I park in my spot in the parking garage next to Tuck’s crotch rocket. The bike is sweet, but it scares the shit out of me. He is a good driver, wears a helmet and all the protective leather gear, but it’s still not enough for me. Those things are dangerous as shit, but he won’t give it up. Loves it.
I take the stairs to help work off some of my irritation. I’m annoyed with myself for what happened with Arianna. Why can’t I get over Zara? Okay, not get over her per se, but move on, why can’t I move on?
I shove my key into the lock and open the door. The condo door opens into a small entry hallway that leads right into the living room. We have it set up so that the couch is facing the door so that Tuck can see when someone comes in if he’s sitting there. We realized shortly after moving in together that we needed to change the furniture around. Since Tucker is deaf and can’t hear the door open and close, I scared the shit out of him multiple times before he got fed up and turned the couch.
He is sprawled on the couch, one arm tucked behind his head as he watches the flat screen TV in the corner. It’s on mute, but he has the closed captioning running. He glances over at me, sees the look on my face and frowns. He sits up, his wild dark brown hair a mess as usual, and his bright blue eyes scan over me from head to toe.
“What happened? You don’t look too happy,” he says.
I drop my keys on the table next to the door and use sign language - which I learned while in the service from a buddy of mine - to talk to him because I just don’t feel like talking out loud. Since he is basically deaf – he can only hear really loud bass noises, like fireworks or an explosion, and even that's muffled – I don’t have to bother actually speaking out loud since we both know sign language.
“I ended it, it wasn’t going to work out,” I sign, heading into the kitchen for a glass of water.
He gets up and follows me. “What? I thought you guys were getting along?” he asks in confusion. He may not be able to hear, but he can still speak perfectly.
I turn to face him so he can see my mouth when I talk because he can read lips really well. “We do get along, but I feel nothing for her, and I don’t want to lead her on. I don’t want her to think that there is a chance it will go anywhere, because it won’t,” I say, watching him as he watches my mouth.
He sighs in resignation and nods. He knows, he understands, I knew he would.
“In another place and time, maybe if Zara never came into my life, Arianna would have been perfect for me. Now, though, I have nothing to give her.”
Tucker nods again and leans his hands on the island counter, the muscles in his arms bunching under his skin. He’s wearing his trademark wife beater and sweatpants. It’s what he wears when he’s not in his shirt and tie for work or his leathers when riding his bike. He will occasionally wear jeans and a t-shirt if we go out somewhere, but it’s rare. He likes to be comfy, he says.
“It’s a shame, she really likes you,” Tucker says with a frown.
I sigh and rake a hand through my dark hair. “I know. That’s why I needed to end it now, before she fell in love with me or something.”
“You did the right thing,” he agrees.
“Thanks,” I say quietly, grateful for the reassurance.
“Right, so…wanna finish watching the game with me?” he asks with a nod toward the living room.
“Definitely,” I reply with a smirk.
~Tucker~
I’m running again. Why the fuck am I always running? Duke is in front of me and Chuck is behind. The street is filled with smoke from all of the burning buildings and vehicles. We’re trying to get the hell out of here and back to the Humvee. The mission is being aborted and we need to vacate ASAP. My chest is heaving with the force of my breaths and from carrying the extra fifty pounds of equipment that each of us carry.
I hear Chuck scream in pain behind me and I skid to a halt, as does my heart. I turn to see him clutching his left thigh with one hand as he tries to continue to run. Blood is seeping from between his fingers. Fuck, he’s been hit! I scream Duke’s name as I head back to help Chuck. I do my best to fight the panic and terror that is starting to bubble up inside of me. There is a lot of blood coming from his leg. I have a horrible feeling that we’re not going to be making it out of here alive.
“Alright, man, you’re gonna be okay, I got you,” I yell to Chuck as I drape his right arm around my shoulders.
“Fuckers shot me!” he squawks, almost in disbelief. It would have been comical if the situation weren’t so dire.
Duke is a few feet in front of us, watching our backs as we fight to make our way down the road in a timely fashion. I can see the Humvee and the rest of our squad waiting for us. Almost there.
The three of us are about fifteen feet away when it happens. An RPG hits the Humvee. Duke, Chuck, and I are blown back. The explosion is so loud that the pain in my ears is instant.
The weight on my chest is almost unbearable. What the hell happened? Why do I feel like I have two hundred pounds of dead weight lying on top of me? I blink open my eyes, coming face to face with Chuck’s lifeless hazel eyes. I scream. Or at least I think I scream. I can’t hear myself. Actually, I can’t hear anything. A moment later, Chuck’s dead body is rolled off me and…Dennis’ face comes into view? His mouth is moving, so I know he’s talking, but I can’t hear anything. He grabs my flak jacket and shakes me, his mouth still moving. Wait…that’s not right, Dennis wasn’t there that day. It’s supposed to be Duke that grabs me.
I wake suddenly, arms flailing. Warm hands grab my bare shoulders. My eyes flip to the man leaning over me. Dennis. Shit, I had another nightmare. I clutch his forearms, close my eyes, and blow out a harsh breath. Fuck, that had been a bad one. So vivid, I felt like I was back in Iraq. I could smell the burning flesh and taste the metallic tang of blood in the air. I shudder at the thought.
Dennis pats my face to get my attention. I open my eyes and stare at him through the darkness. His expression is one of sympathy and understanding. He knows what my nightmares entail, always the same one over and over. I told him about that day, about how I wouldn’t be alive if Chuck hadn’t moved in front of me at the last second. He took the brunt of the blow and the large chunk of shrapnel that came flying at us. Survivor’s guilt, that’s what my therapist calls it.
“You were screaming,” Dennis says. I can’t hear him, but I read his lips.
I always wonder what his voice sounds like. I wonder if it sounds how I think it sounds - deep, yet soft. I’ll never know. The doctor said back when it first happened that they could fix my hearing, but I chose not to. It’s my penance, my way of dealing with surviving when my friend - my brother - died for me. The least I can do for him is live with the disability that I was given.
I nod jerkily.
“Are you okay?”
I nod again. Dennis’ hands tighten on my shoulders for a moment before he slowing lets them slip away. He is still sitting on the bed next to me but I feel the loss when he lets me go. I rub my face roughly with my hands before raking them through my hair.
“That was a bad one,” I say, looking over at him in case he responds.
He nods. “Do you want me to stay?” he asks.
I swallow hard as I nod. My whole body is still trembling and I just don’t want to be alone right now. This wouldn’t be the first time that we spend the night in the same bed. Many times in the VA hospital, when either of us would have a nightmare, the other would climb into the bed and offer their support. I haven’t met many men who are willing to share a bed with another man, but Dennis doesn’t mind, and he seems to need it as much as I do.
Dennis takes off his prosthetic and leans it against the bedside table before scooting under the covers next to me. I roll onto my side, my back to him. No words are needed, he turns and plasters his chest against my back and wraps his arm around me, his hand patting my chest a few times. His hips keep their distance, which makes me smile to myself. Dennis might be comfortable snuggling, bu
t he’s still a straight guy and straight guys keep their dicks away from another guy’s ass.
We both take a deep breath and settle down into the bed. I can feel Dennis’ breath on the back of my neck. I can’t help but think about how lucky I am to have met him. He’s turned out to be the greatest friend. It helps that we’re both fucked up and understand that about each other. I slowly start to drift back off, knowing that I'm safe in the arms of my best friend. The rest of the night is nightmare free.
My internal alarm wakes me the next morning. I wake up at six am, every morning, always. The warm body beside me reminds me that Dennis is still in my bed. I sit up and look back at him. He’s on his back, one hand tossed over his head, while the other rests on his chest, over his heart. His dark hair is mussed and his jaw is covered in dark stubble. His full lips are parted as he breathes. I glance down the rest of his body. His upper body is bare, showing off his lean, muscled form. The sheet covers him from the waist down. One foot is peeking out from the bottom of the sheet. His other foot is propped against the bedside table. I can’t imagine what it’s like losing a limb.
Dennis seems to handle it pretty well on the outside, but I know he’s struggling still with coping. He feels like less of a person, less of a Marine, less of a man. He can’t do certain things or get a job that he wants in law enforcement because of it, and also because of the mental issues that he’s acquired. He doesn’t have the best prosthetic available, either. He doesn’t complain, but I know that it will sometimes cause him pain if he’s on his feet for too long. To get another, though, would cost him several thousand dollars that he doesn’t have. And he will never ask anyone to lend him the money.
I glance back up at his face. I usually don’t notice whether or not another guy is handsome or good looking or whatever, but for some reason, I think Dennis is an extremely handsome man. His dark mahogany hair has grown out some since we left the VA hospital and he got back from his little fling as a bodyguard for one of the guys in the band that his sister manages. He always seems to have a five o’clock shadow on his face, whether he shaves or not. And his eyes…his eyes are a medium green, and I’ve noticed that there are some flecks of gold in them. Which kind of freaks me out because I don’t usually pay that close of attention to another man’s eyes.
Dennis’ mouth tilts down into a frown and his dark brows knit together. He stirs in his sleep, shifting under the sheet. He grumbles incoherently as he stretches out his large body. He cracks his eyes open and glances over me lazily.
His eyebrow rises wryly. “Are you watching me sleep?” he asks.
I can feel the heat rise up my face. I see his chuckle so I give him a gut shot. He scrunches up and uses his hands to sign, “Do you want me to piss in your bed, asshole?”
I laugh as he rolls over and sits up. He puts his prosthetic on and pushes to his feet. He’s wearing only his gray boxer-briefs that hug his round ass. And why the hell am I checking out his ass? Jesus fucking Christ, I must be losing my mind. I scrub my hands roughly over my face. When I look back at Dennis, who is limping his way to my bedroom door, he reaches around and scratches his ass crack, nice and deep. That’s just…great…exactly what I need to see. I shake my head. That’s what I get for checking out another man’s ass
~Dennis~
I stare down at the drunken idiot in front of me, my arms crossed over my chest. He’s screaming at me because I won’t let his already wasted ass into O’Reilly’s Pub, where I’m head bouncer. Okay, I don’t like to boast, but I’m not a small dude. I’m 6’4” and built. I’ve been told many times that I am very intimidating looking. Not only by my size but also by the tendency to give people my “Marine” face. Tuck says that I look cold and hard when I have that face on. Apparently, this guy, who is maybe 5’6”, 130 lbs., is not at all bothered by my size. He’s too drunk and belligerent to realize that he is seriously out-sized.
My patience is slowing waning and I’m about to let this little fucker have it. Apparently, one of his friends, who has been trying to get him to calm down, notices that I’m not going to take much more, because he physically grabs the guy around the waist and hauls him away. His other friends apologize like crazy before following them down the street. It’s people like that who make this job suck ass. I have no other choice, though. I’m not qualified, or physically and mentally able to do any other job. I don’t have computer skills like Tucker, and I really have no other training other than being a Marine. I mean, I went in when I was 22, but I didn’t go to college. I worked dead end jobs to feed my sister and me because my parents weren’t doing it. As soon as she turned 18 and was able to get out of their house, I joined, fulfilling the need to make something of myself. Plus, I can only do so much with my insurance issued prosthetic. I can’t even walk right, I limp.
I glance at my watch. 1:50 a.m. Almost closing time, thank god. They should have already done last call about five minutes ago. I glance through the window to see people at the bar paying their tabs and people at tables gathering their things to head out. When I turn back around, I see Tucker walking toward me, a big grin on his face. I smile in return as he comes up and gives me a man hug - you know, the clasp hands and bump shoulders kind.
“Hey man, what are you doing here?” I sign to him when we part.
He shrugs nonchalantly. “Was in the area. I’m hungry, thought maybe we could go grab a burger,” he says.
My stomach rumbles at just the thought of a juicy delicious burger. “Hell yeah, I’m down,” I agree, letting him read my lips this time.
Tucker gives me a lopsided grin, his crystal blue eyes shimmering in amusement. I look him over; he’s actually wearing jeans and a nice button down shirt. I blink at him before raising an eyebrow in curiosity.
“Were you on a date or something?” I ask.
He blushes slightly and looks down at himself. He looks back at me and says, “I wouldn’t so much call it a date.” His grin turns mischievous.
And that’s when I notice his hair is more ruffled than usual and his lips are pinker and a bit swollen. I smile knowingly and nod. I give him a playful punch in the shoulder.
“Nice, man, was she hot?” I ask. Not that I really care what she looks like, but it seems like the thing to ask.
Tuck grunts. “Very,” he says, raking a hand through his medium brown hair.
“Sweet. Alright, let me go kick the rest of these people out so we can get out of here,” I mutter, making sure not to turn away before finishing my sentence.
Tucker chuckles and nods. He shoves his hands in his front pockets and waits on the sidewalk for me. I go inside, hurry the few stragglers out the door, and make sure the manager knows that I’m leaving, then head out.
Tucker and I walk a couple of blocks down to an all-night diner. The hostess leads us to a booth and we get settled in. Tucker immediately picks up the menu and starts perusing. He must have worked himself up an appetite. I snort to myself. Wish I knew how that felt. My mood quickly turns sour. I’m fairly certain that I’m going to be alone forever - no wife, no kids, and no life other than the one I’m barely making my way through now. If it wasn’t for my sister, Beau, and Tucker, I would have eaten a bullet a while ago.
“Hey, what happened?” Tucker’s voice asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I look up to find him frowning hard at me, menu down and forgotten. I shake my head. “Nothing,” I mutter.
“Bullshit, you were fine up until we sat down, what changed?” he asks. I know from the tone of his voice that he isn’t going to let it go.
I sigh, close my eyes, and rub my forehead with my fingers.
“Denny, talk to me,” he says, more gently this time.
I lift my face from my hands and sign to him. The one good thing about not having to speak out loud to him is that our conversations can’t be overheard. “I just hate that I’m going nowhere in my life. I have a suck ass job, no money, half a leg, and I can’t get over my dead wife, which means it will just be me and my h
and for the rest of my life.”
Tucker sighs heavily and rubs the side of his face before replying in sign language, “I’m sorry if my extracurricular activities brought this on.”
I roll my eyes. “Come on, man, I don’t expect you to be celibate like me, you know that.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad.”
“I just don’t know what to do about it. Zara was everything to me and I just can’t picture any other woman taking her place.”
A wicked glint appears in Tucker’s eyes and I know what he’s going to say before he says it.
“Maybe you should try being with a guy then.” He chuckles as he signs it to me. “You might not be able to handle being with a woman, but a man is completely different, nothing like Zara.”
I shake my head and throw a piece of bread at him, making him duck. “You offering?” I tease.
He barks out a laugh. “Hell no!”
I snort and am about to reply but the waitress appears. She’s cute and has a pretty smile. Her long dark hair is pulled up into a high ponytail. She looks young, probably about 25 or so. She has big brown eyes and a cute little nose, built perfectly with a nice sized chest and round ass. She glances at both of us, her brown eyes darkening with lust. Wow. I glance at Tucker and he sends me a look, letting me know that he noticed it, too.
“Hi guys, my name is Regan and I’ll be your waitress tonight, can I start you off with something to drink?” She asks, her voice low and sultry. I think that she wants more than to get us a drink.
“I’ll have a lemonade,” I say.
She gives me a sexy smile as she writes it down. “Sure, handsome.”
Regan then turns to Tucker. “And for you, blue eyes?”
He gives her his naturally cocky smirk and orders water with lemon. I watch in fascination as she basically eye fucks us before she saunters off to get our drinks. I slowly turn back to look at Tucker. He’s watching her ass sway. He finally swings his gaze back to meet mine, his mind working, I can tell. I can almost see the gears in his head turning.
War Wounded (The War Trilogy #2.5) Page 13
