by Xavier Neal
“I used a little extra sugar.” she hands him another dish. “And a little powder sugar on top.”
“Honestly, it was almost better than my grandma used to make it.” There's a long short pause before he finishes with, “Man, it feels like a life time since I've had that cobbler...”
His voice trails off and both our heads lift up to see him fidgeting with the buckle on his jeans, a dark expression painted on his face as well. Unsure of what's wrong with both of them, I feel my eyebrows fall down as I'm gently nudged in my ribs. Shifting my attention down to Haven, she tilts her head at them. No. Oh hell no. I don't want a have a fucking heart to heart. We don't function that way. Fuck before today we barely functioned outside booze and the gym. I shake my head.
She puts a stern hand on her hip and gives me “the look”. Every guy knows the look your girlfriend gives you that means this is non-negotiable. Haven rarely gives it. So rare in fact I wonder if I could sneak my way out of it.
“I'm gonna put all these clean dishes away. Why don't you boys take your beers outside for a bit?” her suggestion easily translates to it being not up for debate. While I like the changes in her attitude, sometimes I don't like what the changes make me do. Like talk to my brothers.
“Good idea.” I clear my throat and point for them to head that way. Without a word they head for the back door. Leaning down, I plant a kiss on her forehead whispering, “We won't be long.”
“Take all the time you need,” her voice softly coos. “I've got a feeling they need you.”
And I need her.
Relocating outside, I slide the door closed as I watch Glove sit in the chair and Lordy lean his body against the grill, both with a beer in their hands, neither of them with a pleasant expression on their mugs.
I fold my arms across my chest. “Talk.”
“Nothing to say,” Glove shrugs, lips back on the top of his bottle.
“Me either.”
“You're both full of shit.”
Glove bites, “Fuck you, Grim.”
“We've had this talk. I don't swing that way. And no matter how many times you offer, no means no.” A stifled chuckle comes from him. I shoot my question at Lordy. “He been like this all day?”
“Couple days.”
“Fuck you, Lordy. Like you're any better?”
“I'm fine...”
“Are you? Is that why I keep catching you dialing a number and then stopping?”
“I said I'm fine.”
“And so am I.”
Silence. Crickets don't wait long to join us, but they wait long enough. The tension out here is so overpowering I can hardly breathe. We can't go out in the field like this together.
“Look assholes, my life depends on you. We can't go back on duty like this. It doesn't work. If we return to the field like this, one of us is gonna end up dead.” The words catch their attention. They turn in unison to look at me. At least they've still got that together. “I don't know what the fuck is bothering either of you, but I can't have you distracted like this. So start fucking talking. Now.” No response. “Now! Or I'll beat it out of you!” My patience is paper thin and my fist is feeling a little deprived lately.
“Fuck!” Glove shoots out and lifts his head towards the sky.
“Look Grim, we're happy for you. Really. You've got a great girl. Great family. And what do we have? I rarely speak to my own kin! I haven't been home in years! What the fuck's Glove got--”
“A great sex life?” his attempt at a joke to ease the situation fails.
“Nothing. He doesn't have a family. Never has. Foster kid.”
Didn't know that. It's not like in the years we've been working together we really talked about anything. Yeah. We talked. Guns. Tits. Ass. Music. Movies. Nothing with substance. I didn't ask. I didn't care. Things were simpler then. I didn't think it mattered what made the assholes tick as long as they were doing their job. I was obviously wrong.
“So yeah, thanks for inviting us to be a part of your cookie cutter lifestyle but--”
“Fuck you for that.” I point at Lordy, my tone harsh. Sharp. “You have no fucking idea what I've been through.” He shuts his mouth. Wise choice. “Fuck, you two think you're the only ones from a fucked family? Or a fucked up situations? Newsflash assholes. You're not. The difference is I started to face my bullshit. Mind you, I didn't have to do it alone. And if you two morons will stop wallowing in self fucking pity for a few minutes, I won't let you face yours alone either.” Eyes land back on me and I shrug, “Truth? You're as much my family off the fucking field as you are on. Clear?”
Glove nods. Lordy does as well. Silence briefly returns, the sound of beer gulps repeating.
“I guess it's just hitting us what's missing from our lives. What we don't have to come home to,” the words seem to linger on his tongue before he follows it with, “and that's some scary shit, Grim. To realize there's nothing waiting for you back home?”
Never had that fear. I was okay with not returning. I wanted death. Enjoyed its smell. Its taste. The seduction from the thrill. When there's nothing you want to come home to its freeing. It's also hollow. And now that I know just how much life can be worth living for, I doubt I'll ever entice death like that again.
“Look Lordy, I don't know what happened with you and your family back in Georgia, but you've got family here now. Me. Glove. Haven. Hell, Mindy wants to adopt you both.” His face twitches. “This is the first year me and my dad have been more than civil on a holiday in over a decade. I get it. But the sooner you realize it isn't the blood pumping through you that makes you family, the better.”
Ease looks like it washes over his face. He nods and slips a hand in his pocket. “Adopt us, huh?”
“Well adopt you and wash his mouth out with goddamn soap.” Our eyes focus on Glove who has rearranged himself, arms resting on legs, beer bottle lifelessly dangling from his grip. I sigh, “And you? Same thing?”
“Yeah.”
“Same goes for you, Glove. I may want to punch you in the face about 80% of the time, but you're still my brother. You're still fam.”
“Just 80%?”
“I was being modest.”
“Thank God. I was starting to think I wasn't doing my job.”
“Asshole.”
“Of course.” He rises to his feet chuckling. “As much as I hate to break up couple's therapy, we should get going...” His face glances past me. “Need one last round of pussy before we fly out.”
I glance over my shoulder at Haven who looks like she's making herself busy work by wiping the counters.
“Besides, I get the feeling the misses might like to enjoy your company before we leave tomorrow.” Mighty considerate of Glove. I'm sure that's only part of it. There's a good chance he's doing what I do. Bailing on subjects when they get too real. I understand the guy. And I won't make him talk about shit if he's not ready.
“We straight?” my eyes bounce back and forth between them.
“Yeah we're good,” Glove assures me. “We'll have our shit together. Won't let you down.”
“Yeah, Grim. We're good.”
“Good,” I nod and open the back door to let them back in. “Now get out.”
“Clint!” Haven squeals.
“See how mean he is to us?” Glove pouts at her, sticking his bottom lip out, clearly back to his old charming ways.
“I do,” she plays along as I lock the door. “Do you need a hug?”
“Actually--”
“Glove, if you put your hands on my girl, I'll dislocate your shoulder.”
“I'm good,” he denies her offer.
We all laugh, and Haven sweetly walks them to the door giving each a kiss on the cheek before shutting the door behind them. My blood slightly boils. Her lips belong nowhere on them. Her lips do not belong on them anywhere. But given that it's a holiday, I'll try to dial back the jealousy. She was just being polite.
She saunters over to me, pulling my eyes down to her hips that ar
e swaying that dress to a dangerous rhythm. My body starts to stir on the inside, the sight more erotic than any porn I've ever seen.
I wrap an arm around her waist as she slides her hands up my chest. Playfully, I ask, “What do you think you're doing away giving away my kisses to those assholes?”
“Those weren't your kisses,” she declares, her tongue sneaking out of her mouth and slowly tasting her own lips.
My dick stands immediately at attention like he was requested for roll call. Yeah. I know. You're present. So. Am. I.
A bit hoarse, I lean my face down to hers; I choke out, “No?”
Her lips brush against mine, the contact so brief, but so damn hot I nearly come on the spot. I hate that she has that kind of effect on me. Well. Love to hate that small fact. After all I'm the only one who'll ever get to have her this way. It's for the best. Striker's ER would be a rotating door.
“Your kisses...” the hot breath shoots tingles straight to my cock. “Are...right...here...” And with that her tongue grazes my top lip.
With a growl, I yank her into me so hungry I can't handle the small separation any longer. She squeals pleased and I stroke my tongue against hers until she starts to let out whimpers that if she's not careful are going to get herself thrown down on the couch instead of our bed. Not sure Sir would forgive me for that.
Pulling away from me, she bites her bottom lip. I know that look. It's the “Take Me to Bed, Clint” look. It's a look I'm more than fucking proud of. I lift her up by her ass so her legs wrap around me and return my lips to hers. That’s the only place they belong right now.
Upstairs, her dress finds a new home on the floor next to my jeans, boxers, and my dress shirt. Undressing her is always like unwrapping a highly anticipated expensive birthday present. Slow. Deliberate. Careful. But the need to be inside her is too overwhelming for the slow and steady routine that she deserves.
Thankfully, she senses my eagerness and moans, “Now, Clint...”
With a cannibalistic groan, I pull her thong off, toss aside her bra she loosened for me, and immediately I push inside her, the warmth taking me over. My eyes fall shut as my lips fall back onto hers, her legs slipping open happy to accommodate me yet again. Moving against her at a brisk but steady pace, I let my face fall to her shoulder, as she flexes her body undermine growing wetter. Fuck. There's nothing else like this in the world.
Flipping her over so she's straddled on top with me underneath, I sink into the mattress as she tosses her head back, my name coming out on what feels like every breath she exhales. Amazing. Her cheeks are flushed. Her hair is hiding parts of her face. Her breasts are swaying as her hips are bucking. It's too early to come, but she's too hard to resist. She deserves for me to hold on until she lets go first. I'll go again and again, but she needs to come first. Always.
She folds her body down on top of me, forcing our lips back together, sealing us. Completing us. Her body is warm and welcoming to my touch. Every time we physically connect it's like a welcoming committee throws up banners, shouts with whoops and hollers, and is soothed by my return home. Her body is a temple. My temple. My place of worship. Home. Haven Davenport is my home. And no matter what's coming at me on that field, she'll always be what I return for.
2 Days until Deployment
There is something completely serene about having my angel sleeping in my arms. I know it's the peace from these memories we are making that will keep me calm when the demons of war threaten the forefront of my mind.
Unexpectedly, Haven's body starts thrashing beside me. Without hesitation, my eyes shoot up as does my body. Prepared to take on whoever is putting the woman I love in danger, I'm surprised to see her eyes still closed. The whimpers from behind a vulnerable sleep state.
Unsure of what to do, since it's been so long since she's had a nightmare, I continue to watch her face form various painful expressions. My heart aches. There's a heavy distinct pull. One I haven't felt in months.
“Haven,” my voice whispers. “Angel...” Another whimper. I squeeze my eyes shut tight. Fuck. Come on, Marine! Fix this? With another deep breath, I gently stroke her arm and try again. “Haven, Angel...I need you to wake up.” The movements start to falter. “I need you to come back to me, Angel. Please.” Thankfully, the thrashing continues to slow down. Feeling like I've finally got her attention, I push on. I will save her. From everything. “Open your eyes, Angel. For me. For us.”
On a sharp breath, Haven shot up off the mattress, gasping for air and immediately grabbing the tags around her neck. Not waiting for her to realize it's me she's beside; I engulf her in my arms. She buries her face in the crook of my neck, her heart beat pounding so hard in her chest it's trying to burrow through to mine.
“Alpha,” I softly sigh while stroking her back. “Alpha, angel.”
The two of us stay pressed together until I hear her voice finally say, “Thank you.”
I pull my body back and stare into her bright brown eyes that are laced with fear and confusion. It's been weeks since this happened. When she changed medications, it seemed to help keep down the nightmares to few and far between. I should've known this was coming. After that news report about Old Man Banks, I should've been more alert. Prepared for this better. Taken extra precautions. Fuck.
“No need to thank me, angel.” my fingers push the strands of hair behind her ear. Haven softly smiles up at me and I press a kiss on her forehead. “Wanna tell me about it? About what you were dreaming of?”
Haven immediately shakes her head.
“I think it might help.”
“I don't think so, Clint.” She tries to pull out of my grip but I don't let her go. I'm not letting her keep all this shit inside. I know what it's like to have havoc consume you, and so does she. I'm not letting her slip down into that abyss. Not with as far as she's come. As far as we've come. “Clint--”
“Angel I know talking to therapist has been helping--”
“It has.”
“Can you talk to me about it too?” Her eyes fall down from mine. With a long breath I continue, “I don't know much about what you've gone through. Or your parents. Or anything from before you came into my life and I'm okay with that angel. I really am. But I think it might help if you talked about some more of it. I know seeing that bastard on the news last night next to your father did something to you. So please, angel please, don't shut me out. Don't shut back down.”
When I feel her body relax, I loosen my grip. Fuck. I don't want her to run away. I don't want her to push me away. I don't want the angel I've come to love to go away. But I know if I try to force her to stay, even in my arms, it's exactly what'll happen. My heart starts thumping a little harder. Anxious. Terrified.
Haven whispers, “Lay with me?”
I nod and let the back of my head hit the pillow. She nestles her face on my chest and lets my arms wrap around her again. Thank God. I will my racing heart to slow the fuck down. To return to a pace that's not trying to send me to an early grave. The two of us lay in the early morning light of the moon glowing from my window. All is quiet. Silent. Still.
“I was dreaming about the first time my parents introduced me to Old Man Banks.” My body strains against her from that bastards name alone. I'm glad he's fucking dead. When I don't comment she continues, “His name...his real name, was Samuel Banks. The first time I met him we were actually here in Texas. We had met Dad in Dallas so Mom could do some shopping and so I could go to the zoo. We met Old Man Banks for lunch. He was wearing dark jeans and a black button up shirt. A beige cowboy hat. He was constantly sucking his teeth. Looking at me like...like...like that way that makes your skin crawl. I was nine for God's sake. Nine and he was looking at me like that.”
Tensing next to her once more I close my eyes tight, the urge to slit that bastard throat growing all over again. Fuck. I can't fucking hear any more of this. I know I said I wanted to but I can't. If I have to hear any more about him I'm not sure I can keep my composure. I know for Have
n I fucking need to. I'm 2 days from returning to active duty. I have to get shit back under control.
“I didn't have aunts or uncles. Grandparents were already passed away. Old Man Banks was one of Dad's oldest friends. They grew up in church together, so he figured he would be a good person to raise me if anything ever happened to them. Mom said Old Man Banks had a beautiful farm with horses and pigs and all the other things a little girl wants to hear about it. And at nine, I never thought I'd actually have to go there.”
I can't keep listening. She has to stop. My eyes squeeze tighter and I hold her closer.
“When I finally did end up in his care a few years later...I knew he was a bad man. Cruel, Sadistic, Sick and calculated. And late at night when I would cry myself to sleep in the beginning, all I kept asking God was why my parents couldn't see it. Why would they leave me with someone like him?”
In a strained voice I try, “Haven--”
“My parents were great people. Loving. Wonderful. I remember my mom bought me an Easy Bake Oven when I turned 7 even though the box said for 8 and up. Told me, we wouldn't tell Dad. It would be our little secret. And Dad...when he was traveling would call every evening to make sure to kiss me goodnight through the phone and tell me how much he missed me. Every night. How could two people that special not see the sick monster they had promised me too?”
My breath shortens as I struggle to breathe through the pain of the new information. Of the realization that the angel in my arms may have healed but has so far to go. So fucking far and I have to walk away. From her. That she has to do it alone. I don't want her to do it alone, but I have no fucking choice.
30 Days til School
10 months. 10 months since I've been home. 10 months since I've held that girl of mine in my arms. 10 months since she's been more than a small video feed on a screen. An email. A text. A phone call. Don't be mistaken. I love my country. I'm proud to wake up every morning to fight for it. If I die in the field, it'll be an honor not a curse. But fuck me; I'm glad that I'm home. Well almost.