Taking A Chance_Delos Series_Book 7B1

by Lindsay McKenna

  Two days ago, when they talked out on the couch, he’d seen his words affect her in a new, positive way. He’d seen a light of understanding enter her eyes when he’d shared a bit from his childhood. Ram hadn’t meant to go there, but it was all he had, his whole world experience for eighteen years had been centered on that seedy hotel he called home.

  Since his brief sharing, he’d felt better about himself, a sense of release. He even felt better about himself and Ali. It felt damn good to share something that would help her, instead of tearing her down. Now he wanted to build her up and show her how helpful he could be during this tough time. This new intimacy, while just in its beginning stages, was feeding both of them in a profound way. And it was just in time, because Cara’s situation had created a black cloud hanging over this house, where it would live for some time to come.

  For once, he could be a harbinger of healing words and actions that would nurture and support Ali.

  “Hey, Ram . . . ”

  He snapped his head up, deep in thought. Ali was smiling at him over her shoulder.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes.” For you. Of course, those words never left his mouth. Instead, he ambled toward the counter near the stove where she was working. “That bacon sure smells good.”

  “Did I wake you up banging pots and pans around in here?”

  “No, I was up already,” he told her. He wasn’t going to tell her about the debrief sitting on her laptop. Ram wanted this time alone with her. Maybe it was selfish, but he didn’t care. To him, Ali was an oasis of calm, and she made him happy. “Is there anything I can do? Set the table?”

  “Sure,” she said. “You know where everything is. I got up early and was hungry.”

  “Yeah, everyone else is still asleep,” he said, bringing down two plates and setting them next to the stove. “What got you up at the crack of dawn?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. She took some bacon out of the skillet, placing it into a plastic basket lined with paper napkins. Draining off the grease, she pulled over the bowl of eggs she’d prepared earlier. “You’re up early, too.”

  “I had a good dream,” he admitted, putting flatware on the table along with paper napkins.

  “That’s nice. At least someone gets them,” she muttered, pouring the egg mixture into the skillet. She added shredded cheese, chopped white onions, and some sliced, mild green chilies to it.

  Ram came over and watched her scramble the eggs with a whisk. “Are you having nightmares? Flashbacks?” He knew from personal experience that those with PTSD routinely had them, and with the stress in the household, Ali might be getting them again. Stress always brought them back for him.

  “Yes,” she growled, unhappily. “I should expect it. I don’t know what all has happened to Cara, but she’s having a bad time, losing sleep, having flashbacks . . . ”

  Ram wanted to come over and slide his arm around her hunched shoulders and offer some tenderness. She sounded deeply troubled, but said nothing more as she split up the scrambled eggs, dividing them evenly onto the plates. He walked over and picked up the plates.

  “Come on, let’s eat,” he invited, careful not to sound bossy.

  Placing the iron skillet aside, she said, “I’m not hungry anymore, but I know I have to eat.”

  Ram pulled out the chair for her and she halted, her brows flying up in surprise, looking at him.

  He gave her a slight grin. “What? Are you going to tell me you never knew I was a gentleman?” He’d never have done this for her in the team. Amusement replaced the darkness on her face, and he saw that his teasing had a positive effect on her. That was another revelation for Ram.

  “You took the words right out of my mouth, Torres,” she chuckled, sitting down. He sat opposite her at the round table, formed from carefully placed staves of saguaro cacti that had been glued together. The grayish inner wood of the magnificent cactus had been filled with plastic, the surface smoothed and transparent, revealing the ribs and holes within it. The glass top had been placed over it, giving a person a look at the woody inner world of the world-famous cactus.

  Ram had found out that one of Diego’s side businesses was carpentry. The man was a talented artist, and he loved working in the large garage attached to the house. He sold handmade furniture to people all over the Southwest. Diego was making a name for himself, and the saguaro table was a prime example of his creativity at work. At some point, Ram intended to visit the garage to look at the furniture he was producing. Diego was an example of a simple man who was succeeding by focusing on nature’s creative beauty for others. Ram absorbed the man’s way of living, feeling inspired by it.

  “Your mother looks pretty stressed out,” Ram said between bites. “Is that true or am I off base?” He decided he was going to open up more. Instead of analyzing every word before speaking, he’d openly present them to Ali and see how she reacted.

  Buttering her toast, she said, “Mama is very psychic. She feels a lot around Cara, but Cara isn’t saying much. Right now, all she’s doing is hiding in her room. She doesn’t want to come out, holds her stuffed bear, and stares out the window. Mama’s frustrated because she thinks something terrible happened to Cara, but she can’t prove it.”

  Ram said nothing, knowing what was in that debrief she would read shortly. He wasn’t going to stop her from doing it because it wasn’t his place to do so. His job was to pick up the family’s pieces after Ali read it.

  “When a person feels those things,” he said, “does knowing them make it worse for that person? Like being able to get inside someone’s head to know their secrets, or in this case, to discover what really happened? Is that why it’s more stressful for your mother?”

  Ali gave him a pleased look. “I never realized the depth of you, Ram. That’s exactly where Mama’s at. I’m not as good as she is about ‘feeling’ people, but I sense tragedy and grief around Cara, things I’ve never felt around her before.”

  “You and your mother are very much alike,” Ram agreed. “And I see your father’s work ethic in you, as well. Who does Cara take after?”

  “My grandmother Victoria, on my father’s side, I think. His mother was very co-dependent, a fragile person, afraid of living life alone, and her husband was very protective of her. She best expressed herself through her paintings, which were very beautiful.” Ali gestured toward the living room. “She did all the oil paintings you see in our home.”

  “Incredible,” Ram said, impressed. “Maybe she had what we call an ‘artist’s temperament’?”

  She laughed, “Could be. I, on the other hand, can’t draw a circle! I missed out on the artistic gene from the family.”

  He grinned. “You can sure as hell shoot from a mile away and hit a target, though. Not many people in the world have that skill.” He saw her grimace. “Hey, that was a compliment.”

  “I know . . . thanks.” She looked up at him. “I guess I never took after my parents. Only after I went into the military did my skills come out.”

  “Yes, and you’ve saved a lot of lives, Ali. Never forget that.”

  Ali leveled a look at him, and gave him a look of praise. “I never thought I’d say this, Ram, but you’re good for me. You show me the other side of the dark world we fight in. Sometimes, I think I’m losing my way.”

  He felt a deep sense of satisfaction within, a new sense of wonder that simply by opening up, he could feel almost euphoric. Especially when Ali responded so positively to his halting words of praise. Her appreciative response, the way she held his gaze, was like balm restoring his fractured soul.

  Clearing his throat, he rasped, “I’m glad. I’m going to start reminding you of all the good things you do, Ali. How healing you are to others. You’ve always had a pure heart.”

  If Ram hadn’t been watching her for a reaction, he’d have missed a look so exquisitely tender appear, it stole his breath away. The moment felt profound between them as they gazed at one another across t
he table. All the tension in Ali flowed out of her, revealing a woman who was terribly human, vulnerable, and needing his support, his healing words.

  Ram had never realized the impact that positive words could have, and this new awareness made him boldly press on. Ali was sitting there before him, remaining fearlessly available to him, trusting him.

  He’d missed so much. So much. But Ali was giving him a second chance. When she didn’t have to defend herself against him, she could relax and open up to him. Another flood of emotion, this one rich with promise, brought back his memory of that dream in the garden with Ali. Could it possibly come true?

  “You think you don’t say the right things at the right time, Ram. But you do. At least, with me.” She reached over, touching his hand resting on the table near his plate. “I need to be reminded at times like this when things look so dark. You give me hope. Do you realize that? I can’t believe it’s the same Ram Torres I knew from before. You were hiding such a wonderful side of yourself from all of us.”

  “If it helps, I’ll do it some more.” He saw her lower lip tremble and could feel just how emotional she had suddenly become. He’d never seen Ali cry except when she saw a child in danger. It was never about her. She needed to cry now but he was still reluctant to reach out to her.

  “What’re your plans for today?” he asked, changing the subject. Everyone had been sticking close to home because of Cara’s needs.

  “I don’t have any. I’ll check on Cara from time to time, knocking on her door. If she doesn’t answer, I won’t go in. Sometimes, she’ll ask me to come in. Otherwise, I leave her alone.”

  “It’s the right thing to do. Your parents live in a nice neighborhood. Do you ever walk around the area?”

  “We have two bikes,” she said, brightening. “It would be nice to do something different to break the energy around here. I wonder if Cara would be okay if we left for a little while and did a quick turn around the neighborhood? I know she depends on having you here as her guard dog.”

  “We wouldn’t be gone long and your parents have a radio they can use to contact us if we need to hurry back.”

  “That sounds great,” Ali said, finishing off her eggs. “A fifteen-minute bike ride sounds wonderful, Ram. I really do need to get out of the house for a while.”

  “So do I.” But he had another reason for it. If Ali could have that time with him, she wouldn’t be reading that report. Oh, Ram knew that eventually she’d open up her laptop and find it there. He knew she was going to be very upset, and wanted to delay that a bit longer.

  “Okay,” he said, rising. “I’ll clean up in the kitchen. Go change if you need to, write your mother a note, and we’ll take off for a bit.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Mid-October

  Tucson, AZ

  Ali loved the cool morning air as they climbed on two of the bikes stored in the garage, and rode down the wide avenue. It was early, so few cars were on it this time of day. Ram cycled up beside her, remaining on the outside in his protective mode. This time, she didn’t bristle over it. In fact, since her return home to the bombshell issues with her sister, she needed someone to do that—protect her. Ram was turning out to be a safe harbor, much to her surprise. He hadn’t even complained about riding Cara’s ladies bike, such was his security about his own masculinity.

  They pedaled along the local streets in easy silence. The neighborhood consisted of many single-story yellow, pink, gray, and pale-green stucco homes with pretty, Spanish red-tile roofs. As they rode, Ali observed the desert landscape that everyone had in their yard. Water was precious, and most Tucson homeowners knew it, choosing xeriscaping instead of planting grass. Their front yards featured desert plants and trees that required little water.

  Ali and Ram had agreed to use the fifteen-minute bike ride so he could get a view of the neighborhood from a security perspective. Were there any danger spots? Ram made a few mental notes, and then realized he was having fun with Ali.

  She had come to the same conclusion. With the cool, morning air brushing past her face, it was actually enjoyable riding a bike alongside Ram.

  “This is the first time you’ve left the house,” Ram said as they turned a corner.

  “The last couple of days have been so intense,” Ali said. “I wanted to be there if Cara needed me.”

  “Right now, she probably needs your mother, too.”

  “You’re right. And that’s okay, but I can tell how wearing it’s becoming for Mama. I worry, Ram. This is all so new to her. She has her limits, too . . . everybody does.”

  Ram turned the corner onto another wide, quiet neighborhood street, staying abreast of Ali. “She appears to me to be a very strong woman. And if she is, Mary can handle it.”

  “My mother is the strongest person I know. You’re right about your assessment of her. I’m looking for ways to help Mama, though, Ram. She loves to cook for the family, but I’m going to jump in and help her. Plus, she’s on a Yaqui committee and has a lot of responsibility to her people. She’s so busy that some days, she’s pulled twenty different ways.”

  “I could tell that by all the phone calls she gets,” he said. “I admire her responsibility to her tribe.”

  “They’re her other family. And they’re my family, too.”

  “I heard Mary say that she was getting together a spirit-returning ceremony for Cara. What does that mean? I’m not up on Native American healing.”

  She smiled a little, enjoying the peaceful exchange with Ram. This was the first time he’d shown interest in her Yaqui background. “Most indigenous people believe that a traumatized person can lose a piece of his or her spirit. That piece has gotten “stuck” in the trauma, leaving the victim feeling as if he or she isn’t whole . . . and it’s true.” She looked over at Ram, who was listening closely.

  “That’s amazing,” he said, his mind racing. The idea of the soul shattering into pieces after a trauma—well, it sounded very possible, even for a non-believer. The imagery certainly hit home.

  Ali nodded and went on. “A ceremony can be offered to the Great Spirit or whomever the tribe believes in to ‘call’ that piece home to the individual. When it comes back, the medicine person blows it back into the person’s head and heart, welcoming it back home, asking it to stay. Then, the person doesn’t feel disconnected, or as if something was taken from them, or that something is missing any longer. They’re whole again and it helps them heal from the trauma much more quickly.”

  Ram surprised her by giving her a boyish grin. “I must have pieces of my soul scattered all over Afghanistan, then, because I’ve seen a lot of trauma.”

  Snorting, Ali said, “You and me both. Our auras probably look like Swiss cheese from a psychic’s viewpoint.”

  “Has your mother ever performed the ceremony for you?”

  “Yes, several times.”

  “Did it work? Did you feel different because of it?”

  Ali could see he was trying to grasp the concept and understand it. “Yes, it did work because I felt better afterward, more stable, more ‘myself’ again.”

  “Will Cara agree to do it? I’m assuming your mother has to ask if Cara wants this ceremony done for her?”

  “Oh, my mother would never do this without permission. Yes, she did ask Cara and she does want the ceremony. I think it will really help her.”

  “I hope it does,” Ram said. “I truly do.”

  By the time they returned home, Ali saw that the front door was open. As they walked the bikes up the driveway, she could smell bacon frying. Her mother was up and making breakfast for the others. She was glad she had left a note next to the stove so her mother wouldn’t worry about them. They opened the garage door, stowed the bikes, and hung up the helmets nearby.

  Now, Ali had to prepare herself for the day ahead. “Thanks for going on that ride with me,” she told Ram, halting at the door between the garage and house. “That was a great idea.”

  He looked up at her. “You look better, a
nd the tension’s left your face.”

  “Thanks to you. Keep talking to me, Ram. I like meeting this side of you.” She saw a wicked look come to his eyes. “I mean it. I really do.”

  Ram smiled a little. “I guess I’m kind of getting used to it a little more every day, Ali. It doesn’t feel so hard for me to stay open to everyone. You’re being my teacher, too, in another way and I appreciate it.”

  Ali became quiet, studying him in the silence that fell softly between them. “When we talked down in Mexico after the mission, I wanted to try and know the real you, Ram.” She opened her hands toward him. “I just never dreamed that this was who you are when you’re not hiding it.”

  He gave her an uneven smile. “I’m trying and I want to do it for both of us, Ali.”

  Her lips curved slightly and she nodded. “It means so much to me that you are trying.”

  He reached out, lightly touching her hand on the wooden rail of the stairs she stood upon. “That’s good to know.” He tried to lighten the conversation. “What you need to do is get out of the house more often. Break the energy, as you’ve said before. It’s healthy to do that, Ali. Right now, Cara’s fighting her own internal war. We know what that’s like because of our own PTSD. She’s got to name it, understand it, and learn to live with it. None of that’s going to be easy, as we well know.”

  “I just wish,” Ali said, her voice soft, “that of all the people this could have happened to, it hadn’t been Cara. She’s so unlike a warrior, and I don’t know if she has the fighting spirit it takes.”

  “People are resilient and she might surprise you,” he soothed, removing his hand from hers. He’d seen her eyes grow tender when he touched her, so he left his hand in place, understanding it might be giving her nourishment in an emotional sense. And when he lifted it away, he saw her expression sag, as if he was feeding her and she needed what he was sharing with her. Ram wasn’t sure about it all because he was still learning himself. “Look, Ali, while all this attention is good for Cara, she’s not going to get strong until everyone starts letting her stand on her own two feet. Maybe you can get your mother to come with you to run errands. She needs to get out of the house sometimes, too.”