“Can I at least come inside before you ask me a million questions?” He huddled into his coat, his bright red cheeks looking chafed. “I’m freezing.”
I hadn’t even realized I still stood in the doorway with the door wide open, blocking his entry. I backed out of it and looked over my shoulder. Carrie’s parents were gone, but Carrie still stood there. She looked unsure of her welcome. I met her eyes. “Did you know about this?”
“I didn’t know, but I suspected.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t have confirmation. We were going to talk to him today, remember?”
I nodded once. “Yeah. I remember. You didn’t remind me, though, like you promised you would.”
“I’m sorry. I—”
“Can we talk in my room, son?” Dad came inside and closed the door, looking at me with disappointment clear in his blue eyes. “I’m exhausted.”
“Of course.” I forgot all about being pissed he didn’t tell me about his illness. He looked even paler than he’d been, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was acting as if he was feeling much better than he actually was. You know, like me. “Let’s go. Did you eat dinner?”
“Of course I did.” Dad rolled his eyes and shuffled toward the stairs. He looked weaker than ever. Same gray hair. Same blue eyes. But so much fucking older. “I have a bad heart, not a bad stomach.”
I forced a laugh. “That’s true. You were never one to skip a meal.”
“And I never will,” he said, laughing along with me.
As soon as he turned around, the smile on my face disappeared. I stopped at Carrie’s side and leaned down until my mouth was a whisper away from her ear. “We’ll talk later.”
She caught my hand. “Take it easy on him. He’s worried about you.”
“And I’m worried about him.” I watched him climb the stairs, one slow step at a time. The pain pills finally kicked in, giving Dad a weird shimmery haze around him. Almost like an aura—or what I guessed an aura looked like. Fuck if I actually knew. “I just want to know all the details. Then I’ll let him sleep.”
“Okay.” She rose up on tiptoe and kissed me. “I’ll see you soon.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
“The sun is finally shining,” she said softly.
I tensed. “Yeah, it is,” I managed to say through my swollen throat.
Not because it made me happy, but because it made her happy. Those words used to mean so much to me when she said that, but now it brought back memories of men dying. Of Dotter’s blood squirting all over my face and in my mouth. It meant something completely different to her—and it sucked that was the case now.
Fuck, I wished…
I wished we could go back.
We made it into his room, and I switched the light on. I hadn’t been in his room since we got here. I’d been so absorbed in what I’d been dealing with that I totally missed all the signs. That’s the kind of man I’d become. A whole shitload of orange pill bottles sat by his bed. I walked up to them and ran my fingers over the lineup. “You should have told me.”
“What good would it have done? When it’s our time to die, it’s our time. There’s nothing you or anyone can do to stop it.”
I threw the covers back off his bed. “Lay down.”
“I will.” He scratched his head. His half-bald head. When had that happened? He’s always seemed so strong. Ageless. Now, as I thought it over, I realized he was over fifty. Too young to die, but old enough to be way too fucking close to it. “There’s nothing you can do to stop time from moving on. Nothing you can do to change the past.”
I let out a harsh laugh. “Yeah. No kidding. I learned that up close and personal. One might even say I had a front row seat.”
“I know, and I’m sorry you did.” He ran his hands over his hair. “I wish I could change that. Wish I could take it all away.”
“Yeah, well, you can’t change what already happened.”
I opened his dresser and pulled out a pair of pajamas. They were blue and had stripes on them. They’d been his present from me last year for Christmas. That seemed as if it was a lifetime ago, not only one year. It had been before I met Carrie. Before I learned what love really was. Before I’d watched my whole unit die and then lived to tell about it.
A hell of a lot could happen in a year.
“No, but we can change how it affects us.” Dad pulled his sweater over his head, and I handed him the pajama top. “You’re pushing her away.”
“I know. I can’t help it.” I picked up the pants and held them out as Dad shrugged into his shirt. “I keep saying I’ll stop. Keep waking up with the best intentions. But then I fuck up and I still push her away.”
“You have to stop hurting her. Have you talked to her about it?”
I hesitated. “We haven’t really talked much at all.”
“Because you’re pushing her away.”
“Yes.” I crumpled his pants in my hand. “Sometimes I think she would be better off without me.”
He shook his head. “She wouldn’t be. She’d live. She’d laugh. She’d smile. But she wouldn’t be better.”
Dad’s hands were shaking too badly for him to button the shirt himself, so I tossed his pants to the side and went to help him button his shirt…right until I realized I could barely manage to button my own damn shirt. So I just stood there, helplessly watching my father struggle to dress himself.
How the fuck had I missed this? How could I be so self-centered?
“You’re not self-centered. You’re recovering. There’s a difference.” Dad frowned at me. Those pain pills must’ve messed with my head. I hadn’t even meant to talk out loud. “But the kind of love that you two have doesn’t come around often. To waste it on pride and self-pity would be a crime.”
I swallowed hard. Damn it, he was right. I was being an idiot, but I already knew that. I just couldn’t stop. Too bad they didn’t make a pill for that. “I hate that she’s stuck with this. Stuck with me.”
“She’s not stuck with you; she chose you.” Dad caught my hand and squeezed it tight. “You can’t lose her, too. Don’t let that happen, because I guarantee you’ll regret it if you do.”
I met his eyes. “Are you saying I’m losing you?”
“I’m saying I’m old and sick.” Dad lifted a shoulder. “It’s not rocket science, son. Everyone dies. I’m not sad that my turn is coming. You shouldn’t be either.”
“I can’t lose you, Dad.”
“I’ll try my best to stay, but it’s not up to me.” Dad pointed up toward the ceiling. “It’s up to Him.”
At first I thought he meant Senator Wallington, whose bedroom suite was upstairs on the third floor, but then I realized he meant God. The same God I wasn’t even sure I believed in anymore. Why would the “merciful” God kill all my squad members, but let me live? Why would He take my mother away?
And why was He trying to take my father, too?
Later that night, I sat in my dark bedroom, staring out the window. The moon was full, and it made me think of the last time I’d seen it that way. I’d been with Carrie on my bike. We’d whipped through the streets of San Diego, and she’d clung to me the whole time. We’d been so wild and free and in love.
My dad kept insisting I stop pushing her away, but maybe I should be pushing her away even harder. Maybe I should break it off with her. Set her free. Wouldn’t that be better than this? I eyed my pill bottle. It hadn’t been long enough for me to take another one yet, but the urge was there. I tried to ignore it.
The door opened, and I lurched to my feet unsteadily. She slid inside the door, shut it, and then stood somewhere close to it. I couldn’t see her because it was too dark. “Finn? Are you in here?”
For a second, and only a second, I debated not answering. She would go away, and I could drink myself into oblivion, and top it off with another pain pill or two. But then I remembered I loved her, and she loved me, even if I was an ass. “I’m here.”<
br />
I heard her come closer. “Can I turn on the light?”
“I prefer the dark. It soothes me.”
“Okay.” Her weight dipped down on the bed beside me. “How’s your dad?”
“He’s dying.” My voice cracked on the last word. I couldn’t fucking help it. I needed him here. God didn’t need him. I did. “It’s not fair.”
Her arms wrapped around me from behind, entwining in front of my heart, and I clung to her joined hands with my good hand. It felt good. Right. Human. “I’m so sorry. But he’s still here. He could live another twenty years and surprise us all.”
“Yeah. Maybe. He is stubborn like that.” I laughed. It felt foreign in my throat. “Must be where I got it from.”
She was silent for a second, almost as if she couldn’t believe I made a half-assed joke, and then she laughed. It washed over me, soothing my soul. “Yeah. Must be.”
“That was the wrong answer,” I teased. My fingers twitched on hers. “You were supposed to say I’m not stubborn at all.”
“I would, but we promised not to lie to each other.” She kissed my shoulder. “So the truth it is, love.”
Love. She hadn’t called me that since Germany.
I closed my eyes, pretending I hadn’t just found out my dad was sick. On top of that, I pretended I wasn’t fucked up. Pretended we were in California, not D.C. Then I opened my eyes and woke the fuck up. “I appreciate that about you. You always tell me the truth.”
She shifted behind me. “I try to, anyway.”
“Do you still love me, Carrie?” I tightened my hand on hers when she tried to pull away. “And before you answer that, let me be clear. I’m not talking about the man I was before I left. I’m talking about the man I am now. Me. Do you love me?”
“Of course I do.” She wiggled free. I let her this time. “This will pass, Finn. I know you’re upset because it’s been a battle every second of every day, but it’ll get better.”
“It might not.” I stared out the window. “I might be like the moon now. It will come and go in phases, but I don’t think the pain, the sheer helplessness and anger I feel at the world right now, will ever fully go away.”
“Why are you angry?” she asked, her voice whisper light.
“Because He took everyone else, but He let me live.” I shook my head and forced a laugh. “No matter how many times I look at it, and no matter how many different ways, that will never make sense to me.”
Her hand found mine and held on tight. “Do you wish you’d died?”
“I don’t think you want honesty on that question,” I said, my throat tight. “Not tonight, anyway. Ask me another time.”
She made a weird sound, but stayed silent on the issue. “I’m glad you lived. It might make me selfish and horrible, but I’m glad.”
“You don’t think it would be easier on everyone if I’d just died?” I asked, my voice oddly distant in my own head. “I think He made a mistake. I think I was supposed to die, too. That’s why I feel the way I do. That’s why I can’t let myself be happy. I’m supposed to be dead, like them. Hell, I feel like I’m dying already.”
She cried out. “Don’t say that. It’s not true.”
“I have to be fucking honest, right?” I rubbed my head, my gaze on my casted arm. “This is me right now. This is the real me. No pretending I’m okay. No lies.”
She crawled into my lap and cradled my face. “I know, but I’m here. And I’m not letting you waste away. I refuse to let you wither away into nothing because you feel like you should be dead. If you were supposed to be dead, you’d be dead. You’re here, and you’re mine.”
“I’m a drunk and I can’t even relax or sleep.” I bit down on my tongue hard. “Why do you want me to stay?”
“Why would I want you to leave?” She kissed me, perfect and sweet and so very her. She pulled back, but I could still taste her on my lips. “I love you, and I’m not leaving you. I’m here to stay, and so are you.”
I dropped my forehead to hers. I wanted to believe it. Hell, deep down I did believe it. Once upon a time, I’d been sure we would get our happy ending. I’d known, deep down to my soul, that we were meant to be together forever. That I was the best man for her, because no one would make her happier than I could, because our love was just that fucking strong. I’d been certain of it.
I couldn’t say the same thing anymore.
There was a shift in him tonight. I could feel it. Sense it. He was still trying to convince me he wasn’t good enough for me, just like when we’d first gotten together, but now it was more of a hindsight type of thing. He wasn’t pushing me away, but he was being painfully honest with me.
Maybe he was actually starting to heal.
It was way too early for recovery. I knew that. I’d done my research. Even now, I had an open book on PTSD and all its lasting effects on my nightstand. It was part of my bedtime routine. I also had countless books on being the support system for someone with PTSD, and how best to handle certain types of episodes. That’s what he’d had today.
An episode.
He worried that he might not go back to normal. I wasn’t sure he would either, but I knew one thing: he might never get back to normal, but he would get better. And if he didn’t ever return to normal, well, then, he would have to achieve a new standard of normal. We’d have to adjust our expectations.
His hand skimmed down my sides and settled on the curve of my hip. “Ginger…”
God, I’d missed him calling me that. He used to do it all the time. Now, it was always Carrie. Carrie this and Carrie that. Never Ginger. “Yeah?”
“I’m going to stop telling you to leave me.” He caught my hand. “I’m going to stop pushing you away, but know this: I still think you could do better. This isn’t a heroic action of mine; it’s a selfish one. I don’t want to lose you, because I need you. But you should walk away from me.”
My heart twisted painfully. The fact that he believed this, with all his heart, broke mine. “You’re wrong. You’re the most unselfish man I’ve ever met.” I wiggled my hand free. “And I think you’re blind to yourself.”
“I think it’s the other way around,” he said sheepishly. He ran a hand over his head, probably looking for those curls again. With a grimace, he dropped his hand to his lap. “I’m going to try to get better for you.”
“Don’t do it for me.” I undid the last button of his shirt. “Do it for you.”
“No.” He ran his hand up over my body, tipping my head back. “For us.”
I swallowed hard and unclasped his sling, my knuckles scraping against the hard cast. Desire unfurled in my belly at the way he watched me. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it. “Let’s get you out of this shirt.”
“Only if you get out of yours, too,” he said, his tone light.
Hope, small and distant, flared in me. I’d been right. He was different tonight. Maybe his talk with his father had helped. Whatever it was, I was happy for the change. “That could be arranged.”
I took the sling off and laid it on the side. He flinched. “I think it’s time for another pill.”
“Has it been four hours yet?”
He hesitated. “Yeah, a little over, I think.”
I gently slid his shirt off his shoulders. His hard muscles taunted me. I wished I could run my tongue over each one, but he wasn’t ready for that. “And when was your last drink?”
“With Riley.”
“Okay. I’m going to turn the light on so I don’t spill them.”
Silence. “All right. But stay on my lap.”
“Gladly. It’s my favorite place to be.”
He chuckled lightly. “The feeling is mutual.”
I stretched my arm and turned on the light by his bed. It was very dim. Perfect for what I needed. I grabbed the bottle and undid the cap. When I turned back to Finn, he was watching me with a soft look in his eye. One that I hadn’t seen in a long time. I swallowed and poured one big pill into my palm. “Do you
need a drink to wash it down?”
“I need you.” He took it and tossed it into his mouth. “But, yeah, I could go for some water. My bottle is next to the lamp.”
I closed the meds and set them back where they’d been. Picking up the water, I undid that cap, too. “We need to get you a glass in here.”
“I’m fine.”
He tipped his head back and chugged the water. As he did so, I let my gaze skim over his body. He had injuries, sure, but he looked beautiful to me. Even more so than before, if anything. His ink still stretched over his muscles, and his muscles were still ridiculously hard and huge.
The heart under those muscles was still the same, too.
My stomach tightened and I forced my gaze away. I didn’t want him feeling pressured to do anything with me. Heck, last night had been pushing it. Although, it had seemed to maybe help a little bit… But the books said it didn’t.
“You can turn out the light now,” he said. I looked back at him, and he looked so vulnerable it hurt. “I know it’s not a pretty picture.”
“Finn, you look delicious.” I skimmed my fingers over his shoulders. “When I look at you, it takes all my control not to attack you. You don’t see what I see.” I touched the cut on his shoulder. “I see bravery. Love. A good man.”
I lowered my hand over the tattoo he’d gotten for us. It said: the sun is finally shining. Our code word for I love you. Guess we didn’t need a code anymore, though.
Everyone knew about us.
“I’m only good because of you,” he whispered. “You’re the only good part about me.”
“That’s a lie.” I placed my hand over his heart. “Your goodness is in here. It was there long before you met me. It was there when we met, and it’s what made me want to kiss you that first time. It’s what makes me want to kiss you now.”
He made a small sound and squeezed my thigh. “Then fucking kiss me already, Ginger.”
There he went using that nickname again.
He kissed me, his hand skimming up my body, and over my breasts, before settling on my lower back. He pulled me closer as his lips crashed over mine, stealing away all my thoughts. All my doubts. All he left behind was this. Us.
The OUT OF LINE Series Page 46
