Stepping a bit closer, she looked up and greeted him. “Hey. I hope I’m not interrupting.”
Snorting, he took the t-shirt hanging about his neck and wiped his face before replying, “Nope. I’m glad you’re interrupting me trying to kill myself with a heart attack or heat stroke.”
Stepping another pace closer, she held his gaze as she admonished, “Please don’t do anything crazy like that.”
“I’m a tough ol’ bull,” he said. “It’ll take more than a long, hot run to do me in.”
She looked down at her feet for a moment wondering how to ask what she wanted to ask. He lifted her chin with his forefinger and peered into her eyes.
“I can see your mind working,” he stated. “What’s on it?”
“I…well, I just...”
“Honey, as long as I’ve been around you, you’ve never been at a loss for words. Just spit it out.”
“I was just wondering if you were all right.”
He held her gaze before finally dropping his chin to his chest, placing his fists on his hips. “Who told?”
“Aiden and Katelyn were talking about the family dinner and she said something to Jillian, who saw you coming out of the counseling office when she was picking up Grant from his session.”
“Fuckin’ small town,” he cursed. “No privacy. Everyone always up in everyone’s business.” He felt her cool hand on his overheated arm and looked at the delicate fingers against his tanned skin.
“Brogan, look at me,” she ordered gently. As he lifted his gaze, she plunged ahead. “No one is talking about you. But your family and your friends care.” Without hesitation, she added, “I care.” She moved one of her hands from his arm up to his chest, feeling it rumble under her fingertips as he spoke.
“Ginny, I’m all sweaty.”
A small smile slipped across her face as she slid her other hand up his chest. “I don’t care…you’re all gorgeous and sweaty—”
Grabbing her hands in his, he stilled the movement, then apologized as a flash of doubt filled her eyes. “Sorry. It’s not that I don’t want your hands on me. Hell, the thought of your hands on me has been on my mind ever since you moved into town. But, uh…let’s just say that I’m gonna have one hell of an erection if this keeps going.”
Blushing, she tried—and failed—to keep her eyes from dropping to his crotch. And the visible bulge had her gaze jumping back to his eyes in time to see him close his as he dropped his chin to his chest once more. “Sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t be,” he said, a grin making its way through his irritation of being the subject of talk. Looking at her face turned up toward his, the care in her eyes, he said, “You want to come in? It’ll only take a minute for me to shower and I can throw some steaks on the grill and we can talk.”
“Sounds perfect,” she said, loving that he kept her hand in his as they made their way back over the dune to his house. Entering, he told her to make herself at home and he headed back to his bathroom. She went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, seeing what she might fix to go along with steak. Finding corn on the cob and several baking potatoes in a bin on the counter, she took them out along with the meat.
MB walked into the room, swirling around her food dish and Ginny found some cat food in the cabinet. Putting a small amount down, she stroked the silky, black fur, enjoying the sound of purring emanating from the small cat.
By the time she started prepping dinner, Brogan walked back into the room. Seeing her in his kitchen pierced his heart, never thinking to see that sight. Hearing him, she turned around, her smile beaming at him and, once more, his heart felt the twinge.
Ginny’s gaze took in his dark, wet hair, his face with its dark stubble covering his jaws. A clean, white t-shirt stretched across his biceps and chest muscles. His jeans were filled out in all the right places, from the tight thighs to the comfortably worn material over the crotch. As her eyes continued their descent, she took in his bare toes. Damn. The man is gorgeous.
“Babe,” his voice rumbled.
Her gaze jumped back to his.
Chuckling, he walked toward her, kissed the top of her head, and grabbed the plate of steaks along with some bottles of seasonings. Walking out, he called, “Join me out here as soon as you can.”
With the corn and potatoes wrapped in aluminum foil ready for the grill, she headed out to the weather-beaten deck off the kitchen, facing the bay. Admiring his backside as he stood at the grill, she smiled as she walked up next to him, setting the platter on the grill shelf. An hour later, the meal was eaten, the sun was setting, and the two sat on the deck in old, paint-chipped, Adirondack chairs watching the colors of the sky pass before them.
Licking her lips, she glanced out of the corner of her eye toward him, seeing his stoic expression firmly in place. “You know, you don’t have to talk to me about anything. I just want you to be okay. And, well, I’ve been talking to a counselor about my situation and it’s enough for me to know that you’re getting some peace as well.”
“I don’t know if peace is what I’ll find, Ginny.”
She fingered the water droplets falling from her glass for a moment before looking over at him. “Brogan, you took care of me. You listened to me. You didn’t judge me. You gave me the strength to face my demons.” She held his gaze as she finished, “I’d like to do the same for you.”
Shaking his head, he said, “I noticed you when you first came to town. You came in to the pub with Grant and Burt and were introduced to the crowd. Holy shit, Ginny, it was like looking at a ray of sunshine.”
She snorted, “Me? A ray of sunshine?” Peering up at him, she queried, “With all the women in town? You noticed me?”
Holding her gaze, he said, “Ain’t no woman in town that can hold a candle to you. You were in police uniform…the ones before Mitch came back to be Chief and let you all wear polos and khakis. God, you were sharp, looked so smart, and so pretty. So goddamn pretty. And I knew you were good. Clean. Pure. And I cursed myself because I felt like I’d never be good enough for you.”
Ginny wanted to argue, but knew whatever demons ate at Brogan, he needed to get them out. As hard as it was for her to listen to his words, she remained quiet, attention focused entirely on him as her hand reached out to clasp his. As the sun continued to set, shadows were settling around them, wrapping them in their own private world on his deck.
“Lately, as we’ve gotten closer, I like having you in my life. But I can’t live a lie. I’ve never told anyone what I’m about to tell you. Not my family…not my friends…not even the counselor today. I started the story with him, but only got so far. Then, decided that I wanted you to hear it first. I want you to see the man that you’re with and know my worst.”
Nodding, she said, “Okay. Tell me what’s so heavy on your mind, Brogan. Please, give it to me.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the feel of her hand on his, knowing it might be the last time he had that pleasure. Swallowing deeply, he began.
“Growing up, Mitch was always the stalwart one…son of the Police Chief, he always did the right thing. Philip Bayles was the peacemaker. Looking back, I realize he had such a good soul. Zac, Grant, Callan…all rock solid guys. Aiden,” he chuckled, “was always just my brother, the jokester of the group, but I knew he felt things deep…just didn’t show it. But me? I was like the one who always demanded the best outta all of us. Whether we were on the field playing, or just having fun. Who knew I’d end up not doing the right thing…and someone would get killed because of it?”
At his words, Ginny tried to keep her breathing steady, but her heart plunged to her stomach. Forcing her hand to stay on his, she willed him to keep talking, while her mind raced to wonder what on earth she would say to make something so monumental better.
He heaved a sigh as he leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, his mind back in the villages of Afghanistan. “You realize that once you hear this, you may never want to speak to me again?”
>
“We all carry pain…unburden yourself, Brogan, and we’ll face it together,” she vowed, squeezing his fingers.
15
“Had a buddy, Terry, that liked to drink. Weren’t supposed to have alcohol over there, but…well…as military police, you probably dealt with your share of servicemen who managed to smuggle it in.” Brogan did not have to look at her to know she understood exactly what he was saying. Unfortunately, some service members had no problem finding bootleg anything, and alcohol was just one of the many things.
“I wasn’t the one doing the smuggling but confess that, a couple of times, I imbibed. Didn’t get drunk. I was always afraid we’d get called up, and I wanted to think straight. But I knew he was doing it and did nothing about it.” He heard her intake of breath, but he halted her words before she spoke. “Don’t Ginny. Don’t make excuses. A sin of omission is just as bad.”
Scrubbing his free hand over his face, he felt the vast difference from his rough skin to her delicate fingers resting on his other hand. Light…darkness. Jesus, could we be more different? Determined to get it over with, he continued.
“Terry used to go into one of the local villages and get the hooch from a man who had access to it. Where the local stole it from or bought it from, I never heard Terry say…I didn’t want to know. I really didn’t think much about it being wrong. We were busy with our jobs in a shit part of the world in a shit war. So, a few drinks on the side seemed okay to this twenty-year old idiot.”
Wanting to deny his assessment, Ginny kept quiet, knowing he needed to get his story out. Rubbing his hand gently, she hoped he could feel her encouragement.
“Anyway,” he sighed heavily, “one day, Terry came by and said he needed to go into the village to get more alcohol. Said he had gotten a message for a pickup but hadn’t been able to go right away and he needed some backup to go with him. Come to find out, usually another buddy would go into the village with him, a bit of backup firepower if needed.”
At that, she let a gasp slip out, hating that it did, but she knew how dangerous that could have been. “Sorry,” she mumbled.
He shot her a look that said no apology was needed, that he understood her surprise. “Anyway, a couple of us went. Terry drove to the house where he got the stuff, parked down the road and told us to wait. We just hung out in the vehicle and he went inside. He was gone for a while and I started getting nervous. We then saw a man go into the house and I wondered if Terry had just been in there waiting for him all that time.”
Leaning forward suddenly, Brogan grimaced, his eyes tightly closed as the memories slammed into him. Covering his face with his hands, he sucked in a deep breath. “The next thing we know, Terry comes running out, heading toward us, yelling, ‘We gotta go. We gotta go.’ Swear to God, I thought a bomb was going to go off. I was sure he’d walked into a trap and taken all of us with him.”
“It wasn’t?” Ginny asked, her heart now in her throat as she waited anxiously for the rest of his story.
“No. It was worse.” Silence slithered between the two, only broken by the calls of the seagulls diving into the water. Finally, sucking in another ragged breath, he continued, his voice flat. “The man came out of the house dragging a woman. He began beating her and was quickly surrounded by villagers who began throwing stones at her as well. I jumped out of the vehicle about the time Terry came to us and he grabbed me to keep me from running to her. I fought him, but then two of our other buddies came and grabbed me as well. I might be big, but I was no match for all three of them.
He sucked in a shuddering breath. “Jesus, her screams…I can still hear them at night sometimes.”
Ginny sat perfectly quiet for a moment, afraid to move, sure he could hear her heart pounding. His anguish was so palpable, she felt it to her core. Slowly, she moved her hand back over to rest on his thigh, rubbing gently, hoping he could feel her presence.
“I guess, since you were over there, you can guess what had happened. Terry, the dumbass that he was, didn’t realize that waiting in a house alone with an Afghan village woman would cause her to be immediately accused of adultery. It was forbidden for her to be with a man that was not a relative, but especially not a foreigner.” He paused again, before continuing, “Fucking hell. What a total, complete fuck-up. Terry and the others manhandled me into the back of the vehicle and they took off and didn’t look back until we were through the gates and back on base.”
Brogan opened his eyes and looked over at Ginny, expecting disgust and censure and steeling himself for her rejection. She was leaning forward, her hand still on his leg, staring deeply into his face…with concern? He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it quickly, not knowing what to say.
“Brogan,” she began, still staring intently into his eyes, “I understand the horror of the situation…seeing a woman stoned and not being able to protect her would have affected anyone, especially a man like you. A man who feels right from wrong so strongly…who has a protective nature. But you’ve taken on the actions of someone else and made them your own.”
“You don’t see, do you, Ginny?” he said, sadness radiating from his eyes. “That woman was stoned because, first of all, a friend of mine was doing something he shouldn’t have been doing and, second of all, I was there and didn’t stop it. That woman was stoned to death right in front of me and I couldn’t stop it!” The last statement was roared as he stood, pushing her hand off his leg. Pacing away, he stomped to the edge of the deck, his fists on his hips, and lifted his head, screaming into the wind.
After his primal roar was carried off into the evening sky, he dropped his chin to his chest, his heart aching with the loss of Ginny in his life. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him, but he had been a fool to think that she would be able to live with his past.
He jolted as small hands encircled his waist from behind, reaching around until they met at his front. He looked down, seeing her pale hands against his shirt. Holding firm. Not letting go. Confused, he nonetheless chose not to move, relishing the feel of her hands on him. Warm. Comforting.
After several minutes with her face pressed against his back, Ginny shuffled around, still holding onto his waist, until her front was pressed to his. She remained quiet, her cheek against his heartbeat, hearing it pound. Knowing his pain, she wanted to hold him as close as she could, hoping he would let her bear some of it.
Hearing him swallow, she lifted her face to his. Seeing his agony, she said, “Brogan, what happened was not your fault.” Observing doubt in his eyes and knowing denial was about to spew from him, she reached her fingers up to touch his lips. “You have to listen to me.” A shiver swept over her and his arms instinctively wrapped around her, pulling her in closer.
Brogan hated to invite her in only to have her leave in disgust later, but he wanted her to be comfortable, and it was getting chilly. “Come on, Ginny. Let’s get you out of the breeze.” He turned and walked with her tucked underneath his arm. Once inside, he hesitated, uncertain where to sit.
Ginny walked to the sofa, leading Brogan by the hand and, as she sat, she pulled on his arm. As he plopped next to her, she flipped quickly and straddled his knees, holding him in place. Knowing he could easily dislodge her, she prayed he stayed where he was. Cupping his tense jaws with her hands, she said, “You need to listen to me.” Sucking in a deep breath before letting it out slowly, she began, “Terry made a series of bad choices. Terry. Not you. Terry.”
His eyes jumped to hers but he stayed silent.
“He chose to buy illegal alcohol. He chose to get it from a local village which has so many stupid risks that I can’t even begin to list them all. He chose to go into that house, which could have been rigged with explosives, where God knows what else could have lain in wait for him. He chose to wait in that house with an Afghanistan national female, not thinking of anything but himself. And he chose to run when things got hot. Run straight toward his friends which could have gotten them killed as well. And then he chose
to keep you from going to help which, I have to say, at that point, was the only good decision he could have made.”
Brogan’s mouth opened to speak but she shushed him again.
“No, you talked and now it’s my time. Honey, I know that culture. I know that area. I was there. And if you had run back into the villagers’ frenzy, they would have killed you and probably all your buddies. And then there would have been an incident and the Americans would have had to retaliate. Think about it, Brogan…it could have been catastrophic!”
He shook his head slowly, but with less determination than earlier, turning her words over in his mind. She clung to his cheeks, holding him firm.
“Terry made so many bad choices, including dragging you into his mess. But that’s on him, honey, not you.” Seeing the doubt still in his eyes, she said, “Do you blame me for what happened to me?”
Jerking back, Brogan’s eyes turned stormy as he barked, “Hell, no! Of course not. How could you even ask that?”
“Because, if I had kept my mouth shut and just tried to deal with the trauma of the pictures, I wouldn’t have been accosted.”
“Babe, that’s on him,” Brogan argued. “You did nothing wrong. That was all on those assholes!”
Rubbing her thumbs over the rough stubble of his cheeks, she leaned her face close into his, so that their eyes were in a direct line, just inches apart. “I know. I had a lot of guilt about what I did, thinking of all the different things I could have done. But, ultimately, I knew the blame was on those men who made the choice to take pictures and share them. And, then, on the asshole who accosted me. Just. Like. Terry. It’s all on him. All those bad choices.”
Finding Peace: Baytown Boys Page 12
