Battle Scars

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  And then his head swung in my direction and his eyes snapped to mine. I saw relief and an explosion of joy on his face, and I couldn’t help smiling so wide I was afraid I’d scare small children.

  He pushed his way through the crowds of people and gathered me into a tight hug, his face pressing into my neck, soft kisses pressed against my skin.

  My hands slid over those broad shoulders and down his back. As I touched him, I felt the tension slide from his taut muscles. I relaxed into his chest, letting him take my weight, sharing the burden. My throat tightened and tears pricked my eyes.

  “It’s okay, Maggie,” he whispered as my shoulders shook. “You’re home now.”

  Tears soaked his t-shirt, but with his arms around me, I truly felt that I’d come home.

  Eventually, I had myself under control and Jackson dropped a sweet kiss on my cheek before gathering up my bags in one hand, and holding my fingers tightly with the other.

  I breathed deeply, calmly, letting my emotions settle like a pile of feathers that fluttered slowly to earth. As each one landed, a tiny piece of my life dropped exquisitely into place with it.

  As we left the airport, the road shimmered in the heat, and beyond, the Gulf glittered in the late evening sun.

  I stared out of the window in a haze of weariness that was bone deep.

  We passed through the city and I kept expecting Jackson to pull into one of the hotels that lined the road from the airport, until it dawned on me that we were heading out of town.

  “Jack, did you get me a hotel room?”

  His eyebrows rose.

  “No, sugar. You’re staying at my place. Mama wants to meet you. I thought you were okay with that?”

  I glanced down at my dirty, crumpled clothes. It certainly wasn’t the way I would have chosen to meet Jack’s mother.

  “You’ll be fine,” he said, catching the direction of my quick glance. “She knows where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing. She’s seen me in worse shape.”

  “Your compliments are overwhelming, Sarge,” I said drily, making him laugh. “So . . . how many of your girlfriends has she met before?”

  His shoulders tightened fractionally and I glanced at him curiously.

  “Just one.”

  “Care to give me a little more?” I asked gently, wondering why this was a sore topic for him.

  “I was engaged once. Emmy. Her mama is friends with mine. Her younger sister is friends with Lucy.”

  “The kissing cousin you mentioned?”

  “The same.”

  “I didn’t know you’d been engaged.”

  His lips pressed into a thin line.

  “It was a while ago.”

  “Can I ask what happened?” I paused as his expression darkened. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  He sighed.

  “It’s okay. Same old story, I guess. It can be hard to hold down a relationship in the military. Emmy wasn’t cut out to be the wife of an active duty Marine. She was too needy, too dependent. Not like you, Maggie.”

  He glanced across at me, but I wasn’t sure what to say to that.

  “She gave me an ultimatum: her or the Marines. She called it off after I re-upped.” He looked at me again. “What about you? You ever been married?”

  “No, I never wanted to.”

  He looked surprised, but it was the truth. I’d never met anyone who’d made me want them that way. I didn’t see the point of marriage when nearly two-thirds ended in divorce. It seemed like an exercise in hope over expectation, rather than being realistic. What I didn’t, couldn’t, say was that I’d been re-evaluating my standpoint in a fundamental way.

  Finally, Jackson made a left turn into a short U-shaped driveway in front of a colonial-style house with white painted pillars. I hadn’t expected something so grand.

  “I think you might have left out a few salient facts about your upbringing, Jackson,” I muttered.

  He winked at me.

  “I tell good bedtime stories, Maggie. Ask me later.”

  I appreciated his enthusiasm, but I thought it was more likely that I’d pass out for 12 hours, given half a chance.

  I was surprised when the door opened and two women walked out. One was clearly Jack’s mother, sharing the same cobalt blue eyes, but the other was younger, and very beautiful.

  “What are you doing here, Emmy?” Jack snapped out.

  “Why, Jackson Connor!” said the older woman, eyeing me carefully. “That’s no way to talk. You apologize.”

  “That’s okay, Mama Connor,” the younger woman said with a silvery laugh. “He’s just being his usual ornery self.”

  Jack took a deep breath, and I sensed that he was reining in his annoyance.

  “Mama, Emmy, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend Maggie Buckman.”

  “Hello,” I said, holding out my hand, grimacing at my cracked and torn nails as I cast an eye over Mrs. Connor’s perfect manicure.

  “Delighted,” she said, pasting on a quick smile.

  Emmy gave me a cute wave, then kissed Jack on the cheek.

  “Catch you later! Enjoy your visit,” she said sweetly.

  Mrs. Connor waved fondly, then escorted me inside, telling Jack to show me to the Primrose room, whatever that was.

  As he carried my bags down the hallway, I glimpsed a guestroom decorated in pastels and primrose yellow wallpaper.

  I glanced at Jack with a bemused smile as he continued walking.

  “I’m assuming this isn’t where you’re sleeping?”

  “Nope, and you won’t be either. My room is down the hall.”

  He dumped my bags on a bed with a dark comforter and a room that was decidedly more masculine, if more suited to a high school football player than a grown man.

  “Are you sure she’ll be okay with this? I don’t want to upset your mother.”

  Jack shrugged.

  “I’ll talk to her. After what I’ve been like for the last 72 hours, I’m not allowing you out of my sight.”

  I didn’t want to talk about that right now—it was too raw. Instead, I changed the subject.

  “So, that was your fiancée?” I said, smirking at him to lighten the suddenly tense atmosphere.

  “Was,” he grimaced. “Was my fiancée.”

  I glanced out of the window at the woman driving away, the woman with the perfect sundress, perfect hair and perfect makeup—a pageant princess. And then I looked at Jackson, hard and rugged, a core of steel running through him.

  I couldn’t see them together, although obviously he had. Once.

  Other than the man in front of me, I had nothing in common with a woman like her, but I didn’t feel threatened. Jack was a man more than capable of making his own choices. I was the one he’d asked to stay.

  Besides, we’d both learned that it was pointless to worry about things that hadn’t happened yet and maybe never would: you had to live for today. Control was an illusion.

  “Do you miss her?”

  He didn’t answer immediately and I respected that. He’d loved her once and the words he said next would matter.

  “I miss being part of something bigger than just me. That’s what I love about the Marines. With Emmy, I would have been part of a marriage—I miss the idea of what that meant to me . . . the dream. I know it wouldn’t have been like that. We weren’t right for each other. But I learned from her, too. So now I know what it looks like when something good comes along. And I’m not going to walk away from that, Maggie. Not for anyone.”

  His words were thoughtful and decisive, and I wasn’t sure I was in the right frame of mind to hear him talk about marriage like that. So I fell back on my usual defense of humor.

  “Does that mean I’ve got to put up with you?”

  He grinned.

  “Who said I was talking about you?”

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled his head toward me, pausing when our lips were an inch apart.

  “Are you thinking about me now?”<
br />
  His eyes darkened dangerously as his lips hinted at a smile

  That sultry knowing look that said, I’ll make you beg for forgiveness . . . and I’ll enjoy every second of it.

  He kissed me the way a hungry man drools over all-you-can-eat buffet. I felt needed and wanted and desired, and all my tiredness fell away.

  But then his mother called us, saying supper was ready.

  His eyes met mine, hot and amused.

  “You want to take a quick shower, Maggie, while I . . . uh . . . calm down.”

  I winked at him, then unzipped my duffel, trying to find something to wear that was as close to clean and unwrinkled as possible. I finally came up with a pair a shorts and a tank top that would have to make do, for now.

  Five minutes later, with wet hair and damp skin I sat at Jackson’s mother’s table.

  I didn’t think she liked me much, tutting about “career girls like you” but when she saw how truly tired I was, her eyes softened, and it wasn’t long before she was shooing me upstairs to bed.

  Jackson followed a minute later, locking his bedroom door behind us. Despite my tiredness, I ran my hands over his body, feeling his arousal straining against his shorts.

  “Thank God you’re home safe, Maggie,” he said seriously.

  That evening, he loved me with an urgency and neediness that was new, and I returned it in full.

  With our bodies pressed together in the dark, he opened up to me in a way he never had before.

  “I was going out of my mind,” he said softly. “When I couldn’t get in touch with you and I imagined the worst. It was a dark place for me. And . . . I get bad dreams sometimes. Wondering what had happened to you . . . I’m not blaming you, hell no, but . . . sometimes . . .” and he cleared his throat. “Sometimes I wake up screaming. The Marine shrink said that the invisible injuries are the ones that are hardest to heal.”

  I tightened my arms around him.

  “Oh, Jack. I understand, I do. I had a lot of flashbacks after Afghanistan. I feel so powerless in my dreams. I don’t have a gun, I can’t run . . . and sometimes . . . sometimes, Jack, you’re not there in time.”

  His body tensed for a moment and then he pulled me closer.

  “I’ll tell you one thing, Maggie—I wasn’t scared of death until I met you.”

  I stared at him, his eyes glittering in the moonlight.

  “I used to think that if I die and find out that Heaven exists, I’ll have friends waiting for me . . . and my pa and grandpappy. If it doesn’t exist, I won’t know anything about it.”

  I smiled.

  “You have a way with words, Jack.”

  “But now I’ve met you, I’m afraid I’ll lose you. The last few days . . .”

  “Shh,” I said. “Don’t talk about that now.”

  I snuggled down under the sheet. Jackson felt solid, like a tree trunk warmed by the sun, his chest firm against my back, his arms heavy and wrapped around me, his scent of soap and clean sheets and hot, sexy man.

  And I knew that no scary dreams would touch me tonight.

  A New Path

  WHEN I WOKE up, the sun was high in the sky and next to me the bed was empty.

  The sheets on Jackson’s side were cool but a single red rose lay on his pillow, and I smiled.

  I’d seen Jack happy, worried, angry, intense and focused. I’d seen him with rage in his eyes and a rifle in his hands; I’d seen him sweet, and I’d seen him loving. But I’d never experienced the romantic man that was masked by the warrior’s austere demeanor. And I’d never been with a man who left a beautiful, long-stemmed red rose on the pillow. In fact, most of the men I’d dated from Manhattan seemed to think they’d done me a favor when they offered to split the check with me.

  This was new. And I liked it a lot.

  I stretched, feeling the ache in my body. Not only from the long flights in cramped seats, but from the times in the night when we’d come together and washed away the intensity of the last few days in an ocean of kisses, a torrent of touching, and a new and different emotional depth.

  When I first met Marine Sergeant Jackson Connor, I’d seen a stern, taciturn man. I’d assumed that he was the strong, silent type. But that was just one facet of him. Since we’d been together, ours seemed to be a non-stop conversation, and we talked all the time about everything and nothing—our hopes and dreams, our deepest fears.

  But perhaps Jackson was at his most eloquent when we were alone in bed together. All the reserve of his training, his years as a Marine were left behind in these most private of moments. And I knew he showed me a side that very few people had ever seen.

  I wasn’t naïve. He’d admitted that in his twenties, co-eds at the beach were his favorite prey, and he was a predator honed to perfection by training, looks and natural charm. But I also understood that those sort of encounters no longer satisfied him. What we had was real and surprising and new. It challenged us both.

  I swung my legs out of bed and padded to the bathroom, but as my hand touched the door handle, Jack’s voice drifted upward.

  I peeked out of the window and found him by the patio talking to his mother who was seated under a sun umbrella.

  “She seems very . . . independent, darlin’. Older than I was expecting.”

  Great. They were talking about me. With two strikes against me already, apparently,

  “You’ll like her when you get to know her,” came Jack’s confident voice.

  “I can already see that my son approves,” she teased gently.

  “She’s different from any other woman that I’ve met.”

  “That she is.”

  “Now, Mama . . .”

  “I’m not saying that’s a bad thing,” she said briskly, “but how are you going to turn this into a relationship with grit and roots? I can see how much you think of her, Jack, I’m not blind. But do you really think she’s going to give up her career as a journalist and follow you around while you build your own life in the Marines? Don’t misunderstand me, I’d like nothing more than for you to tell your mama that you’re leaving the Corps and going to settle down and make babies so I can be a grandma at last, but is she the right girl for that?”

  And wasn’t that the question?

  I didn’t want to eavesdrop anymore. If Jack had something to say to me on the subject, I wanted to hear it from him.

  I forced myself to step away from the window and turned on the shower.

  Jack

  I thought about what Mama said. She knew me better than anyone. Or she had, until I’d met Maggie. I didn’t think a civilian would ever be able to understand my job or what it meant to me, but she did.

  It felt like she’d been created just for me, she was so goddamn perfect.

  Mama knew how I felt about her, but she was worried, too. Every time I tried to pull Maggie closer, she’d get that look in her eye as if I was trying to hold her too tight. And damned if I didn’t want to tell her that she couldn’t take anymore assignments like that last one. But I knew she was waiting for me to say something, and from what she’d told me, it had been the reason that her relationships had failed in the past. So I kept my mouth shut and smiled.

  But it made me understand Emmy a little better, too.

  It had been painful seeing her again, more than I’d thought it would be. Honestly, I hadn’t spent much time thinking about her over the last couple of years, only if Mama mentioned her when we were talking on the phone.

  But I could see it in Emmy’s eyes. She might have been the one to break it off, but she’d never thought her ultimatum would have me walking away for good.

  A month after we’d broken up, Emmy had flown out to San Diego, begging to try again, saying she’d made a mistake. I’d tried to be as gentle as possible when I’d told her there was no chance of it. She’d become hysterical, sobbing and then screaming at me. I hadn’t wanted to hurt her, but I knew our relationship wasn’t right. If I was honest with myself, I’d known for a while, and when sh
e’d broken up with me, it was a relief.

  But now, maybe just a little, I felt a soft breath across the embers of feelings that I’d thought had died. Yes, I still cared about her, but it was nothing like the fire of emotions that Maggie made me feel.

  Maggie scared the crap out of me because I felt so much, so quickly. It was like jumping out of a C130 transport plane and realizing that I’d forgotten my ‘chute.

  But when I held her in my arms, she made me think of summer afternoons in Mama’s garden—her warm skin, the sultry heat in her eyes, those sexy lips made for long, languid kisses.

  I’d do whatever it took to hold onto her.

  Even if that meant letting her go.

  MJ

  I took my time showering, deep in thought. If anyone understood how much my career meant to me, it was Jack. He’d seen how much it meant to me. And even though I could imagine a future with this man, a beautiful future, I wasn’t ready to give up everything I’d worked for either. At least, not yet.

  There weren’t many married people who did the work I did, and even fewer were women. Most of those were either single or had families already grown up. It was rare to find a foreign correspondent who juggled childcare and frequent overseas travel. It happened occasionally, but it was tough.

  The shower revived me, but did little to wash away the sad realization that the worlds that had brought us together were going to push us apart, and soon.

  Standing with a towel wrapped around me, I opened my duffel bag and stared critically at my clothes. Everything was wrinkled, even the few clean clothes—which wouldn’t have mattered if I’d gone back to my apartment in NYC. Instead, I was standing in a serene, sun-filled room, with the scent of honeysuckle drifting up from the garden, and a timelessness quality that made me feel grubby, like a hobo wandering into a black tie event.

  I pulled out a cleanish pair of shorts and a plain t-shirt, shoving my body armor and dirty panties to the bottom of the bag.

  This was as good as it was going to get. I didn’t even have my full makeup case with me—just a lip gloss, concealer and a nearly empty tube of mascara. Oh and a comb. Happy days.