Not Another Soldier

by Holt, Samantha

  Yes, of sin and everything I’ve ever wanted, I want to say. How does he smell so delicious still? I sigh and slap my pan on the stove. “Just get in the shower.”

  He chuckles and I wonder if he realizes how much he’s getting to me, how much he’s wearing me down. I don’t want to be worn down, honest I don’t. I can’t handle a relationship with a soldier again, let alone with all the crap that’s going on right now.

  I hear the shower turn on and I toss some butter into the pan and start the bacon. There’s something soothing about doing something mundane and ignoring the mess that is my apartment. And the fact there is a ridiculously hot, naked guy in my shower. I slap a palm to my forehead. Must. Stop. Thinking like this.

  By the time he’s finished, the sandwiches and coffee are ready, and I’ve swept aside some of the chaos to make room on the breakfast bar. Nick saunters in, rubbing his hair with one of my hot pink towels. That draws my attention first. No man should suit hot pink but somehow he does. And then it’s the fact he’s topless and his sweatpants are riding pretty low. I’m confronted by bare, slightly sheening, chest.

  I gulp and raise my gaze to his face.

  He raises a brow and grins. “Sienna?”

  I’ve been struck dumb. I can’t find my voice. Never mind that I had Nick entirely naked in my bed not long ago, or that I had him between my thighs. Nick’s body is not something you can take in when totally unprepared. You need time to brace yourself for the sight. Especially when it’s… wet.

  To distract myself, I fuss over the plates and the coffee and sit down, biting straight into my sandwich and nearly burning my mouth.

  “Geez, Nick, you couldn’t take two seconds to put a top on,” I say as he chucks the towel into my bedroom and sits next to me, all muscle, ink and taut skin.

  “It’s dirty.”

  “So you’re going to spend the day shirtless?”

  “Maybe,” he says between mouthfuls of sandwich. “This is good.”

  There’s a crumb hanging off his lip and I want to lean over and lick it off. My legs shake as I pull on my restraint. “You can’t walk around shirtless.”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “It’s not good manners!” I resist the urge to scream. He is doing it on purpose, I’m sure of it now. “I offered you a clean T-shirt yesterday.”

  “I’m not wearing one of Rob’s.”

  “I didn’t peg you as the squeamish type.” Now I’m trying to goad him into some kind of reaction.

  Nick pauses and places down his sandwich. He swivels to face me and urges me to do the same. His hands end up on my jean clad legs and I scowl. He looks so serious. Very unlike Nick.

  “I know that Rob and I were best friends but… we drifted apart. I didn’t like a lot of things about him. I stuck by him but it doesn’t mean I approved of his behavior, especially toward you. I need you to know that, Sienna.”

  I feel myself fluster a little. Why’s he telling me this? “Look…”

  “Our friendship was one of those that you don’t really understand why you’re still friends but you just are. We went back a long way and I always felt kinda responsible for him. We looked out for each other as kids. But when you two got engaged, his behavior become more extreme. I guess I hoped one day he’d go back to just being the cocky kid I knew, but he was too far gone.”

  “So why did you put up with his shit then?”

  He squeezes my knees and straightens. There’s doubt in his expression. “Cause I couldn’t leave you alone with him.”

  “God, Nick… you’re not my keeper, you know? You can’t look after me the way you look after your soldiers.” I bite my lip. Does he feel responsible for me? Maybe he’s not even that attracted to me. People like Nick are born leaders. The kind of guy who takes everyone under his wing. Perhaps he wants me under his wing and is mistaking it for attraction. The idea makes my heart sink.

  With a shake of his head, he turns his attention back to his sandwich. “I want to take care of you, babe, I won’t lie, but there’s much more to this than that. And you know it.”

  And as if he hadn’t said anything poignant at all, he begins eating again and picks up the scattered remnants of yesterday’s newspaper and starts reading.

  I finish my breakfast speedily, throw back my coffee, and dump everything in the sink. I have to move away from that naked torso as quickly as possible. When I go into my living room, I fight not to cry again. Having Nick here has kind of distracted me from the mess but that crawling sensation is creeping over me. The one where you know some stranger has been touching your stuff. People say it all the time after being burglarized. It’s not so much about the stuff that’s gone missing but the fact there was someone in your home—the whole invasion of your privacy thing.

  That’s how I feel now. It chills me slightly as I wonder what they were searching for. I don’t get it. Everything Nick said was right. I’m not rich or important. Why would they trash my place for no reason?

  I begin to put my books back on the bookcase, grimacing as I notice some of the torn pages. Nick comes up behind me and crouches down to help. He has his old top on again. Thank God. And I must admit, he still smells good, damn the man.

  “They go in alphabetical order,” I say quietly as we stack the books.

  He chuckles but does as I say and soon we have them all back on the bookcase. We both stand back to admire our work.

  “You don’t have to do this, you know? I bet you’ve got stuff to be doing.”

  “Nope. Not a thing.”

  I narrow my eyes at him but he gives nothing away. I’m about to say something else when the phone rings. I dash into the kitchen and grab the receiver from the side.

  “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Wright?”

  “Yes that’s me.” It’s a man. Deep and gruff. My stomach twists slightly.

  “It’s Detective Matthews from Glenwood P.D. I just wanted to let you know that we got a match for the fingerprints we took from your apartment yesterday. A small time drug dealer by the looks of it. An Albert Hudson. Thing is… we sent someone to pick him up and he’s nowhere to be found. We’re looking out for him but…” I can practically hear his shrug. A break-in where nothing goes missing is hardly worth wasting their time on. “Any idea why he trashed your place?”

  There’s an accusing tone to his voice and I bristle. What? Does he think maybe it was a drug deal gone wrong? I’m the victim here and now I’m feeling guilty all over again. “I’ve never even heard of the man,” I say primly.

  “Well, we’ll be in touch if we pick him up. Let us know if anything does come up missing.”

  “Right, okay. Thank you, Detective. I’ll do that.”

  The detective offers me a curt goodbye and I raise my gaze to see Nick standing in the doorway, resting against the doorframe. “Well?”

  “Apparently the prints they lifted were from a drug dealer.”

  Both Nick’s eyebrows shoot up but he remains silent.

  “They went to his address but he’s not there. I doubt they’ll find him.” I snort. “I don’t think they care to find him.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He takes a step forward, locks his gaze on mine. “I don’t like this, Sienna. It’s all a little strange. First you’re attacked and now this. And it just happens to be to do with drugs.”

  “What? Don’t tell me you think I’m involved with drugs too? Because that’s what the Detective practically accused me of.”

  “No, but there’s too many things pointing to trafficking. It’s something to do with Rob.”

  “Shit.” My legs tremble slightly and I lean against the counter top. “But they must know Rob is dead.”

  “Yeah most likely. Look, I don’t know what’s going on but I don’t like it. You’re going to have to be extra careful until they get the guy.”

  “If they get the guy.”

  His expression turns grim. “Let’s hope they do. Otherwise we might never figure out why they’
re coming after you.”

  “Coming after me? Nick, you make it sound like I’m in the middle of some drug war or something.”

  “Babe,” he gives me a stark look, “you are in the middle of something.”

  ***

  I prop my hands on my hips and survey the living room. Aside from the fact a few vases and candles had to be thrown, it looks almost like it was before. But something’s missing. The place is too quiet. I try to ignore the idea that the missing thing is Nick.

  He’s staying the night—wouldn’t let me even argue on that point—but he’s gone back to base to pick up his uniform and some clean clothes. Tomorrow’s Monday and it’s back to work for him. I’ve still got another day off. I’m not sure I want it. The notion that there’s some guys out there gunning for me because of Rob’s behavior scares me, makes me feel antsy.

  Especially when I don’t even know what they want. Were they trying to scare me when they trashed the place? Nick suggested they weren’t looking for me, seeing as I was gone only a short time. They must have been watching, waiting until I left. I’m not sure if that’s better or worse. It appears they were searching for something. I only hope they found it and that’s it.

  Regardless, Nick has volunteered to stay for a few nights. Part of me is relieved. Now the enormity of it all is sinking in, I’m not certain I’ll feel comfortable on my own at night for a long time. But more time with Nick is a really dangerous thing. I can’t even look at him without remembering his mouth hot on my skin and what he looks like naked. You’d think one time together would get it out of my system but if anything it’s worse. Like it’s fed my addiction and now I want more.

  And Nick clearly wants more. He’s pushing me deliberately with his flirty comments. I don’t remember him ever being like this before though he always was a flirt. But that was when Rob was alive and there was always this slight distance there that my marriage created. A sort of respectful boundary. Even if the chemistry had sizzled just behind that boundary. We’d always both ignored it.

  I stroll into the kitchen and open the fridge, pondering what to do for dinner. I used to enjoy cooking but Rob was not the best guy to cook for. He preferred a beer and some nachos, but I’ve been hoping to get back into it. I had all these ideas of digging out my old cookery books but I quickly discovered cooking for one is a bore. What’s the point in going to all that effort if you’re the only one who appreciates it?

  But Nick likes good cooking. I smile to myself. A way to a man’s heart… Shit, I don’t want his heart, what am I even thinking? As I study my bare fridge, I realize I’m going to have to pop to the convenience store. There’s one around the corner. A week of night shifts means I’ve hardly got any food. Italian is the way to go. Something hearty like lasagna and homemade garlic bread.

  After taking stock of what I’ve got in the cupboard, I grab my keys and handbag, and check the lock on my door on the way out. The locksmith has put in some fancy double locking thing so I’m hoping that means no more break-ins, though he told me rather dryly that if someone really wants to get in and doesn’t care about the noise, they can kick almost any door down. It’s only the law that prevents people running around and breaking into houses every day. His words weren’t exactly reassuring. It’s kind of worrying that the stability of society hangs on words written on paper somewhere and the fear we all might get caught.

  I suck in the late afternoon air and strangely feel a little like skipping. I’m looking forward to cooking for Nick. Maybe it’s the idea of some kind of normalcy in my weird life. Things have definitely been far from normal recently. It feels like I’m learning to walk again. On my own. And everything I understood about my previous life is being slowly eroded away. Rob wasn’t just an alcoholic or a foster kid or a guy with the kind of charisma that draws everyone to him. He was a drug dealer. God, I knew he was messed up, but I never realized he’d gotten that deep.

  I smile at the old man who holds open the door for me when I get to the store and wonder what the hell is wrong with me. Shouldn’t I be all shaken? Or at least a little freaked out? Maybe I’m still in that kind of numb zone, but then why am I excited about having Nick around for the evening? There’s a little flutter in my stomach. I remember it and it’s not like the flutter I used to have when Rob got home, the one that made me feel sick. It’s the one that I used to get before going on a date. The one I had with Rob when we were first seeing each other. The one I know I felt the first time I laid eyes on Nick. What would have happened if I’d not been blinded by Rob’s charm that night?

  I shake my head and snatch a basket. I fill it with pasta sheets and grab a jar of sauce. I take my time at the wine aisle and end up selecting a red. If I remember correctly, Nick enjoys red as much as I do though he’s partial to beer. Should I get some cans too? No, I ignore the beer. He’s got work tomorrow and the last thing we need is more alcohol to numb the senses. God knows, I don’t have enough sense when it comes to Nick anyway. I’ve just got to remind myself he’s a soldier. He may be nothing like Rob but that doesn’t mean things would be any different. The job will always come first and I don’t want to be in second place ever again. If I ever consider re-marrying, it will be to someone who does nine to five and is home every weekend.

  The girl at the checkout cracks the gum in her mouth and gives me a wan smile as I say hi. I study her hair as she scans and bags my purchases and ponder dying my hair. Hers is bright purple. Or maybe I should get a tattoo? I note the one she has on the inside of her wrist and I’m willing to bet she has more. Nick looks good with tattoos, perhaps I would too?

  I laugh inwardly. Perhaps I’m going through that crisis that everyone warns you about when your marriage ends. The one where you give yourself a makeover and start dating a younger man.

  I don’t think I’ll bother with tattoos or dying my hair. I hand over the cash and grab my bag. Besides Nick thinks I’m sexy as I am. Rob might not have thought much of me anymore but Nick doesn’t have any complaints.

  Not that I care what he thinks.

  Because I don’t, right?

  Ignoring the little skip in my heart as I contemplate him, I clutch my shopping bag and walk briskly up the street. I need to get home ASAP if I want to get the lasagna done in time. A slight prickle dances up my spine and I glance around. A mom with a stroller goes past on the opposite side of the road and there’s a woman jogging up ahead, so I have no idea why I’m feeling antsy. I guess the thought of going back to the apartment is making me nervous.

  I round the corner and freeze. The skinhead from the hospital. I suck in a sharp breath as my mind seems to stop functioning. He appears surprised too but recovers quicker than I do and snatches my arm. I’m yanked against the brick of the apartment building and my head jars, sending a piercing stab of pain through my skull. It disorients me enough so that he manages to press his whole body into me. He towers over me, breath acrid as he closes his fingers around my neck.

  “Try anything and I’ll snap your neck,” he hisses.

  My natural reflex to kick out disappears and I sag. Memories of alcohol tinged breath and my husband’s eyes turning dark assail me and my head swims. I claw at the hand when he presses harder. As I glance around, I realize he’s forced me into the alleyway and no one will see me. The pressure on my neck grows and my heart races. He could easily kill me if he wanted to. I don’t know if he does, but he’s big and intimidating enough for me to believe his threat.

  I keep trying to tug at his fingers, just to loosen the force, but it makes no difference. “What do you want?” I rasp out.

  “Where is it?”

  “Where’s what?”

  “The stash.”

  “What stash?”

  “Don’t mess with me, bitch. You must know where it is. We checked your old place and there was nothin’.” Skinhead gives my neck a little extra squeeze, makes me squeak, just to add emphasis to his words.

  “I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My v
oice is barely a whisper now and I feel light-headed. I just want to breathe but that relentless grip on my throat hardly lets me suck in anything. It must be drugs, right? A stash? That’s what he means. Except I would have known if there was drugs in my house, surely? Though I didn’t know as much as I thought. But I would have found it when I moved for sure. And if they—whoever the fuck these guys are—hadn’t found the drugs, then why did they assume I would have?

  “Big Johnson ain’t a patient man and he’s out of pocket big time. I don’t know what you plan to do with it, but he ain’t going to be happy if you don’t hand it over.” He grins. “I’ll take great pleasure in killing you, sweet thing.”

  My eyes must be as wide as they can get. His sinister expression and the agonizing grip convinces me he’s telling the truth. A shudder wracks me as I consider what he might do. I stop clawing at his hand and drop my arm to my side.

  “Please don’t hurt me. I don’t know anything. Really, I don’t. I only just found out Rob was dealing in drugs. If I find something, I’ll… I’ll hand it over. I promise.”

  Skinhead seems to deliberate this for a moment and the hold on my neck loosens very briefly. I draw in a strong breath and slip my hand into the carrier bag I’m still clutching. My fingers close in on the wine bottle and in one move, I yank it out and swing it at his head.

  It smashes and alcohol splashes over me, the smell powerful. Who knows if I knock him out but he staggers back and I shove both palms against his chest. Flinging the bag aside, I sprint for my apartment building. I’m there in moments, out of breath after my run and my lungs still ache from the sudden intake of air, but I don’t pause. I jab the code into the door and don’t even glance over my shoulder to see if I was followed.

  I dash up the stairs and fumble retrieving my keys. It takes me several tries to get the door open with my new locks but I finally make it and slam the door shut behind me. A man steps through from the kitchen and I scream, flattening my back against the door before I realize who it is.

  “Nick!”

  His eyes widen and he hastens over, snatching my arms. “Shit, Sienna, what the hell happened?”