Holding Her Hero

by Amy Lamont

  She wiggled against him, mumbling incoherently in her sleep, and he smiled. He pushed her hair away from her face. Who would have thought the day he opened Miss Abigail’s door ready to give her granddaughter hell that they’d end up here? Hell, if things had gone as planned, she’d be heading back to New York any day now.

  The thought that had almost made him head for the hills after their first date now sent fear tingling down his spine. There was no way he could imagine letting her hop on a plane to the other side of the country and never seeing her again.

  The air left his lungs like he’d taken a punch to the stomach. Shit.

  He loved her.

  * * *

  Obnoxious blaring pulled Mandy from a deep sleep. She sat straight up, fighting the covers.

  “Shh, it’s okay.” Mitch rubbed a gentle hand over her arm and pulled her back down into bed. “It’s just my phone.”

  He waited until she settled back onto the pillows before grabbing his phone from the charger on his nightstand. As soon as the noise stopped, she sighed and snuggled more deeply into the covers.

  “Taylor.” Mitch answered the phone with the one quiet, clipped word.

  His tone kept Mandy from drifting back to sleep. She blinked her eyes and looked around the room, noting the sky beyond the bedroom window was still dark.

  “Yes, sir.” He sat up further against the headboard. With a few more terse words, he hung up and turned to her.

  “Everything okay?” Her heart picked up speed. In her experience, middle-of-the-night phone calls weren’t a good thing. She struggled against the covers again, fighting to sit up.

  “Everything’s fine.” Again he tugged her back to the pillows and leaned over her, bracing himself with one arm beside her. “I just got called out, though. I’m going to have to head to base.”

  “Called out?” A hard knot formed in Mandy’s belly and a chill swept through her body. “You have to go to work?”

  Mitch cupped her head in his hand, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone. “Yeah, sweetheart. I have a mission. I’ll probably be gone a few weeks.”

  Mandy’s heart stuttered in her chest and her mouth went dry. She shook her head against the pillows, unable to speak. Too many images jumbled through her head at once—the soldiers on her doorstep, the newsreel of the helicopter going down in Iraq, the sharp report of guns at Will’s graveside. She struggled to pull air into her lungs.

  “Sweetheart.”

  She heard the concern in his voice, but couldn’t reassure him. She stared at him, shaking her head, air wheezing in through her nose.

  “Sweetheart, Mandy, breathe, baby. You need to breathe.” He helped her sit up and ran a caressing hand up and down her back.

  “I can’t. I can’t.” She pulled a shuddering breath in and her lungs burned.

  “Just focus on your breathing. Nothing else.” He gently smoothed her hair back. “Deep, slow breaths.”

  Slowly, with a few gasping breaths, her breathing got more normal. Her chest moved up and down, and she closed her eyes.

  “What just happened here?”

  She opened her eyes and turned her gaze at him. His look of gentle concern caused tears to prick her eyes.

  “Sweetheart, what is it?” He slid his arm over her shoulders and moved her against him, kissing her temple. “Are you okay?”

  She burrowed her face in his chest, her slow, deep breaths pulling his scent deeper into her. She shook her head and the tears began to fall in earnest.

  His arms squeezed her tighter. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

  She took a deep, shuddering breath and pulled slightly away from him, but couldn’t quite bring herself to meet his eyes when she told him, “Panic attack.”

  He used a finger under her chin to bring her gaze up to meet his. She closed her eyes, causing a few more tears to slide from the corners of her eyes.

  “Mandy, please look at me.” He used a thumb to catch the tears before caressing her cheeks with the back of his fingers. “Does this happen often?”

  She sighed and dropped her forehead on his shoulder. “It’s been a while since I’ve had one that severe, but right after Will died, I had one almost every day. Then, just when something reminded me of him.”

  “Until now,” he said. He cupped her shoulders and buried his nose in her hair. “Because of me.”

  She nodded. “When you said mission, I guess all the worst possible scenarios rushed through my head.”

  He wrapped his arms around her. “This is why I avoid relationships like the plague.”

  His voice was low. So low she wondered if he even realized he’d said anything out loud. Something inside her froze. What had she been thinking? She obviously wasn’t the only one who had doubts, and given her reaction to his news, her doubts grew into huge monsters in her head. And the monsters had sharp teeth and claws and waited to tear at her each time he went off on a mission or was late coming home from a helicopter run.

  “Is it dangerous?” She managed to ask.

  “What, sweetheart?”

  “The mission you’re going on. Is it dangerous?” She knew it was a stupid question even before his body tensed against her.

  “I don’t have too many details I can give you.” His hands ran up and down her back. He shook his head, and she knew there was no more to say. If he promised it wasn’t dangerous, he’d be lying. And she of all people knew he couldn’t promise to return to her no matter what.

  Hell, it’s not like she even needed something to happen to start her stomach churning. Sitting here in his arms—his breath on her skin, his heart beating against her palm—she had a panic attack.

  He shook her gently. “Still with me?”

  She nodded and blinked, looking around the dark room. “What time is it?”

  “Four.”

  “When do you have to get to base?”

  He hugged her before responding. “As soon as possible.”

  Her breath hitched and she remained still for several long moments before pulling away from him. “O-okay. Um, I guess I need to get my stuff together.”

  “You don’t have to clear out just because I have to go. Stay. Get a few more hours sleep.” The corners of his lips tilted up and his voice turned low and growly. “I like the idea of you here in my bed even if I can’t be.”

  The melting returned to her belly. As easy as that. In the middle of emotional turmoil and one word in that tone and her body responded to him.

  A pounding started in her head. Lack of sleep, a panic attack, and utter confusion over what to do about this man who pulled her in a way she’d never felt before—it was a wonder all she had was a headache. She wouldn’t be shocked if her body shattered into a million pieces. Unsure what else to do, she decided to take his advice and get some sleep. Maybe things would look better with a few more hours of rest.

  “Okay,” she said. “If you’re sure you don’t mind me staying here without you. I wouldn’t mind getting a few more hours sleep before I have to move.”

  He laughed. In the few nights they’d been able to spend together, she’d made it clear in no uncertain terms she was not a morning person. “Like I said, sweetheart, I love the idea of you lying here all warm and sweet.”

  She couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her as he nuzzled her hair aside and began nibbling on her neck. “None of that, now. You need to get going. And I need sleep.”

  To further her point she snuggled back under the covers, pulling the soft comforter to her chin.

  He pulled back and gave her a long look, his gaze roaming her face. “I hate leaving you like this.”

  “I know.” She lifted a hand and pushed her fingers through his short hair, studying each feature. “But I’m okay. I promise. This part I’m used to—I’m an army brat, remember?”

  He caught her hand and slid it until it settled over his heart. “I remember.”

  She smiled and held onto the feeling of his heart beating. She closed her eyes. This was w
hat she’d concentrate on when he left. Not what he was off doing, but this moment, her hand against his beating heart. I can do this.

  She leaned up and kissed him. “So you can go to work, and know for the next few hours, I’ll be lying here, dreaming about you.”

  He kissed her long and hard. “I like the sound of that.”

  She smiled. “Me, too.”

  “I’ll call if I can, but I may be out of touch.” He shrugged. “But I shouldn’t be gone more than a couple of weeks.”

  She leaned up on an elbow and placed her fingers over his mouth. “I know the drill. Go. Get ready. Don’t worry about me.”

  He kissed her again before sliding out of bed and hitting the shower. She listened to him moving around for a few minutes, her mind a jumbled mess as she wrestled with the twenty-seven different emotions crashing through her before escaping back into sleep.

  * * *

  Mandy woke screaming, hair plastered to her head and her body covered with a fine sheen of sweat. She sat up, palm flat to her chest as she struggled with her breathing. Her lungs strained for air and each breath burned its way down her throat. She braced her arms behind her on the bed as she fought a wave of dizziness before making a conscious effort to regulate her breathing.

  When her breath turned from wheezing huffs to something more regular and even, she dropped her head into her hands and cried. The dream that woke her had been so real. It was the news footage she’d seen of the remains of an army helicopter in smoldering pieces after falling from the sky mixed with visions of soldiers arriving on her doorstep holding a folded flag.

  The image that caused her screaming entrance to wakefulness was of Mitch and Will together, arms looped over each other’s shoulders in brotherly camaraderie, their backs to her. She’d called both their names, getting louder and louder, until finally they turned to face her. Both of them had blood-coated faces and gaping holes in their middles.

  Her entire body trembled as she clumsily pulled back the covers and stumbled to the bathroom. She turned the cold water tap on full blast and splashed her face and chest with the icy liquid.

  She looked up and the face looking back at her from the mirror reminded her of another time. The sunken eyes and skin bleached of all color—she’d sported this look for over a year after Will died.

  Not that anyone died here. God, she’d been a military brat her whole life. She knew the drill. Her mother and grandmother taught her how to be a military wife—send them off with a smile, save your tears for after they’ve shipped out.

  She’d seen Will off for boot camp and his deployment following that advice. And even then she hadn’t been hit by this kind of grief. Mitch left on a short mission and her heart ached.

  Could she put herself through this every time he got called up for a mission? And if it was this bad for a mission, what would happen if he got pulled for another tour in some godforsaken place?

  She stared hard into her own eyes, looking for the answer. And she realized she wasn’t asking the right questions. It wasn’t about whether she could handle it. What would she do to Mitch acting like this every time he had to leave her?

  She looked away from the mirror and squeezed her eyes closed. She knew the answer. Her grandmother and mother taught her that, too. Sending a man off distracted by tears and the guilt of leaving you behind was a good way to get him injured or worse.

  She sank down to the bathroom floor, pulling her knees to her chest. Tears slid down her cheeks and her body heaved with sobs. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t take the risk.

  She couldn’t do it to him. She couldn’t do it to herself. As soon as he got back, she’d have to tell him it was over.

  * * *

  Mandy’s phone rang for the third time that morning.

  “You going to answer that?” Her grandmother put her hands on her hips and gave her granddaughter a shrewd look.

  Mandy didn’t even look up from the porch railing she was painting. Her phone sat on the table a few feet from her and she could have gotten to it easily before it went to voice mail. But she recognized the ringtone. She’d recognized it each time it rang this morning.

  Mitch.

  After coming to a decision about their relationship three days ago, she’d quickly cleared out of his apartment. There was no way her grandmother didn’t know something was up. She might be getting on in years, but Mandy knew her swollen eyes and minimal responses to her grandmother’s questions gave her away. She could have talked to her grandmother about what happened, but how could the older woman understand? She’d been unfaltering in supporting her own husband each time he got sent away from home.

  Grandma would know soon enough, but Mandy decided to wait until she’d had a chance to tell Mitch her decision before telling anyone else. That seemed fair. And saved her from the reproving looks she’d be sure to get from her grandmother.

  The phone rang again. Mandy sighed and put her paintbrush down. She’d hadn’t really expected to hear from Mitch until he got back. That would have given her time to firm her resolve.

  But he must really want to talk to her. This was the fourth time he’d called in the last hour.

  Was it possible her reaction before he left had him doubting their relationship? The words he’d all but whispered during her panic attack came back to haunt her—This is why I avoid relationships.

  Her throat suddenly dry, she snatched up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Hey, sweetheart, I was starting to worry.”

  “Sorry. Grandma and I were painting the porch.” Her eyes skittered to where her grandmother had gone back to work, but she knew Grandma Abigail would have no problem hearing whether she wanted to or not.

  Mandy stepped off the porch and walked behind the house, pacing between two trees.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Slowly. Grandma feels like she needs to be out here working if I am. I’ve been taking a lot of breaks to make sure she gets out of the heat.” Small talk. Maybe she could do this. Keep talking about a lot of nothing. Then she wouldn’t have to reveal anything to him until he got home and she could tell him face to face.

  “Not what I meant.” His voice was low, intimate.

  She shivered. “Not what you meant?”

  “Mandy, I’ve been worried about you since I left. I hated heading out while you were upset. This is the first chance I’ve had to call.”

  So, no small talk. She sighed.

  “I’m so sorry.” She pulled in a shuddering breath, everything coming back to her in a flash. “I hated sending you off like that.”

  “So, you doing any better?”

  “I—I’m…” She broke off with a sob.

  “Sweetheart.” His voice came through the line as a gruff whisper.

  “I can’t do this, Mitch.” She sobbed again, wiping the back of her hand over her cheeks. “I thought I could, but I can’t.”

  “Do what? Please, don’t cry, Mandy.” His voice broke a little on her name.

  “Mitch, I’m sorry to do this to you when you’re in the middle of work.” She sucked air through her nose, trying to get a hold of herself.

  “Mandy,” he said, his voice suddenly sharp.

  “I’m sorry.” She sniffled once and took a deep breath. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I…I’m s-sorry.”

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice now devoid of emotion. She was talking to the Mitch she’d first met. The one with all his walls up. “You said that already.”

  “I thought I could do this. But I just can’t watch you walk away over and over again, never knowing if you’re going to make it back.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry.”

  “I got that.”

  She shivered at the ice in his voice and waited through several long, silent moments.

  “I…I guess I should go,” she whispered, fighting to keep the sobs from taking over her body.

  “Don’t let me keep you
.”

  “Mitch…” But he was already gone. Mandy crumpled to the ground and cried, face buried in her hands, until her grandmother came to find her.

  11

  Mandy waited for the luggage belt to start moving. She stared out the floor-to-ceiling plate glass window behind the baggage claim without taking in a single detail, replaying the last few days over in her mind.

  She’d had plenty to keep her busy in the week since she’d broken things off with Mitch. She’d done a few more projects at Grandma’s house and continued getting the shop ready for the opening Memorial Day weekend. It seemed like she had every minute filled, exhausting herself in the hopes she wouldn’t dream when she finally put her head on the pillow.

  Luck hadn’t been on her side. Despite her exhaustion, she woke every day in the early morning hours before the light even started breaking over the horizon. It was almost always the same thing. She’d dream of Will and Mitch walking off together while she called for them frantically. When they finally turned toward her, they were both covered in blood, their huge grins making the scene just that much more gruesome. She’d wake with a scream on her lips and sweat coating her skin.

  She gasped when the conveyor belt began moving. She looked around to make sure no one noticed her minor freak out. Apparently her nightmares were following her into her waking hours.

  “Ghost walk over your grave?”

  Mandy turned her head to see a middle-aged woman addressing her. She had on khaki pants and a green sweater set and sported a few extra pounds here and there. Her blue eyes were kind and reflected the warm smile she shared with Mandy.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Ghost over your grave.” The woman shook her head and chuckled. “You looked startled there for a minute. My grandmother always asked me if a ghost walked over my grave when I got that look.”

  Mandy offered her a small smile, uncomfortable with just how close the woman came with her question. “Something like that.”