Having The Soldier's Baby (Parent Portal 1)

Danny had been willing to die to give him and Emily this chance. And her... She’d lived life every day with her heart open and hurting to keep them together.

And what had he done? He’d gone into hiding in the name of being a soldier.

Emily had been the strong one, hanging on to what mattered most, fighting the hardest fight, while he’d been the coward, hiding away in his safe lonely place.

It was a place he didn’t want to leave. Had planned to remain untouched for the rest of his life.

And as much as he wished to God he could stay there, guaranteed not to hurt anymore, he also needed desperately to be free. Free to love his wife. And his son.

It was time to be the soldier he’d thought he was.

Trouble was, he’d shattered Emily’s ability to believe in the miracle of love and had no idea in hell how to turn things around.

He was a soldier on the most important mission of his life and he had no plan.

“So hear this, Mrs. Fate,” he said aloud as he sped toward the only woman who’d ever held the position of wife in his heart, the only one he’d ever wanted. “You brought us together. You brought me home to her. This one’s on you. I hope to God you’ve got a plan.”

* * *

Emily walked out of the lobby to meet Winston when he strode up. He’d scared the bejesus out of her, hightailing it to LA when there was no reason to do so.

He looked perfectly normal, and sounded that way, too, as he said hello and asked her where she wanted to eat.

If it weren’t for the baby growing so voraciously inside her, she wouldn’t have wanted to eat. She opted for a row of food trucks in a park nearby so they could sit outside. She needed a good dose of serotonin. Something scientific that she could rely on to raise her spirits a bit.

His khakis, an older pair, she could tell by the fade in the fabric, were freshly pressed, down to the cuffs on the sleeves. He looked good, a sailor among the businesspeople milling about. Reminding her of a song she’d once loved by the Dixie Chicks about a soldier shipping out, and a young girl waiting for him, even though everyone told her he was too old for her.

The song had ended sadly. But what had spoken to her about that song was how that young girl had recognized real love. How she’d seen the soldier and just known. And then hadn?

?t let anyone convince her differently.

That was real love, she’d thought. The song ended badly because the soldier died. Not because love had.

They got wraps. Sat at a scarred and splintery picnic table to eat them. Talked about the people coming and going. Imaging their business, where they were off to, what they were thinking. Playing a game they used to play when they were kids on a date at the beach, with each scenario getting just a little bit more ridiculous than the last. When he started talking about an older woman who he claimed had just come from skinny-dipping on the beach with her twenty-five-year-old lover, someone too exhausted to keep up with her, which was why he wasn’t in sight, she burst out laughing.

He stared at her. She stared back.

“I haven’t heard you laugh in...”

Not since he’d been back. Not any real laughter.

Real.

“You scared me earlier,” she said. “Rushing up here, talking about windows and bullets...”

He shrugged. “So I’m still a bit shell-shocked from my time in the desert,” he acknowledged. “I was also just scared senseless at the thought of losing you before...”

“Before what?”

He shrugged again. “I was just heading back to the base when you called,” he told her. “But then you knew that I would be, didn’t you? Knew that I wouldn’t be at the house when you got home tonight?”

She nodded. Not sure where he was going with all of this.

“Before what?”

He shook his head. “Not here.” After clearing up their trash, he tossed it several feet into a can. Made the basket, just as he always did.

She’d once told him he should play basketball. He’d told her, way back then, that he was made for more serious pursuits. She’d thought, at the time, that he’d meant he wanted to spend all of his time with her, not practicing on the court.