The Things We Leave Unfinished by Yarros, Rebecca (phonics reading books .txt) 📕

get into the one they were, while he flew halfway around the world to face another enemy?

No.

The thought of leaving them behind was a knife to the gut. William was only six weeks old, and he’d already changed so much. He couldn’t imagine not seeing him grow up, leaving for a year—or more—and not recognizing his own son when he returned. And the thought of not seeing Scarlett? Unbearable.

“I’ll take him,” she said from the doorway.

Jameson turned to see her backlit against the hallway light, her arms already outstretched. “I like holding him,” he said softly.

Some of the ice melted in her eyes. “I would hope so, but unless you can feed him, you’re not going to like holding him for much longer.” She crossed the room, and Jameson reluctantly surrendered their son.

Scarlett settled into the rocking chair in the dimly lit corner, then looked up at him expectantly. “You don’t have to stay.”

He leaned against the wall and crossed his ankles. “I don’t have to leave, either. I’ve seen your breasts before. Not sure I’ve told you lately how magnificent they are.”

She rolled her eyes, but he could have sworn he saw color rise faintly in her cheeks. She settled their son to nurse with what had become practiced ease, and stroked his soft, black hair with her fingertips.

“I’m sorry,” Jameson said quietly.

Her fingers stilled.

“I should have talked it over with you while it was happening. I can make all the excuses in the world about not wanting to worry you, but they don’t matter. I was wrong to leave you in the dark.”

She slowly brought her gaze to meet his.

“If we had gone to the Pacific, I would have moved heaven and earth to send you to Colorado until I could come home. I would never have left you without making sure you were safe, and not just physically. I won’t make the mistake of leaving you out again.”

“Thank you.”

“I would…” He swallowed the prickly knot of anger rising in his throat. “I would really like to throw that rattle in the trash.”

“All right.”

His eyebrows rose. “You don’t care?”

“Not in the least. I would have put it with the rubbish myself, except I wanted you to know what was happening.” There was no jab in the statement, just facts.

“Thank you.” He watched her silently for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. “Your visa appointment is coming up in a few months, right?”

She nodded. “May.” Almost a year after they’d begun the process.

“I want you to promise me something,” he said softly.

“What?”

“Promise me that if anything happens to me, you’ll take him to the States.”

She blinked. “Don’t say things like that.”

He crossed the room, then dropped to her eye level, putting his hands on the arm of the rocking chair. “There is nothing more important to me than your lives—yours and William’s. Nothing. You’re right—it’s not just about us anymore. You’ll be safe in Colorado. Safe from the war, from poverty, from your god-awful parents. So please, promise me that you’ll take him.”

Her brow knit as she considered the request. “If something happens to you,” she clarified.

He nodded.

“Okay. I promise if anything happens to you, I’ll take William to Colorado.”

He leaned in slowly and brushed a chaste kiss over her lips. “Thank you.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m giving you permission to die.” Her gaze turned stern.

“Noted.” He kissed William’s head, then rose. “Since you’re feeding him, I’m going to go work on feeding you. I love you, Scarlett.”

“I love you, too.”

He left his wife and son in the nursery and went straight to the kitchen…and threw the rattle in the trash where it belonged.

Scarlett and William were Stantons.

They were his.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Georgia

Dear Jameson,

You’ve only been gone a few days, and yet I miss you as if it’s been years. This is so much harder than when we were at Middle Wallop. Now, I know what it’s like to be your wife. To lie beside you at night and wake to your smile in the morning. I asked again this morning about the transfer request, but so far there is no news. Hopefully tomorrow. I can’t bear being so far from you, knowing that you fly into danger and I can do nothing but sit here and wait. I can’t even welcome you home. I love you, Jameson. Stay safe. Our fates are intertwined, for I cannot exist in a world where you do not.

Love,

Scarlett

“Are you ready for this?” Noah asked with an excited smile, straightening his tie as we sat parked in front of the studio, the January snow flurrying by.

“If I’m not?” My eyebrows arched.

“It will be awkward in an hour when everyone shows up, but we can lock the door, turn off the lights, and pretend we’re not here.” He lifted my hand and kissed the inside of my wrist, sending a jolt of need straight through me. I’d had him in my bed nearly every night for the past two and a half months, and the need hadn’t lessened. All he had to do was look at me, and I was ready for him. “But I am willing to offer any bribe you want just to see what you’ve been creating in there.”

“I am pretty proud of my little collection.” I’d just about worked my fingers off getting ready for this night. There were a few dozen minor pieces ready for sale, and a few larger ones I’d mostly made for display. Invitations had gone out, replies received, and now all I could do was open the doors and pray I hadn’t wasted what was left of my bank account.

“I’m proud of you.” This time he kissed my lips, sucking lightly on the lower one before releasing it. I was completely and thoroughly addicted to this man. It was only supposed to be a fling—that was the deal. He’d leave as soon as the book was finished, and watching the days tick by only served to remind me that we were living on borrowed time. Every day