It was another two hours before Wisniak was escorted upstairs, leaving Reza with instructions to have someone bring a change of clothes and some very basic hygiene items within the next day or so.
The sky was still pitch black when Emily finally walked out of the emergency room to the parking lot where she’d left her car. Reza waited for her, leaning against his truck in the cool morning air. She wondered when he’d swapped his bike for his truck and figured it didn’t really matter.
“You look exhausted,” he said softly as she approached.
“You flatterer,” she said with a tired smile. “But you’re right. Double shifts are often rough.” She paused. “Come home with me?” It was less than a question, more than an order. There was something needy inside her, something that wanted to be held and comforted.
She didn’t want to be alone but more, she didn’t want Reza to be alone. He looked edgy tonight. Raw.
He reached for the keys in his front pocket, but not before she noticed his hand was trembling. “I’m not really fit company tonight, Emily.”
“You’ve said that before.” She took a single step closer to him. Close enough that the heat of his body radiated into hers. Close enough that she could snag his hand and cradle it between hers. She didn’t care that they were in the hospital parking lot. That anyone could see them as the parking lot lights hummed overhead. “And I don’t care.”
He raised both eyebrows at her quiet words. He nodded then, after an impossibly long moment, and tugged his hand away from hers.
She drove out of the parking lot, anxious that he might not actually follow her.
But as she drove out of the main gate and away from Fort Hood, she breathed a silent sigh of relief that the headlights from his big truck stayed right behind her the entire way.
* * *
It probably wasn’t a good idea but then again, nothing with Emily seemed to be. He followed her away from the middle-income homes of Killeen, past Harker Heights and out toward the new development in Nolanville.
He was still marveling at the woman who’d captured his interest when he stepped across her threshold and into her home. It was exactly how he expected her to live. Books were stacked around the living room. Overfull bookshelves filled a small study. An empty wine glass sat on a coaster on the coffee table.
“You drink alone?” he asked.
She lifted one shoulder as she dropped her keys into a small dish on a table in the foyer. “Not against the rules.” She toed off her shoes and crossed the scant distance between them in bare feet.
The door closed behind him as her arms came around his waist. He pulled her close and rested his cheek against the top of her head. “I’m so tired,” she whispered. Her warm breath penetrated the thin fabric of his t-shirt.
He said nothing. He felt the fatigue in his bones. The need for a drink was even stronger.
She tipped her face up, brushing her lips against his. There was something deeply comforting here, something he was selfish enough to crave.
He followed her to her bedroom, noticing all the things he hadn’t noticed before. The comforter was deep tan laced with gold. One half of the bed was neat, the other slightly rumpled, as though she only slept on one half of it. Her furniture was solid. Expensive, not particle board like something a kid in the barracks would buy.
He felt her eyes on him as he toed off his own shoes, then pulled off his t-shirt. She slipped out of most of her own clothing, leaving on the t-shirt and panties. He ached for her but tonight, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to simply slide into her bed, feel her body soft and warm nestled against him. Her hair was cool against his shoulder when she rested her cheek against his heart. Her legs twined with his, smooth where his were rough.
He drifted for a while as her fingers traced the names on his upper arm. For once, a woman’s attention on his tattoos didn’t make him go cold. He hadn’t etched those names and places into his skin for a woman’s attention. There was a reason he wore long-sleeved shirts most of the time.
He did it for himself. To honor the men he’d served with. The men he’d failed. But as her fingers traced over al Najaf and Fallujah and Ramadi, he was oddly comforted by her soft touch. For once the scars on his soul didn’t burn, didn’t drive him to raid her kitchen for a drink in a vain attempt to deaden the pain that he knew he’d never escape.
His body settled into the idea that he was wrapped in a woman’s embrace and for once, there was nothing sexual about it. Reza didn’t sleep with women. Not like this. And yet, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to lie with her as her breathing deepened. Her fingers traced the letters on his arm until she shifted and her palm came to rest on the black sickle that covered his heart. Her hand was warm and soft over the exposed, ragged wounds tonight. As he drifted into a restless sleep, he turned his face toward Emily and rested his cheek against the top of her head.
The cool kiss of her hair against his skin took him down into sleep.
* * *
Emily came awake to the sensation that something was wrong. She opened her eyes to see a very tense Reza, asleep in the center of her bed. Instantly alert, she leaned up at the sound of his mumbled words. His mouth moved but the words were incoherent. The emotion behind them was not.
His fists spasmed as he argued with whatever demon hunted his sleep. She’d never seen this side of the big man. He was always so fierce, so strong. She nudged his shoulder gently, a thousand stories racing through her mind of women who’d tried to wake up lovers from nightmares. Fear skittered down the center of her spine as his eyes flew open.
A pregnant moment hung between them. He scowled, his expression harsh and unforgiving. She held her breath, bracing for his anger, but then he blinked slowly, his expression softening even as a flush crept up his dark skin.
“Did I hurt you?” The first words out of his mouth were thick. Rough.
“No.” She wanted to ask him if he wanted to talk about it but the words were frozen in her throat.
He turned toward her and opened his arms. She slipped against him, her body surrounded by his, her skin absorbing his heat. He smoothed her hair down and rested his cheek against her head. The gesture soothed the ragged fear that had clung to her like a wet cloak since she’d woken him.
He shared her bed but that did not mean he was willing or even able to let her, as he’d put it the first time they’d slept together, go poking at his demons.
The barrier bothered her on a personal level and had nothing to do with her profession. She wanted this man, desired him like she’d desired no other since…ever. She’d never desired her ex this way.
Her eyes fluttered closed as sleep pulled her back down, the rhythmic feel of Reza’s breathing surrounding her. And as she slid down into sleep, she chased the idea that maybe someday he would start unpacking all the baggage that weighed on his sleep. If not with her, with someone else.
She was not naïve enough to think she could be strong enough to save him. But Reza was worth saving. Worth fighting for.
If he was talking to someone, to anyone, she would be happy. Knowing he was getting help, knowing he was unpacking the weight in his rucksack.
It was worth it, for now, just to know he was safe.
Chapter Twenty
Emily glanced up as Olivia slipped into her office Wednesday morning. “Someday, you’re going to have to teach me your secret. How do you always look so polished?”
Olivia worked at the hospital legal office and always managed to look dressed to kill, regardless of whether she wore the Army combat uniform or her Dress Blues. Her dark hair gleamed in the mid-afternoon light and her makeup was always flawless, no matter how close to the temperature of the sun it was in Texas. “It’s part of the job. Convincing the jury or the judge to listen to me is much easier if they’re not critiquing my hair or makeup.” Olivia sank into the chair across from Emily’s desk.
“Back to the matter at hand,” Emily said with a smile.
“What’s up?”
Her friend’s expression shuttered closed. “It’s about the shooting last week.”
“Figures,” Emily said dryly, her emotions still tender and raw from everything over the last week. For the first time since she’d known her, Olivia looked uncomfortable. “Olivia?”
“Em, there’s a formal investigation being launched. Against the company leadership. Against Reza and his commander.”
Her throat went dry. Had he known? Why hadn’t he told her?
Olivia shook her head, her hair reflecting the light overhead. “I’m on the team. And the commander wants someone from his staff that he trusts to look into…the mental health aspect of this death.”
Emily felt all the blood drain from her body. She sank back into her chair. “What is he looking for?”
“Whether there has been any undue influence regarding the medical care soldiers are getting.” Olivia offered a sympathetic smile. “I wanted you to hear it from me first.”
Emily searched for something, anything, to say but words escaped her.
“The entire chain of command is being investigated, Em,” Olivia said quietly. “You might want to stay away from him until this whole thing shakes out. This could go badly.”
“What do you mean, badly? We’ve got company commanders scheming to put soldiers out of the army before they can get the behavioral health care they need. How much worse could it go?” She couldn’t keep her composure. Everything she’d believed in about her new life seemed like a lie.
“You could get caught up in it. Be brought in because of undue influence through your relationship with Reza.”
Her blood was cold in her veins. Olivia’s hand on her forearm was unexpected and warm.
Emily glanced down at the gesture of friendship and it was suddenly the only thing that felt real. She felt hollow and empty. Unmoored.
Like everything she’d believed in was a lie.
Reza was being investigated along with his commander.
“You need to keep this to yourself,” Olivia said quietly.
“Who am I going to tell?” Emily said, not restraining the sarcasm in her voice. Reza. Reza was being investigated.
“Regardless. Em, this is echelons above your pay grade.”
Emily smiled but it felt as cold as her hands. “I’m fine. I won’t discuss it.” She tried to warm her eyes. She failed. “I’ll keep it to myself. Thank you…for letting me know.”
“Sure.” Olivia stood, lifting her bag onto her shoulder. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Emily shrugged. “Kind of have to be, don’t I?”
“Em…”
“I’m fine. Really.”
“You can talk to me, you know.” Emily looked up at her friend. “You know, if it starts to get to you?”
This time, Emily’s smile came from the heart. Her chest expanded with it. “I know. Thanks for looking out for me.”
“We’ll try to move this along as quickly as we can, okay?”
She said nothing as Olivia left. The silence echoed in her office. Her fingers shook.
And fear crept like ice up her spine.
* * *
Reza sat in his truck outside headquarters and took a deep breath, trying to steady his hands without reaching for the fresh pint in his glove box at oh dark thirty on a Wednesday morning. A week since Sloban had killed himself. A week since Reza’s world at home had been shattered by the same violence he lived with downrange.
Five days since his last drink.
He didn’t know why he kept it so close. A smarter man might have removed all the temptation. He hated thinking of himself as weak.
But the pint was there and every time he didn’t take a drink, he felt like he’d won another round.
He’d already dragged his dead ass onto post the morning after pulling an all nighter with Emily in the ER. Now he just had to summon the energy to go into the office. He didn’t want to deal with Captain Marshall’s bullshit.
He slammed his head back against the seat rest, frustrated and tired. Maybe he needed to take some leave. He was starting to lose his mind. He should head down to Mexico and completely lose his shit for a few days. Come back rested. Relaxed.
Sober.
He snorted and grabbed his keys out of the ignition. He didn’t know the meaning of the word. Locking the truck behind him, he headed into the office before formation to get a head start on some of the day’s paperwork. He still needed to finalize all the paperwork he’d need for Sloban’s memorial.
Some soldiers didn’t believe soldiers who killed themselves deserved a memorial. Reza wasn’t about to entertain that shit.
Sloban deserved a memorial.
He should have known better than to think the day was going to be anything but a disaster. Why had he thought Marshall would just sign the paperwork and leave Reza to do his job?
Instead, Marshall’s reaction punched him square in the gut.
“Fuck no.”
Reza’s skin went cold. It was too early in the morning for this shit. “Sir?” Reza asked through clenched teeth.
“I’m not doing it. I’m not doing a memorial ceremony for some coward who kills himself.”
The hair on the back of his neck prickled. And now he knew why some soldiers were grumbling about suicides. It was coming straight from the top. Reza chose his words carefully. “Sloban was a good kid, sir. He was a warrior.”
Marshall’s all-American smile twisted into a sneer. “He was a coward. He didn’t deserve the honor of wearing our uniform.”
“He did three tours. All of them in heavy fighting.” Inside him, the beast was lashing at its bonds, struggling to break free and slam Marshall’s head into the desk to wipe that sneer off his face. “He wasn’t a coward.”
“I don’t care. I’m not signing that fucking paperwork.”
Reza ground his teeth and balled the paperwork up in his fist. Marshall glanced down at the crumpled memorandum.
“Watch it, Sergeant. I might mistake that as a threat.”
Reza threw the paperwork at his chest and barely managed to keep his temper in check. “Take it however the fuck you want.”
He left the office before he gave in to the temptation to do bodily harm to Marshall.
He said nothing to Foster as he passed him on the way to formation. Teague tried to make him laugh with some stupid story from his latest adventure in trying to piss off his boss.
Rage pulsed through his veins. He needed to cool off. To calm down.
He needed a goddamned drink.
He counted to one hundred as the flag went up, then turned the platoons over to their respective platoon sergeants before he took off, heading out of the parking lot. Needing to put a few miles of asphalt between himself and Captain Marshall. Maybe if he ran the three miles from First Cav to the Cavalry Regiment’s headquarters and back again, he’d be able to make it through the morning’s staff meeting without punching his commander.
He was a coward.
Cold fury detonated inside him as he sprinted down the main avenue. Sloban wasn’t a coward. They’d broken him. They’d done this to him. The commanders who failed to listen when a soldier said he was hurting, commanders who needed boots on the ground.
Fuck that. Sloban had gotten a raw deal. Reza hadn’t known how bad it was.
It was his goddamned fault that Sloban was dead. He could have helped him if he’d been sober.
He turned down Battalion Avenue and headed toward the Regimental headquarters, deciding to do the run after all. He wove through the bodies and the mass formations running down Battalion. He tried to focus on the rhythm, on the beats of his feet hitting the pavement. Instead, his mind kept circling back to Marshall’s words.
To the abject desolation in Sloban’s eyes the moment he pulled the trigger.
He ran. The images flashed through his brain and still he ran. His feet hit the pavement. Left. Right. Left. Right. Until his breathing fell into rhythm with his steps.
He ran until the sun came up over the Corps headquarters and the sweat ran into his eyes. Until his mind emptied and his lungs burned.
He stopped just before he collapsed. Hands braced on his thighs, he knew he needed to straighten up and walk it off. Instead, he bent over and sucked oxygen into his starved lungs.
He straightened after a long moment. And looked dead on at the Cav Memorial. The granite gleamed in the morning sunlight. Names were carved into the polished stone.
The grief flooded back. Sloban’s name would never be on that memorial. He’d died by his own hand, killed by the enemy a year after he’d left theater. Because Sloban’s enemy was no less deadly than the mortars and the rockets and the deep buried IEDs in the sands of Iraq.
He looked up at the sound of shoes crunching over dried grass.
Teague walked up, his chest pumping hard.
Shame and grief and a thousand unsaid things washed over him when he realized that Teague had been behind him the whole time. Teague said nothing as he approached. He simply stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder, facing the memorial that held so many friends’ names.
“Marshall won’t do a memorial for Sloban,” Reza finally said.
Teague said nothing for a long moment. “Then we do one anyway.”
“I can’t get the chapel without the commander’s signature.”
Teague spat into the grass. “Then we do it in the motor pool. We do it at the hatch of our old Bradley.”
Reza nodded slowly. “Sloban would like that.” He cleared his throat roughly. Hiding the fact that his voice had cracked.
“I’ll take care of everything.” Teague gripped his shoulder.
Reza said nothing. He didn’t have to. They had a plan now to honor one of their own. They simply stood in silence for another long moment.
And after a time had passed, the knot in his chest eased up. Not much. But a little. Enough that he could breathe again.
For now.
* * *
Reza couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept, truly slept. None of that mattered, though, because he had work to do. Sloban’s memorial was going to be today. Reza wasn’t even remotely close to ready but he had to be. Evan Loehr had left him a voice mail, needing to speak to him about Wisniak first thing. Of course, Evan probably didn’t know that Wisniak had been admitted two nights ago. There was no reason for Evan to have known—Wisniak wasn’t in his company. Looked like Reza would probably be the first one to tell him. A great way to start off a morning. He stopped for coffee, needing the caffeine if he was going to survive the rest of the day.
All for You Page 23
