Chapter 19

Swearing, because sometimes ‘gosh darnit’ and ‘meanie head’ just doesn’t cut it.

-Coffee Cup

Kayla

The ceremony was the worst thing I’d ever gone to in my life.

I hadn’t stopped crying for two straight hours as parent after parent got up and told us about their favorite memory with their children.

Then he got up.

“Be right back, boyo,” Parker said to Gunner as he passed, ruffling his hair.

Gunner had been invited up to say something, but he hadn’t been ready. He’d asked Parker to say something for him.

Parker did, walking up to the stage and taking the steps two at a time until he was standing up on the landing.

The ceremony had started playing pictures of each child as their family came and said something about them. Now it was little Jett’s turn.

The first photo to roll across the screen was one with him looking up.

He was in a bouncer of some sort, and he had his daddy’s baseball hat—all worn and beat up—on his head. It was sideways because it was too big for his tiny head, but his gummy smile showed that he was more than happy with it being there, regardless of whether it fit or not.

The next picture to roll across the screen was one of Jett and Gunner. Gunner had thrown Jett—who appeared to be about six months old—into the air. Jett was laughing in hysterical excitement while clapping his hands. Gunner’s arms were over his head as he waited for his child to fall into his hands.

And my stomach clenched.

I had one of those pictures with me and my dad, too.

It was my most favorite one in the world.

And I knew that it’d been my father’s favorite, too.

How did I know that?

I bent over and pulled my wallet out of my purse, then opened it up.

Inside, in a half sandwich size baggie, was the photo.

The photo was old, yellowed from dirt and time, and had smudges on it. The ones on the corner of the photo were dirt where my father held it each time he wanted to look at me. But the one in the very middle? Covering my father’s legs? That was a bloody thumbprint from when my father had held that photo, staring at me, as he lay dying from a gunshot wound to the chest.

That day, just like any other day, he’d set out to rid this world of the bad people that threatened it. And, just like usual, he took that photo out when he felt like he needed to be reminded of something good in this world.

James, the man who’d been with my father throughout his whole military career, had been there with him then. He’d also told me the story.

How, every time he got that certain look in his eyes, he’d take that photo out of his breast pocket and stare at it. When he’d put it back, his eyes would be more focused and determined.

That day, though? That day, he’d taken a sniper’s bullet straight to the chest while holding that picture.

James said he stared at that picture until he took his final breath and died.

The bloody thumbprint hadn’t been my father’s thumbprint.

It’d been James’s.

James had taken the photo from my father’s dead fingers, and in the process, had put that thumbprint there, to permanently stay.

But it’d been my father’s blood on James’s fingers.

I ran my finger over my father’s smiling face and felt a tear drip down onto my lips.

I felt someone nudge me and looked up and over to find Gunner staring at me.

His eyes fell to the tears, then to the picture in my lap.

Then, without a word, he put his arm around me and held me tight as we both cried while Parker told his favorite memory.

There wasn’t a single dry eye in the house after his story. Not even his father’s.

***

I walked into the bathroom and immediately turned on the shower.

I needed to take one and get warm. Stupid Florida wasn’t supposed to be cold!

Not to mention, I needed to wash off the salt from my stupid freakin’ tears.

God, I hadn’t cried that much in a long time.

And that was saying something, because I cried a lot.

Frequently, in fact.

I’d just stripped off my shirt, pants, and panties, and was working on my bra when I felt two strong arms encircle my waist.

“I need you,” he said softly.

I opened my mouth to protest, but then I was in his arms, and he was pressing me up against the cold tile inside the tub—and I gasped in surprise.

The water was pelting us both in the face, so he hitched me higher until I was out of the water’s path.

“Parker…”

“Usually have to go to that alone,” he murmured hoarsely. “God, every year I tell everyone about my favorite memory, and every year it changes. How do you have a favorite memory of a little boy that was so full of life like Jett?”

I didn’t know.

I had a feeling, though.

Janie’s daughter, Abrielle, was still young yet. But whenever I spent time with her, a new memory was ingrained in my brain, and each one was just as special as the last.

“I’m so sorry, Parker.”

“You saved me.” he murmured, leaning a little farther back so that my face was a little farther from his.

The water was hitting him in the back of the head, curling around his ears and sluicing down his body.

It traveled from his ears all the way down, soaking him.

That’s when I noticed he still had his underwear on, but they were doing a really poor job at containing his erection.

Even though just minutes before I hadn’t been willing or in the mood, seeing his need instantly put me in the mood.

I’d do anything for him.

Anything.

And if what he needed was my body to help him make sense of the day, I’d give it to him. Willingly. All day every day if I had to, as long as it kept those shadows out of his eyes.

“Usually come to my hotel room, drink a fifth of whiskey—or at least try to—and then pass out. Make sure to have a late checkout, because by the time usual checkout is up, I’m still passed out drunk trying to pretend like I don’t remember.”

I bit my lip, then lifted my hand and curled it around the back of his head.

“Kiss me,” I whispered.

His eyes searched mine for a few long seconds, and then he growled before slamming his mouth on my own.

We didn’t talk much after that.

He made love to me.

I’d experienced him hard—and it being my first time ever with a man—I’d surprisingly loved it.

But this? What he was doing right then?

This was making love. There was no other word for it.

Not when he kissed me slowly, tenderly.

Not when he lined himself up with my entrance and slowly slipped inside.

Not when he pumped himself into me in soft, smooth, yet firm strokes.

God, everything about it was magnificent.

He filled me fully.

He took me like I’d never imagined I’d be taken.

I loved it so much.

So. Fucking. Much.

And he kept the dizzying kisses up, making sure to swallow each cry that left my mouth.

When I finally peaked, my pussy clenching around him so hard and long that I thought I might pass out from the gloriousness of it, I knew that if I died right this very second, I’d have lived a complete and full life.

All because of Parker.

He came moments after me, filling me so full of him that I could feel him slipping out from between us.

He stopped moving and then pivoted, holding me aloft in the air with only his arms, and allowing the hot water to roll over my surprisingly freezing back.

I stared down into his eyes, my arms around his neck, and said the only words I could think to say in a moment like that.

“I love you.”

He didn’t reply or express anything whatsoever. Not with his words, anyway.