He rubbed the back of his neck, concern and frustration in his expression as he stared at her. She could tell he wanted to say something else, to help her in some way. But there was nothing he could do. She was alone in this, just like she’d been since the day Elliot had died. A dark ferocity came on the heels of her sorrow, and she couldn’t stand him looking at her like that a moment longer, as if she were broken, as if she wasn’t the same person any longer. It might be true, but she didn’t want to face the reality of that in his infuriatingly sympathetic gaze.
She turned away from him, but came face to face with the little shrine of mementos she’d set up for Elliot, now missing the picture of him. She clamped her hands on the edge of the table, barely restraining the urge to swipe the surface clean, like she wished she could do to her own conscience.
“Just leave me alone, Kai. I don’t want anything from you.”
She heard him shuffle a step closer. “I don’t think you should be alone—”
“Get out!” She shoved herself away from the table and escaped into her room, not waiting to see if Kai had complied with her shouted order. Part of her expected him to start banging and demanding she let him in like he had the first night he’d stayed here. But as she laid herself on top of the coverlet with slow, stiff movements, nothing but silence came to her.
Chapter Sixteen
Kai flicked his hand, signaling the barkeep, and watched as Harley Gregson poured the third double shot for the night.
“What’s the legendary Commander Yang doing in a place like this, drinking alone at this time of night?” Harley set the bottle to the side and then leaned his forearms against the bar.
“What’s the owner of this bar doing pouring shots? Don’t you have employees to do that for you?” Kai saluted with his glass and then knocked back the liquor. He’d known the owner of Harley’s Bar for almost as many years as he’d been onboard the Valiant Knox. Harley’s was the place all the military staff came to hang out when they were off-shift, and at some point over the years, he’d become friends with the guy who ran the establishment.
Harley sent him a half smile. “You know as well as I do, if you want to keep the riffraff under control, you’ve got to put in an appearance and randomly order people around every now and then.”
“Spoken like a true commander. Want to switch jobs?”
The barkeep straightened with a grimace. “No way. There was a reason I went into private commerce instead of joining the UEF. You can keep your laced-up boots and regulations coming out the wazoo, thank you very much.”
Kai shrugged one shoulder and motioned to his glass again. “Suit yourself.”
Harley poured him another double shot. “Sorry, Commander, but after this I’m cutting you off. Can’t have you getting plastered in my fine establishment.”
“I think I’m still half a dozen drinks away from getting plastered. And where else am I supposed to drink myself into oblivion?” He sent Harley a glare as he sipped at the drink.
“I believe the point is that Commander Yang shouldn’t be getting wasted at all. Aren’t there rules about that sort of thing?”
He grinned, starting to feel the buzz from the alcohol. “Ah, but you see, I’m technically not a commander anymore. No one knows what I am. Emmanuel gave me administrative duties until they can work out what to do with me, which makes me his office bitch. And last I checked, the commander’s office bitch can get smashed off his face whenever he feels like it.”
“Oh yeah? Well I’ll need to see that ridiculous demotion in writing. Until then, no commanders getting drunk in my bar.” Harley shot him a smart-ass grin, before sauntering away to put the bottle back on the shelf.
Kai took another sip of his drink, trying to make it last. He’d never been much of a drinker anyway, could count on one hand the number of times he’d gotten really drunk, and that had been when he was young and stupid. There were rules about senior officers overindulging, even when they weren’t on-shift. Yet after the week he’d had—the last three days in particular spent unsuccessfully searching for the soldier suspected in the bombing—topped off by the blow-out with Sacha earlier, surely he could be forgiven for indulging in a few too many drinks.
He rubbed the middle of his chest, that now-familiar ache returning. Ah, hell. That usually preceded some kind of moment, whether it be a deluge of bad memories he didn’t want to face, or a few long moments where he couldn’t find enough air to breathe… And most frustrating, he couldn’t work out what set him off. The psychologist had said they would work through it, but everything would take time, there was no magic overnight cure.
He didn’t want to take time, he wanted to be over it so he could get on with his life. Except, that in itself was a problem, because he had no damn clue what shape his life would take from here on out. At least Emmanuel had gotten him back onto the UEF payroll, so he could afford things like the fine whiskey he’d been indulging in for the past hour.
To be fair, he probably should’ve used some of that money to get some new accommodations, but he just couldn’t bring himself to leave Sacha. Her emotional state when she’d come home this evening worried him and, on top of everything else going on, he couldn’t handle the idea of being totally cut off from her.
Although, after what had happened tonight, maybe that was a good thing. It had broken his heart seeing her all but falling apart, the grief over Elliot she’d apparently been hiding forcing itself free. After she’d rebuffed his comfort and locked herself in her room, he’d sat numbly on her couch, wishing he could do something, anything, to make her pain go away. By the time he’d come to terms with the fact that she wouldn’t let him be her safe harbor, and things between them really were that broken, his insides had felt scraped raw.
Ever since he’d returned to the Knox, he and Sacha had caused each other pain. He’d thought after what his time in prison had done to both of them, they’d become closer, lean on each other equally to get through the hard times and dark, lonely nights. Instead, they were only tearing further apart.
So, just this damned once, he’d wanted to have a few too many drinks and maybe not feel so bad about everything for five minutes. But even as he finished his last shot, the warm, fuzzy glow was fleeting, and dark things started stirring in the deepest corners of his mind where he refused to shine a light. That constricted feeling in his chest got tighter, pumping up his heart rate to crash against the inside of his ribs.
“No, no, no,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face, as if that could wipe his mind clean. The flashes started, like last time in Sacha’s kitchen, jagged pictures with no sense or reference, just horrific images flaring one after another.
“So, is this what you’ve been doing with yourself for the past three nights when you’ve stayed out so late?”
Kai glanced over his shoulder, the sound of Sacha’s voice momentarily shoving back the reel of horror. He hadn’t expected to see her again tonight, not after the mini-meltdown she’d had.
She stood two steps behind him, her arms crossed and an extremely unimpressed frown on her face. Her hair fell free, but tousled around her shoulders, and she’d changed out of her work uniform into a casual loose shirt and simple pair of curve-hugging jeans, as if the scene in her apartment hadn’t happened.
“Kai, you know it’s not a good idea for someone with PTSD to drink excessively, it can lead to substance abuse—”
Her words faded in and out, as though someone was playing with the volume control, and the flashes flickered back to life, stronger and clearer this time, bringing a cold, clammy sense of suffocation with them.
“I need to get out of here,” he mumbled, sliding off the barstool unsteadily.
“How many have you had?” She reached for him, but he dodged her grip.
He shook his head and turned away from her, blindly bumping into someone else as the images roared higher through his mind… Screams from the other prisoners echoing eerily off the concrete walls like souls trapped i
n hell. Robed figures leaning over him, holding burning crucifixes against his skin, Amos, drenched in blood from a head wound that had taken too long to heal, the sound of fighter jets overhead, so close, yet too far away to help them, the three minutes of sunshine they saw every day, and Amos’s complexion, waxy-gray from death.
He stumbled out of the bar and then stopped to lean heavily against a nearby bulkhead, chest heaving, because he couldn’t get enough damned air again, and he could smell the dungeon—death, desperation, and sour cold. He shuddered, swallowing convulsively at the whiskey burning up the back of his throat.
“Kai, here, I got you some water.” Sacha pressed something cool into his hand, and he rode out a clammy shiver before straightening far enough to gulp the contents in the glass.
The water washed the sick feeling back down, and at last the gruesome replay subsided, leaving him with that dull, damaged sensation he wished he could cleanse himself of.
“This isn’t the answer, Kai.”
Neck muscles aching, he lifted his heavy head and focused on her.
“Seriously, I know what you’re going through is hard, but becoming an alcoholic—”
His fist contracted around the empty glass. “So that’s what you think of me now? That I could actually use liquor to escape my problems? When have you ever known me to take the easy way out?”
She crossed her arms and turned away for a moment, her expression tightening before she looked back at him. “The old Kai would never have resorted to this. He would have faced his problems head on. But you’re a different person now, we both are. There’s no use trying to live our lives by the way we used to be.”
“You really think I’ve changed that much?”
“Haven’t you?” She motioned to him. “Just look at how I found you tonight.”
The uncontrollable fury that had taken over him a few nights ago in her kitchen stirred, so he bent to set the glass on the floor between his boots and the bulkhead. This time, he would not let the rage control him.
“I’m not drunk. That was another one of those panic attacks I’m not having. Since you’re a doctor, I would’ve thought you could tell the difference. And I don’t know what you expect. I’m seeing the psychologist, I’m fully aware I have PTSD, but I’m dealing, and I’m still in control. You’re the one who won’t admit how things really are. You want me to work through the things that have caused me pain, yet what happened tonight tells me you haven’t let yourself really deal with losing your husband. I thought we had something important, but all you seem capable of doing is pushing me away, using your job as a Band-Aid for the guilt you feel over Elliot.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to suck them back in again. But it couldn’t be done, and the flash of hurt that crossed Sacha’s face revived the guilt he’d been trying to outrun earlier tonight.
God, what had happened to them? How had they ended up here? Sacha had literally been his lifeline, his salvation when he’d been in that prison, thoughts of her keeping him strong and determined to get home. Yet now they had nothing but guilt and hurt between them. Did she really think him so weak that he would drown his problems in a bottle or three of liquor?
Sacha pushed back a thick lock of hair and sighed. “I don’t know what to think. All I know is you’ve come home well after midnight the past three nights, and I just found you in Harley’s. What else am I supposed to believe?”
And of course she’d avoided mentioning anything about herself or her own demons. A small swell of frustration swept through him.
“Well, you could start by not jumping to the worst conclusion. Ask Harley. This is the first night I’ve come up here. The other three nights I spent in the officers’ gym. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got some muscle mass to regain, and exercising myself into oblivion helps me sleep better.”
A shadow of sympathy darkened her eyes, and he had to turn away from her before he completed the humiliation of the night by getting on his knees in front of her to beg. Not that he really had any clue what he’d be begging for, just that he was drowning in the need to have her make it all better for him.
Been there, done that, didn’t turn out so well.
“I’m sorry, you’re right, I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. It’s just been a long day.”
He shrugged. “So let’s call it a night.”
She agreed and they started making their way toward the far end of the commerce level where the transit-porters were situated.
“Why did you come up here anyway? I thought you’d gone to bed for the night.” He grimaced at the dull spasm of pain through his bad knee and altered his steps.
“When I woke up and found you gone, I guess I was a little worried about what you’ve been doing with yourself these past nights. And then I felt bad because I realized that I had kind of abandoned you, throwing myself into work so I didn’t have to think about…well, everything.”
“You take too much on yourself, Sacha. I’m not your responsibility. You’re doing more than enough overseeing my medical care and sharing your home.”
And it was true, even if it didn’t feel like enough because he wanted more. It had long passed the time when he needed to face up to that.
“I think it’s probably time I found my own place.” Saying the words hurt, but he couldn’t keep leeching off her just because the idea of being apart from her stole all higher reasoning from his brain. Which actually made no sense. He’d been on his own for a long time, had maintained a certain independence, even in the midst of the few relationships he’d had over the years. He’d never needed anyone else to help him work things out before, so why should now be any different?
Besides, she’d made her position clear where the two of them were concerned, and somehow since then, they’d almost become strangers to each other. Of all the things his time in the CSS Enlightening Camp had taken from him, this had to be the worst.
“Yes, I think you’re right.” Her words were careful, considered, as she slowed to a stop outside of a closed café. Her shoulders tightened into familiar determined lines as she faced him. “I should have been the one to suggest it, but I was also aware that you needed supervision—”
A sliver of grim humor threaded through him. “To make sure I didn’t try to throw myself out the nearest hatch, or go on mind-numbing benders? I don’t need a damned babysitter, Sacha. I’ve overseen more than a few POWs return to duty. I know the risks. I’ll be fine on my own. You can check in on me whenever you want.”
Her stance appeared to relax slightly. “Agreed. And for the record, I better not find you attempting any more binge drinking.”
He stared back across the way to Harley’s, his guts roiling uneasily. “No, I don’t think I’ll be doing that again.”
If anything, the liquor had only weakened the tightly leashed control he’d been hanging on to in the past few days, and undone what little work he’d achieved in the few sessions he’d had with his psychologist.
Looked like he’d be back in the gym tomorrow night.
They continued walking toward the transit-porters in strained silence, and every step he took felt like he was walking away from her. But what else could he do? Despite what he felt for her, or maybe because of how he loved her, he should have moved from her apartment after he’d accidentally attacked her a few nights ago.
At the transit, they bid each other a short good night. Kai didn’t let himself think too closely about things until he’d closed the door to the suite he’d rented at one of the Knox’s fancier hotels.
The quiet of the room pressed in on him as he sat on the edge of the bed and took in the opulent surroundings of the room specially reserved for visiting officers; easily three times the size of Sacha’s modest apartment a few levels down.
He tiredly scrubbed a hand over his face, the not-so-fun effects of the liquor kicking in, starting with a pounding headache.
What the hell was he going to do?
Not just in ter
ms of the situation with Sacha, but for the rest of his life. Did he really want to stay on the Knox, grasping at the existence he’d once had, with no way of ever returning things to how they’d once been? Was there really any shame in admitting he was a different soldier these days and taking the vice commodore position on Earth? It was one hell of a promotion, especially considering his age. Yet it would mean admitting the CSS had taken something from him the day they’d locked him up in that prison; the life he’d always expected to have.
However, going to Earth would take him away from the one bright thing in his life: Sacha. Except look at how that had turned out. Destroyed, like every other goddamn facet of his existence. They had a long history together, and he couldn’t give up on that so easily, but he needed to do better for her, needed to know he wouldn’t accidentally slash her throat in the kitchen.
Space and time. Despite how the notion shortened his breath and made his heart pound too hard, logically he knew they were the only things that could fix this situation. He needed to work through this on his own and prove he was worthy of her, to recover and reincarnate himself as a man she could trust with her safety and her heart. As vice commodore, he’d have all kinds of unlimited resources to achieve that, and more. His very soul ached at the idea of being so far away from her, but this was the best solution for her, for him. For them both.
Chapter Seventeen
Sacha pulled her surgical gown off, shoving the material into the laundry chute before heading into the scrub room. She rolled her shoulders, working out the tension after leaning over the table for the past few hours, repairing the vast internal damage her latest patient had suffered down on the frontlines.
Most of the straightforward medical procedures were handled on the ground at the hospital in the main UEF base, but serious cases were airlifted to the Valiant Knox, which had better equipment for the worst trauma cases; ones that would have been a death sentence a few hundred years ago.
Two relatively serene days had gone by since her wedding anniversary. That night, something inside of her had broken. Not in a bad way…it had actually been in a good way, like a noose releasing from around her neck.
Escape Velocity Page 16
