Soldier On (25 page)

It’s hard to imagine, and it makes me sad to try.

Restless and fidgety, I decide a change of scenery is needed. And maybe a glass of warm milk. I crawl out of bed, grab my book out of my bag, and head downstairs.

The house is mostly dark, except for a dim light shining from the kitchen. I manage to make it there without banging into furniture, and I’ve just opened the refrigerator when I hear someone sniffle quietly. I turn to find Christian sitting at the kitchen table. She’s wrapped in a robe and holding a glass of wine.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize anyone else was awake.”

Christian shrugs. “I’m always awake, it seems.”

I nod and reach into the fridge. “I can’t sleep. I thought I’d make some warm milk.”

“Does that help?”

“Usually, yeah.”

“Mom used to make us warm milk when we couldn’t sleep,” she says. “But it never worked. It just gave me gas.”

I laugh softly and reach for a mug. We’re both quiet while the milk warms. Once it’s ready, I join her at the table.

“Does wine help?”

Christian glances at her glass. “Sometimes. I really just drink it to relax after a long day. At this rate, I’ll be an alcoholic by the time I’m thirty.”

I don’t say anything. I just drink my milk.

“Oh, come on, Steph. That was funny.”

I grin. “It was a little funny. I just don’t know when it’s okay to laugh about . . . all this. I don’t want to do or say the wrong thing.”

“I understand.”

We sit quietly for a few minutes until a loud snore makes me jump.

“Sorry.” Christian points toward the baby monitor on the island. “It’s the only way I can hear him at night. Dad’s bedroom is down here, right beside the living room. Using the stairs isn’t such a good idea with his bad coordination. At night, I either have to use the monitor or sleep on the couch, and the couch sucks.”

“I think you made a good choice.”

She nods and takes another sip of wine.

“My brother loves you. You know that, right?”

I smile. “I do. Brandon’s never been shy about how he feels.”

“And how do
you
feel?”

“I love him, too. I know you probably don’t want to hear that, and I know you don’t like me. I just wish I understood why.”

She sighs and pours herself another glass.

“When Brandon first told me he was interested in you, I tried to convince him it was a bad idea. It’s his last semester, and his focus needs to stay on school. But, according to him, you’re even more focused than he is, and his grades are still good, so . . .”

“We’re both determined to graduate on time. That’s never changed.”

“But then he told me how you feel about the military, and while I understand why you feel that way, I can’t help but worry that the cycle is repeating.”

“What cycle?”

Christian takes a long sip of her wine before continuing. “When I was in high school, I had three goals—make my father proud, become a nurse, and marry Jordan Young. We were the classic high school cliché. He was quarterback of the football team. I was head cheerleader. Once we were engaged, Jordan told me he wanted me to be a wife and mother and nothing else. So, that’s what I did. Then we had the girls, and everything was great until I mentioned I was ready to take some college classes and start working on my degree. He refused to support me. Wouldn’t even discuss it. I did it anyway.”

“Good for you.”

“Is it?” Christian shakes her head. “Sometimes I wonder.”

“Becoming a nurse was your dream. Your husband should have supported you. I mean, I’m not an expert, but isn’t that what relationships are all about?”

“In theory. But in reality, my dream cost me my marriage. And it costs my girls every single day. It’s spring break. We should be having a good time. Instead, they are in Lexington with their father, because it’s
his week.
So was it really worth it? I don’t know.” Christian gazes thoughtfully at me. “You see, that’s why I was so concerned about Brandon. He fell very hard and very fast for you, and you made it clear you didn’t support his dream of becoming a soldier.”

I shake my head. “It’s not the same thing. I didn’t even know he
was
a soldier.”

“I know, and it was wrong of him to keep that from you. What happened when you found out?”

“Brandon didn’t tell you?”

“Brandon tells me very little. I’m apparently too opinionated.”

“Oh. Well, I kicked him out of the apartment.”

“And how long did that last?”

“Three days.”

The worst three days of my life.

Christian nods. “So now the two of you are in this weird gray area that I’m afraid is going to end exactly like I predicted from the very beginning—with my brother having his heart broken.”

I bow my head. She’s right. I’m sitting here, passing judgment on her ex-husband. But haven’t I done the exact same thing?

“I don’t want to break his heart, Christian.”

“Just the fact you’re here proves that to me. Why else would you be in these mountains on your spring break with a bitchy sister and a forgetful father if you didn’t love him? But can you love
all
of him? Every little part of him? Even the part that scares you to death?”

Of course I can. I already do.

“Steph, if you learn anything from this visit, I hope it’s this. Plans change. Memories fade. People leave. For every amazing thing that happens to you, there are twenty crappy things just waiting to knock the smile off your face. But you keep smiling. You keep loving. You soldier on, just like Dad says. You find joy wherever you can, and you hold on to it as tightly as possible.”

She drains her glass and sets it next to the empty bottle.

“Wow. That was either really profound or I’ve had way too much wine.”

I laugh lightly. “I think a little of both. But that doesn’t make your words any less true.”

Christian grins and rises from the table.

“I think I’m finally tired enough to sleep, Steph.”

“Me, too.”

She turns off the light, and the two of us walk upstairs. Her room is the first door on the right.

“Just so you know,” I tell her just as she steps inside her room. “I meant what I said. The last thing I want to do is break Brandon’s heart.”

“Then don’t.”

She closes the door behind her.

I walk toward my room, but my feet have a mind of their own, and they lead me to Brandon’s door. Very quietly, I turn the knob and step inside, pulling the door gently closed behind me. Moonlight streams through his curtains, illuminating his sleeping face, but the light doesn’t seem to faze him at all.

Soldiers can sleep anywhere.

Brandon’s lying on his back with his arm outstretched, and I try to resist the urge to climb in.

I fail.

Pulling back the blanket, I carefully climb into his bed, snuggling close to his side. His arm automatically wraps around me, pulling me closer. He turns slightly toward me until we’re lying face-to-face. Taking a deep breath, I ghost my finger along his dimpled cheek and think about the past few months. I think about how happy I’ve been, and how Brandon has been a part of every single second of my happiness. He loves me. Every part of me. Even the irrational, selfish part of me that could have ruined it all.

The thought makes me shake uncontrollably.

Brandon’s arm tightens around me, and his eyes snap open.

“Steph?” His voice is just a whisper.

“Hi.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Are you cold?”

I don’t answer immediately. The truth is, I
was
cold. And bitter. And scared.

“I’m not so cold anymore. I guess I just needed something warm and familiar.”

Brandon gazes at me with a sweet, sleepy smile on his face.

“You needed me, Steph.”

“I did need you.”

“I needed you, too.”

He doesn’t ask why I’m in his bed, and he doesn’t ask me to leave. He just tightens the blanket around us, and then we both close our eyes.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Stephanie

It’s our last morning in Applewood, and it’s the third day that Brandon has skipped his five o’clock run. On the first day, we’d left early to beat the traffic on I-65. The second day we were both awakened by two adorable little girls.

And today . . . well, today is the best morning of all, because we are a tangle of gentle arms and soft blankets. We’re awake, but we haven’t said a thing.

Our lips are just too busy.

His are sliding down the column of my neck, and the soft moans coming from mine make actual words impossible. Our hands explore places they’ve never touched. Beneath shirts. Below waists. Innocent touches in not-so-innocent places, causing us to gasp with pleasure and whimper with need, leaving us shaking and breathless.

And that’s with our clothes on.

We smile goofily at each other before dissolving into quiet laughter.

Brandon throws the blanket over our heads and smothers me with kisses. “Good morning.”

“Epic understatement.”

“And that’s with pajamas. Just imagine—”

“That’s probably not a good idea.”

“Hmm. Probably not.” Brandon gently brushes his nose against mine. “Someday, though. Not today, but someday.”

“Definitely someday.”

It’s still early, so we lay and talk for a while. I tell him about my late-night chat with his sister and how we both walked away alive. His smile fades when I mention her ex-husband.

“Jordan’s not a bad guy,” Brandon says. “He just wasn’t good enough for my sister.”

“Would any guy really be good enough?”

“Probably not, but he could have tried a little harder. That’s what you do when you love somebody.”

The alarm on his phone goes off, reminding us we have responsibilities today. Christian has a twelve-hour shift at the hospital. A nurse’s aide always stays with Mr. Walker when Christian has to work, but Brandon convinced her to give the nurse the day off.

“We should get downstairs,” Brandon says.

He gives me one more toe-curling kiss and heads to the shower. Worried that we’re running late, I rush to my room and change out of my pajamas before making my way downstairs. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see Christian standing over the stove.

“Good morning, Christian.”

“Good morning. Did the warm milk help?”

The warm bed was better.

“It did. Best night of sleep I’ve had in weeks.”

“Good. Brandon awake?”

“Yeah, he’s in the shower.”

“Dad’s still sleeping . . . or he was the last time I checked. He’s usually up by eight. There are some mornings he needs help getting out of bed. Other days, he does just fine on his own. It’s a crap shoot, so have Brandon check on him.” She glances up at the kitchen clock and sighs heavily. “Dad likes two slices of lightly buttered toast with his eggs and bacon.”

“Lightly buttered toast. Got it.”

“Good, because this is almost done, and I’m running late. Don’t let it burn. It’ll just make him cranky.”

I take the spatula and quickly flip the bacon.

“Lightly buttered toast. Don’t burn the bacon.”

“Right. Numbers are on the fridge. Brandon has my cell.”

“We’ll be fine.”

I hope.

She thanks me and tosses a banana in her purse before rushing out the front door.

I finish breakfast, and I’m thrilled not to completely scorch the bacon or burn down the kitchen. Five minutes later, I have Mr. Webster’s two slices of lightly buttered toast waiting for him, along with his bacon and eggs. I seem to remember him liking orange juice for breakfast, so I pour a glass and set it next to his plate.