Shattered Vows Read online

  “I’ll finish this, then go. You and Mac have been here late every night for the past two weeks helping me with the renos.” This was his project, and his responsibility to get finished. The guys had been more than generous with their time and effort to help him out.

  He knelt to back-butter the first tile with thinset. Beckett stood there watching him with his arms folded across his chest as Jase began to lay tile, beginning with the second row. “When are you gonna tell her about this?”

  Jase pressed the first tile to the wall above the strip of wood he’d screwed in to provide a level line marker. “Soon.” He didn’t want to show Molly until the whole thing was move-in ready and looking just the way he envisioned.

  He’d been keeping an eye out for a house for her. As far as projects went, this one had been pretty easy compared to some they’d tackled together.

  The place had been in great shape to begin with, so most of the work had been cosmetic. The painters had finished up a couple days ago, and Jase and the guys had handled refinishing the hardwood floors. New stone countertops had gone in last week, and the appliances had arrived yesterday. Landscaping would only take a couple days, but Jase wasn’t tackling that until he got over whatever bug this was.

  A resigned sigh. “Move over.” Beckett stepped into the shower enclosure with him.

  Jase knew that tone, and this time didn’t bother arguing. He scooted over to make room. “All those years serving side by side, and this is the first time we’ve been in the shower together.”

  Beckett huffed out a grudging laugh. “I’m just glad we’re both dressed right now. Shut up and hand me a trowel.”

  By the time all the tiling was done his hands and feet felt like ice and his face was burning. “Thanks, man,” he said to Beckett.

  “No worries.” Then Beckett nailed him with a warning look. “But if you infected me with whatever you’ve got, I’m gonna be pissed. Now go home and go to bed before you fall over. I need you at a hundred percent come Monday.”

  Because they were both pallbearers charged with carrying Carter to his final resting place. And they had to be there for Molly. She may have signed the divorce papers prior to Carter’s death, but she’d loved him and the funeral was going to be hard for her.

  Before the all too familiar heaviness could invade his chest, he stood and dusted off his hands. “I’m going.” He shrugged into his treasured WWII era leather bomber jacket that had belonged to his grandfather, wincing as his aching shoulders and back protested, then dragged himself into the cab of his truck and headed for home on the other side of town.

  He checked his phone as he got out in his driveway. There was a text from Lauren, the woman he’d met at the gym a couple months ago. She’d been asking him to go out with her for weeks—just as friends, because he’d made it clear he wasn’t looking for anything else. Though he could already tell she was hoping for more eventually. They’d finally set something up for tonight, and now he’d canceled a few hours ago.

  Excuse the late reply, I was in a meeting. Sorry you’re sick! Text me when you’re feeling better so we can reschedule.

  Will do, he typed back, though he was actually relieved about having to cancel.

  While he didn’t want Lauren to get the wrong impression, if it hadn’t been for Molly, he would have been totally into her. Which was stupid, because Molly was never going to be his. She saw him as a good friend and that was all.

  Didn’t mean it was easy to stop hoping that might change now. And it didn’t mean he would stop trying to take care of her—including renovating a house to make it perfect for her.

  The sound of a rake scraping over asphalt reached him. His neighbor, Mrs. Wong, was busy trying to rake the cedar needles that had begun to fall on her driveway. She was past eighty and had difficulty walking, let alone doing yard work.

  “Hi, Mrs. Wong,” he called out.

  She stopped and looked up at him between the trees, a bright smile breaking over her lined face. She was an adorable, pleasant and tiny lady who lived alone in her little bungalow. Today she had on one of her homemade knit hats and a matching scarf. “Oh, hello, dear.”

  Her driveway was almost as long as his, and she had cedars on both sides. With the amount of crap on the driveway, it would take her hours to clean it, and by morning there would likely be the same amount again. “That time of year, huh?”

  “Yes.” She looked up at the trees with a resigned expression. “I love them most of the year, but I hate cleaning up after them from September through March.”

  “I can see why.” Even if he was sick, there was no way he could let her clean it on her own. She had arthritis—she’d told him so the day he moved in—and would barely be able to move in the morning. “Let me get my blower.”

  “Oh, no, dear. I can—”

  He wasn’t listening, already halfway to his garage. He pulled the blower out, overrode all Mrs. Wong’s protests and made her go back inside. He blew the driveway clean, then used a push broom to gather everything into a pile and put it in large yard waste bags. By the time he was finished, his body hated his good Samaritan guts and he couldn’t wait to crawl into bed.

  He was up in his room when another text came in. From Molly this time.

  You free to come for dinner later?

  It was amazing how much even a text from her could twist his insides up. Rain check.

  She started typing a reply immediately and the answer popped up a moment later. If you’re standing me up so you can work on that old car of yours, you can suck it.

  That pulled a grudging half-smile from him. You mean my baby, he corrected. The beloved ’32 Ford he’d inherited from his grandpa was safely tucked away in his garage, awaiting a lot more of his time and attention before she would be road worthy. No. Sick as hell, going to bed.

  Without waiting for a reply he turned his phone to silent, dragged his ass into the shower and stood under the scalding hot spray, letting it pound over his achy shoulders and back. A little warmer now, he checked his medicine cabinet but there was nothing in it to help him, so he pulled on sweats and climbed into bed.

  Next thing he knew, something woke him. Sounds coming from down in the kitchen. He’d locked the door, so whoever it was knew the key code.

  Rolling over, he grabbed his phone to check it. Sure enough, there was a message from Molly from a minute after he’d responded to her initial text.

  I’m coming over. Be there in a while.

  He flopped back against the pillow with a groan. The nap hadn’t helped; he still felt like hell. Rather than get up to find her, he texted her. I’m awake.

  Seconds later he heard her soft footfalls on the wooden staircase. She paused at his door, and his pulse quickened. She tapped softly.

  “Come in.” He didn’t have the energy to do more than prop himself up against the headboard.

  The door opened. Dark, spiral curls appeared, then the most beautiful face in the world, her light brown complexion of her biracial heritage making her gold-green eyes even more vivid. “Hey.” She walked in wearing a snug pair of jeans and a purple top that hugged her round breasts, carrying a tray in her hands. “How you feeling?” she asked as she approached the bed.

  “Not good.” He waved her off, not wanting to risk making her sick. He didn’t want that, especially now that she was pregnant. “Better keep your distance.”

  “Uh oh, is it the man flu? That’s one of worst viruses of all.”

  He gave her a mock glare. “I’m legit sick here.”

  She gave him a grin and kept coming. “I’m a nurse. I can handle it.” She set the tray down on the opposite night table, then climbed up onto the bed beside him to lay a practiced hand on his forehead.

  Jase bit back a groan at the soft, cool touch. It soothed his burning skin, but also something deep inside him. Because it was Molly.

  “Whoa, you’re burning up. Hundred-and-one at least.” She removed her hand. “Did you take anything?”

  “No,
couldn’t find anything.”

  “Here.” She leaned over, dug into her purse and came up with two pills. “Tylenol, extra strength.” She handed him a glass of water, waited while he swallowed the pills and set the glass back on the tray. She put her hand on his cheek again, and it was all he could do not to sigh and lean into it.

  Being this sick sucked ass. Having Molly nurse him was a definite perk. Aside from his grandma, he’d never had anyone take care of him this way. He liked it, probably more than he should have.

  “What other symptoms do you have?” she asked, cradling his other cheek now. “Sore throat?”

  “No. I hurt all over, though.”

  “Nausea?”

  “No.” At least, he didn’t think so. His head was pounding and he was tired as if he’d gone three days without sleep.

  “Think you could eat a little? I made you soup. Chicken noodle, with ditalini pasta. Your favorite.”

  Sick as he was, he couldn’t help but smile at that. She’d made him soup from scratch. Knowing her, she’d probably run straight to the store to buy all the ingredients for it as soon as she got his text. “I can’t believe you remembered that.”

  She shrugged. “I like food, so when you told me once that your grandma used to make it for you when you were sick, I guess it stuck.” She pulled her hand away. “Are you up for some?”

  It smelled awesome, and he hadn’t eaten much since that morning. “Yeah.”

  She reached over and picked up the container with a spoon sticking out of it. “Careful, it’s still really hot. I know it’s not her recipe, but hopefully it’ll do the trick.”

  “This is great, thanks.” He took the container from her, inhaled the savory scent of the broth. There were small, neat chunks of chicken and vegetables in it, along with the little round pasta bits. The last time he’d had this was when he’d been home on leave in Nebraska, shortly before his grandma had passed away. He’d been sick with a cold and she’d made a big pot for him, along with a loaf of her homemade white bread.

  “Sure. I put a few other containers of it in your fridge for later, in case you get hungry.” With that, she popped off the bed and headed to his bathroom.

  Jase sipped at the soup, comforted body and soul by the warmth of it sliding down his throat, and by Molly’s presence. The water ran in the bathroom sink. She came back a moment later and sat back down on the bed.

  “Settling okay?” she asked.

  He nodded and kept eating. It was damn tasty, and he hadn’t realized how hungry he was.

  She waited until he finished, then set the empty container back on the tray and began to wipe his face with the cool, damp washcloth she’d brought.

  This time he did groan, closing his eyes. “That feels so good.” Too bad he had to be sick to get this kind of intimate attention, but he’d take it.

  “Good.” She pressed the cloth to his cheeks, his burning forehead. “You’ll feel better once the meds kick in and take your fever down.”

  He hoped so. He needed to be better by Monday. “Haven’t been this sick in years.”

  “No?” She set the cloth aside and gestured for him to slide down into the bed.

  Jase eased down, every muscle in his body aching in protest, and laid his head on his pillow. “We were in the Spin Ghar Mountains in Afghanistan. I’d been sick for days and could barely carry my pack. At one point Beckett was gonna call in a medevac for me, but I wasn’t going to ditch them on a mission. Finally they dragged me into a cave for the day so I could sleep. Carter took care of me.” It hurt to think of the catastrophic downward spiral his best friend had taken in the months after his brain injury, but it was nice to be able to talk about happier memories of him with Molly.

  At the mention of her ex’s name, she paused in the act of pulling the covers up under his chin, her eyes darting up to his. A small smile lifted the side of her mouth. “Did he, now? And how were his nursing skills?”

  “The shits.”

  She laughed and tucked the blankets around him. “Yeah, playing Florence Nightingale wasn’t exactly his strong suit. When I got sick he’d bring me a bucket, but he definitely wasn’t going to stay and hold my hair back for me.”

  Jase smiled. “He did his best. I was so cold I thought I was gonna die, so he shoved me into my sleeping bag next to the fire and curled up behind me in his for the night. Told me he’d leave me to die if I puked on him.” He smiled at the memory.

  Molly’s laugh was a balm to his soul as she sat beside him. “So he spooned you to keep you warm?”

  Jase nodded. “He was the big spoon and I was the little spoon.” Even though Jase was by no means little. Compared to Carter, though, pretty much everyone was.

  Her eyes sparkled as she grinned. He loved seeing that little bit of happiness in her again. She’d been through so much, and this last month had been especially hard on her. She’d left her support network back in North Carolina and moved here for Carter, only to wind up afraid for her safety after his mental health took a bad turn, forcing her to get a restraining order against him and finally file for divorce.

  She shook her head, her expression turning wistful. “How can you not love a big, tough bear of a man with a squishy inside, huh?”

  Yeah. “Pretty sure Beckett snapped some pictures of it.” All the guys had given them a hard time about the two of them curled up together, but Jase had been too sick to care and Carter had just growled at them all to shut the fuck up. “We should ask him if he’s still got them.”

  “I’d pay money to see those.” She glanced around his room, at the pictures and framed military mementos he’d hung on the walls and put on the bookshelves. Some from his military service, and his grandpa’s WWII service medals.

  It struck him that she’d never been in here before, in his most intimate space. Aside from his old Ford, she’d never seen his most treasured things. He liked having her here, though he wished it was under completely different circumstances.

  A smile spread across her face as her gaze settled on one at the far end of the room. “That’s a great shot of you and Carter with your granddad.”

  Jase followed her gaze. He’d put the framed photo in the center of the top shelf where it was most visible.

  Jase was in the middle, his eighty-three-year-old grandfather on his left, and Carter’s massive form towering above them both on the right. “My granny took it when I brought him back home with me for Christmas just before you guys met.” His father’s parents had taken him in and raised him from age fifteen, after Jase had lost his parents to a boating accident on a lake that summer.

  “That must have been a shock for your grandparents.”

  He started to smile, stopped when his stomach gave an ominous gurgle. He shifted beneath the blankets, swallowed against the sudden wave of nausea. Don’t you dare, he warned his body. “They loved him. He was the life of the party, as always. They even dragged us out dancing with them at the legion one night.”

  She looked at him in astonishment. “As in, swing dancing?”

  “No. My granny tried to show Carter a thing or two, though.” He shook his head, fought another wave of nausea that made his insides tighten. “God, it was funny to see him out there. He was like a bull in a china shop and he couldn’t give a shit because he was having too much fun.”

  Molly burst out laughing. “I’ve changed my mind. I want pictures of that.”

  “It was something to see. All the ladies in there were over seventy, and all of them wanted to dance with him. They kept him busy for hours.” That had been a great night. Everybody had loved Carter. Hard not to love a guy with that kind of wicked sense of humor and unflagging loyalty. That’s why it was so damn painful to think of what he’d become and how it had all ended.

  The nausea intensified, roiling in his belly. Shit.

  He started to sit up, sweat breaking out on his face and back. He did not want to puke in front of Molly. She was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman. He didn’t want her
to see him throw up his dinner.

  “You okay?” she asked in concern.

  He shook his head, gulped. Tried to throw the covers off him so he could bolt for the bathroom.

  He didn’t even make it out of the bed.

  His stomach turned inside out, forcing the soup back up his spasming throat. Thankfully the container appeared in front of his face. He grabbed it, doubled over on the side of the bed as his stomach emptied itself. Burning his throat and making his clenched eyes water.

  Oh, Christ, now he remembered why he hated throwing up so much.

  Eyes streaming, still heaving, he gulped in air as the spasms finally passed. When he opened his eyes Molly was there in front of him, wiping his face. She took the container before he could stop her, and—God, no—looked down at the mess.

  She studied it for a second then looked up at him, her eyes were bright with mischief. “You don’t like my cooking?” she joked.

  A laugh burst out of him in spite of himself, then he groaned and pushed the container away. “Make it go away.”

  “All right.” Chuckling, she carried it from the room and returned with another glass of water. “Drink a few small sips of this. Slowly.”

  He did, feeling miserable as hell. God, he couldn’t believe he’d done that in front of the woman he’d craved since the day they’d met.

  When he’d taken a couple of sips, she put the water down and stood. “Lie back down. Time to sleep.”

  Too sick to argue, he did as she said. He was asleep in minutes, only to wake a couple more times through the night to get sick. Each time Molly was there with a bowl and a clean, cool cloth to make him feel better. Finally he passed out, and the next time he came around, the sky was just starting to lighten through his bedroom windows.

  Something rustled beside his bed. He jerked upright, squinting to make out the shape on the floor as his eyes adjusted. Molly was there rolling up a sleeping bag.

  She’d stayed? On his floor? She was pregnant, for Chrissake.

  “How are you feeling?” she whispered.

  “Little better.” His voice was rough. “I can’t believe you stayed. You should have at least taken the guestroom.” He’d imagined having her in his bed so many times. Naked. So very naked as she reached for him and he was finally able to touch and stroke her silky smooth skin, taste the tender place between her thighs, find out what sounds she made when she came.