My Kind of Love (Finding Love 1)

Ryan glances over at me, raking his eyes down my pajama-clad body. I’m wearing comfy leggings that are easy on my incision and a loose nursing top my mom bought me. The front crisscrosses, tying at the side, which makes it easy to pull it to the side when I need to feed RJ. I cringe at what Ryan must see. I’ve put on a good thirty pounds from the pregnancy that my mom warned me weren’t all baby. As soon as the doctor gives me the go-ahead I’ll be at the gym with my mom working to get the weight off. But for now… well, this is me, and it’s a far cry from the woman he spent time with at the beach.

“What?” I ask self-consciously after several long moments, when he doesn’t look away.

“Being a mom suits you. You look beautiful.”

“Oh yeah.” I roll my eyes, climbing onto my bed to rest while RJ does. “Nothing is sexier than a woman in her breastfeeding pajamas.”

“Damn right,” Ryan growls, joining me on the bed. “But not just any woman. You. Nothing is fucking sexier than knowing under this top are your perfect breasts that not only supplied me with pleasure…” He winks, and I groan. He’s such a damn perv. “But also supply our son with the nutrients he needs,” he finishes, his face going from flirty to serious. At his words, my heart swoons, my cheeks heating up.

“I could watch you with RJ all day.” His lips curl into a sad smile. “I only have nine days left. Can we just stay in here, the three of us, so I can soak up every second possible with you both?” I know he’s joking, but the way his eyes bore into mine, I think there’s a part of him that would be okay with just doing that.

Ryan scoots down and wraps me in his arms, and I lower my head onto his chest. We haven’t discussed any more about his proposal, or what our future holds, and for that I’m thankful. Right now the only thing I can focus on is being a mom. He doesn’t say a word as he threads his fingers through my hair. And suddenly all the excitement from the last few days catches up to me, exhaustion hitting me hard, and with the sound of Ryan’s heartbeat calming me, I close my eyes and let sleep overtake me.

“Micaela,” a melodic yet gruff voice says. “Micaela, you have to wake up, baby.”

Baby? Why is someone calling me baby? And why are they trying to wake me up?

“C’mon, baby, you just have to wake up long enough to feed RJ and then you can go back to sleep.” Those words have me bolting up in my spot. I’m a mom, and I have to feed my baby.

“There she is,” Ryan says, smiling softly. He’s dressed comfortably in a pair of black basketball shorts and a gray T-shirt that reads ARMY across the front, his muscular biceps and forearms on display as he holds our son in his arms, like he’s the most precious treasure that needs to be handled with the utmost care. RJ is staring up at his daddy, sucking on his pacifier, hard, like he’s hoping if he sucks hard enough, milk will magically appear. Even though it’s obvious he’s hungry, he still looks content, and I don’t blame him. Ryan has a way of making you feel protected and cherished without even trying.

Before I take RJ from him, I reach over and grab my phone, taking a picture of the two of them. Ryan is glancing down at RJ, love swimming in his gorgeous blue eyes. My heart swells at the sight, but quickly bursts when I remember he’s going to be leaving soon, going back to Afghanistan and risking his life. There’s a chance he won’t return—or if he does, it could be in a body bag.

Just like Ian did…

My thoughts go to the last time I saw him, lying cold and lifeless in the coffin. He wasn’t even in another country risking his life. He was merely training, a routine skydiving session gone wrong—way wrong.

“Unfortunately it happens,” they said, as if they were informing me about the weather instead of telling me my husband was dead.

“Micaela,” Ryan says, snapping me from my thoughts. “Baby, you’re crying.” He reaches over and wipes a tear I didn’t realize was falling.

I look at him and all I can see is Ian postmortem. Ryan might be alive right now, but the chances of him remaining that way are slim, and I have to protect myself, so when he does die, I can be strong for our son. It’s no longer just my heart that’s at risk, but RJ’s as well.

“You okay?” Ryan asks.

“No,” I choke out, taking RJ from him and cradling him to my chest. “I think it’s best if you go home.”