by Pandora Snow
"Yes, we're still together. She's been an angel, supporting me in every way possible. But she needed a few days to clear her head, with her mother. I'm not sure if I made the right decision by granting her wish."
"You're not alone, Drake. We've all struggled since returning home. The pressure of my obligations has weighed heavily on my heart too. Several days of space will do wonders for both of you. Sometimes we have to learn the hard way what our priorities are."
"Thanks, Everett. I knew I could count on you to bring a level of gravity to the situation."
"Matthis would appreciate a call or text from you too. I know he loomed larger than life in Iraq, but he's just as vulnerable as you and I. All of us will support you."
I grab a pillow and blanket from the hall closet and he crashes on the couch. He must have driven half the day to get here, the smell of fast food and alcohol faint on his clothing. My body is also ready to drop into sleep. The last waking thought I have is of Michelle's beautiful green sensual eyes coming for me. I think I'm in love.
Laughing is coming from the kitchen as I bolt up out of bed, realizing my Dad and Drake are swapping war stories. I rush through the shower and dress quickly, oversleeping for the first time in years.
"Good Morning," Drake says with a smile. 'I made coffee."
Dad is having cinnamon toast, and all seems well. "Thanks. I'm late for work, you good Dad?"
"Of course, son. See you later." They continue their lively conversation. Finding out precisely what else is going on in Drake's life will have to wait.
The lab is overrun with requests this morning, Jackson and I working feverously to handle the increased workload. Before I can take a breath, it's four o'clock. Dammit, I'll be here until at least eight tonight, which means I won't get a kiss from my sweet sexy girl.
I step outside to call Michelle and let her know, but she doesn't answer. I send Dad a text, and he replies everything is fine and that he's watching television with Drake. Shit. I forgot to warn Michelle he would be there. I hope she's not mad at me. I have no choice but to throw myself back into work and get the tests completed. I'll call Michelle as soon as I'm done.
She's still not answering as I pull up to the house, my concern growing. I walk in the door, and there's a bag of greasy burgers and fries on the coffee table. Drake is slumped down on the couch, and Dad has nodded off in his recliner. My unrest ratchets up as I smell alcohol coming from Drake's clothes.
"Have you been drinking?" I ask him in an accusatory voice.
"Just a beer, you know, with dinner," he replies. I know he's lying because the distinct smell of whiskey is wafting through the living room.
"You're a guest in my home, Drake, don't lie to me. How much have you had?"
He looks neither embarrassed nor ashamed, pointing to a nearly empty whiskey bottle on the kitchen table. "I only had a sip, and I saved some for you. Let's toast," he says, trying to stand up before losing his balance and crashing back onto the couch.
I don't want to wake Dad, but Drake's behavior is unacceptable. Fear is starting to permeate my mind that somehow Michelle's lack of response to my calls is related to Drake's drunken state.
"Hey, Dad," I nudge, his eyes opening.
"Oh hey, son. How was your day?"
"Good. Dad, was Michelle here this afternoon?" He's more tired than usual, struggling to keep his eyes open.
"Yes, but she only stayed a little while, said she had another appointment." That's not what I wanted to hear.
I'm torn, wanting to find out why Michelle didn't stay with Dad this afternoon, and figuring out what to do with my inebriated buddy. I decide to put Dad to bed and get to the bottom of Drake's problems. Whatever happened in Virginia is sending him into a downward spiral. I cannot sit by and watch him ruin his life.
After two pots of bitter coffee, Drake finally confessed the intimate details of his argument with Rebecca, and the fear of his frequent nightmares. He's still traumatized by the horrors we witnessed in Iraq, and he started drinking to dull the constant pain.
I feel compassion for him. Every member of the squad still feels the lingering effects of treating wounded soldiers day after day. He asks me to keep quiet about his struggles and not tell the other guys he's in town.
Matthis is seeing a therapist at the Rehab Center. Perhaps Drake would be open to starting therapy or attending A.A. He's needs professional help and support from his friends. I'm glad he's here.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next day flies by at work, my focus on point despite my rising panic about Michelle's radio silence. I called Dad a few hours ago, and he said she was there. Does she regret sleeping with me? Is she conflicted about taking care of Dad and dating me at the same time?
I'm dangerously close to knocking on her apartment door and demanding answers, but that would be crossing the line of respect. Dad will be waiting for dinner when I get home anyway. Tomorrow I will get some answers, even if I have to leave early.
"We're going to work out," I tell Dad after cleaning up the dishes. He didn't finish his meal of macaroni hot dish tonight. He told me it was because I don't make it as delicious as Michelle. Ouch.
He's absolutely right. Michelle has brought a renewed sense of hope and life to both of us. Why she suddenly checked out on our blossoming relationship is eating me alive. I'll channel my energy into the weights and do my best not to assume the worst.
Drake and I pull into the parking lot, and I see Michelle walking out the door to her car. I pull the clunky jeep alongside her and quickly step out. She's looking at me with concern. Suddenly shame washes across her fallen eyes as she looks over at Drake. What the fuck is going on!
"Michelle, what's wrong? I've been worried about you. Why haven't you returned my calls?" She's trying to get into her car, but I step against the driver's door to prevent her escape.
'Nothing, Everett. I've just had a lot on my mind. I'm sorry I worried you." She can barely look at me, and her words are insincere.
I glance over at Drake, and he's watching intently, embarrassed eyes staring at Michelle. Oh my God. Did they sleep together?
"Jesus, Michelle, please, talk to me. Did something happen between you and Drake yesterday? Please, just be honest with me, I deserve that much courtesy."
Now I've made her cry as tears form in her eyes. The light bulbs suddenly blink on as I recall how drunk Drake was when I got home yesterday.
"Did he make a pass at you, Michelle? Did he hurt you?" I take her face tenderly in my hands. She's looking to me for safety, and she finally tells me the truth.
"He came on to me yesterday afternoon. He was drunk, nothing happened. I didn't want to hurt you; he promised me it would never happen again. I'm sorry, Everett, I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner."
My hands instantly drop from her face as anger bursts through my clenching fists. I look over at Drake's pitiful face. He's not even attempting to deny the accusations, and he sure as hell doesn't look sorry. He looks lost. I walk around the jeep and punch him squarely on the jaw, sending him stumbling back a few paces.
"Stop!" Michelle cries out, my fists ready for a second swing until I look back at her scared expression. Drake is quiet as I watch my girl jump in her car and drive hurriedly away.
I unleash a torrent of hurtful words on Drake, unable to contain my animosity.
"I took you in when you had nowhere else to go, and this is how you repay me? By hitting on my girlfriend? No wonder you got kicked out of your apartment in Virginia. What the hell, Drake! We may be brothers, but you've crossed the line of decency." At least he's man enough to stand here and accept my harsh judgments.
"You can stay the night, but I want you gone tomorrow by the time I get home. If you want to destroy your own life go ahead, but I will not stand by and let you destroy mine." Judging from the hurtful look in Michelle's eyes, I've managed to do a fine job of that all by myself.
***
I didn't say goodbye to Drake when I left for work this morni
ng. Dad refused to eat breakfast, adding to the list of stressors I've accumulated in the last few days. I'll stop by the florist on my way home today and buy a large bouquet of flowers to give Michelle.
She was so sweet, trying to protect my feelings. I see myself creating a life-long relationship with her, and I want her to know she can tell me anything. I'm supposed to be her rock and her foundation, not the other way around.
Drake, on the other hand, is a royal jerk for hitting on my woman. If he stays in town, I'll get him to A.A. meetings. He needs professional help. Now that I've had a night to sleep on yesterday's events, I realize I cannot abandon him in his time of need, no matter how uncool his actions were. His name pops up on my cell phone. What now?
"Everett," he says, sounding out of breath as I hear sirens in the background.
"Your Dad just had a mild stroke. Emergency services are here. I gave him CPR, and he's responding to my commands. I'll go with him in the ambulance. Meet us at Mercy General."
My shaking hands rub across my face as my hand drops the phone. It's all my fault. Dad was off the last few days, and I wasn't paying enough attention to catch the early warning signs. I was so damn caught up in my own selfish life I failed to detect this attack before it struck.
I lashed out harshly at Drake, and I scared Michelle with my hateful words and physical actions towards him. Unfortunately, my self-loathing and pity will have to wait. I grab my keys, hollering at Jackson where I'm going on the way out the lab door. Oh God. If I'm too late, I'll never forgive myself.
I'm rushing down the hallway towards E.R. as I spot Drake talking to a doctor. "You saved his life; thank God you were there. We'll let you know as soon as he's stabilized." The emergency physician walks back through the cold double doors as I stand stock still. I'm unable to speak, realizing my Dad would have died if not for Drake's immediate intervention. When lives were on the line in Iraq, we've always been able to count on each other. Today is no exception.
CHAPTER EIGHT
He hugs me tightly, like a brother, understanding how I feel. "He'll be alright, Everett. He only had mild symptoms of confusion and tingling in his legs. We caught it early, and there's no reason to believe he won't make a full recovery."
Tears form in my eyes as we step back. "I'm sorry I came on to Michelle, and I'm sorry I dumped all of my problems in your lap. If you want me out by tonight, I'll go. I don't want to leave, though, with any bad blood between us. You're a good man, Everett. You deserve all of the happiness in the world."
We walk over to a quiet corner of the waiting room, and I collapse in the chair from this morning's dramatic events. Drake grabs us a couple cups of coffee, and I sit quietly, contemplating the people in my life who've backed me up in my time of need.
"If you agree to attend A.A. meetings, I want you to stay, Drake. Part of our agreement is also coming with me for beers Thursday night, minus the beers. The squad will be overjoyed to see you're alright, Matthis especially. He'll never admit it, but he's been worried about you like a mother. I'll support you in re-establishing your roots here in Fort Bragg. We'll all support you."
"Thank you," he says, winking curiously at me before excusing himself to the restroom.
A ray of sunshine comes rushing through the door, red hair flying across a panicked face. "Everett!" she calls out, jumping into my arms as soon as she's near.
"Is he alright? Is he going to be alright?" Her vulnerable tear-stained eyes look to me for reassurance, our bodies melting into each other's warm embrace.
"I think so. We're waiting for the doctor's evaluation. Thank God Drake was there and caught the early warning signs of a stroke." I press her head against my chest, inhaling her calming scent of rose."
I pull back, brushing my thumbs across her open lips. "How did you find out?" I ask, her fingers rubbing away the tension in my neck.
"Drake called me as soon as you arrived here at the hospital. I'm so sorry, Everett. I left early the other day, and I wasn't there to watch over him. He has to be alright, Everett. He has to."
"Shh," I soothe into her ear. "None of us could have seen this coming, not me and not you. You've been nothing but a blessing in our lives, and I'm eternally thankful you've given my father compassion and care."
The minutes tick by as we wait in the lobby, the three of us chatting mindlessly about sports and the weather. "Mr. Peterson," a doctor calls out. We rush over to learn Dad's condition.
I shake his hand, and he begins reviewing Dad's vital statistics and findings from the bloodwork. "His stroke was extremely mild, and he was admitted right away. I see no reason why he won't make a full recovery. You'll need to speak with his primary care physician to discuss medication changes. If he remains in stable condition overnight, he can go home tomorrow."
"Thank you, Doctor," I say, pulling Michelle into a comforting embrace.
"See, I told you he would be alright," I smile down at her, the release of stress palpable between us all.
"He was mad last night because my macaroni hot dish doesn't taste nearly as good as yours. Maybe I could persuade you to make us a batch tomorrow."
"Anything for you two," she says, kissing me softly and mending my broken heart.
"Thank you again, Drake, for saving Dad's life." We shake hands, and Drake says he'll take care of feeding Barney tonight, making another joke about how even the dog wouldn't eat that meat and pasta stuff.
The nurse on call allows us to visit Dad a few hours later, Michelle calling in a favor since she's not a relative. That fact needs to change.
"You gave us quite a scare, Dad, how are you feeling?"
"Good enough to go home, son, can't you bust me out of here?" We chuckle at his upbeat tone. Hearing him laugh is the best medicine.
"Tomorrow, Dad, tomorrow. Is there anything you need before we go?"
Michelle has been holding his hand the entire time we've been in the room, breaking down my emotional fortress's final walls.
"Get the girl, son. That's what I told you the first day we met Miss Cummings. I'm not going anywhere, so now is your chance. I'll see you tomorrow morning at twelve hundred sharp, soldier. Dismissed."
"See you in the morning, Dad." Michelle's grin is radiant as we walk into the elevator, and I press the parking garage button.
"So, it seems like your Dad had us set up from the very beginning. Smart man." She presses her sexy body against my chest and weaves her sultry arms around my neck.
"Indeed," I breathe against her lips, pouring my flowing emotions into her mouth with an intoxicating mixture of tenderness and force.
The elevator doors ping open, and I walk her to her car, opening the door. "I'll follow you," I say, giving her once last lingering taste of my commitment. "Anywhere."
Her enchanted mouth bursts into a seductive inviting grin. "Hurry," she breathes, starting her Toyota 4 Runner and pulling away. What could have been one of the worst days of my life is turning out to be one of the best. I'm inexorably in love with nurse Michelle.
CHAPTER NINE
"Michelle," I say, forcing my mouth from her lips as we enter the apartment. "I need to apologize to you for my actions at the gym." She reluctantly agrees and closes the door behind us.
"My anger and frustration levels were high when I saw you walking out the door. I was distraught that you might no longer want to date me. I was also blindsided and torn up inside about Drake's personal problems. When I realized he'd inappropriately kissed you, I lost all self-control."
I need a moment to breathe, the words rushing out in a torrent. Michelle leads us to the quilted grey couch and curls her legs under her knees. The kind look on her face is open and receptive; her baby-soft hands gently massaging my neck.
"I apologize for being unable to control my anger, and that I chose to punch Drake in front of you. I failed to warn you he was staying with me, though I never foresaw him turning to alcohol as a means of escape. I'm sorry I placed you in a toxic environment, Michelle. Will you forgive me?"
>
Her body has already said yes, long, lean legs untangled and repositioned in a sexy straddle. She's brushing her lips along mine, teasing me. I don't remember what I just said.
"I forgive you, Everett, and thank you for the apology. Would you have still hit Drake if I wasn't there?" Her tongue is gliding along my earlobe, her hands falling along my thumping chest.
"Yes. I will protect your honor, always. He deserved the punch, and he took it like a man. Brothers fight and make up." My pent-up desire for this beautiful woman is morphing into frantic need.
"Let's fight and make up," she says in a breathy whisper, "I want to feel your unrestrained passion. Even though I stormed off that night, your noble behavior stoked my sexual fire. I masturbated when I got home while imagining your explosive body inside mine."