Warrior Undone

by Ruben, Jessica

  Their home was a simple Tudor on a tree-lined block with an American flag on a tall pole in the front yard. Not exactly where I envisioned my pessimistic friend to live—he was always angry about something—but hey, beneath it all, Rex was completely dependable and the best type of man with honor and love in his heart. It makes sense that his upbringing was with warmth. Mine was, too. My parents loved me and Aaron, and they loved each other as well. I’m thankful for that.

  Rex’s mom and dad opened the door together, and his mom burst into tears. Is this how my mother would have greeted me had she been alive when I returned home?

  We sat on a large, floral L-shaped couch in their living room, talking about what a brave son they had before they showed me photos of Rex as a baby and through school. Rex with his little league baseball trophy—he played first base. Rex’s ninth birthday party at the ice-skating rink. The house was full of pride for their only son.

  “Real hero he was,” his mother exclaimed, tears filling her soft blue eyes, just like Rex’s.

  I choked up during my apology for not having saved him.

  His father, flushed with emotion, embraced me. “It’s not your fault. He died a true hero.”

  I finally broke down.

  Leaving their home was bittersweet, but we promised to stay in touch.

  “You’ll invite us to your wedding, right, Slade?”

  The moment she said that, I thought of you on your wedding day and the lucky guy who would call himself your husband. Would you wear shoes like you wore to Vincent and Eve’s wedding, all strappy and high? I still laugh about that.

  When I was back in the car, “Black Hole Sun” came on the radio. I know you hate that song. I wanted to call you.

  Eve and Vincent both think I should wait longer before I pick up the phone, at least until the twelve weeks are up, but it’s taking all my self-control and then some. I miss you so badly. Do you miss me?

  Lauren Amini

  To: Slade McCormack

  Subject: Hello

  Slade,

  I’ve been getting your e-mails over the last month. Since I got the first, I have written on and off again but wasn’t able to press Send. To tell you the truth, I just didn’t know how to start.

  You hurt me. You really did. I ignored my instincts because I was enamored by you. Because you brought these feelings out of me that I had never felt before. You’re gorgeous and so intelligent. You’re a hero.

  In your eyes, I saw the best version of myself. With you, things seemed to make sense. Like I could be the woman I always wanted to be. Independent and strong and happy.

  But then again, with you, I was yelled at. I was physically bruised and emotionally beaten. I don’t ever want to feel that way again. I won’t.

  I understand that you’ve been suffering from severe PTSD. I think I realized it at the time but was steadfast in my denial. I know what you went through overseas was horrifying. I read all of these Navy SEAL books in an attempt to understand better, but I had to stop. All I could see in them was you.

  I’m also so sorry about what happened with Rex, but I’m glad to hear you visited his family. I’m sure that was closure for you. Maybe now, instead of feeling agony with the thought of him, you’ll be soothed by the fact that his family does not blame you. It sounds like they really like you. I’m not surprised. You’re a great man.

  I haven’t been sleeping well, and so I saw a therapist. She tells me that replying to you is not a good idea. She seems to think you’re toxic and dangerous. Don’t worry; I haven’t seen her since that session. You aren’t dangerous. You’re going through a hard time, and I understand that. I believe you’ll get through it.

  I’m not sure how I’ll feel in a few months. Or next year. Or even tomorrow. I’m trying to take my life day by day and concentrate on work and bettering myself. What I went through with you was very painful, and I’m still having trouble with digesting it all.

  Otherwise, things with me are good. As you know from Eve, I’m going for my master’s. Online courses make things a lot easier. I work during the day at Crier and study at night. Almost no time for shopping. Surprised?

  I know you want to hear more, but I’m not sure what else to say. I’m praying for you in your recovery.

  Sincerely,

  Lauren

  Slade McCormack

  To: Lauren Amini

  Subject: Hi

  Lauren,

  Do me a favor and never see that therapist again. She’s a moron. Yes, I fucked up. In some ways, I’m a wreck. I plan to rise above it. I’m going to show you, if you’ll let me, that I’m not that horrible man you saw glimpses of.

  What hurts me the most is the thought that I hardened you. You are so trusting and full of love. I ribbed you over your shopping habits, but I love it. I love the clothes you wear and how you’ve got so much style. I might not know about things like shoe types, but I do know that you always look gorgeous. Like, that bathing suit you wore on the lake. Or the strappy shoes at Vincent and Eve’s wedding. The dress with a million buttons. Your blue cotton pajamas with lace on the edges. I notice everything about you, even when you think I don’t.

  Please don’t change. You are the most beautiful woman on earth, inside and out. I wish I’d told you this more when we were together. Vincent told me once that you weren’t naive. He thought that maybe your kindness would be construed as that. I tried not to scoff. There is nothing naive about you, Lauren. You are good and kind and see the best in people. It’s a part of you that I love. Don’t lose faith just because of my fuckup.

  Do you think I can call you? Maybe, if we spoke, I could explain everything more clearly.

  Missing you.

  23

  Slade

  It’s been two weeks since my last e-mail, and she didn’t respond. I drop my car off in the airport’s parking lot and get on a flight to California. Maybe it’s extreme, and I should take things more slowly. But fuck slow. I know who I want and what I want, and it’s Lauren. E-mails aren’t enough. The fact that there is another man trying to inch himself into her life doesn’t make me want to slow down either. Did I do some digging on Alexander? Of course I did. Even though I recognize how badly I fucked up, I still know that she and I belong together. Alexander is nothing but filler.

  The law office where Lauren works is easy enough to find in the Financial District of Los Angeles. Stepping off the elevator and entering on the fifth floor, I tell the secretary who I’m looking for. On an annoying giggle, she points toward the Real Estate Transaction team where Lauren is the head legal secretary. I see her, focused in concentration as she stares at two monitors. Loads of files litter her desk. I stand there, waiting for her to lift her face. And then … she does.

  I swallow hard as her mouth parts in surprise. No words come out.

  “Coffee?” I sound like myself, but my insides ache.

  As I slide my hands to the back pockets of my jeans, nerves unseen tingle through my fingers. I want a cigarette, but I’ve cut back to only one in the morning and one at night.

  My eyes scan her face and find emotion. Anger, hurt, and relief are all there for me to see.

  She purposefully stands before stepping around her desk. I blink, and she’s against my chest. I can’t help but lift her into my arms, smelling the perfume inside her neck. It’s flowery and soft and mixed with her own scent.

  I love her.

  I thought I was prepared to see her, but the feelings unleashed within me are larger than I thought. Wild almost. I want to mark her in the best of ways. Prove to her that I am who I am and that she has to give me another shot.

  When I slowly put her down, she nods. “Yeah. Coffee. Okay.”

  Grabbing her purse from a desk drawer, she straightens out her black skirt that’s slim against her hips, hitting right below the knee. A lacy-looking blouse is tucked inside the skirt. As always, she’s so classy. I look down at my own clothes—a pair
of worn jeans and a white henley shirt—and stand straighter. Maybe I should have dressed better.

  Shit.

  As she walks by my side to leave the office, I resist the urge to throw her onto the floor and kiss her until she melts.

  She brings me to a small coffee shop around the corner, and I order a nonfat latte for her and a black cup of decaf for me. I get our drinks and bring them to where she sits.

  “It’s been a while,” she starts.

  “I had to get my shit together. I was spiraling within a bad place. My doctor thought it was best I complete twelve weeks with him before I came to see you. Vincent and Eve wanted me to wait even longer, but I didn’t listen.” I hoped for some small conversation first, but I guess I’m getting into it. “I know I’m a lot to handle. But I’m working on it all. I’ve gotten help, and it’s going really well.”

  I want to take her hand in mine, but she’s toying with the rim of her coffee cup, listening intently.

  “That’s great, Slade.” She tries to smile, but it comes out sad.

  “Can we try again?” I lean my elbows on the wooden table between us, wanting to get closer. “I know we had a shaky start. Actually, two shaky starts if you want to count the wedding. But I want you to know that I did plan on calling you back after that night. But, somehow, out of nowhere, my nightmares began pouring through my psyche. Things began to go from bad to worse, and I didn’t think I was in the right mind to date you. And then we saw each other at the club, and … I wanted it. Wanted you, so badly. And then the shooting in Vegas. Everything got worse after that. Still, I wanted you. From the moment I met you at the hospital, you were the one I couldn’t stop thinking about. I wasn’t good in the way you deserved. But I want you to give me another chance.” I’m rambling, and I can’t seem to stop it.

  She sits back, as though unsure. I feel my pulse beating more quickly. The reality that she might say no is bigger than I thought.

  “I know you don’t trust me after everything, but—”

  “Wait.” She lifts a hand, stopping me. “I need you to understand that I won’t ever tolerate lying. I will not allow someone to go behind my back. I spent the last few months thinking about what we had. And, truthfully, I’m angry with myself for letting it get that far. You can’t take advantage of my feelings for you. You kept apologizing. Toying with me. You were on drugs … lying to my face.”

  I grab her hand, in absolute awe of this strong, independent woman, and I resist the urge to vow everlasting love. I deserve her words and anger. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to give up.

  “I know. The medicine Dr. Sullivan put me on is working, and we don’t plan on staying on them forever either. He thinks, over time, I’ll be able to wean off. I betrayed your trust. And Vincent’s and Eve’s, too. But give me another chance to prove I’m better than the man you knew.”

  “But who are you?”

  I sit back, feeling knifed. “I’m me.” My voice lowers to a whisper. “You know who I am.”

  “Well, were you always on drugs when we were together?”

  “No. Not always. It isn’t like that. Look, let’s just be friends. Start slower this time. Use the distance to our advantage.”

  “Slower?” She snorts in disbelief.

  “That’s right. We’ll talk on the phone. I’ll come visit on the weekends. Or every other. Whatever you want. We’ll rebuild from a flat but stronger spot. You should meet Sully, too. He’s heard all about you, and maybe he can help give you a better understanding about what I’m dealing with. But you and I have something special between us. And I don’t want to let it go. I can’t.”

  “Rebuild? I see you’re still the same Boy Scout.”

  “You know it.” I reach my hands to hers, threading our fingers together. “See?” I stare into her eyes, willing her to understand. “I’m me. You know me, Lauren.”

  “Well”—she pulls her hands away from me and pushes hair behind her ears—“you’ve said you don’t want marriage or a family or anything long-term. I’m putting out my cards. I want love, Slade. I won’t do a short-term thing. Not again. I hope to find love with someone, and I can’t waste my time.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I want it, too. I swear, I do. Always have. Just got derailed for a while, but that’s done now. Let’s try. Start with friendship, so I can prove it to you. Can you give me that?”

  Again, I slide my hands around hers. A light squeeze from hers tells me she’s in. But then she opens and closes her mouth, like she wants to say something.

  In a rush, she says, “I’m sort of dating someone.”

  My world slows down. “Huh?”

  “Yeah. Nothing serious. Just a few dates here and there.”

  “End it.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. When I say friendship, I mean, we won’t rush into getting physical again. There’s only one man for you. And it’s me. I fucked up, but it’s time now to let me make it right. You and I belong together. And that’s all there is. Tell him you won’t be seeing him again.”

  Tears fill her eyes as she nods. “Yeah.”

  24

  Lauren

  Six Months Later

  “I’ve removed all the boxes from your room. Your office is officially ready!” Eve’s voice is so upbeat; it’s almost laughable.

  “Who are you, and what have you done with my serious friend?” I sit on top of a huge cardboard box, the words Shoes and Bags written in thick black Sharpie. I gave most of my accessories away to Goodwill, but when push came to shove, I had to keep some.

  “What can I tell you? Being pregnant has turned me upside down.” Eve’s eyes sparkle with the words, and my heart fills with happiness for her, just as it always does when she mentions her pregnancy. “I’m just glad you’ll be in full swing at the Center when he’s born.”

  “And I’m just glad the world gets a miniature Vincent Borignone!” I fan myself, and she laughs.

  “The universe had better get ready for this monster. I have a feeling he’s got a big future.” She rubs her round belly. “He’s kicking like crazy. Big already, just like his dad.”

  “Oh, let me feel!” I rush over, pressing my hands to her stomach. Tears fill my eyes as I feel the shift within her stomach. Fetal movement. “I’m so happy for you, Eve.”

  “How’s school?” she asks, turning the conversation back to me as she drops herself on the beautiful L-shaped leather couch we bought for the living room.

  “It’s great. Almost there.”

  I have been working toward my social work degree online. The plan is that I’ll pick up my pace at the Center during the day when Eve has her baby, but until then, I’m taking as many credits as I can handle. Luckily for us, the timing works perfectly.

  Slade and Vincent walk into the new house, all big muscles and serious demeanors. With Slade’s hair freshly buzzed and scruff lining his chin, he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.

  “Slade, hi.” My voice comes out all breathy.

  Eve and I have been waiting for Slade and Vincent to help with the unpacking since we got here twenty minutes ago.

  After giving up my place in California, Slade and I decided to live together out here in Nevada. Slade insisted that property values were just going up, particularly because the reservation was making big money off the casino at the Milestone, and it was attracting so much business to the area.

  “The smart move would be for us to buy a bigger place. Trust me. A nice-sized house is a good investment,” he said.

  His dark and thoughtful eyes always seem to know things I don’t.

  So, I did what anyone in my position would do when her brilliant, gorgeous, ex-military boyfriend gives her real estate advice; I listened!

  During one of my visits two months ago, Eve and I saw this house, a bungalow-style two bedroom, and I fell in love. While it needed work, the entire place just felt right.

  “You could even fit a swing set in the back,” she gushed.

&n
bsp; Slade came right away with his perfect posture and muscled body and nodded. “This’ll do. I’ll put the time in.”

  He can be so serious, not that I’m complaining. When he gets all intense and introspective, I feel this surge of pride for him. It also turns me on like nothing else.

  The kitchen is now painted pale blue and completely redone with a new refrigerator, freezer, dishwasher, and cabinetry. The living room and dining room are a gorgeous, warm cream color. The horrible carpet was lifted, and the floors are now thick wooden planks, freshly sanded in a neutral beige tone. Slade was against “good ole beige,” but I insisted it would match whatever furniture we decided on. Luckily, he caved.

  The best part was, Slade did all the work himself. I even got to watch when I was here. Slade, shirtless and sweating and doing physical labor? I’ll take it any day of the week.

  “How could I trust it was done right if I didn’t do it myself?” he said.

  I laughed and told him it was sweet. “My Boy Scout,” I jokingly said before handing him a glass of cold water filled with ice. But, really, my heart was filled to the brim.

  The bedroom though, I haven’t seen since we bought the place.

  “Just wait here,” he told me.

  My parents met Slade a few months ago. He brought a beautiful bouquet of white peonies, ate three plates of Persian food my mom had cooked, and even spoke some words in Farsi that I’d taught him. Luckily, he didn’t show off the dirty words he knew. My mother was immediately smitten.

  My dream wasn’t for my parents to simply like Slade. I wanted them to love him and welcome him. Not that I’d stop seeing Slade on account of my parents. But still, it would be so great if they were happy with him. Life would be so much better.