Unchained (36 page)

Whatever Meghan needed that was in his power to give, he was all over that shit. If it meant so damn much to her, he’d even drag his sorry ass to church.

“But the question I asked wasn’t about me.” She placed her hand over his heart. “I see what’s in here, Alex. I’m not asking why you don’t escort me to Sunday services. I’m asking why you don’t do it for yourself. For what’s in here.”

He reached for the hand patting his chest and gave a hearty squeeze. Now, he got it. She wanted to know why he was on an emergency-only basis with God.

Kissing the palm of her hand, he kept hold of it as an anchor and dug deep for an answer worthy of the woman asking the question. Only total honesty would do. He searched for his truth and the simplest way to explain.

“I respect the faith of my heritage. Kind of have to,” he offered with a wry chuckle. “After all, got an uncle working for the big guy.”

She nudged him playfully and rolled her eyes.

The years rolled away, and he remembered what it was like to gather with his men, his brothers, his warrior comrades—of every faith and of every color, creed and sex—on bended knee in the middle of a fucking desert war, waiting on the military chaplain to offer a blessing. And after he did, they’d stand, lock, load, and go out and try not to be killed. Some succeeded. Some didn’t.

“We broke up, me and the dude upstairs, when, well … you know when.”

Her tiny nod and the way she looked at him said she knew quite well when and how and why.

“Breakups are hard,” his wise wife murmured. “And sometimes unavoidable.”

It meant a lot to him that she understood. And understood without censure or trying to change the facts. God was in short supply on the battlefield. And after? The after left him with a bad case of don’t-give-a-fuck. No way to nice it up.

“Did you ever get closure?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” she began in a warm tone laced with a concern he heard loud and clear, “isn’t relationship closure, especially a relationship with deep roots, supposed to be about letting go of what was?”

He nodded.
Yep, sure.

“And sort of honoring the past for what it was while evolving to something new.”

Can’t say I ever thought of it in those terms.

He said the first thing that came to his mind. “How do I do that? Evolve to something new?”

“You could start by going to confession.”

S
O THAT’S WHAT
a pin dropping to the floor sounds like
, she thought. Meghan knew she was swimming in turbulent waters with her line of questions and commentary, but she couldn’t say nothing. Her husband’s soul was at stake. He might not see it that way, but she did.

Understanding what he’d gone through and how all those sometimes dark and deadly experiences shaped his outlook was serious business in her book. And not just because pieces of the aftermath lingered for a lifetime. She was married to a complex man. Their relationship was not based on halves. It was the whole thing.

Would he rise to the challenge she threw in his face? For Meghan, there was never any doubt he would. Wherever he led, she willingly followed, and he was man enough to embrace the equality of so bold an expression. Just by bringing it up, she knew he’d take her advice and counsel seriously.

It took him a long time to get there. She respected his thoughtful hesitation and gave him the silent space he needed.

Gathering her close, she nestled onto his manly chest, rubbing her face in the soft thatch of hair she found so sexy. She felt him rest his cheek on her head and sigh. Her ear on his naked chest picked up the steady thud of his heart.

“In all honesty, babe,” he said in a hushed, serious voice. “I’d be afraid of what opening the floodgates to a confession would mean. None of that shit is pretty, and all of it needs to stay in the shadows.”

“I know you think that,” she murmured against his skin. Her arms held him tight. “But sometimes, the best way to manage the darkness is to cut off the power it has in your life.”

He came at her with an argument she respected. A common narrative among many of the vets she’d met and spoken to.

“Seeking forgiveness for the consequences of free will is one thing. But I have a problem putting the words forgiveness and duty in the same sentence. What I did, the decisions my rank required me to make? Those things had nothing to do with free will. How do you find value in forgiveness when an oath to obey changes the dynamic?”

“Is it really about forgiveness? Can’t a confession be just an airing of the issues? You went through hell in service to your country. Bad shit happened. You felt abandoned by your faith when you needed it most. Maybe that’s enough, baby. Maybe just saying it out loud is enough to evolve to something else. Something more in keeping with the spiritual side you keep so locked down.”

“This is important to you.”

He said it as a statement. Not a question.

“Honey,” she said firmly. “This is important
for
you.”

Meghan let her words sink in and then went for the gold. “It’s important for the family we’re making together.”

Boy, did he ever think long and hard about that. She could almost hear the gears in his mind cranking away. Finally, he eased her back, kissed her gently on the lips, and playfully tapped the end of her nose.

“Something tells me you came ready with an outing in mind. Completely planned out right down to the GPS address.”

The instant grin splitting her face triggered an explosion of happy butterflies in her belly.

“Holy Redeemer. Maryland D.C. suburb called College Park. And I found a Rita’s water ice place in the same area for afterward!”

“Who are you?” he chided softly.

She heard her ma’s voice ring out in her head.
‘The carrot and the stick, Meggie dear. Works every time.’

Plastering a big wet kiss on him, she mussed up his perpetually messy hair and laid out exactly who the hell she was.

“I am the wife of Major Alexander Valleja-Marquez.”

“Yes, you are,” he answered softly. “Yes, you are.”

Like a marshal directing a parade, Meghan stood by a stack of cartons, suitcases, shopping bags, and coolers with a checklist in hand, as she pointed and hollered commands to the army of handlers Sawyer had assigned to get their shit on the plane.

Alex found the whole scene highly amusing. He stretched his legs out, crossed them at the ankles, and folded his hands on his lap. Sometimes, he liked to hang back and just watch.

Something was enchanting and downright hilarious about his beautiful wife, decked out in one of her signature dresses—a sleeveless thing with a belted waist and flared skirt that screamed WARNING: FEMALE—barking instructions and issuing commands.

Admiring her long tanned legs, he stopped to appreciate the heeled sandals with the sexy ankle strap. Her toes were painted pale pink, and the shoes were a non-descript color that matched the dress’s design of soft yellow flowers on a white background with taupe-colored leaves.

She’d gathered the long auburn locks he loved to touch into a loose knot on top of her head. Around her neck, she wore a chain with two engraved hearts—the first pieces of jewelry he’d ever given her. He liked the look, loved the way she captured the ladylike side of her passionate personality, and took great satisfaction knowing this was how she wanted to appear when they returned to their home and officially began their life in Arizona.

“Anxious to get home?” a voice asked from his back. He turned his head and met the steady gaze of his pilot. A man he’d trusted for more years than most realized. Sawyer was someone who could quite literally fly anything with an engine and a throttle. Alex valued his calm expertise and knew from experience the difference a good pilot made during a controlled crash. He was also honorary godfather to Sawyer’s son, born at the tail end of their service together.

“Not anxious to lose the privacy,” he replied with a lazy inspection of his luggage-supervising wife.

“Wait till you have a couple of kids.” Sawyer snorted in amusement. “Dude,” he teased solemnly with a hand upon Alex’s shoulder. “Take it from me. The second she says she’s pregnant, you can kiss your privacy adios.”

The comment struck him as delightfully funny. Having known the warrior pilot long before the family man, it never got old whenever he got a rare glimpse of the man’s humor.

“Plus”—the man snickered—“you have that squad of delinquents and pussies to deal with at home. You do know I hope that the whole lot of them are rocking back and forth in a corner and sucking their thumbs waiting for Big Daddy to fix the mess they made.”

“Ah, fuck my life,” Alex muttered good-naturedly. “Hey, have you met any of the newbs? Kind of feel like I’m walking into an ambush and don’t know all the players.”

Sawyer pushed a granola bar into his hand and ripped his open. “Uh, yeah. Interesting crew. The security chief y’all hired is a badass motherfucker. Vietnam vet. Wouldn’t want him on my bad side in a bar fight. Don’t know much—he’s a closed book, that one. But if you want my opinion, the guy wouldn’t flinch before taking a bullet for whoever he’s protecting.”

The granola thing was two bites max, so Alex made quick work of inhaling it.

Sawyer continued. “Heard Drae got his shorts in a knot about the guy.”

“Yeah, well, you know him. Drae’s ninja skills are scary, but he’s had to learn like the rest of us when to stand down and when to pass off some of the details.”

They both were watching as Meghan scurried between the plane and the baggage cart holding their stuff.

“Seriously, Marquez,” Sawyer said with an impatient shrug. “What the fuck did you do to land such an awesome babe?”

“I know, right?”

“The ladies are shitting over her return.” The guy laughed and thumped his shoulder. “Now that I think about it, you can probably kiss your privacy away the second Red’s feet hit the tarmac out West.”

“Fuck,” he muttered as he leaned forward in his seat and smacked his hands on his knees. Standing up, he gave his old friend a sardonic look. “Women. Who’d have thought the day would come when they’d be overrunning the Villa?”

“Word.”

“And speaking of women, what do you know about Remington Bisset? Calder told me Cam couldn’t sing her praises enough.”

Sawyer didn’t immediately respond. From the corner of his eye, Alex saw the man’s jaw harden.

“Sawyer?”

As he picked his captain’s hat off a counter and adjusted it on his head before looking his way, Alex had the distinct impression he wasn’t going to like what he heard.

“I’d let her service my plane at thirty thousand feet.”

High praise, not to be discounted. But still. There was something else.

“Right,” he mumbled. “I forgot. She’s a pilot too, huh?”

“One of the best.”

Oh, for god’s sake. Why did he always have to dig?

“Don’t make me ask, man.”

“Not sure I’m supposed to know her personal business, Alex. This is one of those things I’m not cool with repeating.”

Hmph.
Maybe he hadn’t expressed himself clearly enough. “Asking what you know wasn’t a request, Captain.”

Sawyer almost smirked.
Almost.
Snapping to attention, he even clicked his heels as his hand flew up in a cocky salute. “Sorry, sir.” The lip-curling sneer was one hundred percent deliberate. “It’s like this, Major,” he began in a low murmur.