Kristen Ashley - Raid

Hanna said nothing.

“I’ll call your folks when we figure out who’s doin’ what,” he continued.

Hanna still said nothing.

“Baby, look at me,” he urged.

She didn’t move.

Raid lifted a hand to her jaw, trying to force it away so he could see her face, but she pressed deeper into him so he stopped.

“Hanna—”

“He won’t remember,” she told his chest.

“What, honey?”

“Clay. He’s named after a man he’ll never meet and he’ll grow up and won’t remember that she told him the lightning story.”

Raid closed his eyes, wrapped his arm around her again and held her tight.

With no room to move, his wife still managed to burrow deeper.

“We can’t ever let him forget,” she said.

“We won’t let him forget,” Raid promised.

“We can never let him forget.”

“We’ll never let him forget.”

Hanna held on.

So did Raid.

Silence ensued.

His wife broke it.

“She thought you were the cat’s pajamas,” Hanna told him.

He fucking loved that.

But Raid said nothing.

“She also told me she thought you were the bee’s knees,” she continued.

He fucking loved that, too.

Raid again said nothing.

Finally, her voice broke when she whispered, “She was always right.”

Raid slid a hand into her hair and held her cheek close to his chest as she poured her grief into his sweater.

Through her tears, she shared, “This is okay. Even Grams would think being in your arms was an okay place for a Boudreaux to cry.”

Raid closed his eyes and kept holding tight.

When she quieted, he led his wife to his sister’s café and shared the miserable news with his family. His mother took off to deal with things, he got his son and Raid took his family home.

Though, at Hanna’s request, they made one stop.

He left his wife and son waiting in the Jeep while he went into Miss Mildred’s house to pick up Spot.

One month later…

Raid moved through the house to the front door.

He pulled it open and pushed out the storm door, stepped on the front porch, turned right and stopped dead.

There was Hanna. In a wool sweater, scarf wrapped around her neck, wide flannel headband holding her hair back, but wrapped over her ears keeping them warm. The rest of her was wrapped in his black cashmere afghan that she took off their bed. Their swaddled son, also under the throw, was lying asleep on her chest.

She was in her swing, one leg up and bent, one foot to the porch, swaying them.

His chest burned at the sight.

Her eyes came to his and she smiled.

His chest eased.

He walked her way and sat in the wicker chair closest to them.

“Sick of winter. I want my bike,” she informed him once he settled in.

“Time to plan a vacation to a beach,” he replied.

“A beach where they have places to rent bikes,” she amended, and he grinned.

He’d give her that.

He’d give Hanna Miller anything.

Her eyes dropped to his mouth and her lips tipped up.

That lip tip meant she knew he’d give her anything.

Then she turned her head, bent her neck and touched those smiling lips to the baby beanie covering Clay’s head.

After that, her gaze moved to the yard.

Raid stretched out his legs, crossed them at the ankles and didn’t take his eyes off his wife and child.

They stayed that way for a while. Silent. Comfortable. Together.

Hanna broke the quiet.

“It was a dare,” she announced.

“Come again?” he asked.

She didn’t move her eyes from the yard when she answered, “I’ve been thinking about it and figured it out. She knew what I’d do when she told me you were dangerous.”

Raid felt his shoulders tense.

“What?” he asked.

Finally, her eyes came to his. “Grams. She loved you. She respected you. She wanted me to have you. She knew exactly who you were. She knew everything. And she was worried I might not go the distance. So she warned me off you, knowing the minute she did I would not back down. She did this by scaring the pants off me then telling me that if I saw it through, I’d know nothing sweeter in my whole life,” she snuggled Clay closer before she rocked his world, “than the love you’d give to me.”

Raid held her eyes.

“She was always right,” Hanna finished, and that burn came back into his chest.

Fuck.

Fuck, but he loved his wife.

And he missed her great-grandmother.

“Raiden?” she called even though his eyes were locked on her.

“Right here, baby,” he answered quietly.

“I figure she thought she knew something else and I have to know if she was right about that too.”

“What?” he asked.

“Only you can answer,” she told him.

“What is it, honey?”

She gave it to him.

“She knew you’d know nothing sweeter than the love I give to you.”

Jesus, fuck.

“Was she right?” Hanna asked.

Raid held her eyes.

Then he unfolded his body from his chair, taking her in swaying on her porch swing with his son held close to her chest, wrapped up in home, warmth, comfort, nurture.

Love.

He got near and bent deep, put his face close to hers, looked into her pretty blue eyes and curled a hand around the side of her head.

Only then did he reply, “Absolutely.”