Every Breath

by Tasha Ivey

  “Up here?” I ask, stretching up on my tiptoes and slipping my hand beneath the pile of soft quilts. When he doesn’t answer, I peek over my shoulder in time to catch him staring at me in a way that makes me blush. “Umm . . .”

  His bottom lip pops out from between his teeth, and his lazy eyes travel up until they meet mine. “Have I mentioned how much I like those jeans you’re wearing today?”

  “Your pain killers are starting to kick in, aren’t they?” I giggle. That goofy grin on his face says it all.

  “I’m just appreciating how beautiful my girlfriend is, that’s all.” He seems to have stunned himself with those words. “Damn, I have a girlfriend. Just wait until I tell Dalton.”

  Isn’t it funny how high doses of codeine can work like truth serum on some people? Maybe I could use it to my advantage next time we’re alone. But for now, I have to hurry and find this box, so I can get him back to the couch before he falls over. He’s obviously not going to be much help right now, so I keep feeling around until my fingertips graze the smooth paper of the small, flat box. Just as he said, it’s wrapped in shiny red paper, with a thin matching bow tied around it. “This it?”

  “It is,” he says as a secret smile forms on his lips. “It’s for you. You can open it after you open the gifts from your parents.” He raises a single eyebrow and holds out his hand, as if he doesn’t trust me not to peek. He knows me better than I thought.

  I somehow resist the urge to shake it, and I gently place it in his hand. “Let’s get back out there then. I can only imagine what sordid visions are dancing in my mom’s head right now.”

  He sluggishly shuffles his feet toward the door, which tells me his meds are doing their job well, but before I can reach for the knob, he grasps my wrist. He winces as he turns me to face him, and just as I’m about to scold him for not being careful, he plants his hot mouth on mine again, and his one good hand begins flicking open the buttons on my shirt. Once I’m finally coherent enough to realize what’s going on, Darcy is swatting at the shirt hanging from my elbows, and Sawyer is tracing his tongue along my collarbone.

  “Wouldn’t want to completely disappoint your mom, would we? Now you look a little more . . . ravished.” He pulls my shirt back over my shoulders and fights with the buttons. When I try to help, he playfully smacks my hands away, determined to do it on his own. “There. Now we can go.”

  I walk into the living room, and my dad blushes immediately, so I know something is very apparent. I covertly skim my hand along the front of my shirt to verify Sawyer did button it all the way down. When I know that’s not it, I immediately remember my lipstick. I can’t, for the life of me, remember if I put any on after dinner. I race into the bathroom expecting to see it smeared all over my face, but there’s nothing there either. My lips are a little swollen, and maybe even a little chapped, but I look quite normal. I guess my dad was the one having the sordid thoughts, instead of my mom.

  “Makenna, why don’t you sit by Sawyer on the couch, so I’ll have a good angle to get pictures of you opening your gifts.” Translation: Sit by Sawyer, so I can get pictures of the two of you together, so I can show them off to my book club.

  “Sure, Mom.” I drag over the little box of gifts that I got for my parents, including the one for Sawyer, and lower myself onto the cushion next to him. As soon as I sit, the camera flashes.

  Mom grins sheepishly when I look over at her with narrowed eyes. “Just testing the flash, sweetie.”

  I just roll my eyes and shake my head. I can’t really blame her. “These are for you and Dad,” I say, shoving gifts one by one across the coffee table toward them.

  Mom gushes over the e-reader I got for her, which I’ve already loaded with some of my favorites, and Dad is beyond excited when he sees the slightly worn, but still gorgeous, first edition of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Beautiful and Damned. As long as there is some form of books in this world, I’ll never have trouble finding the perfect gift for my parents.

  Needless to say, though, the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree. I nearly had a heart attack when I opened my first package from them. The pristine leather-bound copy of Pride and Prejudice isn’t a first edition, of course, but it’s still sixty years old, and the smell of the old leather and ink is absolute heaven. They also gave me some gift cards to buy clothes since my mom knows I’m far too picky to attempt doing the shopping herself.

  I’d like to say that I’m shocked when Mom pulls out a gift for Sawyer, but I’m really not. At all. I knew she was pressing for details about him for more than just idle curiosity. Sawyer, though, is speechless. I know he wasn’t expecting a gift from them, and I wonder if he ever receives gifts from anyone. Judging by his reaction, I’m guessing it’s been a while, if ever.

  “Oh, uh . . . you didn’t have to get me anything. I don’t really . . . I mean, I appreciate you going through the trouble, but . . . I . . . don’t really do gifts.” Sawyer is at a total loss for words, and I can see how conflicted he is over the simple gesture. It’s heartbreaking.

  “Sawyer, don’t be silly.” Mom walks over to him and kisses his cheek. “You have no idea how thankful we are. You’ve made our baby girl smile. Something we thought we’d never see again. You’ve given us the greatest gift a parent could ever ask for . . . our child’s happiness. This is the least we could do to show you how grateful we are. Please, just open it.”

  He’s hesitant for a moment, but he finally nods. “Yes, ma’am. And thank you, ma’am.” He looks at my dad. “Thank you, sir.”

  He tears at one corner of the box, ripping the paper gently as if he’s afraid to appear eager at all. Once he frees the box, he stares down at it for a moment and takes a deep breath. He peers over at me, and the corner of his mouth hitches up ever so slightly. The fact that he’s so awestruck by the simple act of receiving a gift is unbelievable to me. In that single glance, I witness a flash of innocence, much like the way a child’s eyes light up when they see the gifts under the tree on Christmas morning. It makes me smile.

  Finally, he slides the lid off the top and peeks inside before opening it fully. With a sharp intake of breath, he pulls the guitar strap out and runs his fingers over the rich chocolate leather. His name is inscribed along the front, and intricate black stitching borders the edges. “It . . . it’s gorgeous. Perfect.” He looks up at my parents with such reverence. “Thank you. So much.”

  “You’re very welcome,” Mom and Dad sing in cheerful unison before Dad continues. “I hope you don’t already have something like it. I have a friend that does beautiful leather work, and he had just finished this one.”

  My mom eyes me curiously. I’m sure my vague description of Sawyer’s poor childhood isn’t going to cut it much longer. Like me, I think she suspects he’s never had much of a Christmas before.

  “I have something for you, too.” I place the tiny package on his knee and lean over to kiss his cheek. “Merry Christmas.” He starts to give me the same line about not needing to get him anything, but I stop him quickly. “Just open it. Please.”

  He’s still reluctant, but he’s not as slow opening this one. His eyebrows furrow when he pulls out the felt jewelry box, and I swear I hear his heart come to a screeching halt when he flips the lid open. “Makenna, I-I . . .” He chokes on his words, unable to complete a single thought coherently.

  “Do you like it? I noticed you looking at it several times when we were in that antique shop a few days ago.”

  He rubs his finger around the face of the Saint Michael medal and pulls it from the box, causing the long silver chain to slink out behind it. “When I saw it, I thought it might have been my grandfather’s, but I convinced myself it wasn’t. But now . . . I know it is. It even has the same dent in the metal on the other side.” He jerks himself from his reverie, quickly realizing that he’s speaking of his family. “This means a lot to me, Makenna. Thank you.”

  Since he drops the subject, I decide to let him. For now. “You’re welcome.”


  “And this,” he begins, placing the small red box in my hand, “is for you. As soon as I saw it, I thought of you and knew you had to have it.”

  I grin at him and rip the ribbon and paper away, lifting the lid carefully. My mom even gasps when I reveal the delicate silver charm bracelet resting on top of a white square of cotton. But before I can inspect the three charms dangling from it, Sawyer plucks it from the box and clasps it around my wrist. It’s not an easy feat for him, but he succeeds after a few tries.

  He spins it around once it’s secured and shows me the charms. “The little silver raindrop signifies the renewal of life. The aquamarine charm is for courage. And this one . . .” He spins it slightly to touch the other gemstone. “. . . is a peridot. It’s for healing. I thought it would be a reminder of your journey, your strength.”

  I pull my legs up and kneel on the couch next to him, wrapping my arms around his neck as gently as I can. “I love it,” I murmur in his ear before pressing my lips to his, not caring if my parents are watching or not. That is, until I hear the familiar click of my mom’s camera. Nothing is sacred when it comes to that woman and her camera.

  I turn, ready to scold her, but she jumps up from her chair and wipes at the moisture under her eyes. “Well, who’s ready for dessert?”

  We spend the rest of the day eating far too much, and even though we keep saying we won’t do it again, we laugh. A lot. My ribs are killing me, so I know Sawyer is in excruciating pain, but he doesn’t say a word. I think he’s enjoying this more than he ever imagined he would, and seeing him this happy warms my soul.

  “Okay, Dad. No more stories about my imaginary friends or childhood mishaps. I’m sure Sawyer thinks I’m strange enough as it is, and it’s time for him to get some rest.”

  Sawyer snickers. “Aww, come on. I like hearing about Puddles the imaginary elephant.”

  Even though it’s completely at my expense, he’s thoroughly enjoyed my dad’s stories, and I’m sure he’s packed his arsenal with plenty of ammo to tease me. But I don’t mind it. What I do mind is those tiny little creases between Sawyer’s eyebrows that tell me he’s in pain but too stubborn to admit it. “No more today. Believe me, there’s plenty more where that came from.”

  I start gathering all of Mom’s dishes, and when she joins me at the counter, I stack them in her arms. “You can go ahead and take these with you. Once I help Sawyer into bed, I’ll bring the rest with me when I come home.”

  “Honey, you don’t have to pretend you haven’t been staying here with him. It’s apparent that you two are . . . familiar. Your father and I will be okay on our own at your house.”

  Oh, this should be interesting. “What do you mean by ‘familiar’ exactly?” I love making my mom squirm. There’s never been a taboo topic in my family, but she’s never been very comfortable talking to me about sex. She’ll come up with any metaphor she can think of before she’ll say what she really means.

  She clears her throat and looks down at my shirt. When I don’t understand what she’s getting at, she sets the dishes on the counter and grabs the bottom hem and holds it out for me to see. Sawyer did, in fact, button my shirt all the way down, but the problem is that he was off one, pairing the first button with the second hole. “It wasn’t like this until you went into his room earlier, so I just assumed. You were gone a while, you know.”

  “Oh.” I spin around and show the crooked bottom of my shirt to Sawyer, and he just winks. He winks! The little sneak did it on purpose!

  “So, uh,” Mom continues, “is my assumption correct? Have you?”

  “Once. The night before he got hurt. But not today while you’ve been here. That’s just him being facetious.”

  “Well?” She’s lowered her voice to barely a whisper.

  Is she seriously wanting details? “Uh, well, it was . . . perfect. More than that, even. It’s different with him. Deeper.”

  Mom starts choking, and it takes me a second to realize what she thought I meant. “Jeez, Mom, your mind is swimming in the gutter. Not that kind of ‘deep.’ I mean the connection is deeper than I remember ever having before.”

  Once she’s able to catch her breath, she grins and winks at me. “Well, I guess neither of those meanings would be a bad thing.”

  Oh. My. Goodness. She did not just say that.

  “You ready to go?” Dad asks, saving me from any further mortification. “We need to get out of here and let these two get some sleep.” He wraps his arms around me and squeezes me tightly. “I’m proud of you, Scout,” he whispers. “That’s a damn good man in there.”

  “I know, Daddy. Just like you.”

  The last couple of days have been nothing short of blissful. Well, if you don’t factor any of the sexual tension into the equation. Sawyer would like to think he’s Superman and has even refused to take any more of his pain medication, but he’s still far too sore to do much of anything. And he’s not liking it at all.

  But the last couple of nights have been a little disturbing for me. He’s been taking the anti-depressants that his doctor prescribed, but he’s still in a lot of pain, so without his pain meds, he’s not sleeping as deeply as he should. Two nights in a row now, I’ve woken up in the middle of the night and found him sitting in his closet floor. Both times, I was able to get him back to bed, and he’s never said a word to me about it. I guess as long as he’s not having bad episodes like before, I can deal with it. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even remember he’s doing it.

  “My commanding officer called me this morning,” he announces somberly when I join him at the table for breakfast. “I’m reporting back to base in two days.”

  “What?! Why do you have to go back early? You’re in no physical condition to travel anywhere!” I feel like my heart is in my chest. I don’t know how all the military stuff works, but from what I’ve heard, their plans can change rather quickly.

  “I’m being out-processed.”

  That has to be bad news. He doesn’t look happy about it at all. “Does that mean you’re being deployed again?”

  He finally looks up at me from his plate. “No, darlin’. I’m done. Contract is up, my commitment is fulfilled, and I’m going to be a civilian for the first time in my adult life.”

  “Oh, well, why do you look upset? Isn’t this what you wanted?”

  He scoots his chair back from the table. “Come here,” he says, patting his lap until I give in and sit across the tops of his thighs. “I guess I’m just in shock. I knew the day was coming, but somehow I never thought I’d see it. I didn’t think I’d ever live to see it. Maybe, at one point, I didn’t want to. But now, this is all part of being able to imagine a real future. A real life. With you.”

  I kiss him softly and lean back to look into those dark golden honey eyes that I adore. “I can’t possibly express to you how happy I am to be a part of that. Welcome to the real world, civilian.”

  He chuckles quietly, trying to keep from laughing too hard. It’s nice to see him smile after he had me scared to death for a minute. “I won’t be a total freak, you know. I was off-duty some during the last few years.”

  “Says the guy who can’t stand to leave the bed unmade for more than thirty seconds after I get up.”

  “That’s not being a freak; that’s being a creature of habit. There is a difference.”

  “Whatever you need to say to make yourself feel better is fine with me. The next time you sleep over at my house, I’m going to leave the bed unmade all day, just to see how long you can stand it.”

  “Well,” he says, his voice turning to deep velvet as his hand skims down my side. “I won’t have any problems with the bed being unmade all day. Just as long as you’re in it with me.”

  A hot flush blooms just under the surface of my skin, and I involuntarily gasp. “I like the way you think, civilian. I think we need to test your theory as soon as possible.”

  “Once I can sneeze without crying in the fetal position for an hour, we’ll give it a try. I
’m going to need some of my agility back for that.”

  “Not necessarily.” If he wants to flirt with me, I’m going to dish it right back. “You see, I’ve been playing nurse for a few days, and I haven’t been able to fulfill all of my duties. I’d be happy to be in total charge of your care that day, including that sponge bath you ordered.”

  His eyes grow wide for a moment, but he quickly regains control. “Well, Nurse Makenna, I think we have a bed to go unmake. Let’s go. Right now.”

  I giggle nervously. “Keep dreaming. You’re not well enough for that yet.”

  “The hell I am. I’m serious. Let’s go. I’m tired of being cooped up in this house, and I’d love nothing more than to spend the entire day in bed with my girlfriend. We can just lie there and watch T.V. all day, for all I care. Let’s just get out of here.”

  “You’re being serious.”

  “Dead serious.”

  There’s a sudden heaviness deep in my belly. My body knows there’s going to be a lot more than the television turned on when we get there. I jump up from his lap and race toward the bedroom, stopping at the door to look back at him. “Don’t worry about packing anything. I’ll grab your toothbrush for you. Clothes won’t be necessary.”

  His jaw drops as I disappear into the bedroom. I’ve never been quite this bold before, but I think I like it.

  Within thirty minutes, we arrive at my house. Sawyer did a little better than I expected on the ride over here, but there were a couple of potholes that were on the receiving end of more than a few swear words. I know it hurt him like hell, but it was a necessary evil if he really wanted to get out of his house. I just hope he realizes that I only have two days with him before he has to go back to the base for about a week, so I’m going to take full advantage of all forty-eight hours.