Stitched Up Heart (Combat Hearts Book 1)

by Tarina Deaton

  Carol’s eyes twinkled and she patted Bree’s hand. “That’s alright, dear. Laughter is the best medicine. Go get Jase’s head out of his ass.”

  Bree parked next to Jase’s truck and shut off the engine. Dim light from the kitchen window shone like a beacon in the darkness surrounding her car. She found the kitchen door unlocked and made her way through the quiet house to the family room. A floor lamp threw soft light onto the recliner where Jase sat, staring vacantly at the picture above the mantel. Beer bottles lay scattered on the coffee table and a few more on the floor where they had rolled off.

  “Jase.”

  He started. Lines appeared on his forehead as he stared at her. “What are you doing here?”

  “Carol told me what today is,” she said softly.

  Jase looked away and lifted the bottle of liquor to his lips. Apparently beer wasn’t getting the job done.

  “Jase?”

  “I forgot.”

  “Forgot what?” She walked farther into the living room, stopping a few feet in front of him.

  “Forgot what today was.” He looked at her again and her heart clenched. His eyes were vacant. Devoid of emotion. Pain, even anger, she could have handled. But there was nothing in his gaze.

  “That’s understandable,” she said, thinking as time passed, he would begin to forget. Begin to hurt less. In time, the good memories would override the bad. But that wasn’t how he took it.

  “How is that understandable, Bree? How is forgetting about someone killing themselves because of you understandable?”

  “Carol told me about Tony. It’s not your fault.”

  “Bullshit. You think because Carol shared a story with you, you understand? You have no idea. You couldn’t possibly understand what he went through. What I went through.” He took another pull from the bottle in his hand and looked away from her.

  His dismissiveness slashed through her heart in a way that nearly brought her to her knees. She gasped at the pain as it radiated outward from her chest. And it infuriated her. He didn’t have a monopoly on pain. After everything they’d talked about — everything that had happened the last few weeks — how dare he dismiss her?

  “How dare you?” she seethed.

  “Go home, Bree.”

  “Fuck you. I don’t understand? You think I don’t know what it’s like to be standing at the gas station and hit the ground because you think someone’s car backfiring is incoming mortars? You think I don’t know what it’s like to not want to sleep because of the never-ending nightmares? To not want to see the montage of faces of everyone you lost?” Her hands balled into fists. “To not want to wake up when you finally do sleep because you have to face the world? A world so fucking wrapped up in its own selfish bullshit and oblivious to everything else that’s going on?”

  Her chest heaved, a sob fighting to escape. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to be in a crowd of people trying not to have a panic attack because there are too fucking many of them and no one is watching where the hell they are going? Or how about almost crashing your car because the asshole in front of you threw his cigarette butt out his window? Or when it takes everything not to throat punch the motherfucker in front of me complaining about the cashier taking too long?

  “Or how about when your best friend calls you and says she can’t take it anymore and all you can do is pray you aren’t too late?” Tears flowed freely now. She scrubbed the heels of her hand across her cheeks, angry she couldn’t stop them. “You think I haven’t had days where it was everything I could do to make it through the next five minutes? And the five after that?” She gasped and fought to catch her breath. “Or that I haven’t stood in front of my gun safe and thought it would be so easy. One bullet and the pain would end?”

  She gritted her teeth and took a step back. “It’s a conscious decision every fucking day to wake up and promise the people who love you that you won’t leave them. That you won’t take the easy way out and leave them with the bottomless well of pain they’ll have to live with for the rest of their lives.”

  “Bree…” The light flickered back into his eyes. It was a painful light, highlighted by the shimmer of tears.

  “Fuck you, Jase. This is how you protect this?” She pointed a finger at her chest. “This is how you fight for it? Bullshit.” The sob tore through her, compressing her chest with its forcefulness.

  “Bree.” His voice broke when he spoke her name.

  Lost in her pain, she whipped around and blindly stormed back to the kitchen. The pain in her chest throbbed with every heartbeat. She tore through the door as Jase shouted her name.

  Fumbling with her keys, she slammed the door to her car. The headlights illuminated Jase as he stumbled out of the kitchen after her. The tires chirped on the concrete as she pressed on the gas pedal, reversing in a wide arc around his truck. Throwing the SUV into drive, she sped down the long dirt road. She sobbed and wiped furiously at her tears as she drove to the one person she knew she could always turn to.

  Jase tripped on the edge of the concrete where it met the grass. Reflexes dulled by an entire day of drowning his sorrows, he couldn’t stop himself from sprawling on the rough surface. The pain radiating from his cheek as it bounced against the concrete was nothing compared to the pain gripping his chest. He pushed himself up to his knees and watched as Bree’s taillights faded.

  He roared into the night, slamming his fists into the ground. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

  He’d done it a-fucking-gain. He’d lost his best friend to his own goddamned selfishness. Now he might’ve lost the woman he loved. Her words had seared through his chest and ripped out his heart. The pain in his chest beat in rhythm to where his heart used to be as he admitted the truth to himself.

  He dropped his head to the ground, curling in on himself. Bree.

  He hated this fucking day. He’d forgotten. Actually forgot what day it was. He wouldn’t have even remembered if a guy on the trip hadn’t made an offhanded remark about the date. He’d hated himself in that moment. Hated that he’d forgotten he was the reason Tony was dead. Hated the happiness he’d been living for the last few weeks when Tony wasn’t alive to be happy at all.

  Bree hadn’t deserved what he’d said. He’d just wanted her to leave. Not see him like that — wallowing in his misery. He was such a fucking asshole.

  Her pain had resonated with every word she spoke, ripping through his heart like razor wire tearing through skin. He’d let her down. Broke his promise to take care of her.

  He stumbled back into the house and collapsed face down on the couch. Tomorrow. He’d make it up to her. Apologize. Grovel. Anything to erase the agony on her face. Anything to have her back in his arms. To make good on the promise he’d made her.

  The steady, painful throb at the base of his skull woke him. Bright sunlight streamed in the windows and he covered his eyes to add a layer of darkness. His cheek was wet and he lifted his head off the puddle of drool.

  He wiped his cheek with the heel of his hand and rubbed across the scrape. “Ow! Shit.” He rolled onto his back, and his stomach rolled with him.

  “Fuck.” He bolted for the bathroom, kicking at empty bottles littering the floor. He purged his stomach, then rinsed his mouth. Sinking to the floor, he leaned against the wall next to the door.

  He propped his elbows on his knees and fisted his hands in his hair.

  Bree.

  Fuck.

  He banged his head against the wall. His watch showed nine thirty-three. Groaning, he heaved to his feet and went to find his phone.

  He scrolled through his contacts until he found her work number. Holding the phone to his ear, he stared at the mess of his living room. The ringing sounded like a firehouse bell vibrating in his ear.

  “Physical therapy. May I help you?”

  “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Dr. Marks, please.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, she’s out sick today. May I take a message or have you speak with one of the other doctors
?”

  He grabbed at his hair again and paced back and forth behind the couch. “No, thank you. I’ll try back tomorrow.”

  “Fuck.” Pulling up his favorites, he called Bree’s cell.

  “This is Bree. Leave a message.”

  “Fuck!” Leaning his hands against the back of the couch, he hunched over, dropping his head between his outstretched arms.

  He heaved a sigh and stood. Thumbing through his contacts, he stared at the name his thumb hovered over. He pressed the name.

  “You’re a fucking asshole.” Denise hung up. Well, Bree had talked to her. He dialed again.

  “Are you shitting me right now?” If phones could click anymore, he was sure she’d have slammed hers down. Inhaling deeply, he dialed again.

  “Meat grinder, motherfucker.”

  One more time. “Denise, let me—”

  “Not on your fucking life.”

  That was a lie. He was going to keep calling until she told him where Bree was.

  “Denise, please. She’s not answering her phone.”

  “No shit. Did you really expect her to?”

  “Denise, I’m trying to make this right. I was an asshole. I know that. But I can’t apologize if I can’t talk to her. The clinic said she called in sick. I don’t have her grandmother’s number and I don’t know who else to call.”

  Silence. Please, Denise, help me. More likely, she was planning how to chop up his body. Just in case, he came clean.

  “I love her. I fucked up. I need to fix it.”

  Denise sighed. “She’s at her gran’s. Haven Springs Village. Villa 42.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t make me regret this.” She ended the call.

  He rushed through a shower and brushed his teeth. Sweeping his fingers through his wet locks, he got dressed and grabbed an apple from the counter. He looked up the directions for Haven Springs Village on his phone as he got in his truck.

  Jase pulled into a visitor’s parking spot a few doors down from Villa 42. After taking a deep breath, he got out and walked down the landscaped path to the small cottage. He opened the screen door, but hesitated before he knocked. Doubt assailed him. How would she react to him being there? Would she see him? Let him apologize? He steeled his courage. It didn’t matter. He would make this better. Had to. There was no way he would let her go without a fight.

  The door opened before he could bring his knuckles down.

  “Hello, Jase. Would you like to come in?” Vivienne Coffee’s polite invitation was the last thing he expected.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Coffee.” He followed her in and closed the door behind him.

  “Call me Vivienne, dear. Have a seat. Is iced tea alright?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He sat at the small kitchen table and watched her bustle around. He glanced around the well-appointed villa. Across the open floor plan, he spotted Bree’s service picture on the mantle in the living room and went to take a closer look. A younger Bree stared out from the silver picture frame. Her cut just below her ears. Her face serious, as all basic training pictures tended to be. He studied the other pictures on the mantle. Bree as a child and a teenager. A picture of a man in a World War II-era uniform. Her grandfather.

  On the center of the mantle, in a place of prominence, sat a framed Bronze Star medal with a Valor device. Next to it, the citation. He picked it up, stunned to see Bree’s name on it.

  CITATION TO ACCOMPANY THE AWARD OF THE BRONZE STAR WITH V DEVICE FOR HEROISM IN ACTION AGAINST AN ARMED ENEMY, WHILE SERVING AS A CULTURAL SUPPORT TEAM MEMBER DURING OPERATION ENDURING FREEDOM.

  “She’s an extraordinary woman.” Vivienne interrupted him before he could finish reading the citation. “But then, you know that already.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do.” He set the frame back on the mantle. Damn, he owed her a huge apology. He’d been a self-righteous ass.

  He joined Vivienne at the kitchen table and accepted the glass she offered him.

  “She’s sleeping right now. I checked on her when I heard your truck drive by.”

  He nodded, not sure where she was going to take the conversation.

  “I’ll be honest. I’m hesitant to let you see her. She hasn’t been this withdrawn since she came back from Afghanistan — after that happened.” She pointed toward the citation on the mantle. “The fact that you’re here speaks volumes, so I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Thank you. I don’t know what she told you about last night, but I messed up.” He looked down at the glass in his hand.

  “She hasn’t told me anything. She showed up last night with Polly and Charlie, so I knew things were bad. She came out this morning for breakfast and went right back to bed.”

  “I’m guessing she wouldn’t want to leave her dogs by themselves with everything that’s been going on.”

  Vivienne cocked her head and considered him for a moment. “Jase, dear, Polly is a therapy dog. Bree got her when she was diagnosed with PTSD. She helps Bree cope when her emotions overwhelm her. Or when she retreats into herself.”

  Jase rocked back in the chair. He’d had no idea. How many times had he watched Polly lean against Bree. His brow narrowed. Each time Polly had stuck to Bree, she’d been upset or stressed. “I didn’t know. She just seemed like a sweet dog.”

  “Oh, she is. Bree doesn’t rely on her as much as she used to. She hasn’t had to.”

  Jase raked his hands through his hair. Guilt and regret crashed against him like storm waves against a rocky coast. At least this time he could do something about it. “Can I talk to her?”

  “Down the hall, on the left.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” she warned him. “You still have to talk to Bree.”

  He nodded and walked down the short hall. He paused outside the bedroom door and took a deep breath. Easing the door open, he entered the darkened room, barely able to make out Bree’s form curled up on the bed. Charlie stood from his position on the floor at the end of the bed. He brushed past Jase and left the room. Polly lifted her head from where it rested on the crook of Bree’s knees and thumped her tail against the bed. Jase closed the door and walked over to her. Polly rose from her spot next to Bree and hopped off the bed.

  He gathered Bree in his arms and fit his body close. Her breath shuddered, evidence that she had been crying. He cringed. Shit, he had screwed up.

  Her head shifted on the pillow. She stiffened, and he tightened his arms around her. Her silence pained him. He kissed her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry for what I said last night. I’d like to explain.” She remained silent and he took it as permission.

  “I always knew I wanted to be in the Army. I never expected Tony to follow me. Selfishly, I was glad he did. We went through basic training together. Infantry and Pathfinder school. Finally, Ranger school. I was so proud of Tony. I didn’t think he’d make it through, but he surprised me. Hell, he even pulled me through at times. We both got orders to Savanah with First Battalion. Back-to-back rotations to Iraq, then Afghanistan. We were done. Couldn’t take it anymore.

  “We both had PTSD. Have,” he corrected. “For me, have. We dealt with it differently, though. Tony pretty much became a recluse. He’d barely leave the house to go to the store. I bought my house because of the land it sits on. It gave us space. There’s a pond a half mile from the house. We stocked it so we’d have a place to fish without having to go anywhere. He’d go fishing, and when he came back, it was almost like I had my best friend back. It didn’t last long.” He drew in a deep breath, dreading what he had to tell her next.

  “I dealt with things the exact opposite. I’d go out every night and get drunk. Bring home a different girl every other night.” She stiffened again. “I’m not proud of how I dealt with things. Or didn’t deal with them. I wanted an escape. A way to drown the anger and the bitterness. I started to resent Tony.” He whispered his horrible admission in her neck. “He always wanted me to hang out w
ith him. Talk about what’d happened. I didn’t. I wanted to forget. Bury it so far down it’d never see the light of day. I started avoiding him. Ignoring his calls.”

  He took a deep breath. Moment of truth. He had to get the worst out. The shame. The guilt. She’d hate him when she knew, although she couldn’t possibly hate him more than he hated himself. “The night he killed himself, he called me. I ignored him. I turned my phone off and kept partying. Went home with some chick I couldn’t even pick out of a lineup. I found him the next day. An empty bottle of whiskey and pills next to him. He didn’t leave a note. Just that drawing that’s above my mantle.”

  Bree’s breath heaved through her again as her fingers dug into his forearms. She turned her face into his arm and tried to muffle her sob. Tears slid from her face to the skin of his arm. He placed another kiss on her shoulder. Polly climbed back onto the bed in front of Bree and low-crawled over to them. She rested her head on their entwined arms and whined. Jase placed a hand on Polly’s head and rubbed his thumb over the spot above her eye.

  “Jase…” Bree said, his name coming out on a broken sob.

  “Not yet. Let me finish.”

  She nodded. He took another breath and moved his hand back to her arm. “It tore me apart when I realized he’d been calling me at the worst moment of his life and I ignored him. I quit drinking. Quit partying. Started seeing a counselor at the VA and went to group therapy. During one of the sessions, a few of us made plans to go on a camping trip. It was great. One of the first times any of us had really relaxed. Six months later, I started V.E.T. Adventures. I talked to Ms. Carol about it and she helped me get it off the ground.

  “I was…okay with my life. I had a routine. Some close friends. I’d go out every now and then to blow off steam, but nothing too crazy. I dated a couple times, but nothing serious.” He held her tighter. “Until that night you walked into The Deck. You laughed, and it fixed something. Like sewing a wound back together. That was the best night I could remember in a long time. When you were gone the next morning, that piece of me ripped apart again. You made me want to be whole again. But you also made me forget.”