A cold chill started in her stomach. She hadn’t considered until now that her work, this mission, would be a threat for him, could be a stressor that sent him over the edge.
“I’m good at my job, trained, just like you are.” She scooped up the coin and pressed it in his palm, holding on tight. “I’ll be okay.”
“I get it, Stella, I do. But that doesn’t make this feeling go away.” His eyes closed, the tendons in his neck straining. “How the hell am I going to make it if something happens to you?”
She squeezed his hand. “I could say the same.”
“So this is it,” he said against her loose hair. “We’re laying it out there on the line, that crazy-ass, unconditional love that tears a person up inside.”
She kissed the heavy pulse throbbing in his neck. “Uhm, I was thinking it’s a crazy-ass love that lifts you up, makes you happy. But you don’t look very happy. In fact, you look like you want to run.”
“I should run, Stella.”
Her gut twisted. This wasn’t taking the direction she’d hoped.
“Jose, this could be my last mission, then I could step out of the field and take a desk job cracking codes and writing new software. If you’re not ready to step out of the field yet, I understand. I want you safe too, but I can wait on that part as long as I know you’re coming home to me.” She swallowed hard then blurted, “Let’s get married.”
There. She’d said it.
His cheeks puffed with an exhale, the rest of his body going very still for a heartbeat too long. “Did you just propose to me, woman?”
“Did you just call me ‘woman’?” Her heart was still stinging from his hesitation.
“Fuck. I did.” He scrubbed his face with his hand. “Sorry. I try to be more enlightened than that. Let’s move in together.”
It was her turn to pause, to mull over his words and tamp down her disappointment. She tried to reason through the fact that she was likely moving too fast. She should just be patient, logical.
Except her feelings for Jose had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with impulsive emotions. “So you’re saying a long engagement?”
“I love you, no question; I want us to get this right. I can’t let you down.”
That helped—a little. She almost managed to overlook the panic on his face. “As long as I know we’re headed in the same direction, building a life, a family together, I’m good.”
“Kids?” His strangled tone left zero room for misinterpretation.
She bolted upright. “You don’t want children.”
How the hell could she have missed that? She’d heard him talk about his niece and nephew, heard his love for them and just assumed…
Sitting up on the edge of the bed beside her, he stared at the coin in his palm. “It’s the alcoholism thing.”
Her hand fell to rest on his knee. She had to touch him, to make some connection as she felt him slipping away from her. “Plenty of reformed alcoholics have children.”
“It’s deeper than that for me.” His hand opened and closed around the coin, waves crashing outside their scenic window. “My sister, Bianca, she didn’t just get out of the army. She was forced out.”
“Because of her drinking?” she prodded carefully.
“In a roundabout way, but not what you’re thinking. We all knew about her alcoholism. Hell, once she got old enough to drive, she took the money Dad left for us each day and went out partying with her friends. But she was one of those drunks who just gets sloppy and cracks jokes, so people overlooked it.”
“As opposed to the drinker who turns violent?” What kind had his mother been? He’d never indicated beyond mentioning he’d stayed clear of the house as much as possible.
“I’m not saying either kind of drinking is right.” He glanced over at her. “I’m only saying the ‘jolly’ alcoholic tends to get away with it longer, people stick around. Hitting rock bottom comes later, maybe because folks enable longer. But make no mistake, it still comes.”
“As it did for your sister?” And from the weary lines in his face, she feared what would come next, ached for the pain it caused him.
“Her husband was in the military too. When he was deployed overseas, she was stateside with their kids and vice versa. Combat stress along with the pressures of military family life pushed her the rest of the way over the edge. I’m not making excuses. There is no excuse for what she did.”
Her gut clenched, but she still asked, “What happened?”