Page 40 of Defending What is Mine

Chapter Twenty

Sam:Then—Mid December

Before clicking connect, I stop and take a couple slow breaths to try and calm myself. If not on the inside, at least the outward view. I’m smiling so wide my damn cheeks are beginning to cramp. When I’m (mostly) confident I have myself under control, I click the button to start the video chat and try not to vibrate in my seat while I anxiously wait to see his face.

Jack’s deep voice emanates through the speakers before he’s visible. “Sam? Are you there? It says we’re connected, but I don’t see anything yet. Can you hear me?”

“I am,” I say with as much restraint as I can manage. “And I do.” But the second that handsome face appears in front of me, all bets are off—cheek-cramping-smile fully engaged. “There you are.”

“Are you sure it’s not too late for you? I don’t want you dead on your feet at work tomorrow just so I can get my Sam fix.”

“Nah.” I shake my head. “For the record, it’s always worth it. But especially in this case because I took tomorrow off. Mollie and I are supposed to trek down to Sterling, so we can finish up our Christmas shopping and whatnot before Nessa is home for winter break.”

“Ooooh. Sounds exciting,” Jack says, nodding along. But in a flash his smile fades, replaced by a solemn look. “Hey, on that topic. I hate to risk souring the precious little time we have, but I want to ask you a kind of serious question.”

Uhh-ohh. “Um…okay, shoot.”

“It’s about Christmas,” he says, pausing as he looks away from the webcam.

“Oh, no.” I lean in close to the monitor (as if that will help me to hear him better, or something). “You’re not about to tell me ‘the brass’ have decided to end your tour early and you’ll be home with us for the holidays?”

When Jack shakes his head but doesn’t turn back to the webcam I continue, “Because that would be just about the worst news ever.” That ought to get his attention.

The look on his face as he slowly turns toward the screen—one eyebrow raised to the sky coupled with a sort of Elvis-lippy thing happening with his mouth.

I fight back the laughter bubbling up from my belly. “I mean, it’s just...well, with you slated to be away for a few more months, I haven’t exactly kept myself in fighting shape through the holiday season, if you know what I mean.” I wink—pleased that I managed to make it through my spiel with a mostly-straight face.

“Huh?” he asks, bewildered by my comment.

Poor Jack—so confused his mouth falls open. It’s all too much for me to hold it together any longer. In a perfect world, I might react with a cute little chuckle and then let him in on the joke. But this is not a perfect world, is it?

Answer: No. No, it is not.

Instead of a cute, polite, lady-like laugh, my body unleashes the most embarrassing cackle ever to be uttered from a living soul.

Ever.

His response? The moment our eyes meet, and he sees how surprised I am about the sound I just made, he wraps his arms around his waist and doubles over laughing too. Which, in turn causes me to cackle even harder. The kind of laugh where you start to worry you just might die of oxygen deprivation if you don’t breathe in soon.

How is it that life instantly feels good again whenever he’s around?

With tears still streaming down my cheeks and my abdomen stinging, I sit up to catch my breath. “Okay, okay. Enough silliness. You had something serious to talk about?”

Jack sits up too and clears his throat. “It’s not anything bad. At least, not like what you were afraid of.” He tries to smile as he references my joke about him coming home—we both do—but it’s obvious both of us could use ‘bad’ news like that about now. “I wanted to ask you about Christmas. To see if you have everything under control. I don’t mean to pry into your finances, but…how’d you put it? ‘Single mom, dead end job?’ I think it was something like that.”

“Jack. You’re fine. And yes, I think I’ve got everything under control. At least in that respect. I mean, if the girl is expecting to receive the newest Xbox or PlayStation, she’s going to be disappointed. But, it’s not like she’s going to be opening re-wrapped toys stolen from her toybox while she slept,” I say, falling into an old memory of my own. “All because her parent—air quotes for added emphasis—was too busy trying to hustle people out of their hard-earned money to be bothered making any of his own…much less taking an hour to shop for Christmas. Trust me when I say, no child should ever have to deal with that.”

Jack shakes his head in frustration. “I hate that you lived that life. I mean, I know those experiences helped shape you, and I love the person you are, but I hate it all the same.”

I force a smile as I push through the pain accompanying the memory. “Well, you’re sweet to be concerned, but we’re all set here.”

“Well, good. But, uh. Well, I sort of, um…I hope you don’t mind, but…”

“Spit it out, Wilde,” I say in my best Captain-Jack-Wilde voice.

“Well.” Now he’s the one practically vibrating in his seat. “Hank is going to have a care package for you. But…” He raises his index finger to the camera. “You should know, he’s under strict instructions to hold onto it until Christmas.”

“Aww, you shouldn’t have,” I say, radiating happiness. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be sending care packages to you, silly. Wait? Back up. What was that last part? Why is Hank under strict instruction to hold onto it?” I tilt my head and furrow my brow, impatiently tapping my fingers against the desk.

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