by Cd Hussey
"What's going on?"
Trey holds out the fabric. It's pretty much shapeless and looks like nothing more than a sheet, but after more careful observation, I can clearly see the mesh screen. It's a burka.
"Are we leaving?" I can't keep the fear from my voice.
"Kaihan thinks we should. He says we can stay with his family. He's afraid others might be on their way."
"What do you think?"
His face is unreadable as he considers my question. "I think we should stay," he says finally.
Honestly, I have no idea if that response scares me or not. On one hand, traveling through the rough mountainside, hiding under a burka is so overwhelmingly frightening I can't even comprehend it. On the other hand, this place feels like a sitting target. We've already been attacked once and now it seems like we're simply waiting for another.
"I just made contact with the airfield," Trey continues. "The sandstorm is expected to be completely cleared by early morning. They'll be able to send a chopper then."
"And if it isn't?"
"We're well armed here. And this building is secure."
"For how long? And what about supplies?"
"There's water and food. Enough for a few days."
God, to be trapped like a rat in this tiny building, surrounded by the enemy, while Trey defends our nest, sounds horrifying.
He steadies his serious brown gaze on me. "We can leave. The chopper can just as easily rendezvous with us outside the compound. The burka will offer you anonymity. No one will assume you are anything but a local woman. With Kaihan you'll be safe."
"What about you?"
"There's no hiding me under a burka."
"Well, that settles it. I won't leave without you and I won't risk your safety to assure mine. We stay."
He smiles. It's faint, but I definitely see it.
With a crisp nod of his head he turns back to Kaihan. A conversation in Urdo ensues, ending with Trey handing Kaihan back the burka, the two men kissing the air beside eachother's cheeks, and finally a firm handshake.
"As-salaam 'alaykum," Kaihan says to me before Trey opens the door for him to leave.
"Salaam," I reply in a small voice as the door closes and locks behind him. Once again I have this overwhleming fear for his safety. If Kaihan dies because of me, because of us…? What will his wife and his children do? I don't think I'd be able to live with the guilt.
"It'll be okay," Trey says.
My gaze lifts to his, which is lined with a million emotions. His gaze stays locked on mine, and for a brief moment I have this absurd fantasy he'll come over and comfort me. How nice it would be to nestle into his arms and forget this entire night.
"Why don't you try to get some more sleep," he suggests and turns back to the monitors, eliminating any thoughts I have of losing myself in him.
I nod and ease back on the cot, once again keeping my back to him and the room of gadgets. I don't know how I'm going to sleep now but I close my eyes anyway, mostly to ward off tears threatening to erupt.
The next thing I know, the sound of helicopter blades chopping the air fills my ears. Bright light floods the room and at first I can't tell if it's from a spotlight shining into the windows, or the sun.
The stiff muscles of my back tell me I've probabaly been asleep for a while on this hard, unforgiving cot. My guess is it's daylight.
Rubbing my eyes, I sit up. Besides the bright computer monitors screens, the room is empty.
With even stiffer legs I rise and cautiously approach the door. It has to be the helicopter coming to rescue us. And Trey is simply outside greeting them. Has to be…
My hand is on the door handle when it flings open. I jump back startled. I really wish this, I-go-to-open-the-door-just-as-someone-else-opens-it nonsense, would stop.
He's backlit, so I can't clearly see his face but I can tell he's grinning broadly. "Taxi's here," Trey announces.
I breathe a sigh of relief. "Thank God."
"I'll escort you back to your room so you can retrieve the rest of your things. They're ready to take off ASAP."
There's an urgent undertone to his voice that not only makes me quicken my step, but also tells me we're not completely out of the woods yet and I should probably be worried.
We hurry back to the container that had been a place of pure bliss until last night—until I decided to ruin it. Carefully keeping my gaze off the dual mattresses, I quickly grab the small amount of possessions scattered throughout the tiny room and shove them in my bag. It takes all of five minutes. His room is next. I'm curious to peek inside, but he merely ducks his body inside and emerges with a duffle.
We jog to the chopper. I set my bag of the floor, grip the edge of the open door, and make the first attempt to clamber in. When I fail, Trey lifts me up and places me inside. I scramble for the seat. His duffle bag lands on the floor at my feet, and he climbs in behind me.
The first thing he does is make sure I'm properly strapped in. Kneeling before me, he makes swift work with the buckles and straps, his brow gently furrowed, his fingers nimble. As I watch him, I can't help but wish we'd met under different circumstances, another time and place, a time when I wasn't such a wreck…
He glances up at me. I don't bother hiding that I'm watching him.
"You ready?"
"As ready as I'll ever be."
He hands me the headphones, shoves his duffle bag and my bag under the bench, and then takes his seat across from me. He's buckled in within seconds.
"Any time you're ready, gentlemen," his voice sounds in my headset.
"Hold on," one of the pilots replies.
The chopper lurches up. It's only been a few days, but I've already forgotten how horrible riding in this giant dragonfly is. Or maybe they're flying less carefully, like they're in a hurry as well.
I keep my eyes closed. In fact, I don't open them until we've landed and Trey's voice sounds in my headset. I was tempted to open my eyes once, when the chopper did this weird, swoopy thing, but decided I was better off not seeing the ground before I hit it.
One eye peels open, then the other. Off in the distance, the familiar white, cinderblock buildings greet me. I've never been so happy to see something so drab. Releasing the buckles to my harness, I gleefully toss the earmuffs and headset on the seat beside me and rush for the exit. I'm ready to be on the ground and then disappear into my room.
Trey already has the bags unloaded and waits for me at the open helicopter door. He offers his hand in assistance. As much as I long to touch him, I'm scared to take it. Scared to be reminded of what I'm missing, but more scared of how I'll feel when I lose it again.
I'm right back to square one, right back to where I was mentally only a few days ago. I was never really back, not fully. My old self just came in for a visit. She's long gone.
I help myself out of the helicopter, ignoring the scowl on Trey's face.
The blades have slowed considerably, and the concrete pad the vessel rests on keeps the dust to a minimum, but it still swirls around unpredictably in the air. My scarf—the one Trey gave me—and my glasses are nestled in my bag, so using the front of my shirt, I cover my nose, squint, and make a ducked run for clearer air.
He follows behind me with our bags in hand. Once we're clear of the chopper dust, I hold my hand out for my bag. "I can take that," I say.
"Why don't I escort you back." It isn't a question.
I cringe. Judging from Trey's expression, I haven't kept it to myself.
"There's protocol I need to explain," he says. "You're a civilian who's just gone through a traumatic experience—"
"I'm fine," I interject quickly.
"Are you?"
"Yeah. Perfect. Now that I'm here, it's all good." Honestly, I do feel okay. It's like last night was some horrible dream.
"That's wonderful if it's true." He doesn't seem remotely convinced. "Unfortunately, this isn't something that can simply be swept under the rug."
Wishful thinking on
my part. You can't cut your finger anymore without filling out some form. Why I even hoped this might be different…
"C'mon." Trey juts his head toward the row of white. "Walk with me and I'll fill you in."
As we walk toward the barracks, I keep my gaze on the ground while he explains what happens next. It's worse than I expected. Besides forms to complete, there's a physical and a visit with the compound shrink, and very likely a meeting with not just my boss, but the company VP. Oh, and HR will likely want to chat with me too. The forms are just the tip of the iceberg.
"I'll email you the forms as soon as I have access to my computer. But don't feel obligated to fill them out today. And don't be surprised if John wants to talk with you today as well. You are under no obligation to talk to him or anyone but the shrink."
"It isn't a problem. I don't mind talking to them." Not really. I'd rather just forget it.
"Just so you know you do not have to do anything today. The rest of the day is nothing but R&R, and that's an order. I can't make promises for tomorrow."
We reach my door. "Well, I guess I have something to look forward to," I say dryly as he hands me my bag.
"I am sorry. For everything."
There seems to be more to his apology. I don't want to think about it. Having him so close to my bed is too tempting as it is. I turn for the door.
"Andrea, wait."
Closing my eyes, I pause but don't turn.
"We need to talk about what happened."
"No we don't. It's all good."
"No. It isn't." His hand grips my shoulder, and I expect him to physically spin me around, to take full control of the situation.
The hand abruptly falls. "Please turn around and look at me."
Shit. I might have been able to muster up an argument if he'd decided to manhandle me. I'm defenseless now.
I move to face him but I still avoid looking directly at him. If I do, he'll see my weakness for sure.
I'm pretty sure I hear him sigh. At the very least he takes a deep breath. "I owe you an apology," he says as he removes his sunglasses, presumably so I can see the sincerity in his eyes. I don't need to see anything. It saturates his words.
"No—"
"Yes. It was presumptuous and arrogant of me to assume anything, especially without discussing it with you, and especially knowing why you're here. What you came from."
My lips press together.
"And the way I reacted to your very understandable concern was appalling. My ego was bruised and I reacted…poorly. I'm sorry. I really am. I put you in a position I had no business putting you in."
Finally I lift my gaze to look at him. God, he's so beautiful. His brows pushed gently together, his brown eyes filled with regret and…longing.
Jesus. I don't know… What am I…? How—?
Ugh.
I swallow, think about saying something, and then decide to simply nod.
"It's just," his gaze flicks briefly to the ground and he smiles, "I, um…" He scratches his fully sprouted beard. "I just…" His gaze levels on me. I'm nearly knocked out by its intensity. "I don't want to pussyfoot around this. I really enjoy spending time with you, Andrea. And I know this is all a whirlwind, but our time is limited and I don't want to waste a second of it. Life is too short, too unpredictable. And I hope this isn't just my ego talking, but you did seem happy before I screwed it up. I hate to see you run away because I got a little…eager. We can take it slower, but I…" He frowns and goes silent.
It would be appropriate for me to talk now, but I can't. I just can't. I have to process this first.
He runs a hand over his short hair. "Anyway, I'm going to take a shower and maybe a nap since I didn't exactly sleep last night and then afterward, I think cocktails by the pool sounds like the perfect way to unwind after a few days of dust and chaos. If you'd like to join me—" he holds out his hands, palms facing forward. "No pressure, of course. In fact, I doubt we'll be the only ones there."
My lip rolls between my teeth. "I'll think about it."
"That's all I can ask." He stands there a moment, teeters forward and the stops himself. With a terse nod and obvious grimace, he pivots on his heel and walks away.
Turning over a weary shoulder, I unlock the door. How many times are we going to do this? Are we forever cursed to have awkward partings where it's obvious one, or both of us wants more, but is somehow reluctant?
Yes, it is. Until I can pull my head out of my ass. Or never. The latter seems more likely.
I can't tell if I'm relieved to be here or dreading the upcoming weeks. Things were simple at Site J. Short but simple. Trey is right; for a brief moment I was happy. But I knew it couldn't last. It never does.
Dropping my bag by the door, I strip out of my clothes on the way to the shower, leaving a trail of clothing on the floor.
I never thought this bathroom would feel spacious, but compared to the cracker box at Site J, it's a spa, a luxurious en suite. And way too big without Trey's body pinning me to the wall.
The recent memory settles so deep in my gut I don't even linger in the shower. Wrapped in a couple towels, I unpack my computer, blow off the dust, and set up at the desk.
Sending my mother an, "I'm alive and kicking" email is first. Seeing as I've been out of touch for the last few days, she's probably freaking out. I don't bother reading the several emails she's sent. Better to deal with that later.
All I can think about while staring at the computer screen is the man who's been putting my emotions through the wringer. Not Jim though. Trey. That perfect specimen of a man who couldn't be more caring, sweet, funny, intelligent, or sexy, if he tried. A man who seems to find me just as desirable, who stunned me with a heartfelt apology even though he didn't need to, who seems to be willing to tolerate my idiosyncrasies because he "really enjoys my company".
So, why exactly am I resisting?
It isn't the insecurity plaguing me since Jim left me for another woman. No, I have zero doubts Trey finds me desirable.
Is it Jim? Am I really not as over him as I think I am?
Pulling up photo albums from vacations and holidays, I skim through the pictures, feeling like I'm sifting through memories of someone else's life. Sure I look happy, and for the most part I was. Before Jim knocked up a girl nearly twenty years his junior, I thought he was an amazing man. Smart, witty, good-looking, a great cook, passionate about world issues… And he adored me. Or so it seemed.
And we both loved the arts, and foodie restaurants, and taking in local culture, and traveling… Nothing was perfect. It never is. But now, looking through these pictures it's easy for me to remember that.
Like this one from our trip to New Orleans. Jim refused to even walk down Bourbon Street. Wouldn't go to any of the tourist places: Café du Monde, Pat O'Briens, Acme Oysters… We spent almost all of our time in the Bywater, hanging out with the locals. I still had a really good time, but I wouldn't have minded spending at least one afternoon in the French Quarter. I mean, who travels to the Big Easy and doesn't visit Jackson Square?
Jim is a snob, plain and simple. For someone who fancies himself as a philanthropist, he's incredibly judgmental. God forbid someone likes NASCAR, or top-forty music, or Bud Light, or goes to Bible study, or eats at chain restaurants…
Even when we were together I found it annoying. I overlooked it, of course. That's what you do when you love someone. Now? The thought of listening to him mock people who watch football on Sundays, or while he drones on and on about how industrial farming is poisoning our food supply, sounds positively dreadful.
So yeah, I think I'm over him.
Why am I punishing myself then?
Wait. Is that it? Oh my God, it is. I'm punishing myself for failing. It didn't matter how fit I was, or how successful my career was, or how good a cook, or how great I could give head… In the end I failed. I failed at making a baby and I failed at being able to keep my husband from sampling the college girls.
Well, fuck that. I
may hate that I'll never have children, but it isn't something I can control. And even though it's hard, I know, deep down, Jim's inability to keep his dick in his pants had nothing to do with me.
And like that, a huge weight lifts from me.
Sure, I'm a little scared of getting hurt. Any relationship with Trey is only temporary, I know that. Getting attached to him is a definite concern. But I don't want to be controlled by that, and I don't want to miss out on something amazing simply because I might get hurt. That type of fear is crippling.
Besides, I'm strong. There is nothing Trey could do to me that would match the devastation I went through with Jim. It sucked but I did survive.
My heartbeat quickens as my decision is made. I haven't felt this excited since…well, the other day when I realized I'd be spending the day with Trey.
The next couple hours can't pass quickly enough.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Male voices greet me before I can see the men behind them. The changing/bathrooms for the pool flank either side of the bar, putting a building between me and the men. Double D's voice is instantly recognizable, and loud.
"Fuck man! That sounds sweet! Back in the heat, away from this sleepy little town."
I hear Trey laugh. "Oh yeah. I'd forgotten how good a goddamn fire-fight feels. Forgotten how much I miss it. How alive that shit makes me feel."
Is he talking about Site J? Those terrifying minutes where bullets whizzed back and forth and several men ended up dead?
"I wish you'd been there," he continues. "It was like the good ol' days, when we weren't stuck in this prison."
"I am so fucking jealous. This place practically sucks the fun out of war."
"The only thing I regret," Trey says. "Is putting Andrea in the situation. It was dicey for a minute."
He's definitely talking about Site J. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. He told me he loved combat, that he found the real world boring. I saw the way his eyes sparkled and his body buzzed with energy while we were fighting for our lives. Of course he loved the action at Site J. He's been straight-forward about that from day one.
At least it makes my decision to say eff it and enjoy his company while I can less scary. After all, there can't even be the fantasy of a future with him. Being in the thick of the action makes him happy. I want normal and relatively quiet. How could that ever work?