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That helped—a little. She almost managed to overlook the panic on his face. “As long as I know we’re headed in the same direction, building a life, a family together, I’m good.”
“Kids?” His strangled tone left zero room for misinterpretation.
She bolted upright. “You don’t want children.”
How the hell could she have missed that? She’d heard him talk about his niece and nephew, heard his love for them and just assumed…
Sitting up on the edge of the bed beside her, he stared at the coin in his palm. “It’s the alcoholism thing.”
Her hand fell to rest on his knee. She had to touch him, to make some connection as she felt him slipping away from her. “Plenty of reformed alcoholics have children.”
“It’s deeper than that for me.” His hand opened and closed around the coin, waves crashing outside their scenic window. “My sister, Bianca, she didn’t just get out of the army. She was forced out.”
“Because of her drinking?” she prodded carefully.
“In a roundabout way, but not what you’re thinking. We all knew about her alcoholism. Hell, once she got old enough to drive, she took the money Dad left for us each day and went out partying with her friends. But she was one of those drunks who just gets sloppy and cracks jokes, so people overlooked it.”
“As opposed to the drinker who turns violent?” What kind had his mother been? He’d never indicated beyond mentioning he’d stayed clear of the house as much as possible.
“I’m not saying either kind of drinking is right.” He glanced over at her. “I’m only saying the ‘jolly’ alcoholic tends to get away with it longer, people stick around. Hitting rock bottom comes later, maybe because folks enable longer. But make no mistake, it still comes.”
“As it did for your sister?” And from the weary lines in his face, she feared what would come next, ached for the pain it caused him.
“Her husband was in the military too. When he was deployed overseas, she was stateside with their kids and vice versa. Combat stress along with the pressures of military family life pushed her the rest of the way over the edge. I’m not making excuses. There is no excuse for what she did.”
Her gut clenched, but she still asked, “What happened?”
“One night, she started the hot water for the kids’ bath and passed out. When Michael jumped into the full tub, it was scalding water.” His breath grew ragged, each word forced as if he had to punch them free. “He had burns on eighty percent of his body. My sister was so out of it, she didn’t even wake up. My niece pulled her brother onto the bathroom floor and called 9-1-1.”
The image he painted, the horror of what had happened to his family, she couldn’t wrap her mind around it. The silence roared with the crashing waves and a pain inside Jose so tangible she could swear she heard the rage inside him.
“Oh my God, Jose. I can’t even imagine…” Some-times there just were no words. “Your nephew…?”
“He survived, barely.” His voice went raw, his fist so tight on the coin a trickle of blood seeped out. “But he still has scars.”
She stroked his hand, carefully prying his fingers open. “It sounds like you all carry scars of some sort from that day.”
“In the darker days, I can’t stop thinking if I’d helped Bianca that wouldn’t have happened.”
“You also know your sister would have hit rock bottom another time, another way.” She thumbed off the blood on his palm and kissed the tiny wound, a symbol of one so much bigger inside him that had never healed. “And what about your mother? Was she alive then too?”
“She’d died a couple of months before, but she would have only been a drinking buddy. Hell, so would I.” He set the coin on the bedside table by the elephant lamp. “Once we knew that Michael was going to live, I went to my commander and told him I needed to go to rehab.”>“You fantasize about me?” She rolled to her side as he kissed her neck, his hands tunneling farther under the wrap. “When?”
“In bed, in the shower, hell,” he growled against her skin, “when I’m eating dinner, which can be awkward if there’s a mess hall full of people around.”
“Oh really?” She liked knowing that he was thinking about her. “What did you do?”
“I sure as hell didn’t stand up.” His hand trekked over her stomach, cupping between her legs. “I hung out there moving food around on my tray until it was safe to stand up. The smell of mess hall chow still makes me hard.”
She appreciated that he was trying to be lighthearted, to ease the tension of preparing to say good-bye while making the most of this weekend. And the way his fingers were toying with her now, she almost forgot her doubts. But it was getting tougher and tougher to play along as time ticked away.
Still, she would try, because the last thing she wanted was to say good-bye with tears or anger. She’d seen that kind of parting too many times with her parents. “Women have fantasies too, you know.”
He grinned wolfishly. “Now you’re talking.” He rubbed small circles, her arousal slicking his fingertips. “What kind of fantasies did you have about me?”
“You would be surprised.” Dreams of dinner in a totally nonexotic kitchen that happened to be in a house they owned together. Hopes of children at that table, with precious chocolate stains on their faces… Normal stuff.
Real life.
