Having The Soldier's Baby (Parent Portal 1)

They were going to have to talk about the divorce. He needed to be able to get a place of his own. She figured, as she wandered through her house alone every morning and night, she was getting more used to the idea. Funny how time really did take care of things sometimes.

The fantasy of youth was dying.

She was all grown up.

And was hoping that she and Win could stay good friends. The phone calls they’d been sharing back and forth, just to check in, were nice. She’d been slowly starting to talk about her business deals with him, her clients, discussing strategies as she had in the past. He had a way of getting to the heart of the matter. Or asking questions that got her there. She trusted his judgment.

He was talking to her, too, at least more than he had been. Had already applied and been accepted to the CITP, the NCIS criminal investigators training program, in Glynco, Georgia. His first step for becoming a special agent. It was a fifty-six-day program, followed by the Special Agent Basic Training Program for another forty-some days. He had to go when classes were offered, and wanted to get it done before she delivered, if possible.

Military wives often gave birth with their husbands off on deployment, and she wouldn’t even be his wife anymore by the time Tristan came, but she loved that he was factoring them into his plans.

That Tristan was going to know his father.

He offered to take her out to dinner—anywhere she wanted to go—which would probably have been the best for them, keep things more impersonal. But she just wanted to be home where she could change into sweats and have bare feet. He said he’d pick something up and meet there.

She’d hardly had a chance to get out of her skirt and jacket and into a pair of leggings and a loose T-shirt before he was knocking on the door. The front door.

“Why didn’t you pull into the garage?” she asked, wondering if she’d taken up more than her fair share of space. She’d been pulling in without his car there for a couple of weeks now; she could be getting sloppy.

He shrugged. She glanced at the front doorknob. “Or use your key?”

His gaze met hers. No words were exchanged, but she got his answer. Her house wasn’t his anymore. He was respecting her space.

“That’s nuts, Winston,” she said, more acerbic than normal. She’d had that long week. And was four months pregnant. “We both own this home. And it’s your son’s home, too.” Her argument rang a little weak, so she continued, as she walked toward the dining room. “Once we figure out what’s happening, we might end up selling the place to split the proceeds,” she added.

“You’re thinking about moving?”

She hadn’t been. But...

“Would you want to live in the home we bought together? Set up together? Lived in together?”

All of those things had been part of the comfort the home had brought her while he’d been gone. But knowing that it had all been a fairy tale...

“But we just did the nursery.”

There was that. She was tired. And hungry. So she pulled one of his moves and just shrugged.

He’d brought Mexican food—one of her favorites—but as he was pulling the various covered tin pans out of the bag, he stopped and looked at her. “I didn’t think. Is this going to be too spicy for you?”

His thoughtfulness, such a Winston thing, brought tears to her eyes. She reached for glasses as she told him, “Nope! Tristan loves Mexican as much as I do.”

If he was there to ask her for the divorce, she hoped he waited until after they ate. She’d given the settlement some thought. As far as she was concerned, he was entitled to half of everything. Her one caveat was that she didn’t want to fight about it.

Wasn’t going to fight about it.

She’d rather walk away with nothing than get in a court battle with Winston.

“I mentioned I have a favor to ask,” he said as they finished up the last of the tamales he’d brought. There’d be some enchilada left over. She’d eaten most of the beans, but limited herself on the rice. She’d read about potential rice risks to pregnant women if they ate too much of it. How much was too much? One never really knew when reading all of the opinion pieces out there.

“Em?”

She didn’t want to talk about the divorce, and what other favor would he ask of her at this point? Except to give him the freedom he’d wanted since he’d come home?

“Yeah?”

“I need to take a trip to Wisconsin. To see someone. I’d like to know if you’d consider going with me.”

She listened to his words, watched the expressions chase across his face. Regret. Guilt. Compassion. None of it computed.