Page 31 of Luck Be Mine (The Defenders #3)

? Closet Mysteries and Truths ?

Hunt usually wore jeans when in civilian clothes. But he’d told Cait casual, and she’d taken a red print sundress to work with her. So, jeans were out. He stared at the bed where two choices lay.

Khaki or navy slacks.

He had two pairs of dress pants, and neither were uniform castoffs.

He stared at his closet, searching his memory for why he’d bought these.

Trying to be normal or for an occasion? He couldn’t recall.

If he wasn’t in work mode, his memory was blank.

The khaki pair had sale tags which meant he’d never worn them.

“Jesus, Hunter, pick one. I’m going with Cait, not some woman I’ve just met.”

He checked the navy slacks for sale tags. Finding none, he slid into them. The fit was perfect, and he had no memory of wearing these either. Zipping the pants, he stared at the closet. “Man, you are slow.”

He opened the closet door wider and found a small section of long sleeve and short sleeve shirts he knew he’d never shopped for. They were parked right next to where he’d found the slacks.

Cait bought them. He had a wife who bought him clothes.

Wonder ripped through him, defying comprehension. Five years and he never realized. Disgusted with himself, he found a belt and grabbed some socks.

After their talk last night on the porch, he’d lain awake, trying to figure out what she needed.

She wasn’t wrong. They were drifting, and that was on him.

He still hadn’t found the balance between a job that took too much and a wife who asked for almost nothing.

Except she wanted the one thing he’d have to break old habits to deliver.

Maybe she’d never been inside his walls.

He sat on the bed, considering the possibility he was lying to himself.

Or he had so many walls she’d broken through a few, but never reached the ones guarding what mattered most.

Self-sabotage.

This was the way to tear apart everything he wanted. He fitted the socks to his feet and put on a pair of black tennis shoes.

He couldn’t make himself move.

Time to ask some hard questions.

Did he use Cait to make himself feel better?

Did he never give back to her the way she needed? He’d stood by her when she was hurt, but since then she navigated her future without him.

He gazed around the room at furniture he’d had no hand in picking.

She’d built this space for comfort, for intimacy with him, for her nights alone.

Had she ever asked him to contribute? He couldn’t remember.

Consumed with classified secrets and dangerous missions, would he have cared if she had?

Everything he knew about himself was locked tight.

He never said what he liked to eat, what his favorite color was, whether he liked a show or not.

He participated and kept true picks to himself.

Childhood trauma. Raised by people who did not care what he wanted or what he liked. But Cait cared, and she adjusted her choices to fit him. But he never asked her to, never commented on any of it, never thanked her.

This was why she felt disconnected from him. How could he fight himself? Once upon a time, the Navy shrink had advised that all his hard experiences would rebound on him, and he would reach a point where he needed to talk about those difficulties. But he’d balked and left.

She already figured out his foods. She’d been relentless.

Still was. She would not let him eat things he didn’t like.

He’d shut off caring about eating because food was food when he was hungry.

With Cait in the kitchen and her culinary talents, there was no getting away with that attitude.

He didn’t even have to say one way or the other.

She figured it out. The recipe would appear on the fridge as a keeper or would be in the wastebasket later.

His workroom was another example. The most comfortable of all the home spaces, the room had been Cait’s idea.

She had put it together for him with an eye to closet space, gun storage, and equipment maintenance with a solid worktable, desk area, and full-size bed for those times when their sleep schedules didn’t agree.

No doubt about it. She could read him much better than he could her. It wasn’t a man/woman difference thing. She made it a point to find out.

He picked the light blue, short-sleeve shirt with the thin stripes from the closet, guessing this was Cait’s favorite. He shrugged into it and again marveled at the fit. She paid so much attention to what would be useful to him. It was time he did the same thing.

He needed to start by doing for her.

Pick up her uniforms at the dry cleaners.

Understand why she worked hard at two demanding jobs.

Work on her chore list instead of letting it sit.

She promised she’d stay, and he did believe her, but it didn’t mean he could be neglectful. She mattered.

He toyed with his phone and made a call to Doogie.

“Yo, bro.”

“Hey, how’s your mom?”

“Back to health, and I believe her this time. Discontinued her in-home nursing. She’s gone back to work at the salon. A little soon if you ask me, but she didn’t.”

“Sounds like her. She’s the caregiver and needs work to feel useful.”

“It’s frustrating as hell, though. Always appreciated her independence, but I worry about her.”

“She’s got a stubborn streak, and I worry about Cait, too. It’s the price of caring.”

“Are you at home or still at work?”

“Home. Taking Cait to dinner and a movie tonight. Birthday on November first and some uninterrupted time would be good.”

“She agreed to a date? Dude, I thought you were going to be the only man alive who never had to date. She is too good for you.”

“Agreed. A bit nervous about this.” The confession came hard.

“Why? She’s already your wife.”

“Never dated her or anyone. Hell, I’m not even sure I know how to date.”

“There’s not much to it, buddy. Pick a nice place, make conversation, no fights allowed, bring her home, and have a better time.”

Hunt made a rude noise. “She’s not some faceless woman, Doogie.”

“No, she’s a sure thing.”

“It is no surprise you cannot keep girlfriends.”

“Where are you taking her? Why are you so worried?”

“Italian place near the university then a movie.”

“Which one?”

“The vintage theatre for Ghostbusters. She was giving me hell the other night because I’ve never seen it.”

“It’s a classic, a Halloween favorite.” Doogie knew as well as anyone why he’d never seen it. “Popcorn and the whole deal?”

“Yeah, what I’m going for.”

“Do I have to walk you through what conversations are acceptable…like no talking shop. No gossiping about people you have in common, either.”

Hunt choked. “What else is there?”

“Bro, do you want to wear an ear mic so I can coach you?”

He stifled his snort. “Cait would kill me, and this would be over. No.”

“Pay attention, then. Subjects: music, your lawn, does she want to buy a new car?”

“A new car? We already bought her a new car.”

“I’m making this up on the fly, Hunter man. You get my drift. Lord, if you haven’t figured out how to talk to your wife, how in the hell do you woo her into bed?”

“The spark.”

“Come again?”

“There’s a spark there. I lean on it.”

“No pretty words?”

“I wouldn’t know a pretty word if it smacked me in the face.”

“Learn a few.”

“Like?”

“LC, you’re a middle-aged, old man. Watch a movie. Read a book.”

“I never watched movies. Never had a dang television, and I only have time to read ops reports on terrorists.”

“Most people use this time to get acquainted with one another and learn about family, education, hobbies and the like.”

“I already know about her family, her hobbies, where she went to school, who she dated.”

“She knows most of those about you, too, so what the hell are you worried for? It’s not like she’s not going to take you home. What has you in a knot?”

“Trauma.”

“Beg your pardon.”

“Childhood, work related, overprotectiveness. My walls may be back up.”

Doogie went silent at the honesty. “You phase shift in and around those walls depending on what’s going on. What’s got you there again?”

“Secrets, so many fucking secrets, a few I ought to spill, but haven’t.”

“She’ll be the first to tell you she doesn’t want any information. Deep-six the guilt, my friend. It will make you hesitate in your work, in your life, with your wife. Don’t do that, man. I get a great deal of satisfaction out of seeing you navigate a marriage while the rest of us flounder.”

“Hernandez doesn’t flounder.” Their senior chief had his shit in line.

“Senior Chief’s wife tells him exactly what to think and feel in the civilian world. He acts accordingly. Your wife is a busy doctor with her own bullshit to cope with and doesn’t have time to regulate yours along with everything else.”

“Truer words.”

“What brought this on?”

“Big conversation last night after I got home. She’s feeling disconnected, like we’re drifting. My fault, mostly.”

“So make up your mind, like you did in BUD/S. You love and adore her, and you’re going to connect no matter how down and dirty it gets. I’ll kick your ass if you mess this up.”

“I’ll kick myself. You won’t have to.”

“You’re overthinking. Go hold her hand. Have her try your food. Laugh at the movie. Gaze at the stars. You could go visit her office at QM or visit the hospital. Let her colleagues see you’re real. It’s not hard. She loves you, and she’s very proud of you. Do the same.”

“You’re right. She bought casual clothes and put them in the closet for me.”

“Because she’s an organized, smart woman who knew at some point you were going to need them married to her. Don’t overthink that either. It’s her taking care of you. Now you go do the same.”

Hunt sighed, grateful for Doogie’s friendship. “I needed someone who could straighten out the mess in my head.”

“Oh, I’m happy to roam around in there and kick you to the right path. You’ve saved my ass a time or two. This is the least I can do.”

“Thanks.”

“Hanging up now. Out.” He disconnected.