“Want something to drink?” Dad asked.
“Nah. I’m good.”
Dad settled into his easy chair and pulled up the footrest. Aaron sank onto the sectional couch.
Looking defensive, Dad asked, “Okay, what’s up? Your mother been giving away our secrets?”
“Yep. And I don’t blame her.”
“If you’re going to lecture me in some way, you can stop right there. I’m still your father.”
This is going to be a shitload of fun. Aaron flashed to a question in his own mind. What would Lana say to this man if he were her father? Aaron swallowed his pride, his ego, and plunged forward.
“No lectures. I’m just going to tell you some things I think you should know if you don’t already. You and I are a lot alike. Driven to succeed, hard working. That can be good, and it can be bad. You’ve got to slow down, Dad. You’ve got to take time off and learn somehow to relax.”
“My job is important to our well-being. I can’t just quit.”
“I get that. But you need to find some way to let go of the stress. If it isn’t going away, then you have to deal with it.”
“I thought you said this wasn’t a lecture.”
Aaron put his hands up. “Okay, okay. All I want here is for you to be all right. I’ve seen marines…” Aaron swallowed hard as he remembered Fillman. “Stress and trauma do a lot of things to a man. The way I am now is a direct result of those two things, Dad. I’m hanging on too tight. I have to learn to let it go.”
His father’s eyes cleared of anger into a sort of resignation. “You were in a war, I wasn’t.”
Aaron dredged up some patience. “Granted. Doesn’t mean you can’t get an ulcer from your work situation. It’s stressing out Mom too.”
His Dad’s mouth pinched into a tight line. “She wouldn’t leave me. We have lots of solid years behind us. You have no business getting in the middle of this.”
Anger started inside Aaron. “I’m a part of this family. So I’m in the middle of it, no matter what.” Aaron scrubbed one hand over his face. Way to go Aaron. Make a cluster fuck out of it. “Mom loves you. She isn’t saying these things to hurt you. I’m going to counseling for my issues. Maybe you and Mom should go to a combined grief counseling and marriage counseling.”
Dad’s mouth popped open. “You’re not serious?”
“Yeah, I am. What are you willing to do to deal with the grief over Craig and save your marriage, Dad?”
His father’s cheeks went red, and for a second Aaron thought his Dad would go supernova. “That’s none of your business.”
“Look, I wouldn’t normally butt in. And I never have before now. I just want you and Mom to be happy. Don’t throw away what you’ve got, Dad. You know your health has suffered because of this and Mom’s worried. I’m worried. Gina and Mandy are too.” Aaron threw his hands up. “Are we all just nuts here?”
“I’m not talking about my marriage with you.”
Anger brewed inside Aaron, but he drew in a deep breath and decided to come from a tougher, harder to swallow angle. “Okay, then. Talk to me about Craig.”
His Dad’s face paled. “Why?”
“Because I want to.” Aaron felt a sting of tears touch his eyes. Jesus. “Because I clammed up about him right after his funeral and never said anything about him again. Until Lana Burns and I started talking.”
“The woman from the group?”
“Yeah. We’ve been able to talk about a lot of things.”
“You’re involved with her.”
“Maybe…yeah. Sort of.”
“Which is it?”
Aaron’s exasperation popped a gasket. “Yes. I care about her a lot and she cares about me. We’re good friends. That’s all we are right now.” Liar.
“I see.”
“This isn’t about me and Lana. It’s about you and Mom and Craig.”
Dad leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “I suppose your Mom told you I won’t talk about Craig.”
“Mom isn’t lying. I know she wouldn’t.”
Dad threw Aaron a disgruntled expression. “She’s right. I haven’t talked about him. And I’m not going to now, either.”
Aaron drew in a slow breath. Lana would tell him he needed to just tell the truth. “I want to talk about him Dad. For me.”
Aaron’s father shifted, obviously uncomfortable. “All right.”
Encouraged, Aaron swallowed around the tightness in his chest. Now his father agreed, Aaron didn’t know what the hell to say. “We’re all hurting because Craig died way before his time. I know I still am, but I know I can move on. It’s what Craig would want.”
Dad cleared his throat. “I’m the parent. My pain is—”
“Worse. I know. Of course it would be. I think maybe the frantic way we work—you and I—is to shut out the pain of losing Craig. Slowing down means we have to feel…anything.” Aaron had an epiphany. “Seeing Fillman shoot himself in front of me was icing on the cake. The cake was losing the big brother who I looked up to, who had so much left to give in this world. The war was the crumbs. That’s what took me down and out and left me this way. But Craig wouldn’t want me to remain like this, Dad. He wouldn’t want your health to suffer because you’re grieving. Get some help. Talk to a professional. Talk to Mom. To me and the girls.”
To Aaron’s surprise, his father’s expression eased. It wasn’t a full-on agreement sort of expression, but the light had turned on and someone was home.
“All right. I’ll talk to your mother.”
Satisfaction flooded Aaron. At least Dad had agreed to something. “Good. I’m going to head out and give you guys some privacy.”
When Aaron left, he drove home and started cleaning his apartment. Then he turned on his desktop computer and looked at his long-neglected application for admittance into a Master’s Degree program. Time to take his own advice and work on getting a life. After the discussion with his father and cleaning the apartment, he really just wanted to drop, face-first, on the bed. Yeah, sport. It sucked the life outta ya. Not the housecleaning, but talking to his father. What would he have felt like if they’d discussed Craig in any detail? Like needles stuck in his eyes, probably. It chafed that he couldn’t get through an emotionally charged discussion without wanting to sleep. He’d walked miles in Afghanistan while on recon. Why the hell did talking about Craig make him such a pussy? So weak in the knees?
He rarely drank, but tonight he decided a glass of whiskey wouldn’t hurt. He went into the kitchen and found the unopened whiskey in a cabinet. The bottle had been there three years, a birthday gift from Cruz who couldn’t think of anything else to get. Cruz’s words went through Aaron’s head.
Drink it to celebrate something or to mourn something.
He quickly opened it, found a glass, and poured a couple fingers of whiskey. After one sip he carried the glass with him and headed to the computer and sat down. He stared at the glass in his hand for a full thirty seconds. Which was it? Celebration or mourning? Maybe both. Celebrating that he’d recognized the big event that had made him so damned fucked up. Fillman’s suicide. Mourning his fellow marine, and maybe his parents’ divorce if they couldn’t work shit out. If it was both, he might need two glasses of whiskey. He snorted a laugh and put the glass on a coaster.
Master’s Degree application or writing the freaking letter? Which one to start first? Get a life. How the hell did you survive a war when you can’t make a decision?
He turned on the desk lamp and fortified himself with a slow sip of the amber liquid. He put the glass down and stared at the drink. He could slam it down. Maybe it would make relaying this shit easier. Yeah, it probably would. But he’d never used alcohol as a crutch, and he sure as hell wouldn’t start now.
Fuck, who am I kidding? He was using it as a crutch right now. He stared at the blank screen, fingers over the keys. He hovered. He took another small sip of whiskey. Yeah, go girly on the whiskey until you can get this puppy written. In a flash of
clarity he understood if he didn’t write this with a clear mind, he wouldn’t tell the truth. He’d gloss it over. He’d pretend. He’d say what he thought others would want to hear. God forbid he freaking got dramatic.
Do the Masters application first. So he did.
He filled in the application and then started the process for having his Bachelor’s Degree transcripts sent to the program. Paperwork didn’t bother him. The military had improved his patience for filling out paperwork because God only knew the military loved freakin’ paperwork. He was refreshed and feeling good that he’d cleaned the house and was now working toward obtaining a Master’s Degree.
Finally he couldn’t avoid the letter.
He opened his word processing program. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He didn’t know where to start. He decided to just jump and allow a stream of thought to take over. Stream of thought was always more honest.
I seriously considered not writing this letter. The skeptical part of me says this is stupid. The marine in me demands I follow through and not give up. I’ve never been much of a touchy-feely man, so this experience…this whole group therapy thing, is like fingernails over a blackboard. I’ve finally discovered, as I write this letter, what my biggest problem is. The thing that fucked my shit up—
Nope. He couldn’t be that honest. He typed a new sentence.
The thing that broke me and made me crave the need to beat the man in the restaurant.
Tears welled in his eyes. Ah, shit. Okay, this was going to be hard. As gut-wrenching as anything he’d done. He thought of Lana and what she’d say. The comfort she’d give him as he wrote it. Maybe the big bad marine needed a modicum of help. His cell phone was on the charger on his desk, and he snapped it up. Without giving more thought, he called Lana. The phone rang twice before she picked up.
“Aaron.” Her voice held sweetness and welcome. “How are you?”
Oh, hell yeah. There was that soothing, sin-filled voice making him want to kiss her, to lay her down and make love to her for hours. He cleared his throat. “Am I interrupting anything?”
“I’m grading some papers. Nothing that can’t wait.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Aaron, you sound a little funny. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. Well, okay, that’s kinda a lie.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m sitting here trying to write this damned letter for therapy.”
“Oh.” The oh was filled with complete understanding. “It’s tough. I’ve already written mine, but I had to keep coming back to it. I wrote it yesterday.”
“I just got home and tried to start. I’ve written an entire paragraph.”
“Good. Don’t be hard on yourself.”
“I’m not sure I even understand how not to do that.”
“Start now.”
Longing hit him and tenderness hollowed out his gut. “You’re bossy, Miss Burns.”
She laughed softly. “Oh, I’m pretty good at telling other people what they need to do. Not always so good at taking my own advice.”
“Ditto.”
“Did something else happen today to make it worse?”
“Maybe. I visited with my parents today and some excrement has hit the fan.”
“Is your Dad all right?”
“He’s good. I guess the doctors think he didn’t do as much damage to his stomach as they first thought. But he’s on medication, and they’ve told him to lower his stress level or else.”
Another laugh came over the line. “Let me guess. He’s not listening.”
“Mom says he isn’t. She gave him an ultimatum.”
“Ultimatum? That doesn’t sound good.”
“She’s going to leave him if he doesn’t do something about his stress.”
“Oh, no. No.”
“Yeah.”
“That must feel…” She drifted off.
He filled in the blank. “It feels like if my parents’ divorce, that’ll be one more crack in the family. Craig dies, I get arrested, they get divorced. At this rate I’ll turn into a drama queen.”
She laughed, and this time it was full of volume. “Aaron, there is no way you could turn into a drama queen. You’re just human. Sometimes I think you forget.”
“Marines aren’t human, Lana. They’re marines.”
“Oh, please.”
“All right, I’m exaggerating. It’s just the training. Sometimes it bleeds over into the rest of our lives.”
“Of course it does. Transition to the civilian world from the military is hard enough, and then the experiences you had in war make it doubly hard to sort out. But you’re getting there just like all of us are. Step-by-step. The letter is just one more piece.”
“You’re right. As always.”
“What have you written so far?”
He read the short bit to her. “Maybe I should erase that.”
“Why? It’s what you feel, right?”
“Yep.”
“Then keep it. Write what you feel. All of it.”
“Is that what you did?” he asked.
“Yes. Wadded up a few tissues too.”
“I’m not going to cry.”
“Uh-huh. Well, even if you don’t, you might need a catharsis afterwards.”
“Such as?”
“Exercise? Have you exercised already today?”
He stared at the whiskey glass. “Yeah. But I could do some more.”
“Do you…do you want me to stay on the line while you type it?”
Oh, man. “Yeah. Would you mind?”
“No. Go ahead and put me on speaker and type away.”
So he did. One agonizing word at a time. He checked once in a while to make sure she was there.
“I’m still here. Grading papers,” she said once.
Soon the words wouldn’t stop coming and he typed faster and faster. One tear made a track down his face, but he wiped it away and cursed it internally. So he increased the speed of his typing. If he could get this bad boy written up quickly, he could ignore the tears now flowing steadily down his face. The typos were racking up, but he could fix those later. Finally, he stopped. There was no more to tell. No more. He stared at the black letters on the white screen, but couldn’t read a fuckin’ word. It was blurred.
“Aaron? I don’t hear typing. Are you done?”
“Yeah.” His voice was hoarse. Fuck that too. Another tear rolled down his face. “Shit.” Okay, so there went his vow not to curse in front of women. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Did you say all you needed to say?”
“I think so.”
“That’s wonderful.”
Her voice had turned even more soothing, a quality that wrapped around him.
“Lana Burns, you’re one hell of a therapist.”
“I was hoping I was one hell of a friend.”
He laughed and realized he wasn’t sad. Not one damned bit. It was if the dam had broken and washed away the sins, the gnawing hurt that had pawed away at him for ages.
“You’re amazing, Lana, that’s what you are. I’m getting a handle on this crap once and for all. I’m trying to decide whether to celebrate with this glass of whiskey on my desk. Like I said before, I’ve already exercised for the day.”
“I thought you exercised all the time.”
“I used to. Maybe I’m over that too.” He grinned. “It gets even better. I cleaned up this sorry excuse for an apartment.”
“Wow. I’ll have to see that.”
“I wish you would. Soon.”
Silence hung in the air for a moment before she said, “Maybe next week.”
He closed his eyes, and this time when the tears came, it was out of happiness.
“Aaron?”
“Yeah.”
“Drink the whiskey, marine. It’s time to celebrate.”
So he did.
Chapter 14
Lana pulled into the medical building parking lot very early Tuesda
y, and was surprised by the absence of the blue RAV. Not that she expected Aaron to be there—well, okay, she did. But not because he was required to be there early. At least Magnus wasn’t here either.
She felt good today, and even though she hadn’t talked to Aaron since Saturday, she’d taken the rest of the weekend to do some self-therapy. Driving around town. A lot. It had felt damned amazing to find the anxiety she used to experience hadn’t returned. Sometimes during the copious driving, she wished Aaron was beside her. Yet she didn’t want to use him, and she wouldn’t invite him along and use nervousness as an excuse.
No, if she missed him, if she wanted him with her, she’d just invite Aaron. She didn’t call him, aware she needed to keep more distance between them. She needed to think about their last time together, when she’d come within a hairsbreadth of sleeping with him. Yeah, that required considerably more reflection.
Yet the call from him on Saturday…oh, that had proven revealing. Comforting. She’d savored talking him through writing his letter. At one time she thought he cried, though he wouldn’t admit it. She hoped he’d allowed himself, as he wrote the words, to grieve and feel the pain. Being there for Aaron had lightened something within her. And made her want him more than ever. Because yes, she wanted him with a knee-weakening lust that was starting to nag.
She drew in a deep breath as she sat in the parking lot, wondering why he wasn’t early and waiting for her. Then she chastised herself. He shouldn’t have to be here for her, shouldn’t have to protect or think that he needed to assure her safety.
Get out of the car. So she did, heading straight to the therapy room.
Roxanne was the only one in the therapy room. At first glance the older woman bore a stiff, almost angry expression when she saw Lana. Roxanne’s hair was piled on her head, and she’d worn another one of those hippy chick tie-die maxi dresses. This dress had some yellow, tan, and putrid green in it. A holdover from popular seventies colors Lana didn’t appreciate. Normally the woman wore makeup, but today she’d skipped at least eye shadow and lipstick. She looked pale and used, as if she’d stayed up all night battling nightmares.
Roxanne’s expression cleared, and a small smile curved her lips. “Hello, Lana.”
Before There Was You Page 22