Page 45 of Tactical Revival

“Los Angeles,” she replies, then slides her ID over to me. The moment I read the first name printed on her driver’s license, my stomach turns into a pit.

“So, LA, huh?” Surely it’s just a coincidence and it’s not?—

“What are you doing here?” Jaxson demands, coming out of the kitchen.

My stomach plummets, and all hopes that Rosalie is a common name in LA are blown out like a candle.

“Jaxson. What are you doing here? I was going to come find you tomorrow.” She turns to face him, and I watch as his gaze drops to her pregnant belly and something flashes over his expression.

Pain.

“I live here,” he growls. Gone are all traces of the man I’d seen in the kitchen mere minutes ago. “Let me ask again, what are you doing here, Rosalie?”

“I told you that I wanted to talk to you.”

“And you thought showing up at the place I live is the best way to handle it?”

First his estranged father and now his ex-wife? I keep waiting for him to snap. To explode in anger and storm off, but Jaxson remains where he is, standing firmly in front of the kitchen door.

“First of all, I didn’t know you were living in a B&B, just this town. But, Jaxson, I need to talk to you.” She offers me an embarrassed smile. “Maybe we can do it somewhere more private?”

“Everything I had to say to you I said once the divorce was final. You know—the one you asked for.”

Her eyes fill and his expression softens. “Please, Jaxson. I promise you’ll never hear from me again. I won’t even stay. I’ll leave tonight and head straight to New York. I just really want to talk to you.”

I bear witness to the fight that plays out on his face. He’s angry, that much is clear. The hurt is easy to see. Even not knowing fully what happened between them, I wouldn’t blame him for turning her away.

So when he crosses over and lifts her bag off the floor, I find myself stunned. “Fine. We can talk in my apartment.”

CHAPTER 13

Jaxson

Ilearned a long time ago that the enemy loves to kick you when you’re down. Taunting you with your past like a weight around your ankles. But it still doesn’t make it any easier to fight the battle when it feels like everything is closing in around you.

God, please help me. I need Your strength because I’m not strong enough to handle all of this alone. Amen. I finish the prayer as I unlock my door, then step aside so Rosalie can come in.

After shutting the door, I set her bag down and turn to face her. She looks good. I hate that she looks good.

Her hand rests on her swollen stomach, and it’s like a punch to my gut.

How many arguments did we have because I’d wanted kids and she said she didn’t? How many times did she tell me that I was just trying to stifle her career and make her nothing more than a military spouse whose only job was taking care of kids while I ran off and saved the world?

Her words, not mine.

I never expected any of that, though. I’d just wanted a family. And when I’d nearly died, my back shattered, unsure if I’d ever walk again, she’d left. Walked away like I was a broken toy she no longer wanted to play with.

Rosalie turns to me and smiles. “You look great, Jaxson.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Feed me any kind words. Just tell me why you’re here and what you want.”

“Can I sit down?” she asks, gesturing toward the small table.

“Sure.”

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