I'll Be Home For Christmas (A Coming Home Novella) (14 page)

She’d fired off a few e-mails before they’d left the hospital Wi-Fi, but otherwise her phone was currently useless unless she wanted to pay ridiculously high overseas charges.

Besides, she didn’t really need to know what was going on in the outside world. Not really.

She brushed her fingers over Vic’s hair. His breathing was steady and low. He’d fallen into a deep sleep.

He was trying so hard to act like everything was normal. And a large part of things
were
normal. She hadn’t expected that. Not after something like this.

But it was still a shock, getting used to the missing space where his hand used to be. She’d catch him looking at it every so often, and then he’d make some kind of joke and deflect her concern away. But she knew. She wouldn’t call him on it but she was going to watch him carefully.

He was okay. Mostly. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t still worried.

He shifted against her thigh. She rested her head back against the seat and closed her eyes against the tears that threatened.

He was okay.

It was all that mattered.

* * *

The village of Rothenburg was something out of a Christmas filmmaker’s dream, nestled inside an old walled city. It glowed against the starlit sky, full of beautiful gold and silver Christmas lights. Massive Christmas trees, decorated with classic German ornaments, stood in the central squares and brightly lit, festive shops were overflowing with shoppers. The cobblestone walkways glistened with ice as the heat from the day’s sunlight faded, and the moisture on them started to freeze after the sun disappeared into the west.

They walked through the gates and into the walled city down the main
strasse
. The air was crisp, biting at their exposed skin. His arm was starting to throb but he took another pill and buried the pain. It was bad enough he’d landed in the hospital without a hand, but he didn’t even have a Christmas present for his wife. He wasn’t going to ruin their pseudo vacation by being a wuss about the pain.

It was just a missing limb. He still had three other ones.

Carponti walked with his wife down the narrow streets, past the ancient buildings and clock shops. Christmas was everywhere. Christmas trees—
tannenbaums
—and Santa Claus figurines were stacked on tables as people wandered by. Everything was slower here. People didn’t rush, even though it was Christmas Eve.

They stopped by a tent and bought
gluhwein
and bratwursts.

“How are you feeling?” she asked as she squirted dark brown mustard on the bratwurst for him.

“Can you take the napkin off?” he asked. “Don’t feel like eating paper and wrestling with it.”

He glanced over at a little kid poking his head out behind his mother’s wide hips. The kid couldn’t have been more than seven or eight. His eyes were glued to Carponti’s bandaged arm.

Slowly, the child lifted a finger. “
Was is das?”

His mother looked down, then followed the direction of her son’s gaze. Horror spread across her face rapidly and she yanked her son’s hand down. “
Bitte entschuldigen Sie
.”

Carponti looked at his wife as the mother hurried off with her child, scolding him in sharp German. “Well, parental mortification looks the same in any language,” he said dryly.

“I suppose that’s going to take some getting used to,” she said quietly.

“What, getting stared at?” Carponti said. He stroked his hand over his beard. “Why wouldn’t people stare at a sexy beast like me?” he asked with a grin.

Nicole smiled but his joke felt flat. “I think it’ll get easier,” she said, her hand on his chest.

“Yeah.” He brushed his lips against her forehead. “I’m sure it will.” But he didn’t sound convinced. “Maybe I should get a puppet for it or something.”

They ate quietly for a few minutes. Nicole didn’t say anything and he watched her as she ate her brat.

It was a damn good brat. First real food he’d had since before he’d left for Iraq. The chow halls over there were pretty good, all things considered, but there was nothing like a freshly grilled bratwurst.

Carponti set his brat down and tugged her napkin from her. He ran it slowly over her cheek, catching the tiny spot she’d missed. He loved the way her lips parted, her breath freezing in a huff. “Think we should try to find the
gasthaus
?” he asked.

A huge Christmas tree lit up the square behind her. She was framed in soft light. There was moisture on her eyelashes.

He loved that he could still touch her. She nuzzled her cheek against his palm. “I think that sounds good,” she whispered. “I want to run into one of these shops and try to find a restroom.”

He didn’t move. Neither did she. He stroked his thumb over her flushed cheek. Standing in the fading winter night, Carponti kissed her. A gentle kiss. Conscious of his beard hurting her, he parted her lips with his. He felt her quick intake of breath, her palm on his chest to steady herself.

This. Oh God, but he’d missed this. Her tongue slid against his, reminding him of everything he’d missed, everything he’d longed for while he’d been gone.

Everything he’d been terrified he’d never feel again.

Nicole opened herself to the hesitant caress of his gentle touch. She sighed and swayed against him, bracing herself as a floodgate opened wide and unleashed a torrent of desire.

Their lips broke apart with a gentle suction. He lowered his forehead to hers. “I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes, unable to speak, unwilling to break the moment with something crass. With one single kiss, she’d nearly dropped him to his knees.

“I really need to find a guy named Doctor,” he muttered against her lips.

There was nothing sweeter than the sound of her laughter. In front of that tree, he wrapped his arms around her and simply held her.

* * *

The sun crept into their tiny room at the
gasthaus
early the next morning. The window was covered with frost, sending soft rays of light into the room.

Carponti shifted and pulled Nicole tighter against him, rolling until she was entwined with him. Her thighs were tangled in his; his good arm wrapped around her shoulders. He rested his bandaged arm on his hip, keeping it elevated and away from being bumped. At some point, he was supposed to start toughening up the tissue to start prepping for a prosthetic but he wasn’t there yet.

Nicole made a sleepy sound in her throat and nestled closer. He lay there, on Christmas morning, and was simply… still.

It took a lot for him to be still. He closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of her shampoo, the scent of her skin. His eyes burned and he blinked hard a few times, not believing that this was real.

Never in his life had he thought this day would come. A day where he held onto his wife with one arm because a piece of the other one had been sacrificed to the gods of war. He thought about Garrison. He needed to get an update on him ASAP. It dawned on him that he had no clue what had happened to his boss. Maybe Nicole would know. He’d have to remember to ask her later.

He wondered how the platoon was doing without him. Captain Davila hadn’t been doing well before that last explosion. He was worried about him but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about that now.

Nicole shifted in his arms and he realized she was awake. He brushed his lips across her forehead and she lifted her mouth to his. “Merry Christmas,” she whispered.

“I got you something,” he said. He untangled himself from her and sat up, reaching under the bed for a small bag.

“When did you have time to do that?”

“When you ducked into that shop to find a bathroom.” He was proud of the fact that despite everything that had happened, he’d still managed to get her a gift. It was small but he kind of thought she’d like it. He twisted, bending one knee in front of him before he handed it to her. “Didn’t have time to wrap it, though. You didn’t take nearly enough time in the bathroom.”

She smiled and shook her head before taking the bag from him. “I wasn’t in the bathroom. I got you something, too.”

“Sneaky woman.”

“Well, you can’t use it for a while.” She handed him a small box.

He fussed with the bag until he got the box out of it, then managed to get the top of the box open. It was slightly smaller than a shoebox. “What the heck is it?”

He pushed back the tissue paper and pulled out a German beer
stein.
It was a large mug with a pewter lid, decorated with a scene from the village in Rothenburg in a wild splash of reds and blues and creams. A thick lump rose in his throat when he saw the date scrawled on the largest building. December 25, 2007. He looked up at his wife.

“So we’ll always remember this Christmas,” she said quietly.

Carponti sniffed and said nothing for a long moment, simply staring at the mug in his hand. Nicole shifted closer, sliding one hand onto his knee and tipping his face up with hers.

“You made it home,” she whispered. “I know it’s not how we thought it would happen but you’re here. And I will always cherish this Christmas as the one when you came home to me.”

Carponti swallowed the lump in his throat and blinked back the burn behind his eyes. “Damn it, there’s something in my eyes.” He swiped at them, stuffing down the storm of emotions inside. He handed her the small bag he’d hidden beneath the bed. “Open it?”

It was a silly thing, he’d bought her. It had been on a whim but he thought she’d laugh. Now, after the stein, he wasn’t so sure. The morning felt more somber. More real. Hell, this vacation wouldn’t have happened if not for the explosion.

He watched her intently as she opened the first of two boxes. She pulled out the small globe and held it up in front of her face. Inside the globe was a space for a photo. “I figured you could put a picture of your dad in it,” he said quietly.

She offered a watery smile as she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. “It’s beautiful. I love it.”

“Open the next one.”

She narrowed her eyes. Damn it, she’d heard the funny note in his voice. He had to get better at hiding things from her. Or maybe not.

She set the next box on her lap and lifted the lid. “What is it?”

“Look closely.”

“Oh my god, Vic, you didn’t.”

It was a tiny piece of cloth. Nicole covered her mouth with her hand and laughed hysterically. “Is this what I think it is?”

“That depends on what you think it is,” he said carefully.

“Man dress?” Tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks as she laughed. She was still laughing as she crawled into his lap and kissed him.

“I take it you like it,” he said.

“You have a sick sense of humor but yes, I like it.” She kissed him until he was breathless and the sadness he’d felt a moment before dissipated in the love of her touch. “I love it. Did you actually make it yourself?”

He smiled, loving the fact that his wife was in his lap.

“Merry Christmas?” he said.

Her laugh bubbled up, warming his heart and so much more. She wrapped one arm around his neck while she slipped her hand down the front of his pants. “Cute. How long did that take you? And when can we try it on you?”

She slid her hand down the length of him and a shudder tore through him. “Jesus, that feels good,” he whispered.

Arousal, hot and needy, pulsed through him as she stroked him.

She kissed him, her hand sliding up and down his length slowly. “I don’t want to wait anymore,” she whispered.

“Thank God.”

He started to lift her shirt. “Let me,” she said.

She pulled her long-sleeved t-shirt over her head, gently easing it up, teasing him with every inch of exposed flesh before pushing his pants down over his hips.

He tugged at her bra and she reached behind her to unhook it. His hand on her breast felt so good. Like a piece of her had been missing until that very moment, that single touch that lit her entire body on fire.

She moaned when he gently took one nipple between his teeth. “Oh god, I missed you,” she murmured, holding his mouth to her.

She rocked against him, felt his erection rubbing against the seam of her pants. “You’re wearing far too many clothes,” he said.

“I can fix that.” She stripped off the rest of her clothes then crawled back into his lap, pushing him down onto the bed.

His body was hot beneath hers, his hair crisp against her inner thighs. She loved the rough feel of him beneath her. She rocked against his erection, savoring the feel of that first touch.

“Honey, I hate to tell you this but I’m not going to last long.”

“I don’t care.” She kissed him then and angled his erection to just there at the entrance of her body. She rocked gently and he hissed between clenched teeth. She bit his bottom lip.

Then she slid down his length, taking him deep.

Taking him home.

Her throat closed off. She buried her face in his neck for a moment, unable to process the intense emotion of having him there, inside her, around her.

With her.

His arms wrapped tightly around her. The bandage on his arm was rough against her back. She didn’t care. She didn’t care because everything else was real and hot and good. So goddamned good.

She started to move, to rock gently over him. His expression tightened. His body tensed.

And then she felt him coming, deep, deep inside her. Touching the last reserve of her soul.

Reminding her that happiness—her happiness—was with this man.

“Sorry,” he mumbled against her neck.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll take proper care of me later,” she whispered, still rocking against him, her own pleasure there, just there.

He slipped his hand between their bodies, finding her swollen and aching. He fumbled with his touch. His face flushed but she leaned back, giving him space, letting him learn how to touch her body all over again.

He touched his wife, their bodies still connected. He stroked her just right and she clenched around him, rocked against him. Made the tiny sexy sounds that he’d missed so goddamned much while he’d been gone.

She rocked hard against him, her pleasure exploding, squeezing his still hard body deep inside her. She buried her face in his neck as it rocketed over her and sent them both tumbling into the abyss.