Alive Day: Homefront, Book 2

by Rebecca Crowley

  He arched questioning brows. “What?”

  “You’re different.”

  “From?”

  “Anyone else.”

  He propped one elbow on the back of the couch. “Are we talking about your ex-boyfriends?”

  “We’re talking about my type. You’re not it.”

  “Sorry.”

  She shook her head. “It’s a good thing. My type sucks.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Oh, you know.” She flapped a dismissive hand, ruing that she’d let the conversation take this personal turn. “I work in an academic medical environment, so there’s a high degree of arrogant self-belief and a low social-skill quotient. Sexually repressed geniuses trying to make up for all those frat parties they missed while they were cramming for the MCAT.”

  “Whereas I’m the idiot who signed up to dodge bullets?”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of your good manners and willingness to discuss topics other than your own achievements.”

  He clucked his tongue. “And here I thought you were only interested in my PT-honed physique.”

  “There is that.” She stroked one hand down the hard muscles in his arm. “But I look for other qualities too. Soft skills.”

  “I can be soft,” he murmured, brushing his lips over hers.

  And he was, trailing his thumb across her collarbone, ducking to kiss a path down her throat, raising his mouth to meet hers so faintly that her whole body tightened with anticipation of what these teasing caresses promised.

  Because he wasn’t soft, not really. He was all flat planes and dense fibers and bony ridges beneath her hands, which hurried to map as much of his masculine topography as she could reach. And despite its deliberate gentleness, his kiss wasn’t truly soft either. It was restrained but not yielding, and the pressure of his mouth, the thrust of his tongue, the pleased hum rumbling in his throat told her Ethan was a man who knew what he was doing. He was no fumbling lab technician or overeager grad student—he’d led men into battle, he’d survived countless firefights, and if the confident movement of his hand down her side was any indication, he was going to make her come until she thought she might never stop.

  Jake sighed disgustedly. “You’re not one of those girls that takes forever to come, are you? Because I don’t have all night and there’s no way I’m going down on you, so don’t even ask.”

  Mia wrenched out of Ethan’s grasp, slamming her hip against the end of the couch. She clung to the armrest, fighting to breathe through the receding flash of memory.

  Ethan’s palms were in the air. “Whatever I did, I’m so sorry.”

  The chilling nausea of the hideous recollection gave way to shamefaced horror that Ethan had witnessed her unprovoked freak-out. She willed on what was probably the least believable smile in the history of the universe.

  “What? You didn’t do anything—I think a mosquito followed us in and bit me.” She scooted back to where he sat, hoping the trembling in her limbs was in her mind and not visible.

  He watched her warily, and she brightened her voice to conceal the sinking of her heart. “Total mood-killer, I know. But it is getting late, so maybe I should head home.”

  I should’ve stayed there in the first place. I knew this would never work. Got carried away in the moment and look what happened as soon as I lost control of my thoughts? Better stick with the safe, un-distracting asshole doctors after all.

  Ethan tugged her hand into his lap and frowned down at it, threading his fingers through hers. He didn’t look remotely convinced and she bit her lower lip, nervous that she’d unwittingly given something away.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  She nodded. He rubbed his thumb over the heel of her hand and squeezed her much smaller palm.

  “Did someone…do something to you?”

  Her heart stopped beating for a full second, then stuttered back to life at a dizzying pace.

  “What?”

  His eyes were full of disbelief but his voice was gentle. “No one hurt you? Maybe took something without asking?”

  She could do nothing but stare at him, her jaw locked and her brain humming. How did he know? Should I tell him? Oh, God, it would feel so good to tell him…

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Okay. I guess I’m wrong.”

  “You are,” she retorted hotly, riding a wave of defensiveness that reared up to smother the single spark of hope at the opportunity to finally disclose her deepest shame.

  “All right, I misread the signs. I’m sorry.”

  “What signs?”

  “I just thought—look, it doesn’t matter. You said nothing happened and I’m backing off.”

  “Good. Because I’m pretty sure undiagnosed psychological issues isn’t a discussion topic you want to introduce.”

  She regretted the sharp, nasty words as soon as they left her mouth. Ethan snatched his hand away from hers.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know what it means.” She switched into the therapeutic tone she used in counseling sessions, even though its soothing notes bore no resemblance to the self-loathing burning up her cheeks.

  She reached for his hand, trying to draw him back in, but he was on his feet, glaring down at her from his substantial height.

  “Then say it. You think I’m crazy.”

  “Of course I don’t.”

  “I went through all that reentry counseling like I was supposed to, took the tests, filled in the paperwork, and the transition team cleared me without a word. I know I need to cut back on drinking, but I’m not any worse off than the other guys on that deployment.”

  “Maybe not, but you’re smart enough to self-assess and realize things have changed. Do you feel like life is harder to handle than it was before you went to Afghanistan? Have you had nightmares or flashbacks of your experiences there?”

  He shook his head and began to pace in front of the sofa. “I can’t believe this. I ask you out on a date and you turn it into a psychotherapy session.”

  She knew he was right, but she’d dropped too far behind her clinical, self-defensive shields to climb back out. She opened her mouth to protest but he halted abruptly, his expression so heavy with desolation it seemed to pin her to her seat.

  “Is this all about your research? Am I just another case study? Kisses for access, is that how you operate? I don’t think you understand how much it took for me to invite you here tonight, how significant this is, how much I like you and—”

  “I like you too, Ethan.” She squeezed her eyes shut to imprison the welling tears, but when she spoke again her broken whisper gave her away. “I really, really do.”

  “So tell me what happened to make you so afraid, and I’ll tell you about the nightmares that make me scared to fall asleep,” he urged, crouching in front of her. “If we trust each other, maybe we can both move forward.”

  His palm covered her knee. His hand was warm and solid, his grip reassuring, and his Carolina-blue eyes were so clear she understood exactly why men followed him into dangerous combat and then refused to hold him accountable for the casualties that resulted. There was something innately honest about Ethan, the sense that he’d always give you the truth no matter how ugly. It was there in his touch, in his hopeful half-smile, and she knew with absolute certainty that she was safe with him. He wouldn’t hurt her, and he wouldn’t let her do anything to hurt herself.

  This was her chance. She was with the first man she’d ever felt compelled to open up to, a man who respected her and with whom she felt safe, who’d seen straight through to the pain throbbing in her core and hadn’t flinched. A man ready to face his own wounds with far more bravery than she’d mustered in the last decade.

  The words were all there, poised to gush from her lips, spilling with them the cumbersome guilt and humiliation that had sloshed in her heart for years.

  Why couldn’t she open her mouth?

  E
than squeezed her thigh encouragingly, but it was a futile gesture. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t take that leap, not tonight. Maybe not ever.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  She braced herself for a flash of frustration or disappointment on his part, but there was only patience as he straightened and resumed his seat beside her. His calm acceptance made her want to share her secret even more, but she knew that even if she found the courage, that moment was gone. Her chance had passed.

  “I should go,” she said softly, although she didn’t want to. She liked being here with him. The heat of his body, the faint rhythm of his breath, even the way the sofa cushion dipped under his weight was oddly comforting. She couldn’t believe she’d been so nervous about coming over. Ethan was no threat. He’d flung wide the door of her stupid, secretive prison and she’d slammed it shut in his face, dooming herself to unhappiness and isolation.

  He nodded. “I’ll walk you out.”

  Her whole body was numb and rigid as she followed him to the front door, her steps heavy, her feet barely leaving the ground. She tried to ignore the sexy breadth of his shoulders, the hands shoved into his pockets, the place where the tanned skin on the back of his neck gave way to close-cropped blond hair, but it was no use. By the time they were standing outside on the flagstones, the nighttime silence so complete even the crickets seemed to be waiting to see what happened next, it took everything she had not to fling her arms around him, hold tight to his broad chest and lose herself to that soft shirt and those steely muscles and that seductive juniper scent.

  Instead she muttered, “I had fun with you tonight. I’m sorry it couldn’t end differently.”

  “Maybe someday it will.” He took a step backward, toward the house and away from her. “If you change your mind, or if you ever just want someone to—”

  “I know where you live. I’ll see you around, Ethan.”

  He raised his palm in farewell. “Good night.”

  She kept her eyes on the grass as she plodded back to her half of the duplex. She didn’t turn around and she didn’t glance over her shoulder. She couldn’t bear to see what emotion flickered in his face, whether it was pity or regret or hot annoyance.

  Because if it was anything close to the longing pulling her lungs toward her toes, she knew she’d run back and hurl herself into his arms and tell him everything. In a heartbeat.

  Chapter Seven

  The cue ball cracked satisfyingly against its red-striped mate, knocking it into the corner pocket.

  “With respect, Captain, I’m pretty sure you’re cheating.”

  “And with respect, Sergeant McKinley, you suck at pool.”

  Ethan grinned at his scowling NCO as he rounded the corner, nodding to two guys watching their game. Fort Preston’s brand-new recreation center was a hangar-like building with an arcade, a bar, a café, banks of computers and a family-friendly restaurant distributed across open-plan zones. The Friday-night crowd was thickening rapidly and Ethan didn’t want to occupy the pool table much longer. A captain enjoying a quick game with his NCO was good public relations—an officer hogging a pool table was not.

  “Watkins told me Second Platoon had their last counseling session with that woman from the NIMH yesterday.”

  Ethan nodded, leaning down to set up his next shot. “The project ended this week. I have to admit, it seems to have done the guys some good. Jessop’s on time to formation every day, Watkins is more upbeat, and Hernandez is back to being an order-questioning pain in my ass.”

  “Someone has to object to all your shitty decisions.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “I guess you never heard from your neighbor again, huh?”

  Ethan squinted at the green-striped ball, angling the cue into position. His right hand was so steady these days, he was confident he could stack crystal figurines on glass shelves if he had to.

  “Stop trying to put me off my shot. It won’t work.”

  “I’m not. I was just wondering.”

  “Oh yeah? Why the sudden interest in my nonexistent love life?” He drew the cue back, poised to slam it home.

  “Because she’s standing over there.”

  He jerked the cue forward so sloppily that the white ball bounced up from the table, arced over the side and would’ve hit the floor if Chance hadn’t lunged to catch it.

  “Looks like it’s my turn,” Chance announced smugly, but Ethan barely heard him. His gaze was stuck on the dark-haired woman sliding onto a stool at the bar.

  Although they’d seen each other almost every day, they hadn’t exchanged a single word since that night a month earlier. She’d been on the brink of sharing something monumental with him that evening. He’d practically seen it bubbling up toward the surface, ready to boil over when the sight of her whole posture clamping shut was so painful he was certain a piece of his heart had been locked away with her secret.

  It was hard to avoid someone when you shared a wall, and after a couple days of awkwardly nodded hellos as they pulled up in their parallel driveways simultaneously, and stiff smiles as they dragged their trashcans down to the curb, Ethan decided that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He didn’t need another excuse to lose himself in war stories and whiskey bottles, so he tried to focus less on the sting of Mia’s withdrawal than on the accountability her presence next door demanded.

  When he came home after a stressful day and wanted nothing more than to numb the ache of home front life with most of a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, he reminded himself that Mia might come over, ready to talk or eager to see him or simply needing to borrow a ladder. So he resisted, and although she never appeared, each sober evening was easier than the one before.

  When the clock crept past midnight and the guilt at not going to bed collided with the fear of the nightmares he knew awaited him, he resisted the urge to prowl the backyard, checking for gaps in the fence, assuring himself the house was secure before he gave in to the vulnerability of sleep. Mia might be watching, and he knew his paranoia was irrational, just a useless ritual to postpone the inevitable. So he forced himself to face the confines of his house, to brush his teeth and close his book and turn off the light at a reasonable hour. The more he pushed himself, the less he had to.

  He hadn’t returned to any of Mia’s group sessions, but he had been to three appointments with one of the counselors at the hospital on post. Just in case she asked. So he had something to tell her.

  Except she hadn’t stopped by, or come to his office, or spoken a word that time they passed in the hallway. Now, as he watched her laugh at something her colleague said and raise her wine glass to the group toast, he wondered whether he’d imagined the whole thing. Maybe she hadn’t been on the verge of confessing some deep, dark secret. Maybe she just wanted to get out of his house.

  “Captain, you copy?”

  Ethan glanced over at Chance’s question. His NCO was gesturing to the pool table, where he’d failed to sink a ball.

  “Your turn.”

  He spread his right palm an inch above the green felt. Steady as a rock.

  “Once more unto the breach,” he muttered under his breath.

  “What did you say?”

  “I’m going over there.”

  Chance followed his gaze to the bar, his expression growing skeptical. “Can I ask why?”

  “To say hello. I realize being polite is an alien concept to you, but it’s still practiced in some parts of the world.”

  There was no humor in Chance’s reply. “She’s had plenty of time to get in touch with you. I think you should stay here and finish this game.”

  “I guess you don’t like her.”

  “I don’t like the way she left things.”

  “You weren’t even there.”

  “You talked about it so much I might as well have been.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. You’re okay, actually. More okay than I thought you’d be.” Chance sighed heavily. “
Go if you want. I’ve got your six.”

  Ethan smiled, touched by his friend’s concern—not that he’d ever admit it. “Don’t cheat.”

  “No promises.”

  Ethan edged through the growing crowd to the bar. Mia was in the center of a group of people he assumed were her colleagues. The mood was celebratory, and it occurred to him that they were probably marking the end of their time at Fort Preston. Labor Day was last Monday, and as he counted backward he realized it had been almost exactly ten weeks since the Fourth of July.

  He quickened his pace as if that could bring back some of the time he’d lost. He hadn’t thought about Mia’s short tenure on post—he hadn’t considered how soon she’d be gone.

  Propelled by a fresh sense of urgency, he maneuvered around a private ordering a table’s worth of beers and stopped at Mia’s side, putting his hand on her elbow.

  She jerked to face him with that same haunted look he’d seen before, the wide-eyed fear that was so automatic and deeply rooted she probably didn’t even register it. Her expression softened with recognition almost instantly, but not before that terrified flash had a chance to sear his heart.

  “Captain Fletcher, how are you?”

  “I’m good. Great, actually.” He smiled, willfully shaking off her use of his rank instead of his first name as he braced himself to share what he most wanted her to know. “I’ve had a couple of appointments with, you know, someone of your profession here on post. I’m better for it.”

  “That’s fantastic.” She gave his forearm a quick squeeze. “I’m proud of you.”

  “I have to admit, part of my willingness to go has to do with the changes I’ve seen in my troops. None of us are quite out of the woods yet, but I think we can finally see some light between the trees.”

  “It’s been an honor to work with Second Platoon. You’ve got some great guys in your command, and I was sorry to say goodbye to them yesterday.”

  “I guess I’ll be losing my neighbor soon.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  The word struck him as hard as that AK round in his helmet. “Tomorrow?”

  “Midday flight from Wichita to Chicago, then Chicago to DC.”