Being alone right now was harder.
She moved down another stair, closer to J.T. and the weight bench. "I don't have a clue what we're going to do tomorrow. Or the day after that. I know you want to move back in for the baby, and you have to know I'm still not sure I can live with that. We haven't really resolved anything."
His face blanked, but she'd expected that once she started discussing their problems. He gave her so few glimpses into him, his feelings. She would have to go with her instincts, all of which told her to forge ahead. To take what she could right now, find something solid to hold on to.
"But I also know this is about the worst day of my life, second only to when I heard you'd been shot down."
A vein throbbed along his temple. Not as outward a sign as some of the ones Bo displayed in her office, but she read the tension in her husband well. Her arms ached to hold him as much as her body yearned to be held.
"I can make it through tonight on my own if I have to. But God, J.T., I don't want to. I want somebody to hold me for just a few minutes while that somebody tells me everything is going to be okay. I need for you to hold me."
He moved toward her, slow, silent, her big stealthy husband, and yet somehow he was there in front of her before she could blink. His arms went around her, lifted her off the last two steps and clasped her to his chest, lowering her in a glide against his solid body that comforted and excited all at once. Her feet lightly touched ground, if not her senses, which were definitely still flying.
His fingers smoothed over her hair, again and again without stopping, his other hand working a firm massage against her waist that kept her anchored to him. "I can't promise you it's going to be okay. But I can promise I'll do my damnedest to make that happen. And I can most definitely hold you for as long as you need me."
How about forever? she wanted to ask. Except needing him meant more loss if he left again. Not that she expected him to walk out the door with the baby on the way. But she'd learned there were so many other ways to leave. He'd lived in the house with her for years while still seeming thousands of miles away.
J.T. rubbed circles on her back. "Did everything go okay with Chris upstairs?"
She nodded. "He actually fell asleep. I think the fear exhausted him. Is it totally ridiculous that I stood there at the door and watched him sleep as if that could somehow shift things back to when he was five and I used to do the same thing?"
"Not ridiculous at all. The five-year-old was a helluva lot easier to deal with. Bigger kids. Bigger problems." His arms tightened around her.
Frustration sparked inside her, the need to do something, fix things in a way she could with a little child. "What did we do wrong that he didn't come to us right away?"
"Teenagers don't always see long-term ramifications. I'm guessing he kept slapping Band-Aids on the problem hoping it would get better on its own."
A coping method that sounded familiar. "Who are we to judge on that reasoning?"
"Guess you have a point there, babe." His chin fell to rest on the top of her head. "But bottom line, he's old enough to know better. He understands right from wrong, and whatever is going on with Miranda Casale is very likely wrong."
"He was worried about us. He was trying to protect us. That's not how it's supposed to be. We're supposed to protect him."
"And we are. He did come to us—even a little late—but he came clean on his own. He could have kept trying to bluff. I don't know about you, but I'm proud of him for standing up. He had to be scared as hell."
She turned her head to the side, resting her cheek on his chest. "God, you must think I'm a total mess. I'm okay now though. I only needed a second to find my footing again. Thank you."
He didn't let go.
And she didn't argue.
His hands kept their steady pace along her springy curls and against her back, slowing, shifting from soothing to sensual.
Still she didn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't do anything but stand, gripped by his arms and the fire swelling through her as surely as the proof of J.T.'s arousal. "What are we doing here?"
"Nothing yet, babe."
The promise in his deep voice strummed through her. She buried her face deeper into his chest, scent, heat. "But we're going to?"
"I sure as hell hope so." He tipped her chin until she looked up at him. "But not if it means you're going to send me packing tomorrow."
She couldn't stop herself from asking, "You would hold out to stay because of the kids?"
He cupped her face, in both hands. "I would hold out so I could stay and have more time to fix this mess we've made of our lives."
Could they be "fixed," like the house or the car? She couldn't sort through it all now with her mind awash with worries for her son, her body craving the reliable comfort only J.T. could provide. And even though he'd avoided answering her question about staying for the kids, the fact that he wanted to try sent hope– and fear—lancing right through her.
Her fingers splayed across the ridged bands of muscles along his chest. "How about we cut a deal?"