Page 16 of It's Always Been You

“I was usually involved in Direct Action assignments,” Travis explained. “Small unit, short duration strike operations.”

“So what? I’d see you one month out of every year?”

“No, babe. I may have gone out for several weeks, but I came home for a week or two at a time.”

They got on Route 66. Travis had a house in the suburbs of McLean, Virginia. He bought it right when he had set up Blake Security Inc.

“Did you ever suspect I was hiding something from you?”

Travis shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t want to go into that right now. Or rather, he didn’t want to find out that his wife had deceived him. They would have to talk about it eventually, just not today. “Listen, Caitlin. We didn’t know what had happened. We’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise. Whatever we uncover, I’m confident we can get past it. Do I make myself clear?”

She nodded and looked out the window. Unable to help himself, Travis reached across the console and took her left hand in his right one. She was startled, and out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her tilt her head down to look at their linked hands before lifting her gaze to look at him. He held his breath. It was a loose grip, and she could easily pull away. Slowly, her fingers curled tighter into his.

Travis wanted to thump the steering wheel with this smallvictory, and he had to bite his lower lip to control a stupid grin from breaking out.

The rest of the trip was spent in companionable silence.

Finally, he made the turn into his neighborhood.

“Nice area,” Caitlin commented as they passed several custom-built homes.

He drove up the sweeping driveway that made a semi-oval from the street to the house before curving around a manicured lawn to end back on the street. The front of the house was lit up with night lights—security was his business after all. More than that, it cast an interesting texture to the impressive stone facade. He had bought the house because it was a good investment, but his headspace at that time had not been in making it a home, which would explain the Spartan furniture that graced its rooms. His mother and Emily wanted to get involved and make the interior match the beautiful architecture, but he had put his foot down. He was glad he did as he glanced wistfully at the woman getting out of his car. It did need a woman’s touch, his woman. His wife.

Fuck, he had to stop daydreaming and get her sorted out first.

“You have a beautiful home,” Caitlin said, standing in front of the car, staring in awe at the house.

His chest puffed with pride. “Our home, Caitlin.”

He unlocked the nine-foot tall, carved wood door and pushed it open. He let Caitlin step through to the foyer and followed in quickly so he could turn off the alarm. He began flipping the light switches to illuminate the rest of the house.

“Are you hungry? Want me to make you a sandwich?” Travis asked.

“I’m really tired, Travis,” Caitlin said. “Would you mind showing me to my room so I can crash?”

He tried to hide his disappointment, but he could hardly blame her. She looked extremely tired, even if she had dozedoff the entire trip stateside. Besides, 3:00 a.m. wasn’t exactly the best time to do a house tour.

“Of course.” He was tempted to take her to his room.

He led her down the hall to an ornately railed staircase that led to the second floor.

“You need furniture.”

“Hmm . . .” Travis agreed as they mounted the stairs. “We can go shopping this weekend.”

“Travis, I think we’re moving too fast.”

They reached the top floor. He walked ahead to lead her to her room.

When he didn’t reply, she tried again. “We can’t just pick up where we left off.”

Her words prickled his chest and deflated his mood. She was right. That didn’t mean she should avoid reconnecting with him.

Travis opened the door to her bedroom. He’d left word with Emily to have the room prepared, and it appeared she had come through. The room had been aired out, and the scent of freshly washed linen wafted to his nose.

“Travis, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or unwilling to try—”

“Stop,” Travis cut in. He leaned against the doorjamb as she put her backpack on the mattress. “You need time to adjust. I get that.”

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