Joint Forces (Wingmen Warriors #7)

Joint Forces (Wingmen Warriors #7) Page 5

"Thank you." She definitely could use a friend today more than anything the hospital offered.

Canvas bag swinging from her shoulder, Julia rushed inside and swooped over for a quick hug, already lighting toward the closest chair before Rena could blink.

The leggy blond plopped into a seat beside the bed, one foot tucked under her, casually, just like her unassuming jean overalls. "Are you okay? Really? It scared me to death when I got to the support group meeting and heard what happened. I mean, God, just hours ago we were picking up Chris's car at the shop, talking about the guest speaker for tonight's meeting."

"I'm fine. Really. Just achy and shaken, but okay. I hope the meeting went ahead without me."

Julia waggled her hand. "The speaker talked, but who could listen? We were worried."

A regular at the base support group meetings for parents of special-needs children, Julia attended because her son had been born with Down syndrome. The weekly gatherings had forged a friendship with Julia that went beyond their husbands' shared profession.

The friendship between the two women had deepened into an unbreakable bond the evening Julia waited with Rena for news about J.T. Heaven only knew what it had cost the woman to stay that night, since Julia had lost her first husband to a crash.

Rena's fingers clenched around the sterile white blanket. She could never repay the gift of her comforting presence. Of course, Julia insisted friendship was priceless.

"Oh, before I forget." Julia leaned to scoop her oversize canvas bag from the floor and rummaged inside. She pulled out a lemon-yellow gift bag. "Present for you."

"You didn't need to do this. But thank you."

Julia's blue eyes twinkled as she thrust the bag forward. "Open it."

Rena grasped the top. The bag clanked and she tucked a cradling palm underneath before she peeked inside to find… "Nail polish?" Lots of it. In a rainbow assortment of colors. "How fun!"

And unusual, but then Julia Dawson was one of the most refreshingly unconventional people she'd been blessed with knowing.

"Soon you won't be able to see your toes." Julia wriggled her toes in her Birkenstocks, blue sparkly nails glinting. "So you might as well enjoy them now."

The bag clanked to Rena's lap. "Word got around about my pregnancy that fast?"

"Bo's a walking megaphone. Half the squadron's out there checking up on you and congratulating Tag."

Great. Just what she needed, more tension heaped on him before their discussion. "How thoughtful."

"Are you sure nothing's wrong?" Julia straightened, her sandaled foot swinging from under her to the floor. "Should I call the nurse?"

"No need. I'm fine. Just worried about J.T."

"He's holding up well. Although he's worried about you, too, and driving the police crazy with his push for more manpower checking out the accident. They're convinced it was probably a drunk driver."

"Hmm." That explained why J.T. hadn't been in to see her yet. His absence hurt more than she wanted to admit when she should be grateful for the temporary reprieve.

"I hadn't told him about the baby yet," Rena blurted. Why had she spilled that? At least Julia could be trusted not to gossip.

"Oh no."

"Oh yes."

"Men don't like secrets."

Rena knotted her fingers tighter in the blanket. "Nope."

Julia looked down and away, fidgeted with an arrangement of daisies and carnations by the bed. "I thought since you were pregnant that meant you two had reconciled."

"Brief reunion when he returned from Rubistan. And well—" shrug "—here I am. A knocked-up forty-year-old."

Julia abandoned the flowers and leaned in for another hug, held tight for an extra minute. "Ah, sweetie, I'm so sorry things aren't happier for you right now."

Rena fought the sting of tears that couldn't be totally attributed to hormones. "He's going to want to come home because of this."

Julia eased back. "And you don't want that?"

"Things were bad before. How will they magically get better when I know he's only there because I'm pregnant?"

"Raising a kid alone is tough." Julia and her current husband had in fact married for their children from previous marriages, both finding single parenthood overwhelming. And somehow they'd discovered love. Except they'd been friends first, with common dreams and hopes.

Rena's marriage of convenience had started with no such foundation.

Still, the woman's words dinged Rena's resolve. So many years had passed since she'd brought a baby into the world. Did she even have the energy to chase a toddler around the house again? And late-night feedings for a newborn. It had all been hard enough even with J.T.'s help.

She couldn't actually be considering…

Of course, her emotions weren't clear-cut. Being ready to sign divorce papers didn't erase twenty-two years of history with the man. He was the father of her children. She'd once loved him.

Now she didn't know what she felt for him anymore. Their marriage had crumbled slowly over twenty-two years from the stress of job separations, financial strains followed by his dogged determination not to touch her income.

She'd been on the fence when she tossed him out six months ago. But when he'd left her at a time they should have clung to each other more than ever, she'd known. They didn't have what it took for the long haul. The children had been their only common link.

Well, that and hot sex.

"J.T. and I are getting a divorce. Of course, we'll have to redo the divorce papers anyway to include the new baby."

"You don't have to do anything but take care of yourself. It's been a nightmarish few months for you two. Give yourself time to let it all settle out. Nothing has to be decided today or even tomorrow. Paint your nails to pretty up that injured foot. Let us pamper you." Julia waved the air over Rena's toes peeking free from the Ace bandage wrap. "It's not like you can get around much anyway."

Sit still with nothing to do but count her failures? Ugh. She'd spent years busy bringing up her children, trying to build a marriage, hoping if she filled enough hours of the day she wouldn't see everything that was missing in her life.

In her marriage.

Sitting still with nothing to do but think about all the things she'd worked to ignore was a daunting proposition.

Almost as daunting, as the impending showdown with her husband.

J.T. turned the page, reading with a lone corner light while Rena slept. The hospital halls outside stayed silent in the early night but for the occasional rattle of a passing cart.

He couldn't bring himself to wake her yet for the talk. Like he could have roused her anyway. Pregnant women slept like the dead.

Dead.

Pregnant.

Baby.

Breathe, damn it. Forcing breaths in and out, he loosened his grip on the bending paperback. Escape through the words.

Who can control his fate?

J.T. reread the line from Shakespeare's Othello, let it roll around in his head for an extra second. He liked the old Bard's take on life. Human nature stayed the same. Warriors such as Macbeth and Othello and Mark Anthony faced universal issues still relevant in modern day.

The horrors of war.

Getting screwed over by a woman.

Which brought him right back to Rena. No escape through reading tonight. J.T. let himself look at her, something he used to do for hours on end while she slept. Not so easy to do now that he parked his ass in an apartment at the end of the workday.

Her dark curls splayed over the stark white pillowcase. Odd how he still forgot how short she was until she slept and he realized what a small portion of the bed she occupied. A few more curves than when he'd first met her, but the softness from bearing their children only made him want to lose himself inside her all the more. She was a striking woman.

Age had been kinder to her than he had over the years. He'd taken much and given little back.

Well, he sure as hell wouldn't let her down when it came to her safety. Again, he studied the even rise and fall of the hospital blanket, reassured himself she'd come through the day alive. Albeit, still pale under her normally bronzed Greek complexion inherited from her family.

Her family…

Damn but they'd been furious that he'd knocked up their little princess Irena. But the minute he'd seen her—so full of energy and fire—he'd felt as if somebody flicked on a light switch. Colors splashed over a world that had been a monochromatic routine of work, eat, sleep, start over again.

For one time in his life, he'd ignored the practical choice and he'd gone after her. Full force. No holds barred, he had to have her.

He braced his boot on the end of her bed. He still wanted her, even when he was so damn pissed the top of his head felt ready to pop off.

Which pissed him off all the more.

Yanking his eyes away from temptation, he opened his pocket-paperback Shakespeare again. Wouldn't the crewdogs have a field day with that? Yeah, he liked Shakespeare, the classics, even poetry sometimes. He enjoyed the rhythm of how the words went together.

Reading did for him what meditation likely did for other folks. Relaxed him. But he balked at the point of the whole woo-hoo yoga idea. Not to mention the loss of control.

No need for yoga. Iambic pentameter would get the job done for him tonight.

He'd started reading more when Rena went back to college and he thumbed through a few of her books, paused, enjoyed. When others were around, he still kept to more pop fiction selections, like a Tom Clancy novel. The Bard, however, he saved for moments alone when he needed to quiet the roaring frustration in his head.

After the crash in Rubistan and his final split with Rena, he'd worked his way through Shakespeare's whole damn historical canon.

Footsteps sounded outside the door seconds before a soft tap, followed by the door creaking open. A slice of light slanted across the room before Chris tucked his head inside. "Dad?"

J.T. snapped his book shut and held one finger to his mouth. "Your mom's sleeping," he whispered, shoving the book into the thigh pocket of his flight suit. "Come on in, but keep it quiet."

An almost comical request given how deeply Rena slept.

"Oh, sure," Chris whispered in response, shuffling inside, untied laces on his gym shoes dragging as he squeaked across sterile tile.

The door shooshed closed. Ball cap backward over his dark curls, his son slouched against the wall between the rolling tray and window. His clothes hung off his wiry body, which wouldn't in and of itself be annoying except for the fact the boy wore his cargo shorts so low it was a miracle the things stayed up.

And being angry about his teenager's clothes made him wonder how the hell he would handle it all over again sixteen years from now. "Hey, pal. Where've you been? Were you working overtime at the restaurant?"

"Nope. Just hanging out with Shelby and Murdoch. Listening to tunes. Eating pizza." His guilty gaze skated to the hospital bed. "Sorry I wasn't around sooner, but Mom's okay, right? Mrs. Dawson wasn't holding anything back when she came home and told me, was she?"

"Your mother's going to be fine. Only a sprain and some stitches. She'll be on bed rest for a couple of weeks, but no long-term problems." Relief still pounded through him, fears giving way and making room for questions. "Why didn't you have your cell phone on?"

"I dunno. Battery ran down, I guess." He swept his ball cap off, adjusted the fit and tugged it on again. "That's probably good for her, huh? Resting."

"Yes."

"So, everything's okay? With everything, I mean."

Suspicion nipped. "Everything what?"

"Uh, you know, the baby. Uh…" He rushed to add a little too quickly, "Mrs. Dawson told me."