Page 64 of Always Salty

And all of them were so freakin’ proud of Dima and what he’d accomplished in his military career. But the man in front of me wasn’t the same man that they said was all gung-ho about flying planes.

You didn’t get that kind of look in your eyes from being a pilot.

At least, I didn’t think you did.

“I’d like to say that I was very confident that every single man and woman that I killed for Uncle Sam was bad, but they literally pointed me at them, and I took care of business. I hate to admit it, but I didn’t start to question until too late,” he confessed.

I reached for the bottle of shampoo on the shelf above me, which put my nipple perilously close to his mouth, and pulled it down.

He latched onto my nipple with a grin and smiled at me with it between his teeth.

I squirted some shampoo into my hand—way too much for the small amount of hair that he had—and worked it into his scalp.

He closed his eyes and I massaged him with my fingers as I said, “I think you’re thinking that I’m this great person, Dima.”

His eyes slowly opened.

When they did, I grabbed his face with soapy hands and said, “I’m not.”

His lips went flat. “You’re a good person.”

“A good person wouldn’t be insanely happy that you murdered someone for me,” I persisted.

“No,” he agreed. “Maybe not. But let’s just say, I think anyone in your shoes would’ve been in that same frame of mind.”

“I don’t care that my dad’s dead. I don’t care that Pettigrew is dead. I don’t care that anyone’s dead as long as it’s not someone I care about.” I shrugged. “If they did something bad, good riddance.”

I reached for the closest showerhead and pulled it off its hanger, then said, “Close your eyes.”

He did, and I sprayed him down.

I followed the shampoo up with conditioner, then started on the body parts of his that I could reach with my soap.

When I was done, and we were both as clean as we were going to get, I said, “I’m not sure how I feel about having kids. I used to have my life all figured out, and I’m just not sure anymore.”

He curled a lock of my hair around his finger and said, “Could take ’em or leave ’em.”

My lips twitched. “I thought you loved your nieces and nephews.”

“I do.” He shrugged. “But I’m not all that gung-ho about bringing a kid into the world when I’m taking people out of it.”

I loved this man.

There was no doubt in my mind that he was my one.

“Mine’s the opposite,” I admitted. “I’m not all that excited to bring a kid into this world knowing what could happen to him or her, especially her. It doesn’t matter that you’re really good at protecting people. If trouble is going to find us, it will happen. There won’t be anything that you or I can do about it, either.”

His eyes went intense for a long second before his hand wrapped around my wet hair and tightened. He didn’t pull my head back, but it was tight enough to sting.

“I would never, ever let anything happen to our child.”

And in that moment, I knew that to be irrevocably true, at least, to things that he could control.

“You can’t control everything, Dima.”

His eyes were laser fire as he said, “Watch me.”

My winter fat is finally gone, and now I have spring rolls.

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