Love Me Better: No Such Unit Hopeless Romantics 1

by Kit Smart

  I feel him open his mouth to say something and I keep going. “Don’t misunderstand. I don’t mean love as in like. I don’t like that you are suffering; that these things are causing you pain. I don’t mean love as a sentiment wrapped up in beautiful words. I mean that, I have space for all of these things that you think are so wrong with you; that I don’t need you to hide them, or fix them. I mean, that, while I don’t like that you have such difficulty sleeping alone that you need to crawl onto the sofa in my office during the day in order to get some rest, I love being there with you like that. I mean, that, while I don’t like that your medications cause erectile dysfunction, I love making love to you; finding all of your hot spots and watching the pleasure move through your body. I mean, that, while I don’t like that you’re recovering from an anxiety attack, I love being here right now with you. You feeling me Bishop-MacQuoide?”

  “Bishop-MacQuoide? Why do I feel like I’ve just been demoted?” He asks the closet at large. Then more softly he adds. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Good.” I kiss him soundly on the cheek. “Don’t forget it.”

  “And if I do?”

  “Then I’ll remind you.”

  21

  Seri

  “So, I suppose you’d better give me a briefing on your family if we’re going to have lunch with them.”

  “We don’t have to go.” Owen stares out the window at the passing scenery as we make our way back to Andersley. “I’ll tell them we have another commitment.”

  “That bad eh?” I tease even though I already know the answer. He wouldn’t have reacted like he did if it were good.

  He turns his head, smiles wryly. “It—they were great when I was a child. It’s just after I came back…after I was injured, that things took a turn.” His eyes are calm as he holds my gaze. “I’m not the easiest person to deal with now.” Another wry twist of the lips as though to say: as you well know. “I was more difficult then—in the beginning—and we’ve never really gotten back on track.”

  “Do they always make you that anxious?”

  “No. I was caught off guard.” He huffs softly with laughter. “And a bit indisposed as you may recall.”

  I remember the way it felt to lean against him and feel the sexual tension building in his body. “Sorry, about that.”

  “You don’t ever have to apologize for that Seri.” He stretches his legs out in front of him. “I don’t have any complaints. It’s just easier if I’m prepared to see them. So I can get my guard up.”

  I think about that. “Do they attack you?”

  “Maybe.” He leans his head back against the headrest, and gives me a very human look. “I don’t know. It’s probably more accurate to say that I feel attacked.” He pauses. “I’m not the same person that I was before I left—before I got injured. They want me to act a particular way and I can’t because I’m not that person anymore.” He smiles slightly. “Nobody expects their son to succumb to PTSD.”

  Succumb? Shit. “Classic Secondary Wounding huh?”

  He laughs and it’s a real laugh. “Sometimes I forget where you work and what you do.”

  I turn to look at him with comically widened eyes. “Maybe we should see about getting your meds adjusted then.” I tease him. “Helluva thing to forget Owen.”

  That earns me another laugh; one that’s deep and full-throated this time. “God knows it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to do that.” He returns, voice rich with self-deprecating humor.

  “And your ex-fiancé?” I ask it apologetically because I don’t want to ruin the atmosphere, or intrude on ground I’m not welcome on. “Adelaide?”

  He nods to confirm my guess.

  “It was worse for her I think.” He replies without hesitation. “A fiancé or girlfriend—a lover, is stuck in the thick of it in a way that parents or other family members just aren’t. If your relationship isn’t solid there’s no way it’s going to survive.”

  “And it wasn’t?”

  “Solid?” He shakes his head against the backrest. “No. Not like that. The relationship was fine. She’s an old family friend, and we grew up together. I think I fell in love with her when we were twelve.” He pauses slightly before continuing. “I thought we were invincible; that we could survive anything. As it turns out, I have a piss poor imagination and anything wasn’t anything like I’d imagined.” He snorts softly. “The kind of solid you need to survive anything is a very rare.” He shifts in his seat. “To her credit, she tried, and I love her for it—” I sense him studying me to see how I take that.

  I shrug. “I’m not that woman Owen.” I tell him. “I’d be more concerned if you didn’t have any love for your exes.”

  He eyes me thoughtfully. “She stuck it out as long as she could.” He continues. “But I wasn’t—am not the man she fell in love with, and after the burns healed I was—am—still messed up. I was difficult to deal with for everyone, but most especially for her.”

  He places a peculiar emphasis on the word difficult that makes me think that it is someone else’s word.

  “And everyone agreed that she’d put in her time—done enough.”

  “Everyone?”

  “My family,” A slight tilt of the head. “And her family as well.” He meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. “There was a meeting.”

  A meeting. It takes a moment to click. “You got dumped by committee?!” I ask him incredulously.

  “Yes.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yes.”

  “And she still hangs out with your family? No wonder they make you anxious.”

  Seri

  When we get to Owen’s cabin there is a car parked in front. A classic little red sports car. I don’t recognize the model, but even to my untrained eye, it looks obscenely expensive.

  “Shit.”

  “That word is getting a lot of mileage tonight.”

  “That’s Adelaine’s car.” He explains when I look askance at him. “Wait here. I’ll get rid of her, get my things and be right back.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather have me as back up?”

  He gives me a look that has me going all melty as he leans over to kiss me softly on the lips. “Always.” Pulling back, he opens his door. “However, in this case, I think we should have mercy on the poor woman.” He gives me a crooked, amused smile. “She’s nowhere near your equal in a fight.”

  A few minutes later, I watch with some pleasure as Adelaine storms out the front door doing up her dress, and carrying her shoes under her arm. I grin as she makes her way, barefoot, to her car. Those rocks in the drive have to hurt. That’ll teach you to go after my man. Without so much as a glance in my direction, she peels out of the driveway and speeds off.

  Another few moments pass before Owen comes out with his overnight bag slung over his shoulder. He gives me a bemused look as he manoeuvres up into his seat. I keep my questions to myself as I start the car, but succumb to curiosity as I put my hand over the shifter.“Well?”

  Owen begins to laugh, glances over at me as I put the Land Rover in reverse and start to back out of his drive way. “She had arranged herself on my bed. Naked and covered in—” He waves a hand. “Rose petals or something.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “I can’t imagine what she was thinking. It’s been years, and she’s never really enjoyed sex with me very much if I’m honest.”

  “Maybe she was thinking about how smoking hot you look in that tuxedo.”

  Owen glances over at me. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” I gather my courage. “And maybe she was thinking about how badly she fucked up when she walked away from you. Maybe she was thinking about what an amazing man you are, and how hard it is to find a man like you.”

  “You think I’m amazing?” I glance at him in the rear view mirror and catch an expression of wonder on his face like he can’t believe what he just heard.

  “Yeah.” His expression reminds me that people with PTSD often need a lot of comfort and I make a mental note t
o compliment him more often.

  “This—I’m complicated.” He warns and I can’t decide if he’s warning me or himself.

  We’ve had this conversation. I reverse out of the end of the driveway and turn the car direction of my cabin pausing as I do so, to look at him directly. “I don’t care how complicated this get, how complicated you are; I still think you’re amazing and—I still want you.” I don’t dwell on the fact that this is a conversation we’ve already had once today. He needs to hear it again, so I tell him again.

  I’ll tell him as many times as he needs to hear it.

  He stares at me. “You are terrifying.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” I put the Rover in gear and head toward my place.

  “Because I’ve been through this, and I know that the chances of this ending well for me are zero to none. Men like me, we don’t get second chances. I know that.” His voice is tight ,and I know without looking at him that he is clenching his jaw. “So, I’m scared as hell to want you.”

  Pulling to a stop in front of my cabin, I turn off the engine. I hear him take a breath and then let it out slowly as we sit there in silence staring out at the front of my cabin. “But here I am, wanting you anyway.”

  “That would have done it.” I tell him firmly. I unbuckle my seatbelt and reach for the handle of my door.

  He starts slightly. “Done what?”

  I twist back to meet his confused gaze over my shoulder as I swing my legs out of the vehicle. “If I hadn’t already fallen in love with you; that would have done it for me.” I tell him before turning back and jumping out. Filled with a sudden energy, I turn back and brace my hands on the roof of the door as I duck my head back in. I meet his stunned expression with my sauciest grin and give him what passes for my come hither look. “Come on Owen, shake a leg. It’s cold out here.”

  Seri

  Heart pounding. I trail after Seri and watch her flick on lights, greet Geronimo with and affectionate ear scratch, and then pad through to the kitchen to let the dog out into the newly fenced back yard. She does everything with a casual, everyday grace as if the world hasn’t been knocked out of orbit for her.

  I stand in the kitchen watching as she puts the kettle on.

  I am trying to pull myself together; trying to find my footing on ground that keeps shifting under me.

  I wonder if perhaps I misheard what she said, and that’s why she is going about things as if everything is normal.

  I wonder if I am losing my mind.

  Why would anyone love me?

  I decide that I must have misheard her, and turn to retreat to the living room so I can pull myself back together in private.

  As if sensing this, she twists, and looking back over her shoulder at me extends her arm in invitation.

  I concentrate hard on not stumbling as I cross the kitchen towards her. When I reach her and she pulls me round behind her and nestles her back against my chest, the world seems to right itself and steady under my feet. Wrapping my arms tightly around her, I drop a kiss on the top of her head as she organizes the tea tray. “You really have a way of bringing a man to his knees Seri.”

  “A man.” I can hear the smile in her voice.

  “Me.” I press another kiss to the top of her head. “You really have a way of bringing me to my knees.”

  There’s a clink as she puts the lid on the teapot. “Is that a bad thing?”

  “It’s absolutely devastating.” Wanting more contact, I tip my head down until it rests against her cheek. “I love you too Seri.” I confess. “I think you know that already though don’t you?”

  I feel her nod. “Yeah. I can feel it.”

  I force myself to continue. I know we’ve covered this ground before, but I feel the need to warn her; to be sure that she understands. “I couldn’t say it though. I’m…complicated.”

  She unwraps the teabags and puts them into the pot. “I think we’ve already established how I feel about complicated. You need a new word my love.”

  “Yes, I suppose I do.” I close my eyes; breathe in her scent as I continue. “I’m so worried that you’re going to feel short-changed; that you’ll grow to resent me and all of my complications.”

  She leans her head back brushes her cheek softly against mine. “Not a chance.” Finished with the teapot, she puts her hands over mine. “I worry, for my part, that you’re going to resent my impulsivity.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Sure? You’ve been so displeased with me in the past….” She hesitates. “And you’ve taken an enormous beating this last week as a result of my impetuous, and fairly disastrous decision to organize a press junket without consulting you.”

  “I thank the universe for your impetuousness Seri.” I tell her firmly. “If you weren’t as impetuous as you are; we wouldn’t be here like this. God knows that I would never have approached you.” That’s not quite true so I add. “At least, not until I was in shape enough to be able to offer you something. You’re insane you know?” I press a hard kiss against her temple as emotion wells up. “And I am so very grateful for it. The press junket was necessary. I do understand that.” I pause to collect my thoughts. I definitely don’t want her thinking I’m displeased with her in any way, but I do want to be honest with her. I know that I’m not telling her anything she hasn’t already observed, but I want to verbalize it because I don’t want to take the chance on screwing this up with piss poor communication. “Yes. It’s been an emotional strain, but I’m fine.” The words come easily. “You’ve been with me the entire time, holding my proverbial, as well as my literal, hand so I’m fine.” I nip at her ear playfully. “As for other recent impulsive incidents, that coffee was perfectly awful.” I give in to the urge to pull her closer. “And I was worried when you didn’t return after lunch.”

  All of a sudden, my heart begins to pound madly. For a moment, I forget how to breathe as anxiety wells, then I feel her shift in my arms to look back at me, and my lungs begin to work again.

  “Christ there goes my heart.”No way or reason to hide it. She’s either okay with it or she isn’t. I take a deep breath. “You can feel that can’t you?”

  “Yes.” She says calmly.

  “I know I came across as angry that day, but I was worried and trying to hide it.” I make myself continue. Her acceptance helps.

  “Why were you trying to hide it?” She asks curiously.

  “Because I had no right to worry about you.”

  “Oh—” She sounds chagrined. “I didn’t think you cared. If I’d known I would have sent you a message, or called you when I realized I was going to be delayed.”

  “It’s not your fault.” I admit. “Not really. I didn’t communicate very well with you at that point.” I rub my nose against her ear gently. “I would have come to help if you had told me.”

  “I didn’t know that.” She leans back against me with a contented sigh that goes straight to my heart. “You’d have spent the afternoon laying in the mud and the muck in an attempt to get a stray dog to trust you?”

  I laugh somewhat darkly. “I think you are vastly underestimating the extent to which I desire to be near you. I’d have spent a week laying in mud and muck if it meant having you beside me.”

  “A week?”

  “A week.” I confirm.

  “Dare I take it that you’d be fine spending the rest of the evening in front of the fire place with me then?”

  I’d be fine spending the next millenia in front of the fireplace with you.

  “Depends.” I release her just enough so that she can snag the now whistling tea kettle off the range, and pour it over the teabags. “Are you going to kiss me silly and tell me that you love me again?”

  “Definitely.”

  Reluctantly releasing her, I pick up the tea tray and head for the living room. “Then I suppose I am amenable.”

  22

  Seri

  The next morning, a fresh barrage o
f interview requests greet me from the, by now hellishly overloaded, depths of my inbox.

  I don’t even bother to make myself a cup of tea before sitting down to go through them.

  The majority of them are basically repeats of their predecessors, only now, several of them are also requesting that I participate in the interviews. This is so the opposite of low key.

  By the time I get to the bottom of the first page of requests, I am so horrified by the realization that the media frenzy surrounding Owen is increasing, and that my relationship with him is basically just adding fuel to the fire, that I am not surprised by the email from the higher ups at the agency wondering, basically, what the hell I’m doing and how the hell does what I’m doing qualify as keeping things low key under the radar?

  “Fucked if I know.” I stare at the email and try to think of something to do about the situation.

  I come up with nothing.

  Zilch. Zip. Nada.

  I either keep on with the interviews, and hope that Owen and I being in the spotlight will provide a great ‘look over here’ effect and, therefore, provide additional camouflage for the NSU; or I resign and let someone more qualified—or at the very least, less impetuous—take over my position and do damage control.

  Neither option fills me with joy.

  I don’t want Owen to have to do any more interviews if I can possibly help it. I know he’ll do it without complaint if need be but, he’s not comfortable with it.

  The thought of offering up my resignation, though, has my throat tightening with suppressed emotion.

  I’d have to leave Andersley, and go back and—presumably—complete my training; after which, I could be sent almost anywhere.

  I’d have to leave Owen.

  “Fuck.”

  I stare at the computer screen for another hour before I open a new document and begin to type up a letter of resignation.

  When that’s finished, I reply to the email from the agency and attach a copy of my resignation letter to it.