Most Rikki-Tik

by MariaLisa deMora

  What the original funding documentation had called a social experiment had become an unequivocal success by any measure. In the months since the clubhouse doors had opened for the handpicked members, the group’s regular evaluation reports had all been hugely positive. Building a found-family as they had, it mimicked the support system the men had all depended on in the service. Being held accountable for their own success by a group of peers they leaned on, believed in, and trusted with their lives made it so each man became what he needed the others to be. A round robin of positive feedback, and the results had been phenomenal.

  Kirby had to take everyone’s word for all the official stuff because of the holes in his memories. But in his gut and heart, he knew he’d done a good thing. Looking at the faces of the men every day, seeing the ravages of war slowly fading away, watching as the horrors they remembered too well were replaced with a warmth and camaraderie they’d all been lacking in their post-military lives, he knew he’d done good.

  “I’m tryin’, Prez.” Nathan’s head swung slowly back and forth. “Every day.”

  “We know you are, brother.” Oscar spoke from across the room, and Kirby watched him walk towards where they stood. “We all are. Better and better, yeah?” Nathan nodded. “Let’s go call Dom, yeah?” Dominic was the counselor, and while he didn’t live on premises, he was close. If Oscar and Dom thought Nathan needed him, the man would be here in five minutes, without fail. “Kirby, Dana’s in the office. She needs a word.”

  And that explains why he’s taking Nathan and leaving me to the wolves, Kirby thought, giving Oscar a dip of his chin in response. Something in the air over the past couple of weeks had made Dana mad as anything, and all the men had been giving her a wide berth while she worked through whatever it was. Between budgeting and sourcing new funds to keep the foundation and clubhouse going for another year, Kirby honestly didn’t know what he would have done without her. Not gonna give her the satisfaction of me sayin’ so aloud, though. He snorted, hung up Nathan’s jacket, and turned to the kitchen.

  Mug in hand, he sauntered towards the office, slowing when he approached the slightly open door. Dana was clearly on the phone, and as he listened to the one-sided conversation, he thought he might have a good idea what was wrong.

  “No. God, no. I told you this, David. I’m not going to come home for Christmas.” She sighed heavily, and Kirby could imagine her eyes rolling to the back of her head. She’d used that expression on him a time or dozen over the past few months. The only difference was her tone didn’t carry any of the amused tolerance she had with him. Whoever this David was, he was on her last nerve.

  “No, it’s not up for discussion. The last time I saw you I told you exactly what I wanted. If you aren’t ready for that yet, then it seems we’re at a stalemate.”

  I wonder what she wants. Kirby closed his eyes at the idea of her wanting something she didn’t have. I’d break my back to do whatever it was. Dana’s work at the foundation was necessary to their mission, but Kirby suddenly realized how much she’d been working. Hours and hours she’d spent making sure everything his men needed was at their fingertips. She works all the damn time.

  “No, David, I can’t say that.” There was a thump and he startled, belatedly realizing it was her feet hitting the floor. “Jesus,” her voice was lower, and he could hear the strain in just that single word. This conversation was taking something out of her she didn’t have to give. Whoever this David was—and Kirby was determined to know everything about him right damn now—he was pushing when he shouldn’t, and Dana was stuck in the middle.

  “I’m not coming home. Not now.” She paused, and Kirby listened intently. “Not ever. We’re over.” He jerked back, reeling, the acknowledgment from her that this was a romantic relationship nearly taking his legs from under him. We’re over. The pain in those two words was all-consuming, flaming through his gut, and the words weren’t even aimed at him.

  Silence filled the space behind the door, and he reached out to tap a quiet knuckle on the surface. It opened into the office with that slight pressure to reveal Dana seated at her desk, face pressed to her palms. Kirby didn’t hesitate. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, thumb working the lock to make sure no one else saw Dana like this, defenseless and hurting.

  A moment later, he was around the corner of the desk and squatting down beside her. Arms around her shoulders, he pulled her close, ignored her startled gasp, and gave her no space to shove him away like she halfheartedly tried. “Kirby,” her voice broke and she choked on a sob.

  “Shhhh, Dana. I got you.” She’s one of the team, he told himself. Her curves fit against his hard muscles as if she’d been made as a match for him. Effortlessly, he lifted her from the chair and twisted to put his back to the wall, sliding down to settle on the floor with her in his lap. I’d do the same for any of the men. Kirby swallowed. That last was a lie, because he was definitely cuddling Dana, something he’d never consider doing for Nathan. “I got you.” She twisted and wrapped her arms around his neck, held on tight as her tears fell in earnest. Sobbing against his shoulder, her fingers twisted into the collar of his shirt, fingertips grazing against his skin now and again, a heated glancing touch he tried to ignore. “You can’t carry this alone, Dana. Give me some of it, and I’ll help. Tell me what I can do.”

  “You can’t do anything.” Soft, broken with sobs, her words ghosted across his skin. “This is on me.”

  He adjusted his grip on her, cradling her close. “You don’t gotta do it alone. Don’t matter what it is, sharing the load always helps.”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  He shook his head. “Because I’m not a woman? Because I’ve never been anything to anyone? Because I’m broken? Why is it I wouldn’t understand, Dana?” Arms tightening around her, he gave her a squeeze. “Try me. You might be surprised.”

  “Broken hearts are hard to understand.” Dammit, I was right. David was an ex, and not long in the past, which meant she’d been running when she came back to Mayhan. Buried herself in my dream to escape another man. He hated how much that stung.

  “You think I’ve never had my heart broken?” He hadn’t, but she’d never know for sure. The one he’d wanted hadn’t been old enough to return the affection, and from how she acted now, had likely always been oblivious to how he’d felt. Left me bruised, not broken. “Tell me who David is.”

  “You heard that, huh?” The words came out steadier, their careful banter helping her regain control. “I never meant for anyone here to know.”

  Unbidden, his hand stroked up her back, coming to rest on the back of her neck. He gripped firmly for a moment, trying to ignore how good she felt cradled against him like this. Kirby swallowed hard, traitorous thoughts filling his mind of how it could be with Dana pliable in his arms, willing and ready for him. Fuck. She shifted and her breasts pressed to his chest, soft to his hard. “What is it we tell the men? We can’t fix what we don’t know.” He cleared his throat, the tightening of his abs making his erection jump. Dana’s curvy ass fit against him, and he suppressed a groan. “It works both ways, Dana.”

  She leaned back against his hand, and he lifted his eyes to the ceiling as she studied him. If he looked at her, he’d kiss her, and that wasn’t what she needed from him right now. Maybe never. “Yeah,” she said softly, her hand on his shoulder, holding on. “It goes both ways here, Kirby.” She sighed and patted his chest, then wiped a palm across her cheeks. “Let me up, big guy. I have work to do.”

  Without looking at her face, he gave her a hand up, keeping his seat on the floor as he steadied her. Kirby couldn’t help himself, wrapping his fingers tight around her hips for the space of two breaths, then he forced himself to release her. “There you go.” Legs stretched in front of him, he crossed his feet and leaned his head back, staring at her a moment before closing his eyes. “Back to work, Dana.”

  “What are you doing?” Even without opening his eyes, he knew she was smili
ng. The welcome change in emotion was clear in her voice, and he grinned to hear it. “Kirby-cat, you can’t sit there.”

  “Sure I can.” He didn’t move, fingers laced together across his belly. Pulling in a deep breath, he noted the subtle scent he associated with Dana, glad for that indication his brain had settled on the now-version, finally. She was ingrained in him now, and he grinned wider at the thought. I’ll never let her go. “Gonna hang with you. Out of the way, but here. You have stories to tell so I can help you get past them. I figure if I don’t stick around, you can’t talk to me, so this is me makin’ good on my promise to help fix things for you. Help fix whatever it is this asshole’s done, and if you don’t wanna talk?” He shifted, finding a more comfortable position for his ass against the hard floor. “I’ll be here anyway. Just in case.”

  “Kirby.” Soft and sweet, her whisper held a thousand emotions, vulnerable in a way he’d never heard from her. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, Dana. I’m here. You need me? I’m here.”

  ***

  Kirby listened to the house settling around him. There was a rhythm to the winding down of the residents, those who inhabited his living dream. Boot soles slipped and scuffed near the top of the stairs, and he knew that would be Donny, having finished watching the reality show he favored and headed to bed. Nathan was already in bed and asleep, his soft snores echoing through the walls as a gentle reminder he lived.

  An unfamiliar noise caught his attention, and Kirby held his breath, listening intently. Another, this close enough to be identified as a footstep. Silent but for the creak of a board midway between his room and the next, he waited, rewarded at length by the quiet rap of a knuckle against the wood.

  “Yeah?” He pushed up in bed, angled so he could see this polite visitor, expecting to see one of the men who struggled with sleep, or Oscar come to say goodbye before he left for his own home. Across two blocks behind them, he was camped out in what would become their secondary house, a just-purchased place for graduates of the program, men who still needed the support of brothers around them but not the intensive interventions provided by the medical and mental help on site here on Main Street.

  The doorknob turned, and he watched as it opened slowly, revealing not Oscar, but Dana. Head to one side, he asked her, “Thought you went home hours ago?” She had, he was certain of it, because he’d remained with her until suppertime, maneuvering things to sit next to her at the big table, providing a measure of space between her and the men. “What are you doing back here?”

  “Can I stay with you awhile?” This was an echo of their childhood friendship, where hanging out at her grandparents’ house was a respite from the chores assigned to him, and her visiting his family’s home lent a sense of belonging she’d claimed to want. She leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, chewing on her lip. “Just for a bit?”

  Wordlessly, Kirby shifted to one side in the bed, fluffing the pillow on the side nearest where she stood, her silent invitation. Dana sighed and closed the door behind her, climbed into bed beside him, and rested on top of the covers. She turned onto her side, hands folded under her cheek as she looked at him.

  Mirroring her pose, Kirby smiled at her. “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself,” she returned, one corner of her mouth quirking. “Whatcha doin’?”

  “Nothin’ much.” He sighed, stifling a yawn. He smiled when she reacted, a sympathetic yawn stretching her mouth wide. “’Bout to go to sleep.” She hummed in an agreeable response.

  They lay like that for a few minutes, the quiet sounds of the house resuming with the low hum of the refrigerator downstairs, a soft thud that was Donny’s closet door closing behind whatever he’d placed inside. Kirby let his eyelids slip closed, thinking this was what Dana had needed, just being close to another human being after dealing and arguing with her ex today. So it was a surprise when she broke the silence, leading with a confession he hadn’t expected.

  “It was nice what you did earlier. I liked knowing you were there for me.” That was an acknowledgment he hadn’t expected. Then she surprised him further by continuing to speak. “I liked being held by you. It was…better than nice. It was soothing, comfortable. Like you were showing me you’d have my back no matter what.”

  There was safety in the darkness behind his lids, so he didn’t open his eyes, just grunted in response.

  More silence, and he thought she might be slipping down the hill towards sleep when she spoke again. “It doesn’t scare me, you know. What’s happened to you. I believe in you, Kirby-cat.” She sighed. “Always did. You just didn’t see it.”

  He gave her a minute to elaborate, then asked, “What does that mean, Dana?” When he looked at her, Kirby was surprised to see her eyes closed, breathing even and slow. Either she was asleep between the ending of her last word and now, or she was the world’s best fraud, because the way her mouth softened, lips bowing sweetly—that didn’t look faked. When she didn’t respond, didn’t stir, he relaxed back into the mattress and kept his eyes on her for as long as he could hold them open.

  When Kirby finally slept, it was deep and dreamless, and she was gone by the time he woke, only the indent in the pillow testimony to the reality of his strange evening.

  Chapter Five

  “Hey.” Kirby recognized Dana’s voice from across the street and winced, then continued cinching his bag tight on the back of his bike. He was still pissed about how she’d left him this morning, making his brain turn over their conversation a dozen times to ensure she’d actually been there beside him. Not a dream, he’d had to remind himself over and over. Eyes fixed on his task, he offered a low wave and turned back to his final preparations. She called again, from closer. “Hey, Kirby.”

  He glanced up to realize she’d darted out from the other sidewalk without checking and her back was to the oncoming traffic, which wasn’t slowing.

  Fuck.

  From flatfooted to racing towards her in less than a breath, he pushed hard to lengthen his strides, praying for even a second of grace.

  He’d made snap decisions a thousand times on patrol, and his gut told him now the truck driver wouldn’t see her in time; the man’s head was bent over something occupying his attention inside the truck. Pouring a mug of coffee or texting the wife—it didn’t matter because he hadn’t seen Dana and wouldn’t see her until she was thrown against his windshield, blood smearing the glass before her body dropped back to the road. His memory might be fucked twenty ways from Sunday, but Kirby could see this moment in his head. Where things that could happen would happen, become set in stone the longer those probabilities weren’t nudged, and for now, he was the only one that could change the path of things.

  Angling from the side so he could put a shoulder into her belly, then leap those last few feet, he flew and twisted in the air so he hit the pavement first, Dana’s slight weight bouncing against his chest, his body protecting her from impact. He heard the hit before he felt it, the booming echo traveling through his bones in a way that hurt. Then came a twisting of his foot, torquing it around in ways the human limb wasn’t intended to bend.

  The squealing of the truck tires against the pavement was loud, sliding along accompanied by the blare of a cautionary air horn, the bitter scent of overheated brake pads scenting the air. Alongside that odor, Kirby pulled Dana’s light perfume into his lungs, felt her body stiff with what he prayed was shock and not injury.

  Then his head hit the pavement and all bets were off, pure darkness dropping on him like a bomb, like the blast that had taken so many of his friends, and Kirby fought it like he’d never done, losing in an instant, but knowing he’d wanted to win more than anything he’d ever wanted before.

  ***

  Hushed quiet enveloped him. Not a true silence of absence, but that which surrounds those gravely wounded. Antiseptic scents twined through the air, accompanied by something unlabeled but familiar, his brain’s version of tip-of-the-tongue frustration.

  Kirby br
eathed, head exploding with pain on every inhale, as if the act pumped up a balloon occupying space in his brain. The pain didn’t so much ebb and flow as it built on each breath, like high tide advancing with each passing moment, inexorably moving through him.

  He knew from long practice that opening his eyes would need to be a gradual process, introducing the agony of light a fraction of an inch at a time. It had been a long time since the headaches had been this bad, and Kirby wondered what he’d done to anger the brain gods, bringing their attention back to his existence with such a vengeance. Bit by bit, he pried his lids open to find his head resting on the flat mattress in a small room, not quite hospital-looking, but starker than a typical residential room. It was nothing like the VA hospital where he’d been living for months at a time.

  A nearby sound almost tricked him into looking in that direction, either by angling his eyes or turning his head, but he remembered just in time what a bad decision that would be. Instead, he tried his voice, pleased when speaking didn’t increase the level of pain. Small favors. “Who’s there?” Quiet, a bare whisper was all he could manage, but he knew he’d been heard when a face popped into view. It took him a minute to put words to his recognition, but after a false start or two where his mouth didn’t produce anything, he gave the person a name. “Oscar.” Relief flooded his cousin’s expression, and Kirby wondered at that. “What are you doing here?”

  Caution resurfaced in Oscar’s features, and he asked, “What?”

  “Why aren’t you in Texas?” Now fear darkened his out-of-place cousin’s face. Home for Oscar was the town where they’d grown up, while Kirby had been based out of Fort Bragg in North Carolina for the past handful of years. Reed had sent him back there for rehab after the blast. Aleppo. “What’s wrong?”