Time melded into a stack of papers scattering the counter, even the floor around her feet as she wrote to everyone.
Except Daniel.
Words failed her there. She let the half-spent pad of paper fall to her lap and studied him instead. Arms folded tightly over his chest, he didn't seem to he in the least relaxed. She would have thought him awake if it weren't for the soft snore and the quirky twitch of his booted foot propped on the end of the sofa.
That hint of movement spoke of restless dreams. Her fault, no doubt. She considered nudging him, but he needed the sleep, restless though it was, to prep for possible waking nightmares later outside.
Setting the notebook aside, she walked around the edge of the sofa to sit cross-legged on the rug beside him. Her hand lifted, carefully. She smoothed his hair back, and when he didn't stir, stroked again and again until his foot slowed.
Would he have let her soothe him if he'd been awake? Part of her shouted to quit with the psychobabble self-analysis and grab at this chance for happiness. Once upon a time she would have, except this newer Daniel had reminded her she should expect more from life, herself. Even him.
And if the pushing for more shoved him away again? Her foot twitched this time at even the thought of losing him. If only he would tell her what rumbled around in that thick, dear head of his, maybe then she wouldn't be so afraid of that last step.
Leaning forward on her knees, she brushed her lips to his brow and let the bottled words flow free, an easy enough risk while he slept. "I love you, Danny Baker."
"I love you, Danny Baker."
Daniel forgot to tread, almost choked on a gulp of chlorinated water, before he made his feet move again. "Uh, me, too."Correct response, right? He was going to be her husband in four days. So, sure, he loved her, too.
Damn. Except he didn't know what the hell he was feeling these days, mostly just putting one foot in front of the other. Marching, focused on the steps like in PT training or cadence calls in formation.
Daniel slid his hands down Mary Elise's slick sides, bared by her bikini, leaned to kiss her so they wouldn't have to talk anymore. Laughing, she ducked away at the last second, diving beneath him. He took chase, both knowing she wouldn't get far, but still enjoying the ritual of their water games. Why did things have to change?
He had his application to the University of Georgia ready to hand-carry to the dean, with his father's help—a fact that chewed his pride almost as much as leaving the Academy when he'd reached his senior year. Another administrative mess his father would have to smooth over.
Only four more days and it would all be real, marriage, different college … baby on the way.
For now he just wanted to pretend he was home for the summer. Of course his newly invented reality would still include sex with Mary Elise. He sure didn't want to backtrack that far.
But marriage. Kid. Love. That had him cricking his tense neck to the side.
Four days. He kicked through the clear waters, deeper, until there was nowhere left to go, and still he could hear her declaration of love echo in his ears. Same words he'd heard his parents say to each other.
Damned if he'd seen any example of love lasting.
He preferred what he and Mary Elise had and he didn't want to screw it up. Crap. He was acting like a whiny kid rather than an adult. Get it together, Baker.
Daniel kicked upward, snagging Mary Elise and drawing them both to the surface. "Gotcha."
"What do you plan to do with me, Danny?"
"This." He drew her closer, brushed her bikini-clad br**sts against his bare chest, eliciting a rewarding purr. He cupped a breast—fuller, more sensitive. The pregnancy thing had definite side benefits, like the visit from the oh-so-generous Breast Fairy.
"Danny," Mary Elise panted against his mouth.
"Pool house, or take a drive and park. Your choice, but make the decision fast. "He prayed for the pool house. Closer. Sooner.
She stiffened against him. "Danny, I'm not feeling too good. Something's wrong…"
Daniel struggled to pull himself awake. Awake? But he was in the pool with Mary Elise.
Reality and dreams mussed. He wanted out of the pool or the dream or wherever the hell he was before the rest of the events unfolded: Mary Elise wrapping an arm around her stomach, a drive in the car that hadn't led to parking but instead to the emergency room.
He forced his feet to keep treading water as if that could stave off the end, keep them both from moving to the end of everything. Their baby. Them.
Water churned around them, someone else in the pool, beneath, drawing near Mary Elise to take her, blasting to the surface…
Kent McRae.