by Xavier Neal
I shrug. “I wasn't.”
“Oh really? So the soft moaning of a sex dream wasn't about her?” my eyes narrow quickly. Jazz simply sighs, “Glove maybe?” I roll my eyes and my head to look out the window. I don't have the energy to deal with this. With her. With thoughts of her. Being out in the field left no room to wallow over the over dramatic bullshit between us at home. It left me to reprogram my thoughts where they needed to be. Where they belonged. Serving this country. Being the best fucking soldier I can be. “You wanna talk about it?”
“No.”
“Good. That means you're ready to listen,” she shuts the folder.
I can't take any more lectures about the situation. I want it over. I want to move past it. I want to forget it ever fucking happened. Honestly? I just want my girl back.
“She cheated. I get it. It's like the biggest crime in relationship humanity,” her mocking tone has my fist itching to plant itself firmly in something. I hate this subject. I hate fucking reliving it. “It's really not. She didn't sleep with someone else Grim. She didn't do to you what your other ex-girlfriend did.”
“How did you--”
“I'm really good at my job,” she cuts me off.
“My personal life is not your fucking job.”
“It is. All of you is my fucking job,” the correction causes me to let out a low growl. Before I can say another word she continues, “And get over yourself Grim. You're not fucking perfect. You've made mistakes. We all have. It's what being human is. More importantly, I need you to start thinking about the rest of your life like this.” Her voice lowers to damn near a whisper. “There's a reason there's no retirement plan for this. Death on the job is more than a possibility, it is a damn near guarantee. Knowing that, I mean really knowing that Grim, do you wanna waste more time in your life away from the only woman you're ever gonna love? Is it really worth it? Is it worth dying with a grudge on your shoulders and a heart filled with hate over something that's...fixable? Because if it's not, I suggest you fix it. And I mean really fix it.” My eyes glance away for a moment. “And Grim,” she yanks my attention back to her. “When you're ready to really fix it, just know, I'm here to help. I know a few people.”
Her cryptic words force my attention away again.
“Jazzabelle, how much longer until we're home?” Glove's head pops up over the seat in front of us, a long yawn following the sentence.
“You're gonna go home in a body bag if you call me that again,” she threatens and I hide a chuckle.
When Lordy's face appears over the seat I feel her readjust beside me. “Mornin',” his southern drawl is strongest when he's waking up. What sounds like a small whimper comes out of her.
“Morning,” she replies quickly trying to mask her last action by opening the paperwork back up in her lap.
“Seriously, how much longer until we're home? I need a hot shower and a hot girl under me,” Glove whines again before smirking like the asshole he sounds like.
I shake my head. It's good to know he'll never change.
“Debriefing first. Then you can unwind, but I suggest you keep your debauchery close to home. While we don't have a definite date for check in at this time, where we are with the situation could change quickly,” she explains. ”And unexpectedly.”
“Debauchery? Is like at archery? Because I like to shoot shit, but not with arrows. I mean I'm not Robin Hood.”
“Fucking really?” I snap at him.
Lordy chuckles and I can feel Jazz beside me tense up at the reaction. The same way she always does. It's just the slightest so I doubt he's noticed, but I have. I always notice. And it spells trouble. I don't think her being too close to me is what Shepard should worry about it.
“I can shoot a cross bow,” Lordy adds unnecessarily to the conversation.
“Wow,” I breathlessly whisper.
Jazz looks up. “I knew your vocab was limited to small words, but since it was one related to sex and alcohol I figured you knew.”
“Is it a word that would only be found in one of your girly novels with the man nipple on the front?”
“Why do you notice the man nipple?” I question.
“Because it's there! In your face! And just like BAM! NIPPLE!” Glove says loudly.
Lordy elbows him immediately, “You can't say nipple on a plane like that.”
“What's wrong the word nipple?”
“What is wrong with you?” I shake my head again.
Jazz just snickers under her breath before fussing. “Oh calm down gentlemen. Though please refrain from saying the word nipple so loudly. Anyway, debauchery is like drunken fun Glove. Put that in your word bank to use to impress the ladies.”
“See,” he slaps Lordy on the arm. “That's what a good wing man is supposed to do! Help fly me closer to tail. Speaking of, Grim you coming out with us tonight? There's this hot little number who has a thing for men in the military. Free drinks most of the night.”
My face has the urge to smile. We've been here. I've done this. I've done this enough times in the past. I did it to keep running. To keep the hell out of the way of my past. To keep all the fucking emotions people deal with stacked neatly in the back corner of my mind. And now...dealing with all of it seems to be the only thing I want to do. That I need to do.
“Nah. I'm gonna go home and catch up with my family.”
“Words I never thought Grim would say,” Lordy lets out a chuckle of disbelief.
“That makes two of us,” I grumble back and turn my attention out the window.
***
Arriving home to an empty house I take a long deep breath of relief. This is the first time I've been home and alone. My eyes roam over the couch that I've been sleeping on, the whiskey glass from my father still on the coffee table. I notice the bar table where we eat has a vase full of fresh sunflowers. I continue looking around at the little touches of Haven everywhere. Framed photos of my father. Of him and I together. The neighborhood. Me and her. The entire place clean and tidy, obviously from more than the maid. My heart pulls at how much I appreciate the simple differences. Appreciate how she's turned this place back into a home. My home. Our home. I head up the stairs and straight to the bathroom I still share with Haven.
Underneath the hot water I lean my back against the tiles, the scalding water racing down the front of my chest. My shoulders. My face. The scars and tattoos alike being washed clean. I shut my eyes tightly. How much more can I take? How much more of burying shit before there's nowhere left to bury it? How much more before it starts seeping into what I do for a living? What happens when all the shit I've been denying for years, appears at the worst fucking time possible? What happens if I can't get my mind focused behind that sniper rifle? That puts everyone's fucking life on the line. I let out another deep breath, scrub down, and hop out as the water finally starts to cool down.
I swing by the room I once shared with Haven to grab a change of clothes. The dresser top is a mix of novels, make up, and more framed photos. There's one of her and my father. One of her and Mindy. One with her and Mandy. She's got a smile in every shot that looks genuine. With a short smirk now on my own face, I grab a pair of sweat pants and slip them on. I turn to grab a long sleeve shirt from the closest when I stop mid motion observing the way our clothes that were once divided are mixed together. Seeing them together the way we should be, the way I want us, has me backing up to the edge of the bed where I let my slightly damp body fall. Fuck. Should it be this hard to forgive someone? I didn't fucking forgive my father for over a decade. But is it even fucking worth it anymore? My eyes wander over to a framed photo on the bed side, hidden behind an Angie Merriam novel and The Bell Jar. Grabbing it, my heart shoves its way up my esophagus at the photo of myself. The one Glove gave her for her first birthday with me. The words he said suddenly echoing all around, sending my head into a chaos I'm not sure I have the strength to handle. I put the photo back and swing my legs over so I'm laying on the bed. The bed that should b
e home to both of us. The bed I haven't slept in, in way too long. My hands fold behind my head as I let my eyes close for a second, the smell of my own cologne flooding my nose. Why the hell does the bed smell like me if I haven't been in it? With another centering breath I try to let my mind calm down for a minute. To just breathe. To focus on the sanity that has been lost inside.
“Slugger,” my mother's voice whispers stroking my cheek. “Slugger....”
I groan and force an eye open to see her smiling. Big. Cheerful. She's so pretty.
“Time to get up.” her voice softly says. I shut my eye back closed. Nope. Don't wanna. “What's the matter Slugger? You haven't been this tired in a long time.” Her hand touches my forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Tired,” I yawn and open both eyes this time.
“Practice getting to you?” she folds her hands in her lap. “You looked like you were overworking yourself out there. Pushing yourself maybe a little too hard?”
“I wanna be the best mom.”
“You're already really good.”
“But that's not the same as being the best. I wanna be number 1. I wanna be the champion. I want you to be proud of me. I want dad to see a trophy and know I'm really good.” No. He may not be around, but if he saw a trophy he would know. He would have proof that I really am good at baseball. That he is missing something awesome while being away.
“Oh Slugger,” she touches my cheek again. “You're father knows how good you are. He's been to games--”
“Not many.”
“He's seen the videos. He knows Slugger. And I'm already proud of you, whether you are number 1 or number 27. You're my son. I'll always be proud of you. You'll always be the best to me. And baby, that's all that should matter. And you should know you'll always be the best to those who love you. No one's perfect babe. Not even you.”
I smile at her. “You're perfect.”
Giggling she shakes her head, leaning down to hug me, “Oh Slugger. Far from it.”
The warm feeling of her body next to mine makes me smile and sigh like its okay to be in my own skin. She's always made me feel that way. I squeeze her tighter and suddenly a smell that's not hers fills the air. It's sweet. A touch of lemon. My eyes open again and I see Haven laying beside me, my arm draped around her stomach, the most beautiful optimistic look on her glowing face. Her bright brown eyes flicker at me with a similar optimism that her face has. It's beautiful. She's beautiful. Fuck. I've missed this girl. I grip her tighter to me.
Haven swivels her head so her eyes fall into mine, one hand fiddling with her tags on her chest. After a moment she lets out a deep sigh, “I really hate to have to say this, but we have to get up.”
My body's reaction to being so close to her has me groaning. I shift so my cock doesn't knock against her. Fucking bastard. Just because she's within reach doesn't mean you're gonna be in her.
When her fingertips lightly trail up my arm, I don't know whose breath hitches first, but I know that this is what I want. What I need. My new lifeline. And that's fucking terrifying. Being open is fucking terrifying. Why do I suddenly feel like such a pussy all the goddamn time?
“Dinner's on the table. And Whiskey's waiting for us,” her voice whispers out.
“Right.” I let my thumb caress her sweater covered side once more before letting her go.
Rolling over the opposite direction out of bed, Haven's voice stops me mid- stretch. “Clint?”
“Yeah?” I ask watching her eyes admire my body for the first time in months. The way she's looking at me is nothing short of the fucking sexiest thing I've ever seen. Her tongue touching her lips has my dick trying to rise again. Can't fucking blame her for looking at me just like I am looking at her. I clear my throat in hopes she will stop giving me that look that has me desperate to put her back in the sheets and mark her as my girl all over again.
“Where are your tags?”
I know I can't wear them in the field any more. They'll always matter to me, even when I can't wear them. No, I'm technically not a Marine any more. I'm a Jacket now and we don't come with tags. We're barely known as existing. But once a Marine always a Marine, no matter the slight unit shift. Uncomfortable, I scratch the back of my neck but don't reply.
“Right...” she answers sliding her hands in the back pocket of her jeans. “Need a shirt?”
“Please.” I answer. When she turns around I let my eyes stare at her gorgeous ass that is calling to my hands, causing them to finally twitch for a different reason. I try to change the subject, “What's for dinner?”
“Lasagna.” She tosses me a t-shirt.
The two of us relocate ourselves to the dinner table where Sir is sitting in front of a pre-made plate with a slightly unpleasant look on his face. Something tells me he's still not dealing well with only being able to use half of his body. We settle across from him and they immediately begin indulging in the food and a conversation about his physical therapy session. Dad complains about the exercises, but that's not what has my attention about what he's saying. It's the woman who has been helping him. He seems to get more frustrated every time he speaks about her. A fire in his eyes. One I've only seen once before. One I honestly never thought I'd see again. I push down the concern.
Taking another bite of the pasta, Haven changes subjects, attention now completely on me. “Is the lasagna okay? You haven't eaten much.”
I look down at the dinner I've barely touched. This is the most food I've seen in the past few days. But there's something about it that has my taste buds that should be starving, fighting back. It doesn't taste bad. It just...doesn't taste like Haven's work.
“Yeah,” I clear my throat, reaching for my water glass. “New recipe?”
“Kind of,” she shoots my father a glance before continuing. “I um...Well I found a box of old recipes from your mom.” The admission has me dropping my fork in slight disbelief. Seeing me rattled she quickly tries to explain, “I was just gonna put it away, but Whiskey suggested that maybe I should try some of them. That maybe you would both like it. That maybe it would be an okay chance. But if you hate it--”
“No.” I cut her off mid-sentence. “It's fine.” My eyes meet his and he slows his chewing down.
I know what he's doing. I know what he’s trying to say. Believe it or not, I agree with him this time. We have to move forward. We have to push past mom's death. Every day. In every way we can. Even if it hurts. Even if it makes us both fucking uncomfortable.
Shifting in my seat, I pick my fork back up to cut a piece. I can do this. I can make my life move fucking forward. “She uh...she used to make this for dinner right after dad would leave for duty. I mean she made it other times too, but she always made it the first night he was gone....” I raise my eyes briefly to look at him and then turn to Haven. “And it taste just like she used to make it.” The bite falls into my mouth and I see the faintest smile on Haven's face. It warms my heart. My eyes grab a glimpse of Sir who simply nods in my direction.
Dinner continues and this time I listen to Haven discuss her and Mindy's growing business. She talks about their regular customers and some of the events they've done. I ask questions, my father makes jokes, and we all let the conversation flow effortlessly. For the first time in over a year I feel like I'm part of a family again. More importantly like I belong in it. Like it's finally moving towards where it should be.
After the meal, I offer to help Haven with the dishes but she denies it. Instead I head out to the garage, grab a towel, and start shining the motorcycle. With slow circles I let another small weight lift off my shoulders. The closeness I miss from my mom being right here at my fingertips. Her memory alive enough to suffocate me. But I have to get through this shit. I have to get my life in order before I go out to a Jacket mission with more regrets than memories only to die that way. Shit. Jazz is right. There's a high chance I'll be losing my life for this country and I want to die with honor, respect, pride, and knowing that my life was fucking lived.
I fucking hate when she's right.
Mindlessly I shine the bike, polishing it to perfection. I'm not sure how long I've been at it when Haven appears in the doorway. My back may be to her, but like always, I can feel her. My body knows her presences. Always has. Always will.
“There's pie,” she softly chirps up. “If you want.”
“No thanks.” I stand to my feet and walk around to the other side of the bike.
“Fresh Blueberries.” My face tilts up to her and she innocently wiggles her body back and forth. “Ice cream on top....”
Her attempt at temptation has me leaning my body slightly on the bike, a smile the size of my state on my face. Fuck. When's the last time I smiled like this? Fuck. When's the last time I had a reason to smile like this.
“You're trouble Haven Davenport,” I flirt.
“So are you,” she wiggles her eyebrows at me. The simple gesture has me stifling a moan. Damn.
I press my lips together and return to shining one of the mirrors. “Do you, umm,.have plans tomorrow night?”
Haven folds her arms across her chest and shakes her head, that look of hope returning. I want to keep it there. I want to be the reason it stays. I want to be that man in her life again.
“Wanna go for a ride?” my eyes stay focused on the task at hand.
“Together?” I let my eyes meet hers. “I mean, like a date? Like you wanna go out just the two of us?”
“Yeah.”
“But we haven't--”
“I know.”
She presses her lips together clearly holding something back. After a soft sigh she nods. “I'd love to.”
“Alright,” the corner of my mouth tilts up relieved. “It's a date.” She nods once more. It's like she's afraid if she says too much, this will all stop. This won't be real. That this will just disappear. I know the feeling.
“I'll leave you to it,” she waves her hand at my action.
When she turns to walk away I stop her. “Hey Haven, can I ask you a question before you go?”
“Of course,” her body turns so her back is resting against the frame. Looking sweet. Innocent.