American Heroes: The Complete American Heroes Collection

by Teagan Kade

  His voice comes back. “Matt’s busy, so I have to go and see Mom tonight. I guess I’ll see you soon?”

  “Yes,” I reply, unable to summon more than that. “Good night,” I add.

  “Good night.”

  I hang up, cutting his words short.

  Way to ramp up the drama, Shan.

  I slump back onto the couch, notice Jimmy’s sugary concoction leaking into the carpet. I right the tub and pull the gliders close. “At least you guys aren’t going to run out on me.”

  But what bothers me the most, what truly has me unhinged, is the fact I’m already preparing myself to let Gabe go.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  GABE

  I can’t shake the conversation as I sit beside Mom’s bed, still can’t get a read on what Shannon was thinking. It was probably a stupid idea to go into so much detail about Triss with her in the first place, but it’s part of who I am. She needs to understand that if this is going to be anything more than casual.

  You know you want more.

  I do, desperately, but maybe it’s a simple case of incompatibility.

  “Gabriel?”

  Mom’s eyes flicker open. She’s so pale now it’s hard to distinguish her from the bedsheet. Machines blip beside her, a drip feeding who knows what into the husk of her body.

  I take her hand. “Yes, Mom. I’m here.”

  A thin smile breaks on her lips. “Did that woman come by again?”

  “Shannon?”

  “No,” she says, “the one with the black hair, kind of scary-looking.”

  “That was Triss, Mom, an old friend.”

  “From the military?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you cheating on that Shannon girl?” Her glassy eyes almost break me, but I hold it together.

  “No, Mom. It’s nothing like that.”

  “The way that other woman spoke about you…”

  I hate to think what Triss said, how deep she went into our relationship. “I promise, Mom.”

  Mom smiles, bright and wide. “Good, good. I like that Shannon. She’ll make a good wife. You take care of her, won’t you? Promise me now.”

  I squeeze her hand. “I will, Mom. Don’t you worry about it.”

  Her eyes close and she lets out a wispy exhale, settling back to sleep.

  The lie’s gone too far and guilt’s eating me dry. I let my mother rest, trying to get comfortable in the chair.

  It’s not until eleven I start to doze off, still thinking about Mom’s words. Have I gone too far?

  Tell her in the morning. Make it right.

  She’ll be heartbroken. I don’t know if I can do it to her.

  You’ve done much worse to strangers.

  I fall asleep, my heavy thoughts dragging me down.

  *

  A high-pitched sound wakes me. I take a moment to compose myself, rubbing my eyes.

  I immediately sense something is wrong, my instincts, sharpened from years in the service, kicking in.

  My eyes open in full. Mom is still there in the bed. It’s still night.

  What’s missing?

  I hear it before I see it—the heart monitor.

  She’s flat-lining.

  Fuck.

  I jump out of the chair so fast it goes kicking back to the wall. “Mom!” I shout, moving to the bed. I check her pulse with two fingers.

  Nothing.

  How long has she been like this while I sitting there fucking dozing?

  I hit the emergency button beside her head. I call “Nurse! Help!” as loud as I can, the volume of my voice scary.

  I force myself to remain calm. You have to be in a situation like this.

  I take down the sheet and fold my hands together, starting CPR.

  I’ve done this enough to know that, even with CPR, only a small percentage of people pull through.

  No. Not on my fucking watch.

  “Come on,” I whisper, her breastbone flexing under the heel of my hand. I use my body weight, pressing straight down onto her chest. I aim for thirty compressions followed by two rescue breaths.

  Her lips are cold when I press against them, the life and color gone.

  “Nurse!” I call again, the alarm sounding.

  A group of nurses and a doctor I don’t recognize walk in. I notice there’s no crash cart. What the fuck are they doing?

  They’re all standing there around the bed. I look at them puzzled. “What are you doing? I ask. “Why aren’t you helping?”

  One of them moves around to me. I think she’s going to take over, but instead her hands fall on my arms, trying to pull me away.

  What the fuck is she doing? I know the chance of bringing Mom back is small, but there is a fucking chance.

  The nurse continues to tug my arms. “Mr. Reed, you have to stop.”

  Stop? Is she insane? “What?” I stammer, breathing harder than I should be.

  “I’m very sorry, Mr. Reed, but your mother signed a do-not-resuscitate order.

  I continue to work. “A DNR? No, not Mom.”

  The nurse nods to another, who comes around and helps attempt pull me away.

  The doctor comes around to join them, trying to speak sense to me. “Your mother was in a great deal of pain, Mr. Reed. This is for the best.”

  “No!” I shout, becoming emotional, pressing so hard I feel one of her ribs snap. “No!”

  The nurses give up.

  “Please, Mr. Reed,” implores the doctor.

  It’s only when security arrives I finally let go, placing my hands up and stepping back, stepping until I hit the wall and slump to the floor exhausted.

  The doctor examines the monitor, checks my mother’s pulse. “Time of death, 1:45am.”

  One of the nurses pulls a sheet over her so she’s nothing more than a cotton outline.

  I let my head fall into my hands.

  My temples are beating. Everything’s happening so far away, like I’m deep underwater, the oxygen thin.

  A hand falls lightly on my shoulder. It’s the doctor. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Reed. Is there anyone we can call?”

  I lift my head, breathe in. “No, I’ll do it.”

  I watch them wheel her away before heading out to the waiting room, empty this time of night save for the intermittent buzz of the vending machine.

  The initial shock has passed, the adrenaline pulling away to leave a vapid numbness in its wake.

  I call Matt, staring at my own, abstract reflection in the window.

  He answers. “What the fuck, Gabe? It’s 2:30am.”

  “Mom’s gone.”

  Three seconds of silence pulse by before he answers. “What?”

  “About an hour ago, in her sleep. I wasn’t even awake.”

  “Jesus. Should I come down?”

  “No, it’s fine,” I tell him, my voice detached.

  Matt starts to cry, his voice breaking. “I can’t believe it. I mean, I knew… eventually, but it’s just so...”

  “Matt, it’s for the best,” I tell him, repeating the doctor’s words. “She’s not in pain anymore.”

  A sniff, correction. “I’m coming, right now.”

  “Matt…”

  “I’ll see you soon,” and he hangs up, my reflection still staring me down.

  I look back to the screen of my cell wondering who to call next. Mom didn’t have any close friends or acquaintances. She was in here so much they’re made up largely of doctors and hospital staff. Apart from distant cousins and uncles, Matt and I were her only family.

  When I go to dial again my fingers move without thought, like automatons.

  It takes four rings for her to answer. “Gabe? Is everything alright?” comes Shannon’s silky voice.

  “My mother, she passed tonight.”

  “Oh, Gabe.”

  “I’m okay. Matt’s coming down.”

  I could have called Triss. She gave me her number. Triss and I have a history. We spoke about my mother and her condition in grea
t length abroad. Why didn’t I call her? It’s not a question I think I can answer right now.

  “I’m coming too,” says Shannon. “The hospital’s not far. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  I try to stop her, tell her I’ll be fine, but she won’t have it, hanging up much in the same way Matt did.

  You should be thankful she cares.

  But the truth is I don’t want her to see me like this, as half a man, as weak.

  Shannon arrives before Matt, dressed in a Clemson University sloppy sweatshirt and slacks. She rushes up to me and throws her arms around my neck, pulling me close to her.

  It’s nice—her warmth, the vanilla scent of her neck I’ve come to know so well. But I’m not used to this kind of affection, this tenderness. It’s not something Triss was big on.

  Shannon holds herself away from me. “Why don’t we take a seat?”

  I nod and sit beside her against the wall, another group of nurses rushing past as an alarm sounds down the hall.

  Another cotton blanket. Another empty room.

  I know wetness is welling in my eyes, tears wanting to break free, but I hold them at bay. I’m so deeply ashamed by it, so embarrassed, I can’t bring myself to look Shannon in the eye.

  Instead, she takes my head in her hands and turns it until I’m facing her, her eyes as glassy as my own, the empathy clear. And I know in that moment she is genuine, that the care and concern is real. But the question remains, do I deserve it?

  I exhale hard. “I’m sorry.”

  “No,” she says, her own voice cutting, “you have every right, and you should. It’s a terrible thing, losing a parent.”

  “She’s not going to see me get married. She’s not going to see her grandchildren, a sunrise, the fucking ocean again… She’s gone.” With those words the finality of it sinks in.

  I’ve had countless friends killed in action. Many of them were family, but death never struck me as hard as it does now, a sharp knife driving deep into a part of my chest I didn’t even know existed.

  We stare at each other, Shannon and I, the alarm that was sounding in the background cutting off.

  Shannon kisses me, my face still in her hands, her own salty tears passing between us.

  I return the kiss, lifting my hands to her face, caught by everything she has come to represent to me. I finally realize what it is, what it would mean to be with Shannon.

  Freedom.

  When we break apart, our foreheads remain pressed together, her tears now falling straight onto the vinyl of the seat.

  Shannon pulls back and wipes her face, smiling. “It’s going to be okay, I promise. It’s all going to be okay.”

  I sit back and tuck her into my side with an arm.

  “I’ve got you,” she says, and it’s with shocking clarity I realize she does.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  SHANNON

  I drive Gabe’s car back to my place. We clean up and head to my bedroom silently, Gabe on the end of the bed staring straight ahead. I sit beside him, just as we did that special night. Funny, it feels so long ago now.

  “You have every right to be upset, Gabe. It’s natural. You don’t have to be a superhuman around me.”

  “That’s not it. Mom wouldn’t want this at all.”

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “Me, upset. She wanted us to be happy when she passed, to celebrate.

  I place my hand against his cheek and turn him towards me. “So celebrate.”

  He crushes his mouth against mine, the emotion of the last few hours spilling over.

  We strip quickly, clothes flying to the floor.

  Naked, he breaks from my mouth to lick up the side of my neck.

  My hand snakes around his cock, my thumb against his thick glans.

  I want him inside me. I want him to lose himself there, in the warm comfort of my pussy.

  I let go of his cock and crawl into the center of the bed on my knees, parting my thighs.

  His hands fall onto the hard buns of my ass. He lines his cock up with my pussy and prepares to press forward.

  I turn my head and watch him, those azure eyes full of need. I can smell my own arousal, the earthy heat of my pussy.

  He drives inside me in a single, firm stroke, burying himself deep in my wetness.

  I place one hand up against the headboard, bracing myself as he slams into me, his cock angling upwards against the wrinkled roof of my vagina. I can’t believe how wet I am, my inner walls hot and slick.

  Whatever emotions he’s going through, he’s letting them free through this act.

  I moan and buck as he pounds into me, my mouth caught open in a strange ring of pleasure.

  He builds into a quick rhythm, sweating hard, his hands slipping off my back in his frenzy.

  He takes me hard and rough, first in short, stabbing strokes and then drawing them out long and slow, filling me over and over until I’m begging helplessly for release.

  I find it, knuckles bone-pale as I grip the headboard.

  I scream, my pussy clamping around his cock so tight I worry I’m going to cut it off.

  I pant with my head down, my hair hanging down to the quilt.

  The peak of my climax passes, allowing me to concentrate solely on his pleasure, and that’s when an overwhelming need to please him wells up.

  He goes to slide back in, but I reach around to take hold of his cock. I pull it free and shift it between my buttocks, placing him against the tight button of my anus.

  “Are you sure?” he asks, breathing hard.

  “Yes,” I tell him. “I want you to.” I swallow before speaking again. Say it. “I want you to fuck me in the ass.”

  My dirty talk is more than enough incentive.

  I let my head fall onto the mattress and reach behind myself to pull my ass cheeks apart with two hands.

  He lets his slip cock away, and for a moment I think I’ve overdone it, pushed him too far in this delicate, sensitive time, but he slides his index finger into my pussy, scooping up my own arousal against my anus. He’s preparing me.

  He eases his finger back and forth in that taboo space, slowly getting me used to the sensation. Ever since that day sky-diving, his finger brushing my asshole on the parachute silk, I’ve wanted to do this, fulfill the last taboo.

  He works my ass as I moan and purr, sighing when his finger leaves and he runs a hand over the soft mound of my backside.

  Still breathing hard, he angles his cock upwards against the tight twist of my asshole, pressing the head of his huge member forward past the ring of muscle there.

  All the air in my lungs is expelled in a raspy gasp as he slides inside my ass. I grunt, this sudden fantasy turned into reality. It doesn’t hurt at all. In fact, it feels good—tight and warm and so, so dirty.

  Gabe pushes forward another inch more and then pulls out before repeating the process, over and over until half of his giant shaft is buried deep in my rump.

  I masturbate openly with my hand between my legs, two joined fingers moving in a frenzied circle over my clit.

  I buck back against him, impaling myself on his cock as he picks up the pace and begins to fuck my ass harder.

  “Yes,” I moan. “Yes.”

  He lets out a hiss as my ass narrows, his cock compressed deep inside my body.

  He lifts up and uses all of his weight to screw down inside me.

  Pleasure ripples out from my core, the sensation completely new but welcome all the same.

  Bellowing, he holds my ass open and drives forward with everything he has.

  “God,” I rattle out, another orgasm incoming.

  I pant hard as he pounds into me, slamming his cock into my behind. My pussy yawns wide below his pumping cock, its center slick and shiny.

  I add more pressure to my clit, jamming myself backwards to take more of his length.

  I moan and whimper as our bodies thump together, arousal wet against the side of my thighs, running in a thin trail down my wri
st as his cock starts to twitch inside me.

  His balls tighten and lift. He speeds up, hammering in harder.

  It’s sweet torture. I mutter disjointed syllables, close to madness.

  I can’t hold off any longer. With a pained cry, I come, my ass squeezing around his cock, the walls of it palpitating.

  He thrusts in to the balls and releases, flooding my ass.

  It goes on and on, the heightened sensation an unending ocean of pleasure.

  Finally, spent, I collapse one way and Gabe the other, the exhaustion clear on both of us.

  I’m still in a euphoric haze as I watch the ceiling, every muscle in my body limp.

  Slowly, I sit up. My cheeks are flushed and a crease of hair is stuck to my forehead. I must look like I’ve run a marathon.

  Gabe has his eyes closed. I wonder if, having come so hard, the emotion and sadness will rush back to him, but when they do open, there’s a smile on his face.

  “Was that celebration enough for you?” I ask.

  “Celebration?” he says. “No. That was something else entirely.”

  *

  I open my eyes looking sideways across my bedroom at the window. A solid wall of light stares back.

  I hesitate to roll over. Is he still here?

  Do it quickly, like pulling off a Band-Aid.

  I roll over expecting nothing but disheveled blankets, but Gabe is there, sleeping like a baby but looking for all the world like some Greek god who actually fell from heaven to land bang smack in the middle of my bed.

  I’m gloriously worn out from last night, and yes, while it did come from unfortunate circumstances, the connection we shared was so deep, so powerful I’m certain now there’s more to this than a simple agreement.

  His eyes flicker open. He smiles. “Morning, beautiful.”

  I lean on my elbow. “Sorry you didn’t get much sleep.”

  “Who needs sleep when you can have that every night?”

  Amen.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask.

  He brings his arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling. “I am. She went peacefully, happy, and I think I can find some comfort in that. I was there. Not overseas, stuck in some remote corner of the world.”

  He rolls up onto his elbow, hand under his chin to mirror me. He notices the clock to my right. “Jesus. It’s nine o’clock. Shouldn’t you be at work?”