“Out of all of this shit, it’s something good,” I said quietly.
“I know. It’s just … so unexpected.”
I hesitated before speaking again. “It’ll pay off your mortgage,” I said tentatively. “You wouldn’t have to work overseas … if you didn’t want to…”
I knew I was being selfish, but I didn’t want Caro traveling for her work. I didn’t want her away from me—especially not if it meant going somewhere dangerous. And although neither of us had mentioned kids since we’d been together in Italy, she knew that I wanted them. I hoped she knew.
Shit, that would be a double whammy: I’d be home minding the fucking kids, and she’d be wearing Kevlar and ducking bullets. That shit just didn’t fly with me. I wanted … no … I needed her safe.
Caro didn’t reply to that. But what she did say stunned me.
“Anyway, it’s our money,” she said clearly.
I shook my head angrily.
“I’m not going to take your fucking money, Caro!”
Before my rant could catch fire, she placed her hand over my mouth, cutting me off cold.
“I mean it, Sebastian,” she said firmly. “Either we’re in this together or we’re not. If you won’t accept it, then I won’t accept it. I’ll give it to the Journalism Without Borders charity before I let this money come between us. You said yourself we deserved some good luck.”
I ran my hand through my hair in frustration.
“She didn’t even like me, Caro. There’s no way she’d want me to have anything to do with your inheritance. Hell, as far as she was concerned, I was just fucking you for something to do and…”
“You’re wrong. She knew all about us.”
Not expecting that.
Her comment set me back on my heels.
“She did?”
“Of course. I told her everything—and I told her we were going to get married.”
I leaned back and stared at her. “You told her? Everything?”
“Yes, tesoro.”
I scratched my eyebrow thoughtfully. “What did she say?”
Caro gave me a small smile. “She wanted to know if you were as good in bed as she’d heard.”
What the fuck?
“And what did you say?” I asked, almost afraid of the answer.
She pursed her lips and tried to look prim. Didn’t work.
“Nothing, of course … although…”
“Although what?”
“I may have winked at her.”
I smirked at her response, but then her expression became serious again.
“Sebastian, if it hadn’t been for me, you would have gone to college, gotten your degree…”
I started to object, but she cut me off again.
“We both know that’s true: well, here we are—I can pay off the mortgage, you can use the GI bill, go to college, get your degree, if that’s what you want.”
I shifted uncomfortably, feeling again the inequality of our situations. “It doesn’t feel right, Caro. Let me think about it.”
She looked irritated, but then took a deep breath and shook her head.
“Sebastian,” she said softly, “it’s time you decided what you want to do with your uniforms—and your medals.”
And the hits just keep on coming. I guess she thought that adding one more painful topic into the mix couldn’t make things any worse. But fuck! Why was this so hard to think about?
She was right. I knew she was right, but I felt blindsided by her sudden suggestion. She met my gaze unwaveringly; I could tell she’d been thinking about this for a while.
I licked my lips and fought back the cold feeling that trickled down my spine.
“Okay. Let’s do it,” I said at last.
She nodded and gave me an encouraging smile. Then she took my hand as we walked into the guest room. I leaned against the doorframe, my arms folded tightly while Caro pulled out my sea-bag and backpack from under the bed.
I swallowed several times as she unpacked everything. The Blues and my Service Uniform were creased to hell and looked like shit. There was no sign of my Utility Uniform—they probably had to cut me out of it in the hospital.
It was a total mind-fuck—I couldn’t carry on looking at these reminders of a life that wasn’t mine anymore.
“Get rid of them, Caro. I don’t want to see them again.”
“And the medals?” she asked quietly.
My Service Uniform had the usual ribbons and medals: Afghanistan Campaign Medal, Marine Commendation Medal, Meritorious Service Medal, Navy and Marine Corps Overseas Service Ribbon, National Defense Service Medal, Defense Meritorious Service Medal, and a Navy and Marine Corps Medal. Blah, blah, blah. I hadn’t even looked at the Purple Heart, still in its presentation box. Wounded in action—too fucking right.
I took another deep breath and opened the box, running my fingers over the embossed words, ‘For military merit’.
“Do what you want with them,” I said, snapping the box shut. “I don’t want to see them. Ever.”
Caro’s reply was careful.
“You don’t want to save them to … maybe … show our children … if…”
Did she really just say that? Children?
I looked up, afraid to believe that she’d really said that. “You … you’d try?”
“Yes, Sebastian,” she said, smiling softly. “We will try.”
I let out a shout of pure happiness then scooped her up, twirling her around.
“Let’s start trying right now,” I breathed out against her skin, feeling my dick stiffen immediately.
“I’m still on the pill!” she laughed.
“Doesn’t matter,” I murmured into her neck. “I want to practice.”
She didn’t argue, instead kissing me hard as I walked her backward into our bedroom.
Caro was 40 and maybe kids would happen—maybe they wouldn’t. Well, I’d still have her and that was okay, as well.
We had our whole lives ahead of us.
“Stop fidgeting, bro!” Ches hissed, elbowing me in the ribs. “You look like you’re on crack.”
“Go fuck yourself,” I replied, not really meaning it, but earning a frown of disapproval from Amy. Some things hadn’t changed.
He’d flown into JFK with Amy and their kids two days ago, so we’d had a night on the town. My bachelor party had been pretty tame compared to Ches’s when we were both in our early twenties. I didn’t really drink much anymore, not since the realization that I was in danger of having a drinking problem like my bitch of a mother I thought his father had one too.. Caro had knocked that shit right out of me. I’d stuck to a few beers—enough to make me loose and mellow, but not enough to get me shit-faced. Ches had other ideas, and started slamming shots like he’d invented it. Amy blamed me for his hella hangover the next day. I thought it was damn funny.
He didn’t even remember the strip club we’d gone to. Or he said he didn’t remember. It had been his idea and it had been kinda fun, but none of the women were as hot as my fiancée.
At least he’d had 24 hours to recover before the wedding.
The wedding.
Yep, I was finally getting my girl to walk up the aisle.
Ches nudged me again. “How’s your leg? You didn’t seem to be limping too badly.”
“The only limp thing around here is your dick,” I smirked at him.
“Hey!” he said, sounding stung. “That was a one-time thing.” I raised my eyebrows. “Yeah, well you wait till you’ve got two kids and they’ve kept you awake all night! Fucker,” he muttered.
Ches had told me more than I wanted to know about married life. The gross things that could happen in diapers turned my stomach, but I was a former Marine—I’d deal.
I looked around at the people who were standing with me to see me marry the love of my life: Ches and Amy with their kids; his mom and dad—who were almost like my own parents and helluva lot better ones—flew in from South Carolina. Donna Vorstadt, the wife of my dad’s old CO had come for the ceremony, too. She’d been Caro’s friend when we lived in San Diego. Her husband was too ill to travel. It wasn’t weird though—Donna had always been nice to me, and she was almost like a mom to Caro.