Gifts of Honor: Starting from ScratchHero's Homecoming

by Gail, Stacy

  As soon as the poison-edged words hit the air he wanted to pull them back. But there was no way to retract the devastation that rounded her eyes.

  Oh, shit.

  “Wait...no. Lucy—”

  “I’m done. I’ve tried everything to get around our past, your forgetting me...but I’m done now. I deserve better than this. Do us both a favor and forget about me. Again.” With that, she turned and vanished through a narrow hallway.

  * * *

  Lucy didn’t remember the drive home, or even how she got into the loft. She was just suddenly there, dry-eyed, turning on the lights—with the pointed exception of the Christmas tree—and dragging her battered suitcases out of the closet. She didn’t have much. Life as a military wife was such that it made sure you knew how to pack light and not let material possessions weigh you down.

  Which was a good thing, because at long last the truth had reared its ugly head. And it was a simple one, as truths go—there was no way she and Sully could live in Bitterthorn and have any amount of peace. She’d been out of her mind to have even tried.

  Dragging her clothes, hangers and all, out of the closet, she threw them into a case, then caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the inside of the door. What she saw shocked her in a dim sort of way. There was no knife in her heart. No gory chunks torn out of her. No pallor of death. She was pale, yes, and there was no life in the dull, dry eyes staring back at her. But the wounds bleeding in the tattered remains of her soul were strangely invisible.

  Sully had broken her. By saying aloud the secret suspicion that had burned inside her heart like acid, he finally broke that last precious thread of hope holding her together. How strange it was that there were no visible signs that she was now in pieces.

  There was no medical proof Sully wanted to forget her, of course. She didn’t need it. Hell, it was so obvious it was a wonder Sully had just now recognized it. He’d volunteered for a second tour to get away from her. After waking from his coma he’d screamed whenever he saw her. He’d been eager to see the end of a marriage that he’d wanted to be free of. And he’d regained so much of his memory—from some random promise to mail off Christmas presents to an old army buddy’s family, to the moths that had flown out of the tree the year before—while his brain refused to acknowledge her existence.

  At each turn, Sully had rejected her in every way a human can reject another. Why it had taken her so long to realize this was a goddamn mystery.

  A wave of grief hit, and for only a moment she closed her eyes. The hurt was beyond anguish and so deep she couldn’t even cry. She could barely breathe. Forcing herself to move before she imploded, Lucy operated on autopilot, dragging the still-partially packed box of shoes at the bottom of the closet to the middle of the floor and began clearing the nightstand. If she was efficient about it, she’d be packed up and ready to go in no time. The worst part would be writing a letter of resignation to Pauline and Willard and saying goodbye to Coe. But something told her they’d understand. In all probability, she was the last one to realize her time in Bitterthorn had been destined to come to this exact end.

  * * *

  You don’t love me, Sullivan. You never did.

  Trudging up the outside steps to his apartment, Sully’s eyes pounded with the headache he’d only thought about faking earlier. Served him right, he couldn’t help but think as he fished for his keys. The moment Lucy left him, the headache slammed him along with that panicky feeling he now knew was tied to her, though he wasn’t sure why.

  There were so many things he wasn’t sure about when it came to Lucy. Only one thing was clear—he’d hurt her tonight, and it was a hurt he needed to undo.

  It just drove him to the point of frustrated insanity, how she kept trying to push him away when it was obvious their chemistry was so hot the Department of Defense should study them for nuclear capabilities. Try as he might, he couldn’t fathom why she chose to bury herself in ice, distancing herself from something so amazing and rare it had to be a once-in-a-lifetime kind of miracle.

  Only...

  It wasn’t her first time around for this particular miracle. Sully frowned as he tried to find the right key. If they’d shared this sort of chemistry before he lost his memories, she should be happy it was back in action, shouldn’t she? It didn’t make any damn sense that she wanted to keep her distance.

  Unless that was all wrong. Maybe they hadn’t been that hot before. Or maybe...maybe he’d done something to make her want to keep her distance in spite of their chemistry.

  You keep leaving me.

  You don’t love me, Sullivan.

  He winced as pain stabbed like a knife in the middle of his forehead. In an effort to distract himself, Sully tried to imagine what it must have been like to be Lucy’s husband. Had they been this hot before he got his brain rearranged? When he’d been recovering in the hospital and was finally able to grasp that the woman who kept coming to visit was his wife, that’s when the strange panic had coalesced. Eventually he’d rationalized it was because he was tied to a woman he didn’t know and was supposed to feel something for. He hadn’t wanted to pretend though. He’d had too much respect for the woman who seemed so determined to stay by his side to lie to her. It was out of that respect, and that strange, frantic feeling he’d assumed stemmed from being trapped, that he had cut her loose.

  Letting Lucy go hadn’t had the desired effect. Those transient panic attacks had solidified the day they signed the divorce papers. She hadn’t cried, had barely said a word, except to wish him well and that all she wanted was for him to be happy. And he’d almost demanded if she was the one who was happy now that she’d left him.

  You’re leaving me. Why do you keep leaving me? Is it that you don’t love me?

  You don’t love me, Sullivan. You never did.

  The two echoes melded, and he put a hand to his forehead to stop the pounding. Shit, he didn’t need one of these migraines now. Maybe if he got one of those hated painkillers down his gullet he could head it off at—

  He almost killed himself on something right outside the door.

  What the hell...?

  With his eyes threatening to jettison out of their sockets, Sully struggled to get the door open and lights on. A showy bouquet of what seemed to be every red flower in creation was the culprit, along with a package wrapped in a familiar Red Cross care-package envelope. Scooping everything up, he deposited the flowers on the dining room table and cut open the package before the name on the front fully registered.

  To: Lucy Jax.

  The handwriting was his. It had changed since he’d been wounded, as he’d had to relearn how to read and write. But that handwriting...Yeah. That was his. He’d recognize it anywhere.

  With his head pounding so hard he thought he might lose consciousness, Sully dumped the contents of the envelope out onto the table...

  And knew exactly what they were.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I can’t believe you’re going to let Sully run you out of town.”

  Lucy had known the racket of dragging suitcases down the wooden stairs would bring Coe running. Though he didn’t live at the garage he often worked late, and she’d suspected that tonight of all nights, Christmas Eve, he was going to hang around in case she got lonely and needed someone to talk to. She wished he hadn’t bothered. The last thing she wanted to do now was talk.

  “You know what they say—this town ain’t big enough for the both of us.” Unlocking her car, she hauled the trunk open and wrestled the heavy case in. Coe, damn him, refused to help, instead crossing his arms as if physically restraining himself from going to her. “I can’t stay here another day, Coe. It’s killing me.”

  “I never thought I’d see you punk out.” His rough sigh left a vapor trail in the chilly winter night. “And on Christmas too. You’re not getting your presen
ts of spark plugs and motor oil.”

  “And I was really looking forward to them too.” After securing the second bag in the trunk, she slammed the lid shut. “I’ve got another bag and one box left. Want to help me?”

  “No.”

  “Gotcha.”

  She left him standing there, and in another few minutes had the car loaded up. Coe’s hard face was downright mournful as she turned to face him.

  “I hate goodbyes.” He glared at her. “You should probably just leave.”

  Lord, she was going to miss him. “I’ll be back in a couple of days to clean out the rest of the non-mandatory stuff, so I’ll keep the key for now. Oh, and there’s a mostly undecorated tree up there as well. I promise, that’ll be the first thing I throw out.” Along with anything else that reminded her of Sully.

  Coe shifted an awkward shoulder. “Whatever. I don’t care.”

  “Right.” She hugged him, and had to smile at how his statue-stiffness melted into a bone-cracking hug. “Merry Christmas, Coe.”

  “This is the suckiest Christmas present you’ve ever given me.”

  “When the lightsaber pen comes in, that’ll make up for it.” Since he hated goodbyes, she didn’t say the actual phrase, instead giving him a forced smile before crawling behind the wheel. The first place she’d stop would be Pauline’s, she decided, starting the engine with a smooth purr. She’d slip her resignation into the letter slot and cut her ties there before heading into San Antonio. The job search would have to wait until the day after Christmas, but she had enough in savings to tide her over until she could—

  The squeal of tires of the pickup truck stopping in the road in front of Lucky’s driveway had Lucy slamming her own brakes. For a startled moment she stared at the obstacle in disbelief. What were the odds of almost having an accident when the streets were ghost-town deserted?

  Then the vehicle blocking her way registered, and she froze centimeter by centimeter. No doubt she’d be discovered as a block of ice sitting behind the wheel when all was said and done.

  The sound of a door banging shut was the only warning she had before Sully rounded the truck’s hood, hands held up in a halting motion.

  “Lucy! We need to talk.”

  Talk? Good God, the man had to be deranged. In fact, he did appear a little insane, with eyes so intense they could have shot lasers and his mouth held in a line so grim it would no doubt crack in two if he tried to smile.

  “Please, Lucy.” He put his hands on the hood of the car, looking for all the world as if he wanted to push it back through brute strength alone. “Just shut the engine off and get out of the car, okay?” Then his head jerked up, a motion that made her glance into the side view mirror in time to see Coe approaching as if he had every intention of finding out what it felt like to rip someone apart limb from limb. She sucked in a breath, ready to step in, when Sully stepped forward, hand out.

  “Thank you so much for being there for Lucy, Coe.” The heartfelt sincerity in Sully’s voice stopped Coe dead in his tracks, and her jaw unhinged when the men shook hands right outside her door. “I wasn’t there for her at the worst time in her life, but you were. I’ll always be in your debt for that.”

  “Something’s...different.” Coe stared at him hard before glancing at her. “Lucy, he’s right. You guys need to talk, and I sure as hell don’t want you doing it in my driveway where every neighbor on the block can see and hear you.”

  That made her crack the window. “Since when do you care about neighbors?”

  “Since you guys decided to go all soap opera-y on my property. Get your drama behind closed doors where it belongs and iron out your shit so I can have some peace. Don’t worry about your vehicles, I’ll get them out of the way while you two take care of business.”

  As Sully handed over the keys, Lucy considered ignoring them both, popping the high curb that could easily break an axle and getting heck out of Dodge. God knew she couldn’t handle another blow from Sully. Every part of her was an exposed nerve, and just one more jolt would send her right over the edge into screaming meemie land.

  But if she broke her damn car, she’d really be stuck.

  “Ten minutes.” As she climbed out of the car, the cold bit at her face that already felt like an icy mask. It hurt too much to look Sully’s way, so she tossed her keys at Coe and gave him an irritated glare. “Don’t lose those. I’ll be right back for them.”

  “I had a feeling you were going to leave.” Once they’d made it inside the loft, Sully looked around the open space that had an abandoned feel to it now that she’d cleared out. “I’m so glad I followed my instincts and got over here as fast as possible.”

  Lucy stuck her icy hands into her coat pockets, confused. She knew his memory sucked, but had he already forgotten he didn’t want to remember her? “What do you want?”

  His eyes seemed to flinch at her deadened monotone. “Something came for you tonight, at the apartment where you stayed when we were married. Something from me.”

  “From you?” Despite her best effort to not care, an inner alarm sounded. He knew she hadn’t lived there since summer. Why would he mail something for her to that location? “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s a service offered to the troops through the Red Cross. There are times when a soldier is faced with a mission he’s not sure he’s going to get out of. To prepare for that worst-case scenario, he can send loved ones something special, like a note or a gift, and schedule when it should be delivered. I know of one guy who made sure flowers were delivered to his wife every birthday and Mother’s Day for the next ten years, even though he’s now gone.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a greeting card-sized envelope, then grimaced when she took a step back. “I sent this to you. I wanted this to be delivered to you immediately, but it apparently got mixed in with another surprise I had planned for you, an arrangement of red flowers to be delivered on Christmas Eve—the time when I was supposed to be returned to the States. Both the flowers and the package showed up tonight.”

  The Christmas surprise he’d promised her during their final Skype. For a long moment she stared at the offered envelope—a beautiful, tempting echo that led to a past that was gone. Gone, but still had the power to kill her by inches.

  Coe was right. Only she could make her suffering stop.

  Slowly, she took another step back. “I’m sorry.”

  “Lucy—”

  “I told you. I’m done.”

  “Please, Lucy.” Both hands now held up the envelope, his face tight with what looked like anguish as his eyes beseeched her. “I know anything I tell you now won’t reach you. My God, I can see you’re hopelessly out of my reach. But these words come from the man I was a year ago. The man you married, the man you loved. The man who loved you.”

  “No.” She had no idea she could sound so flat. Lifeless. At least it matched how she felt. “I’ve had a whole year to come to terms with the fact that you never loved me, Sully. It hurt, but I’m over it now.” And she was the world’s biggest liar.

  The color drained from his face. “Don’t call me Sully. God, please...don’t ever do that, Lucy. I know I’ve put you through more kinds of hell than I can even begin to imagine, and that if you’d known how we’d wind up—here, like this, so broken we don’t know how to pick up the pieces—you never would have married me. I know that. But I’m begging you, if you have any feeling left for the man I was a year ago—if I haven’t killed that off entirely—you’ll read what I needed to tell you when I feared these might be my last words to you. Please, Lucy.”

  Last words. Damn, she wished he hadn’t said that. She knew of so many military wives—too many—who never knew what their husbands’ last words were. Last words were the most meaningful a soldier would ever speak. No one understood mortality better than someone in the service. Or their spouses.


  His sigh of relief shook when she took the envelope from him.

  My Lucy,

  There were so many things I wanted to say when our Skype signal got cut off, so I’m putting them down here as I’m polishing off your wonderful thirsty cookies. As much as I love them, the note you tucked inside saying you still love me is the greatest gift I’ve ever received. I know not talking to you about doing a second tour is the worst fuck-up of my life, and though you just told me you’re okay, I can’t get your grief out of my head. Your voice is haunting me, Lucy. I keep hearing you ask why I’m always leaving you, and is it because I don’t love you.

  I need to answer you, if only to stop the tears I see every time I close my eyes.

  As to why I keep leaving you... I don’t want to leave you. Ever. I’m only at peace when I’m lying with you in my arms, feeling all of you with all of me. Believe me, the thought of signing up for another tour didn’t even enter my head until my best friend got killed a week before I went on leave. We’d been friends since Ranger School, and we’ve saved each other’s necks more than a few times. In our downtime we talked about our wives, and he showed me pictures of his kids. His one fear was that he wouldn’t be there for them, and though he had no regret in serving his country, he envied me because I didn’t have the added worry of leaving behind any children. That’s when it hit me—every soldier with kids waiting for them at home has this fear. Worse, there are countless kids who’ll be forced to grow up never knowing their fathers. This was my single motivating factor when I re-upped, Luce. Maybe I wasn’t thinking straight at the time, but in my grief I believed I could fill a space that might otherwise be taken by a family man. I did it in honor of my friend, and my country.