by Mary Calmes
Stacy was quick; I was quicker. Before she reached her, I had Zahra in my arms, wrapped up and held tight.
She cried into my chest as Stacy rubbed her back, and then Stacy turned to Chloe.
“It’s not your fault. She knows it, I know it. No one’s blaming you, but you’re here, and that’s reminding us all that our husbands and fathers and sons and boyfriends could be coming home in body bags if it weren’t for the quick action of certain members of the team when your husband’s actions put them all in jeopardy.”
Chloe stood there, not sure what to do, but her friend, the one who was after my man, grabbed her arm and pulled her away from us.
“I’m so sorry, Miro, I cried all over you,” Zahra lamented.
“Any time,” I assured her.
“Oh, he’s a keeper,” Stacy said, putting an arm around Zahra’s shoulders. “And look, there they are.”
The first guy came out, wearing his Army combat uniform—ACUs—and hefting a huge duffel, but he was still able to drop it and easily catch the woman who flew up to him and vaulted into his waiting arms. She hit him hard, but he absorbed the impact and wrapped his arms around her.
All the women there were greeting men who, like Ian, left for two weeks and were gone four months more.
They all came through then, all in the same color fatigues, all with caps on, all with duffels. Zahra’s husband was big, and when he took off his hat to greet his wife, I saw a lot of red-orange hair before she wrapped her arms around his neck and delivered a scorching kiss that he returned until neither of them could possibly breathe.
Stacy ran and jumped, too, and her husband took hold of her thighs to make sure her legs, coiled around his hips, wouldn’t get dislodged. Clearly he didn’t want to be parted from her for even a second.
Even if I hadn’t seen Ian’s face, I would have known it was him just from his swaggering, fluid stride. Before we were friends, I used to wish I could be intimidating just by moving. People never got out of my way, but I’d seen people scatter for Ian as they did now, making room for him to get through.
The dogtags with black silencers contrasted sharply on the tan of the T-shirt he was wearing under his open field jacket. His cap was pulled down low, but I still saw the bright blue I was looking for and marveled at the beauty of the man, the innate power, and I felt instant joy in seeing him strong and whole.
It was like walking in the front door after being away, that overwhelming feeling of rightness, of belonging, of peace. He was my home, and I had to grit my teeth with the surge of emotion and the sting behind my eyes.
Ian was my home.
I didn’t wave. I didn’t have to because he saw me and immediately scowled. His reaction caused the reverse in me. I smiled big, huge, relief and happiness, lust and love all swirling together in a tempest of gratitude that I was sure every other wife, girlfriend, partner, and significant other felt as well. I was probably glowing. The closer he got, the madder he looked until he reached me, dropped his duffel, and took my face in his hard, callused hands.
“What the hell happened to you?” he growled.
One of his eyes had blood in it. I saw purple-and-yellow bruises from fingers that had been around his throat, fresher bruises along the right side of his jaw and he had a splint on the pinky and ring fingers of his left hand. Not his shooting hand, so it would not impact his ability to do his job, or be with me on said job. Because any more time spent away from him, for any reason, would be too much.
“I could ask the same question,” I teased, so happy to see him I could actually feel my skin heat. I wanted his hands all over me as fast as they could be.
“I’m fine,” he said, stepping closer, bumping against me, scrutinizing the bruises.
“Yeah? You’re fine?”
“I—”
I dropped my voice to a whisper even though no one was sparing us even a glance and the closest couple was several feet away. “Good enough to fuck me into the mattress at home?”
I saw my words wash over him. His pupils dilated, he parted his lips and caught his breath. Taken all together, it was a thoroughly satisfying reaction.
“Can you?” I asked, closing my eyes, bumping my forehead gently against his, inhaling his scent and slipping my hands around his hips. “Ian?”
We stood there, silent, breathing each other’s air, and his sigh, like he could finally relax, made me smile.
“You have no idea how much thinking about you I’ve done,” he confessed, swallowing hard. “I dreamed about holding you down.”
The jolt of arousal slammed through me.
“I just—I need you so bad it feels like I’ve got ants crawling around under my skin.”
It was good to hear I was not alone in my desire. Normally I did the fucking, but sometimes I wanted to be on the bottom, and at the moment, I was ready to be, excited to be. All I could imagine was his weight on me and being under him, begging.
“You miss me?” My words came out rushed and aching.
“More than you could possibly imagine,” he rumbled, nuzzling a kiss against the side of my neck.
Opening my eyes, I looked at his good one and his hurt one. “Then let’s go home.”
“Yes,” he said before he slipped a hand around the back of my head, tangled his fingers in my hair, and brought me in for a kiss.
I had no idea he’d do that in front of people, in front of men he fought with, their wives, and any strangers who might pass by. I was amazed for a moment before I forgot everything else and kissed him back, wrapping my arms around his waist and bringing our bodies flush together.
Already it was the best homecoming ever.
Chapter 5
IAN INTRODUCED me to all the members of his unit from the guy in charge on down. I shook all their hands, and it seemed to me they were all genuinely pleased to meet me. I could have been wrong, it could have been an elaborate act, but it was doubtful, as tired and wrung out as they all looked. Obviously, whatever they’d all been through had been an ordeal.
Thinking about how long they’d been gone was not a good idea, because instead of being happy Ian was home, I started thinking about how long he’d been gone, and that only led to resentment. So it wasn’t a surprise when the question popped out, even inadvertently, and neither was Ian’s standard reply.
“I dunno when I’ll have to go back,” he said, looking out the window of my Toyota Tacoma at the rain-washed streets. What started out as a drizzle was now looking like the fifth day of Noah’s journey. “They could call us back up tomorrow, you know that.”
I concentrated on the road, even though the drive was easy. The Lincoln Expressway was not going underwater anytime soon.
“So you’re gonna be pissed now?” he snapped after a few minutes of silence.
“No,” I assured him, trying to keep my voice calm and steady, without any bite. “I shouldn’t have asked. I just—like you here, is all.”
“You don’t think I wanna be home?”
I cleared my throat. “I do and I don’t want to fight with you. That was not my intention.”
“Then what’d you bring it up for?”
“It just came out, I’m sorry.”
He was quiet, I was quiet, so we could both hear the tires on the wet pavement and the rain on the roof of the car.
“You don’t get it because you’ve never served.”
“I know,” I acceded quickly, careful not to get tripped up there.
“And I can’t tell you where I was or what I did.”
I knew that too. The few times I’d asked, all he said was, “We were in the woods.” Sometimes I’d see things on the news about a firefight in some village halfway around the world and wonder if Ian was there. It had become—much like the marriage issue—a question of what Ian would do. What could he do and still be him.
We’d answered the question of us getting married with an absolute, rock solid… someday. It was on the table for sure, but the when was the issue. Yes, he lov
ed me; yes, he wanted to be married—or could see it now instead of not at all—but there was still no definitive plan. What loomed even bigger lately was the military service.
As an Army reservist officer, Ian served at the pleasure of the president, which meant anytime they needed him, he went. I was proud of him for his service as a Green Beret, but I also felt like he’d done enough, given enough of his time, and watching it erode his mind and body got more and more painful to witness.
His dreams made him cry out in his sleep, the injuries he came home with were a horror, and the fact that he had as of late started sleeping with his spare gun, his SIG Sauer P228, under the bed was cause for concern. We didn’t say PTSD because Ian said he knew guys who had it “for real” and a few nightmares were not that big a deal. But I knew better. It was eating him up, things he did, things he saw, and at some point he was going to have to deal with all that, just as I had to deal with being kidnapped by a psychopath a year ago. The difference was that my horror was over except for the fallout, and Ian’s was a constant in his life.
“So,” I said, clearing my throat, “what time is the funeral tomorrow?”
“Eleven.”
“I’m really sorry about your friend.”
“We weren’t friends,” he corrected me, finally turning from the window. “But he was in my old unit, so I gotta go.”
“Of course.”
“Is this gonna be a thing?”
“What?”
“Me going?”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
I had to think. “Not—it’s both, right?”
“Explain.”
I shrugged. “It’s your service, and I get that it’s what you feel you need to do, but I think, why are you still doing this? When will it be enough?”
He exhaled sharply. “You don’t understand.”
“Because I’ve never been in the military, I know. You say that all the time. But seriously, why do you have to go? Why does it have to be you?”
“What if something happens to my unit because I’m not there?”
“You’re saying you’re the only person who can do your job?”
“I’m saying I do my job really well, and there aren’t a lot of guys with my training or my experience, so yeah, I’m the most qualified.”
“So there’s nobody else with your skill set.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying, of the guys out there, I’m one of the best.”
“Which I don’t doubt in the least, but this is something you choose to do.”
“Yeah.”
“So I’m asking, when will it be enough? When will you stop?”
He was silent a moment. “I’ll stop when they don’t need me anymore.”
“Which is never,” I mumbled. “Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“Okay, I have my answer.”
“Which means what?”
“It means I know what I’m in for then.”
We were silent until I pulled up on our street in Lincoln Park and slid in behind a sleek little silver Saab.
Getting out, I grabbed the umbrella behind the seat and went to dart around the side to cover Ian, but he threw open the door, yanked his now soggy duffel from the bed of the truck, and started charging down the sidewalk toward home.
Locking the vehicle with the remote, I jogged after him, but when I tried to cover his head, he batted the umbrella away.
“Why’re you being an ass now?” I shouted over the sound of the driving rain.
He rounded on me. “If it’s not worth it, we should just call it quits already,” he barked.
I was stunned… for a second. And then I felt the anger wash through me, over me, spread to my tightening gut and up into my throat I could barely get sound out of.
“If you want out, be out,” he said flippantly. “But the bitching about me serving my country is killing me.”
The serving his country part was a nice dig.
“Did you hear me?” he asked curtly.
“I did,” I replied, meeting his gaze. “And yeah, I’m out.”
His eyes went wide as I pivoted and stalked down the street.
Chickie met me at the front door, but instead of petting him, I wrenched him outside by his collar and pointed him down the street.
“Look, it’s Daddy,” I choked out and watched as the werewolf flew down the stoop, heading for Ian.
Slamming the door shut behind me, I turned on the lights, hurled the umbrella into the stand, kicked off my sneakers, and headed upstairs. I had my coat hung up and everything that was wet off my body when I heard the front door bang shut.
“The fuck are you doing?” he roared up at me.
Standing beside the railing on the loft, staring down into the living room at him, I realized he was shaking. Hard to tell if he was cold or mad, but I was guessing a little of both.
“You—” I started but stopped, unable, even in the midst of a crisis, not to smile.
“The hell are… you… oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Chickie.
He was so happy to see Ian, he was jumping up and down beside him. He wasn’t touching Ian, but he was obviously so excited, so over the moon, that he could barely stand it, and as a result, he was doing a really good kangaroo impersonation. The height he was reaching was impressive.
Up and down, over and over, the epitome of joyful delight.
Stupid dog.
Ian did a slow turn, and Chickie whimpered and whined, stopped hopping for a second and made a circle, singing to his master in a sweet low howl he normally saved for serenading Sajani before he put his front paws on Ian’s shoulders and licked his face all over.
The chuckle that came out of me was involuntary, but watching Chickie bounce around, there was no way to keep a straight face.
“Get down,” Ian grumbled as he petted his wet dog and tried to wipe rain and dog slobber off his face with his own dripping sleeve.
“You should take a shower,” I told him. “I’ll come down and dry off Chick.”
His head snapped up. “How could you just say—”
“How could you,” I fired back, leaning over the railing. “That was bullshit and you know it, but you said it anyway because you’re mad at the situation and taking that crap out on me.”
His glare was dark.
“I’ve never once said I didn’t want you, not ever. Do I get the whole putting yourself in danger all the time? No, I don’t. Do I get you signing up to be away from me? No, I don’t get that either,” I growled. “What I do get is that you feel like you have to because you’re the only one who can. And even though I think that’s a helluva lot of ego there—because I’m betting there are others just as trained up as you—I get that if something ever were to happen and you weren’t there, you’d feel guilty for the rest of your life.”
“Ego?”
I made a noise in the back of my throat and turned to go to the bathroom. “Fine, if that’s your only takeaway, I—”
“Don’t you dare move!”
“Then listen to me, for fuck’s sake!” I yelled at him as I turned.
He threw up his hands in reply.
“Where the combat is concerned, yeah, I think that’s your ego at work,” I retorted, not backing down. “Because the only place you’re not replaceable, where no one else will do, is right here with me. Here, at home—you’re it, and if you’re too stupid to—”
“Shut up,” he rasped, his jaw clenching as he inhaled a breath through his nose.
I crossed my arms and waited.
“I’m a soldier.”
I was going to tell him I knew that already, but he lifted a hand to keep me quiet.
“First before anything, that’s what I am,” he ground out, flicking his gaze up to meet mine. “It’s not going to change.”
“But that doesn’t mean that’s all you are because you yourself have told me it’s not.”
It took him a moment
before he gave me a nod. “Yeah, that’s true.”
“And I know you’re not going to change being a soldier.” That hurt. It did. I felt in my heart that he wouldn’t stop doing it for me on the chance his commitment could mean his death. I was certainly taking a backseat to his military career, if I chose to think of it that way. But the other way to see Ian’s choice was through his eyes. Being a Green Beret was part of who he was, long before he met me. It was what made Ian, Ian. His promise to his country meant the world to him, and who was I to make him give that up? And if he didn’t do it, would he still be the man I loved?
“Miro?”
I refocused on him.
“Do you still want me if this is your life?”
I scowled at him and I saw him swallow, watched his throat work, from where I was.
“Yes, Ian,” I replied soberly, feeling the tightening in my jaw, the burn behind my eyes. “I want you, and that’s never gonna change.”
He stood below me, not moving, simply giving me his patented blank stare.
“But let’s not pretend I don’t care and that I’m happy about it. You’re the one who’s gotta think, is this going to be too hard for me to know that; yes, he supports me, but he hates it when I’m gone?”
“I—”
“No, you have to really think about it.”
He shook his head. “I don’t.”
I shivered because I was in underwear and a T-shirt and nothing else.
“You being upset ’cause I’m leaving you and missing me and waiting for me to come back—I’m thinking there are worse things.”
I grunted and then gestured at the dog. “You get to dry him now; I’ma take a shower and then I’ll make some dinner.”
He nodded and left for the laundry room where Chickie’s towel was hanging from a peg by the back door.
I was freezing, so instead of putting on clothes, I took a really hot, really fast shower. I was drying off when the bathroom door opened and Ian came through.
“It’s all yours,” I said, stepping aside.
He barred my path.
I stopped towel drying my hair and looked at him.
Ian had beautiful eyes that were this clear, vivid blue, creased in the corners by the greatest laugh lines anyone had ever seen. At the moment, though, they were marked with worry and pain. I felt like crap knowing I was some of the reason.
