Bring Me Home for Christmas

Pajamas tucked under her arm, she stood from the bed. “Do you need the bathroom?”
    “No, go ahead. Take your time. Here, let me carry those in for you. Need anything else in here?”
    “That small cosmetic bag there would help—toothbrush and stuff.”
    “Got it,” he said. “Leave this in the bathroom, if you want.”
    “Thanks,” she said. “I hate needing help.”
    He grinned at her. “But I like helping, so we’re okay so far.”
    And then he backed out, pulling the door closed.
    Becca sighed. She certainly had herself in a situation. All alone with the man she considered to be her long-lost love, and getting ready to brush her teeth and don her flannels. Over her bandaged foot. Ah yes, this was the moment every woman dreamed of.
    After washing up and getting into her pajamas, tucking her clothes under her arms to toss back into the suitcase, she exited the bathroom. Denny stood beside his air mattress. He wore a pair of sweats that were slung low on his hips, his chest bare, and she got the impression he was still a bit overdressed for bed. Way overdressed. Becca was momentarily paralyzed. Yes, this was the Denny she remembered, yet so much more. She had fallen in love with a boy; this version was all man. He seemed taller and broader; his arms and shoulders were so muscled, his belly ripped. There was now a mat of hair on his chest, when before there was some brown fur surrounding his nipples and disappearing into his waistband. And he had that scruffy unshaved look again. The guy had so much testosterone running through his bloodstream he could produce a beard in eight hours.
    She wanted him. She wanted to throw herself on him and kiss him until her panties melted off. She wanted to lick him like a lollipop.
    “You okay, Becca?”
    She shook herself and dumped her clothes in her suitcase. “I can’t figure out what makes me so tired…” she said, pulling back the floral bedspread.
    He lifted the suitcase back onto the floor, away from the bed so neither of them would trip on it. “Injuries will do that to you. I broke a couple of bones in Afghanistan and I could barely drag myself around.”
    She was frozen in place. “You were wounded?” she asked.
    “Not exactly. Motor-vehicle accident two days before I was scheduled out.” He laughed and ran a hand around the back of his neck. “Couldn’t happen eleven months before, but two days. What luck, huh? Jump in there. Put a pillow under the ankle.”
    “Are you going to tuck me in?” she asked.
    “You object?” he asked, lifting one sexy brow and giving her a half smile.
    She slid into bed, grabbed one of the pillows to prop up her ankle and let him pull the covers over her.
    “You want the light on for reading or anything?” he asked.
    “No. Do you?”
    “Nope, I’m ready for lights out if you are.”
    “Ready,” she said.
    “I’m going to leave the bathroom light on and pull the door mostly closed, just in case you wake up in the night.”
    “Thanks.”
    And then all was quiet and almost completely dark. They were both very still in their respective beds, his on the floor at the foot of hers. There wasn’t so much as a rustle of bedding, a cough or a snore. Finally she said, “Denny?”
    “Hmm?”
    “You guys—you and Rich and Dirk and Troy—you’re good friends.”
    “Yup.”
    “I don’t remember even hearing about Dirk and Troy till you and Rich came home.”
    “Aw, you know… Guys don’t talk that much about guy friends. We were all together in Iraq. Me and Rich were just kids. Troy and Dirk are a couple of years older. There were a bunch of us who were like brothers over there. Six years ago, the conflict was still young and exciting and scary. We stay in touch. Phone and email—I borrow Preacher’s computer sometimes. When I went to Afghanistan, Troy was called up for another tour in Iraq.”
    “You guys toasted a lot of friends… There was one toast to Swany…”
    He was quiet for a long moment that seemed to stretch out in the dark. Finally he said, “Eric Swanlund. Gunny. He was killed by a sniper. We never saw it coming. Great loss. He had a wife and couple of little kids.”
    “In Iraq?” she asked.
    “Uh-huh. I wasn’t with Dirk, Rich and Troy anywhere else….”
    “But…but we were still together then,” she said. “That was before we broke up. You never mentioned…”
    “Becca, I tried not to tell you things that would just make you worry—things I couldn’t control, anyway.