Forged in Fire

by Jessica Scott

  Don’t tell me how to run my battalion, sergeant. Especially not since you’re the reason he was out there on that goddamned bridge.

  The memory was just as raw today as it had been a decade ago. Funny how time did nothing to diminish the pain of humiliation. Some life lessons were meant to be tattooed onto the soul in blinding permanence. She doubled over as the pain surged over her, tears burning behind closed eyes.

  Strong arms came around her then. Caught her off guard, then wrapped around her and pulled her against his chest.

  “Holly.”

  He whispered her name, a single soft word in the fading light. She closed her eyes, not wanting to feel, not wanting to hear the concern in his voice.

  Because goddamn him, she was not going to cry in front of him. She breathed deeply, harshly, the air scraping along the inside of her.

  His hands were warm—a gentle touch where they rested on her shoulders. The strength she was oh so achingly familiar with.

  She didn’t pull away, not even when the sadness and the grief and the ragged memories sliced at her soul, cutting away the years she’d spent putting her armor in place. Never letting anyone in. Never allowing the hurt out of the deep, dark box she’d launched into the abyss.

  His fingers were warm on her skin, resting over her pulse.

  It was tempting, oh so tempting to lean back against him. To feel his strength around her. To allow herself to need that strength. That comfort.

  “I’m here,” he whispered. His breath was soft and warm on her ear.

  Her eyes burned—searing, hot tears that she hated. He urged her back, to lean against him.

  And damn her weakness, she let him, even as the tears burned down her cheeks. She swiped fiercely at them, hating them for the weakness they exposed.

  His arms were strong and tight around her, engulfing her, pulling her against him until he surrounded her. His chest was strong against her back.

  For a moment, she simply stood. Unyielding against the comfort he offered.

  And then she lifted her hand, covering his where it rested over her heart. He sagged against her, his cheek resting against hers.

  And she surrendered. To the chaos storming violently inside her. To the pain that slashed at the persona she’d carefully constructed all those years ago.

  To the man strong enough to hold her while she fell apart.

  He sank slowly down, taking her with him to their knees. He tucked her against him as the tears came, letting her cry, whispering nothing against her ear, his hands unwavering beneath hers.

  She turned after a time, resting her face in that space between his neck and his shoulder. Breathed him in as she sucked in air and tried to regain the control she’d maintained for so long. Her fingers bit into his skin where she held on to him as if he was the only solid thing in her life.

  And after a time, when there were finally no more tears, when her cheeks were chilled from the damp, he lifted his hand to cradle her cheek.

  She met his gaze and saw worry looking back at her. It was terrifying to see the depth of his concern there.

  She looked away.

  “Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t run from this.”

  She shook her head and offered a watery half-smile. “From what? Embarrassing myself?”

  “From us. From the most honest you’ve ever been with me.”

  Shame heated her skin. “That’s cruel.”

  “It’s not cruel. It’s the truth.”

  Hers was a bitter smile. “The truth? What’s that?”

  He winced as her words sliced at him but he didn’t pull away. “I know that trick, Holly,” he whispered. “And it doesn’t work that way.”

  “What way?”

  “The way you want it to work.”

  “You’re not in command here, Sal. You don’t get to set conditions on us.”

  “Neither do you.” His nostrils flared as he breathed in hard. “When this started, we both knew what we were doing. But I didn’t count on this. On you.”

  She could have fought. Could have pulled away. But she didn’t.

  Because she was so damn tired of fighting whatever this was between them.

  She felt enveloped, surrounded.

  Safe.

  Safe enough that the emotions were wrung out of her. The tears came until she could no longer control the force. Safe enough that she stopped hearing the whispered nothings near her ear and just held on as the violence ravaged her soul once more.

  She cried until she was wrung out and empty. Until the memories held no more power over her. Until the pain in her chest was simply cold and silent instead of threatening to overwhelm her.

  And the whole time, he was there. Steadfast. Fierce. And infinitely patient.

  It was a long time before she turned in his arms. Still he held her close, his warmth radiating through her uniform to heat the cold stone in her heart.

  “That was messy,” she said, swiping at her cheeks.

  “That was nothing,” he said. He wiped her cheek, cradling her neck. “It’s good to cry sometimes.”

  “You don’t strike me as the in-touch-with-your-sensitive-side kind of guy.”

  He grunted but said nothing, simply sitting there, holding her close once more. He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Talk to me?”

  She closed her eyes. He hadn’t left her. He’d stayed when the ugliness had finally broken free.

  The explanation couldn’t be worse than the breakdown that had preceded it. Could it?

  She took a deep breath and held it. Then began.

  * * *

  “Back in Korea, I was married to another soldier. A staff sergeant.” She sighed. “I was a sergeant, he was a platoon sergeant. We were stationed up at Camp Red Cloud.”

  “Near the DMZ? Up north?”

  “Yeah. We were two young idiots heading to an assignment in Korea where more than a few military marriages met their demise. He drank a lot before we got there but after, he discovered soju.” She folded her arms around her waist, a barrier between them. “Todd was a mean drunk. Mean but not violent. God, it sounds like I’m excusing him. I’m not, I’m really not.” A deep, shuddering breath. “But things kept getting worse. And he started threatening violence.”

  “Did you tell anyone?”

  “Who was I going to tell? We were one of a half-dozen married couples and the chain of command couldn’t be bothered with anything I had to say.”

  “I thought Cox was your first sergeant.”

  Holly shook her head. “Not at that time. He was in the unit I was transferred to when the commander blamed me for Todd’s incident.” She steeled herself for the rest of it. The worst of it. “The night I told Todd I was leaving him was the night everything went to shit. He refused to get help. Denied there was a problem with anything but me. We were driving back from Osan Air Base.” She paused to find the words she so badly did not want to say. “He slammed my head into the dashboard that night. Fractured my cheek. Knocked my two front teeth out of my head. That was really fun reconstructive surgery, by the way.” She paused again, and sucked in a deep breath. “He threatened to kill himself if I left him.”

  Sal went still. “Holly.”

  She rested her palm against his chest. Felt the violent rumble beneath her hand. “Overnight I became the antichrist for ruining his life. The hospital called the MPs. Prompted a 15-6 investigation.”

  His hand tightened on her shoulder but still she kept talking. “He didn’t handle the attention well. I was moved out of the unit. When I reported to my new unit, I had to explain to then First Sergeant Cox what I was doing with a broken face.”

  “Tell me he didn’t blame you.”

  She met his eyes then and the truth was painful, so painful. “He was the only one who didn’t.” Her voice broke. “Do you know what it feels like to have no one believe you didn’t do something to deserve getting your face slammed into the dashboard? It feels like shit.” She paused. “But you know the worst of i
t?”

  A long silence as she searched for the words she needed.

  “The worst of it is that Todd is dead because I left him. I called his bluff and he killed himself.”

  25

  Sal was used to the desire to do violence. He was good at it.

  But right then, with Holly in his arms, he felt impotent and useless. Unable to lash out at the man who’d hurt her. The men who’d left her permanently screwed up when she’d needed someone, anyone to stand with her.

  And he didn’t know what to do with the desire to shake her. To shout that she was not responsible for another man’s decisions. Violence raged inside him. If he moved, it was liable to break free. To tear through the thin restraints he had on it and destroy them both.

  She didn’t need that. Not right now. Not ever.

  “He was the naked man on the bridge, wasn’t he?” Sal said.

  “The weekend I left him,” she whispered. “They found him naked and high on a bridge outside the base.”

  “The sergeant with the Russian prostitute.”

  “Yep. One and the same. I make good life choices, huh?” she said and there was bitter regret in those words. “The worst part about all of it was that the unit refused to deal with him. Refused to address his drinking, refused to punish the assault. They did nothing to him. And then he died because it was easier for everyone to blame me than to see Todd for who he really was.”

  “You have to explain that to me,” Sal said. And there was no keeping the caged anger out of his voice. “Because I do not understand that.”

  “I can’t. I don’t know why. Maybe the commander was shorthanded on good NCOs. Maybe the commander had knuckled his own wife back in the day and thought it was just a stupid fight. I don’t know.”

  Silence wrapped around them, holding them in a cocoon of quiet sadness.

  “You know that you leaving didn’t cause his death.” Quiet words, laced with rage.

  “Rationally, I know that. But some stupid part of me wants to believe that if I’d just pushed the chain of command harder to see what Todd really was, they would have gotten him help.”

  “Holly, he bashed your face into the dashboard of a car. If that wouldn't make them see, nothing could.”

  She shrugged. “See? Not rational.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said finally. He shifted until he was looking down at her. Waited until she met his gaze. “I’m sorry no one was there for you. I’m sorry you faced that alone.” He cupped her face. “But he did not die because you left.”

  She looked away, her throat convulsing as she swallowed several times. “He died from whatever he decided to smoke that night. He died from his unit not dealing with his shit.”

  She brushed her hand across her cheek. “Well, now you know my deep dark secrets,” she said. “I’m damaged goods.”

  He moved slowly then, carefully, because he was afraid of the force of the emotions ripping through him. He shifted until she was in his lap, her legs draped around his hips, her body where he could reach every inch of her. “Not damaged,” he whispered against her lips before he kissed her.

  He poured a thousand unsaid things into that kiss. Cradled her face and pulled her against him, showing her with his body, his mouth, everything that she was. She couldn’t see it right then. Was too used to seeing herself as the broken thing she’d just described. But she wasn’t broken. Not in the least.

  He shifted then until he lay next to her, her body pressed to his, needing time to pull back the storm of emotions inside him. He urged her t-shirt up gently, so gently, revealing the hard, flat plane of her stomach. Felt her tremble as he traced his fingertips around her navel.

  It was a simple thing to press his lips to her belly. To feel her still as he licked the sensitive skin there, then blew on it. She sucked in a quick breath but didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

  She shifted and shrugged her shirt over her shoulders, leaning up on her elbows to kiss him. And lost herself in everything that was good and right in that single moment.

  * * *

  Sal cupped her face, holding her close, her body tightening around him, squeezing him, making him want to lose himself inside her. Instead he held himself back. Waited until she opened her eyes. Until she saw him and realized what he was doing and tried to look away.

  “You’re the strongest person I know.”

  She smiled sadly and lifted her hips, trying to distract him. “I’m not. I’m just really good at hiding the broken parts and keeping them bound up with hundred-mile–an-hour tape and five-fifty cord.”

  “Not broken,” he whispered. Then he moved, sliding out until he was almost completely free of her beautiful, tight body.

  He lifted her then and carried her back to her bedroom. To the mirror she had hung over her dresser. He turned her so that she could see herself in the mirror.

  When she closed her eyes, he urged her face back, licking, sucking, nipping on her neck until she opened them.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered.

  He urged her forward, so that her hands were braced on the dresser. Ran his fingers down her spine and felt her shiver. Traced them between her cheeks to the slick, wet heat waiting for him.

  He stroked her gently. Softly. Until just the tip of his finger was coated in her silky wetness. Slowly, so slowly, he slid back, feeling her tighten and tense around him, drawing him deeper into the warm dark space of her embrace.

  She gasped then, and shifted her legs wider, arching her back in a silent sensual offering. Her fingers dug into his back, holding him closer, urging him to move. Still he held back. He brushed his lips against her shoulder, wanting, needing her to look at him, to really see herself how he saw her.

  She gripped his hands where he braced them next to hers on the edge of the dresser. He threaded their fingers together, using his arms, his body to finally deeply move in the way they both needed. He lost himself in the glorious feel of her drawing him deeper, closer to the place where he knew he would happily lose a part of his soul.

  And when he came, she shattered with him, tearing down the divide between where he ended and she began.

  * * *

  She was still fragile. Still tender and wounded from revealing the ugliness of the truth of her past to him.

  He was wrong. It wasn’t heroic. It wasn’t something that she’d overcome. It was a disaster. But she wasn’t going to win any arguments with him. If there was one thing she knew about her captain, it was that he had stubbornness issues in spades.

  He rolled until he could look down at her. “You okay?”

  She didn’t avoid his eyes as she urged him onto his back and slipped one thigh over his until she straddled him. “I think I could use another round of mind-blowing sex before work call formation.”

  She felt him between her legs, soft where he’d been hard a few minutes earlier. She reached between their bodies and instantly, he began to harden. Feeling him swell beneath her palm sent little shivers of pleasure pulsing between her thighs.

  As distractions went, this was about as good as they got.

  Sal made a noise deep in his throat that was somewhere between arousal and encouragement. Maybe both.

  And then there was no more thinking as she guided him inside her. She gave herself over to the feeling, the pleasure of his touch, and pretended that for just one moment, everything was all right in her world.

  It was a lie. It always was.

  Just like everything in her life.

  But she closed her eyes and held on to the belief that for one brief moment, she would be able to convince herself that it was real.

  That this could be a sliver of truth in the darkness.

  And not another lie that would fade away like the shadows under the bright morning sun.

  26

  Sal sighed as he waited to be buzzed into the psych ward and braced for the inevitable.

  He didn’t want to see Baggins in here. Didn’t want to face the reality of what that drug might
have done to him.

  Sal wasn’t a praying man, not really. He often wished he had the kind of fervent belief others had when it came to certainty that there was a God watching over them. But standing there in the hallway waiting to be buzzed into the mental health ward, he offered up a silent prayer.

  I’m not sure if you’re there or not but if you are, please let Baggins be okay.

  He rubbed his thumb over the lighter then dropped it into his pocket again. This wasn’t what warriors spent their time doing. This wasn’t preparing men for war.

  It was facing what the war had done to them.

  The door swung open slowly and Sal stepped into the cold, sterile hallway. There was a female soldier standing in the waiting room, wearing yoga pants and a tank top, sobbing as she tried to console a screaming infant.

  Sal tensed, the infant’s screams scraping down his spine like a serrated blade. Emily stuck her head out of an office down the hall and motioned for him to escape the noise. She shut the door behind him and he sank gratefully into one of the chairs in her office.

  “Wow, that’s really awful,” Sal said.

  “Mom is in here with post-partum depression. We can’t keep the baby on the floor with her and well, things aren’t going well. The baby is colicky, the mom has gotten obsessed with being able to nurse but the baby won’t.” Emily looked at the door. “There’s so much here that people simply don’t want to admit is real.”

  Sal pulled the lighter out of his pocket and turned it over in his fingers. “How’s Baggins? Ah, Balboa.”

  Emily pulled out a file and turned the page. “He’s okay, honestly. It took a while to get him to completely detox but so far, it looks like he might not have any permanent damage from the drugs. He has admitted to using bath salts but you can’t use that admission against him for any type of punishment.”

  “So what does that mean?” He wished Holly was here with him.

  “It means we’ve done up a mental health evaluation that says your soldier has had a paranoid episode due to illegal drug use and further military service is likely to aggravate any subsequent effects.” She paused. “In plain English, I’m recommending you separate him from the military.”