Page 50 of SEAL of Valor

“Fine.”

“Seeing Reese get hurt must have been hard.”

Understatement. Years of my life were taken off, watching her fall. “She’s okay.”

“That’s what she said, too.”

“I’ll get her back home first thing tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Weston. Take care of my girl, okay?”

“Always.” The word is out before I can stop it, but even as vulnerable and foolish as the declaration makes me feel, it’s one hundred percent true. And Vivian knows it. There’s not a single thing I wouldn’t do for Reese.

“Call if you need me. Goodnight, kid.”

“Night.” I end the call, then place both hands on the top of my dresser.

Reese is here.

In my shower.

I can hear the water hitting tile even from here, a deafening roar in my ears.

In the years following our split, I would wake in the middle of the night, imagining she was still with me and I was here, rather than in some undisclosed location around the world.

I would see her here in the living room, curled up with a book, or lying in bed beside me, curled on her side and pressed against me.

Then reality would set in, and I would find myself cold and alone.

Those were the moments I hated myself the most.

It got worse when I came home, and more than once, I considered going to Charleston to find her again. But that image of her being kissed on her doorstep always stopped me because I knew that, if she were remarried, it would destroy me.

So I let myself linger in the past. Where she was mine, and I was hers.

“Shower felt great.”

I jerk up, my mouth drying at the sight of her standing in the doorway, hair in red wet ropes over her shoulders, my clothes drowning her slight frame.

The sight of her hits me like a punch to the gut. A jolt of electricity shooting straight through my body.

This is going to be a problem.

“I’ll toss your clothes in the wash.” I start to move forward, but pause before I get too close. Because she’s staring up at me. Those gorgeous blue pools daring me to jump right in and drown.

Man, what a way to go.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.” I reach out and take her hand so I can help her out of the bathroom, then leave her to lean against the wall while I go in and grab the pile of clothes and blanket she left on the floor.

With them in hand, I head back out and wrap my free arm around her waist so I can guide her out into the living room.

I hate that I’ll have to let her go in a minute because holding her—even for an instant—brings me far more peace than I deserve.

“Sit here, and I’ll get these started.” After helping her down into the armchair in my living room, I take the clothes and toss them into the washer, along with her jeans and what I was wearing.

Then I slip back into the living room as quickly as possible. Since my couch has dried mud caked to it, I grab the cleaner and some paper towels on my way in. Kneeling beside it, I spray and wipe, swabbing up the mud so I’ll have somewhere clean to pretend to sleep later.