The Marine's Road Home

by Brenda Harlen

  “You clean up pretty good yourself,” she said, appreciating how handsome he looked in a chambray shirt and khaki pants. “And not a dog hair in sight.”

  “I would have been happy to pick you up at your place,” he said.

  “This is easier.”

  “Because you don’t want me to meet your father?” he guessed.

  “We’re neighbors in a small town—I’d assumed you’d already met my father.”

  “But not as your date,” he remarked.

  “And that’s what I was trying to save you from,” she said. “The interrogation that goes along with that title.”

  “I know how to handle an interrogation—name, rank and serial number.”

  She smiled, pleased that he no longer seemed to be keeping his military service a secret—at least not from her.

  “Well, I have a question for you,” she said. “Where are we going tonight?”

  “The Chophouse.”

  “In Battle Mountain?” she guessed.

  He nodded and opened the passenger-side door of his truck for her to climb in.

  “There are restaurants in Haven,” she reminded him, when he was settled behind the wheel.

  “That I can count on the fingers of one hand without using my thumb,” he noted. “And of those four, you work at one, your brother owns another, and while the Sunnyside Diner does a great all-day breakfast, I think we’ve eaten enough eggs together.”

  “And for some inexplicable reason, you’re not a fan of Jo’s pizza,” she remembered.

  “I like it just fine.”

  “And yet your freezer is full of the frozen kind.”

  “Maybe because I don’t want to go into town every time I’m in the mood for a pizza.”

  “Definitely worth the trip,” Sky argued.

  “The first time I had it, I thought the same thing,” he agreed.

  “And the second?” she prompted.

  He sighed. “I walked into the restaurant and before I could even give my name at the takeout counter, the woman working the register—who I assumed to be Jo—said, ‘Your medium sausage and peppers is just coming out of the oven now.’”

  “It was the wrong order?” Sky guessed.

  “No, it was the right order. But I don’t need everyone in town knowing what I eat on my pizza.”

  “And since then you’ve deprived yourself of Jo’s pizza because you’d rather be anonymous than well-fed?”

  “It sounds ridiculous when you say it like that,” he acknowledged.

  “It is ridiculous,” she said. “I’ll be the first to admit that it’s sometimes annoying that everyone seems to know everyone else’s business. When you live in a town like Haven, you forfeit your anonymity, but what you get in return is a sense of belonging to the community.

  “But I’m willing to make you a deal,” she said, as he pulled into the parking lot adjacent to the restaurant.

  “What kind of deal?” he asked warily.

  “If this date thing goes well enough tonight that we decide we want to do it again, we’ll eat at your place next time—and I’ll pick up the pizza from Jo’s.”

  “That sounds good to me,” he agreed.

  * * *

  “This is really nice,” Sky said, after they’d been seated. The décor had a masculine bent, with lots of stone, wood and leather, with subdued overhead lighting supplemented by candles on the tables. But it was the scent of grilled meat that really appealed to her empty stomach.

  “I hoped you’d like it,” he said.

  “Have you been here before?”

  He shook his head. “No, but it had good reviews online.”

  “What did we do before the internet?” she mused.

  “I’m pretty sure we didn’t take pictures of our every meal to share with the world.”

  She chuckled. “I take it you’re not a fan of Instagram?”

  “I’m not a fan of social media in general,” he admitted.

  “I’m not surprised,” she said, tongue in cheek. “Considering it’s got the word social in it.”

  Jake narrowed his gaze, but whatever his intended reply, he bit it back when the waitress appeared beside their table.

  “Can I get you something to drink while you’re looking at the menu?” she asked. “We have a selection of red and white wines, available by the glass or bottle, a variety of craft beers and an extensive cocktail list.”

  “Sky?” Jake said, deferring to her.

  “I wouldn’t mind a glass of wine,” she said, skimming the list of options at the front of the menu. “The Stoneridge Estates pinot noir.”

  The waitress nodded.

  “And you, sir?” she asked Jake.

  “I’ll have a Coke,” he said.

  Sky continued to peruse the menu offerings, mentally debating between the striploin and ribeye because she didn’t believe in going to a steak house and ordering anything but steak. She glanced up to ask Jake what he was going to have, and found his gaze was on her rather than the menu in his own hand.

  “You’re staring at me,” she said.

  “I can’t help it—you look particularly beautiful tonight.”

  “I think it’s the candlelight,” she said.

  “No.” He shook his head. “It’s you.”

  “And you haven’t even been drinking,” she said lightly.

  “I’m surprised,” he said. “You don’t strike me as the type of woman who’d have trouble accepting a sincere compliment.”

  “I don’t,” she said. “But I grew up with a sister who’s truly beautiful. If you’d met Katelyn, you’d understand.”

  “I have met her. She was my uncle’s lawyer.”

  Sky nodded. “Then you should understand.”

  “She’s very attractive,” he acknowledged. “But when I walked into her office, I didn’t feel the same kind of awareness I felt when I walked into Diggers’ and saw you.”

  “Lucky for you, considering that Kate’s married to the sheriff,” she remarked.

  When the waitress returned with their drinks and a basket of warm bread, Sky ordered the striploin with a fully loaded baked potato and the seasonal vegetables—broccoli and carrots. Jake opted for the T-bone with the same sides.

  “So tell me,” Sky said as she buttered a slice of bread, “why a man who, by his own admission, prefers anonymity, would move to a town like Haven.”

  “I wanted to get out of San Diego and, when I found out that my uncle had put my name on the title before he passed away, it seemed like my best option. Maybe my only option.”

  “Were you surprised to learn that he’d left this place to you?”

  “More than,” he confided.

  “He never talked to you about it?”

  He shook his head. “Although, to be honest, the last time I was here was the summer before I went away to college. No, it was the Christmas holidays during my first year of college. Fifteen years ago.” He shifted his gaze to the window. “I didn’t even make it back for Anna’s funeral because I was...out of the country.”

  “You mean deployed?”

  He nodded.

  “Why do you do that?”

  “What did I do?”

  “Avoid referencing your military service.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “It’s just not something I’m comfortable talking about.”

  “Do you talk about it in your Wednesday night support group?”

  “No,” he admitted.

  She wished he would talk to her, but she knew this wasn’t the time or place to push him for answers to her questions. Instead she asked, “You were close to Ross and Anna?”

  He nodded again. “My brother and I used to spend a couple weeks with them every summer when we were kids.”

  “And yet our paths never
crossed back then,” she mused.

  “I’m glad they crossed now.”

  “Me, too.” Sky smiled, even as she saw the situation developing out of the corner of her eye. The young waiter—his eyes on a pretty girl dining with her family—turning abruptly, directly into the path of a busboy, knocking the bin of glasses that he carried out of his hands.

  She had a split second to brace herself, but she didn’t think to warn Jake—and didn’t know if it would have mattered anyway.

  There was a loud crash...

  * * *

  The pressure wave from the blast sent Jake stumbling even before he registered the sound of the boom some distance away. Flying shards of blown-out glass flew in every direction, not just dangerous but potentially lethal—

  “Jake.”

  He blinked, trying to focus through the cloud of dust that filled the room.

  “Jake.”

  Sky reached across the table and touched a hand to his arm. “Are you okay?”

  He blinked. His nostrils were flared, his breathing shallow.

  “Yeah.” He swallowed. “I just... Can you give me a minute?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  He pushed away from the table and walked out of the restaurant.

  * * *

  Jake couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on a first date with a woman. And as he focused on inhaling and exhaling to help ward off the impending panic attack, he acknowledged that his first real date with Sky Gilmore was also likely to be his last.

  “Triggers can be sights, sounds or scents that remind you of the trauma. They can happen anytime, anywhere. Quite often they will happen at inopportune times and inconvenient places. You need to learn to recognize the signs and utilize your coping mechanisms.”

  Well, at least he hadn’t tackled his date, upended the table or reached for a weapon that he wasn’t carrying.

  Was that progress? Should he be proud?

  He scrubbed his hands over his face.

  What had he been thinking, asking her to go out with him?

  The problem was, when he was with Sky, he sometimes had trouble thinking. Or at least remembering all the reasons that he didn’t do the things that most normal people did. Because when he was with her, he felt normal. No, he felt invincible, as if he could take on the world with her by his side.

  He’d been looking forward to this opportunity for them to spend more time together and get to know one another a little better outside of the bedroom. Because when they were naked and horizontal together, they didn’t tend to do a lot of talking. And being with Sky made him want to open up, perhaps for the first time in years. So much so that he’d thought he might be able to tell her things that he’d never told anyone else outside of a doctor’s office.

  “Jake?”

  He heard the tentativeness in her tone. Or maybe it was fear. He could hardly blame her for being scared. Some days he scared himself.

  He turned slowly to face her, though she was mostly in shadow.

  But she stepped closer now, into the light, and he saw that she wasn’t scared but worried.

  About him.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he lied. “Sorry about that.”

  “There’s no reason for you to apologize.”

  He appreciated the sentiment, but he didn’t share it.

  “I just need another minute and then I’ll meet you back inside.”

  “Why don’t you give me your keys instead?” she suggested.

  “Why?”

  “So that I can drive us home.”

  “But...we haven’t had dinner yet,” he said inanely.

  As if there was any chance she’d want to share a meal with him now.

  “We’ll have it at your place,” she said, holding up the takeout bag he hadn’t realized she was carrying.

  He felt as if a ninety-pound pack had been lifted off his back. The tension in his neck immediately lessened, the tightness in his chest eased.

  “Keys?” she prompted.

  He dug them out of his pocket and put them into her outstretched hand.

  She didn’t say anything as she pulled out of the parking lot and turned back toward Haven, and he didn’t know what to say.

  When they got back to his place, Molly made a big fuss over him, as if he’d been gone for days rather than a couple of hours. Or maybe she knew how much he needed her unwavering love and support, because even when Sky walked in with the doggy bag containing their steaks, Molly didn’t move from his side.

  “Go into the living room and relax,” Sky said. “I’ll heat up the food and let you know when it’s ready.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Jake said. “I’m sure you’d rather—”

  “Go,” she said again, pointing toward the living room.

  So he went, too exhausted to argue any more.

  But he did feel compelled to apologize once more, when their dinner had been reheated and he was seated across from her at the kitchen table.

  “I’m sorry. I should have realized it was a bad idea—I did realize it was a bad idea.” He stabbed his fork into a broccoli spear. “I picked up the phone to cancel at least half a dozen times.”

  “But you didn’t,” she noted, slicing into her steak.

  “Because I wanted to prove myself wrong. I wanted to prove that I could at least take a pretty girl to a restaurant and fake being normal for a few hours. Guess that didn’t work out so well, did it?”

  “How long have you been having panic attacks?”

  “A couple of years.”

  “Have you talked to anyone about what causes them?”

  “You mean a shrink?” he guessed.

  “I mean a qualified professional,” she clarified.

  “Aren’t you a qualified professional?”

  “PTSD isn’t my area of expertise,” she told him. “Not to mention that sleeping with a patient violates all kinds of rules that would result in my license being revoked. But if there’s anything you want to talk about, I’m more than willing to listen.”

  “I don’t know what to say, how to explain something I don’t understand, though there were plenty of doctors who made me try.”

  “Can you tell me what kinds of things trigger a response?” she prompted, her tone encouraging.

  He sighed. “Anything. And yet nothing consistently,” he admitted, obviously frustrated by the fact. “Sudden noises. Flashes of light.”

  “I don’t imagine the Fourth of July is a lot of fun for you,” she said lightly.

  “Fireworks are a definite trigger,” he confirmed. “As I found out this past New Year’s Eve.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I didn’t even want to celebrate,” he confided. “But it was the first time in several years that both me and my brother were home for the holidays, and my mom insisted that the whole family should be together.

  “Luke and his wife Raina offered to host dinner. I was a little uneasy all night—because me and my dad can’t be in the same room for too long without butting heads over something, usually the lack of a plan for my future,” he acknowledged. “But it was a really nice evening. Raina’s not only a fabulous cook, she managed to keep the conversation focused on mostly neutral topics.

  “Everything was great until the kids next door lit a handful of cherry bombs. Just kids being kids, right?”

  Jake looked off in the distance, his expression bleak.

  Sky reached across the table to squeeze his hand, a silent gesture of support.

  She didn’t need him to tell her the rest of the story. She could see the direction it was going clearly enough to figure out the end for herself. But if Jake was finally ready to talk, she wanted to listen and support him.

  To reassure him that he wasn’t
alone.

  “But those pops sounded like gunfire to me,” he continued. “And I reacted without thinking. Because in a combat zone, if you think, you’re dead, so you learn pretty quickly to take action.

  “Benjamin, my nine-year-old nephew, was closest to me, and I threw him to the ground, covering his body with my own.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I thought I was protecting him.”

  He closed his eyes, but not before she caught a glimpse of both guilt and regret in his anguished gaze.

  “Instead, I knocked the wind out of him, scared him half to death—and did a pretty good job of freaking out everyone else, too.”

  “You thought you were protecting him,” she reminded Jake.

  “The next day, I went to see my sister-in-law, to apologize for traumatizing her son. I was prepared for her to tell me to stay the hell away from her family—that seemed the most reasonable response to me,” he acknowledged. “Instead, she invited me in for coffee and spent the next hour trying to make me feel better.”

  “Sounds like she’s quite a woman.”

  “She really is,” he agreed. “My brother lucked out when he fell in love with Raina. She’s been nothing but supportive of his career, despite the fact that she’s raising their kids on her own when he’s deployed.

  “But despite Raina’s assurances that no harm had been done, the incident scared the hell out of me. I couldn’t risk something like that happening again and really hurting someone, so I decided to leave San Diego for a while, until I got my life back on track.

  “Of course, she brought Benjamin to see me before I left. And he apologized to me.” Jake shook his head, as if marveling over the fact. “He said he was sorry that he’d cried and he understood I was trying to protect him, because I was a Marine, just like his dad.”

  He looked away, a muscle in his jaw flexing, and Sky knew he was grappling to maintain control of his emotions.

  Just listening to him recount the story had Sky feeling a little teary-eyed herself.

  “But I’m nothing like his dad. Luke has done close to a dozen tours in fifteen years, moving steadily up the ranks. He’s a gunnery sergeant now, and no doubt he’ll probably be a major someday, like our dad.”