by Aria Ford
“Why not?”
Brett nodded. He poured hot water on the granules of coffee and brought it to the table, steaming and sweet. Then he sat down on my left-hand side.
I closed my eyes. I had never actually talked to anyone about this. I wasn’t sure how to begin. “Ever since I came out,” I began, my eyes still closed, “I’ve been…changed. Jumpy. I guess you noticed, right?” I chuckled wearily, opening my eyes to look at him.
There was no judgment on my friend’s face; no curiosity. Nothing but a gentle waiting that prompted me to talk. I sighed.
“I can’t really describe it,” I said wearily. “It’s just…when you’ve been there, on the field, bombs dropping, flack everywhere…you don’t take things the same way after that. The slightest noise, now; and I’m there. I can’t explain it.”
Brett nodded. Again, I didn’t feel like he was trying to understand, or trying to probe into my thoughts. He was just there, a comfortable listener. It was a relief.
“I wish I wasn’t like this,” I said, my voice with a slight tremor that I bit my lip fighting to eradicate. “I wish…” I stopped. What did I want to say, exactly? I wished that I was different? Normal? That those years had never been?
It wasn’t true; I didn’t wish the past was different. I was glad I’d had those years, to have fought and served my homeland, but I did wish there was a path ahead. Out of these dreams, this disruption, these memories. Back to the friendly, easy comfortable life I knew before.
I sighed. “I just wish I could really be me again, bro,” I sighed. “The old Carson. The one who could sit and watch a movie without jumping when the sound-effects went off.” I laughed, my mouth turned in self-deprecation.
Brett gave me a gentle smile. “I can’t say I understand,” Brett said, sighing. “I don’t. Nobody could. Nobody who hasn’t been there.”
I felt something in my chest soften, an ache that must have been there for ages. “Thanks, Brett,” I said. That alone was an acknowledgment, more understanding than anything could have been.
“Not at all, brother.”
I looked away, staring across the kitchen to the bookshelf where Jamie Oliver grinned at us from the dust-jacket of his cookbook. I didn’t know what to say.
“I feel like I’m messed up,” I said after a moment. I would never have told anyone that normally but it was the heart of my worry. “I mean…I can’t sleep sometimes, and I drink sometimes, and…” I sighed.
“I know, brother,” Brett said gently. He looked at me with those blue eyes a shade lighter than Amelia’s. “It’s a tough thing.”
“It is.” I nodded. It was tough. The question that tottered on the edge of my mind, waiting to be asked, was: “do you think I’m fit for your sister”?
I couldn’t ask him that. I didn’t actually want an answer. If I were a brother, I thought harshly, I know what the answer would be. It would be a resounding no?
“It is,” Brett repeated. “All I know is that if anyone can make it out—and people do—it’s you, Lieutenant Grant.”
My heart softened. I felt my throat close and it was difficult not to choke up. I looked at the roof before looking into the blunt, reliable face of my friend.
“Thanks, bro.”
“Not at all,” Brett said gruffly. “Now. Another coffee, anyone?”
I chuckled. “Brett, if you have a plot to keep me awake forever, you’re headin’ in the right direction.”
Brett laughed. “Sorry, bro. Not intentional, I swear.” He sat down again, clearly not sure whether or not to make coffee for me. I smiled.
“It’s okay, bro. I’m okay now. Does Reese still have any of that tea she made after dinner yesterday? It was good.”
“The mint one? Sure,” Brett said, standing to fetch it.
While my friend busied himself with making tea, I closed my eyes, drifting in memory and thought. The way I jumped when the tray hit the floor had surprised me. I thought it had been a while since I did that; but then again, these things vary. Some days I was fine and other days a sudden noise shattered me.
I should have asked him that question I thought, as Brett returned to the table, steaming mugs of green-scented tea in hand. I should have asked if he thought it’d be okay for me and Amelia.
But Brett had shifted topics now, chatting about the business and about the current status of his latest job. He seemed content to fill the evening with idle, safe chatter, and so I let him, letting the peace and quiet ease the tension in me.
Upstairs, the giggling had died down somewhat and I guessed Amelia had gone to her room. I sighed, letting my imagination fill with thoughts of her. How she would look as she undressed, her body pale in the streetlight from the window, her skin soft and scented with soapy water, the soft curls of her hair bouncing on her slender neck…
“…and I asked him if he’d redo the designs. What’d you think he said?”
Brett’s inquiry brought me back to the present and I blinked, fighting my distraction. My loins were aching and I knew my cock was rock-hard with my daydream but I tried to look relaxed.
“What did he say?”
Brett chuckled. “Well, he said what I’d likely say in the same situation. Which was to take myself off. Not in such nice words, of course…”
I laughed. “I guessed not.”
We chatted for another ten minutes or so before Brett stretched, stifling a yawn. “I should turn in,” he commented, still yawning. “It’s late.”
I looked at the clock, surprised that it was eleven already. “I guess so,” I nodded.
“Goodnight,” Brett said, pushing in his chair. “See you in the morning. Have a good sleep.”
“I’ll try, Brett,” I nodded.
When he had gone I carried my cup to the sink, looking out of the darkened window at the shadows in the yard beyond. My mind was racing, full of questions and I knew that, coffee or not, I’d probably not sleep tonight.
What would Amelia think, if she knew?
I sighed. That was the main question on my mind. And it was one for which I had no idea how to get an answer.
Why I was tormenting myself like this, I couldn’t say. All I knew, as I dragged myself up the stairs and to my bed, tiptoeing past the door of her bedroom and to the upstairs shower, was that now that I’d seen her again, it was impossible to keep her from my dreams.
Sure enough, I tossed and turned as images came back to me: not the usual images of war and blood and sand that filled my mind when I lay down to sleep, but tender skin and soft hair and that soft and gentle smile. I slept better than I had in a very long time indeed.
CHAPTER NINE
Amelia
I woke the next morning with a funny smile on my face. The conversation with Carson had affected me more than I realized. I found it hard to concentrate on anything else.
As I showered and dressed, the words kept going around my head, and I found myself distracted, both by the memories of the night before and by the sounds of him dressing and walking, slow and heavy-footed, down the stairs.
Carson’s voice, whispering my name. Touching my hand. Apologizing for touching me like that.
I sighed. He didn’t need to apologize. The only thing, in my book, that was wrong was stopping.
I brushed out my hair thoughtfully. As I did so, I noticed how my face had changed. I looked softer; there was a tender expression in my eyes that hadn’t been there before. My mouth was turned up at the corner and I looked happier.
Oh, Carson, I thought with bittersweet loving. I don’t think anyone touches me like you do.
When I went down to breakfast, I couldn’t look anywhere else. Unusually, he was there ahead of me. He was sitting at the end of the table, a gray-blue sweater bringing out the darkness of his eyes and his soft hair. I could smell the scent of him—something intangible but memorable that smelled musky and spicy and sexy all at once. I cleared my throat, feeling it tighten around my words.
He looked up. “Hello.”
The warmth in the word should have alerted everyone in the room to the fact that we were falling for each other again. But to my astonishment, no one else noticed. I smiled at him, feeling his appreciative grin warm my being.
“Did the paper arrive, darling?” Brett asked his wife, who sat opposite him, beside little Cayley.
“In the study,” she said succinctly.
“Hello, sis,” he added, turning to face me. “Didn’t see you there!”
“The morning news is more exciting, I think,” I commented lightly. He laughed.
“Aw! Sis. I’m glad to see you too…it’s just my eyesight’s not what it was. Seeing people in the shadows isn’t my strong suit now. Come and join us. You eat eggs?”
“I’ll just have muesli,” I said quickly, walking across to the table. “Thanks,” I couldn’t have kept anything else down at this point: my stomach was in knots with a strange excitement that seemed to fill me. It was Carson’s presence that did this to me, I knew.
“Hello, auntie,” Cayley greeted me.
“Hey,” I smiled. She gave me a dazzling grin in return and passed me a bowl for cereal.
“Thanks,” I said, walking round the table to find a seat.
“You slept well?” Carson asked as I came to sit in the only unoccupied chair, which was the foot of the table. Opposite him. I swallowed. He was freshly-showered, his black hair slightly tousled and the grayish sweater he wore bringing out the darkness of his eyes. He looked so handsome, like a Disney prince; just one that wore knitted sweaters and faded jeans.
“Very well.” My voice was low and his eyes looked into mine, searching. I was looking back, and knew I was blushing but didn’t care.
“I was worried you’d be hungry,” Reese commented, sipping her tea. “You didn’t eat much last night.”
“Thanks, Reese.” I smiled. “I slept wonderfully. And the butternut was amazing, just the way I remembered it.”
“Good.”
I had. It was one of the deeper sleeps I’d had in ages. I knew why too. My poor body was drowning in the excitement of being near Carson.
It was weird how quickly we had fallen into the pattern of being close to each other. It had been years: nothing had changed. I still wanted him and it seemed we were as close as we had been.
“You haven’t eaten meat since you were sixteen, right?” he asked me.
“Yes.” I swallowed. “You remembered…”
He laughed. “Of course I did! I remember how we used to barbecue then, and how it was always hard to find something you might like to eat.”
“I know!” I giggled. “At least mom always made three different salads—it helped.”
“I worried about you,” he said, suddenly shy. I looked away, biting my lip; the tension of longing filling me as it came back to me that we weren’t kids in love now, but adults, ten years on.
“I didn’t know,” I admitted.
“I didn’t want to make you feel awkward.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
I still can’t believe how natural it is to talk with him.
It was not just the fact that I could chat with him so naturally. Or the fact that I was still so fond of him. My body was drawn to him like iron to lodestones and I was getting a headache just thinking about how much I wanted him. My belly tingled with excitement when I looked at him. My shoulder could still feel the warmth of his grip.
The closeness had sprung back as if it had never gone, like an evergreen lawn that peeks out under snow.
“So,” Brett was commenting from where he drank coffee. “Who’s up for more coffee?”
“I’d say yes to tea,” Reese commented feelingly, “except I’m going to be driving in a moment and I don’t want, you know…” she made a vague gesture that indicated the door to the guest toilet, flushing red. I smiled.
“I know what you mean,” I replied. “Are you going to go far?”
“No,” she smiled. “Just out to the Andersons’. I promised the kids they could go play there today.”
“Yes!” Cayley said. “I’m visiting Sandy.”
I gathered Sandy was a school-friend. “That’s nice.”
“I’ll be doing the books for the Christmas fete,” Reese commented, face stiff with fake jollity. “The thrills of my holidays!”
I laughed. “I’d offer to help, but…”
“Don’t worry,” Reese chuckled. “I don’t want to share that special pleasure.”
Josh was watching us intently, and Cayley laughed. “Come on, Josh. Let’s get ready.”
“Okay!” he said. “I want to take my new comics.”
“Let’s go!”
Laughing, the kids left the table and Reese leaned back in the chair, setting down the teacup. “I’ll be back by lunchtime,” she commented to Brett. “If you could organize something to eat?”
“Sure, sweetheart,” Brett agreed. He looked around and then stood. “I’d better Skype call Len.”
Len was his partner in the architecture firm. I wasn’t surprised Brett was finding it hard to stop working—both of us found relaxing a challenge.
“Heck, bro,” Carson said. “It’s holiday time.”
“No rest for the wicked,” Brett chuckled. “See you guys later.”
He left, then Reese stood. “I’ll go get ready.”
That left Carson and I alone at the table together. I sat looking at my hands, trying to avoid eye contact. I was shy. There was an ocean of unspoken words between us and I had no idea where to start.
“You have plans today?” Carson asked.
“No,” I whispered. Our eyes met and I could see the wistfulness in his own eyes.
“I should go jogging,” he said, stretching.
“I suppose,” I said lightly. We were both talking around the point, making little forays into the central territory of our ten-year silence without going there. It didn’t feel safe.
“Well, then,” he said. He didn’t move and nor did I. We sat there for a long moment, the silence touching both of us. In its way it was comfortable, a sort of blanket over the rawness of feeling beneath it.
“Well,” I replied.
He sighed. Stood. His face softened and he looked wistful again. “I’ll go.”
“Happy jogging,” I said quietly.
I stayed where I was for a long while after he had gone. My heart was full of feelings—longing, joy, sadness—and the thought that was uppermost in my mind was that I wished, profoundly, that something could happen to push us to that place of connection.
“Amelia?”
I looked up from where I sat at the kitchen table, reading my book. Brett was standing in the doorway, a coat on his arm.
“Yes?”
“I’m going out for the groceries now. You need something?”
I glanced at the clock. Nearly two hours had passed since breakfast, and I hadn’t moved from there. I stretched, feeling the tension in my neck. “Yes!” I thought about it. “I do. I need walnuts for the gravy and…” I paused, making a mental list. I had agreed to make the gravy for Christmas day. I wanted it to be a good result.
“Okay,” Brett suggested. “I tell you what we’ll do. You come with me.”
“Okay,” I nodded. It was a relief, actually. I’d only been here for twenty-four hours and sharing a roof with Carson was putting more stress on me than I cared to admit. It was disconcerting how quickly we had fallen back into being so close. And my body still wanted his in a way that was hard to fend off.
“Well, then,” Brett agreed. “That’s settled.”
We walked out to the car together and headed to the store.
“What do you think of Carson?” Brett asked as we drove. I stared at him, surprised.
“How do you mean?”
He laughed. “I mean, does he seem okay to you? He’s changed a lot.”
“You think so?” I asked, surprised. The thing that struck me about him was that he seemed like exactly the same guy I’d met all those years ago:
quiet, aloof, sensible, but with a naughty, boyish streak that would have anyone laughing.
“Yeah. He’s gone quiet. I think he…he struggles with stuff, Amelia.”
“He was always quiet, Brett,” I said. I wondered why my brother was saying all this to me now.
“Yeah, he was,” Brett admitted. “But this is different. It’s like he’s lost something. I dunno.” He shrugged.
“He’s been through a lot, Brett,” I reminded cautiously.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
We drove the last mile or so in silence, likely thinking of Carson. I certainly was. At the dinner the other night, he had been so…so natural. It felt as if we had seen each other every day for the last ten years; as if nothing had changed or broken and we were still dating.
“Brett?”
“Mm?”
“Is Carson…alone in Colorado?” I asked carefully.
“Yes, sis,” Brett observed.
“Oh.” I wanted to ask if he was single, but I didn’t actually want to. If I found out that he was seeing someone, it’d upset me. Amelia, you’re silly.
I sighed.
“What?” My brother asked softly.
“Nothing,” I said sadly.
“I still wonder if I should have invited him,” Brett continued, giving me a concerned stare.
“I don’t mind,” I said. I didn’t—not really. In fact, the thing that disturbed me more than anything was the fact that I didn’t mind. Far from it. I would be miserable if, now, suddenly, he went again.
“Whew!” my older brother sighed. “I was feeling bad.”
“Oh, Brett.”
I ruffled his hair and he grinned at me.
“Thanks, sis. I’m glad you’re okay about it.”
“Of course I am,” I lied. There was no reason to suppose I would have been. In fact, I wasn’t okay with it: part of me was elated, part of me distressed.
“Okay. Well, here we are. Let’s get these groceries.”
I laughed and slid out of the car. Buying the groceries didn’t take long and soon we were back at the house. I had been thinking a lot about Carson on the way back, though we didn’t discuss him further. I had been wondering at the strangeness of the thing. How he was suddenly all nice and friendly again, like we never split.
