The Officer Says "I Do" (22 page)

Tim chuckled and leaned over for a kiss, rearing back at the smell. “Um, did you take a bath in the restaurant Dumpster?”

She rolled her eyes and sat up. “That would be the combined effort of a dozen toddlers with little parental supervision. I eventually had to ask them to leave, then comp a dozen desserts for the poor people around them to make up for the mess and the noise.”

“So, what’s for dinner… spaghetti?” When she gave him the evil eye, he laughed. “I’m sorry. Couldn’t resist. We can order Chinese or something.”

Skye flopped back down on the pillow. He managed to hold back the wince at what her hair and clothing must be doing to the comforter. Barely. “Thank the goddess for that.” She leaned over and sniffed her shoulder, grimacing. “Ug, I really should shower first.”

He wasn’t going to argue with that plan. But first… “Um, I might have forgotten to mention it, but there’s this thing next weekend. A Dining Out. It’s required for me to go, but you don’t have to go. Unless you want to,” he added quickly. “They can get boring and long sometimes. But one of the second lieutenants is the vice and he’s actually hilarious, so it might not be so bad…” He trailed off, watching as what little color had come back to her cheeks drain out. “Honestly, you don’t have to go.”

“No. I’ll go.” She gave a smile, though it looked almost painful. “What do I need to wear?”

“I’ll be in my dress uniform, so something that matches that.” When she raised a brow, he shrugged. “I don’t know. A dress. With sparkles?” he added as she sighed.

“How helpful. I’ll call Beth and find out.”

He debated how to ask the question, then just decided the hell with it. “What do you think you’ll wear?”

Her eyes were averted, but he would have sworn she rolled them. “Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you. I’ll figure something out.”

“No, that’s not what I meant at all.” The taste of shoe leather was not the most appealing thing. How did he possibly explain?
You
don’t, that’s how
. Let her wear what she wanted. Regardless of what she picked, she’d look beautiful. And if it happened to be something unique and a little off the beaten path, then he would just have fun watching the Colonel’s face turn tomato red and silently snicker about it.

“I’ll let you shower, then we can order dinner. Sound okay?”

She mumbled something that he assumed was an agreement, plus or minus a few colorful curses. Tim turned to leave but on impulse leaned down and brushed a light kiss against her lips. Skye’s eyes opened slowly, curiously.

Had he been so stingy on simple affection? Passion, sure. Burning up the sheets wasn’t a problem anymore. But the easy, sweet stuff—did she miss it? He would fix that. Now.

“Or maybe we can both shower, then get some food,” he murmured against her jaw.

He felt her smile. “I like that plan much better.”

***

Tim stood at the bottom of the stairs, still not sure why he followed Skye’s directions of not peeking at her outfit until it was too late. Not like she would have known if he glanced at it or anything. But it was likely the right choice. Too late now to debate how to handle whatever she chose, so regardless, he would go with the flow.

Funny how that thought didn’t inspire the panic and sheer terror it did a few months ago. Going with the flow was about as natural to Tim as walking on the ceiling. But something about Skye’s very nature inspired him to just let go more often. To not worry. To trust.

“Are you ready?” Skye called from upstairs.

“Sure am.” Tim used the last few seconds to check in the mirror above the mantel that his ribbons were on straight. Nothing like having to use a ruler to get dressed. And for some reason, one wasn’t laying flat. He frowned as he tried to even it out just a little bit more. Why tonight of all nights was it—

He stopped, breath sucked from his lungs, as he caught movement in the reflection. He turned to see Skye standing next to the couch, hands clasped in front of her in a very un-Skye-like pose.

Her dress was gorgeous. Strapless, it cupped her breasts like a lover’s hand, gently supporting their weight. The neckline dipped in only slightly, giving a mere hint of the shadow between. The midnight material molded down her rib cage to her hips where it flared out gently to give the hourglass illusion. The black was relieved only by a hint of shimmer when the light hit the fabric right. A dainty silver necklace and teardrop-shaped earrings were her only accessories. Nothing showy, nothing flashy, nothing that spoke of life or the vibrancy that was Skye.

But her hair—he breathed a sigh of relief—was one hundred percent his wife. The front made it appear as though she had tried to tame the heavy mass into submission with two clips pulling it away from her face. But her hair knew better. Curls rioted everywhere, moving and twisting with every slight movement of her head, as if they had a life of their own. As if they couldn’t stay still. Tim’s hands balled into loose fists, fighting the urge to pull the pins out and let it completely free. Let his fingers sink into the weight and hold her steady while he reminded her exactly how submissive she really wasn’t. He wanted to ask why black. Why choose midnight, when Skye was as bright as the sun.

But instead all he said was, “You look beautiful.”

The uncertain smile that tilted her lips bloomed into a relieved grin. She gave an exaggerated “Whew!” and swiped a hand across her forehead. “Had me worried there for a minute.”

He shook his head. “No worries. Did Beth help you pick it out?”

Skye nodded and picked up the handbag she’d placed on the side table earlier. “Yes, thank goodness. She showed me the dress she picked out and I went from there.” She chewed her lip for a moment. “I just don’t want to embarrass you.”

How the hell did he show her that she wasn’t an embarrassment at all? Where the fuck was his wife? The one who would have worn neon orange to the Dining Out without apology, and would have made it look damn good. There was no way to say that now without pissing her off. So he walked to her and kissed her forehead. “Not even close to embarrassed. I’m going to have to beat the guys off with a stick.”

She laughed at that, her body even more relaxed now. “Well then, should we get the show on the road?” She walked to the door and paused, looking back at him over her shoulder.

God. What a picture she made. That impish little smile peeking over one bare shoulder, curls framing her gorgeous face. Tim’s chest tightened in what he wasn’t ready to identify yet. Not quite. When he had more time, he’d think about the emotion that was more than pride, more than gratitude, more than lust. But tonight, he had a Dining Out to get through.

She was drowning. There was no other word for it. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t handle the tightness in her chest that had nothing to do with the fit of her dress and everything to do with what her life had come to. What she’d talked herself into.

She was one of a million. Though Beth had tried to convince her that colors were fine, Skye wasn’t so sure, and had picked black anyway. Black was universal, right? It was the color people wore when they wanted to show how serious they were. And she was serious about Tim. About making sure that she didn’t get in his way, screw up his career, ruin his chances for the future.

Which, inevitably, would ruin their chance for a happy marriage.

But as she looked out among the other dresses, so many in dark colors, but even a few in brighter hues, she just felt depressed. This outfit wasn’t her. The dress was nothing she would have picked out on her own. It was lovely. The cut flattered her figure. It was appropriate for the event. And it was all wrong.

The dress wasn’t the problem. The dress was, in the most basic and complex way possible, the current symbol of how much she had changed.

How happy could the marriage be if she was unhappy herself?

The thought slammed into Skye like a tank.

Beth walked up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. “A few of us are over by the tables if you want to come have some girl time before everything begins. Cocktail hour always ends up being cocktail hours. At least two. Things never start on time.”

Skye nodded and signaled to Tim where she was walking. Suzanne was a part of the group, as well as a few other women she remembered from the other gatherings.

“You look wonderful,” Suzanne said. “I love that dress. I’m surprised you didn’t wear something colorful though. I was telling my husband I was looking forward to seeing what you chose!” Several women nodded, another one remarking she’d also been curious to see what Skye would wear.

“You really need to take me shopping one day soon,” a third mentioned.

Were they laughing at her? Or was she oversensitive?

“She was staring at this gorgeous turquoise number that I begged her to try on. But she wasn’t having it,” Beth said.

Skye brushed a hand down the front. “I just wanted to be appropriate.”

Beth gave Suzanne a side glance, then said, “Well, you are. You look great.”

The women continued talking, but Skye only half listened. She was losing her touch with everything. It was to the point where she couldn’t tell if the women were laughing at her, or with her anymore. She was going crazy. That was the only explanation. She’d let paranoia and doubt creep in until it coated every one of her senses. But Skye couldn’t escape the feeling of judgment lurking over her like a shadow.

A rustling close behind had her looking over her shoulder.

Oh. Bingo. The source of the judgmental black cloud.

Mrs. Blackwater stood just behind Skye, slightly turned, sipping a drink, her eyes on something in the distance. But Skye knew without a doubt she was tuned into the conversation between the group of women, just waiting for some juicy tidbit, maybe even a word about herself. Though the conversation was benign, who knew what simple comment the woman could take and twist into some bit of untrue gossip. To save anyone from the embarrassment of being overheard, she said in a louder-than-necessary voice, “Mrs. Blackwater! You look lovely tonight!”

The instant hush of the group of women would have been obvious to a deaf man. The older woman turned and smiled, her painted lips pulling tightly over her teeth. Clearly, being outted for eavesdropping wasn’t her idea of fun.

“Skye, sweetheart. Nice to see you.” Mrs. Blackwater’s eyes drifted from Skye’s head to toe and back again. “You look… appropriate. I’m very proud of you. I’m sure Timothy is proud as well. He must be so pleased you’ve decided to take his career seriously.”

Because that’s just how she would think. Skye’s entire existence was wrapped up in her husband’s wishes. Only an airheaded cardboard Barbie would set aside what she wanted to…

Oh. Shit. For the first time, Skye stared down at the hated black dress. Without ever meaning to, she’d wrapped her entire self around her husband. Without ever meaning to, she lost herself.

Skye plastered a smile on her face, fighting to remain outwardly calm through the painful self-disappointment. “That’s kind of you to say. But I’m not a potty-training puppy. I’m fully capable of behaving however I please, with or without my husband’s approval.” Without waiting to see or hear the older woman’s reaction, Skye turned on her heel and left the group of women, heading toward the door.

She barely reached the coat closet when warm fingers wrapped around her upper arm.

“Where are you going?” Her husband’s voice was low in her ear.

“Home,” she said quietly. Though the thought hadn’t occurred to her, in that instant she knew that’s where she needed to be. To restart. Reenergize. Reevaluate just how badly this entire thing could have ended up, and how much of it was her fault.

“Are you sick?” Tim’s face morphed instantly from confusion to concern as he rubbed his palms up and down her bare arms, as if to warm her. “Do you need to go to the clinic?”

Skye smiled, taking another long look at him. Soaking in what he looked like in his dress blues, committing the image to a sweet memory. His shiny gold insignia winked in the light, his ribbons marked the achievements he’d gathered through his career. And he had only begun. Despite the loss of self, she loved this man. With his sense of honor and commitment, tenderness and stubbornness… she couldn’t deny that. But to give him what he deserved—a whole wife, not just a ghost of one—she needed to take a step back.

“No. Not sick. Just need to go home.”

He glanced over his shoulder, then back to her. “I’ll take you. Just give me a second to give some excuses.”

She tilted her head at him. “You can just come to Texas like that? I would have thought you needed to fill out some form or something first.”

“Texas? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Home. Where I grew up,” she clarified. “Texas.”

“No.” He shook his head once, firm. “Home is the townhouse twenty minutes away.”

“It’s not. Not for me. Time to face that fact. It’s your home, and I’ve been living there.”

The hurt that bloomed in his eyes mirrored the pain in her chest, but the truth was the truth. And she couldn’t ignore it any longer.

She kissed his cheek. “I’ll let you know when I get there.”

“How are you—”

“O’Shay! Get your sorry ass back to the bar; you owe the next round before this thing starts!” The call was followed by the deep rumble of masculine laughter. Tim didn’t even look, only kept his eyes on her.

“Go.” When Tim didn’t move, she gave his chest a little push. “Seriously, go.”

“How are you getting h—back to the townhouse?” he asked hoarsely.

“Cab. I hear they have those even here in California.” The joke fell flat, and Tim didn’t crack a smile. “This isn’t the end of the world, you know.”
We’ll figure it out. We have to.

Tim only shook his head, as if he didn’t believe her at all. But he let her go, to walk into the lobby and away from the choking, smothering feel of conformity.

***

She left. Tim stared at the closing lobby door. She honest to God left. And he didn’t even have the presence of mind to ask if it was for good, or for now, or for the weekend… He wiped a hand down his face, like he could erase the memory of her sad smile looking up at him. Christ, what the hell was going on?

“O’Shay.”

“What!” He spun on his heel, only to come face-to-face with Colonel Blackwater. “Sir, apologies. I thought you were someone else.”

“No harm done,” the CO said, his lips twitching. “Did I just see your wife leave? I hope she’s not feeling poorly.”

Fishing. It couldn’t be more obvious if he had just hung a sign around his neck saying
Tell
me
all
your
dirty
secrets.
“Yes, sir. She just needed to head home.” There. That was as close to the truth as he could get without lying or sounding like an idiot. An idiot who didn’t know if his wife would be his wife any longer.

The Colonel shook his head, a sad sort of smirk on his face. A look that made Tim clench his fists against the unholy desire to remove the smirk permanently. “I hate to say this, especially when it seemed like she had such promise. Leaps and bounds, my wife said. She was really getting there. But to leave you alone so suddenly, and during a formal event like this. Well…” The patronizing smile only grew. “It’s just unfortunate. I hate to say I told you so, so I won’t.” He walked away with that.

“Right, you’ll just let me know without a doubt that you did tell me so. Smug bastard,” Tim muttered to himself. He glanced at the door again, torn between wanting to run after Skye as fast as he could and stop her. The other part wanting to kick the door in at the frustration of being put in the position of having to choose between her and his job.

She
already
made
her
choice. And it wasn’t you.
Skye clearly didn’t need him. Didn’t want him. Who left their husband in the middle of a Dining Out, just because?

Your
wife
does. The woman you love. The spontaneous, outspoken, vibrant woman that you need. Not want. Need. If she left, it wasn’t for malicious reasons. It was serious. To her.

“Tim, hey. Come on.” Jeremy walked up and waved a hand in front of his face. “They’re seating for dinner.” He paused and looked around. “Where’s Skye?”

Tim gave one final glance at the door. “Gone.”

***

Skye let her bags drop on the porch and reached for the front door, knowing it would be unlocked. The small house, one step up from a log cabin, really, was her sanctuary. As a child growing up, it wasn’t at all uncommon for the open door policy to be used quite literally for the rest of the commune. Everyone’s door stayed unlocked. And if you needed a place to stay, there was always an empty couch. Of course, one never knew when you would be walking in on a group of goddess worshippers, performing some midnight dance in the nude. But those were the risks you took.

Skye walked on tiptoe, not wanting to wake up her parents. Though they were night owls for the most part, she assumed even they would be asleep at two in the morning. She should have pulled over hours ago and spent the night in a motel. But something kept her driving, urged her to press on until she reached the safety of her childhood home. She could sneak into her old bedroom and get some sleep, then talk to her parents in the morning. They would see her car outside and understand.

The house was silent, with only the sounds of her father’s snoring to welcome her. She smiled. At least some things never changed. On tiptoe, she walked the same path she had a thousand times up the stairs, skipping the one step that creaked loud enough to wake the neighborhood, and stole into the room that she used for eighteen years, and every visit home since she moved to Vegas for school.

She didn’t turn on any lights. Didn’t need to. And she was too exhausted to bother changing. She toed her shoes off, found the edge of the bed with her knees, turned around, and fell, ready to be unconscious as soon as her head hit the mattress.

Instead, her head hit something hard as a rock.

“What the hell?”

A shriek louder than a siren split the night, and it wasn’t Skye’s. Skye scrambled off the bed and across the room, bashing her knee into the desk as she went. The shrieking continued as she limped toward the door. But before she reached it, a blazing light flooded the room, and she had to blink several times before her eyes adjusted.

“Skye Meadow?”

“Dad?” She turned to the voice and was immediately enveloped by strong arms and a stronger chest. The smell of pine and tobacco, her father, filled her nostrils, and despite the erratic crying behind them, Skye felt more at peace than she had in weeks. Nothing could be so wrong in her father’s arms.

“Hey, pumpernickel. What are you doing here?”

Two in the morning didn’t seem to be the time to get into the long story of her marriage, and her failure, so she just shook her head and burrowed closer, like she was seven again.

“What’s going on? Peter?” Skye peeked over his shoulder to see her mother standing in the doorway. Amber’s hair stuck out every which way from beneath its wrap, her eyes were wide, and she was clutching a yardstick in both hands with a white-knuckled grip. As if a yardstick would really help against a burglar. “Is Veronica all right?”

“Veronica? Who the hell is Veronica?” Skye pulled away from her father slightly until her mother caught sight of her.

“Skye? Oh, sweetheart, you scared me to death.” Amber dropped the yardstick and held one hand to her chest, as if to calm her heart.

“Um, excuse me?” The soft but sure voice came from the bed. And for the first time, Skye remembered they weren’t alone in the room. She turned to see someone—presumably the aforementioned Veronica—sitting in her old bed. The covers were pulled up around her chest, her knees were drawn up, and she looked tiny in the double bed. Two braids of dark blond hair draped over each shoulder, and the poor thing’s complexion was as white as the sheets she clutched around her like a security blanket.

But even as she watched, Skye saw her straighten her spine, as if willing herself to be more present.

Skye looked expectantly at her parents.

Her mother pushed hair back under her wrap with smooth motions, completely unruffled now that all physical threat was past. “Skye, this is Veronica. Veronica is your cousin. Veronica, this is Skye, our daughter.”

“Hey. Nice to meet you.” Given the time of night, and the fact that she’d scared about ten years off both their lives, she opted for a wave from a distance instead of a handshake.

Veronica smiled shyly and nodded. “I apologize for…” She waved a hand over the rumpled bedspread.

“No worries. I should have known better than to just assume the bed was free.” Her parents picked up another stray. It wasn’t uncommon. In fact, if she had been thinking clearly, she would have thought to check before assuming her bed was unoccupied. Anyone needing a place to stay was welcome at Chez McDermott/Gibson. It was only a matter of asking.