Page 2 of Wanting What’s Wrong

Two

Kat

T wo Years later

I’ve made seven-hundred and fifty-six tick marks in my journal since he left. Pages full of a rainbow-colored ink in bundles of five.

Trent gave me the small, white, leather journal the day he deployed. He told me to write down what I did every day so when he returned, I could read it to him, and he wouldn’t miss anything.

I never wrote a single word. Why, I’m not sure.

Maybe because I wished so hard by some miracle he wouldn’t leave and then when he did, I pretended it wasn’t real.

So, I just made tick marks. Counting down the days until he came home.

I made the last little scratch mark yesterday and I’ve been holding my breath since.

I press my fingers to my lips, the scent of my freshly-applied Pink Poppy nail polish mingles with the summer air and a hint of jet fuel. There’s a tightness in my chest as my heart pitter-patters against my ribs. The engines on the plane whir over the excited conversation of the gathered crowd.

Everything else disappears as he steps off the long back ramp of the cargo jet wearing faded desert camo fatigues and combat boots.

The sun beats down and catches the tan skin on his rippling forearms. His squared jaw flexes.

Heat snakes rising from the asphalt tarmac make him look like he’s stepping right out of my dreams.

Guys like him are only supposed to exist in magazines, movies, or on billboards for underwear. But here he is, Trenton Reynolds III, my stepbrother.

Not a dream.

Not this time.

His high cheekbones, protruding brow and shocking blue eyes are the same as I remember. But his features are more pronounced. His forehead is furrowed and his nose has a new angle to it. So many things I’ve missed as well. Things I want to know and things I’m sure I don’t.

He holds his head high. Cocky as ever. His shoulders seem broader than when he left, his strength and presence magnetic, making the air around me buzz.

After a couple steps, he leans slightly on a fellow soldier, walking with just the hint of a limp, and I remember how it felt when he told me he’d been shot.

My heart aches to think of him in pain, and even more to think how close I came to losing him.

I watch him scan the crowd as I push up on my tiptoes. He’s searching the clustered knots of families, well-wishers, and crying women with new babies, all here to welcome their brave heroes home .

I squeeze my eyes shut, praying this isn’t another one of the hundreds of dreams I’ve had of this moment. Seven-hundred and fifty-six tick marks since I saw him last. And now I’m the only one left to welcome him home. The only surviving member of our family to greet our hero.

I was 18 when he left. A lifetime ago and only yesterday.

He was my big brother and my greatest protector.

He was a fighter, through and through. Didn’t matter if it was on the playground, acting like a pit-bull ready to tear the throat out of anyone that messed with me.

Or late at night, holding me close after one of my nightmares.

He was there for me in a way that nobody else was.

And now he’s finally home.

Home . Except, there is no home to go to. For a second, I think of the sheets I laid out next to the worn blue sofa in my apartment wishing I had a better pillow for him because I know he needs to rest. He needs comfort.

I draw a deep breath, my mouth and throat dry as I raise my hand and wave.

The wind catches the hem of my sundress, the fabric flicking high on my thigh.

Mixed in with the smell of my perfume, there’s something else.

The unstoppable wetness that’s been leaking out of me since I got dressed this morning.

Giving me away for him. My body betraying me.

The crush of everything that’s happened while Trent was away weighs on me.

But it’s impossible not to smile right now.

I jump up and down, my wave turning frantic.

This tall, massive, striking soldier that I’d always thought of as my brother…

until that night before he deployed. That night is singed into my me mory and into my body, like a flashbulb halo that never fades.

The memory of that night still tightens my core and makes me shiver. Was it him outside my bedroom door? Does he know? Did he hear me saying his name? Has he been thinking about that night for two years, just like me?

I shake away the thoughts, pushing onto my toes with more effort, now flapping both hands above my head.

“ Trent! ” I call.

His dreamy, sky-blue gaze snaps toward me, focusing my way like a hungry predator.

My insides tangle, flipping and knotting. Rearranging me from the inside out. He seems different somehow. The same, but tired and worn. And yet, there is something else.

An energy between us. An energy I don’t remember from before that night. An energy that two years apart did not diminish.

The look in his eyes steals my breath as my last little jump falters and I stagger back a step, then make my way through the crowd, parting the people like Moses with sheer will. He’s a black hole sucking me in. As I get closer, his blue eyes aren’t just deeper set and tired. They are focused.

And greedy.

“Hi.” It’s all I can muster. I’m tongue-tied and upside down. I forgot how imposing he is. A full 6’ 5” in bare feet, he towers over me, his shadow engulfing me in the late afternoon sun.

“Hi, Kitty Kat. No hug?” His deep voice is playful, but stern as well. I close the few inches between us. But the hug I give him is awkward, and I find myself very aware of how close my hips are to him. Because, God, if I feel the pressure of his body on mine, I’m going to…

The weight of his incredible arms pushes my feet into the tarmac. When he squeezes, my ribs ache and drawing a breath is impossible for what feels like an hour. But when I do, his familiar masculine scent mixes with the jet fuel and a bit of his sweat and my heart absolutely dissolves.

I wrap my arms up his back and return his squeeze but feel his body tighten and he lets out a grunt.

His arms lift and I step back, untangling myself from the one place I want to be right now .

“Easy, man,” says the friend who helped him off the plane. “Don’t fucking push it.”

Trent winces, trying not to let me see. I instinctively step into the space that his buddy left behind, tugging one of his arms over my shoulders.

His friend offers a warm smile, the sun making him squint. “You good then, man?” he asks.

“Yeah, we’re good. Thanks man.” Trent gives him a quick sideways bro-hug with his open arm. “Hey, Kat, this is Luke. He’s in my company.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Luke says. “You have quite a brother here. Saved my ass at least twice and plenty other guys too. He’s a force. A hero.”

“Shut up, dick.” Trent gives him a quick shove. “You’d have done the same for me.”

Luke shakes his head, like more of this shit again.

“I’ll see you around. And take care of yourself, man.” Luke gives him a final fist bump, and moves back, engulfed into the throng of humanity.

I loop my arms around Trent’s waist to give him support, as I lead him toward the car.

“I’m so glad you’re home. Are you okay? Can you walk? Or, do you want a wheelchair to take you the rest of the way to the car?”

“Fuck no, I don’t need a wheelchair. Jesus, Kat, I’m fine. Just got a little cramped up on the flight. Let’s go.” He gives me one of his life-changing smiles. The first one today. And the thing I have been aching to see since he waved goodbye.

The emotion bubbles up. A sting of tears pinches my nose.

“Hey, hey.” He turns to me. “Are you okay?”

I swallow the threatening sob and smile up at him. “Yes. I’m just so happy you’re here. Tell me what you need. Anything. Anywhere. Ice cream? ”

He snorts on a low chuckle. “Yeah. That’s what every guy coming home from war thinks about first, Kat. Ice cream .”

A giggle replaces the impending sob, but I catch the heat in his eyes. I realize there’s only one thing guys coming home from war are thinking about… and the tingle between my legs confirms it’s got nothing to do with ice cream at all.

“You want me to take you to a strip club?” I tease on a shrug and a wink, a hollow ball in my gut hoping he says no.

“Fuck, no.” He looks angry. “No fucking strip club, Kitty Kat.” His teeth tug his bottom lip for a second before he finishes, “But, you can give me a little dance later if it makes you feel better.”

I smack his belly. “Trent Reynolds!” My overly dramatic protest hides the fact that I’m imaging myself gyrating on his lap.

“I need to go home and relax. I’m fine.” Trent gives me another smile as he takes a step forward, a small grimace twisting his face.

“At least lean on me a little when we walk. Just pretend I’m your wife...” I pull his long, heavy arm over my shoulders, wanting to be his strength for once.

“Oh yeah? Pretend you’re my wife, huh? You know the first thing soldiers want to do with their ‘wives’ as soon as they get home, don’t you?”

I press my lips together. Yep . We’re not talking about ice cream.

Even in the midst of this 90-degree heat, my skin prickles with goosebumps.

“Well, that’s how heroes should be welcomed home.” I let out another nervous giggle, trying to cover my embarrassment. But even to me it’s flirtatious in a way that is definitely not sisterly.

Then, Trent growls in response, which definitely does not sound brotherly.

Lowering my eyes, my cheeks on fire as my gaze falls on the zig-zag scar that runs across the meat of his right forearm. I know that scar as well as if it were my own. Because he didn’t get that fighting for Uncle Sam.

He got that one fighting for me.

Suddenly, I’m back in sixth grade walking to the corner store for a pack of sour gummy worms. The sun beats down on my shoulders. The cicadas chirp in the trees. I’ve got a book in my hands. Harry Potter, I think. And I’m in my own little world.