by Jolie Day
Or how much he would hate himself afterward. Dragging himself to the elevator (because there was no way his body was ready for the stairs), he almost toppled over at the sight of Liz in her running gear. Her eyes widened at the sight of him, but she didn’t stop to talk. Instead, she turned her eyes away and walked straight through the lobby, popping her headphones into her ears.
This was obviously her way of ignoring him.
Carter sighed and climbed into the elevator, riding up to his floor and then painfully dragging himself down to the hall to his apartment. He practically fell through the door and then crawled straight to his bedroom, stripping off every piece of clothing until he was just a mass of black, blue, and purple bruises. If Liz was there, he thought, she would probably kiss each and every one before she’d ask any questions.
Actually, she probably wouldn’t ask a single question, now that he thought about it. She’d just do her best to make him feel better. Not that kisses had any kind of real healing power.
(But, somehow, Liz’s did.)
Carter tried to shake all thoughts of her from his mind, to no affect. He had probably burned all bridges between them. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Liz never wanted to speak to him again. Hell, he wouldn’t have wanted to speak to him again after that, either.
Usually, after losing a bed partner, Carter would have tried to move on, to find somebody new; somebody better. But he didn’t know if that was possible this time. Liz was the only person he felt comfortable enough around to fall asleep. He couldn’t even do that on his own.
Liz was also the first woman that made him want to stay in the United States, rather than going right back into the war. That was something entirely new for him.
On Carter’s last leave, before all that had happened, he’d met several different women who’d all been plenty of fun. They’d warmed his bed and he had warmed theirs, but the second things started to get too serious—or ‘permanent’ as he tended to call it—he would break it off. He didn’t want to have anything rooting him to the home front. He needed to serve, he needed to fight, he needed to make his father, and every soldier that came before him, proud.
And that meant no distractions.
Liz Morgan was one hell of a distraction.
Carter hadn’t been able to get her off his mind all night long. Even as he had beat the hell out of some gambler that owed his boss money, he had thought about Liz. He wondered how she had handled the whole thing. If she had gone to his apartment after he’d already left, pounding on his door and demanding an answer. He wondered if that had been the reason that she ignored him in the elevator that morning and he had the sudden urge to get up and go find her. He wanted to explain that it wasn’t like that at all.
But he couldn’t move. Every muscle in his body ached and he was so close to just passing out. A few of the guys he’d been shaking down had called in reinforcements and they’d shown up with bats and clubs and other weapons in retaliation. Carter hadn’t been all on his own in that fight, but the other two guys hadn’t done much to watch his back, either. He ended up taking the brunt of the force, which he didn’t even feel with all the adrenaline.
Well, until now, anyway. Now, he felt like absolute shit. Every move he made caused a surge of pain to run through him and he grunted, dragging himself up the bed until his head was pressed into the pillows. For a long moment, he just lay there, resting, willing his body to find sleep, until he remembered the fact that he and Liz would have to…
Oh, wait. Their photography sessions were over, weren’t they? Liz had said that yesterday. She was done with the series. They had visited every place on her list and he could expect payment sometime in the next week. She had shaken his hand, like they were actually just business associates, and then he had taken her home and fucked her on the dining room table.
And then the counter
And then several times on her bed and in the shower.
Just the thought of having sex made his injuries ache even more, but if Liz were there, he knew that he wouldn’t have been able to resist her.
What had his life become?
Carter closed his eyes and tried to make himself comfortable as he began to drift off. Sleep soon took him away.
*****
“What’s got you so down, Liz?” Tim asked as he moved his knight.
“Nothing,” Liz lied, not meeting his eyes. She moved her queen, taking out his rook. “Check.”
“Damn it,” Tim huffed. “How’d you get so good at this, huh?”
“My mom was a pro,” Liz informed him. “We used to play all the time.”
“I meant lying,” Tim said, giving her a wry grin. “Come on, kid. I know something is up. Usually, you’re all chatty about your work and my family and your brothers. Today, you’re just silent.”
“It’s a long story,” Liz evaded.
“Does it have something to do with that hoodlum on my floor?”
“He’s not a hoodlum, Tim. He’s a Navy SEAL.”
“Just because he’s in the Navy doesn’t mean he isn’t bad news. You know he came through all banged up this morning? Probably got into a bar fight or something.”
“A bar fight?” Liz asked, dropping her piece as her eyes went wide with shock. “What are you talking about? I saw him earlier and he looked just fine to me.”
“You must not have been looking closely,” Tim said, “because anybody with eyes could tell that the boy wasn’t quite right today. He had bruises all over the side of his neck and a bump right on his forehead. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got a concussion from the way he was limping around.”
“Oh my god,” Liz gasped. “I…I’m sorry, Tim, but I think I have to go.”
“Yeah, I figured you might,” Tim said. “Go on. We’ll finish this game tomorrow. Go get your man.”
Liz smiled and kissed Tim’s cheek before making her way back into the building.
*****
Carter felt something wet on his forehead, but he couldn’t force his eyes open to see what it was. It felt as if they had been swollen shut. He raised one arm, grunting at the radiating pain from his shoulder and groaned, placing it right back down.
“Sh,” he heard somebody above him say and he nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Liz?” he asked, his voice raspy.
“Mhm,” she replied. “I’m here. You’re going to be just fine.”
“How did you get in?” Carter asked.
“You didn’t lock your door,” Liz pointed out. “You must have been quite out of it not to put everything under lock and key.” Her voice was slightly bitter and Carter sighed.
“You’re mad,” he stated.
“You bet your ass I am,” she said. “What the hell was that last night? What did I do?”
“You didn’t do anything,” Carter said. “I just…I needed a little space, alright? I’ve been spending so much time with you and I—”
“Why is that such a bad thing?” Liz asked. “I thought you liked me.”
“I do,” Carter admitted. “But I’m not the kind of guy you want to get involved with, Liz. I’m…not good.”
“What are you talking about?” Liz huffed. “You’re a Navy SEAL. You fight for our country. You’re brave and funny and handsome and you’re—”
“In a biker gang,” Carter interrupted. “I beat people up that owe my boss money. I kick their asses and steal the money out of their wallets to bring back to my boss for a cut. I don’t even get paid that much to do it, but you know what? I like it. I like kicking the shit out of people for money. Maybe that’s why I became a SEAL in the first place, you know?” He took a ragged breath. “I am not a good guy.”
“We’ve all done things we’re not proud of,” Liz argued. “If I told you half the things that I’ve done…” She moved away from him. “I have a few secrets and fears of my own, you know? You’re not the only good person who has done bad things for money. You’re not the only person terrified of commitment.”
“Oh, you definitely are,” Liz huffed. “You had some kind of bad dream, raced out of my apartment, and went right out to get your ass beaten. All because you thought we were getting too close? Please, Carter; you are definitely terrified of commitment. But so am I.”
He was silent for a moment.
“Why are you?” he asked. “Terrified of commitment, I mean. Why? You’re beautiful and funny and successful.”
“So was my dad,” Liz retorted. “And he died nearly a year before my mom. I could barely look at her for that entire time. She was so depressed that she stopped taking care of herself and eventually got really sick. She refused to take her medication to the point where she lost her autonomy. We had to sign papers to force it on her. Do you know how horrible that is?” Carter was silent. “I promised myself that I would never let that happen to me. I mean, not aloud, of course. I still looked for somebody to spend my life with, hoping that I would find a guy that could accept everything that I was and wanted to be. Somebody who didn’t want me to give up photography or traveling to put down roots and build a family. I mean, I’d still like a family, but I’d want us to travel, you know?” Carter was still silent. “I’m not proposing here, Carter,” Liz went on. “I just don’t want you to run because you’re afraid that something might happen between us. I want you to want something to happen between us. We don’t have to move quickly; not if you don’t want to. Hell, I know you’re headed back to Afghanistan the second you get the call and I’m fine with it. I want you to do what you love, even if it means risking your life. But I also want us to share a little bit more with each other. I want to tell you about my childhood and my travels through Europe and I want to find out more about your life. I’d also really love it if you would call me the next time you get all banged up like this, alright? I can take care of you if you’ll just let me.”
“Okay,” Carter croaked.
“And if you just want sex, I can be fine with that, too. Because, if I’m being honest right now, the sex with you is the best I’ve honestly ever had.” She chuckled and swiped some hair off of his forehead. “Just tell me what you want and I’ll be that for you.”
“Right now,” Carter replied. “I just want you to shut up and lie down with me.”
Liz snorted. “I can do that,” she said, as she laid down next him and pressed a kiss to his bruised cheek, snuggling as gently against his side as she possibly could. Closing her eyes, she allowed the silence to surround them, lulling her into a deep sleep.
It didn’t take much for Carter to follow soon after.
*****
He awoke, a few hours later, to his cell phone ringing. Carter reached for the bedside table and swiped to answer the phone, placing it against his ear.
“Hello?” he croaked groggily.
“Lieutenant McIntyre?” a female voice said on the other end, without greeting.
“That’s me,” Carter replied.
“Good afternoon, Lieutenant,” the woman said. “I’m just calling to inform you that you’ve been reassigned to a new psychologist.”
“What?” Carter asked, grunting as he sat up in bed, dislodging Liz, who murmured something as she, too, sat up. “What happened to Admiral Maxwell?”
“Oh, you haven’t heard?” the woman asked.
“Heard what?”
“Well, the Admiral recently passed away,” the woman informed him. “Complications from cancer, they said. It’s a tragedy, really. If you’d like, I can give you the funeral arrangements.” Silence. “Lieutenant? Are you there?”
The phone dropped from Carter’s hand as his arm went limp at his side, his mouth gaping wide open.
“Carter?” Liz asked, becoming worried. “Carter? What’s wrong? What happened? Carter!”
He didn’t respond. He couldn’t.
Chapter Nine
Admiral Maxwell’s casket was carried by several men in firmly-pressed uniform. Each of them walked with rod-straight spines and stared forward as they marched through the wet grass. It was pouring on the day he was to be buried, but that deterred none of them, who had all walked in worse weather. There were drums that echoed around the cemetery with each step. Drums that matched Lieutenant Carter McIntyre’s heartbeat as he watched them from inside the Maxwell family’s mausoleum.
He had offered to be a pall bearer, out of the upmost respect for the psychiatrist who had worked so hard just to get him to speak—and had never gotten the chance to hear all of what Carter had to tell him. But he’d been told that Dr. Maxwell’s two sons, and four of the men whose lives he’d once saved, had volunteered long ago, when they found out that the man in question had been diagnosed.
Carter offered his well wishes to the widow and young men, anyway, and was thanked profusely for his call.
Liz stood next to him, her hands resting in his, comfortingly, as she, too, stared around the room. Neither of them knew anybody there. Nobody in Carter’s platoon was there, as none of them had been required to attend therapy with the man. And the rest had been deceased. Liz was all he had right here and now, though it hadn’t even occurred to him to ask her along. She had been the one to suggest it.
He had just gotten off the phone with Mrs. Maxwell—whose voice had been raspy with tears, but who had been calm and pleasant and spoke only well of Carter, who her husband had only mentioned in passing at the dinner table, but had ‘smiled the way he did when he treated somebody he really seemed to care about and believe in’—when she joined him in the living room, where he lounged stiffly on the couch with a glass of scotch going warm in his palm.
“Are you alright?” she asked, folding her knees under herself as she sat down next to him on the couch and leaning against his side. She brushed some of his hair out of his face with her hand and pressed a kiss to his jaw when he clenched it, attempting to soothe him. He stood, suddenly, and walked several steps away, not wanting to be touched. He took a long sip of his scotch, until it was almost gone, as he approached the counter to place down the glass.
“I’m fine,” he said, through the burn in his throat.
He heard her get off the couch and pad softly toward him, stopping just a couple of feet behind him, respectfully. He could feel her eyes on the back of his neck. She didn’t touch him, nor did she speak, but she stood there, behind him.
Just staring.
It took him several moments to relax and finally turn toward her, his face set in stone and his arms folded over his chest. “They have enough pall bearers,” he informed her and Liz nodded.
“Okay,” she said. “Are you still going to the funeral, though?”
“Of course I am,” he huffed. “He was a fellow soldier—and a superior, at that. Why wouldn’t I go?”
Liz didn’t answer his question. Instead she asked her own: “Do you want me to go with you?”
Carter’s eyes widened for a moment, then narrowed on her face. He almost said yes. He almost told her that he had just expected that she would be there, but the why was what stopped him. He never liked admitting to actually needing somebody else to be there for him. And he didn’t need anybody to be there for him. It wasn’t that he was above asking for help; he just didn’t need anyone to hold his hand.
Especially at a simple funeral.
“Do what you want,” he said, his heart pounding in his chest. He watched her face, waiting for her indignation and for her to tell him to go screw himself for his coldness. He wouldn’t blame her, honestly, but he wasn’t about to admit that.
Instead, as always, Liz Morgan surprised herself.
“Fine,” she said, “then I will go. Do you know what day it is?”
“Yeah,” he said, trying not to look or sound surprised. “Next Saturday.”
“Okay.” Liz nodded. “Sounds good.” He expected her to turn and walk out the door then, not to see each other until Saturday when they were to go to the funeral together, but instead she just reached out and slotted her fingers betwe
en his, tugging on his arm. “Now,” she said, “let’s go to bed.”
He didn’t resist.
Now, he stood just a few feet away from the doctor’s grieving window and the rest of his grown children, standing with their spines straight and their hands raised in salute. A small girl held the widow’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Carter watched them for a long time, his own hand up in salute, until the pall bearers lay the casket down at the front of the room and took their seats.
The man who stepped up to speak first was not a preacher, but yet another injured serviceman in full military uniform. He, like the doctor, wore his medals on his chest with pride. Carter could see a Purple Heart among them and a quick glance at the older man’s legs revealed the place where his pant legs sunk in.
He was an amputee.
“Thank you for coming today,” the man said, his voice gravelly and deep. “I stand here before you with a pit in my stomach that feels like a grenade about ready to go off. I’ve been holding back my tears for days, so if I happen to stop, please forgive me.” He took a deep breath. “The Admiral was a good friend of mine. We served in several wars together and he was one of the gentlest, bravest men I knew…”
Carter tried to listen to what this man was saying, but he kept looking back at Maxwell’s widow, watching as she sobbed and held onto the girl—whom he was certain to be her granddaughter—while her children attempted to calm her. But she just sobbed louder.
The Captain standing at the front of the room didn’t stop speaking. He just raised his voice.
Carter was struck by this woman’s grief. He knew nothing of her except the connection they had in common; his psychologist and her husband. That was it. Yet, he felt empathy for her that struck him as odd. He had lost those he loved before. His mother, his father…but never his spouse. He’d never been married or been in love so deeply that he wished to pledge himself to anybody before. He couldn’t imagine what that felt like, but one look at the widow and he felt an ache in his chest that was so acute he feared, momentarily, that he might be having a heart attack.