by Xavier Neal
“Why does your bed--” I cut myself off. “Our bed--” Fuck that's not right either. “The bed you sleep in--” not the best save, but fuck it, “smell like my cologne?” the question has my mind racing.
“Are you really asking me if I let another guy in our bed? Right after asking me on a date Clint?” My jaw clenches tight. It wasn't even a possibility. The thought didn't even cross my mind. Before I can respond she snaps, “Wow. Just because I made one mistake doesn't mean I'm dumb enough to make another.” Her voice drops to a tremble, “Do you know how hard it was to let you that close to my body? How could you think I would just do that with anyone?”
“You kissed someone else,” the accusation is out of my mouth before I can stop it. “What's the difference?”
The second I see a tear in her eye I shut my eyes and look down. Too wrong. Too far. I clutch the rag tighter. “You wanna know the reason our sheets smell like you? The therapist discussed different coping mechanisms for dealing with loved ones you've lost. Occasionally I would spray the cologne in the sheets when I woke up in the morning, so it would be faded by the time I fell asleep. It was like being surrounded by you when you weren't around. It helped keep the nightmares away sometimes. And others, when they came anyway, well, it helped jog my memory to when you held me close and protected me. It was enough to calm me back down to try to rest.”
Her words rip through me. My knees buckle. I fight back to stay strong on my feet. To not look weak where she can see. To hide the fact this affects me the way it does. In a low voice I ask, “Loved ones you lost? As in death. But I'm not dead.”
“Part of you is,” she states wiping away the tear that managed to fall. The same tear I swore I would never be the reason for. My jaw tenses to stop from pulsating. “And I know it's my fault. I just hope it can be brought back to life.”
Haven turns and exits without another word. When she's gone I toss the rag harshly at the tool bench. Why the fuck is all this shit so hard? Why the fuck can't we just pretend it never happened? That's not fucking logical I know, but wouldn't that be better? And she's right. I tried to let Clint die because it hurts too fucking much to keep him running. Because he has no place in the HORN unit. Last time I dealt with him I was alone in a room moments from my own insanity killing me.
Official HORN Duty Day 11
I bounce back and forth before tossing another punch at the bag. I've spent the day working out in my old routines. It feels good. Natural. Right. After my morning jog, I sat down and had breakfast with Haven and my father. Another family meal before they left for therapy. They both have appointments now. Her for the situation she escaped. Him for his. Part of his release to get back on the force off of desk duty, which he starts in another week, is seeing someone about what happened. They're afraid he might freeze up. Or worse. PTSD isn't just for soldiers in the field. While I'm thankful I don't have it from what I've seen, my father suggested maybe it would help to talk to someone about mom's death. I didn't say much after he brought that up. I also didn't admit to him that I still haven't read mom's journal either. I don't have the right too. Yeah. I want to know what she was like when she was alive, but reading her personal thoughts like that...just feels like raping her memory. Forcing myself on something that I have no business being a part of. My fist hits the bag hard. Harder. The muscles around my lungs constrict. It feels good. Jab. Jab. Right hook. Blow by blow I feel myself being rebuilt. Stronger. Steadier.
“Hey,” Haven's beautiful face appears around the edge of the door frame, her long brown hair shaping it. It makes her look like the angel I couldn't wait to rescue. The angel who I saved. Who saved me.
“Yeah?” I wipe away the sweat that's running down my nose while her eyes dance deliciously over my shirtless body. I can tell by the way she's biting her bottom lip not only does she want me, but she wants to stop herself from wanting me. Fuck. I never want her to stop wanting me. Damn. I only want her biting her bottom lip to try to hold back her moans while she's screaming my name out in pleasure. Fuck. Me. I'm too fucking wound up. Not masturbating isn't helping.
“Uh.” she shakes her head in an obvious attempt to concentrate. “Right. Did you...did you still wanna take me out on the bike?”
I nod.
“Before dinner or after?”
With a wipe of sweat off my cheek I answer, “I was thinking we could have it there.”
“Have it there?” she immediately looks confused.
“Yeah. Like a picnic or something.” Her face instantly lights up and she bites her bottom lip again. Fuck. I miss those lips. “Dad is having dinner with Felix and Doug, so I figured maybe we could take it with us.”
“Sure,” she sighs pushing her hair innocently behind her ear. “I can uh...whip something up really quick. I mean I can--”
“We can do it together,” I cut her off.
Haven raises her eyebrow, “Together?”
“Yeah,” I clear my throat. “I think we should do it together.” She starts to smile and I add, “But something easy. Maybe sandwiches? I'm not sure I wanna relive the eggs incident.”
I chuckle, but Haven lets out the most beautiful sound that rushes through me at a remarkable speed. The laughter is full of humor. Love. Life. The very life I want back inside me. My laughter stays low so I can enjoy hers to the fullest extent.
“They weren't that bad,” she giggles. “Besides, it wasn't about the eggs. Or the extra crispy bacon. Or the very very burnt toast.” I stifle another laugh. “It was about the fact it was the first birthday I had celebrated since my parents died. And celebrating it with the only person I love more than myself.” My mouth opens to object when she holds a hand up, “Even if I didn't know it then, I damn sure know it now.” When my lips clamp tightly back together she asks, “Did you wanna shower first?”
“If you don't mind.”
“Of course not,” she hums. “I'll just start gathering the stuff for the picnic. Plates and a basket...”
I slide past her, my body briefly pressed against hers just long enough to instill a very vivid sexual memory inside of me. Quickly I rush up the stairs as my dick tries to lead me back to her. Hell, he's not the only one who wants to reenact anything that requires her to be that close to us.
After a good scrub down, I'm pulling on a pair of jeans in our bedroom when my cell phone starts ringing. Reaching for it I see a name that makes my heart instantly stop. Freezes. I let my eyes shut briefly as I hit the answer button.
“Ma'am.”
“Well by that tone I can assume I have interrupted something. And since you don't really have a life outside of work other than Haven that means I'm putting a cock block on something. Tell me, hot or cold?”
An annoyed smile threatens my face. I lean against the dresser, “Are you calling me in?”
“And ruin the first time you've probably whole heartedly smiled since I've recruited you? No. I was just calling to let you know not to make plans you can't drop at a moment’s notice.”
“Yes ma'am.”
“Drop the ma'am Grim. With as long as these days are lately, I feel old enough without you adding that word to it.” She says on a deep sigh.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“No.” Before I push her on the topic she asks, “Have you two actually made up yet?” I don't answer. I button my jeans and head towards the closet to get a shirt. “I will take that silence as an admission of guilt and the answer to my question being no.” With a t-shirt dangling from my fingertips I just continue to listen. “Well, I'm gonna call your younger siblings and give them the good news. Enjoy your evening.”
“You too Jazz,” my reply is followed by me sliding the phone in my back pocket and putting my t-shirt on. Once I'm dressed I pull on a pair of socks and rush downstairs to see Haven in the kitchen with a basket on the island table.
“Where'd we get a picnic basket?” I enter the kitchen.
“Mindy,” she replies putting away napkins. No surprise there. Out of anyone in
the neighborhood it would make the most sense she would have one. “Now, I would've started making sandwiches earlier, but I wasn't sure what you wanted. Meat and cheese. Grilled cheese. Peanut butter and jelly?”
“I haven't had that since I was a kid,” I plant my hands on the counter top beside her.
“Really?” she sounds surprised.
“Yeah...my mom,” the memory starts clawing at the corner of my mind like a prisoner gasping to be freed. I scratch the back of my neck uncomfortably. I have to work through this. I have to wade through these murky waters. I have to get to the other side. “My mom used to make them with marshmallows.”
“Marshmallows?”
“Yeah,” I reach for the bread between us, open it, and put pieces on each of the napkins she has set out. “She would spread a layer of peanut butter, then a layer of marshmallow, and last the layer of jelly. I know it sounds gross, but it tasted amazing.”
Haven smiles at me brightly and retreats to the pantry. When she turns back around she's got peanut butter and a bag of marshmallows in her hands. A crooked smirk falls on my face. She gives me a little shoulder shrug, “I'll try anything for you...”
And by now, she should know I will try anything for her too. Including a second chance.
The two of us are sitting across from each other on top of the blanket that's spread out in the field we came to on our first ride. We eat the sandwiches, which taste just as amazing as I remember, and chips while laughing over an 80s movie we caught on T.V. last night.
I watch her lick the marshmallow off her finger as she sighs, “I see why the Breakfast Club was such a big deal now.” I nod in return and place my closed fist in the air as tribute. She mimics the hand motion before putting the edge of her sandwich down. “Ever been on a picnic before?”
“Nah. Dad wasn't around much and I lived and breathed baseball ya know? So if it wasn't about hitting the shit out of that thing or making myself better at it, it didn't really have my interest. What about you?”
Haven looks past me in the distance for a moment in silence. I admire the way the wind blows her hair up slightly, the way her chest slowly rises and falls, and the way she's struggling against something inside her. I know that look. I've had that look.
“My dad used to take me on them when I was a little girl. He liked to watch the leaves change from summer to fall and from winter to spring. We used to sit in the park on this oversized navy and white blanket. He would just lean back against the tree and watch the colors. He'd take pictures of me as I played around the trees in the park. I remember there was a wall in his office that held picture collages of me from when the seasons changed. My mom used to put me in these ridiculous oversized dresses...” the memory lingers in the air. I watch as it looks like she's been transported back in time. “Pinks...purples...” she whispers like she's stuck there. Back to when she felt safe. Felt whole. There's a tug in my chest. I remember when I used to put that sparkle in her eye.
Putting down my sandwich I cautiously ask, “What else do you remember about them?”
Haven quickly looks back down at the picnic area and fiddles with the bag of chips, “Just little bits and pieces...” Her voice tries to stay strong but falters, “Dr. Snow says that she thinks I buried most of my memories deep down to preserve them. She says that eventually they could resurface.” She tilts her face up at me, hope in her eyes. “Or be lost forever. Apparently I did it as a survival technique.”
I know exactly what that's like too. It still amazes me just how much we are one in the same.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course...”
“How did you save their rings?” my head nods towards them on her dog tag chain.
Instinctively she clutches them. Her eyes fall shut. She takes a long deep breath before opening them to answer. “Before I left with Old Man Banks, the child service's woman took me into a room alone. She sat me down asking me a million things about my feelings. At the end of it all she told me to hold out my hand. She put the rings in my palm and then closed it tightly. She said something about having a piece of their love forever and to keep it safe. It's almost like she knew where I was going wasn't safe. But then I think if she knew that she wouldn't have left me. Anyway, I put the rings in my pocket and when I was alone in my room, those very first few minutes, I hid them under the mattress.” Haven reaches for her cup of milk and takes a drink, the air now thick with emotion.
Unsure of what to say in response I prepare to pick up my own cup when the song playing from her phone changes to Frank Sinatra. Hearing me hum, makes Haven smirk widely.
Quickly she stands up and holds her hand out for me to take. “Dance with me.”
I shake my head. “I don't dance.”
“Oh come on,” she encourages me and I can't fight the urge to want to keep her smiling. In a girlish pout she begs, “Please...”
Pussy. Whipped. On a grunt I stand, place my hand in hers, and pull her body closer to mine, still humming. When she moves her body into me, wrapping my hands around her hips, I feel something inside me shift.
“Now....nice and slow...” she instructs looking down at our feet. “One step to the left,” her words have me looking down at my feet. Never have I felt this uncoordinated. “And now one to the right....” The soothing sound of her voice has me smiling once more. Haven looks up beaming brightly. “You're much better at this than you thought.”
“How'd you get so good at it?”
“Mandy's sister is getting married in a couple months. Her parents insisted she take a class to refresh her skills. So I took it with her. Dr. Snow thought it might be a good idea for me too. Learning something new.”
At the thought of her in someone else's arms like this, my body stiffens.
In a whisper close to my ear Haven says, “Don't worry Clint. He was 61.” She softly chuckles after and places her head on my chest.
Pleased at the response, I pull her closer and shut my eyes in relief. This feels right. Like where I should've been for the last few months. The one place I should've never left.
In a soft voice I start to sing along, “It had to be you...”
Official HORN Duty Day 12
With another pull up my abs tighten, the muscles flexing to create a pleasurable tension. As soon as I break two hundred for this final set I drag myself upright just in time to see two faces with familiar expressions. My eyes acknowledge Lordy who looks a little worn out, but focus in on Glove. His droopy face. Bloodshot eyes. Messed up hair. Overly wrinkled gym clothes. Wonder what caused the rough night.
“You look like shit,” I sigh wiping my face with a towel.
“I'm sorry Cinderella, not all of us can be the fucking belle of the ball.” Glove grunts stopping in front of me as Lordy drops down on the weight bench next to mine.
“Was that a Disney reference?”
Lordy adds, “I think it was two.”
“Why are you so fucking chipper?” he bites harshly and my body responds by bracing itself to attack. He knows better than to lose his fucking mouth with me. He knows better than to cross me. I'll lay his ass out. With no hesitation.
Sensing he over stepped a line he clears his throat, looks off letting Lordy respond, “He uh...was rather shit faced last night.”
I cut my eyes to him in disapproval. “It wasn't like I fucking planned it.”
“And if we would've been called in?” my voice questions in a low tone.
“Then I would've been royally and utterly fucked¸” he shoves his hands in his pockets.
“Glove I've already taken one blow for you don't fucking make me take another,” I point a stern finger at him.
“Have I not said fucking thank you enough for that shit?” He growls at me.
Standing on my feet I move my body closer to his, “I don't need a fucking thank you. I don't do it for the thanks asshole. I do it because we're fucking family. I watch your six and you watch mine. How the fuck can you do that shit if you're w
asted?”
Glove glares back at me for a moment longer before looking off again regaining his lost composure. When he looks back his eyes look as worn out as the rest of him. Sympathetic. Distraught. “Sorry.”
I slowly lower myself back to the bench and ask, “What happened?” Glove looks off so I turn my attention to Lordy, “What the fuck happened?”
“Well we went to that little corner bar we like. You know the one with the redhead bartender that has a thing for men in uniform,” he refreshes my memory though it's not a favorite. It's the bar we were at right before I saw Haven and Michele kiss at that club. It's a bar I won't go back to. Ever. “So we're just hanging out and guess who shows up?”
Immediately panic spreads in my eyes. I know it couldn't have been my angel. I was with her all night. The picnic. Afterwards we sat on the couch together and watched a movie. The night ended with the two of us falling asleep in our room. Her in the bed. Me on the ground. I'm not ready for that. Not yet. I will say it felt fucking great to wake up to seeing her gorgeous face beaming down at me.
“No. No,” Lordy quickly insists. “Not her. Mandy. We saw Mandy come in.” The sheer mention of her name makes Glove huff. I give him a quick glance. This can't be good. No way can him responding this way to seeing a girl be fucking good. “She didn't see us though. Apparently she was on a date. And he couldn't keep his hands off of her--”
“Just pushing them up her skirt and shirt in public like she's trailer trash. No fucking respect for her. Fucking asshole,” Glove grumbles.
Shit. Glove has enough problems focusing when he's just on a hit it and quit it mission. I'm not sure we can handle him in love. Or Lust. Or whatever the fuck this is he is feeling for this girl he barely knows. Fuck. Why does this keep happening to us?
“So in retaliation to the situation Glove well...got pretty hammered.”
“Hammered was tequila shots 6 and 7.” Glove's correction at least has him sounding like his old self.