Page 128 of Deserter

It was just after midnight when I finished icing the last flower petal on Kate’s birthday cake. There was still a load of laundry in the dryer that needed to be folded and put away, but any remaining energy I had disappeared hours ago.

I grabbed the pack of cigarettes and my cardigan from the back of the sofa before slipping out to the back porch. Some nights, when I couldn’t sleep, I’d sit out front with Hawk, but tonight I just wanted to be left alone.

There were times when the grief hit me so hard that I found myself wanting to curl up in his lap, just to feel the leather against my cheek or the scrape of his beard on top of my head.

I ached for the familiar, and I hated myself for it.

Jamie’s gold lighter was still beside the grill, as if waiting for him to show up. I resisted the urge to launch it across the backyard and instead tapped a cigarette from the pack and lit up.

I’d gone twenty-four years without smoking, but the minute the smell hit my nose, I knew I was going to get addicted.

They smelled like him.

My lungs protested my poor decision and my eyes streamed as I coughed up smoke. Proving that Kate had come by her stubbornness naturally, I inhaled again and immediately began spluttering.

Jamie could carry on conversations with a cigarette in his mouth, the smoke lazily drifting out from between his lips. Meanwhile, I sounded like someone who’d narrowly avoided drowning.

The dry grass crackled as something trampled across it and I leaned forward in the lawn chair, straining to see what was beyond the small porch light.

I was at a distinct disadvantage, because they could see me quite easily. With the cigarette still in my hand, I reached for the closest weapon—a garden trowel.

“Who’s there?” I whispered.

The steps drew closer and I knew the answer before he even moved into the light. It was in the tread of his motorcycle boots; a sound I could still distinguish from others after months apart.

His blond hair brushed the tops of his shoulders now, but instead of attacking him like I’d imagined doing over the past three months, I found myself wondering if he’d had someone cut it for him like I used to.

“Hey, princess,” he finally said as he reached the edge of the patio. As he lit up a cigarette of his own and the material from his shirt strained against his biceps, it was impossible to miss the fact that my husband was more muscular than I remembered.

Maybe he’d been locked away in a gym.

I took another drag from the cigarette and coughed, “Hey.”

The corner of his mouth turned up in amusement and I wanted to press my lips to it; like I had that day in the record store. It wasn’t just the cigarettes I was addicted to; it was him.

And it infuriated me to no end.

“That’s quite the weapon you’ve got there.”

I held up the trowel, as if just noticing it. “Oh, this? Yeah, it’s pretty handy when people sneak up on me in the dark.”

Any minute now, I was going to wake up alone in the backyard, missing him so badly my chest hurt. So far, I’d managed to keep my crying spells confined within the shower walls. If I was going to start hallucinating Jamie though, I was a goner. I’d end up like Kate, down on the floor, gasping for my next breath and convinced I was going to die.

He glanced back toward the house. “The girls?”

“Asleep.” I pointed toward the chair across from mine. “Sit.”

When he did as I asked, I took a victorious drag from the cigarette and began hacking again. Jamie pulled it from my fingers and stubbed it out on the patio.

“I wasn’t done with that.”

“That shit’ll kill you, Celia,” he growled, his eyes daring me to argue.

And just like that, any power I’d held shifted over to him.

I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back. “So, you’re back.”

He nodded and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “I’m back.”

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