CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
D
WIGHT
STOOD
STILL
while Stephanie adjusted his uniform lapels. He didn’t want her to stop touching him, to stop caring for him in this way, one of the dozens of little ways she showed him tenderness. One of the ways she’d found that he would accept, when he wouldn’t accept mushy declarations and public affection.
“So, the plane lands at noon,” she said.
“That’s right.”
She knew that already, but they were both anxious, both confirming all the details of Lucas’s flight as if talking about it would make sure everything went smoothly. The flight would land at Andrews Air Force Base at noon. Dwight would be choppered there soon, along with other senior military personnel who wanted or needed to see the rescue mission completed.
Lucas would be taken directly to the military hospital at Andrews for further assessment and treatment.
The thought of seeing his son again was making Dwight light-headed.
Then Stephanie finished with his lapels and dropped her hands, and he realized she’d been the cause of the light-headedness. Before she could step away, he wrapped his arms around her.
“I love you, Stephanie.” It didn’t have the urgency or the edge of frustration that it had the times he’d said it over the past few weeks. Instead, it came out quiet and emphatic. True.
“I love you, too, Dwight.”
He’d never thought those words would cut him down, bring him to his knees. But now, he had to cling to her just to stay on his feet.
She gave a kind of watery laugh against his shoulder, and he realized he was probably crushing her.
“Sorry.” He loosened his grip slightly.
“Don’t be.” She kissed him. “I love you touching me. The last few nights have been wonderful.”
Absurd that a man his age should blush at the memory of lovemaking. Stephanie’s shape had meant they’d had to be quite inventive. In the small double bed in Garrett’s spare bedroom—his son hadn’t argued when Stephanie had suggested they all stay together until they knew Lucas was safely home—they’d both found a level of passion that surpassed anything they’d experienced before.
The hell of it was, good though their sex life had been over the years, he’d had no idea it could have been even better. Dwight had had firm ideas about the way these things were done: for the enjoyment of all concerned, but never losing control.
He’d discovered that control was overrated.
More importantly, he’d discovered some things were beyond his control.
“I built my life on structure and order,” he told Stephanie now, “but that wasn’t enough to prevent Michelle dying.”
Her arms tightened around him in comfort. She’d always been generous to Michelle’s memory. He shook his head. “So I tightened the structure, reordered the order. And all I did was be a lousy husband to you, drive Garrett away and push Lucas into joining the navy, which nearly got him killed.”
“You’re not a lousy husband.” Amusement threaded through the words. “You’ve been a pain-in-the-butt husband a lot of the time, and you’ve caused yourself unnecessary hurt…and deprived yourself unnecessarily of your son’s affection.”
“I know,” he said. “And now I can’t think why I did it.
You’re
my rock, Stephanie, not some military protocol. That stuff’s important to me, but it can only go so far. Without you…” He shook his head, unable to articulate how barren the weeks without her had felt.
She didn’t seem to mind his lack of words. She went up on tiptoe and kissed him deeply.
“I love you,” he said, finding the words quite enjoyable now. “I want to be with you forever…and if that means trying a lot harder at being a father…well, I’m just going to have to swallow some of my rigid ideas.”
“They might choke you,” she murmured.
“Quite likely,” he said. “But I’ll do it. And I’ll do better with Garrett—you might have to help me with that. Please, come back home.”
“Willingly.” She kissed his jawline. “I just needed you to want to change. Not for me, but for you and him.”
“So, you’ll come home?” he asked. “Though we can move if you prefer. The Upper East Side would be closer to Garrett, and I know you’ve always wanted to live in Manhattan.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Hormones,” she said. “Thank you, Dwight. I love that offer. But let’s not make up our minds now. Let’s wait until we’ve had the baby.”
“You’re not saying that because you’re not sure if you’ll stay?” he asked.
“I’m staying.” She came into his arms again.
At last, reluctantly, he pulled away. “I need to leave.” He checked his watch, confirming his inner clock was correct. Then he took her hands in his. “Come with me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Come with me to Andrews,” he said. “I want you at my side.”
“But it’ll be all military top brass, and you don’t like the distraction.”
He winced at the reminder of his own pomposity, but she was grinning.
“You’re Lucas’s mother,” he said.
She beamed. “I had my heart set on cleaning Garrett’s bathroom, but you talked me into it.”
He’d parked the Hummer in a garage just around the corner; they were there in two minutes. Dwight opened Stephanie’s door and she climbed in. Just as liquid gushed all over her shoes.
Dwight stared. “What’s that?”
“My water broke,” she said, dazed.
“It’s too early,” he rapped out, as if he could command the baby to stay right where it was.
“Two weeks is fine.” She climbed back out of the car, and Dwight was so shocked it took him a moment to start helping.
“I’ll call Dr. Palmer and tell him, but it may be a few hours before anything starts happening,” Stephanie said. A sharp spasm of pain, unlike anything she’d felt before, squeezed her lower back, and she gasped.
“Or it may not be that long,” Dwight said grimly.
“Dwight, darling.” Her voice was tense with the aftermath of the pain. “Go see Lucas. I’ll call your cell when I know if anything’s really happening here. If Dr. Palmer says I need to get to the hospital, I’ll call Garrett or take a cab.” She made a shooing motion. “Go. Your son needs you.”
“
You
need me,” Dwight said.
Another shaft of pain rocked her. He grasped her arm with a firmness that said he wasn’t going to let go anytime soon. “Back in the car, Stephanie. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“But Lucas—”
“Will have more people there to welcome him than he knows what to do with. I’ll get someone to give him a message that the baby’s on its way, and he’ll be delighted…if he’s conscious.”
She was about to protest again, but he silenced her with a kiss. “They can see this operation through without me. But I didn’t attend the births of my other children. This baby is not coming into the world without realizing he—or she—has a daddy who’s crazy about him. Or her.”
Stephanie burst into tears. Then yelped as pain clenched her insides again.
White-faced, Dwight got in the car. He broke his own personal safety rule and called the doctor from his cell phone as he drove.
* * *
G
ARRETT
PACED
THE
waiting room
at Peregrine Hospital, as anxious as if he were the father.
When Dwight had called and asked him to come, he hadn’t for one second thought of refusing. Now he almost wished he had. Who would want this kind of worry in their life? Not to mention the knowledge there were another eighteen years of worry ahead while the kid grew up. Then he acknowledged his father probably still worried about him, at the age of thirty—and recalled how frantic they’d all been about Lucas—and he groaned.
No chance of letting go. Ever.
Far better to stay out of that emotional stuff altogether.
They way Dad did.
Hell. The threat of turning out like Dwight was enough to drive a man to soppy daddyhood.
Garrett shoved his hands in his pocket and paced the room. He ended up eyeballing an antismoking poster on the wall. Those things always made him want to take up smoking.
Dwight came into the waiting room, rumpled in pale green scrubs.
“News?” Garrett asked.
Dwight wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “All going nicely, the doctor says.” Then his voice cracked. “Garrett, Stephanie’s in agony!”
Garrett stared at him, equally dismayed at the thought of his stepmother in pain and his rock-solid father breaking down.
When did I start thinking of her as my stepmother?
“I—can’t she—have they given her drugs?” he asked. “Can they cut her open and get it out?” He shuddered at the thought.
“I asked for an epidural but she won’t let them give her the damn thing,” Dwight growled.
“I thought you were stronger than that,” Garrett said.
“Me, too.” Dwight knuckled his eyes. “Turns out I’m a kitten.”
It was so preposterous, both men burst into laughter.
Garrett felt a little better, and his father at least didn’t look quite so on the verge of meltdown.
“I gather you and Stephanie are back together?” Garrett asked. No need to mention the noises coming from his guest bedroom last night.
His father blushed. This was a day of firsts.
“She took me back,” he admitted. “I’ll never know why, but I’ll always be grateful.”
Garrett nodded. “That’s good news.”
But Dwight wasn’t done. “Things are going to change—
I’m
going to change. I don’t suppose I’ll get it all right, so if you see me being a cretin with this child, will you tell me?”
Garrett blinked. “You bet.” Though he couldn’t quite imagine having the nerve.
“I’m not saying I’ll want to hear it. But I’ll listen—you have my word on that.”
They both knew Dwight Calder was a man of his word.
“Okay,” Garrett said doubtfully.
“Same with when I’m a cretin to you,” Dwight said.
Garrett gave him a skeptical look.
“Which I have been in the past. Garrett, when you asked me not to marry Stephanie…”
“That was a long time ago.” Garrett didn’t want to remember that day, not with his father.
“I lied to you.”
Garrett’s head jerked up.
“I said I was doing it for you and Lucas, but the fact is I wanted to marry Stephanie because I loved her. I lied to myself, too, but that’s no excuse. I hurt you…I’m sorry. I also want to say that despite the. The rift between us.” His father glared at the antismoking poster. “You’ve done hugely well. I’m proud of you.” His own honesty didn’t wait for Garrett’s snort of disbelief. “I
should
be proud of you,” he said, “and I intend to work on that. But in the meantime, I’m grateful for what you’ve done for Stephanie and the baby.”
Ah, dammit, Garrett’s throat was clogged, and his eyes itched.
“Nothing to say?” His father sounded anxious.
Garrett eyeballed that poster again. “I’m thinking of taking up smoking.”
His father drew in a sharp breath; his face reddened. Then he expelled the air slowly. “I’m not the only one who’s going to have to make some effort here, son.”
Son.
Garrett couldn’t remember his father calling him something so corny. But it sounded okay. He sighed. “You’re right.” Had he ever said that to his father? “Guess I won’t take up smoking, after all.”
His father grinned and stuck out his hand. They shook, and to Garrett’s shock, his father closed his other hand over their clasp.
A nurse stuck her head around the door. “Admiral Calder, your wife needs you right now.”
Dwight jumped to attention like the lowliest rating, and strode after her, double-quick.
As he watched his dad leave Garrett felt…envious.
Yeah, envious that his dad had a wife who was crazy about him, who was better than he deserved. And he was about to have a kid who would undoubtedly be cute as a button.
I could have had that. With Rachel.
He tried to ignore the thought. But it hung in there, growing stronger. Dammit, he wanted nothing more than to have Rachel in his arms and to say things to her—crazy things—about love and permanence and kids and forever. He wanted to give her everything; he wanted to take everything she would give him and never let it go.
“Crap,” he said. “I love her.”
He’d imagined they would be the hardest words to say, but in fact they came out easily.
“I love her,” he said again. He loved her conviction and her determination. He loved her kindness and generosity of spirit. He loved her humor. He loved that she knew what he was like and she loved him anyway…he hoped. And of course, he loved her legs.
So, he was in love with Rachel, and he’d just used her personal history to snatch the job she cherished out from under her. And to send her beloved parents away.
She would really be feeling the love right now.
Garrett cursed. His mom would be proud of him getting the job he wanted, sure. But it wasn’t “the job” she’d have cared about, it was “what he wanted.”