But something had always lain beneath that soft spot. Interest. Need. Who fucking knew because he never lifted that soft spot long enough to get a good look.
Which was exactly why he was leaving today. He had a call with his sergeant in an hour. If Tye Benson was planning to ask him to take another tour, it would be an informal way to go about it. But maybe he had personal reasons for the call.
Either way, Roarke would find out.
“Leaving already?” Laine’s soft voice floated from the living room doorway. Her light-brown hair was tied back in a French braid, and her turquoise eyes lacked the usual spunkiness she embodied.
Jesus, he hoped she got that back.
He pulled the zipper tight on his duffel. “Yeah, my heavy ass is gonna put a hole in your couch if I stay another night.”
A sad smile pulled at the corners of her lips. “Sorry I don’t have a spare room.”
Laine’s house had been passed down to Twist and her when their father died five years ago. Their mom had left and got remarried when Twist was eighteen. Neither of them had spoken to her in years. It was a three-bedroom house, but he wouldn’t have suggested taking Twist’s room. And from what his friend had told him, Laine refused to pack up their father’s things, so that bedroom sat full of his belongings.
“Don’t mention it.” He straightened, slung the bag over his shoulder, and met her in the doorway. “I’ve got a call with my sergeant today. I don’t know if I’m heading out or not?—”
She pressed her fingers to her temple. “Stop.” Tears filled her eyes.
His stomach twisted, and he lowered his bag to the floor, gently grasping her elbow.
Christ. Laine had no one now. She’d be alone in this big empty house with only memories to torment her. Twist had wanted him to watch out for his sister, but how the fuck was he supposed to do that? Twist knew Roarke had a career. He didn’t want to retire yet. The line of duty was in his blood.
But the thought of leaving Laine to fend for herself was equally conflicting. Indecision warred inside him. He tethered his gaze to her face, holding those eyes that were engraved in his fucking heart. “Gimme the word and I won’t reenlist.”
He could honor her request if that’s what she asked. He’d fulfilled his tour, and while he didn’t want to live as a civilian, he’d figure it out.
The corners of her lips turned down. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, Roarke. You’re the closest thing to family I have left.” She leaned against him. Her cheek rested on his chest.
The top of her head just reached his sternum, and her slight shoulders fit easily between his. Laine was all woman, her curves and sway a melody he didn’t need in his head. But she was so much more than that. She’d meet someone—god, he hoped so—start a family, get married. Live.
And that soft spot of his would disappear.
Had to.
He kissed the top of her head. “I hate that I have to leave you like this. Whatever happens, I should be back for Christmas—if you don’t mind me holing up in your living room again.” Christmas was six months away. The thought of going that long without seeing her hit him in the chest with the force of a bullet.
“‘Kay,” she said softly. “I’m going to London. I just decided last night. I was offered a teaching job. Didn’t get to share thatwith Ollie before he ...” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, I wasn’t sure if I’d accept, but I think I will.”
He pulled away. “Yeah? That’ll be awesome.” He squeezed her shoulders. “You’ll love it.”
Her smile wobbled, and tears glimmered in her eyes. “I’ll be back for a couple of weeks over the holidays.”
“Good. I’ll see you then. Keep in touch, all right? You’ve got my number. Use it anytime.”
She placed her hand on his shoulder and rose onto her tiptoes. Her lips brushed his cheek. “Thanks for everything, Rogue.” Hearing his callsign in her voice moved something inside him.
Damn. He needed to get on a plane and bury that soft spot with distance before he did something he wouldn’t be able to take back.
After giving her another squeeze, he reached for his bag, said another goodbye, and left.
Chapter
Two
SIX YEARS LATER
Laine rocked in the chair and snuggled her five-year-old daughter closer, inhaling her sweet innocence. This was her favorite part of the day—when she could just hold Emmy, close her eyes, and pretend she was anywhere but this prison.
