A Chance of a Lifetime (19 page)

Joe knew the unselfish thing was to wish she'd had at least that much to hold on to of Mike. He also knew that if she'd been pregnant or had had a child when Mike died, she would have moved back to California to be near their families. He never would have met her, and his life would be a whole lot less than it was now.

“You've still got time, Luce.”

“Really?” She made a show of cocking her head, one hand cupped behind her ear. “Hear that? It's the sound of my doorbell and my cell phone not ringing. Guys aren't lining up for the chance to be with me. And it's not a quick and easy process. First I have to meet the right guy, then I have to fall in love with him, and he has to fall in love with me, and then we have to get pregnant and hope it doesn't take forever because I
am
getting to that age, you know, and then we have to wait nine months and pray that everything's okay, and then—”

He shifted uncomfortably, remembering his embarrassment about the kiss, and told himself not to interrupt, but his mouth spoke before his brain engaged. “Maybe you've already met the right guy.”

For a moment, she was still, not even breathing, then she turned slightly on the cushion, too. The action put more space between them, but it felt like they were closer, maybe because they were face-to-face.

“Really?” she said.

Yeah. He's sitting right here in front of you looking like a fool.
But no matter how emphatically his heart told him to say it, his brain refused to send the words. What if she didn't feel the same way and he ruined the best thing in his life?

She tapped one fingernail against her chin. “Let's see, who do I know? Dane Clark—married. Keegan Logan—engaged. Dalton Smith—engaged. Ben—crazy in love with Avi and as good as married. Dillon Smith—though I don't really know him. Hmm…”

Joe's face flushed, and the flustered feeling spreading through him reminded him of high school and asking Niecy Walker out for his very first date. He'd almost thrown up before he got through the line he'd rehearsed in his bedroom the night before. When she'd said yes, he hadn't known which was more responsible for his elation: the fact that she'd said yes or that he'd survived the asking.

Still wearing a thoughtful look, Lucy went on. “I work with a lot of guys, of course, but none that make me look twice. And there are a few single men at church, but they don't—”

He didn't know what possessed him—some urge spurred on by the teasing tone of her voice, some insanity that he'd been previously unaware of—but he leaned forward, cupped her face in his hands to avoid a misplaced connection, and he kissed her. His heart was beating about a thousand times a minute, and his lungs were as constricted as if he'd just finished a twenty-mile run, and his hands would be shaking if he didn't have her to hold on to, but the instant her mouth relaxed beneath his and her hands came up to his shoulders and a soft sigh vibrated through her, all the nervous tension disappeared and was replaced by a hunger he'd never felt before, not like this.

After a moment—recovering from the shock?—her hands, soft and warm, slid to the back of his neck, then into his hair, stroking and kneading. No longer concerned about where the kiss would land, he let his own hands drift down across the silkiness of her neck, over her T-shirt, down the curve of her spine, settling at her waist, drawing her even closer.

That elation over Niecy Walker agreeing to go out with him was nothing compared to this. This was better than running an eighty-yard touchdown or playing a perfect season or winning the state championship three years in a row. She tasted sweet and light and hot, like everything he'd ever wanted, and she felt…God, like a dream.

When his lungs were burning and his erection was rock-solid and he thought he might just die from the wanting—though it would be a happy death—he forced himself to slide his tongue from her mouth, to end the kiss and sit back, putting a little breathing space between them. Her eyes, rounded and smoky with arousal, stared at him, her lips still parted and tempting and a sweet, deeper pink.

“Whoa.” The word just sort of sighed out of her, and her whole body softened, stirring the need inside him.

At the same time, the nervousness raced back, making him swallow hard. “Is that—” His voice was so hoarse that he had to stop, swallow again. “Is that a good whoa or a bad one?”

A smile slowly curved her lips as she leaned forward, cupped her own hands to his face, so soft and gentle against his skin, and for an answer, she kissed him back.

Definitely a good
whoa
.

W
hen Lucy and Mike were sixteen, they'd had their first make-out session in his pickup, parked in the lot that fronted the beach where they'd spent the day with friends. It had become one of their favorite memories, and every time they'd returned home for a visit, they'd found a way to visit that old parking lot to recapture the sheer joy of that day.

Lucy suspected she was going to feel that way about her couch now.
Sure, it's ratty and stinky and broken down and even the critters won't sit on it anymore, but I can't get rid of it. The second time I felt the magic was right there.

Man, she'd been afraid she would never feel magic again.

“I've been wanting to do that for a while,” she remarked, resting her head on her hand, feeling satisfied all the way down to her toes.

“Bet I've waited longer.”

“Bet not. How long?”

He tilted his head back, studying the ceiling while he considered it. “How long have I lived here?”

“Six years.” But he knew that. Joe had a mental calendar that was more accurate than a computer. He remembered birthdates, anniversaries, dates of death, worry dates. If a friend told him she was having surgery six weeks from Tuesday, without making a note, he'd be calling her six weeks from Wednesday to see how it had gone. It was his superpower.

That, and curling her hair and her toes and everything in between.

“There you go. How long have you waited? Six days? Ding ding ding, I win.”

Lucy kicked off her shoes, brought her knees up to her chest, and curled into the small space between the couch arm and Joe. “That doesn't make sense. That's the whole time you've lived here. You can't have been interested in me all that time.”

“First person I introduced myself to?” he asked. “You. Only person whose dog I volunteered to walk and play with and spoil rotten? You. Whose house have I always spent more time at than my own? Yours. Who do I get up early to walk with every day? You. Who did I make nice with Noble for? You.”

He curled a strand of her hair around his finger, then reached behind her and pulled the band out so her hair tumbled over his hand. “When we met, Luce, I thought you were gorgeous and funny and sweet and genuine and coming to Oklahoma was the best decision I'd ever made. But Mike hadn't been dead a year. You were still grieving. So I waited for you to show that you were ready to start dating again, and I waited and waited, and then you met Dr. Jerk.”

The faint tone—Petulance? Envy?—in his voice made a smile tug at her mouth as warmth curled inside her like a ribbon in a storm. “Uh, calling him Dr. Jerk isn't exactly making nice with him.”

Joe gestured carelessly. “He's in Georgia. I only have to be nice when he comes home. And Avi has to be with him.”

Back early in the summer, Lucy had wondered why Joe and Ben had taken such an immediate dislike to each other. Separately, they were great, intelligent guys, but together it was ugly. She'd excused it on Ben's part as the situation he'd been thrust into with his mother's husband's death, and she'd thought Joe was just being petty and juvenile after Ben made it clear he didn't like football. Didn't she always say Joe was an overgrown kid?

Who kissed like a very experienced, very confident man.

Suddenly the lightbulb went on in her head. “You were jealous!” Delight twirled through her, wild and out of control, like a young ballerina who'd just discovered the joy of pirouetting.

He scowled. “Hell, yes, I was jealous. I'd been waiting all that time, and five minutes after meeting him, you were planning what schools your babies would go to. You went out on dates with him. You let him kiss you.”

Warm and cozy in the glow of her discovery, she reminded him, “There wasn't any electricity.”

His blue gaze narrowed. “What about now?” he asked.

Grinning, she slid closer until she could wrap her arms around him and brushed her mouth against his before murmuring, “Come here, Sparky, then decide for yourself.”

 It was amazing how a few breath-stealing kisses could change a woman's outlook on the world.

The bedside clock showed one minute until midnight, the witching hour. Lucy was already bewitched and had been all evening. She and Joe had talked, joked, and watched TV just like every other time, as if nothing had changed, but when he headed home, he'd given her another of his magical kisses that had set her whole body to vibrating and made her skin ultra-sensitive to touch. Even shifting against the sheets in her jammies made her shiver.

Joe liked her. He really, really liked her. And she really, really liked him.

As she snuggled the extra pillow against her, a tear rolled from the corner of her eye. Norton's ducky squeaked as the dog moved in his sleep, and Sebastian gave a tiny meow from the vicinity of the dog's armpit before they both resettled. Lucy gazed at the nightstand, where Mike's picture stood. It was too dark to see more than a faint glimmer on the silver frame, but she'd spent so many hours staring at it, crying over it, that she didn't need to see it. The image was imprinted on her brain.

“I never dreamed I'd love someone who wasn't you,” she whispered. “Even when we fought and I was so mad at you I could spit, I knew it would pass because I loved you too much to stay mad. And when you were deployed on our first anniversary, and our second and third, and on three of my birthdays, and then you forgot our fourth anniversary…

“I've been so lost since you left, Mike. I've got our families and the best friends I could ask for, but I need someone to love the way I loved you. Someone who will love me back the way you did.” Her voice quavered and dropped until it was practically nothing. “I need someone to have babies with, Mike, and I think Joe's the guy. I've loved him for years—he's one of my best friends—but I think I
love
love him now. The magic is back.”

In spite of the bittersweet ache that accompanied the brand-new hopefulness in her heart, she smiled. “You were my best friend, too, before I fell in love with you.”

A yawn interrupted her thoughts and made her grin. Leave it to her to get sleepy in the middle of such an important conversation. She was just so sad, and so happy and so full of anticipation.

“You'll always have a piece of my heart, Mike. You'll always be my first love.”

Please, God, let Joe be the last.

On Friday afternoon, Calvin reported to the animal shelter with Captain Kim and the other PTSD patients for the animal therapy program. They came three times a week, and he was finding it the best, easiest part of his days, except for spending time with Bennie. The dogs didn't ask questions or probe into painful memories. They couldn't care less what had gone in his past, as long as he was ready with the scratches, walks, play, and treats.

Today he was assigned to exercise duty. The dogs preferred to sleep most of the time they were in the yard so they needed the workout, Jessy explained, and they were easier to adopt when they were already leash-trained.

She was waiting when he went back into the kennel area, with two shepherds who were identical down to the black mask around their eyes and two Lab mixes, one black, the other yellow. “Are you ready?” she asked in greeting.

“I am.” He'd run five miles on the treadmill in the gym that morning and still had a pretty good endorphin high going, but these days he never turned down a chance to get a little more exercise in. That would be routine for the rest of his life: antidepressant and anti-anxiety medications and activity. Every single day.

He could live with that.

He took the shepherds, Max and Sheila, and they headed out the front door to avoid setting off a mass escape from the play yard. The air was chilly, though Jessy hardly seemed to notice. She wore her usual uniform of cargo shorts, T-shirt, and heavy-duty sandals. He wore jeans and a T-shirt—soon to be
his
regular uniform—and was glad he'd grabbed a hoodie on the way out the door.

“How's Bennie?” Jessy asked as they headed toward First Street.

“I haven't seen her since Monday.” He'd wanted to, but she had class on Tuesday and Thursday nights, and Wednesday night hadn't been his best evening. Got to expect that, his shrink team had warned him. Life would get better, but it would always be a two-steps-forward, one-step-back sort of thing. Wednesday night he'd felt like he'd slid back a thousand steps into a deep, dark abyss.

“She didn't make it to dinner Tuesday, but she usually doesn't because of school,” Jessy went on. “Everyone in town knows that the margarita club meets on Tuesdays, so those silly people at the college should rearrange their schedule to accommodate her.”

“I bet everyone does know.” From what he'd heard and seen, they weren't rude or obnoxious—just a little bit raucous. Whether it was in spite of their losses or because of them, they enjoyed the hell out of each other every chance they got.

He'd been that way once. He was going to be that way again.

“She's not a little girl anymore,” Jessy said. When he gave her a puzzled look, she shrugged. “Bennie. I know you guys grew up together and were buddies all through school. But she's not a little girl anymore.”

No, she damn sure isn't.

“I mean, she's fabulous and single, and you're hot-damn and single. You know how often something comes from that—old friends who meet again all grown up and realize they belong together?”

Max dragged his feet, trying to catch a glimpse of the dog barking behind the fence on their right. Calvin coaxed him forward again, then gave Jessy a knowing look. “It's something genetic, isn't it? Women and matchmaking. If you're alone, you're looking for a guy for yourself. If you've got a guy, you're looking for one for someone else.”

Despite the two dogs who, between them, exceeded her own weight, she looked as if she were out for a meandering stroll. She held both leashes in one hand and fluttered the other at him carelessly. “I don't match-make. I just state the obvious. You two have a happy shared history. You have interests in common. You live in the same town. She adores your family, and I know you adore hers because I have met Mama Maudene, and anyone who doesn't adore her isn't friend worthy.”

Calvin grinned. “Mama's something, isn't she?”

Jessy bobbed her head. “I've been an amateur photographer for years. I loved taking pictures of places, animals, things, but not people. Long story, too boring for now. But the first time I met Mama, I wanted so badly to spend forever taking pictures of her. She was just so self-assured and joyous at a time when I was a pathetic mess.”

Translating to
when I was drinking
. And now Jessy was the self-assured one and Calvin was the pathetic mess. Was she passing on some of what she'd gotten from Mama? Would it be his obligation when he was well to pass it on to the next person who needed it?

They crossed First Street and continued at a decent pace to the west. A half-dozen blocks, a turn or two, and they could wind up at his house.

“Does Bennie know you're in the Warrior Transition Unit?” Jessy asked bluntly.

“No.”

“Does she know you have post-traumatic stress disorder?”

“No.” He didn't ask how she knew. When her bosses at the shelter had agreed to let a group of WTU soldiers work with their animals, surely Captain Kim had told them the diagnoses. It was only fair.

“I haven't told anyone, and I won't.” Her expression turned wry. “Trust me, I know how to keep a secret.”

“Thank you.” He kept his gaze on the street, aware that the conversation wasn't over yet, not unless he said it was.

“One of the things that contributed to my drinking was guilt. My husband was all excited about coming home from Afghanistan, about buying a house and starting a family, and I…I'd discovered during his last deployment that I liked living alone. I still loved him, but not the right way. I intended to let him enjoy his homecoming, and then a few weeks, a few months later, I'd file for divorce.”

He wished she'd been the only person in the entire Department of Defense who'd felt that way, but he'd known too many people who'd gone home to find their spouses gone, their possessions cleared out, their money all spent. He knew a bunch more who'd found their spouses and their marriages and themselves changed, and no matter how hard they tried, they just couldn't make things work anymore.

“A couple weeks before Aaron was scheduled to come home, he was killed,” Jessy said. “I grieved horribly for him, but I felt like such a fraud because I'd wanted to be free of him. The guilt was as bad as the sorrow.”

She stopped to pull a sticker from the yellow Lab's paw, then ran her fingers through the pads and crevices searching for another. From her crouched position, she said, “Anyway, my point is, I thought I was the only person in the world awful and disgusting enough to feel that way. All the margarita girls adored their husbands. They were all ideal wives and widows, and I was…damn. But when I finally told them about my drinking and how I'd felt about Aaron, they all understood, and one of them in particular had been in exactly the situation I was with my marriage. It was such a
freeing
experience to find out I wasn't alone.

“You aren't alone, either, Calvin.”

He let that thought rattle around in his brain while they covered the few yards to where the street made a sharp turn to the left. They didn't follow it but instead circled around and headed back east.

He wasn't alone. Logically he knew that. Hundreds of thousands of troops had PTSD. Some degree of it was more common than not.

He wasn't the only one to attempt suicide, either. More than twenty service members succeeded at killing themselves
every day
. He wasn't the only one to find himself in such hopelessness and despair, but he'd been given another chance.