The Lonely Hearts 06 The Grunt 2

by Latrivia S. Nelson

  Courtney caught the box and gaffed. “Mom, this is Chanel No. 5. This is really expensive…like $2,000 a bottle.”

  Diane winked. “Well, dear, when you’re my age, you only wear the best. Now, put a little behind the ears, wrists and knees…or the most likely places he’ll put his nose.”

  Courtney shook her head. “You and dad are some real freaks, aren’t you?”

  “A woman should never tell,” her mother said, patting the rollers in her hair.

  “Will you be fine with the babies?” Courtney asked looking over at the children curled up quietly in the bed sleeping peacefully.

  “I’ll be just fine. Now hurry, girl. Your husband is waiting,” Diane said, getting back in the bed, “and I’m exhausted.”

  ***

  Dressed in a blood red, ankle-length t-shirt dress that showed off her voluptuous shape and engorged breasts, paired with yellow sandals and yellow earrings to mirror the colors of the Marine Corps, Courtney quietly followed Brett’s nurse up a back staircase to the floor where Brett was being treated.

  “Are you going to stay all night?” the nurse asked, looking back at Courtney as she opened the door for her to the unit. Cool air hit both of their faces from the climate-controlled building, which was a drastic change from the heat outside. The nurse hated to stare, but Mrs. Black was very pretty, not to mention in that killer dress, she stuck out like a sore thumb. It’s no wonder the man couldn’t sleep. She wouldn’t have minded her son bringing home a pretty girl like that – polished, pretty, presentable even in the middle of the night.

  “Can I stay all night?” Courtney asked, pulling her small Coach purse up on her shoulder.

  “You’re his wife. Sure, you can. I’m his nurse for tonight. I’ll come by and check on him as needed, but if the doctor should make his rounds, just tell him that you’ve already checked in. Trust me. He won’t make a fuss. It happens all the time.” She stopped abruptly at door 415, turned and smiled. “He’s right inside waiting for you.” The nurse wouldn’t get into all the prep work he had put her through, including helping him clean his undercarriage, teeth and ears, like he was preparing for an inspection.

  Courtney looked at the door and then back at the nurse. She shrugged. “I’m nervous.”

  “So is he,” the nurse reassured, grabbing Courtney’s hand. “You both will be fine.”

  Courtney nodded and then reached out and hugged her. She knew it wasn’t exactly PC, but neither was sneaking in a woman in the middle of the night into a secure Naval facility. “I can’t thank you enough. I know that you didn’t have to do this. You don’t even know us.”

  The nurse patted Courtney’s back. “Just take care of him.” Grabbing the door handle, she looked around. “Hurry inside before someone sees you.”

  The room was dark when Courtney stepped inside with only the lights from above Brett’s bed to illuminate it. Closing the door behind her, she cleared her throat. “Brett, are you in here, baby?” Her voice carried in the small room. She hoped that she wasn’t waking anyone up. Did he have a roommate? Had he fallen back to sleep?

  “Yeah,” he said quickly, pulling his gown down over his bruised knees. “I’m here,” he answered.

  She poked her head around the corner hesitantly and gazed intently across the room at the man she called her husband. So close, yet so unrecognizable. He left a whole man; he returned something else – not necessarily something less, but definitely something different.

  Brett watched her emerge slowly into view. Could it be that she had gotten more beautiful since the last time that he saw her? He blinked hard and tried to push himself up.

  Walking slowly, almost staggering to the bed, she pulled off her purse and set it on the nightstand without thought. Her eyes slowly trailed up his body, accessing his physical state. Shaking her head finally, she lifted a brow and locked eyes on him. “Wow,” she said in a low, solemn voice.

  “I know,” Brett said, feeling worse. God, what she must think of how he looked all hooked up to monitors, and black and blue. It was at that moment that he knew that he had not given up. Seeing his wife, his future, and his life right in front of him made him know that there was so much of life left to live, and it was his duty to live it. It was his duty to provide her with everything that he always promised himself that he would. His precious angel…his Courtney. It all became clear what he was fighting for, not for king or country, but just to get back home to her.

  Courtney swallowed down her growing nervousness. Being Captain Obvious right now would add no levity to the situation, so she opted for something a little less expected. Twisting up her lip, she narrowed her eyes and clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Guess, I’m going to have to cancel those salsa lessons I signed us up for, huh? You sort of need two legs to do that, and by the looks of it, you’re short one.”

  Brett was taken aback. With his mouth gaped wide open, he looked up at her in total bafflement having first expected her to be melancholy and possibly dramatic about the entire situation, then he began to laugh. Despite the pain and emotional agony, he laughed. Despite his broken ribs, fractured leg and concussion, he just kept laughing, and she laughed with him until she couldn’t laugh anymore.

  “Owww,” he said, grabbing his ribs as he chuckled and holding up a finger toward her. “Don’t make me laugh…it hurts,” he said, breathing deep for air. Still, he laughed.

  Everyone on the base had been so serious, so attentive, and so professional. No one had cracked a joke or even thought about making fun of him. Her attempt at humor was a breath of fresh air and a much needed change from the last couple of days.

  Courtney laughed too, until she began to cry. She tried to hide her tears, but they rushed over her face like a waterfall. It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy to see him. Words could not express her elation to actually know that he was alive. However, his physical state was another discussion all together. He was all rigged up on the bed with monitors and chords attached to his body. His face was black and blue, swollen and scarred as were his hands and a cast was on his right leg. His head was bandaged as well as his shoulder. She had to stop accessing the damage in order to stop the tears.

  She had tried to be funny, and it had worked, but the more that she laughed, the more that she realized that it was only through God that he had returned to her and his wounds were evidence of that fact. She wasn’t sure if the tears were joy or sorrow, but either way, she couldn’t stop them.

  “Baby,” Brett said, reaching for her with his good left hand. “Don’t do that, now.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, covering her mouth with her hands as she shook her head emphatically. “I just…” She stopped and tried to take a deep breath. The words left her, even though she wanted to reassure him. It was just so hard to do at that moment.

  “It’s okay,” Brett said, pulling her closer to him. His long eyelashes flapped like wings against his piercing blue eyes. “Hey,” he cooed at her, tickling her side with his fingers. “Hey, Cort. I’m okay. I promise.”

  She gripped the cool rail of the bed and leaned over near him. Her long brown hair fell down on his shoulder, as they looked each other in the eyes. It was then that she noticed he had a deep, dark tan from being in the sun for long months. Despite his injuries, he was still ruggedly beautiful. His dusty blonde hair, his full, wide heart-shaped lips and ice white teeth, the strength of his square jaw and thick intense brows, the way he bit his lip when he was emotional and swallowed hard when he wanted to kiss her.

  “I’m going to take care of you,” Courtney whispered, inches from his face. Her sweet tears fell down in between her bosom. “Everything you need to get better, I’ll provide. You are not alone.” She hated to sound like words ripped out of a poorly formed poem, but as clumsy as they were, there were no truer words spoken.

  Brett pushed back his own tears by blinking quickly, causing the chain reaction of lower-lip biting. He knew his tale sign was giving him away. Through a nasally sigh
, he tapped her hand. “And I’m going to take care of you back,” Brett whispered.

  They rested their foreheads against each other and took in the moment.

  Courtney had seen her husband vulnerable before – when he found out his late wife left him, when he found out his late wife died in a plane crash, when he found out Cameron was not his biological son, when her father and brother chose not to accept him as her lover because he was a white non-commissioned officer – but never had she seen him this vulnerable. Maybe it was the hospital gown, or the injuries or just the idea that he would have to depend on someone else for a while until he got on his feet, but she could feel his sudden helplessness and she wanted nothing more than make him feel protected.

  “I feel like I’m seeing you for the first time,” he said, touching her face. Courtney was absolutely breathtaking. Dark perfect skin. Dimples in her cheeks. Heart shaped chocolate lips. Natural, thick curly hair. Hazel eyes. A body to die for. He could go on and on about how beautiful she was. He loved that she didn’t let her beauty define who she was and that was even sexier.

  “You know, I think the scars actually make you look even sexier,” she flirted with pouty lips, tracing his face with her fingers. The touch of her skin against his made his eyes close.

  “Do you know how long I’ve waited to feel those fingers on me?” he asked.

  “On your face?” Her cheekiness starting to show its edges.

  Brett’s eyes flashed open and rolled. “Other places too.”

  Courtney giggled. He had to be okay; he still had his sense of humor.

  “I love to see you smile,” he said, shaking his head. “There is nothing like it.”

  Moving her hair out of her face, he slipped his fingers behind her neck and pulled her carefully into him. “Can I kiss you?” he asked.

  Courtney wasn’t used to such a humble request. Brett always took what he wanted, especially in that department. “What makes you think you have to ask?” as her heart lurched for him. Please kiss me, she thought.

  He raised a brow and shrugged. “I sort of look like the elephant man right now, so it’s more like a pity kiss anyway.”

  “You look amazing,” Courtney reassured. Dipping into him, she kissed his lips slowly, tasting the mint of newly brushed teeth and tingling mouthwash. His lips were sweet to the taste, soft and fleshy.

  Slowly, they fell into their rhythm, a synchronic flow of give and take.

  He inhaled her scent, feeling himself forgetting his injuries and moving toward that ramping sexual need that had long gone unsated inside of him. If he could have, he would have pulled her over onto the bed and slipped that sexy little t-shirt dress right up past her shapely hips. Mmm. How he wanted to be inside of his wife again, to feel her body tighten around his as he entered her.

  Their kisses became heavier, longer, filled with more passion. The echo of their lips against each other filled the dim room. Carefully, she ran her fingers down the front of his gown and slipped them in between his legs.

  Pulling back a minute, Brett exhaled. “I want you so fucking bad.”

  Courtney licked her lips and ran a finger behind her ear to push back wild strands of hair. She was desperate for him, aching in fact, just because of one little kiss. Brett bit his lip and slipped a hand over her breast, teasing her rigid nipple. He amused himself with the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

  “Does all of you hurt?” she asked, looking down at his mighty steel erection pushing up his nightgown like a tent.

  Brett looked down at his hard on and back at Courtney. “Feel like getting a little creative?” he asked, ignoring the low throbbing pain in his leg. Screw his leg. They could cut it off right now if they needed to, he just wanted some alone time with this wife.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Courtney said, reaching over him to turn off the light.

  Not even 30 seconds later, Brett let out a painful groan.

  “What’s wrong?” Courtney asked, reaching above him to flick the light back on.

  Brett moved her head and mocked a cry. “It hurts,” he said, completely defeated.

  Courtney chuckled. Her mother was right. All he needed was one opportunity. “Oh, baby. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

  “I want to,” Brett huffed. “I really, really want to.” Nevertheless, in his mind, he knew it was a bad idea. Sure, his body said yes and was definitely responding to his drop-dead gorgeous wife, but his wounds were singing a different song. He had to heal first before he could do extracurricular activities. Still, he had to try. He had to say at least that he had attempted, otherwise, what kind of man would he be? There was a half-naked woman in his hospital room ready to pleasure him and all he could do was talk to her? What a crock!

  “There will be other nights,” she explained, pulling down his gown and trying very hard to ignore his erection. It seemed even bigger now that it had been months since they had been together. Her eyes shifted up to his face. “In fact, there will be a lifetime of other nights.”

  Brett was glad for her. He was glad that Courtney was his wife and not Amy. He was glad to have someone really give a damn about him, even if he was in the worst shape ever. With her, no matter what, there was no pressure…ever. She simply allowed him to be, and he knew what an unbelievable find she was. Strangely enough, it only made him want her even more.

  Down boy.

  Growling, he looked over at the window seat and smacked his lips. “Will you at least stay with me tonight? I don’t want you to leave me.”

  Courtney pulled up a chair right beside his bed and sat down in it. “I’ll be here until they send you home,” she promised.

  Chapter 6

  “The lie is a condition of life.”

  - Friedrich Nietzsch

  At dawn, Jeffery Lynn Lawless’ eyes flashed open abruptly. Lying on his back with the covers tucked perfectly around him, his arms flat beside him like anchors, and his head planted in the middle of his crisp white pillow, he looked up at the ceiling and began to count back from 60. Always 60.

  He needed at least one minute to adequately adjust from the dark, murky abyss of his past - painted in hauntingly realistic nightmares so vivid that he couldn’t tell the difference from dream state and reality - back to the normalcy of his current otherwise peaceful life. That one minute of brief mediation kept him from moving from a ghoulish nightmare to an embarrassing conscious flashback.

  Unfortunately, that kind of episode happened even more now that he was newly retired. The shrink said that it was because he had more time to think back on his life. He, however, felt that it was because he needed more to do than just mill around his house with his hands idle.

  Even after 30 damn years, the nightmares didn’t just stop the way that many had claimed they would. It was as if miraculously because of retirement he was supposed to get better, no matter the emotional wounds, no matter the young lives lost, no matter the time that could not be purchased or begged back. Lying naïve bastards. He still had evocative images that flooded his mind from the war back in Vietnam. Sometimes, he swore that he was right back in the country again as a young man with his friends and his enemies piled together in one big heaping shit storm. He wasn’t even going to get into all the things he had seen since then. It was enough to make a grown man cry. And sometimes, he did. But he refused to just give in.

  Giving in was a sign of weakness.

  Weakness was not a sign of valor.

  Valor was something that he held on to regardless of retirement. Otherwise, what would all the years that he had dedicated to something other than his family have been worth? That was a question for the ages, and he was too smart of a man to go looking for answers. He was too old and too tired. Besides, one thing he was not was a philosopher. He was no Gandhi, no Aristotle, and no Garvey. He was a Marine.

  He had, however, learned how to handle the dreams, instead of the other way around. Strangely enough, he had picked up this meditation method from some highly ed
ucated hippie on a plane once, when he was headed to Camp Pendleton to see his son, using a commercial airline. The hippie, who was no more than 30, was also some new-age doctor who probably only ate organic and shopped at one of those frou-frou grocery stores that Diane always wanted to go to.

  On the plane ride, Jeffery had fallen off to sleep and was experiencing a nightmare when the hippie doctor woke him up by placing his hand on his. At first touch, he was awake. Then he looked down at the man’s hand and then back at him to give him the “Don’t touch, don’t lose your hand” face when the man quickly explained that he recognized Jeffery’s symptoms.

  “All you need is 60 seconds after you wake to process what you have just experienced and move back into a calmer reality. But you have to give yourself at least 60 seconds,” the bearded man with a man-bun and glasses had explained.

  So, Jeffery did what the man suggested. Despite his feelings about hippies and their love-the-world theory on life, he tried the exercise and he’s been doing it ever since.

  And five, four, three, two, and one.

  He rose slowly from his slumber and stretched out his long body, relaxing tense up muscles as felt the smoothness of the sheets covering him. Rolling his neck, he took a deep breath and centered himself. Alas, he was back into his calm reality.

  It was a new day, plenty to…

  Wait. His head turned on a swivel. Where in the hell was Diane? She had promised him that she was going to come back after the kids had fallen off to sleep for a little alone time. Evidently, she had fallen off to sleep instead.