He didn’t want to be here. And he certainly didn’t want to have makeup slathered on his face to do it.
Nora Harper stepped up on stage, her blonde hair shining beneath the lights, her five foot five frame appearing taller because she was so slender. Even without the heavy makeup, she’d be a beautiful woman. She lowered herself into the chair across from him and smiled. “I appreciate you agreeing to the interview, Mr. Crowes.” She leaned forward and offered her hand. Cal automatically gripped, then released it. They both knew the only reason he’d agreed was because his boss had pushed him into it.
Nora studied him with pale blue-gray eyes, her smooth brow crinkled by a frown. “We’ll be taping more footage than we’ll be using, and then edit for content afterwards.”
Cal nodded. “Okay.”
“Also, there was a video I found online of you at work. I thought it would be good to use the footage and dub your answers to some of the questions behind it. I was wondering if we could get a signed release from the person who shot it.”
“Two of my crewmates at work shot the video.”
“May I have their contact info so I can ask them to sign the releases?”
A feeling of uneasiness took root in the pit of his stomach. She was too casual about it. “I’d feel better if Mr. Wiley saw it first and gave his okay before it’s put on television. It was filmed on the site of one of his projects.”
Her features tightened, and she tried to cover her disappointment. “I’ll show it to him when he comes in to tape his interview and get him to sign off on it.”
“I’ll email him when I get home and tell him to expect it.”
“You don’t trust me do you, Mr. Crowes?”
“I don’t know you, Ms. Harper. But when I wouldn’t give you an interview, you made comments on the air about my workplace and my competence on the job, which sicced several agencies on my boss and pushed him into encouraging me to do this interview. So, no. I don’t trust you.”
“You said if I stirred the pot you wouldn’t have a job.”
“Not because of the company I work for, Ms. Harper. Because of the shitstorm you’ve already stirred up.”
“But you wouldn’t answer my question on the phone. You even blocked me from calling back. How was I to know that?”
Cal raised a shoulder in a shrug. “I wanted to be left in peace.” He motioned toward the cameras. “But this comes first with you, doesn’t it?”
She leaned back in her chair. “Are you going to be hostile while I interview you?”
“I’ll do my part because I gave Mr. Wiley my word.”
She nodded. But she wasn’t happy. She touched her ear bud. “We need to get started.”
Cal placed his palms on his thighs to keep from fidgeting while Nora did the introduction to the segment. He had to cool down and remain pleasant whether he wanted to or not. An edgy resentment tightened his shoulder muscles.
“Welcome, Corporal Crowes.”
Being called Corporal again gave him a twinge of pain, stronger than he expected. Had he believed he could dive back into his life as a soldier and do the job right… He might have lost out on being part of the Engineering Corps, but he’d loved being a Marine. “It’s just Callahan Crowes now.”
“Is that a family name, Callahan?”
“Yeah, after my great grandfather.”
She eased him into the interview by asking about his background.
He began to relax a little since she was sticking with the questions she’d sent him.
She turned to his service record. “You were highly decorated for your service.
Cal shrugged. “There are a lot of guys out there with more distinguished records. Mine was cut short.”
“Cut short when your vehicle hit an IED.”
“Yes.”
Cal’s muscles tensed and his heart rate jumped. She was easing into something she hadn’t prepared him for. He could smell it.
“How extensive were your injuries?”
He ran through the list dispassionately.
“You were lucky to have survived.”
“Yeah, I was. The three other men with me were killed instantly.”
“I know you have a tattoo on your chest honoring them.”
Was that why she wanted the video? “Yes.” He’d gladly turn this thing to something about them instead of him. “Private 1st Class Jasper Holland. He was from Tennessee. He played the guitar and sang ballads to entertain us when we weren’t on patrol. We called him Jazz.
“Private Mitchell Ellison. He was from Sacramento, California. He had a dry wit and a sharp sense of humor. He kept us laughing.
“And Private 1st Class Neil Carter. He was from Oklahoma. He was quiet, but had a quick laugh, and was a master at chess. We covered each other’s backs for ten months. I was their commanding officer that day, but I couldn’t protect them from a bomb.” He swallowed back the emotion.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Cal. For all their families’ loss.”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
“How long did it take you to recover from your injuries?”
“Three months for my bones to knit, a little longer for my body to heal. They fit me for my prosthetic six weeks after I lost my leg, but I had to have several more tune-ups to get it right. As my leg changes with use and age, I’ll have to continue doing the tune-ups on my prosthetic, probably for the rest of my life.
“After six more months of physical therapy and exercise, I was back to fighting form, and I had to decide whether to stay in or accept my discharge.”
And a six-month overlap of one-on-one counseling had helped him deal with his emotions, but it had taken three more months for the headaches to stop. Severe head trauma was a bitch.
“You decided not to reenlist though you’d been cleared to return to combat.” The avid curiosity in her expression made him uncomfortable. It was as though she wanted to get under his skin in some way.
“I could have worked in a support position. But I could never be the kind of Marine I wanted to be again. I decided to accept that and move on.”
“I’ve been told a lot of men experience survivor’s guilt. Do you feel guilty having survived when the other men didn’t?” She projected sympathy in her expression.
He’d tried to stop, had swung the wheel to avoid something, but he didn’t remember what. He’d been eaten up with what-ifs for a while, but had had to leave that thinking behind for his own stability. “The terrorist who built the bomb is responsible for my men’s deaths. But I’ll always owe Jazz, Mitch, and Neil something. My responsibility to them is to continue to live my life in the best way I can to honor their sacrifice. And to remember them.”
She remained silent a moment. “You looked pretty strong on the video I saw of you on the job. It’s obvious you found something you can do, despite any limitations you may experience because of your injuries.”
“It’s something I’m good at. I’m grateful to be able to do it.”
“Your father wouldn’t hire you to work on his construction sites. Why?”
How had she found out about that? Had she talked to his dad? Betrayal like a brushfire raced through him. Brutal honesty was the only way he could deal with this. “My father couldn’t get past what I looked like in the hospital when I was flown home from Germany. He labeled me a cripple before he ever gave me a chance to come back from my injuries. It’s his loss that he continues to do so, because he’s wrong.”
She never missed a beat, though she’d gotten the emotional response she’d been looking for. “So now you walk around on steel beams instead for Wiley Design.”
“Yeah. Tom Hill our foreman had faith I could do the job and gave me a shot. I proved I could.”
“You do realize how rare it is for an amputee to do the kind of work you do.”
“Competence in a field depends on a lot of different factors, Ms. Harper. So far I haven’t run up against anything I haven’t been able to handle. When I do, I’ll be
the first to turn it over to someone who can. That’s why we call our working unit a crew.”
“Has anyone at Wiley Design and Construction ever said anything detrimental to you about your ability to do the job?”
She was fishing for what he’d meant on the phone. “No. I haven’t broadcasted that I have a prosthetic lower leg. But it’s never been an issue with the work, so why would I?”
“It’s still a dangerous job.”
“Any job can be without the proper safety measures.”
“You recently saved a fellow worker’s life. What happened?”
He was really tired of repeating the same thing over and over. Maybe this would be the last time. “We were on our way to the elevators to load safety netting when Julio tripped and fell and went over the side. I snagged his safety vest. The crew helped me pull him back up.”
“From the video, he nearly dragged you over the side, didn’t he?”
“But he didn’t.”
“Who was the other person who helped rescue him?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
Her mouth tightened with impatience.
“I appreciate you agreeing to our interview, Mr. Crowes.” She leaned forward to offer her hand.
So now he was Mister. Cal shook it briefly. “You’re welcome.”
She went into a run down on upcoming shows. Cal remained still until the cameraman signaled clear. A technician appeared to remove the mic and its battery pack.
He rose to leave.
“That wasn’t so uncomfortable, was it?” she asked.
“You talked to my parents?”
“To your brother.”
The betrayal burrowed even deeper. He studied her face to see if she even understood what she’d done. All he saw was a frown.
He shook his head and stepped down off the stage.
“I don’t understand why you’re so opposed to talking about your experiences. You’re alive, you survived.” She threw out a hand in exasperation.
“Because my life, my pain, isn’t for your viewers’ entertainment. It’s as personal as your sex life. Do you want to answer questions on television about that?”
“No, of course not. But sometimes talking about trauma helps, it’s cathartic.”
“I’ve talked to other soldiers who’ve been through similar experiences to mine, and I’ve talked to doctors who treat men like me. Those moments were cathartic. Going on television to rehash my injuries isn’t. It’s just an invasion of my privacy.”
He moved to walk away but turned back. “Recovering from something like this isn’t a six-month or even a year-long process. It takes a lifetime, because we have to live with it for a lifetime. Struggle with it for a lifetime. I don’t need my recovery or my life made any more difficult by total strangers taking judgmental pot shots at me from afar.”
“That’s why I wanted to interview you, Mr. Crowes. To show that you’ve survived the struggle, you’re continuing to live a normal life.”
If she only knew. The most normal thing he’d done since coming home from Afghanistan was make love with Kathleen. His emotions were finally starting to thaw, and he was only starting to deal with it.
He was wasting his time trying to point out how wrong this woman’s motivations were. She was about the job, not any humanitarian effort.
“Good luck to you, Ms. Harper.”
He turned and meandered away through the cable-strewn area behind the cameras. He scanned the room until he found Kathleen waiting at the exit door. When she held out her hand, relief flooded through him and he grabbed it.
Chapter 16
‡
Kathleen remained silent as they worked their way down hallways so shiny and clean the florescent lights reflected off of them like runways leading to the front door. As soon as they made it outside Kathleen turned to face him. “You need to take a deep breath, Callahan.”
“I’m okay.”
No he wasn’t. His cheeks were red and his jaw taut. He rubbed a hand over his hair in a gesture of stress she was becoming familiar with.
“I’m sorry she dragged your father into the broadcast.” She had to look away to maintain her composure. When she knew he was hurt, she felt his pain. “I know what a trial parents can sometimes be. How they try to manipulate you through guilt to do what they want, instead of what you feel you need to. How their expectations of you can cloud their judgment. And if you’re pissed at your brother, call him up and bitch him out. But don’t hold it in.”
The tension in his body eased and he reached for her. He rested his chin against her temple. “It doesn’t matter. I was angry at first, but I’m over it now.”
“Corporal Crowes.” A shout came from behind them, and they both turned to face a dark-haired young man as he bounded out the front door.
“You never signed the releases for the video footage on line.”
“I told Ms. Harper my boss would have to view it first. You can email it to me, and I’ll see it’s signed and sent back after he’s given his okay.”
The kid didn’t look happy as he turned to walk away.
“Why does she want the video so badly?” Kathleen asked.
“I don’t know. Unless she’s seen some kind of safety violation in it and wants to drag Wiley through the mud or stir up trouble again. We need to check it over and figure it out.”
Cal placed a hand against the small of her back as they ambled across the parking lot to his truck. It was a small show of consideration he always made, but coming on top of his being so worked up, Kathleen felt her eyes sting with tears.
What he’d said about his recovery being an ongoing struggle that would go on for years was true. For all his strengths, she recognized how his anxiety levels triggered his emotions. And how hard he fought to control them.
As they drove back to Cal’s apartment, silence stretched between them. Though his color had returned to normal, Kathleen could read the tension in his body.
As soon as he pulled into his parking slot, he said. “I need a cold beer. I bought a bottle of the wine you like.”
“I’d appreciate a glass,” she agreed. She didn’t wait for him to come around and get her door, but met him around the front of the vehicle and slipped an arm around his waist.
“Thanks for giving me some time.”
She gave him a hug.
She realized they were falling into a routine with each other when she dropped her purse on the table next to the door just as he did his keys. Both of them headed for the kitchen.
Cal removed the wine bottle from his fridge along with a beer. He tackled the cork with a minimum of bother and poured her a glass.
When they settled on the couch, Kathleen kicked off her shoes and curled her legs up. Cal toed off his tennis shoes.
He laid a hand on her calf and rubbed his thumb back and forth over her skin, both tickling her and giving her a sudden sensual rush. How was she supposed to control this instant reaction she had to him?
And why did she feel she had to?
Because it left her so completely vulnerable to losing her heart to him. And she was falling in love. She wasn’t blind to his issues, but she couldn’t help herself. He was trying so hard.
She swallowed a sip of wine to cover how emotionally tender she felt. She wanted to ask him about the message she’d gotten at work today, but now wasn’t the time. She couldn’t picture Cal hurting anyone outside his duty as a Marine. It just didn’t compute with the man who held his temper in and hurt himself rather than let his emotions get away from him.
Cal held his beer in the other hand and balanced it on his thigh, but didn’t drink from it. “I have a temper. When I was younger I got into fights—a lot. By high school, I’d learned if I didn’t want my Dad to come down on me at home I needed to pour all my aggression into sports.” He glanced up at her with a wry smile. “For the most part.”
Kathleen remained silent, afraid any comment she might make would dissuade him from continuing.
“The military taught me control and discipline, so I thought I’d left all that rage behind, and that was pretty much true until our Humvee was hit.” He took a drink from the beer bottle, then moistened his lips. “I didn’t grieve over my leg, I bypassed grief altogether and went straight into a full-fledged meltdown every time something didn’t go well. I can tell you part of it was my leg, part of it Stacy’s exodus, but most of it was losing my men, my career, everything.”
He started rubbing his hand back and forth over his head. “Coming home from a war zone to what everyone else thinks is normal is…surreal. The adjustment to that was—” He swallowed. “Difficult.”
“I fought my pain meds. I hated being on the pills and thought I could do without them. Big mistake. I had these headaches that were torture.” He traced the ridge just over his brows with his fingertips. “The more pain I was in, the shorter my temper got.”
“Then one morning one of the day nurses came in and told me she was tired of my shit and she wasn’t taking it anymore. If I didn’t take my meds and start cooperating, I was on my own. She gave me a lecture that would have pinned my ears back if I hadn’t been concentrating on being such an asshole.”
Shocked, Kathleen asked, “She couldn’t really do that, could she?”
“Well, she did. She took my vitals and made sure I was fed, but that was pretty much it. I poured all the anger her lecture triggered into learning to do for myself the things they’d been helping me do. If she wouldn’t help me, I’d by God do it myself.
“She actually did me a favor. With no one to fight with but me, I figured some things out.”
He concentrated on the beer bottle like it was the most important object in the room. His throat worked as he swallowed. “It was a form of survivor’s guilt. My thinking was I deserved to be in pain because my guys were dead and I wasn’t. They were just nineteen- and twenty-year-old kids. They deserved to have their whole lives ahead of them.” He covered his eyes, but the grim set of his mouth said it all.
He hadn’t been but a couple of years older than the kids he was talking about.
Breaking Boundaries (SEAL Team Heartbreakers Book 5) Page 16