"I'll never block out that image as long as I live. I could have saved him, but I…froze."
Hearing him take the blame for something beyond his control broke her heart. Not unusual for those in combat situations, though. They were trained to watch out for each other. Nothing she could say would help assuage his guilt that a member of his unit was killed, even if she could come up with the words to say. She just squeezed his thigh again, knowing there probably was more to come. She braced herself mentally.
"I came to in a military hospital in Germany. When I realized what I'd lost, I didn't want to go on."
"Lost?" She knew he wasn't talking about his sergeant now.
He avoided making eye contact with her, but nodded, his gaze remaining on his feet. Oh, God, no! In an instant, it became clear to her why she'd seen him limping so many times. She looked down at his feet. For the first time, she realized she'd never seen him without his boots on. Odd, considering they'd lived in such close quarters for two months.
Dread washed over her as she slid off the bed onto the floor. With shaking hands, she sat in front of his feet and reached out to touch his legs. Starting below his knees, which were flesh on solid muscle, she ran each of her hands down the backs of his legs until her left hand bumped into straps on his right leg. On the other leg she felt sinew and muscle. Unmarred.
She reached down to the hem of his jeans leg and folded up the right one. Damián reached out and halted her hand, but she brushed him away. "Please, Damián. I need to see what they did to you."
His hand went to her chin and he lifted her face to his. The pain—no, the torment—she saw there told her how hard this was for him. She needed to back off and give him time to prepare himself. This wasn't about what she needed. She had to do what Damián needed.
Savi held onto his wounded leg, wrapping both arms around it and laid her forehead against his knee. She wished she could shed tears for him, but she hadn't been able to cry in…forever. Her chest ached as she mourned the loss of his limb, but, even more so, the loss of the gentle innocence that had been the younger Damián. He shouldn't have had to go through that.
What if she'd found him again before he'd enlisted? What if she'd tried harder to let him know about her pregnancy? He might have made a different decision. He might not have joined the Marines.
He might not have been injured.
His hand stroked her hair and brought her back to him. She looked up again, seeing him through her own emotional pain.
"I need to see, Damián, but I think you need for me to see it. It's part of who you are now." A shadow crossed his face and she squeezed his leg above the straps of the prosthesis to let him know she wasn't afraid to touch him; to see him. "I'm sorry you felt you needed to hide this from me…" She pulled back. "My God! How did you wear this thing twenty-four/seven for two months straight?"
Dear lord, she and Damián were both so fucked up, to use Damián's expression, each hiding so much from each other. How could she push him to reveal his secrets if she couldn't tell him about her own?
"I found times to rest the stump. I didn't wear the prosthesis in the shower and usually found some time each day to lock myself in the bathroom and massage my stump."
Savi grinned, before catching her errant thought.
"What?"
Her face must be as red as a tomato. "I thought maybe you were massaging something else those times."
He smiled. "Well, that, too, sometimes."
Suddenly aware of how close she was sitting to Damián, and that her hands were touching his legs, Savi grew rigid, afraid to move. When she would have retreated, he put light pressure on her shoulders, and gently pushed her away from his leg. When he moved, she thought he was going to stand up and walk away from her. Instead, he reached down and pulled his pant leg up until he revealed the sock-covered prosthesis. She asked him with her eyes and a motion of her hand if she could touch him and he nodded.
With shaking hands, she reached up and pulled the black sock down. At first, she saw only the straps of the prosthesis. His calf and most of his leg was still intact and she breathed a sigh of relief.
When she rolled the sock down to where his ankle had been, she encountered where the prosthetic foot was attached to his lower leg. He'd lost his foot and ankle. Again, she experienced an odd sense of relief that it hadn't been worse, but she mourned the pain and agony he must have gone through as he'd learned to walk again and to live without such a vital part of his body.
His beautiful body. She remembered their time in the beach cave and how she hadn't been able to keep her eyes off him. He'd carried her down the stairs, across the sand and rocks. Oh, God. He'd never be able to do that again.
How many activities had he been unable to do since he'd been injured? Yet, he was still so strong and brave. She'd never noticed any fear or reluctance on his part to protect her and Mari, either.
Looking up at him, she thought he was even more beautiful now. Damián was still the gentle, caring man she'd known back in that cave. Only now he also was the father of her daughter. How could he have thought she would reject him because he'd been injured in the war?
Because she'd done nothing but push him away since she'd shown up here. Savi removed the sock and stared at the flesh-colored plastic prosthesis that had supported him so well all these years. Did he still have phantom pain? He'd said he had nightmares, but she hadn't witnessed any during the time she'd been with him.
Alive Day.
He'd almost died. She shuddered and looked up. "What's your Alive Day?"
"Fifteen November 2004."
Mari had been almost five months old when he'd been injured. At that time, Savi had been trying to learn to be a mother, keep up with college classes, and process what had happened in her fucked-up childhood. Damián had been fighting for his life.
"I'm sorry, Damián. I didn't know. I wish I'd been there during your recovery." Not that she'd have been much help. There were so many times she'd been barely able to function for herself and Mari back then. She wouldn't have been able to help him. But they could have held each other and…
Damián took her elbow and pulled, indicating he wanted her to stand. She did so, and then he tugged until she landed in his lap, where she was seated before her mind registered that this was a very bad idea.
But then, why did it feel so nice—not scary, as she'd expected? She'd stay here a moment.
"Mi sueño, you were there. Every night, I escaped with you to our beach cave. I carried you down all those stairs, as if I was still a whole man. You held onto me, trusting me not to drop you. We made love."
Something broke loose in Savi's chest and she released a dry sob. He pulled her head to his chest. "Shhhh, bebé."
She should be comforting him, and yet he was stroking her hair, rocking her, crooning to her.
How many nights had she escaped to their cave when she needed his support to get through the night, or even the days, for that matter? There had been so many times she'd questioned her decision to raise a child on her own, only to find Damián there every night telling her she'd done the right thing. That she was the best mother their daughter could ever have.
"You said you had nightmares."
His hand stilled on her head and he stopped breathing for a moment. "A few. Over time, though, I chose to dream about you…us...and the nightmares faded some."
"So that's why you call me mi sueño. Your dream. Oh, Damián." They'd missed so much over the years. Now, it was too late for them.
How could she and Damián have anything together? She was too screwed up. Damián didn't know half of what Father had done to Savannah yet. When he found out, would he still want to hold her like this? Touch her? Would he still want someone like her in his life? In his daughter's life? She shuddered again.
"Shhh. It's okay, querida. It's just new to you right now. I adjusted to what I've become long ago."
She didn't know if that were true, given that he'd hidden his prosthesis from
her until now, but it certainly didn't seem to be holding him back from living his life. She'd only detected a limp a few times, usually when he was carrying Marisol, or just overly tired.
Savi reached up and stroked his jaw. So strong. The man had a calm reserve she envied. Nothing seemed to faze him. Of course, she hadn't seen him in the midst of a PTSD episode. He said he still had them. She wondered what triggers set him off.
Damián took her hand and turned his head to bring his lips to the palm of her hand. Savi pulled her hand away, as if bitten. She hadn't meant anything sexual by touching him.
"Savannah, you crawled into my lap…you know you wanted me to touch you there."
She pushed herself upright. "Let me off your lap."
Chapter Seven
Damián knew the moment he'd lost her to another bad memory. Her breathing stopped for a moment, then grew rapid and shallow. She struggled to get off his lap, but Damián held her tighter.
"Let me go."
"You're okay, Savi. You're safe. I'm not going to do anything to hurt you."
"I didn't do anything to make it okay for you to touch me there."
Touch her? Where? When? Then he realized she wasn't talking to him. Damián wasn't sure which of her tormenters she was talking to and hated asking for details about something she'd probably kept bottled up a very long time, but she needed to say the words. He just hoped he could handle whatever she revealed. "Touch you where?"
"You know where. You molested me. I didn't do anything to make it okay for you to hurt me like that."
She sounded more like she was trying to convince herself of that than she was her abuser.
"Shhh, chiquita. You're right. I shouldn't have touched you like that. I'm sorry."
She blinked and pulled away, staring him in the face. "Damián?" She pulled even further away, as if just coming to the realization she wasn't trapped in a scene from the past with whoever had molested her.
Damián ran the pad of his thumb over her full lips and fought the urge to cage her jaw and draw her mouth open to shove his thumb inside. Damn. He needed to get her off his lap. Or rein in his libido. Both, actually.
But she needed to talk with him about this, or it would stay locked up inside her.
"Who were you talking to a moment ago?"
She blinked a few times, then cast her gaze away from him. "Let me up." Again she tried to get up, but he wanted to push her a little further. Maybe he could get her to tell him what he needed to know. Who was she fighting in her mind still? He had an idea he knew, but needed for her to say his name.
Then maybe he could help her send the bastard into the bowels of hell.
If she'd allow him to get that close to her demons. If she'd trust him that much.
"Who was he?"
"Don't ask me that. Please."
"He hurt you. Took advantage of your innocence. Who hurt you, Savi?"
Her chin began to shake and he pulled her closer, then sank back onto the mattress, pulling her with him. For a moment, he had to fight the roar of the beast within as her body's weight pressed against his chest, much like Sergeant Miller's body had.
Slow, deep breaths. In. Out.
He held her as tightly as she'd allow him to and he was able. "He can't hurt you now. He'll have to go through me first. That won't happen."
Savi grabbed onto his T-shirt and clenched it in her fist, shaking her head.
"Tell me, Savi." Trust me, mi mariposa.
She released his shirt and sat up, straddling him. He hoped she couldn't feel the raging hard-on he had for her. She pounded against his chest with her right fist, then hit him again, pummeling him with both fists now. She wasn't hitting him—Damián—anymore, but her tormentor.
"That's it. Let him have it, Savi. Let go of some of your hurt, your anger."
She walloped him a good one in his left pec and Damián grinned. The woman had some serious upper-body strength. She must have worked out back in California, because he hadn't seen her doing that here.
"Again. Harder. Hit him like you mean it."
She closed her eyes and pounded him several more times in quick succession. "I hate what you did to me!" Lost in the past, she continued to pound him with both fists; her hair flying with each swing.
"Let it out, bebé."
A moan of anguish tore from her throat. "You fucking monster! How could you do such despicable things? I was only eight! You raped me when I was eight years old! You god-damned bastard!"
Puta madre. The animal within him stirred to life wanting to seek vengeance, but he reined in his emotions. Savi was the one who needed to unleash her anger. Eight fucking years old? He'd known Savi's handler was a cabron from the day he'd seen him in the hotel restaurant, but raping an eight-year-old kid? If he ever got his hands on that god-damned son-of-a-bitch, he'd burn his balls off. Heaven help him if he came anywhere near Savi or Marisol. He'd get his eventually—for Savi—and would make sure old-man Gentry and his cabron lackey were never allowed to walk free or hurt anyone else ever again.
Savi pounded on his chest, but the fight was leaving her, judging by how hard she was hitting him. "I prayed every night you would die! I wished you had left me, instead of Maman! I hate you, Father!!!"
Madre de Dios. Her father? Damián tried to imagine what kind of man would rape his daughter—a daughter about the age of Damián's own daughter, Marisol. His heart hammered in counter beat to Savi's fists. Why hadn't he realized it before?
He'd thought his ex-brother-in-law Julio was the biggest shithead on two feet for raping sixteen-year-old Teresa. But Savannah…Savi had been half her age. How the fuck…a roaring in his head distracted Damián from his thoughts as the beast within sprang to life. No. He couldn't lose control, not now, but let Savi continue to pound on his chest with renewed strength.
"Let him have all your rage, Savita."
Thank God she'd finally been able to speak the words she'd needed to say. Moments later, her fists slowed down and he pulled her against his sore chest and wrapped her in his arms. When the familiar panic rose up at having pressure on his chest, he refused to give it a handhold. He needed to maintain control and stay in the moment. For her.
He'd be sporting some serious bruises tomorrow. The woman didn't hit like a girl, that's for sure. The rage had to have been building up inside her for almost twenty years.
After a few moments, the ache coming from around his heart hurt a helluva lot worse than any injury inflicted on his body ever had. He didn't want the images in his head of little Savannah being raped by her father, but they kept flashing across his mind, anyway. He'd need those images later, when he was ready to release the beast and exact justice for Savi. No doubt in his mind that day of justice would come one day, but not now.
Damián wouldn't do anything to jeopardize Savi's and Marisol's safety. He needed to remain calm and protect his girls right now.
Savi clung to his T-shirt with her right fist as her body convulsed. Was she crying? He hoped so. She needed to let go of her tears as much as her rage, but he hadn't seen her do that yet either. He reached up to stroke her hair. "Shhh. You're safe, Savi. I have you. Just rest now."
Holding her like this reminded him of aftercare following an intense SM scene. She would probably benefit from some controlled, mild SM play, to help her regain a sense of the power she'd lost as a child. But she'd never agree to anything like that. He probably was trying to project his own baser needs onto her. Of course, he was in no condition for an SM session right now. His own demons were too close to the surface tonight. If he couldn't control himself, hell, he'd be no better than her father. Right now, she just needed comfort and a safe place to heal. Nothing more.
Maybe that's all she'd ever need from him. A safe harbor.
Fine by him. He couldn't give her more, anyway. Still, he liked being needed. He'd always liked that, even as a teenager. Maybe losing his dad so young and having to be there for his mom and sister had made him into the type of guy who needed to prot
ect others. The guy people leaned on when times got tough.
He rested his chin on the top of her head. After a few moments, her body sagged against his. Sleep. That's probably what she needed most. He'd just hold her. No la moleste.
"Just sleep, bebé. I have you."
As long as you'll have me.
He eased her onto the bed and curled her body into his.
Damián startled awake sometime later and found himself looking into the sleepy blue eyes of Savi. He'd dreamt of waking up with her in his bed so many times that it took him a few moments to realize she was real. He wondered how long he'd slept. Hell, he never slept that soundly.
He reached out to stroke her velvet-soft cheek. She didn't flinch as she'd done most of the times he'd touched her. Emboldened, he let his finger trail along her jaw to her neck.
"Damián, I don't think…"
"Don't think. Just feel."
He saw the distressed look on her face and his heart ached for her. He barely heard her as she whispered, "I don't know how to feel anything. It's been so long."
"Let me do the work. You just focus on my hand. If you want me to stop, say…hot tamale."
He hoped the silly safephrase would be non-threatening enough for her to lighten up, even if she didn't know that's what it was.
Savi grinned. "Hot tamale?"
"Si, mamacita. I will stop if you say those two words, unless, of course, you're referring to me as a hot tamale, in which case...hmmm." Thoughts of her getting carried away like that kicked his long-dormant hormones into overdrive. "Then again, maybe I should let you choose a word or phrase you might not normally use."
She visibly relaxed and laughed. "I assure you, hot tamale rarely comes up in my vocabulary."
His finger continued its journey along her collarbone, then skimmed the top of her shoulders. He wished she wasn't wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt, but it didn't matter really. He wasn't going to be getting her naked anytime soon. He'd just use his imagination.
He traced the joint where her shoulder met her arm. She was so much thinner than she'd been at nineteen; her bones jutted against the fabric. He needed to get her to eat more. Hell, if they ever did have sex again, he didn't want to have to worry about breaking her. Not at first, anyway.
Nobody's Perfect Page 15
