by Krista Lakes
Dean carefully packed his dark green rucksack, placing his boots and clothing in the hard canvas with care. His slow, methodical movements were hypnotic, the muscles on his arms flexing and relaxing with an attractive rhythm. Maybe if I watched him long enough, his bag would never fill and he would never have to leave.
A knock on his open door drew my attention. There Matt stood, wearing a white t-shirt, jeans, and a frown. "You ready, man?"
"Yeah. I'll be down in a minute." Dean stared at his bag. It had been packed for at least a minute, but he kept rearranging the items as if packing could delay the inevitable. He slid the metal latch through the loops and closed the bag.
The bed creaked softly as he sat beside me. We didn't look at one another; he just took my hand in his, and we sat there for a moment. The ocean sighed behind us, calling like a forgotten lover. The pit in my stomach was growing deeper with every second.
"Are you sure you have to go?" I asked. I had asked it before, and I knew the answer would be the same.
"I told you last night. I have to go back. But I'll be home before you know it." He twisted on the bed so he could face me. With a gentle hand, he brushed a free strand of hair behind my ear and out of my face. His fingers grazed my cheek, his skin rough against the sensitive skin of my jaw. My eyes fluttered up to meet his.
"Promise?" It came out a whisper, my voice betraying me at the last minute. I reached up with my own hand and pressed his to my cheek. I wanted to remember the way his touch felt.
"Promise," he said. He leaned forward and kissed me. I squeezed my eyes shut, memorizing every detail. I wanted to remember his smell, his taste, and the way his lips felt against mine. I would take it with me until he came home.
We broke apart reluctantly, hearing the boys downstairs opening and slamming doors. It was time for them to leave. Dean brushed away a tear I hadn't even realized had escaped and kissed the tip of my nose.
"This won't be for forever. I'll find you." He gave me a confident smile, and I attempted to give him one back. I felt it waver, but I put my heart into it to make it stay. I would see him again. What we had found in this short vacation was too good to let slip through our fingers.
Dean stood, shouldering the heavy bag as though it were weightless. He held out a hand, and I unfolded myself from the bed and took it to steady me as I straightened. I let his hand go for a moment, to smooth the bedspread and close the door. The room became a foreign place as the song of the ocean cut off. We were leaving, and the house was losing its magic.
I took his hand, feeling his strength infuse me as we navigated the stairs down to the main room where the others were waiting. They all looked as miserable as the two of us.
Kimberly and Tony stood off in a corner, their foreheads pressed together, whispering secrets. Matt and Jenny sat on separate couches, deliberately not looking at one another. Jenny held her head high as she stared out a window.
As soon as we arrived, Matt picked up his bag and opened the main door. The two cars sat in the driveway, their windows staring at me like soulless monsters. They were going to take the boys away. The thought of slashing the tires raced through my mind, but I knew it would only be a delay. They would have to leave eventually. We trickled out of the house, moving slowly, hoping time would stop.
The boys' rental car let out a metallic groan as Matt's bag landed with a thud in the trunk. Dean's bag followed close behind it, while Tony's bag went into Jenny's beat-up little car. She had to slam the lid three times before the rusty trunk finally latched. We all stood in the hot sunshine, unsure of how to procrastinate further.
Matt flopped into the driver's seat of his car, Jenny moving slowly to the passenger side. Dean and I wiggled into the backseat, sliding on the pleather interior. It smelled like plastic and gas, but at least I was with him.
Kimberly started Jenny's car, the high pitched whine filling our ears as Tony locked the front door and hid the keys under the doormat. His aunt would pick them up the next day. He gave the house one last lingering look before turning and reluctantly getting into the beat-up station wagon with Kim. The house seemed to stare after us with vacant, sad eyes as we all pulled away and headed for the airport.
We sat quietly in the backseat, gripping one another's hands. I leaned my head on Dean's shoulder, and he kissed my hair. I was glad I couldn't see his face because I knew I would cry and wouldn't be able to stop. I watched the city speed by through the windows, Matt driving exactly the speed limit to the airport. I knew he loved to speed, but he was in no real hurry to get to the airport. He sat stiffly, pointedly ignoring Jenny next to him. She in turn stared out her window as if it were the most interesting thing in the entire world. I might have believed their indifference, if not for the fact that they had their hands clasped together in front of the center console.
Chapter 16
June 9th, 1990
The airport reared it's ugly gray head all too soon. I swallowed down tears as a plane soared overhead, the jets rumbling through the air. Matt parked the car in the rental station, handing the keys over to a man in a red vest. Matt carried his bag like a suitcase to the check-in line, his big biceps flexed as he moved across the shiny floor.
The moments seemed to blur together, my brain refusing to accept what was going on. I turned to see Tony walking up, his arm draped protectively around Kimberly. She had tears running down her face. The tissue balled in her palm was past its usefulness, but she kept wiping her nose with it anyway.
Dean squeezed my hand, letting me go for a moment, as he checked his bag and picked up his ticket. The three men were ready to head to the gate in less time than I had hoped. I wanted every moment, every step, to take twice as long as it should because that would be twice as long that I could spend with Dean.
We were at the gate all too soon. Boarding was due to start at any moment; we had almost dallied too long at the house for the boys to make their flight. For a moment I wished we had. Dean pulled me over to a corner with empty chairs. The woman at the airline desk announced that boarding would now begin.
"I wish you didn't have to go," I whispered. He pressed his forehead to mine and wrapped his arms around me. We were in our own world. I looked into his beautiful winter-sky eyes, feeling the tears start to swell behind my eyes. I knew they would escape at any moment.
"I know. It's my duty and I have to. I have your address, though. I'll write you as soon as I get settled." Dean's voice was soft and low with a comforting tone to it. I knew he was as close to breaking as I was, but he was trying to comfort me. "You have my address. It won't be long before we see each other again."
I gave a short nod. My chest was going to explode with the pressure growing in my heart. How did people do this? How did people say goodbye to the ones they loved? How did military husbands and wives do this on a regular basis? I had only known Dean for less than a week, and I was about to lose it. I couldn't imagine the pain of someone with years of love saying goodbye.
I sniffed, the tears threatening to overwhelm me. I didn't want to say goodbye. I would have given anything in that moment for him to stay. We had amazing chemistry, and I wanted to know where we could take it. I wanted to know now, not when he got back.
"I'm giving serious thought to holding onto your ankle and not letting go, like a little kid. You're going to have to drag me onto the airplane because I'm not letting go," I said. He let out a low chuckle with a sad smile.
"I'm sure the stewardesses will be okay with that. I gave serious thought to just packing you into my duffel bag and taking you with me. I'd rather have you than my boots any day." He touched my cheek, as if to feel me smile. I wanted him to remember me smiling.
"If I'm on your ankle, do you think they'd still give me peanuts?" I asked. Dean snickered and kissed my forehead. The airline attendant was calling out for the last passengers. It was time for Dean to leave.
"I have something for you," Dean said. His voice held such sadness, and the pressure around my chest was intense.
I silently begged for the world to stop spinning. "Read it after I'm on the plane."
I nodded weakly. The attendant was calling out again. Dean swallowed hard. He ran his fingers down my hair, the crooked smile I loved crossing his face. He cupped my chin in his fingers and kissed me. I breathed him in. He smelled like soap and sunshine. His mouth was warm and minty. A small patch of beard he missed shaving scratched at my cheek. His hands were strong as he pulled me into him for this one last kiss.
He let me go, his hand caressing my cheek as he stepped back. I kept my eyes closed for a moment, trying to remember every detail. When I opened them, he was walking into the gate. He turned at the last moment, giving me one of his trademarked crooked smiles. He hesitated, as though deciding whether to actually get on the plane or run back into my arms, but he turned and stepped through the door. And then he was gone.
***
The car ride back to our condo was silent. Kimberly sat in the backseat, her head resting against the window as she stared off into space. Her cheeks were dry, but every once in a while she let out a quiet whimper. Jenny drove, her jaw clenched and her knuckles white around the steering wheel. The letter Dean had given me sat in my pocket, but I wanted to be alone to read it.
When we arrived back at our tiny rental, we all disappeared into different corners of the house. Later, we would finish packing and make the long drive home, but for now, we each wanted to be alone. The boys of summer were gone and off to war, and we all knew that they may never come home.
I sat on the edge of my twin bed, the sunlight streaming in around my shoulders. My hair was hot on the back of my neck, so I drew it up into a ponytail and out of my face. I held Dean's letter in my hands, almost afraid to open it. There were a million things, both exhilarating and terrifying, I hoped it could say.
With trembling fingers, I unfolded the paper, smoothing out the creases from the trip in my pocket and began to read:
Dear Rachel,
I've fallen hard for you. No one has ever made me feel the way you do. I don't think anyone ever will again.
I wish I could put into words how happy I am when I'm with you. I want you to know that I'll think of you often and it will always put a smile on my face.
I'll find you when I come home.
I love you.
Dean
A tear fell onto the paper, turning the white paper translucent. I quickly wiped it off before it could smear the ink, then pressing the paper into my chest. I felt heavy and light at the same time. I wanted to sing and cry and dance and scream all at once.
Dean loved me.
Chapter 17
Two Years Ago
I had to turn on the GPS guidance on my phone when I got into town. Everything was different, and even though the bar was still in the same spot, the buildings, and even the beach, were not. I finally found it, maneuvering the rental car into the quiet parking lot.
What had once been the hottest disco bar in the small town was now a rundown country bar. Gravel and sand crunched under my feet as I headed up the rickety wooden steps toward the open door. It looked as though they had covered the open air portion of the bar. Bad country music blared out into the parking lot, the dim light from the bar glowing neon yellow and red.
Inside, a girl with full tattoo sleeves leaned against the jukebox, feeding it quarters and singing along with the music. I could see where a fight had occurred earlier, a chair in pieces by the door. Several males were in a smoky corner, taking turns around a faded green pool table, but I wasn't there for them. I was there for the long-legged man sitting hunched at the bar, surrounded by empty whiskey glasses.
The bartender stood behind the bar, wiping a glass clean with a dirty towel. He saw me walk in, his eyes going up and down, and then again. He nodded toward Dean, setting the clean glass in a rack by the sink. I walked confidently to the tall bar.
"Dean, what are you doing?" I asked. Dean turned, his eyes languid but unsurprised.
"Getting drunk off my ass. Care to join me?"
"No. I want to get you to a hotel and me on a plane. It's time for us to go," I said. I grabbed his arm, feeling the strong muscle tense underneath my fingers. He pulled away from me, shaking his head.
"Leave me alone. It's what you're good at." He turned back to the bar, motioning for another whiskey. The bartender pretended not to see him.
His words stung. We had been politely distant since his hire, but that was as much his fault as mine. I wondered if he had been as lonely as I had. I sighed. We needed to fix this if we were going to work together. Our stony silence was not conducive to a working relationship, and with Jack transitioning to power in the next few weeks, Dean and I were going to be put together more and more often.
"Two whiskeys, neat." I motioned to the bartender. He quickly poured to whiskeys into glasses, sliding them directly to me. I picked them both up, stepping back and heading toward a small booth against the wall. I stopped and held one out to Dean. "Come sit with me. Like old times."
He looked at me warily, but then stood. Even while inebriated he moved with a deadly grace. He sat in the cheap plastic booth, taking the whiskey glass from me and nursing it gently. His eyes, those oceans of blue, watched me carefully. I took the whiskey in one swig.
"Will you tell me what you are doing here? This is a little out of the way to stop for a drink on the way home." I glanced around the bar. Our relationship was like this bar: once beautiful but now rundown and empty.
Dean sipped at his drink and cautiously eyed me. "Reliving old wounds."
I bit the inside of my cheek. I didn't want to be vain, but I had a feeling he was at least partially referencing me. "You want to talk about it?"
"What? Are we friends now?" Dean sneered and finished his drink. He motioned to the bartender for another and I nodded approval.
"Listen, Dean, I know we have some issues. I'd like to change that. Can we just pretend we never met each other until your interview? Water under the bridge and all that. Start from scratch." I watched him carefully. His face twitched for a moment, and then he leaned back in the booth, crossing his arms.
"Fine. We start over," he said. The bartender set two fresh glasses on the table. I waited for Dean to reach for his before I picked mine up. He sipped on his drink, and then, changing his mind, downed the rest of it in one go. I drank mine slowly, feeling the liquid burn down my throat and my body relax. I had needed a drink after today.
"It's all different now," Dean said. His voice was quiet, barely carrying over the noise of the jukebox. He stared at the empty glass in his hands, twirling it and letting it catch the dim bar light. "I went by Frontera's place. It isn't there anymore. It's a huge hotel now."
I sipped at my drink. Dean stared at his empty glass as though he could will it to fill, but he made no attempt to refill it.
"What are you doing here, Dean?" I asked again. He set the glass carefully on the table.
"It was my fault." His eyes never left the glass, lost in his own world. I sat quietly, wondering what exactly he meant. "It was my fault Frontera died."
The admission was kind of a shock to me, but he couldn't have been responsible. "What do you mean, it was your fault?"
He looked up at me, his blue eyes cold. "I had to choose between the mission and my friend. I chose the mission."
I swirled the last few drops in my glass. Dean looked up at me, as though asking forgiveness.
"We were supposed to guard a Kuwaiti VIP. Shit went down. I had to decide between protecting the VIP and completing the mission or saving Frontera... I completed the mission." Dean's voice cracked, and he took the glass from my hand and finished my drink. I let him.
I now understood why he was here, in this bar and drinking like a fish. Today he had to choose between his client and someone else. He chose the client. This time it had cost him nothing, but last time it had cost him his friend. This bar was where he and Frontera had been happiest before Frontera's death. That it happened to be a place signific
ant to me as well was just an unlucky item of misery to add to his guilt.
I got out of my seat and slid into his. He didn't fight as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, pulling him to me. His body shook with silent sobs. It was twenty years, but he hadn't forgiven himself yet.
I remembered Tony's shy smile. I remembered the way he and Kimberly whispered in the corners, wrapped up in a serendipitous love. It broke my heart.
Dean quieted, his body no longer shaking. "I was shot during that mission. So was Grinswald. I told them it hurt to hold a rifle because of the wound, and they let me out. Truth was, I couldn't stand to be in the military anymore. I lost one of my best friends, and another one nearly died for nothing."
We sat there, silent. He was broken in a way that I would never understand, a way I never wanted to understand, but I didn't want him to be alone.
He glanced over at me, and I recognized the look well. Those eyes were undressing me, and I couldn't say that I didn't like it. "You know, I kinda want to check out that hotel where Frontera's place used to be. Do you want to come with me?"
I knew exactly what we'd be doing if we went to check out that hotel, and even with just the couple of drinks that I had, I was sorely tempted. I looked down at his muscular arms, wondering how well he had kept in shape...
I shook my head. "No, Dean. There's a flight that leaves the airport near here in an hour. We should be on that flight."
He turned to face me. "Come on, I just want to have a peek."
A peek at the rooms, or a peek at me? "Dean, I'll close out your tab, and we can go."
He sighed, then staggered over to the bar. I blew out a whole lungful of air. It had been close, but I had resisted. I knew that if we did something, we would both regret it in the morning and we both had enough regrets to last a lifetime. We didn't need any more.