew he’d been a shitty husband and a worse father. He knew that. But still, he’d made choices. Choices that had involved begging Sarn’t Major Cox to get him pulled down to Fort Hood.
He didn’t know how many favors Cox had called in to get Gale’s ass out of a sling and on assignment, but he assumed it had been a lot.
He stood there now, in Melanie’s foyer, close enough to reach out and touch her.
And he did. Because he could do nothing less. And the latent hope that maybe, just maybe, he could fix things with Melanie, that he could somehow make up for not being there for her all those years, grew into something he could no longer control.
His breath caught in his throat as he skimmed his hands up her arms. Desire, raw and powerful, sliced through him when she shivered in response to his touch.
It took everything he had not to gather her into his arms and pull her against him. It was enough, for the moment, to simply stand close to her. To inhale the sweet, clean scent of her shampoo. Feel the cool silk of her hair against his cheek.
To know that she had not pulled away.
He traced his hands over her shoulders. Barely touching her. Skimming along the soft skin of her neck.
They stood together for what seemed like an eternity. He couldn’t move away, couldn’t tear his hands away from the barest touch. He could do nothing more than hold her in his arms and feel her breathing against him. Her back shifted with each breath, bringing her closer with each tiny inhalation.
He ached to kiss her. Ached to turn her in his arms and press his lips to hers. To see how different she would taste now with a lifetime apart between them.
But he was afraid that this was all nothing more than an episode of insanity.
One he didn’t want to end.
He wasn’t sure if she moved or if he did, but the moment faded. Slowly, reality intruded and he lowered his hands as she stepped away.
She turned to face him. Her hair had fallen in her eyes and she lifted one hand to slide it behind one ear.
“Jamie’s upstairs.” Her voice sounded off. Heavy and sultry. Her eyes were dark and clouded with shadows, and something else.
Something he thought he knew but was afraid to name.
He cleared his throat before he spoke. It was a long time before he found the words he needed to say.
The words he wanted to say started with pleaseand ended with them naked. He wasn’t sure that would go over well.
And besides, he wanted to keep the moment untarnished in his memory. It had been so fucking long since he’d held her.
“So what’s our negotiating position?” he asked.
“On what?” She frowned and looked down at her wine glass.
“I’m going upstairs. Are there any things that are expressly forbidden? I don’t want to undermine you.”
She smiled and it was warm and sunny. “You sound like you know how kids play mom against dad.”
He grinned down at her, fighting the urge to stroke his fingers over her cheek. She was so fucking adorable. “It’s part of the duty description of being a first sergeant,” he said mildly.
She frowned. “I’m quite sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Soldiers will try to get between you and your commander. It’s up to the commander and the first sergeant to present a united front.”
She opened her mouth to say something then closed it.
He stepped close. “What?”
“I—” She paused, refusing to lift her gaze to meet his. “I guess I hadn’t thought about it.”
Something he’d said upset her. It cut at him, slicing away the moment before and replacing it with something raw and bleeding. “What, Mel?”
He lifted his hand to her cheek then, more to offer comfort than to steady her.
He was shocked when she didn’t pull away.
“I guess I never thought about you and me being a united front.” Her words were thick and uncertain, filled with fear and old hurts. Because he could find no other way to soothe the aching hurt in her eyes, he lowered his mouth to hers. A gentle kiss. Hesitant. A brush of lips.
Tentative and seeking. He sucked gently on her bottom lip, urging her to open for him, begging her with his mouth to not pull away.
There was fear in his kiss. Terror that she would pull away and slap at him.
But then her lips parted. Just a little, but it was enough for him to feel her breath on his tongue. She tasted sweet and sunny from the wine. He could get drunk on her taste. He deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue against hers and losing a piece of his soul.
He held himself viciously in check. Barely cupped her cheeks as he fought the turbulent need inside, as it surged up, wanting her, only her. To remind her that she was his, she’d always been his.
But this was a campaign, not a single battle.
He eased back before she could pull away. “I’m here now.” His words brushed against her mouth. “For as long as you’ll let me, I’m here.” He stroked his thumb over her cheek. “I know I haven’t been someone you can count on.” He brushed his lips against hers again. “But I’d like to be.”
CONTINUE READING…
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