The Heart of a Hero

by Barbara Wallace

  Inwardly, she knew calling them the “poor bats” was laying it on a little thick, but she achieved her goal. With an irritated groan, Jake shoved his car back into park.

  “Screw the bats. What is it you really want, Zoe?”

  Sunglasses or not, his glare could ignite driftwood.

  Folding her arms across her chest, Zoe matched his stare. “I want to know why you don’t want to attend the ceremony.”

  There, she’d asked the million-dollar question. Now out, it hung between them waiting for a response.

  She got one word. “Because.”

  “Because isn’t an answer,” she told him. “It’s a brush-off. And don’t tell me the real reason’s none of my business, either,” she added, holding up an index finger. “I know it’s not my business. I still want to know. Because unfortunately, whether or not you think I’m wasting my time, I want to help you.”

  “Why?”

  Zoe hadn’t expected him to turn the tables on her. Nor was she expecting the fluttery ache that struck her chest when he asked. “Because,” she began, using his own word against him, “I care.”

  She watched as the word settled over him, and wished that she could see his eyes. If for no other reason than to see if the yearning emanating from him was real or her imagination.

  “I told you, I don’t want friends,” he said, his face turning toward the steering wheel.

  “Too late. The damage is done.”

  Never had the shake of a head felt so hopeless. “Dammit, Zoe, why can’t you leave things alone? You aren’t responsible for solving every damn problem in the world. Besides—” his voice grew lower “—some things are so broken they can’t be fixed.”

  He’d said the same thing the other day on the roof. Dear God, was that how he saw himself? She hadn’t realized…

  “Nothing is irreparable,” she said, echoing her answer from that day. Not even you.

  “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  Slowly, he returned his gaze to hers and from the taut line of his jaw she knew he had to steel himself for what he was about to say. When he spoke, his voice was gruff and raw. “Do you really want to know why the hell I won’t attend that ceremony? Because it’s a ceremony for heroes, and I’m the last damn person that belongs there.”

  “You’re not making sense.” Didn’t belong there? “Of course you belong there.”

  Jake’s knuckles were white, he’d gripped the steering wheel so tightly. Zoe wondered if he were trying to snap the metal in two, since he couldn’t snap himself. “Forget I said anything.”

  No. This time she wouldn’t let him brush her off when she got close. This time she pushed back.

  “What do you mean you don’t belong at the ceremony?” And why did he fight so hard against the term hero? “Tell me, Jake. Talk to me. Please.”

  She watched as Jake turned her words over in his mind, holding her breath for his response. He was waging that internal battle he always battled, debating whether or not to let his barriers down. She hoped this time the results came out in her favor.

  Let someone help you, Jake.

  “You think it’s so simple,” he replied aloud, as if he heard her thoughts. “That if I talk, everything will magically fall into place, but you’re wrong. I’ve talked, Zoe.” He let out a hollow laugh. “I have talked ’til I’m blue in the face. You know what I learned? Talking doesn’t change a damn thing. It doesn’t change what happened. And it sure as hell won’t bring back the dead,” he added in a whisper.

  No one should lose a friend. Zoe closed her eyes. She couldn’t begin to imagine the horrors Jake had experienced; only a fool would try. But he needn’t bear his burden alone, either.

  “You’re right. Talking won’t bring back the dead.” Gently, she cupped his cheek, conveying with a touch what her words were unable to say. “But that doesn’t change the fact you’re here. And that you’re very much alive.” Or could be, if he’d allow himself.

  Jake leaned into her touch and her hopes rose that she’d finally broken through. The promise lasted but a second. No sooner did his shoulders begin to sag than he pulled away again, sitting up straight and pushing away her hand as though her touch burned him.

  “That’s just it. I shouldn’t be here,” he rasped, his voice contorted by restrained emotion. “I shouldn’t be alive.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JAKE’S head hurt. Why the hell did he say anything? Now there’d be no escape. Zoe would press and press until she got the whole story.

  Even now, she stood stock-still, waiting for him to explain. God, he missed her touch. So gentle, so comforting. He’d had to pull away. The words wouldn’t have come otherwise.

  Jake dragged a hand over his face. Funny how words he’d said so many times were still hard to get out.

  “We were part of a convoy. The truck in front of us triggered an IED. They must have driven over the trip wire. Next thing I knew, we were taking fire. We never saw it coming.”

  You should have been on alert, expected the attack. The accusation came as it always did when he made the excuse.

  “They had a grenade launcher. We could see the fire coming at us from the hills. I told my driver to blow through, figuring we could outdistance the attack, but then one of the grenades hit the front of our vehicle.”

  He closed his eyes and the memory played out before him. “It blew a hole right through. I must have… I must have gotten thrown because all of a sudden I woke up on the side of the road and the truck was on fire. My leg… I couldn’t drag myself more than a few inches at a time.”

  The familiar burn started behind his eyelids. Cursing his weakness, he reached under his sunglasses to rub the wetness away.

  “Ramirez, the driver—he was trapped. I—I don’t know about the others. They were in the truck but…” He took a breath. “I could hear Ramirez screaming. He kept— He kept saying ‘Ayúdame. Madre de Dios, ayúdame,’ over and over. I tried. God, I tried, but my leg…

  “I couldn’t get to them in time. I tried, but I couldn’t get to them. The fire…”

  Self-reproach rose like bile in his throat, choking him. “Ramirez had just had a baby boy. He’d freaking showed us the photo that morning. Kid was a month old. He never saw him.”

  “I’m sorry.” Zoe’s apology floated through the open window, her tender whisper offering absolution. Jake shook it away. He didn’t deserve the gift.

  “I was their CO. They trusted me to get them home, and I failed.” His voice cracked. He tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. A vice was squeezing the words out of him.

  “That’s why I won’t go to Mifflin’s ceremony. How the hell can I sit on the dais and be hailed a hero when I came home and my men didn’t?”

  He squeezed his eyes, fighting the shudders building inside him, and waited for the chill that told him Zoe had backed away. How could she not, now that she knew what he was, what he’d done?

  Then, suddenly, there was a rush of air and he felt himself being enveloped by a cocoon of lemons and salt air.

  “Shhh,” Zoe was whispering in his ear. “Shhh.” Quiet sounds promising peace and salvation. A shudder broke free, tearing through him. With a strangled cry, he collapsed into her, burying his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling that wonderful scent and briefly, ever so briefly allowing himself, for the first time since coming home, to rest.

  “Shhh.” Zoe couldn’t think of anything else to say. She rocked back and forth, her heart crying for the broken man in her arms. His hair felt damp and she realized the moisture was coming from her cheeks.

  “It’ll be all right,” she murmured. “It’s going to be all right. I promise.”

  “No.” She felt him shaking his head. “It won’t be.” Fingers dug into her shoulders as he broke from their embrace. “I can’t do this. I don’t deserve—”

  “Stop.” Cutting him off, Zoe pressed her fingers to his lips. “Don’t say what I think you’re about to say. It’s not true.”

>   “How can you say that?”

  “Because I know.” One look at the anguish in his eyes was enough. “You’re a good man, Jake Meyers. A good, decent man.”

  She moved to touch him again, longing to reestablish the physical connection. To bring him close again.

  Awareness flashed in his eyes, and she knew he’d read her thoughts. Seeing his need, the tightness in her chest shifted, changing form until it felt bigger than a simple need to give comfort. Shaking his head, he caught her wrist before she could make contact.

  “The man you think I am doesn’t exist, Zoe. I’m dead inside.”

  Zoe’s eyes fell to her wrist. To the scarred thumb unconsciously rubbing circles on the inside hollow.

  Jake must have followed her gaze because he dropped her hand. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

  “Why? Because I might care?” Too late. That rule had been shattered.

  “Because I’ve got no business getting involved with anyone. Not as a friend, not as a—”

  While he was speaking, he’d been leaning in closer. Realizing at the last moment what he was doing, he drew back, closing the door between them instead.

  “Not as anything,” he said. “I’m sorry, Zoe, but like I told you, some things are too broken to be fixed.”

  You’re wrong. The words died on her tongue. A piece of her broke as she watched Jake pull out of the driveway. The fragment stabbed at her heart, bringing a fresh batch of tears.

  “You’re wrong,” she whispered, out loud this time as he pulled into his driveway and hobbled to the front door. Even though he couldn’t hear her, she said the words anyway.

  “You’re wrong.”

  “It’s called combat trauma, and it’s far more common than you think,” Kent Mifflin told her.

  From behind her coffee cup, Zoe nodded. The two of them were having breakfast in Vineyard Haven. Following his confession, Jake had disappeared into himself. And this time she wasn’t imagining the distance. Jake had barely said two words. The shingles arrived, and he buried himself in work. The roof was almost complete. Soon he’d be finished and off on another job. Knowing Jake, that meant she’d see little to nothing of him for as long as he could avoid her. Then she wouldn’t see him at all, except at a distance or unless she could make up some kind of house project for him to work on. The idea of never seeing those green eyes again left an ache in the pit of her stomach. So, after another sleepless night where she found herself replaying Jake’s story, she called Kent, hoping the understanding she’d heard in the older man’s voice meant he knew what Jake was going through.

  Her instinct had been correct.

  “Problem is,” Kent said, “soldiers think they should come home after serving, put the fighting behind them, and go back to regular life. Except it’s not that easy. For most of them, the war is still going on. They might not be physically fighting, but they’re fighting—” he tapped the side of his head “—in here. Slightest thing can send them back to the battlefield.”

  Zoe thought of what happened at the hardware store. “Flashbacks.”

  “They can be hell. For the person experiencing one, it’s literally like being right back on the front line. The sounds, the smells, the whole shebang. It’s one of the reasons we didn’t hold the dedication ceremony on the Fourth of July.”

  “Because of the fireworks.”

  “You got it. While most of the crowd’s busy oohing and aahing, these men and women are thinking tracer bullets and mortars. Jenkin and I want to honor these people, not make things worse.”

  Again, Zoe nodded. “When I called, I’d hoped you could give me some insight. I had no idea you were an expert.”

  “Not an expert—experienced.” He brandished the prosthetic. “Think I simply fell into this good nature of mine? ’Course, back then we didn’t have a name for what guys like me were going through. All I knew was I was angry and empty.”

  Just then the waitress arrived with their orders. While Kent bantered with the waitress regarding the “doneness” of his eggs, Zoe thought about what he’d told her. Angry and empty certainly described Jake. She was certain the incident he’d described the other day, while the worst, was only one of many horrific things he’d witnessed. She’d give anything to erase those images from his head.

  “Great gal,” Kent said after the waitress left, “but doesn’t understand the meaning of ‘nonrunny’ when it comes to eggs. One of these days I’m going to have to show her myself. Now, where were we?”

  “You were telling me about how you learned about combat trauma.”

  “Oh, right.” He bit off a piece of toast. “I was lucky. I had a good support system. My family could afford help. Therapists, rehab, stuff like that. And my grandfather was at Midway, so he had an idea what I was going through. Not everyone’s so lucky though. Their families don’t know how to help, or they pull away from their families for whatever reason so that they don’t have a support system.”

  Like Jake.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Kent asked. She looked up from her coffee. “Does Jake know you’re here talking with me?”

  She shook her head. Part of her—a large part—felt enormously guilty for the betrayal. While she hadn’t told Kent the exact details of what Jake endured, she’d said enough. Sometimes you have to cross a line when there’s no other choice, she rationalized. She only hoped the blow back wouldn’t be too harsh.

  “Didn’t think so,” Kent replied.

  “I hate going behind his back, but he seems so…” She didn’t want to say broken, even though that was the best choice, so she shrugged, trying to hide the emotion burning her eyes. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “I understand. It’s not easy loving someone who’s battling demons.”

  Love? Quickly Zoe held up her palm. “Oh, no, I’m not… I mean, Jake and I aren’t…”

  Sure, she cared about him. And okay, she was attracted to him. Who wouldn’t be? But love? For goodness’ sake, she barely knew the man. Besides, even if she were to fall in love again—which she wasn’t anywhere near ready to do—people didn’t do so in a couple of weeks.

  “We’re friends, is all,” she told Kent. “Jake’s my neighbor and handyman.”

  “Oh.” The look on Kent’s face made her feel like a kid caught cheating. She had to struggle not to squirm. “My mistake. When I saw the two of you in the store together, I would have sworn…”

  He waved off the thought. “Never mind. Either way, he’s lucky to have you on his side.”

  “Except I have no clue what to do to help him.”

  “You’re doing it. Be his friend. Worse thing a guy like him can do is isolate himself. Gives him too much time to think, and believe me, thinking can be your worst enemy. Encourage him to get out and enjoy life.”

  “Easier said than done,” she murmured.

  “Hell, if it were easy, the world wouldn’t need therapists. Just be patient. There’s no overnight fix, I’ll tell you that. I’m not sure if there is really a ‘fix’ at all. The memories never go away. Why do you think I can’t stand runny eggs?”

  He chuckled, bringing a small smile to Zoe’s lips. “Best we can do is learn how to cope,” he continued. “A good first step, by the way, would be to get your friend to attend the ceremony.”

  Was it her imagination or did he accentuate the word friend?

  “Might help to see other vets, too, talk to people who know what he’s going through.”

  “I’ll try, but I’m not sure I’ll have much luck. He’s pretty stubborn, in case you didn’t know.”

  “I know,” Kent said with another chuckle. “He and I have crossed paths before. But something tells me if anyone on these islands can convince him, it’s you.”

  “Me?” His confidence in her was astounding. As well as misplaced. “You overestimate my influence. Jake and I have known each other a little over a week.”

  “And yet he told his story.” Kent sawed off a piece of fried egg with his fork
and popped it in his mouth. “That’s got to count for something.”

  It didn’t surprise her to see Jake on the roof when she drove into her driveway later that day. At the sound of her tires meeting the gravel, he glanced upward, but nothing more. Zoe sighed. Still withdrawn. Her stomach sank when she saw that only a small patch of tar paper remained exposed. Her window of opportunity was closing faster than she thought, taking Jake along with it.

  Since the chances of getting Jake to come down and speak with her were slim to none, she had no choice but to approach him. Squaring her shoulders, she marched into the house, grabbed a water bottle and headed back outside.

  “Time to mount another rescue mission,” she told Reynaldo, who she discovered sleeping on the back step next to a full water dish. “Wish me luck.”

  Kneeling at the far end of the roof, Jake was hammering away at the shingles with a fury. Drowning his thoughts with work? Or in a rush to be finished?

  Because of the unusually hot day, he’d exchanged his T-shirt for a sleeveless tank top. His fully exposed biceps rippled and flexed with each stroke. Their sweaty definition was close to perfection, but it wasn’t his physical good looks or his ever-present grace making her breath catch as she stood on top of the ladder. This time it was the lines marring his marbled skin. Lines she now recognized as shrapnel wounds. Her throat caught thinking of the burden being carried by those broad shoulders.

  She waited until he’d reached for another nail, then cleared her throat. He turned to look at her straight on, and her heart skipped. Dear Lord, but those eyes… She waved the water bottle. “Hi.”

  “I’ll be done in a couple hours.”

  “What is that supposed to mean? You’ll wait until then for a drink? It’s got be close to ninety degrees in the sun. Is it against your rules to have a cold drink?”

  “I don’t have any rules,” he replied. “I’m simply trying to get this job finished.”

  So he could retreat further. Standing her ground, Zoe waved the bottle again. “Ice cold.”

  Those must have been the magic words because, giving a long sigh, Jake set down his hammer and made his way to her. While he drained half the bottle in one gulp, Zoe gave thanks to the heat gods and scrambled up the last couple rungs. She perched herself on the peak, making it clear she planned on sticking around.