Fly (Wild Love Book 2)

by Red L. Jameson

  Jay and I nod. Then I ask them, “What kind of marriage do you want?”

  But when they both ask, “Me?” I can’t help but laugh.

  “Yeah, the both of you.”

  H and Jay look at each other, shrugging and gesturing that the other should answer and after a full minute of this, H finally sighs.

  “I guess, I did want what you’d called the white wedding.” He eats another cucumber, then turns and starts peeling again. “Traditional wedding. I thought I’d meet a girl who—” he stops and looks at Jay. “There’s something about surviving an IED explosion, seeing good men get wounded, die, and then your dreams sound childish, you know?”

  Jay nods. “I’ve often wondered if I should even think of marriage, a wife, kids.”

  “Why not?” I ask. I’m pretty sure I know what they’re talking about. Once having a certain level of trauma introduced, things like a white-picket fence and two-point-three kids with a dog seem a tad…well, it’s too simple and not enough at once. It’s a surface solution to something the heart wants, and the heart craves what only another heart can give—nothing more, nothing less.

  I’ve never told anyone, except a therapist, but seeing an IED explode in front of me, seeing genocide, seeing so much human cruelty seemed to make me stronger. I was affected by what I saw, yes. I cried, dreamed about it, and sometimes the face of a dead child would haunt me. But I took a picture. I’d focus on the shutter speed, the aperture, the light, then I’d find a way to express what I saw through my camera. By the time I’d develop the film or photoshopped the image, I’d be ready to take on more.

  I felt it was my calling, to find human cruelty and capture it for the world to see. It’s not that I’m negative. Well, maybe I am. But often, I worry that people forget that somewhere out there, in this vast world of ours, is someone suffering. I thought, maybe naively, that by taking the picture, I’d make this world smaller. Because Disney is right: There’s so much that we share that it’s time we’re aware.

  Maybe when we’re aware we take more effort to stop suffering.

  Or maybe not.

  Shortly after I was nominated for the Pulitzer, I saw a woman being raped. I was in Japan, taking pictures of the post-earthquake apocalypse. The police were too few. The depravity too much. When I realized what was happening, I attempted to jump from my hiding space, behind a dumpster. But she saw me and stopped me, gesturing for me to stay put with soft waves of her hands. I witnessed a woman being savagely attacked. Her glistening tears are burned in my memory.

  I didn’t take a picture.

  When the man left, she smiled at me as I helped her up, two lines of blood rushing down her thighs. In a mix of English and Japanese, she told me how grateful she was that she could save me, that I stayed where I was. And all I could think about was what a fucking coward I’d been.

  I took her to the over-crowded hospital, but by then she insisted she was fine. Her voice was strong, her tears dried. She said she was fine.

  But I never was again.

  That’s when I went to the therapist. I talked and talked about it. But I kept reliving that night. That choice to stay behind the dumpster, to collect myself with the rubbish because what I did was no better than acting like a piece of garbage. I’d merely watched her as she kept urging me to stay, while a man violated her, and I was too scared to do anything other than her bidding. The light is seared in my head the way it made the scene into mere outlines, the violence caught in two-dimensional images, even if I never took a picture.

  After that, I wasn’t sure what kind of shots I could take. I kept doubting the shutter speed or how to capture the light. I kept doubting. And I lost myself.

  Oh, I’m still here. I’m still this overly talkative girl who gives herself away too easily. Maybe I’m even more that girl, which frustrates the hell out of me. But before that night, I’d somehow stumbled through life with a tiny bit of hubris about having talent, about shrinking the world.

  Now, the world is too big. I’m too small. I’m alone. And pregnant.

  Jay shrugs and looks at the counting-down microwave. “Too fucked up.”

  “You’re too fucked up?” I ask.

  He nods, not looking at me.

  “No, you’re not—” I cut myself off, not knowing how to make this argument because I feel the exact same way.

  “I think you’d make some lucky girl a great husband.” H’s voice is low, rough. He’s been peeling and slicing so much there’s a mountain of dark and light greens on the cutting board. “If you wanted that kind of thing, that is.”

  Jay turns and looks at him, shaking his head. “You should, want that kind of thing.”

  H’s brows furrow. He fists the knife, his knuckles turning white. “You’re not too fucked up. I—you—while I’m—”

  Jay turns on him, and while H has been stammering, something happened. They’re both angry. I’m not sure if they’re angry at each other or circumstances or what.

  “You even look like—” Jay looks at me, “What’s the prince’s name in all those girly cartoons?”

  “Prince Charming?” I worry I shouldn’t have answered because they’re both staring at each other like they’d love to hit the other. And after I answered, H’s eyes bulge.

  “You think I’m some fucking prince? I’m a boy scout earlier today, now a prince?” H’s voice is thunderous, making me want to cringe.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  “I’m just saying you look like him,” Jay says, throwing his arm around the microwave that’s now beeping. He opens the door and grabs the black tray full of cheesy casserole then flings it on the table, howling, “Fuck!”

  I catch his wrist and see the bright red of burns on his palm then push him toward the sink, turning on cold water, and force his shaking hand into the frigid spray.

  “Now how the hell am I supposed to argue with you when you’re fucking hurt?” H asks, standing behind me.

  Jay glares at H, but I can see there’s a glimmer of a smile on his lips and I can almost feel the teasing playfulness H possesses.

  “Fuck you, man.” Jay’s frown is sliding off.

  “Yeah? Well, fuck you too.”

  Then they do smile at each other.

  And I’m flabbergasted. While still forcing Jay’s hand in the water, I look at the both of them. “What the hell was that?”

  H looks down at me. He’s inches from my side, and I love the way he has to tilt his head. I love how tall and broad he is. But I’m not in love with the way he glances at me, then his friend, and steps away.

  “Nothing.” He shakes his head.

  I look at Jay. But he’s looking at H, and then me, pursing his lips. And I’m struck with how perfect those lips are. They’re a tad thin, masculine, a dusty rose I know my camera could never capture adequately. Only my eyes can. Or my lips.

  I swallow, looking away, afraid my idiotic lust has been made apparent.

  Jay sighs. “Look, Dee, listen.”

  I nod, noting how the bright red of his palm is now a pink. Hopefully he won’t blister.

  “I’m listening.” Then I glance at H. “Grab some ice for Jay.”

  Jay shakes his head, but H is already in motion. And something about it makes Jay softly chuckle.

  “Never saw LT scramble to obey an order before,” Jay says, watching H.

  H jerks to a halt, but then shakes his head and hurries over with an ice tray. “The woman tells me what to do, and I do it.”

  “I’m The Woman, now?”

  “Haven’t been called LT in a long time,” H says softly while finding a clean dishtowel, placing five cubes in the center, folding it a few times, then handing the package to me.

  “Okay, Dee, look,” Jay says again, while I wrap the ice around his palm. “I asked LT to join me on this long hike because I knew I was fucked up about being discharged. I mean, I’d planned to be a lifer. I’d planned to be a soldier of some kind—I’m still not sure why I picked to be a sailor�
��since I was a kid. I had this idea about being a knight—ah, never mind. The point is, suddenly I didn’t want to be enlisted anymore. It was a total game changer that I didn’t see coming, because it was coming from me, you know?”

  I look up at him, his perfect lips, the way the hollow of his cheeks have a slight flash of pink in them, how his blue eyes are sparkling and intense. While nodding and holding his hand, I have to look away from him. He’s beautiful. Rugged but beautiful, and he’s trying to share something personal with me. The least I can do is curb my idiotic crush on him. And looking away seems to be the only thing that’s working.

  “I needed the hike,” Jay says slowly, “Because I’m not just fucked up about wanting to get out of the Navy, Dee.”

  I have to look at him because I know he needs it. He needs reassurances, not just from H but from me too. So I brace myself from this weird attraction I have for both of the men, and I do the brave thing by glancing up at him, still holding the ice to his burn.

  “I mean, sure,” Jay’s saying, seeming to have a hard time telling me the real reason why he wanted to hike around Yellowstone for months. “Yeah, I’m not sure about what I want to do. I guess, I could go back to school, get a degree. I liked being a corpsman. I liked taking care of people. But the problem is that I’m not great in crowds now. I get fidgety and feel like I have to run. I’ve never been this way before, but now I can’t handle…people. So how could I take care of them? I feel so fucking stupid for having this idiotic problem. So do I conquer it? Or do I adjust to it? Maybe work construction like I did in the summers before I enlisted? Fuck, I feel like shit for not knowing what to do.”

  I nod, trying not to talk, holding my tongue so I can just listen.

  “But—but I’m—I’m fucked, Dee.” Jay looks away, his massive shoulders slumping dejectedly. “You should know that. I’m really fucked up.”

  13

  “No, you’re not, man.” H shakes his head and places a big hand on Jay’s shoulder.

  I wish I’d said that. God, my heart is bleeding for Jay.

  His jawline bulges and when he looks at me it’s like something has defeated him. “I am, no matter what H says. I—I don’t know what to do with my life because for the last few months I started having these things. Sometimes, I can’t breathe. I can’t think right in crowded areas. I—”

  “Panic attacks?” I ask then notice H wincing.

  Jay looks even more defeated. “Yeah, that’s what they’re called. I’m a fucking mental case, huh?”

  I shake my head, massaging the ice into his palm gently. “I’ve had panic attacks.”

  “I—what?” Jay asks. “You’ve had them?”

  It’s not until then that I realize my blunder. I started to have panic attacks after Japan. I’m not sure I can talk about what happened…I’m not sure I want to admit to what I didn’t do.

  “And you don’t think Dee’s a mental case,” H says, waving a hand at me, interrupting my worried thoughts.

  Somehow, he ushers us toward the table with three forks, the casserole, and the cutting board of cucumbers. After a few moments of maneuvering, we’re sitting at the picnic-style table, me on one side, the guys at the other, eating the casserole. Or maybe just picking at it.

  “Of course Dee’s not a mental case.” Jay frowns at H then takes a bite of the cheesy rice. After swallowing, he looks at me. “Okay, look—”

  I’m starting to know Jay well enough to realize he says that when he’s sharing something not only personal but what he considers to be a flaw. He’s vulnerable right now and my heart squeezes. My embarrassing nipples contract too, but I’m trying my best to ignore the sizzle of attraction.

  Jay takes a big breath. “Maybe I shouldn’t call myself a mental case or fucked up, but I don’t feel right. I’m no longer me. And I thought this long-ass hike would get me back to…me. But—” He shakes his head, his dark hair glistening from the soft light of the room, “—I don’t think all this hiking around, surviving on powdered food and growing a beard did anything. I mean, I didn’t fucking talk for almost all of it. Ask H.”

  H nods. “It was a silent hike, all right.”

  Jay continues. “I—I’m not the guy I used to be. And I’m not at peace with who I am now.”

  “I totally get that,” I say around a bite of the actually good casserole. Who knew microwave dinners were so fantastic?

  “You do?” Both the guys ask.

  I carefully place my fork on the side, no longer hungry. Glancing from one set of anguished blue eyes to the curious dark gaze of H, I know then that I’m going to tell them what I’ve only told my therapist. They’re my friends, right? And friends share. They’re sharing with me.

  After swallowing audibly, I tell them—how I was recovering from a hangover while celebrating from the Pulitzer nomination, how I was behind a garbage bin trying to save a stray cat, how I saw complete violence and did nothing until it was over.

  “I can’t seem to take the same kinds of pictures I took before Japan,” I say, my voice sounding disjointed from my body. “Even my editor said that. He kept giving me assignments, though, until I couldn’t take his disappointment anymore. And I found out I was pregnant, then stupid me just up and quits. I have no idea what I’m doing.” I can’t look at them and haven’t for a long time. “Although, the one thing I know is that I want to have a camera in my hand while I’m doing it. Maybe I’ll work at McDonalds with my baby in one arm and my camera in the other.” I laugh at myself.

  “I’m glad you stayed behind that garbage bin,” H whispers, his voice so raw I have to look at him. His eyes are red, his face tense.

  I shake my head. “I’m a fucking coward.”

  Jay’s lips narrow into a thin line. “That wasn’t cowardice. Jesus, Dee, you’re—what? Five feet tall?”

  “I’m five-two.”

  Jay rolls his eyes.

  “And you hardly weigh—”

  I interrupt H. “I weigh a lot more than a hundred pounds.”

  H closes his eyes and slowly opens them, as if he’d prayed for patience to deal with me. “No, you don’t, sweetheart. I’m two hundred fifteen and more than a foot taller than you, and I know you weigh nothing close to me. But the point is, you’re…little. You could have been hurt, killed if you’d—”

  “Listen to the man,” Jay interrupts, nodding his head and looking at me crossly.

  “I could have stopped it.” My voice sounds shattered and small.

  What I’m not saying and haven’t, although I’m not sure if I could to anyone, is I stayed glued to where I was because of the woman’s eyes. By the time I realized what I’d walked into, the man was already raping her. It took a few seconds to realize the act wasn’t consensual. She wasn’t fighting. Just crying. And when she saw me, she shook her head slightly and put her palm out to stop me. But it was her eyes that froze me to that spot. As if asking for a lifeline, asking for a friend to figuratively hold onto while she was violated.

  Then it was over. Just as my mind was wrapping around what was happening, it ended with the man standing, pointing a knife at her, whispering something, then running away. After he was gone, she blinked and I could finally move from my spot, so angry at myself for not realizing sooner what was happening, for not doing more.

  My mother calls me spoiled and I do too because the word now means something dirty and shameful. I don’t know how other people define the word, but I think of it like an oil spot under a dumpster. I can’t seem to think of myself as anything else when I remember that it took long seconds for my idiotic mind to realize that a woman was being raped, and how I was already too late by the time I figured it out.

  H reaches over the table and holds my hand. “Don’t do that. Don’t play Could Have games with yourself. There’s no way to know…and fuck that. More than likely, even if you do know a few self-defense moves, you would have been hurt. Hurt bad, Dee. Did you ever stop to think about the woman and what you gave her? She felt like she saved yo
u, and I’d bet, especially from what you said, that saved her, saved her head and heart. You made her feel better about herself after something as horrible as—well, you know. So, yeah, don’t play that game. It’ll fuck you up.”

  My heart feels like it’s tattered and worse for the wear, but still, I tilt my head, thinking of what Jay’s admitted and I know H has secrets of his own too. “Okay, well, if I can’t play that game, then neither can you. That goes for the both of you.”

  H removes his hand, scowling. Jay still looks a tad angry too, but they both nod.

  “Anyway, the point is—” I have to clear my voice, getting too emotional. “I do know what it’s like to realize I’m no longer the person I thought I was. And I’m not sure I’m at peace with who I might be also. Oh, and to boot, I’m having a baby. Alone.”

  “You don’t have to be alone,” H says softly, then looks like he’s flinching. But he takes a sip of a breath and continues. “I—I can’t sleep.” His fork falls into the casserole dish, and he just sits and watches it.

  “I thought you said you never could sleep,” Jay says. “That it’s a problem you’d had since you were a kid.”

  “I lied.” H frowns at the dish now. “I haven’t been as daring as you, Jay. I haven’t talked about…any of it. I can’t sleep. I can’t work—”

  “What do you mean you can’t work?” Jay turns to inspect his friend as if for the first time.

  “I mean, I lied to you, man. I said I could get the time off, but I don’t have an engineering job to go back to when we’re done. I wasn’t working. I lied to you about a lot of shit. And I don’t know why the hell I’m talking about it now.”

  H tentatively glances at me but looks away quickly. A faint pink grows along his neck.

  He’s embarrassed and I’ll do anything to assuage his humiliation, to make him feel better.

  I groan. “It’s all my fault. It’s me and my big, stupid mouth. I say whatever’s on my mind. Sometimes I spit it out and didn’t even know I was thinking that. And now I have both of you under some kind of spell where you do the same.”