Taking Fire

by Cindy Gerard

  “Barely a concussion.”

  Although he felt a bit concussed right now. The scent of her, her nearness, the way her hair tumbled softly down her shoulders. It took him back to the bed in a Kabul hotel where they’d spent hours making each other feel amazing. Where she’d made him fall in love.

  “It’s fine,” he said, cuing back in to her question. “I’m fine. What about you?”

  “I’m okay,” she said softly.

  And that pretty much dead-ended the conversation. But not his memories. And on their heels, that familiar burst of anger. It didn’t have to be this way. She could have told him. She could have figured something out. She didn’t have to leave him. She didn’t have to crush—

  Damn. He felt like a hamster in a cage. Constantly spinning, spinning, never getting where he needed to be.

  He didn’t know what to say to her. Apparently, she didn’t know what to say, either. So now what?

  He popped the cork on the wine bottle. “Would you like some?”

  She nodded. “Please.” And he filled her glass.

  And the silence became another entity in the room.

  “Meir should be down in a few minutes,” she said, breaking the quiet but adding to his tension. “I’d just gotten him out of the tub when you arrived, and he’s getting dressed.”

  “He takes care of that by himself?”

  “Oh, yeah. He’s very independent, insists he can get dried and dressed without any help.”

  Because she smiled, he figured she approved. And yeah, independence was a good thing. Even for a five-year-old. “How’s he doing?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about that before he came down.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “No,” she said quickly, and sat at the end of an overstuffed sofa, gesturing for him to take a seat. “Things are actually quite good.”

  He grabbed his drink and chose a chair directly opposite her. Not because he was afraid to get too close to her but . . . oh, hell. Yeah, that, he admitted to himself grudgingly.

  “He had his first session with the child psychologist today. She was very pleased with his overall emotional health. She’d like to see him a couple more times, just in case there’s some lingering trauma that hasn’t surfaced yet, but she was quite astounded by his ability to analyze and compartmentalize and most of all to realize the danger was past and that he feels secure.”

  “Good. That’s really good to hear. He’s one tough little guy.”

  “I . . . I want to apologize,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation. “I should have consulted you about the choice of psychologists. I’m so used to making all the decisions when it comes to Meir, I didn’t stop to think.”

  The concession caught him a little off guard. He had wished she’d consulted him, even though he would have deferred to her choice. So the fact that she’d apologized meant something. And while the next thought that tripped through his mind was I could have helped you with those difficult decisions for five years if you’d let me, he had difficulty mustering up the resentment. Mainly because she was no longer shutting him out. And she could have done so.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “Frankly, I was concerned you might not want me to be involved in his life, once things settled down.”

  Her eyes grew misty. “I realize why you’d think that. I could tell you a hundred times—a thousand—how sorry I am that I didn’t get in touch with you. And believe me, I am sorry. Now. But I believed the decisions I made back then were the right ones. Just as I now believe the only right decision regarding you and Meir is for you to be involved in his life. As his father.”

  Would he have taken her to court if she tried to keep him away from Meir? He didn’t know. But the thought had been there, in the back of his mind, in those moments when anger wove around uncertainty and his feelings turned negative. Hearing her say she wanted Meir to know him as a father eased a lot of tension. Gave him a lot of relief . . . which was quickly overrun by a familiar anxiety. What did he know about being a father?

  “Do I take your silence as relief or dread?”

  “Both,” he confessed. “A lot of relief, and I thank you for that. But I have to be honest. I don’t know the first thing about kids.”

  She smiled. “Well, you’re going to learn.”

  He smiled back. “Yeah. I guess I am.” After a moment, he asked, “When—or maybe the word is how—are we going to tell him?”

  “I spoke to the therapist about that. She suggested the three of us might go on a few play dates?” she said apprehensively. “Maybe to the zoo. Or the Smithsonian? A picnic by the river? The idea is to let him get to know you as a person before we tell him you’re his father.”

  “That makes sense, I guess. How do you feel about it?”

  “I like it,” she said simply. “And I like zoos, too.”

  When she smiled, he found himself smiling again. But a question remained. “What have you told him—in the past, I mean—about his father?”

  She looked at him, then away. “I told him his father loved him very much and that he wanted to be with us, but duty had taken him away.”

  Her admission shocked him. “He doesn’t think I’m dead?”

  “I don’t know what he thinks. I’m not sure how he interpreted it. He seemed to accept my answer and draw his own conclusions. And he’s never asked again.”

  Bobby heard child-sized footsteps bounding down the stairs. He jerked his head around. And there was his son.

  Warmth flooded his chest as Meir jumped over the last step to land with a thump on the floor, grinning from ear to ear. His dark hair was slicked down and wet; a smudge of what looked like chocolate rode on the edge of his grin. He looked happy and loved and like an all-American child in worn jeans, lime-green tennies, and a Dallas Cowboys T-shirt.

  “Hey, buddy.” His mother opened her arms when he scooted into the room. “Look. We’ve got company. Do you remember Mr. Taggart?”

  Suddenly shy, the boy lowered his head and leaned against Talia’s legs. “Hi,” he said to the floor.

  “Hello, Meir.” Bobby couldn’t take his eyes off the picture they made together. “You’re a Cowboys fan, huh?”

  That brought his head up. “Yeah,” he said, looking a little interested. “You like ’em?”

  “If you like ’em, I like ’em,” Bobby said.

  That brought a grin. “I’ve got a football,” Meir said, looking hopeful.

  “Yeah? Maybe after dinner, we can go out and toss it around for a while. If it’s okay with your mom, that is.”

  “Can we, Mom?”

  The excitement in Meir’s voice had Bobby’s heart expanding. When he glanced at Talia, he sensed she’d been watching him during the entire exchange.

  A telling smile lit her face. “Of course.”

  38

  It was as dark as a deep well. As quiet as a graveyard at midnight. Then Bobby heard a muffled chorus of whispers. The flashes of tracer fire grew closer as the enemy encountered the hidden trench.

  Light. Weak. Distant. More of an afterglow, like lightning strobes flashing beyond a coal-black horizon. It wouldn’t be long now.

  They were coming.

  He ducked behind a thick concrete wall, pressing his back flush against it. His finger poised on the trigger, he waited for the enemy to make their move.

  “Stand down,” he whispered to his team members. “Hold . . . hold.”

  Then they came. The shuffle of feet on concrete as the raspy breath of his enemy drew nearer.

  “Now!” He sprang around the wall, leaning on the trigger. “You’re a dead man!”

  “Aw, geez.” A boy of around sixteen glared at him. “Dude. You’re way too old to be playing laser tag.”

  “Then why am I still standing and you’re dead?”

  With a roll of his ey
es, the kid shuffled dejectedly back to his team’s utility box to reset his laser gun.

  “Nice shot, Bobby.”

  “What did you call me, soldier?” He scowled down at Meir.

  The boy giggled. “Oops. Sir. Nice shot, sir.”

  “There ya go.” He squatted down to Meir’s level. “Next one’s yours, Sergeant. Let’s go smoke ’em out.”

  “Yes, sir,” Meir said, with so much enthusiasm that Bobby laughed. Beside him, in the reflective light of the red sensor tags on her vest, Talia was smiling, too.

  This was their third outing in as many days, and he’d been having the time of his life.

  So had Meir, if the look on his face was any indication.

  “We make a good team,” Talia whispered, as they followed Meir down the dark hallway, on the lookout for the green and red enemy teams.

  They made a damn good team, Bobby agreed. He may be biased—hell yeah, he was biased—and Meir was pretty young, but the boy had all the makings of a super operator. He really got it when Bobby taught him the hand signals. And now, taking point, Meir attacked the game like a born leader.

  The kid was strategic and tactical and strong—like his old man. And sometimes, Bobby thought, as he followed Meir down the dark hallway, the way he smiled and the expressions he got on his face. Wow. He reminded him so much of himself when he was a boy. Like him, the kid was absolutely unstoppable.

  Pride swelled in his chest—and then he spotted the lights of the green team coming straight at them.

  “Take cover!” Bobby instinctively dived in front of Meir and took a bullet for him, taking out two enemy combatants as he fell, landing stretched out on the concrete floor with a thud.

  “Wow,” Meir said. “That was soooo cool!”

  Before Bobby could get up, the room lights flashed on, glaring into the battlefield like strobes.

  “Uh-oh.” Talia grinned down at him when a door opened and one of the game managers walked in.

  “Sir.” He scowled down at Bobby. “I told you during the first game, it’s against the rules to dive to the floor. I gave you a pass since it was your first time, but I can’t do it again. I’m afraid you’ll have to leave. And by the way, you’re the oldest person I’ve ever had to eject.”

  * * *

  They were still laughing when they pulled up in front of the Levines’ house.

  “Been a long time since I’ve been dressed down by a pimply-faced kid with a ponytail.” Bobby got out, then walked around to the passenger side of his truck and opened Talia’s door.

  “The look on your face.” Talia chuckled. “Priceless.”

  “Guess I didn’t set a very good example, huh, bud?” Bobby opened the rear club-cab door so Meir could get out.

  But he was sound asleep, his head lolling forward, his chest straining against the shoulder strap of the seat belt.

  “He’s gone.” Talia reached in and unbuckled his seat belt. “It was a very big day.”

  “Here, let me get him.”

  She stood back, and Bobby easily lifted around forty pounds of exhausted boy out of the truck.

  “Man. When he’s out, he’s out,” he whispered over Meir’s head as he cradled him against his chest. “And he goes one hundred percent, one hundred percent of the time.”

  “He loves being with you. It’s brought out a side of him I’ve been waiting to see. You’re good for him.”

  That went both ways. The heat and the weight and the little-boy salt and sweat scent of his son triggered emotions he’d never known were inside him. It wasn’t just that he felt protective of, proud of, or even love for his son. He felt . . . fuller. Like a part of him had been missing, and now he was whole. Like his reason to be was so much more significant than it had ever been before.

  All his life, he’d protected first his buddies, then his country. Now . . . now he had this small, perfect little person he was responsible for. It added weight. It added purpose. It added meaning to everything he did. It was scary as hell but more gratifying than he could have ever imagined.

  Talia let them into the house. “Mom and Dad are out for the evening. Bridge at the Emersons’.”

  “Sounds . . . exciting?” he said doubtfully.

  “Oh, it is. That sweet little woman I call Mom? She plays cutthroat.”

  “Good to know,” he said, laughing, and headed up the stairs.

  He knew which room was Meir’s. The boy had shown it to him yesterday before they’d left for the zoo. He’d felt a ridiculous rush of pleasure that Meir had wanted to share his private space with him.

  “Just lay him down,” Talia whispered, as she folded back a Dallas Cowboys sheet and bedspread. “He can sleep in his T-shirt and shorts tonight.”

  Bobby carefully deposited Meir on the bed, then took in the sight of his sleeping child’s face as Talia made quick work of removing his shoes and socks.

  “He’s a miracle,” he whispered, finding himself in another of those moments of wonder he so often experienced simply being around this child.

  “Come on downstairs,” Talia said. “If you’ve got a minute, I want to talk to you about something.”

  He gently brushed the hair back from Meir’s forehead, then followed her down the stairs.

  He’d been wanting to talk to her about something, too. He wanted to tell Meir he was his father. It was time.

  * * *

  “This morning, when we were waiting for you?” Talia turned away from the bar and handed him a glass of whiskey. “Meir told me that he wished you were his dad.”

  She watched his face. This rough, deadly warrior who ate bad guys for breakfast, who walked into live fire, turned into an emotional wreck right before her eyes.

  She sat down beside him with her wine. She’d fallen deeper in love each hour she saw him with Meir. So tough, so focused, and so in control in every way. Yet this boy could wring emotions from him she suspected no other living person ever had.

  “Thanks. For sharing that. And . . . wow.”

  She let him have his moment. Meir was head-over-heels hero-worship in love with Bobby. That also was a first. He’d always been reserved around the men in her life. Not that there’d been many. Mostly family men with children who were playmates. There’d been only a few men she’d dated during the last five years. None much more than once. One, however, she’d made an attempt to get to know better.

  Frank had been a nice guy. He’d liked Meir, and Meir had liked him. But he and she had never truly bonded, maybe because she hadn’t really given him a chance. Because Bobby Taggart’s memory had always haunted her.

  “I want to tell him,” he said, meeting her eyes. “What do you think? Is it too soon? I don’t want to mess this up or upset him.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it a lot.” She’d been thinking about him a lot, too. About how he was pleasant yet distant when he was around her. How he avoided any accidental contact between them. How he failed to pick up any signs she put out there that she wanted to be more to him than the mother of his child.

  It was frustrating. And a little heartbreaking. But she was a big girl. And this time was all about Meir. The condition of his heart was what mattered most.

  “How about the two of you have your own day together? Then you can decide whether you think he’s ready. When you come back, if you think it’s time, then we’ll tell him together.”

  He looked at her long and hard, then reached out and covered her hand with his. “You could have made this all so difficult. I want you to know how much I appreciate—”

  “He’s your son, Bobby,” she interrupted. “And if anyone has a right to be difficult, it’s you. You missed so much. Meir missed so much. I have to live with that—and with myself, knowing I’m responsible for those lost years for both of you.”

  There were only so many ways she could say she was sorry.
And there were only so many times she could look into his eyes and see how her decision to keep father from son had affected him. How it affected the two of them now. He said he wasn’t angry anymore, but if that were true, he should have forgiven her. But he hadn’t. And the longer time went on, the more she feared he never would.

  She turned her hand into his, gripped it tightly. “You haven’t asked, but I want you to know that I’m staying in D.C. It’s not only about you and Meir, but your relationship does play a big role in my decision.”

  His clear relief told her this issue had been weighing on his mind. And she’d told a white lie. Her decision did hinge on his and Meir’s budding relationship. She didn’t want to take them away from each other. And she wasn’t ready to give up on him yet, either.

  “I’ve had enough drama in my life,” she went on. “I want to start over here, where Meir can be close to you and to his grandparents. So they can enjoy being with him.”

  “What will you do?”

  “For now, my only job is looking out for Meir. I’m in no rush to go back to work. With my background and connections in the State Department, I don’t anticipate any difficulty finding a position here when I’m ready.”

  “You’ll stay here? With your parents?”

  “No. They enjoy having us, but they need their space. We do, too. So I’ll start looking for a place—but again, I’m in no rush.” She was dragging her heels. Even though it seemed unlikely, she still held on to the hope that if she gave him enough time, gave him enough reason, when she moved out, it would be someplace large enough for the three of them.

  “Bobby.” She looked at their joined hands, then up at him. “You know I’m hoping there can be more for us.”

  “Talia. Let’s not—”

  She cut him off. “Go there? I’m sorry, but I have to. This is killing me. I meant it today when I said the three of us make a good team. I need to know if there’s—” She stopped, swallowed. This was so difficult. “If there’s any chance for you and me to start over.”

  He stood abruptly, let go of her hands, and snagged his drink. He tipped it back, downing it with one swallow.