Corps Security, The Series (2)(32)

“You were right,” he utters, his voice thick with emotion. “I wouldn’t have heard you even if you were standing in front of me with a blow horn. I’ve been asking myself for months why . . . Why him? What was the point? Why take him from this world? He has always been the better soul out of the two of us, and knowing that he died without me there to protect him—yeah, I wouldn’t have heard you.”

“How can you think that? The better soul? You really believe that, don’t you?” I turn in his arms, reaching up to cup his cheeks in my hands. “I’ll agree with you that Coop was an incredible man. He was there for me when I needed someone to help me feel strong again. He was brave, selfless, and oh so loved. But Ash . . . do you not see that you are just as incredible? I see you, YOU, Ash. I see the man who has been so lost, but fighting with every breath, he has to survive. I don’t know a lot about your past, but I know enough to know that you’re a fighter. You and Coop, you might as well have been built from the same mold because the same fearlessness that he possessed each and every day was obviously learned from his big brother.”

He looks at me, his heart-stopping eyes fighting the emotion that is raging within, so noticeably stuck in the grief that consumes him.

“We didn’t have a good childhood. There is a lot of darkness there. A lot of pain. It’s taken me a long time to be able to push all of that past under the rug. I can’t explain my issues any other way but to tell you about how we grew up and why hearing that Coop left behind a piece of himself affected me the way it did.”

He takes a deep breath and composes his thoughts; I can practically see the wheels turning. I rub my thumbs along his jaw and wait.

“Our mother raised us. Our dad ran out as quickly as he could, and honestly, I don’t blame him. She was, by definition, a monster. We didn’t have food half the time. The power and water were cut off more than they were ever connected. Clothing was always hand-me-downs two sizes too small. From the earliest that I can remember, I was raising Coop. He’s been more than a brother to me for my whole life, and losing him cut me deep—still cuts me deep. I can’t tell you how many times I stepped in to make sure I was his shield, his protection, against life. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I would lose him having not been able to protect him.”

I so desperately want to cut in, to yell and scream that he isn’t right. It isn’t his fault that Coop died. He didn’t pull the trigger.

“He never wanted kids. Ever. But I know, if he were still here, he would love this baby like no other. He’s always had the ability to see the positive in everything. So I guess my point is that, even though he never wanted children, he would have been there. He would have been the best damn father, Chelcie, and I know I can’t replace him—no one can replace him . . .” he trails off, clearing his throat a few times before he looks up. The pain in his eyes makes me flinch. “I know we’ve been dancing around this attraction between us, this chemistry—hell, I’ve wanted you since the day I met you. I won’t lie to you, Sunshine. I want to be a part of this baby’s life. I want to be able to show him or her the love that Coop would want. But I don’t want you to think that I’m saying that just because of what is between us. As far as I’m concerned, your carrying Coop’s baby is a blessing I could never even begin to repay you for, but being in your life—making you mine—would be the icing on the cake. I’ll love this baby regardless of whether you want me in your life or not, but God, baby, please let me be the man you both deserve.”

I was crying softly before, broken for the little boys who were so lost, but now I’m full-out sobbing—gasping for air, choking on my spit, and blubbering out my response. I know he doesn’t understand my words. Even to my own ears, they’re nothing but gibberish. I wipe at my face, wishing I weren’t making such a mess of this.

“Hold on,” I weep, untangling myself from his arms and the sheets, running to the bathroom to clean myself up.

His arms close around me while I’m bent over the sink, washing my face. His lips climb up my exposed back, kissing each bump of my spine. His lips blaze a trail of fire until he reaches the base of my neck, stopping to breathe me in. His strong arms wrap protectively around my body. I straighten and meet his eyes in the mirror. My head comes to his collarbone, his striking, blue eyes gazing into my brown ones—begging me silently to let him in. I break our connection and trace the line of his arms to where they are lying against my stomach, his tan hands standing out against my fair skin. He cradles my bump—my child—within his strong hold. He holds me within his strong arms. And it’s painfully clear to me that if I don’t act on this, don’t let him and his strength in, I will live each day regretting it.