wasn’t being funny. He was dead serious, although he hadn’t intended to propose. If he’d planned it, there would have been flowers and candles, not harsh fluorescent lights. And the food would be better than flame-broiled cardboard with a shot of cholesterol. But now that the thought was out there, it felt right.
“I’m not joking. We should get married,” he said.
“No, we shouldn’t.” She stabbed at the ice in her cup with the straw.
“Why not?”
“Do you really want me to start? The thing is, I only get a half hour for lunch,” she said.
Irritation knotted inside him. He didn’t remember her being this sarcastic. But then, all his memories were from before he’d told her they were over. She probably had reason to give him a hard time. Likely it’d be a good idea to let her get this out of her system.
“Take your best shot,” he said. “Give me one good reason why it would be wrong.”
“Just one?” she said, staring at him.
“For starters.”
“Okay.” She nodded thoughtfully. “Here’s one. We hardly know each other.”
“So marriage will give us a chance to get acquainted.”
“Oh, please,” she said. “That’s just stupid.”
“People do it all the time.”
“Not this person.” She twisted the dangling strands of her ponytail around her finger. “My life is all in place. Why would I want to turn it upside down?”
Speaking of upside-down life, he’d spent a whole lot of time in dark cellars, caves and God knows where else thinking about the baby. Her letter had said she was having a boy, right after she’d admitted she’d considered not telling him at all. That she was okay with raising the child alone and not to feel any obligation to be involved. Be well and happy. Kate, she’d signed the thing. He was well, but he hadn’t been happy for longer than he could remember.
Scratch that. He’d been happy when he was with her. But more important than either of them was his son.
“What about the baby?” he asked.
“What about him?” she answered, her eyes flashing. “J.T. is perfect. I’m taking care of him just fine.”
“In your letter you said you were okay with raising him alone, but—”
“I am,” she interrupted. “Although I don’t really remember what I said.”
He remembered. He’d had it with him when he went down, hid the paper and read it so often he’d memorized every word while he’d been detained.
“You’re looking pretty intense,” she said warily.
“Just thinking.” He leaned his forearms on the table. “Wouldn’t you like some help with the baby?”
“I don’t need help. Not from you.”
“I’m J.T.’s father.”
“That’s a fact. And here’s another one. You dumped me.”
“I didn’t know you were pregnant.”
“Okay. But your gut instinct was to walk away from me. Now I’m supposed to believe that I’m the woman of your dreams because I had your baby?” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I don’t think so.”
“I was being deployed. It wasn’t fair to ask you to wait.”
“You didn’t ask. You didn’t give me a chance to decide if I wanted to wait for you. You just assumed and didn’t give a rat’s behind about how I felt. It was selfish.”
Was that hurt in her eyes? He’d walked away because it was better for him, so he’d take responsibility for the selfish part. But he hadn’t meant to hurt her. He’d been doing what was best for both of them.
If best was not being able to forget her, then his strategy had been a rousing success. If aching to feel her in his arms and see her bright smile and deep dimples was optimum, then his course of action had been a clear victory. If best was beating back the yearning to contact her, then he’d been right on.
The biggest hell of captivity, even worse than the beatings and losing another marine, was not being able to tell her he wanted his son. He wanted to be obligated, to be involved. To pick up where he’d walked out and start fresh. Who knows? They might have been married now. But judging by the resentment in her eyes and the edge to her voice, it was going to be an uphill battle.
“That time—Us—It’s history,” he said.
“And the past is where it’s going to stay. Because the thing about you being selfish is that now I know. There’s no taking it back. And it’s a red flag for me that you’re probably not very good marriage material.”
“Now who’s assuming?”
“It’s not an assumption if you’ve got history to back it up.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. It was longer than military issue now and felt weird, different. Kind of like this conversation. He’d dug himself a foxhole and now he had to fight his way out of it.
“The most important thing is J.T.”
She nodded. “I agree.”
“He needs a mother and a father.”
“And he’s got one of each. There’s no reason to get wild and do something stupid.”
“I want to be there for him,” Joe said.
He’d nearly gone crazy, bound and blindfolded somewhere in the bowels of Afghanistan, knowing he was not only MIA as far as the military was concerned, but also during Kate’s pregnancy and the birth of his child. Not knowing if Kate and the baby were okay. He couldn’t be involved then because fate got in his way. But now he’d go to the mat with fate for the chance to know his son.
Kate frowned as she studied him. “Do you really believe a piece of paper and a couple of half-hearted ‘I dos’ are going to convince me that you’re a forever-after kind of guy?”
Of course not. He had up-close-and-in-your-face experience that a marriage license didn’t guarantee fidelity, loyalty and honesty. His ex-wife had barely waited until he’d deployed on his first tour before taking up with his brother. Out of sight, out of mind. But the betrayal was a double whammy and it had hurt so damn much that he didn’t want to be in that situation again. He wouldn’t let himself care. And he’d started to care too much for Kate so he’d broken it off.
The only good thing fate had done was deliver that letter before his last mission. Thoughts of seeing his son had gotten him through the darkest time of his life. He was here and Kate was going to have to deal with him.
“When it comes to J.T. I’m a forever-after kind of guy,” he said.
“But you also brought up marriage and I keep coming back to the fact that I don’t know you. Not then and not now.” She pulled at the paper that had covered her straw, shredding it over the burger she’d barely touched. “On top of that, you’re not the same man I knew before.”
No kidding. He was a hard man. War had a way of doing that to you. Scenes flashed through his mind. The rat-a-tat of machine-gun fire. The whine of a mortar. The explosion of IEDs—improvised explosive devices—while he was inserting or extracting combat teams. Screams from the wounded. The knot in his belly when he landed in a hot zone and the wounded were hastily loaded on board. Taking off and flying his heart out to get them medical attention before it was too late.
The blood. The moans.
If a man didn’t get hard, he didn’t get through. You turned off the feelings to get the job done.
“And