Capturing Peace (Sharing You 0.50)

“Don’t tell Mom, ’kay?”

I bent forward to rest my elbows on the side of his bed. “Don’t tell her what?”

“When I woke up here, I was scared because I couldn’t find you.”

My chest tightened and a lump formed in my throat. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, bud.”

“Mom wasn’t here either, but I looked for you.” His words were starting to slur, and I didn’t know if this was just talk because of the concussion, or if he’d actually been scared because I hadn’t been here.

Grabbing the hand closest to me, I squeezed it gently, and looked at his drooping eyes. “I’m here now.”

He nodded slowly and blinked heavily before widening his eyes at me. “Love you, Coen.”

Thank God I was in a hospital, because I’m pretty sure my heart had just failed. Everything in me seized up, and my heart stuttered after missing a few beats before taking off quickly. The lump in my throat grew, and I couldn’t get it to go away. He loved me. I’d called him my son without realizing it. My Parker.

“I love you too, Parker,” I choked out.

All of the adrenaline from the fear of him not waking up, trying to be strong for Reagan—­even if only for a little while—­and all the

emotions that had been coursing through my body in just the last ten minutes were suddenly too much. Dropping my head onto the mattress, I let myself cry for the first time in two and a half years.

Reagan—­October 27, 2010

I STOOD IN the doorway of Parker’s room late that night, and watched as Coen lowered him onto his bed before tucking him under the covers. In the three and a half weeks since we’d started letting Parker know that Coen was staying the night, Coen hadn’t once put him in bed, or woken him up—­and I’m pretty sure it just became my favorite sight in the entire world.

Coen bent down low, placing his hand on the top of Parker’s head, and whispered something against it, too low for me to hear.

Never mind. That was my favorite sight.

Straightening up, he gave Parker one last look before walking over to where I was waiting on him. I tried to contain the ridiculous smile I knew must have been plastered on my face, but there was no way to. I was so in love with him. I loved the way he loved me, and I loved the way he loved my son.

Letting my fingers trail down his forearm, I pushed away from the doorway and walked over to the bed. Pressing my lips to Parker’s temple, I brushed back some of his blond hair and tried to remember him just like this. There’d been no crack on his skull, and no major swelling; the doctor had told us he’d been incredibly lucky. And I was so thankful for whoever was looking over my son.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” I whispered. “I love you, baby.”

With one last kiss to his forehead, I stood and walked into Coen’s waiting arms. I inhaled sharply when he grabbed the backs of my thighs and pulled me up, but quickly wrapped my hands around his neck, and legs around his hips.

His dark eyes stayed locked on mine as he walked us out of Parker’s bedroom and into mine—­leaving both doors open. Letting me slide down his body, his fingers went to my pants, but there was no heat in his dark eyes tonight. I stepped out of them when they pooled at my feet, and raised my arms when he began pulling my shirt over my head. Leaving my camisole on, he reached inside to unhook my bra, and worked it off before dropping it on the floor as well. Taking a step away from me, he took off his jeans and shirt, leaving himself in only his boxer briefs, and reached for my hand. He brushed his lips slowly across mine while his eyes still held mine captive—­and in them I saw everything I was feeling being reflected back on me. The fear, the craving, the love, the trust.

Walking to the bed, he turned off the lamp, flipped back the covers, and slid in before pulling me in with him. Curling his body around mine, he pressed his lips to my shoulder as the arm under me moved so his hand was flat against my stomach, and the other moved until it was over my heart.

No words, and yet he’d said so much. So much that I agreed with wholeheartedly.

I was his.

I wasn’t going anywhere.

And I was so in love with him too.

Chapter Eleven

Coen—­November 1, 2010

I WAS FROWNING by the time Saco’s wife, Olivia, was done ranting and bitching loud enough that I’d begun to wonder if she was trying to let me hear her.

Saco groaned. “Sorry, man.”

Waiting until I made sure I wouldn’t tell him he’d made a mistake in marrying her, I asked, “What was that about this time?”