Capturing Peace
Page 34
“We can’t, Coen, that’s just it. Did you not hear what I said to Keegan? Everything’s fast with us, but fast feels right when I’m with you. I just—” I cut off on a strained sob and dropped my face into my hands. “This isn’t some insecurity of mine that you will leave me. This isn’t me being ridiculous because I don’t want to lose you. I can’t have Parker lose you, do you understand? I can’t have him fall in love with you and lose you! It seems dumb to you, it may seem dumb to everyone . . . but his heart is my priority . . . not mine.”
Coen moved my hands from my face, and tilted my head back so he could brush the tears back. He stayed silent for long minutes as he cradled my face in his hands, and I braced myself for when he would finally agree with me. Agree that he couldn’t do this.
“I can’t promise a future, Reagan,” he began softly. “I can’t promise a future because I’ve seen too many lives cut short. Nothing is certain. But with what you know about me, with how I feel about you; you can be assured that leaving you—leaving the woman who silences my demons—is the last thing I want. You asked me why I pushed so hard for this . . . do you not see me still fighting for us? Fighting after only a couple weeks for something that neither of us can guarantee?”
Blinking away more tears, I looked up into his pained expression, and everything in me ached at the hurt I saw there.
“You’re terrified of what will happen to you and Parker if I leave . . . have you even realized that you already gave me a taste of what it would be like for you to leave?”
“Coen,” I cried out, and covered my mouth with shaky hands.
“I can’t promise you forever. But neither can you. All I can promise you is that I want you, I want to be with you, I want to be there for your son—and I can’t begin to fathom hurting either of you.” His dark eyes moved back and forth between mine for a few seconds. “Okay?”
I nodded and managed to choke out, “ ’Kay.”
A soft breath blew past his lips as relief settled over his face. “Now can we stop with this bullshit? I told you, I’ll have this same fight with you a thousand times, but Duchess, that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t stop. There has to be some kind of trust between us. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” I whispered.
Brushing a kiss across my lips, he wiped my cheeks with his thumbs once more before letting his forehead fall against mine and releasing a heavy sigh. “Jesus Christ, Duchess. I told you, you’ll be the death of me,” he said softly, before stepping back and bringing me away from the wall.
Walking us back toward the couch, he pulled me down so I was sitting sideways on his lap and wrapped his arms around me. “I’m sorry.”
His hand paused for a second before continuing on the path up and down my back. “I know you are. But we fought it out, talked everything through, and it’s behind us now. So there’s no need to say you’re sorry anymore.”
I couldn’t even remember if I’d said sorry before, and I needed to apologize for everything I’d done. I looked up at him, and waited for his dark eyes to meet mine. “I’m not sure if I agree with—”
“Parker, wait!” I heard Erica say just before I heard my son’s voice. “Coen!”
Coen easily slid me off his lap, a large smile replacing the worn-out mask from our fight. “Hey, bud!”
“Are you going to be my dad?” Parker jumped up on the couch on the other side of Coen and waited expectantly for an answer.
Even though Coen knew this was probably coming, even though we’d just talked—er, fought—about this, my body still tensed at what Coen’s reaction would be.
Coen seemed to think really hard for Parker’s benefit before shrugging slowly. “I don’t know, bud. Your mom and I still have a long ways to go before we’ll know that.”
Parker’s face scrunched together, and I knew he didn’t understand why Coen didn’t have a definite answer right now.
“But I promise you this: You’ll be the first one to know if I get to become your dad. Deal?” Coen asked, holding out his hand.
Parker slapped his hand against Coen’s and smiled widely at him. “Deal!”
Get to . . . he said get to become your dad. My heart warmed and somehow seemed to ache even more when I realized I’d almost taken this away from all of us. Again.
When Parker took off for the kitchen, Coen leaned toward me and pulled my legs over his lap again. “Jesus. Thank God you warned me about that. If I would’ve gone into that blind, I might have taken off.” Coen blew out a heavy breath before giving me a teasing grin.
I slapped his stomach and narrowed my eyes at him. “You just ruined this perfect illusion I was having of you.”
He smiled warmly and pulled me closer to place kisses behind my ear. “Then we’re right where we should be, Duchess, because I’m nowhere near perfect.”
Chapter Eight
Coen—September 16, 2010
A GUTTURAL YELL tore through my throat as I flew up into a sitting position and looked wildly around me. My breaths were coming too fast, and it took my mind too long to comprehend that I was once again here. My condo. Where I was every morning I wasn’t at Reagan’s.
But everything had once again felt too real. I could feel the dry heat, hear the tortured screams, smell the rust, human waste, and gunpowder, see the—
Coen moved my hands from my face, and tilted my head back so he could brush the tears back. He stayed silent for long minutes as he cradled my face in his hands, and I braced myself for when he would finally agree with me. Agree that he couldn’t do this.
“I can’t promise a future, Reagan,” he began softly. “I can’t promise a future because I’ve seen too many lives cut short. Nothing is certain. But with what you know about me, with how I feel about you; you can be assured that leaving you—leaving the woman who silences my demons—is the last thing I want. You asked me why I pushed so hard for this . . . do you not see me still fighting for us? Fighting after only a couple weeks for something that neither of us can guarantee?”
Blinking away more tears, I looked up into his pained expression, and everything in me ached at the hurt I saw there.
“You’re terrified of what will happen to you and Parker if I leave . . . have you even realized that you already gave me a taste of what it would be like for you to leave?”
“Coen,” I cried out, and covered my mouth with shaky hands.
“I can’t promise you forever. But neither can you. All I can promise you is that I want you, I want to be with you, I want to be there for your son—and I can’t begin to fathom hurting either of you.” His dark eyes moved back and forth between mine for a few seconds. “Okay?”
I nodded and managed to choke out, “ ’Kay.”
A soft breath blew past his lips as relief settled over his face. “Now can we stop with this bullshit? I told you, I’ll have this same fight with you a thousand times, but Duchess, that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t stop. There has to be some kind of trust between us. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” I whispered.
Brushing a kiss across my lips, he wiped my cheeks with his thumbs once more before letting his forehead fall against mine and releasing a heavy sigh. “Jesus Christ, Duchess. I told you, you’ll be the death of me,” he said softly, before stepping back and bringing me away from the wall.
Walking us back toward the couch, he pulled me down so I was sitting sideways on his lap and wrapped his arms around me. “I’m sorry.”
His hand paused for a second before continuing on the path up and down my back. “I know you are. But we fought it out, talked everything through, and it’s behind us now. So there’s no need to say you’re sorry anymore.”
I couldn’t even remember if I’d said sorry before, and I needed to apologize for everything I’d done. I looked up at him, and waited for his dark eyes to meet mine. “I’m not sure if I agree with—”
“Parker, wait!” I heard Erica say just before I heard my son’s voice. “Coen!”
Coen easily slid me off his lap, a large smile replacing the worn-out mask from our fight. “Hey, bud!”
“Are you going to be my dad?” Parker jumped up on the couch on the other side of Coen and waited expectantly for an answer.
Even though Coen knew this was probably coming, even though we’d just talked—er, fought—about this, my body still tensed at what Coen’s reaction would be.
Coen seemed to think really hard for Parker’s benefit before shrugging slowly. “I don’t know, bud. Your mom and I still have a long ways to go before we’ll know that.”
Parker’s face scrunched together, and I knew he didn’t understand why Coen didn’t have a definite answer right now.
“But I promise you this: You’ll be the first one to know if I get to become your dad. Deal?” Coen asked, holding out his hand.
Parker slapped his hand against Coen’s and smiled widely at him. “Deal!”
Get to . . . he said get to become your dad. My heart warmed and somehow seemed to ache even more when I realized I’d almost taken this away from all of us. Again.
When Parker took off for the kitchen, Coen leaned toward me and pulled my legs over his lap again. “Jesus. Thank God you warned me about that. If I would’ve gone into that blind, I might have taken off.” Coen blew out a heavy breath before giving me a teasing grin.
I slapped his stomach and narrowed my eyes at him. “You just ruined this perfect illusion I was having of you.”
He smiled warmly and pulled me closer to place kisses behind my ear. “Then we’re right where we should be, Duchess, because I’m nowhere near perfect.”
Chapter Eight
Coen—September 16, 2010
A GUTTURAL YELL tore through my throat as I flew up into a sitting position and looked wildly around me. My breaths were coming too fast, and it took my mind too long to comprehend that I was once again here. My condo. Where I was every morning I wasn’t at Reagan’s.
But everything had once again felt too real. I could feel the dry heat, hear the tortured screams, smell the rust, human waste, and gunpowder, see the—
