by Xavier Neal
“It's pathetic how easy it is for you to lose respect so quickly. You were taught better. By your country. By your commanding officers. By your mother,” the last words have my body trembling. “If you don't wanna hear what I have to say then fine. But I will not let you stand in my face and persecute me over a subject you know absolutely fucking nothing about. It wasn't your marriage. She wasn't your wife.”
Not backing down, my jaw still locked, I barely open it enough to say, “Then explain it to me.”
“Why?”
“Because maybe...” the words fall back down my throat getting caught in my lungs. They stifle me. They smother the breath I need to stay standing. To stay talking. To stay fighting as the past comes barreling back at me once more to ruin my future. “Because maybe if I know how mom got past it, it'll help me get past what Haven did to me.” My response forces his gray eyes to sadden. “And you're right. It wasn't my marriage. She wasn't my wife. But she was my mother. And she's not here to talk to me.” The realization has me fighting back tears I didn't expect to come. “But you are. So no matter how much you fucking hate the idea of explaining this to me, of walking through your failure, I need you to deal with it and explain to me what happened so maybe I can make sense of what the hell is happening to me. If you won't do it for me as my father, then do it for her.”
After a long stare down he backs up and retreats to the couch where he flops back down. He remains silent. Contemplation is clearly coursing through his body. His hand rubs the hair on his face. Finally he shakes his head, “You don't remember much from the weekend she died do you?”
I fold my arms and shrug, “I was the one who watched her die. I remember that.”
His eyes look down before they rise back into mine. “You had a big game that weekend. The night before you slept over at that kid with spiked hair's house.”
“Mo.” the memory causes a small chuckle in my head. His last name was Hawk. The fact his parents let him spike his hair is what inspired the nickname. He was one of my closer friends back then. And after mom died he tried to stay close, but I wasn't the same. And eventually he let go. Can't fucking blame him.
“Yeah. You spent that Friday night at his house with a few other teammates. You carpooled over to the game.” I continue to listen to him describing the memory wondering why it's so damn vivid in his head. Wondering what the point in this trip down memory lane is. “You won. As usual. Afterward you all went for victory pizza and crashed hard when you got home. Do you remember me being there?” I shake my head. Then again. I rarely remember him ever being around. “It's because your mother told you I had to work. But I didn't. I was at a hotel--”
“You were fucking someone else at a hotel when she died?”
“No.” His stern voice is filled with warning not to interrupt again.
“Then what?”
“If you can hold your tongue for a minute I'll explain.” My lips scrunch together tightly indicating he can continue. “I was deployed often Slugger.”
“I remember.”
“And it wasn't easy. You know first hand what it's like.” Unsure of where he's going with this I simply nod. “And you know what it can do to a relationship. I loved Jaime. I did. And every year I swore I fell more in love with her. Then you were born and I loved her in a way I didn't know was possible. Both of you. When we moved here our lives changed. You were pissed off at me for moving us and she....she was reinventing herself. She was so happy. And free. And the first time I came back from deployment when we were here it felt like I didn't know my own wife anymore.” Another feeling sinks inside of me. My jaw locks in place. “I tried. I tried everything to get to know her. To get us closer. To revamp the dying situation. But instead we fought. And fought. And God we fought. When I left we had just had a hell of a spat. One night while I was out with my unit, one of the nights before we were to come home, we went drinking. I drank a lot...” the words seem to get caught in his own throat as his eyes shut. “There was this woman and we started flirting. She listened to my problems. She told me I should be worshiped. She made feel wanted. So when she kissed me I kissed back...and well--”
“Did you fuck her?”
“Not your place to ask,” he snaps. I tighten my folded arms. “But no. I didn't. Things went a little further, but we didn't have sex. When I returned home, I told Jamie. I told her what happened. She didn't yell. She didn't scream. She didn't even shed a tear...” His voice starts to waver, “She just looked empty. I never meant to hurt her Slugger. She was my whole goddamn world. But I was upset. I thought I was losing her. But then I saw that look in her eyes when I told her and knew that was the moment I lost her.” He clears his throat. “She asked me could she have some time to process everything. So I agreed to go away to a hotel for the weekend. We would take some time apart and talk about it on Sunday....” His jaw starts trembling, “She suggested I skip your game that weekend. So I did. I stayed at a hotel and thought about all the possible ways I could undo what had happened. Everything I wanted to say to her. Everything I wanted to do to make it right. I fell asleep at some point from emotional exhaustion. When I woke I saw she had left me a voice mail. It was the last time I'd ever hear her voice Clint. The last words she'd ever said to me. The last thing I would ever hear her say.” I feel tears climbing up my throat again. “She died before I could tell her how sorry I was. Before I could tell her I loved her. That she was my entire Goddamn Life. I'll never be able to tell her how I made a mistake. I'll never get to correct that mistake. Beg for forgiveness. Plead for a second chance. So how do you get past it? You swallow the pill and remember that she's still alive. That you are still alive. That it’s better to be with each other dealing with miscommunications than to have one of you dead. You swallow your goddamn pride because you know every time you walk out that front door for duty the chance of you returning is slimmer and slimmer. Because you don't want the tears she sheds at your funeral to be from regret. Because you don't want the woman you love to live the rest of her life with the same damn nightmare that I do.” The tears on his face match the ones on the edge of my eyes. “You let this shit settle and die before you do. Because life is short Clint. Because no one should ever have to spend the rest of their life with their loved one six feet under while they wonder if they could've ever been forgiven. If they could've ever made things right. You bury this because when you love someone as much as you do, as much as your mother loved me, as much I love her, you forgive. And before you wonder if mistakes like that should be punished, I'll be the first to say, wondering if my wife died knowing I loved her as much as I did even though I made a mistake is one that haunts me every minute I'm alone. Knowing I hadn't said I love you in months because of work. Knowing I'll never hear her laugh again. Sing again. Kiss me goodnight. Knowing I have to grow old without her. Knowing she won't see her grandchildren. Knowing that I have to fucking die alone, is punishment enough. And it is a lifetime sentence.” I've never seen him cry like this. My chest feels likes it is caving in. My body begins to shake uncontrollably. He shuts his eyes. “Now. Leave. Me. Alone.”
Still holding my breath I rush out of the room and up the stairs, barely being able to keep tears away. The minute I'm in our room my fist slam into the wall right on the other side of the door next to the dresser. Forceful punch after forceful punch land in the wall. Every hit is packed with everything I have. I’ve been lied to. Betrayed. Everything in my fucking life is one giant lie after another. He never loved her like he said. Their marriage wasn’t perfect. Backing away from the hole I created my hands grab the back of my neck pulling as hard I can. Determined to rip the frustration out of my body. My breath keeps coming out of me in sharp huffs as I close my eyes. Tight. How could he do that to her? How could he just bail because things got tough? How could he keep that from me? For so long? Betrayal. My fist swings again this time hitting my closet door. The pain thumping through my knuckles feels remarkable. It's the first moment of relief I have felt today. I punch it
again. Again. And again. As the door starts to cave in, falling off the hinges, falling apart, I stare at the disaster I created knowing that's what I fucking feel like. Dented. Broken. Falling the fuck apart.
I run my hands down my face at the same time a small voice says, “Clint?”
Turning around I see Haven with a frightened look on her face. The same look I never wanted to be responsible for. Fear. Ultimately terrified. With all rational thought and capabilities gone I demand, “Why!”
Haven wraps her hand around her tags as she leans back against the shut bedroom door. Carefully she asks, “Why what?”
“Why Haven! Why did you do it!”
“You read my letters?”
“No! I didn't! I don't want to! I don't wanna read your letters or that fucking journal! You are right here. Right now. Alive. So tell me. To my face. Why Haven...and I don't wanna hear you just made a fucking mistake! I wanna know why!”
Her brown eyes widen. Her hand grips her tags tighter. I watch as her body tenses. Somehow she fights through it. She fights back. After a long exhale she says, “I will explain it to you the best I can. Being with you, it was hard.” The words replace the anger that's coursing through my veins with confusion. “I mean, you are amazing. Confident. Intense. Stable. And so goddamn strong it's intimidating. And exhausting. And the way you treat me, while it's amazing, it's scary.” Her words cause a lump in my throat. “You treat me like I'm this...wounded creature with wings. You hold me too close sometimes and too tight. You protect me and you shelter me and you want me safe. You don't want anything to ever hurt me and it's the sweetest, most incredible thing, but sometimes it's suffocating. Sometimes I wanna spread my wings and try to fly again. Try to see if I can.” Tears are starting to come to her own eyes as they come to mine. “Being with you is hard and being around Michele and Mandy was easy.” Just the asshole's name contracts my fist. “They didn't know anything about me. About what's in my past. What I was hiding from. All they saw in front of them was this happy, fun loving, student that was no different from them. They had no idea the nightmares that I walked around with or how hard it was to just breathe some days. And I could pretend with them that it didn't matter. Nothing from my past did. I could keep playing dress up and stepping into this role. Their ignorance created a false bliss. And I fell into it. It was easy. But wrong. I realized that everything which is easy is not right and everything that is hard is not always wrong. A lesson that I probably should've known by now, but give me some room on that one please. Because...” she wipes away some tears, “I am human. And I make mistakes. And I'm gonna make a lot more. Like when I accidentally backed your car into a lamp post.”
Through my own choked back tears I shake my head. “You what?”
“Apparently crying and driving shouldn't mix,” she laughs embarrassed and I find myself smiling. “But that was a mistake. My point is...I'm gonna keep making mistakes, but I swear to you I will never make that kind of mistake again.”
My eyes shut tightly to stop the tears from falling as I take a deep breath. “I'm sorry too.”
“Clint--”
“No.” I swallow the emotion in my throat and force my eyes back open. “Let me finish. I'm sorry that I treated you that way. I didn't mean to hurt you. I would never intentionally hurt you--”
“I know.”
“But you're right. It's my first instinct to treat you that way. You're not some creature that needs to be coddled. You are human. You should be treated that way. I should've been honest with you about everything. And I should've tried harder to talk to you. You have to know none of this is easy for me.”
“Me either,” she whispers out.
In a few strides I've got her body pressed tightly to mine. My arms cradling her. My forehead pressed to hers with my eyes shut tightly. Her heart is thumping against my chest as the tears I was holding back finally fall.
“I'm sorry angel. For everything.”
“I'm sorry too,” she whispers in a sob. “I love you Clint Thomas Walker.”
“And I love you,” my lips finally fall onto hers as I push her harshly back against the door. The kiss is anything but tender. Our lips are melded tightly, tongues tangled so tight we're practically one. Solid. United. This is the closest we've been in too long. When she softly moans, I groan in return roughly shoving her harder against the door. I should be gentle. I should take this slow. I should treat her like the angel she is. My lips start to draw back at the realization I'm having when her teeth sink into my bottom lip ripping me from going back to my old ways. To the ways that drove a wedge between us. Standing her ground, she grabs me by the edge of my shirt yanking me back into place. I smile against her mouth. She's right. She should get a say in this too. My tongue rolls against hers once more all control lost again. Her hands runs under my shirt so her nails bite into my chest, the bite of pain easing some of the tension swimming inside. I yank her up, so both of her legs are wrapped around my waist and deepen the kiss. The moment her hands are wrapped around my neck, her fingertips digging into my scalp, I relinquish the little restraint I had keeping us upright.
Pulling away just long enough to catch our breath and relocate us to the bed, I admire the way her brown eyes that were just filled with so much sadness are shimmering. Darkness that was there now non-existent.
Haven smiles at me biting her bottom lip playfully. I groan out as my cock jumps excited to finally see the light of day again. In one swift motion I drop her on the bed, rip off my shirt and then hers wasting no time in the land of foreplay. As soon as she's shirtless, her black lacy bra pushing up her beautiful boobs that have grown since the last time I had her naked, she falls backwards onto the pillows. Fuck. She looks like every fantasy I've ever had. My tongue wets my lips briefly before I push my lips against hers, hungrier than I was just moments earlier. I let my mouth consume hers before moving onto her neck, my teeth and lips desperate for as much of her skin as possible. I travel down her neck, back up across her jawbone line, and quickly relocate to her wrist, my tongue crying out to devour more of her. My tongue laps at her right wrist and when I go to switch sides my body throws itself back.
In a shaky voice I point to her wrist. “What the hell Haven?”
Her bottom lip slips into her mouth nervously. Pulling her wrist closer to her chest she remains silent.
Sliding away from her so that I'm on the edge of my bed, I rub the side of my face. Then my neck. I pull. Hard. In a low unstable voice I ask, “When did you get that?”
She pulls her body over so she's sitting cross legged beside me. I look over, my jaw still trembling. Haven pushes her hair behind her ear. “A few months after you left.”
“Why?” The word tumbles out of me. “Why?”
A small sigh comes out of her. “Dr. Snow was totally against it, just so you know. But I felt it needed to be done. When you left the entire first month was hell. I barely got out of bed. I barely slept. I barely ate. But when I finally started to pick the pieces back up and dealing with the aftermath, I realized you were right. And I realized all the ways you showed how much you love me without words. I remember how it felt seeing my named engraved in your skin. How permanent it was. How permanent it felt. So when I was ready, really ready, I went and got it done. Mandy went with me.” I remain silent. “I knew he was good because he put my name in your skin. Glove went with us.”
“Glove went with you?” The tension in my body hardens.
“Mandy's doing. He has a hard time telling her no,” she leaks out and I find myself nodding. “And she knew I would only want to go somewhere that I was comfortable. No worries. Tank was very sweet.”
Swallowing the nerves of mixed emotions once more I reach for her wrist and admire the intricate work. My eyes focus on the cursive script of Mrs. Walker in black ink and the single dog tag barely hanging off the r with my name written on it. The details are remarkable. As amazing as it is on my own flesh. I allow my thumb to brush against it. She shutters in response. T
he movement has my dick twitching in my jeans.
In a soft voice she says, “You're it for me Clint. I'm just sorry it took me a little longer to realize it.”
Instantly my hands wrap strongly around the back of her neck, pressing our foreheads together, my shut eyes filled with tears again. The combination of her words and the tattoo are too much. The emotion from her actions striking me while I'm already weak. Her mimicked action from the only other woman who I've ever loved, enough to destroy the small foundation of my life effortlessly.
“Talk to me,” she whispers out. “What's wrong Clint?”
I pull away slightly and look into her eyes that are begging for me to give her a chance to heal me. To take care of me. To be there for me like I've always been there for her. To treat her like an equal.
Letting her go, I wipe away the tears that escaped. “My father cheated on my mother.”
Haven places a hand on my back. She softly strokes the angel wings. “I'm sorry...”
“Why do you not sound surprised?” I tense again. “Did you know? Did you know!?”
“No,” her tone remains the same. “But I suspected. Some of the things Whiskey said to me while you were away were my clue. The way he spoke about them. I got the feeling they were all from personal experiences.”
I nod, but remain silent.
Her fingertips fall down my back while she says, “I'm not an expert about these things, obviously, but just because that happened doesn't mean he didn't love Jamie.” Before I can snap she insists, “Let me finish. Life is anything but black and white. The shades of gray are so overwhelming I wonder why no one ever talks about it. I think sometimes we get lost. And I think sometimes we stumble during that loss, but it doesn't mean we aren't sorry for the people we hurt along the way. Whiskey loved your mother. Hell, he still loves her. Late at night when he's alone sometimes he'll watch an old video of one of your baseball games that has your mother in it. He watches and you can see the prison he keeps himself in. He needs her Clint. He loves her. He's never stopped. And one indiscretion doesn't undo the years of devotion and love he's poured into her and continues to.”