Steel Rain: A Military Romance Collection

by A. Gorman

  He’d trusted me. He’d believed in me. He’d died because of it.

  Fueled by the panic of being surrounded by veterans, I relived every wretched moment of the mission and my subsequent capture and torture, only this time more vividly and in full color, unlike my blurry, black-and-white nightmares. The only thing unchanged was the outcome. In the end, I hadn’t learned anything. The very same arrogance he’d warned me about all those years before is what got him, and the majority of his unit, killed. Their blood stained my soul in a way no amount of torture – physical or otherwise – could ever drown out; no amount of therapy would bleach it away.

  A hand gently touched my arm, yanking me from my spiral and catapulting me out of my chair. The sound of metal scraping concrete brought the room back into focus as my gaze found the clock once again. Less than two minutes had passed for the group while I’d revisited my endless nightmare. I settled back into my chair as the group leader asked, “Mr. Cormick, would you like to share your experiences with the group?” Amazingly, her voiced remained kind, despite my obvious reluctance to engage with the group.

  “Cormick?” a voice from across the group called out before I could respond. “Aren’t you the photojournalist that got captured? You were attached to that unit that was decimated a couple of years back, right?”

  “George, this is his first time here, we need to let him share as he wishes. Don’t push,” the group leader gently reminded the veteran as I located him in the group and met his questioning gaze. His prosthetic leg stretched out to one side as he awkwardly propped himself on his remaining leg. The lack of accusation in his tone shocked me more than his recognition.

  “I’m him,” I confirmed, all hope of healing draining from me as I finally let my gaze sweep over the men and women around me.

  Some were veterans, some were spouses, but they all had one thing in common: The cost of war was steep and these people were paying a price no one seemed to see. Their scars ran far deeper than surface wounds, than missing limbs, than any injury ever would. The nightmares, the memories, the fear that came calling when you least expected it. The irrational responses when an object hit the floor, or the car hit a pothole. On and on it went. Crowds became overwhelming, the need to see every angle of the room became cumbersome, gatherings became stressors. No one could see what lingered after the physical wounds healed; not even me. But I knew they existed for every individual in the room, and their torments deserved better than to waste time with my unworthy scars.

  I don’t belong here. The truth of the realization washed over me, and my decision was made. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice unnaturally calm as I carefully stood, my childhood self-preservation skills kicking in to hide my fear. Having hid my terror from my father for so long, it felt good to shut everything down and momentarily revert to my practiced façade, but I knew I couldn’t hold it for long; I’d ventured too far into the mire to lock everything back up.

  I gently shifted my chair to the side, careful not to scrape it on the floor, and stepped out of the circle.

  “Mr. Cormick, please don’t leave.” The concern in the counselor’s voice made me hesitate at the refreshment table, but no amount of concern could convince me to pretend I deserved to sit among those wounded honorably. The sacrifice of CSM Moore and his men would not be tarnished by any more of my arrogance.

  TWO

  Cold air flooded my lungs as I burst through the double doors, shattering the last vestiges of my façade and ushering in the panic attack with fierce abandon. My mind raced to make sense of my current physiological breakdown while adrenaline coursed through my veins in waves as memories crashed over me. Moving on autopilot, I stumbled across the parking lot to my truck, my fingers gripping the handle just before I began to hyperventilate.

  This hadn’t happened in a year. I’d been doing fine when I ignored my issues, letting them fester. Ever since I started poking at them, everything seemed to be held together by tenuous threads, ready to snap in the slightest of breeze.

  Why was I doing this to myself? Who cared if I got better?

  Maggie.

  Maggie was with Deacon now, someone already working past his shit so he could have a future. On paper, he was perfect for her, despite having lived through the same hellish day I had, complete with a permanent reminder every time he looked at his prosthetic leg.

  Deacon could never be what Maggie needed, no matter how good a man he was, but what right did I have to get between them?

  Thoughts of losing her spun my panic further out of control, and tears clogged my eyes as I began counting to twenty in my mind.

  Control the minutes.

  Control the seconds.

  Control.

  Control.

  Control.

  My knuckles turned white from the strain of gripping my phone as I fought a losing battle for control. My fingers moved of their own accord, and I didn’t realize what I’d done until it was too late and the call connected.

  “John?” a hesitant voice questioned distantly as I stared numbly at the screen of my phone.

  I ended the call as embarrassment began pushing my panic away. Why the hell had I called her? Of all the things my subconscious could’ve done, this was the absolute worst. The possible ramifications swirled in my mind, threatening a fresh wave of panic. My gaze locked on my reflection in the rearview mirror, the crazed-blank expression sparking a discordant recognition. I’d seen the same look on Maggie more times than I could count. Was this type of mental hurricane what went on in her brain whenever she had the same expression?

  The abominable phone began vibrating in my hand, yanking my mind in yet another direction, as Maggie’s name blinked across the screen. My mind reeled as I struggled to find an anchor to hold on to, while once again my fingers betrayed me and answered the call, forcing me to put the phone to my ear.

  “John? Why are you calling me and hanging up?” The annoyance in Maggie’s voice pulled me back from the brink of utter hysteria.

  “Sorry,” I choked out, unable to hide the tremble in my voice. I’d never lost it in front of her. I’d never shown her how truly unhinged I was.

  Control.

  Always in control.

  Never let it slip.

  If I don’t have control, someone else does.

  “Where are you?” I heard muffled sounds in the background and wondered what she was doing. I’d done my best to give her space to determine for herself that Deacon would never see the real her, but I’d wanted to call her a thousand times – to hear her voice, to tell her the truth.

  “JOHN!” Maggie shouted, snapping me back to the present, her mounting aggravation an unlikely balm to my rattled soul. “Where are you?”

  The address of the church fell from my mouth before I could stop it. I needed her. I’d never needed anyone in my life, but I needed her. The thought of never seeing her smiling face again, of never feeling her warmth fill a room, ripped the very last humanity from my bones. Oblivion would be a better alternative than a reality in which she didn’t exist.

  “Don’t move. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  Ten minutes?

  Control.

  Retain control.

  Focus.

  Pulling up my GPS app, I looked up her address wondering how she could get here that quickly. Sure enough, I’d chosen a meeting close to where she lived. Even my subconscious knew she was the only hope I had for humanizing my tattered remains.

  Inhale.

  Control.

  Exhale.

  Control.

  “FUCK!” I shouted at the empty truck, my fears clogging my throat. Images from the past surged anew. Countless battles, bodies strewn about contorted in unnatural angles, pieces of bodies separated in some sort of demented puzzle never to be put together again.

  A tenuous knock pulled my focus to the passenger window. A highly irritated and increasingly wetter Maggie, her wild red curls flying around her head, stared back at me.

  Co
ntrol.

  Choke back the fear.

  Don’t let it show.

  Leaning over, I popped the lock on her door.

  No, not her door. The passenger door. She wasn’t mine. She belonged to someone else.

  “Hi,” she said, her casual tone belying her knowledge that I was in the middle of a breakdown. As if the world were simple, and we were just two regular people having a conversation.

  “So what brings you out tonight?” I asked, the hysteria loosening its grip the tiniest of bits as I focused on the warmth that was Maggie Moore. She radiated it like a sun.

  “I hear there’s a good diner down the street with pumpkin pancakes. I was in the neighborhood and figured I’d stop by and get you on the way.” She was my life raft.

  “Do they have scones?” The question pulled a smile from her. Not so long ago we’d randomly shouted breakfast foods, and it tugged at my heart to know she remembered it as well.

  “No, but they have really hot coffee.” A smile danced across her eyes before a furrow creased her brow. Her focus was unrelenting in its appraisal of me. She was always scanning me, evaluating me, taking note of my current state. I’d yet to discern if it was a conscious action, but I had learned rather quickly that regardless of my state, she still expected me to be civil and kind.

  “I like your friend,” she said, tapping the plastic dinosaur I’d glued to my dash. It was from the best present I’d ever received – a tube of plastic dinosaurs she’d bought me after finding out one of my few pleasures in this world was Paleontology. I had stashed those bastards everywhere. Maybe to try and remember her, or maybe to remind me someone in the world thought I was worth the fight. Whatever the reason, embarrassment leaked in as I stared at her staring at the dinosaur.

  “Coffee,” I managed to sputter.

  “I’ll drive. Come on, Cormick.” She hopped down out of the truck and ran toward her deathtrap of a car. The same deathtrap that had broken down less than a month before, giving me a prolonged weekend with her. The best weekend of my life.

  I must be desperate.

  “You coming, or am I eating pancakes alone?” Maggie shouted, throwing her arms in the air.

  Sliding out of the truck, I made sure all of the locks were secure and silently followed her to her car. I’d only endured riding in it once before, when we’d first been stuck together as partners. At the time, I’d had little faith in what our boss deemed a magical match, and only saw a clumsy, naive brat in a losing battle with Murphy’s Law as the other half of the worst pairing imaginable, but I’d never been more wrong in my life. For the first time in my career my images played a supporting role to the words, and I was floored by her brilliant writing, humbled to be considered worthy of sharing the page with her talent as we miraculously made the world fall in love with the utterly bizarre.

  “So,” Maggie started, nervously drumming her thumbs on the steering wheel, “I know we had the whole I’m not sure if I can trust you—oh wait I do—no, you aren’t the person I thought you were—but maybe you are and you can move on thing…”

  “Spit it out,” I barked, harsher than I’d meant to. I honestly never intended to be short with Maggie, but my brain’s solution to keep me from spewing my heart’s deepest secrets and desires was to use as few words as possible, as quickly as possible, whenever I was required to speak.

  “I’m getting to it. Don’t rush me. Besides, you called me, remember?” Her flustered ire colored her cheeks. Memories of our one, and only, kiss consumed my mind, making me want to crush my lips against hers.

  “Sorry.”

  “Are you okay?” she blurted suddenly, probably afraid I’d get mad at her for asking.

  “No. I’m not.” The honest admission ripped my panic back to the surface.

  “And you called me.”

  “I didn’t mean to.” Why couldn’t I just be honest with her, for once.

  Fuck it, what was the worst that could happen?

  “You panic butt dialed me?” she asked with a raised brow.

  “No. I think some part of me knew I needed you.” The honesty was so foreign to both of us, she sat in silence, eyes wide, digesting the admission.

  “What can I do?” Maggie never hesitated with me, no matter the scars I’d left. Her voice enveloped me in comfort. I knew I could tell her anything. She’d seen the ugliness, had lived through her own hell, and she’d come out the stronger for it.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Alright, let’s start with something easier.” She chewed her bottom lip nervously, a habit she’d worked hard to correct, but still did it when she wasn’t thinking. “What happened?”

  “I was at a meeting, and someone recognized me. Everything came flooding back and I couldn’t breathe.”

  “You had an anxiety attack,” Maggie nodded, as though she were analyzing a clinical subject. “Right, my dad used to have those. So here’s what we are going to do. We’re going to go sit at the diner, get some coffee, and you’re going to talk.”

  “But…” I started to argue.

  “No, this time you will listen to me, John Cormick. You need to stop avoiding everything. You’re going to lose what little mind you have left, then I’ll have to get a new partner who will take terrible pictures, and not tell me when my hair looks like a lion’s mane, and just no. We are going. You are going to talk about all of the things, and we might even get a slice of pie. This trip is for purely selfish reasons. And the pie. Mostly the not wanting to have to go through the process of getting a new partner thing, though.”

  THREE

  We rode in silence the short distance to the diner. Maggie spent the drive chewing on her bottom lip nervously, probably worrying she’d said the wrong thing again. I was to blame for that little quirk, thanks to my futile attempts to firmly push her out of my life.

  I spent the drive soaking in every minute detail of her. Her hair was erratic, as though I’d woken her up when I called. Her lithe frame was draped in a chunky sweater that threatened to swallow her whole. The nights were getting cooler, but Maggie was always cold. It could be a million degrees out and she’d still find a blanket to huddle under. Her eyes sparkled in the passing lights, which cast an eerie glow on her fair skin making her look almost angelic.

  My savior and my torment.

  “We’re here,” Maggie announced unnecessarily as she parked and turned off the car. The last time we’d come here, the server had tripped and tossed a cup of coffee in the air, effectively spraying Maggie down with molten liquid.

  Climbing out of the car, we made our way into the dimly lit diner. This late at night, there was only one other customer occupying a booth.

  “Hey, Maggie! How are you doing, doll?” The waitress of previous coffee fame came strolling up, wrapping her arms around Maggie in a tight hug. “Did you finally go grocery shopping? I haven’t seen you in almost a week.”

  “Yeah. I finally took care of it. Can you blame me, though? That’s a lot of stairs to carry groceries up.” Maggie smiled brightly as the two broke their embrace.

  “Oh, hey. I remember you,” the waitress chirped to me in her sweet-as-tea southern accent. “Y’all go ahead and take a seat. I’ll be right over.”

  “Making friends?”

  “Well some of mine tend to fall off of the planet from time to time, so I’m trying to branch out and form more meaningful relationships,” Maggie said flatly.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For?” She raised her brows expectantly.

  “For being a dick. For falling off of the planet when I get overwhelmed. For the way I talked to you the last time we spoke.”

  “That’s a lot of sorry.” Maggie couldn’t hide her surprise. Her eyes were as round as an owl’s as she stared unbelieving at me. “How are things with Anna?”

  Her question rattled me, bringing up everything my therapist had said in our emergency session. Anna. My ex-fiancée had decided to traipse back into my life once I’d finally started to get my shi
t back together. Anna loved the idea of me but didn’t know me at all.

  “There are no things with Anna, Maggie. There haven’t been things with Anna in a very long time. She arranged a meeting for our next assignment, and that was the extent of it. She made her feelings known and so did I. She finally gave up and collected her stuff from the apartment.” I watched Maggie’s face carefully as the admission sank in.

  Well, fuck. He’d been right.

  She’d thought I was with Anna again and as a result ran right into Deacon’s arms. If I died alone it would be because of my own damned stupidity.

  “Oh,” Maggie muttered, the myriad of thoughts racing through her mind showing in the familiar crazed-blank expression on her face. “But…”

  “So, food?” the waitress returned, carefully setting two mugs of coffee on the table before pulling her order pad out. The interruption offered plenty of time for Maggie to overthink whatever she was going to say. I’d probably never hear whatever it was.

  “Pie,” Maggie said, pulling one of the mugs closer to her. “Lots of pie. Just bring the whole pie and a spoon. I’m not sure what he’s having.”

  “A spoon to share the pie.”

  “You better get your own pie, John Cormick. You can’t have any of mine.”

  “Fine, a slice of pumpkin pie for me.” I amended to the waitress, shaking off my disbelief. There was no way she could eat an entire pie on her own, but I knew not to argue. I’d learned long ago some fights weren’t worth the bother, and fights involving Maggie and food were on the top of that list.

  The waitress scurried off leaving Maggie and I staring at one another.

  “A whole pie?” I asked, unable to stop myself.

  “Don’t you judge me.” Maggie crossed her arms, doing her best to look fierce but the oversized sweater just made her look like a child throwing a tantrum. She was unbelievably adorable. Sort of like a scrappy puppy that thought it could take on a big dog. I wouldn’t bet on the big dog in a fight with her.