The Christmas He Loved Her (Bad Boys of Crystal Lake 2)

He shook his head—his mind reeling as he slowly took in the contents of the room. He saw a crib. A teddy bear. He saw a knitted blanket—half-finished—folded on top of a table. A rocking horse was in the corner, a couple of framed prints leaning against the wall, the satchel he had brought back from Texas beside them.

As if in a dream, Jake crossed over to the table, his fingers reaching for the blanket, when he saw something that nearly stopped his heart. Carefully he withdrew a black-and-white sonogram picture from beneath it, and as he stared down at the grainy image, at the name across the bottom, Raine Edwards, he thought he was going to puke.

“Jake?”

“I don’t know,” he managed to say, “but you can bet I’m going to find out.”

***

Twenty minutes later, he pulled up the driveway and parked Mac’s rental behind his Jeep. He cut the engine and stared at the stone cottage in silence. It was late, nearly two in the morning, and the night was thick, like black velvet. Warm light fell out of the window, pooling against the snow, and he stared at the spot for a long time. So long that the cold seeped into the car and he shivered as the brisk air rolled over him.

Eventually, when he knew it was either freeze his ass off or get the hell out of the car, he opened the door and stepped outside, the snow crunchy underfoot. Twin pipes of hot air blew out of his nostrils as he bent over and grabbed the satchel that lay on the passenger seat—the satchel he’d brought back from Texas. The satchel that still had the travel tags from Afghanistan intact.

Anger burned him, and he had to take a moment to push it away. But he couldn’t help but wonder why the hell she hadn’t looked inside? He thought of the ro

om, of the picture, and his anger doubled. Hell, it tripled, because not only was he angry but he was scared as hell.

He tossed the satchel over his shoulder and carefully made his way up the path that led to the house. Jake paused in front of the door, his hand on the knob. He needed to get hold of his anger and the underlying confusion.

He was about to take a step back, wanting more time—needing more time—but then the door flew open and Raine was there. For a moment, he was blinded by the light from inside, and when his vision cleared, he saw the fire in the hearth, the pink blanket thrown on the floor in front of it. He saw the Christmas tree, decorated to the nines, the large nutcracker near the fireplace, and the puppy rolling around on the floor, a cookie in his mouth.

It was a scene straight out of a Rockwell painting.

And it was all wrong.

Maybe if he’d paid more attention, he would have noticed the tearstained face that looked up at him. Maybe he would have known that her heart was in his hands, and in that moment he was about to break it.

Maybe if he were a psychic, he might have known. But he wasn’t. He was a brother. A soldier. A lover.

And at the moment, more confused and pissed off than he ever remembered being.

Jake pushed past Raine and threw the satchel onto the sofa where he’d made love to her only hours earlier. Where he’d held her close and listened to her heart beating against his.

“Jake?”

Raine sounded scared, but he fought the urge to grab her up into his arms.

God, this was so wrong.

“Jake,” she said again, her voice trembling as she closed the door and walked over to the sofa.

He said nothing and just watched as she reached for the satchel, her long, delicate fingers running over the worn leather.

The fire crackled, a log popping loudly, and Gibson jumped up onto the sofa, whining as he pushed against Raine.

“Why haven’t you opened this?” he said harshly, hating the way she winced at the sound of his voice.

“I don’t know,” she said so softly he barely heard her.

“You don’t know,” he said, feeling the well of anger inside him burst open and hit him hard in the chest.

He took two steps forward until he was inches from Raine. “Don’t you think you owe it to Jesse to see what’s in there?”

“I don’t know,” she said again, her face averted, her voice weak.

His hands bunched at his side. “Okay, you don’t know. I get that. I get that maybe you’re confused, when it comes to what you felt for Jesse.”

Her head whipped up at that and she pushed him in the chest. Hard. So hard that he took a step back and nearly stumbled over the damn dog. Gibson had jumped off the sofa and was tangled up near his feet.