Love Burns

by Babette James

  Royce shook hands. “Granddad owns the marina. I’m his minion. Pleased to meet you. I recognize you from Liv’s vacation photos. Been to Florida before?”

  “First trip.”

  Bettie patted Olivia’s shoulder. “Jake said put you two at table eight. Okay?” She glanced from Dave, to Royce, to Livie, her eyes saying Oops.

  “That’s fine.”

  Royce winked warmly at Olivia. “I’m just here for the beer and a breath of sanity.” He nodded to Dave. “Enjoy your visit.”

  A basket of rolls and two glasses of ice water waited at table eight, her favorite window-side four-top with the best water view.

  Olivia and Dave sipped their drinks and silently watched the storm beat at the palms and water. Royce remained at the bar, chatting with Jean and Al.

  Faint tremors still rippled through Dave. Maybe she better have that you-need-to-see-a-doctor talk.

  “What time is it?” His voice was raw.

  She glanced at her watch. “Four thirty-five.”

  He nodded tightly, shredding the roll in his hands, lost in whatever was eating at him.

  She sucked in a breath. “Dave?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you need…something?” Oh, what a hopeless wimp. Good thing she’d given up nursing.

  “I’m fine.”

  Liar.

  Bettie brought salads. She raised her eyebrow at his ruined roll and untouched beer. Olivia shook her head, and Bettie left the bread plate alone.

  Silent minutes crawled by. Olivia nibbled at her own roll and field greens salad.

  …today’s the anniversary of the crash…what time is it?

  Understanding smacked her, and she kicked herself for being so slow and self-absorbed. The crash had happened one year ago. Now.

  ****

  He would hold on.

  Four thirty-five. Ten more minutes. Not even wanting to rip Maguire’s arm off was enough distraction. You’d think seeing a stranger’s arm around Livie would pry his mind off this insane obsession. A year, damn it. 364 days, twenty-three hours, fifty-one minutes and counting. Plenty of time to get a grip. Why was this so fucking impossible to put behind him? But, no, his brain had to throw every damned second of his scrambled memories at him, as if he had a hope in hell of changing the past.

  It was a freak accident. Get over it.

  Nothing humanly possible could have prevented the crash, except not to fly, and they had to fly. Not one damn thing he could control.

  They were ready, counting the minutes to the jump site, as routine as any flight. A rough ride, but they’d flown and jumped in far worse conditions.

  “Dave?”

  He struggled to answer. “Yeah.”

  Just an accident. Move on.

  “Tell me what you need.”

  “I’m fine.”

  No, far from fine. A hot fist of tension squeezed his pounding heart. Hell, he had timing. Was Maguire supposed to be sitting at this table with Livie right now?

  A salad sat by his bread plate and his roll was a shredded ruin.

  Just keep swimming.

  Thunder rumbled. He forced himself to drink his beer. The damned shakes rattled his hands.

  The familiar rumble of the jumpplane’s engines ran like a pulsing bass line, laughter and conversation adding their impatient counterpoint. The plane jerked against the chop and turbulence. They were laughing, adrenaline junkies all of them. Martinez was cracking his jokes and keeping them relaxed and in the groove. They were revved for the jump and the work. Oh, he loved the jump rush.

  “Rock and roll, baby,” Martinez cracked.

  The bottom dropped away. This rush was all oh, shit. Pain slammed. Sick tumbling through darkness. Pain. Blinding stars and falling into flickering nightmare.

  Gagging, Dave shoved at the weight crushing him in agony, struggling for a fix on the stuttering, blurred chaos.

  “…give me a hand, Bridger! Don’t move, Speed. Shit! Stay with me, Speed!” Smitty yelled by Dave’s ear, leaning over him, nose busted and bloody, hands clamped on Dave’s head pinning him in place. Rattling, canted plane; engines straining for altitude; orders, groans, and curses snapping from the shaken tangle of men and equipment.

  Ripping cracking shots of treetops versus metal.

  Engines roaring. Crippled plane straining. No, no, no. Too low. Too slow. Mountains too high. Too many trees. They were going down. Rafe was trying for a lake.

  Smitty bellowed, “Hold on—”

  Zero hour.

  She clipped the trees—

  Time imploded into agony and screaming metal.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dave sat rigid, pale and sweating, holding his beer in a white-knuckled grip. His haunted eyes focused far from the room. The thunderstorm slammed around them. The lights flickered. Wind lashed the rain against the windows, and the deluge roared on the roof above them. Fine shudders racked him, and he twitched at every flash and thunder boom.

  “Dave? Talk to me here, okay?” Her stomach locked in a frightened knot.

  “Olivia?” Uncle Jake set the two plates of grilled wahoo, sautéed green beans, and rice aside on the empty table beside them.

  She laid her hand over Dave’s, ignoring her uncle. “Dave?”

  Dave shuddered. “What time is it?”

  “Four forty-seven.”

  He nodded, avoiding her eyes, and cleared his throat. “I need to walk.”

  “It’s pouring out.”

  “I need to walk.”

  Uncle Jake nodded. “Restroom’s straight back. The door locks. Take a few. It’ll help some.”

  Dave swallowed and gripped his cane, awkwardly pushing to his feet. He headed off, as if his feet were heavy and new.

  Uncle Jake set a hand on her shoulder, stopping her from following. “Give him time.”

  “I’m so worried for him.”

  “I know, baby girl.”

  “Today was the day his plane crashed.”

  “Kinda figured that was weighing on his mind. Remember, turning for help is a good thing. It’s hell on a man’s pride, but a good thing for his soul.” He patted her and gathered the plates. “You wait for him right here. I’ll make something better for him.” He grinned. “Guess Teo and I are eating wahoo tonight.”

  Fortunately for the other customers, no one needed to use the men’s room. Bettie cleared the ruined roll and uneaten salad. The thunder faded. The rain died to a light steady shower. A peek at the bar found Royce with a beer in hand, keeping watch.

  What felt like ages later, Dave limped wearily from the restroom and sat heavily in the chair. His hair was wet and damp spots marked his shirt. “Sorry.”

  Olivia nodded. “Can I get you anything?”

  Dave rubbed his hands over his face. “Yeah, I’d like another beer and some of those rolls. I promise to eat them this time.” A bitter ghost of his old smile followed.

  “No problem.”

  Feeling pinned between Dave and Royce, she strolled as casually as possible to the bar. “Hey, Jean, another Corona, please, and could you tell Uncle Jake that Dave’s feeling up for some rolls?” A peek over her shoulder found Dave sitting arms folded, staring at the water.

  “Sure, honey. Rough day, huh?”

  “Yes.” What was she to make of his turning to her for help? Her foolish heart poised to dive back in. No, truth time, had already. Stay. Was she insane?

  “Everything okay?” Royce set a gentle hand on her shoulder, turning her.

  Olivia sighed and met his steady, concerned eyes. “No, actually, it’s all fairly complicated.”

  Royce nodded. “If you need anything, anything at all, I’m here for you.”

  She shored up her smile. “Thanks.”

  When she returned to Dave, he raised a wan smile.

  “Rolls are coming.” She handed him the fresh beer and slipped into her seat.

  “Thanks. Sorry. For everything.” He shot a questioning glance at Royce.

  She shr
ugged. “I asked you to stay. I meant it. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She toyed with her drink. “Something I’ve been learning over the last year is to take things one minute, one hour, one day at a time. Sometimes I forget, but it helps.”

  He nodded.

  “You got through the minutes.” She raised her glass.

  “Thanks.” He touched his bottle to her glass.

  Bettie delivered the fresh rolls. “Jake says supper’s coming.”

  They’d finished eating a roll each when Uncle Jake arrived with two bowls brimming with his fragrant, sturdy white bean soup, one of his favorite comfort foods. “This is what you both need. Eat up. You’ll feel better.”

  “Thanks, Jake.” Dave held out his hand. “I don’t know…”

  Uncle Jake shook his hand, and nodded. “Tonight, eat and sleep. Bartender’s orders.” He patted Olivia’s shoulder. “That goes for you, too.” He trundled off to the kitchen.

  Dave buttered and set aside this roll. He leaned an elbow on the chair arm. “I’m so damned tired.”

  His drawn face and haunted eyes pierced her heart. “I know.”

  “Why didn’t you toss me out the door? I wouldn’t have blamed you. I would have tossed me.”

  That angry, hurting boy he’d told her about filled her thoughts. “Because you needed to be here. Uncle Jake was here for me. I’m here for you.”

  “Why?” He studied her, eyes puzzled. “I treated you like shit that last day.”

  She breathed in against the refreshed pain and decided on a smile. “Can I say I’m still working that one out?”

  Some days the hurt stabbed and other days she felt forgiving. However, hurt or forgiving, she needed to remember the lesson she’d learned that day.

  ****

  So much for holding his shit together. Dave felt like he’d been flattened by a bulldozer. Shit. He’d fallen apart, in public. Worse, in front of Livie. What the hell she must be thinking.

  But you’re on the other side now.

  Livie picked up her spoon, offering an encouraging smile.

  She said stay.

  No. No reading more into that.

  The soup smelled great, raising his appetite—surprising since he would have sworn he didn’t want more than the rolls and the beer, and he’d only wanted the rolls to soak up the beer. Livie was waiting for him to eat, and Livie’s crusty old uncle would probably make sure he cleaned his bowl.

  The first spoonful of the tasty soup went down easy. Yeah, he could eat this, especially after Livie’s relieved smile. He didn’t deserve that smile. He sure as hell didn’t deserve her help. He’d have to work on that part.

  That fellow Maguire hung at the bar, talking to Jake with the ease of old friends. Hanging around to keep an eye on him with Livie?

  You cut her loose. She’s moved on. Deal with it. That’s what you wanted, remember?

  Hell. Yes. No. Maybe. At first vibe, Maguire seemed decent, the solid kind of guy who could provide the permanent, family thing a woman like Livie needed.

  They ate in silence, rarely meeting eyes. Customers ebbed and flowed, and conversation and laughter rolled around them. Evening settled in. Lights sparkled across the water. Another rain band blew in with wind, lightning, and thunder, but stormy weather didn’t keep Jake’s customers away. More guilt crept in. He was keeping Livie from working.

  The rolls and soup were finished, his beer bottle and her glass empty. His knotted stomach had settled, and the shakes had left his hands, leaving him gripped by the overwhelming need to plant his face in a pillow.

  “Come with me and let’s go to bed.”

  Huh? Yeah, he wanted to go to bed with Livie. If he could wrap himself in her, he’d be able to sleep again.

  “Dave? You need some sleep.”

  He snapped from his daze. Sleep, right. Just sleep. Not sleep with Livie. What he’d heard wasn’t what she’d said.

  He stood and counted out some bills from his wallet. No check on the table, so he tried to estimate the tab, but exhaustion had slammed hard. He lost count.

  “Dave, it’s fine.”

  “No, I pay my debts.” Giving up, he dumped the assorted bills on the table. He couldn’t pay all his debts, but he damn well would pay for his meal.

  Livie sighed. “There’s a break in the rain, so we’ll go out through the porch.”

  Dave got the door for her. Awkward, but he wanted to prove he had some manners.

  Outside, creaks, peeps, and drones of night creatures filled the humid dark. Restless water slapped against the bulkhead, trickled through drains, and dripped in soft patters and taps from leaves.

  Not reaching for her hand was tough as they followed the wet steps and ramp. He fished the key from his pocket and managed to open the door and locate light switches. “After you.”

  After she passed by, he hauled himself up the stairs, awake enough to appreciate the fine view of her lovely rear. Yeah, some rewards to old-fashioned manners.

  They paused awkwardly between their doors. Most times after a dinner with a woman, if he walked to her door, he was invited in. Not happening this time. His fault. His own damn fault.

  “Get some sleep, Dave.” Livie brushed fingertips over his cheek, then snatched back her hand.

  “I will, thanks. You too.” He did what he needed to do, turned the key, stepped inside, and closed the door between them.

  Cool dark closed in. He turned and slumped forehead against the door.

  Beyond the door, her keys jingled, the door creaked, a lock clicked. Quiet settled, leaving the omnipresent hum of the exhaust fans and muffled noise of the bar and kitchen below.

  Okay. Move it along here.

  Dropping fully dressed onto the bed was tempting, but he found the bedside lamp switch and unplugged the blinking clock radio.

  After digging out his toiletry kit and dumping his bags onto the floor, he stripped for bed and limped into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

  Aches and pains nagged as he stretched out gratefully between cool sheets and flicked out the light. Of course, as soon as he shut his eyes, all his failures clattered through his brain: Livie, humiliation at falling apart in front of her, anger at his weakness, his handicaps, and the gaping void of his future. What the fuck was he going to do?

  He punched the bed. Enough, enough with this damned pity party.

  You got through the minutes.

  Yes, badly, but done.

  So? Do it again. Sleep, and tackle the minutes tomorrow.

  The image of Maguire’s arm around Livie intruded. The best bet would be to move on first thing tomorrow. Just because Livie had tossed him a lifeline didn’t mean he had a hope in hell of fixing what he’d ruined and regaining what they’d shared at Mohave.

  If you run again, there’s no hope at all. If you don’t stick around, you won’t find out if you have a chance. So what are you going to do? Throw in the towel and lose Livie like you lost Tess? Or fight for what you want? Stay or go? Simple decision. Hell, toss a coin.

  Simple, yeah, but the consequences of either choice…complicated.

  ****

  Olivia hated leaving Dave alone. She locked her door and crumpled into the couch. She’d done all she could for him today. She had to trust he’d rest. She picked up the phone and dialed the kitchen.

  Uncle Jake answered. “Hey, honey. Got him settled?”

  “He’s in his room. Do you need me downstairs tonight?”

  “No, I want you to rest up. It’s your night off, and we’ve got it under control. Full, but easy, you know?”

  “Thanks, Uncle Jake. For…everything.”

  “I know. Love you, baby girl.”

  Too wired to rest, as if she’d had caffeine instead of alcohol, she turned on the computer and opened her browser.

  An instant message from Kay popped up. [KBrowningQuinn] Hi. How’s things?

  [OliviaABenedetti] I don’t know. Dave’s here.

  [KBrowningQuinn] Oh, thank God! Flor
ida!!! He told us he was driving to Alaska. We haven’t heard from him since he left us back on August 27th. We’ve been worried stiff. He hasn’t answered his phone or e-mails. You okay?

  [OliviaABenedetti] Yes. Dave’s not.

  [KBrowningQuinn] How bad?

  Olivia hesitated before typing what she wanted to say next.

  [OliviaABenedetti] He showed up this afternoon. He’s not okay with today being the crash anniversary. Very strung out. I have to ask, is he on any drugs?

  [KBrowningQuinn] Not that I know of. The most I saw him take here was a couple Tylenol. I promise you, Dave’s the last person in this world to abuse drugs. If anything, he’s avoided them even when he needed them.

  [OliviaABenedetti] Okay. Thanks.

  That assurance didn’t eliminate drugs as a problem, but avoidance sounded more like Dave than abusing.

  [KBrowningQuinn] Is he with you now?

  [OliviaABenedetti] He’s in the spare apartment. Hopefully sleeping.

  [KBrowningQuinn] Okay. Keep us posted. You need anything, call, okay? Anytime. *many hugs*

  [KBrowningQuinn] Nate here. I’ll be on the next flight out if either of you need me. Just say the word. Anytime. Any day. Promise me, you’ll tell me.

  [OliviaABenedetti] I promise. I think for tonight we’re okay. We’ll see how he is tomorrow. I know he’s like a brother to you.

  [KBrowningQuinn] He is. Thanks.

  Livia signed off. Her e-mails could wait. She shut down and forced herself to get ready for bed.

  She’d been settled in bed for an hour with a book and relaxing music when her phone rang. Tension revved and she answered without checking caller ID.

  “Hey, Olivia, it’s Royce.”

  She let her breath whoosh out, and she flopped back on the pillows. “Hi.”

  “Just checking to see if you’re okay.”

  “Thanks. I’m fine.” Honesty prodded her. “Mostly.”

  “He’s more than a friend.”

  Her throat tightened at Royce’s gentle statement. She should say no longer, but what was good for her and what her heart wanted were messily tangled. “He was.”

  “And now? You can tell me it’s none of my business, but I’m here for you if you need a friendly ear. I’m here for whatever you need.”

  “Thank you. That means so much to me. As for now, I’m honestly not sure. He’s staying across the hall. He needs to work out some issues and needs a friend. I told him he could stay until he’s ready to leave. Beyond that, I don’t know. He could leave tomorrow, or…”