by Cecy Robson
“I was worried.”
It’s what she claims, and I believe her. But while she’s not demanding more of an explanation, she does want to know why I left as abruptly as I did. I don’t really want to talk about it, but it’s because it’s her that I can. “A buddy of mine from the Army died.”
She lifts her head so she can see my face. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry.”
I shrug like it doesn’t affect me even though it damn well does. “The funeral was yesterday in Oklahoma. I left as soon as I heard to get there in time and drove all night to get back.”
“Were you close to him?” she asks cautiously.
“I served three tours with him,” I explain, my mind drifting away from her and back to my time back in Iraq. “During one of our raids, he was in a Range Rover that was struck by a missile. The rest of the boys inside were killed. He was considered lucky to have survived.” I huff. “I’m not so sure he’d agree. He lost his left arm and part of his face, also suffered permanent brain damage that affected his nervous system.”
“That poor man,” she says. “How did he die?”
I play with the strands of her damp hair, but I can’t look at her when I answer. “He killed himself, Trin. He couldn’t handle what happened. It wasn’t just the combat, his disfigurement, or even his girl leaving him when he came home. It was all of it, and more. No one would give him a job or a chance. He lost everything back in Iraq, including all those men who died when that missile hit, and what did he get in return? Absolutely nothing.”
We wait in silence for a while. When I finally bring myself to look at her, I see nothing but tears pooling in her eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss and for everyone who loved him,” she tells me, swallowing hard. “But most of all, I’m sorry for him, and what he must have gone through.”
My attention travels to the ceiling when that all that anger that flared at his funeral returns full force. “I know suicide is the worst kind of sin,” I say. “A straight ticket to hell. But I refuse to believe in a God that wouldn’t show mercy to someone like Billy. Someone so good, but so sick with grief, he sought peace the only way his beaten soul thought he could get it.”
I don’t realize the extent of my emotions until Trin’s fingers splay on either side of my face and she kisses my eyelids. Her touch is warm and delicate, something I could have used when I watched Billy’s parents drape their bodies across their son’s casket.
Christ, seeing them like that, and all those familiar faces breaking down like they did, it brought everything back in one cruel blow, triggering a slew of vicious memories and further riling all the ones that have been eating me alive.
“I believe your friend is in heaven, and whole, and loved,” she says, her own tears falling. “I’m only sorry he couldn’t find that peace here on earth.”
My arms wrap around her as she settles against me. “Thank you,” I whisper, not realizing how bad I needed to hear those words until they fell from her lips.
In the quiet that passes, I’m sure that she’s fallen asleep until she shifts her weight, and that gentle stare finds me once more.
“Callahan?”
“Yeah?”
“When I asked you if what was happening was normal, I didn’t mean what you thought I meant. I was speaking of what’s going on between us.” She sighs. “It’s hard to describe―and maybe it’s too soon to tell you. But what I feel when I’m with you, I’ve never felt with anyone else.” Her voice is so quiet it seems to drift away. “I just wanted you to know that. It’s one of the reasons I was so scared when you touched me.”
I don’t respond, keeping my jaw closed tight. Mostly because I feel exactly the same way, and because it scares the hell out of me, too.
Chapter Thirteen
Trinity
Callahan kisses me again. It’s so sweet. No, he’s so sweet. And even though I want to know what he’s thinking, I don’t ask, choosing instead to melt into this kiss.
The door swings open and good ol’ Sean walks through—like I’m not making out half-naked with Callahan.
“Oh, shit,” he says.
Callahan clutches me to him, trying to shield me, as he covers my back with that small throw.
“Sean. What are you doing here?’ I ask, fumbling with the blanket and trying to gather it around me.
“I found these,” he says, tossing me my clothes. “I wasn’t sure what happened to you and ran back here to call for help.” He smirks. “But looks to me you have all the help you need.”
“I told him to call from my place,” Callahan admits. He rubs his jaw, pausing when Sean makes no effort to leave. “Sean, now that you know Trin’s safe, how about you head back to the bar?”
Sean laughs like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “Sure. I can do that.” He starts to leave, but then adds, “By the way. Nice rack, Trin. They ain’t so tiny, after all.”
“Get out of here, Sean!” I yell. By then he’s already out in the back, but that doesn’t mean I still can’t hear him crack up.
Callahan’s light touch lures my attention back to him. “Is it wrong that I’m glad he hadn’t seen these until now?” he asks, passing his hands over my breasts.
I watch the way his fingertips trace along my small curves. “It’s not like that with him, or Mason, or Hale. We’ve been friends forever and nothing more.”
“I wasn’t sure,” he says. “I know you’re a tight bunch.”
“We are, and I’d do anything for them. But they’re my brothers, and I’m the little sister they’ve always watched out for.”
I enjoy the quiet between us and the way Callahan continues to play before he finally drops his hands away. “I have to head back. I left Mason covering my side of the bar.”
My eyebrows lift to the ceiling. “You left Mason in charge? That boy can’t do more than pour beer.”
He laughs. “Yeah, he mentioned that.”
I start to rise, both of us laughing when we realize we’re a little stuck. “I’d better get cleaned up.”
“Me, too,” I agree.
Callahan appears with a new shirt and a pair of jeans moments later, stopping when he sees me dressed. “Thank Christ. I was worried you were going back out in your underwear.”
I glance at our linked hands as he leads me out. “Now, why would I go and do a thing like that?”
We step onto the sand and follow the path out to the beach. “You’re acting like I didn’t catch you skinny-dipping,” he tells me, that testiness returning to his tone.
“I wasn’t skinny dipping. It was dark, and my panties and bra are black. Anyone who saw me probably mistook it for a bikini.”
“No, they didn’t,” he mutters. “What you were wearing isn’t anything close to what decent folk wear swimming.”
“You calling me indecent?”
“Yup,” he answers.
The couple I passed on my walk stroll by. I was alone then. I’m not now and it feels amazing. “So you’re saying I shouldn’t wear things like lacy panties and bras in front of you―”
“Trin.”
“Or like thongs or edible panties and such?”
“Trin.”
“Do you like cherry or strawberry?”
“Trin. I have to get back to work!”
“I meant on your ice cream. Get your mind out of the gutter, soldier.”
I try to storm off like I’m offended only for Callahan to wrap his arms me and lift me in the air. I squeak as he nibbles my neck.
“You really know how to drive a man crazy, you know that?” he murmurs against my ear.
“Is that good or bad thing?” I ask. I laugh when he doesn’t answer. “Sounds like it’s a good thing to me.”
He lowers my feet to the ground. This time he’s the one eyeing our intertwined fingers. “How did this happen?” he asks.
“You holding my hand?”
He quirks his eyebrow. “Among other things.”
I shrug. “It was bound to happen.”
He shakes his head and chuckles as we resume our pace. “Was it?”
“Oh, yeah. I mean we’ve been going steady for like three whole weeks now.”
Callahan almost grounds to a halt at my comment, but then pushes forward. It’s similar to people who are walking along, and suddenly remember something they forgot, but then say screw it anyway, and continue on their merry way.
“Something wrong?” I tease.
He regards me out of the corner of his eye and pretends to scowl. “Going steady for three weeks?” he repeats.
“Mmm-hmm,” I say.
“Christ,” he mumbles back.
“You’re cute when you’re all broody, Batman.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”
My focus trails from his face and way down south. “You’re right. You’re definitely more like Thor, God of Thunder. After all, isn’t he the one―” I pretend to fan myself. “Whoo, with the giant―”
“Trin!”
“I was going to say hammer. See there you go again, taking a perfectly innocent conversation straight into Smutville. Shame on you; trying to corrupt an innocent little thing like me.”
He throws his head back and laughs, but then pulls me against him. I wind my arms around his neck, slowly losing my smile. For all I joke, I mean it when I say that I’m scared. I’ve never experienced this connection and draw I feel with Callahan.
His heart makes mine shatter into a million pieces all the while melting what remains, and his soul, while bruised and battered, holds strong in spite of the blows it’s taken. Given what he’s survived and endured, I’m in awe of him. That doesn’t mean the pain he buries deep isn’t something I long to spare him from.
The kiss he meets me with reignites my smile. I confess, that while it was his appearance that first made me want to know him, it’s the man beneath all this muscle that makes me want to keep him.
I stiffen. The thing is, I won’t be able to keep him long.
“Something wrong?” he asks.
Now doesn’t feel like the right time to tell him I’ll be leaving in September. In fact, it feels very wrong. I trust my instincts, hoping they won’t steer me someplace neither of us wants to be.
“Just thinking about you,” I answer him truthfully.
“All right,” he says, taking my hand and leading us down the beach.
He quiets, growing almost tight-lipped. I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t believe me, or because he’s having reservations about being with me. But as we reach the steps leading up to Your Mother’s, I realize now isn’t the time to ask, even when his hand slips away and he steps aside.
“After you,” he says.
I tell myself there’s no need to get upset―that he’s not snubbing me and his reaction is only related to his need to return to work. But like I said, insecurity is a real bitch. I slide my discarded flip-flops back on and walk ahead toward the inside bar, not at all ready to leave him.
Poor Mason is beside himself, standing with his hands out as he tries to talk down a crowd of irate women demanding he make them some Hurricanes.
“Beer!” he says. “I can only pour beer. Doesn’t anyone want beer?”
The women are screaming at him, making it clear that no, they don’t drink Bud, Heineken, or anything in between. Mason’s hefty shoulders slump when he sees Callahan.
“Thank God,” he mumbles.
Callahan inches in front of me, appearing more than ready to put some space between us. I think I should say something clever—something to lure his grin before he leaves me. And maybe if it wasn’t for Hunter and Blakeney showing up earlier, I could come up with something decent to say. Instead, I remain quiet, doubting everything he could feel about me, despite what happened at his place.
Callahan on the contrary has plenty to say, except he doesn’t exactly use words. He hauls me to him, graciously and very vigorously reintroducing his tongue to my tonsils.
My spine bends backward with how hard his body and mouth press against all my right parts, and my foot is doing this jerky-twitchy thingy. I’d like to say I wrap my arms oh-so gracefully around his broad and manly shoulders, but they’re too busy flailing like I’m falling from the sky because yes, it’s that kind of kiss.
He pulls away and grins. “I have to get back to work, baby,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “If you stick around until closing, I’ll take you home.”
I try to be all smooth-like and mature because that’s the kind of gal I pretend to be. But there’s no pretending. Nope. Not after that deep and very necessary exploration of his tongue.
Instead of “yes” or “sure”, something like “yush” comes out of my mouth. He chuckles and releases me slowly, but not before shooting me a wink that no one misses.
I may or may not have Beyoncé strutted back to my cheering and woot-woot-woot-ing friends. But I do refrain from high-fiving them. After all, I am a lady.
Like Callahan promised, he drove me back to my place following closing and clean up. He pulls into my driveway, but doesn’t punch in the security code when I offer it. “You don’t want to come in?” I ask.
He runs his fingers along his steering wheel. “I better not. It’s late and I haven’t slept much these past couple of days.”
I didn’t say we were going to sleep. In fact, I’d planned to do anything but. I want him with me, and while he’s been a gentleman―especially after recognizing how scared I was earlier―I’m hoping he’ll change his mind and make love to me all night.
Yet as I watch his eyes grow distant, I’m reminded how rough these last few days have been for him. He does look tired, and more than a little sad.
I click out of my seatbelt and turn to rest my head against the seat. “How do you sleep?” I ask.
He swivels to face me, the change in his expression alerting me that he understands what I’m really asking. “Not well,” he admits.
“Has it been like that since you’ve been back from war?”
“No, longer. I haven’t had a good night sleep in years,” he says. “When I first joined, the excitement and thrill of being part of the U. S. military kept me up. They reel you in, those recruiters, emphasizing all the lifetime benefits, building up the honor of serving and protecting your country, and making like you’ll be a hero and someone who’ll always be respected. ‘You’ll be a part of history, son,’ one of them told me.”
He leans back a little, as if wondering if I’m listening. It’s only when he sees that I’m hanging on his every word that he continues. “That excitement turns to fear real quick when you realize you could actually die. And that respect? It may come good and strong from those people who appreciate your sacrifice. But it doesn’t erase all those haters calling you a murderer to your face―or those screaming mobs yelling at you in a language you can’t understand, and in a country that’s not your own.”
My eyes widen, but I’m quick to control my shock and anger. Callahan’s expression remains neutral, and though the pain is evident by the rigidness in his posture, he keeps his voice low and steady. “You wonder if you’ll be good enough. And when you are, you’re given more opportunities to kill, put in situations that seem more suicidal than strategic, and sent on special assignments that the last team didn’t come back from. So then you stop wondering, because you know you’re good, and wonder instead when your luck will finally run out and whether you’ll be the next one sent back home in a box.”
He looks in the direction of the house. “Trin, given what I’ve seen and done, sometimes I don’t know how I’m still here in one piece.”
But he’s not. For all he looks whole, his soul is busted up something awful.
“I don’t know either,” I tell him. “I’m just glad you’re here with me.” My eyes sting, but I manage a smile. “I can’t imagine ever not meeting you.”
Callahan cocks his head slightly, his stare softening with enough kindness to cloak the ire and pain that lies beneath. He unsnaps his seat
belt and leans forward.
“Come here,” he says, reaching for me.
Our lips part when they meet so our tongues can immediately play and explore. This kiss isn’t like the heated ones before. It’s slow, reassuring me that he’s safe and that I shouldn’t be afraid.
I slide my hand up, digging my fingers through his thick silky waves while his arms circle my waist. He holds me tenderly and so close I feel his warmth and the thud of his beating heart. For a moment, I fool myself into believing that I’m the one reassuring him. Maybe I am. So I give more of myself to our kiss, hoping he’ll take a part of me with him so he’s not so alone.
His hands slide over my waist to grip my hips before gradually loosening his hold. I watch him edge away, struggling it seems to let me go.
“I think I should leave,” he says.
As much as I want him to stay, I don’t ask him to. He needs space. I can see it, and sense it. I’m only hoping he doesn’t pull completely away. “All right. Goodnight.”
I reach for my purse and start to climb out when he says, “Wait. Don’t leave yet. “He hops out of the truck and jogs around the other side to open the door for me, offering me his hand to help me down.
“I want to make sure you get inside,” he says.
He keeps my hand in his and leads me up the long driveway. “You let me walk up by myself the other night,” I remind him.
He offers me a one shoulder shrug. “That’s different. You weren’t walking into an empty house.”
He glances up, taking in the house when we reach it. “Can I ask you something personal?”
“You can ask me anything,” I tell him truthfully.
He laughs a little. “You said your parents did volunteer work.”
“That’s right. They did so for years, and they still do locally.”
“How is it that they came to live here?”
It’s not the first time someone asked me this question. As a child, it made me uncomfortable. I had friends who didn’t have much. And even though I did, it’s something we never flaunted.