Page 33 of The SEALs' Single Mom Baby Surprise

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STERLING

Sloane has been slowly spiraling, and I can tell she already feels out of control, but the look she shot me when her daughter asked for me to hold her, when I paid for dinner… it means she’s not going to like how tonight is going to end because as much as she doesn’t want us watching her, she’s got no choice in the matter now.

Not with someone breaking into her home.

She trembles, tightly grasping onto her control, but it’s a losing battle. She needs to find a release before she can’t hold it in anymore.

I squeeze her shoulders, rocking her gently back and forth until she leans back with a little bit of trust. She’s warm against my chest, even as she tries to maintain her rigid distance.

My mouth is near her ear, talking to her softly like I did to Reese. “You’re alright.”

Her breath is shaky as she sucks it in and nods.

“Let’s make dinner as normal as possible and get your daughter to sleep so we can figure this out.”

My maintained calm is seeping into her. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to be strong for someone like this. For a woman who doesn’t seem to want or need to borrow strength from anyone else.

I’m selfish, and I soak in our contact for the few seconds we’re allowed.

I’ve not wanted to comfort a woman in years. Not wanted a woman in my arms for so long—not beyond the mere physical needs that can only be ignored for a time, and certainly not while she’s ready to break down crying.

Crying women usually send me running in no time. But Sloane is different. She’s not seeking out something I can’t give her.

Something I might want to give her.

Sloane nods again, standing a little taller and wiping her face with her hands, and smooths her hair before she turns.

That fierce look she gave me the first time I met her is back, if a little more haunted.

I want to make that go away. To help her find peace.

My hands clench with the urge to tuck her hair back from her face, to touch her more than I’ve been permitted.

“Where are your plates, utensils?”

She points. The plates are already on the counter, the utensils in the drawer behind her.

“Why don’t I set the table, and you go clean off the bed?”

Sloane doesn’t hesitate, slipping silently into her bedroom as I set the small card table by the window for three, although she only has two chairs. I can easily stand and eat. I’ve done it plenty before.

It only takes Sloane a minute to reappear. And Reese is right behind her. After Sloane serves her daughter, she pulls the little girl into her lap and tugs their plates to the side to give me room to sit with them.

It’s more than I’ve been given before, especially when I know Sloane doesn’t want me here.

Still, I sit and enjoy the reminder of what eating with my family was like. It’s such a distant, fuzzy memory that I find myself soaking in every detail of how Reese and Sloane interact with each other. Half sentences, silent admonishments, and lots of smiles and giggling.

Sloane becomes a completely different person when she’s in mom mode. Like the outside world can’t penetrate their warm little cocoon.

Hannah used to sit on my lap like that at dinner, but usually when she was trying to push Mari’s buttons. My wife would spit the wordtraitoracross the table while she bit back a smile. It was a taunt to keep my daughter in my grasp for as long as I could.

But my girl always had too much energy to stay still for long. Even when she’d color or do her math homework at the table, she’d be standing on her chair, hopping from one foot to another, humming under breath or full on singing her current earworm.

The ache in my chest that misses them all the time flares and settles back to the long-burning embers I’ve grown used to as I watch Sloane kiss the side of Reese’s head.

“Time for bed.” Sloane’s voice is soft and low as she rocks Reese in her arms. “Let’s get you in the bath. We’ve got some snarls to get out of that hair. Were you wrestling today at school or what?”

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