After the War

by Jessica Scott

  Her body tightened. Tensed. “Sean.”

  “Say it again.” A rough demand. “Say my name.”

  “Sean.” Close, so close. Her thighs clenched. It was there, just there. Tighter. Higher. Until…Her breath locked in her throat. A tiny noise escaped her as the orgasm washed over her, her breath shuddering from her lungs.

  “Come with me,” he whispered, hearing her gasps thrusting his own pleasure tighter. He stiffened, growing harder with each stroke of his palm, a vision of her hips rising beneath him, open and offering her sweet darkness.

  Sarah couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt anything so complete and erotic all at once. Once, she’d given up any hope of intimacy, but as Sean’s words slid across her skin her pleasure increased and she slid her fingers into her own slick heat. Heat and wet slicked over her fingers and she felt cherished and safe and amazed that it was Sean’s quiet urges stirring her arousal on. Tracing pleasure down her spine and spiraling out even as she stroked the beginnings of her release to sparkle in her blood.

  She trusted him. It was novel and exciting as he breathed words that sent her staggering closer to the edge. If he was here, it would be his fingers circling her swollen center. His tongue pressing against her aching opening. His erection filling her. But now it was his voice, describing in dark erotic words what he wanted her to do. What she did under the warmth of his urging.

  “God that’s sexy,” he said in her ear. “I…That’s fucking beautiful, Sarah.”

  When she could speak, she said, “You can’t even see me.”

  “I’ve got a pretty good imagination.”

  “Apparently,” she said. “But you didn’t…”

  “Says who?” A sensual edge to his voice. A dark arousal.

  She smiled. “I’m glad you called.”

  “I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “No you’re not.”

  * * *

  “Still there?”

  Sean stretched one arm over his head and arched his back, feeling his spine pop and crack. Sleep licked at him with black-tipped fingers, urging him down into the darkness.

  “Yeah.” He heard the satisfied smile in her voice. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

  He smiled in response, his own body still humming with the buzz of his own release. “Brings back memories,” he said quietly.

  “Yeah.”

  He closed his eyes and imagined her lips sliding against his in a soft good night kiss. “Sleep well.”

  “Sean?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Tonight, if the nightmares come? Call me.”

  He swallowed and glanced toward the small bathroom mirror where the Ambien sat in neat formation with a myriad of other pill bottles. He didn’t want to take more. Regretted that he had to take the one but things were too twisted tonight. Too raw.

  “Thank you,” he mumbled, not quite sure how she’d known or if she’d merely suspected.

  She remained silent long enough that Sean caught himself wondering if she’d fallen asleep. “See you tomorrow,” she whispered, her voice thick with sleep.

  “Good night.”

  He flipped his phone shut and dragged the comforter over his shoulders as he curled on his side. He’d thought that life was simpler before Sarah had reappeared in it but that was a lie. He closed his eyes, realizing that if he did not receive a phone call tonight, it would be the first weekend since he’d taken command that he hadn’t had to bail somebody’s ass out of jail or pick them up from the hospital.

  His breathing slowed and he hoped the fluke was actually part of a trend.

  Eighteen

  The sun was too bright as Sarah walked out of her house. Thank God for Jamie Sorren. She was hoping to be done with things at Sean’s office by lunch and leave herself enough time to get ready for the ball.

  She hadn’t been planning on the ball but these things were pretty much mandatory. Plus she’d talked to Claire, who was going as Evan’s date. She promised not to leave Sarah alone.

  She pulled in next to Sean’s truck, not at all surprised that he was already there. If she’d learned one thing about him, it was that he was punctual. She hated being late but Sean took timeliness to new heights.

  Her blood warmed at the thought of seeing him. A quick walk down the path seemed to take forever. So why did she pause outside his orderly room, a sudden jolt of nerves twisting in her belly? She deliberately filled her lungs and pushed into the orderly room. Light radiated from Sean’s office. He was already there.

  Deep breaths. Last night…last night had changed a lot of things.

  She knocked quietly on his door and tried to smother the worried expression that crossed her face the minute she saw him.

  He looked like hell. Like he’d spent all night drinking or worse. “What happened?”

  His eyes were bleary and bloodshot, the dark purple shadows beneath them accentuating the depth of his fatigue. He hadn’t shaved and if his hair hadn’t been wet, she might have wondered if he hadn’t showered. “Is Kearney—”

  Sean shook his head and scrubbed one hand over his face. Peeking out from the short-sleeved shirt he wore was a deep, nasty-looking purple scar that bisected the muscles in his forearm. No hair grew around the scar, making it more obvious.

  “Kearney’s fine.” He flipped over some paperwork and looked like he wished she wasn’t here.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Sean closed his eyes and for a moment, the strain in his jaw relaxed. He looked as if he might have fallen asleep if she hadn’t been standing there. “That sleeping pill last night? Apparently, I’ve developed a tolerance because I was up all damn night, half awake, half asleep. And now I feel hung over.”

  Sarah smiled, her lips quivering as she attempted to smother her reaction. He glanced up at her and glared. “I’m glad this is funny for you. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck and you’re laughing.”

  “You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.” She leaned against the doorway, the irritation dissipating like a cloud of CS gas on the breeze. “Look, go home. I’ll work on this some other time.”

  “Did your boss cut you a break?”

  “No. I have to turn in my report Monday.” She frowned, remembering the conversation she’d overheard from Major Wilson’s office. “I think the whole purpose of getting me to turn this in early is to make the investigation go away.”

  Sean frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “I overheard my boss talking last night. Someone who outranked her called and asked her about my investigation.”

  “That’s what you overheard?”

  “I’m assuming as I only heard half the conversation. I can’t imagine that there are too many open investigations in the support battalion right now.”

  “So your battalion XO wants you to make a shitty, half-assed recommendation.” He pushed away from his desk and came around it to flop onto the couch. His legs spread wide before him and Sarah tried not to notice the way the jeans hugged his muscles. “It’s probably brigade pushing to have this done and over with.”

  Sarah frowned. The only person who could be looking out for LT Smith with any kind of pull would be Sarah’s former boss—Smith’s uncle.

  Sean’s smile was brittle and he remained silent, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. “It wouldn’t be unheard of for his uncle to inquire about his nephew.” He sighed. “I’ve done that with Kearney.”

  “Why do you keep protecting him?” Sarah asked, suddenly realizing that Sean had been doing exactly that.

  Sean didn’t budge. “I owe him,” he said simply. “More than I can ever repay.”

  “Why, Sean?”

  He glanced at her then, his expression unreadable. “The combination to my safe is 32, 14, 12. You can get the hard drive and the laptop out.”

  He walked out before she could say anything else, brushing past her without a glance.

  She understood. She’d been there. She’d breathed in the smok
e and felt the confusion as she’d tried to secure her formation as the world burned around her. She’d felt the sting of enemy shrapnel entering her skin and the struggle to maintain control in the confusion and the smoke of a firefight.

  She remembered with aching, burning clarity the desire to burn the fucking world down around them. The rage. The hate. Oh yes, she remembered those feelings before the pain took over and blocked out everything else.

  Was that why he was protecting Kearney?

  She debated for one hot second just getting into his safe and ignoring his pissy mood. Her internal argument lasted barely a single breath before she followed him outside.

  He hadn’t gone far. He sat on the front step of his orderly room, his elbows braced on his knees, his gaze distant.

  “I’m not in the mood, Sarah.” His voice still had that low, feral edge—the warning of a cornered beast. Ready to fight.

  “Tough. This is an investigation and if you don’t want to tell me the whole truth—now, without any more lies or half truths—then we can do this the hard way.”

  Sean narrowed his eyes at her, the muscle in his jaw pulsing in time with his heartbeat. “The only thing that you need to know about Sergeant Kearney is that he’s dealing with some psychiatric issues from Iraq and I refuse to let him be prosecuted while he’s undergoing treatment,” Sean said stiffly.

  Sarah crossed her arms over her chest. “Bullshit, Sean. Why let him go out last night? Why assume that risk? What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I’m not going to give you ammunition to use against him.” He pinned her with a hard look. “I fucking owe him, Sarah. I owe him more than my life.”

  She took a deep breath, searching for a way to diffuse the anger between them. “I’m not the enemy, Sean, and you need recognize that. There’s something else going on here and just because you want to wish that fact away doesn’t make it true.”

  He rounded on her, stepping right into her space, his expression contorted with anger and something she wasn’t sure she wanted to name but she recognized it nonetheless.

  Self-loathing.

  The realization nailed her in the gut and forced the air from her lungs, the anger from her blood. Sean’s breathing was deep and hard, his pulse visible in his neck. His fists were knotted by his sides. If she were on the outside looking in, she’d guess he was about to strike her.

  But he wouldn’t. Not Sean. No matter that she no longer knew the man in front of her—in the dark part of her heart, she knew he’d never strike her. He might be furious. He might yell and tear down the walls but he’d never hurt her. But it still took a massive leap of faith to step into the space of his anger. It pulsed off him in waves, hot and feral and dangerous. She reminded herself that she didn’t know him anymore. That this temper was more than she’d ever seen from him.

  It didn’t stop her from feeling the tiny shard of hurt when he stepped back. “Not now, Sarah.”

  “Yes, now, Sean.” She stepped closer to him once more and lifted her hand to settle in the center of his chest. Above where his rank might have been, had they both been in uniform.

  “You don’t know what this feels like,” he whispered, his voice thick and rough as gravel.

  “I can guess just by looking at you.” She slid her hand up until it rested over the pulse in his neck. “Trust me, Sean. Trust me to do the right thing.”

  She saw him swallow before his arms slid around her waist and he pulled her close. She buried her face in his neck, breathing in the scent of anger and fatigue, soap and man. She felt his pulse beat against her cheek and felt his breathing return to normal. Slowly, so slowly, she felt the tension ease from him, like it was sliding down his back to the floor.

  His face was pressed into her neck, buried in her hair, his hands fisted in her shirt at the back. She was his lifeline, his oasis in the middle of the desert of blame and regret. He held tight to her while the anger passed— more angry words gone into the history of their lives.

  “I’m sorry.”

  * * *

  The stroke of her palms against the small of his back sent a shiver skittering down his spine. “Ambien makes me bitchy.”

  “I can see that.”

  Sean eased back so he could see her face. Her eyes were shadowed and dark, wary from his explosion of temper. “Maybe you shouldn’t take it, then.”

  He pressed his lips together in a bitter line. “Have to sleep some time.”

  “Try yoga.”

  Sean smiled and lowered his forehead to hers. The fact that she didn’t pull away warmed his blood. The simple intimacy of the gesture touched something deep inside him. A yearning. “Sometimes I just need to shut my brain off.”

  She skimmed her fingers over his cheekbones. The closeness of their contact warmed his blood. They’d just had a major argument and now they stood, their bodies nearly touching, their souls connected by a shared past tainted with blood and loss.

  “I’ve been there.” He felt her tense beneath his palms. Tightened his arms around her in a silent offer of comfort and support. “I had to find a different way of dealing with it because I was alone with Anna.”

  Sean smiled sadly even as his fingers loosened their grip on her blouse. He didn’t release her, didn’t let her go, instead pulling her up and into his arms once more. She didn’t resist but she also didn’t fully relax. He rested his cheek on the top of her head. “How did you snap out of it?”

  “Mostly, it was Anna. I couldn’t be a zombie, zoned out on drugs to get by without Jack. I had to get my shit fixed to be there for her.”

  She tipped her face back and Sean looked down at her, at the honesty in her eyes. “I loved my husband, Sean. That’s what makes what I feel for you so confusing. I had a good marriage and a good life with him.”

  He swallowed hard. “You loved me once, too.”

  She cupped his cheek, her palm soft and smooth against the roughness of his stubble. “If I can forgive you, you should be able to forgive yourself. We all do stupid things when we’re young.”

  He blinked rapidly, unable to speak. They stood together for a moment—Sean’s eyes closed, their foreheads touching. One of his thumbs stroked an absent rhythm against her back and the silence no longer snapped with anger. Instead, the air around them was comforting. Quiet. Familiar and needy all at once.

  Sean swayed against her. She shifted and brushed her fingers on the edge of his jaw. “Don’t fall on me,” she whispered.

  He smiled but didn’t open his eyes. “I’m just imagining falling asleep with you pressed against me.” His voice was thick, and he felt like he was half asleep already.

  “Why don’t you crash on your couch while I finish this up? You can catch a nap before the ball tonight.”

  He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Will you tuck me in?”

  She shook her head and smiled, urging him toward the small couch in his office. His feet extended over the edge when he lay back. “Can I convince you to lie with me a minute?” he asked, looking at her with a combination of hope and something more.

  She glanced at the small couch that barely fit him. “Not likely.” But she pulled the blanket down and tucked it around his body, then turned off the light and left him to sleep.

  He felt like an asshole, but not enough to push away the consideration of her gesture. He was exhausted. Once upon a time, going twenty-four hours without sleep wouldn’t have bothered him. But that was before he turned thirty. Suddenly, he felt every ache and pain, every hour of lost sleep. He wasn’t old but he felt older than his thirty-two years.

  He threw one arm over his eyes as she clicked off the light and peeked out after her as she left. He’d taken a shitty mood out on her and she’d fought back and refused to put up with his crap. When they’d been younger, she would have walked away, coming back only when things had settled down between them. His lips curled with a smile that was both tender and bitter.

  She didn’t know the worst of it. And he was so fucking pathetic t
hat he wanted to keep her from finding out the worst of his sins. He wanted the tenderness, the caring she revealed bit by bit. He wanted the freedom to touch her, to kiss her. He wanted to feel her curled into him at night.

  He was lying to her. He hadn’t told her everything. He was building any chance of a future they had on a lie.

  He frowned even as he closed his eyes, wishing for at least an hour of sleep. Then he’d do some work. Then he’d figure out his way forward with Sarah and everything else. Just an hour and he’d be back on his feet.

  The darkness of sleep stole over him, pulling him down. But the dreams and the nightmares were there, licking at the edge of his consciousness. He slid further into the darkness, unable to escape the fire that burned his memory.

  * * *

  Sarah rested her forehead on one palm as she read the after action reports. One after another, relentless days of enemy contact. Day after day of IEDs, small arms fire and rocks mixed in with grenades. It was amazing there weren’t more escalation of force incidents than the four she’d read about in early August. The height of the summer heat in Baghdad and the civilians had shown their restlessness. Some neighborhoods were friendly. Others, not so much.

  She felt the frustration in the previous commander’s reports at his inability to end the attacks on his men. In the entries for the days that led up to the incident with Kearney and Smith, his notes were short and curt. She could fill in the blanks with swearing in her mind.

  He’d been frustrated. She figured his men had to have been more so. Sent into the same streets day after day when they’d seen their buddies injured or killed. She noted that there was no confusion over the escalation of force. The rules of engagement had been clarified by the chain of command each time they’d gone into sector out on patrol.

  August 15th turned out to be the date that things had officially turned to shit between Kearney and Smith. They’d been heading into a neighborhood, where they’d lost a soldier two weeks prior to a grenade attack. There were kids throwing rocks.