Page 60 of Defending What is Mine

Chapter Thirty-Two

Sam: Present—June

I scan the living room a final time. My cousin lounges on the couch, surrounded by more luggage than is necessary for one weekend trip—and one well-packed military duffel. I smile at Jack’s precision. Some things never change.

“Alright Mol, I’m sending you a text with the address for Vanessa’s sleepover and the cell of the mother who’s hosting. But if there’s a problem you will call me first, right?”

Mollie lifts her brow. “Really? You’re honestly telling me if anything happens, here—in Colorado—you want me to call you? You, who will be multiple hours away—at his cabin, in the middle of Nowhere, Wyoming? That’s what you’re saying?”

I nod and smile. “Good, I’m glad we’re on the same page. So, unless I’m forgetting something, I guess we should probably get going, huh?”

Jack perks up from his place in my worn armchair. “Is it real this time? Or just another drill?”

I turn my head, flipping my hair over my shoulder before shooting him a look. “Hey, bub. Do we really want to start comparing which of us has spent more time waiting for the other? Six months…huh? Just sayin.’”

“Touché,” Jack says through an over the top sigh. “But uh…and I’m just asking for a friend here, but am I going to live long enough to ever hear the end of that?”

“Not at this rate,” I say with narrowed eyes and a tapping foot. “Now, come on before I find something else to pack.”

Jack nods and eases himself up from my couch, unwittingly rubbing a phantom pain in his prosthetic as he does. It’s a small thing. So subtle that it may go unnoticed by anyone else. But I notice. I make it my business to pay attention to his tells. I have to…if I ever want to know how he’s really doing.

The man hasn’t uttered a single word about pain or discomfort since he’s been home. I see now why Hank always compares Jack to Chet. He’s got the whole strong and silent type thing down to a science. Don’t get me wrong, Jack unquestionably does a better job holding up his end of a conversation than his oldest brother, but there’s no mistaking that those two are cut from the same cloth.

“Hey, Hank...” Jack wraps an arm around his brother’s neck and whispers something in his ear.

Hank nods as he listens. “Yep. Operation sparkling glass is still a go,” he says with a chuckle.

As if Hank’s response isn’t confusing enough, Jack’s reaction thoroughly finishes the job. He steps back and shoots him an incredulous glare. “Nice name,” he says with a shaking head. “Come on, Sam. Let’s hit it.”

“Yep. I just need to find my little girl for one last squeeze. Nessa? We’re finally going. Can I please have one more hug before I leave?”

Like a tornado hovering in the sky as it builds strength, I hear a whirlwind of chaos stirring in her room. And then, like she’s been fired from a gun, she races down the hall and jumps into my arms. “Bye, Mommy. Have a good trip,” she says while giggling and giving Jack a strange, knowing look.

“We’ll have a blast. If we ever get there.” Jack leans over and whispers something to her as well.

After I lower Vanessa back to the floor, I turn to Jack. “What is with all the secret whispers around here all of a sudden?”

Before he has the chance to answer, Hank chimes in. “We’re planning your birthday party.” He fakes a sniffle. “And now, thanks to your incessant prying, it’s ruined. So…I guess, happy birthday.” He throws his hands up, feigning excitement. “Woooo!”

I turn my attention to Mollie, who is staring at her boyfriend as if he grew a second head. When she catches my questioning gaze, she shrugs her confusion and lifts her hands in an I-have-no-idea-what-he’s-talking-about gesture.

“Fine. Keep your secrets.” I walk toward the door. “I hope you have a great time at your sleepover, Sweetheart. And take it easy with the candy, alright?” I motion to Jack. “Let’s go, Captain.”

* * *

Jack: Present—June

It’s late by the time we arrive at my cabin. The time on the dash reads nine-thirty, but I don’t trust it. I haven’t remembered to reset the clock since Hank and I moved my stuff up from Ft. Carson and I can’t recall the last time I was home long enough that I bothered to adjust it. With Sam asleep in the passenger seat, I leave the truck idling while I slip out to unlock the cabin and let it air out.

I make certain our bags and anything else we might need tonight are all unloaded before tapping on her window to wake her. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty. We’re here.” I hope she only wakes enough to get from the truck to the bed.

Sam lets out a yawn and rubs her eyes, then opens the door and slides down. “How long was I asleep?”

“Not too long,” I reply as I wrap one arm around her waist and point up at the starlit sky with the other as we walk to the door. “Can you even believe that’s real?” I shake my head. “It’s hard to beat the beauty of a Wyoming night.” I stop and turn to Sam. “And still, I can’t take my eyes off of you.”

Usually (and by usually, what I mean is, one hundred percent of the time without fail), Sam gets bashful and looks away when someone compliments her. But not this time. This time she allows herself to hear my words and responds by raising up on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around my neck, and kissing me.

Standing there, holding the woman I love, I’m nearly overwhelmed.

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