Impossible Choice

by Sybil Bartel

  “You like the beach but not the ocean. You’re more relaxed around the water than you are around people. You don’t like to shop. You don’t like wearing perfume. You have an expensive wardrobe you rarely touch because it reminds you of your previous life. You have an uncanny ability to blend in and not be seen despite how beautiful you are. And you’re cranky before coffee, but you put so much cream and sugar in it, I suspect it’s all about the sugar rush instead of the actual caffeine.” He paused then looked at me. “Did I miss anything?”

  Stunned, I barely got the word out. “Yes.” A big something.

  “Oh yeah, you couldn’t care less about money. I used to think it was because you have it. You don’t have to worry about it so you don’t give a shit about it, but now I know it’s more. You’d give up every red cent if it’d change the past. You’re resentful of the money, you blame it for what happened.”

  I stared at him. How the hell did he know all this?

  “Anything else?” he asked smugly.

  All I could do was shake my head.

  He smiled. “And you love me.”

  You could have knocked me over with a feather. “I thought—”

  “That Talon knew you better than I did?”

  I was ashamed I’d ever thought it to be true. “Yes.”

  “You thought wrong.”

  I didn’t even know what to say. It was almost scary that he knew so much. Maybe even terrifying. “I just, I can’t...” How did I counter something like this? I didn’t know any of this stuff about him, especially what he did when he was sad. “How do you know I wear my mother’s jewelry when I’m sad?”

  His face softened and he stroked my cheek. “You’re nineteen. Most nineteen-year-olds wear hoop earrings or cute shit, not pearls and diamonds. I figured your mom must have had a thing about looking perfect because when you put that stuff on, you paste on a smile to match then deflect everything that comes your way. You wouldn’t do that if you weren’t sad or upset about something. When you’re happy, you joke around, you don’t fidget and you skip jewelry altogether.”

  Jesus. He wasn’t just guessing about this stuff, he’d actually paid attention to every single little thing about me. Now I felt like the scales weren’t just tipped but seriously, unfixable, no way to catch up, tipped. “Buck...”

  “I’m Buck again?”

  “No, I mean yes, you are, in my mind, you always are. But...”

  “Then why do you call me Blaze now? Do you think it’s what I want to hear or because that’s what you prefer to call me?”

  “Are you sure they didn’t train you in psychology? A little Weaponry 101 with a side of Freud?”

  “Now you’re nervous.”

  I ignored his bull’s-eye. “You need to go back to the marines and tell them they screwed up. Someone missed the part on your aptitude test where it said lives to analyze. You definitely missed your calling. You need an office, with a couch. And some paintings of nondescript scenery. And maybe one of those sweaters with elbow patches that would make you look less—muscle-y.”

  “Never happen, not my skill set. I only know these things about you.”

  I stilled. “Why?”

  He answer was immediate and factual, like he was telling me the weather. “Because I love you.”

  If I was counting the number of times he’d said those words to me, which I wasn’t, so it didn’t count as time number six, I would’ve taken off points for the “because” part. It’s like “quantitative” or “qualitative,” I didn’t know, I got them mixed up. Everything felt mixed up. I didn’t know any of those things about him but I should have. And that made me feel bad, seriously bad. Why was love so complicated? “That simple?”

  “No, not simple... I have to go back to war in less than two days.”

  My stomach clenched and a wave of despair spread through me.

  His voice dropped to the quietest of whispers. “And I don’t want to.”

  I blinked, then my equilibrium tilted. “You don’t?”

  Slowly, he shook his head. “Not anymore.”

  I wanted to tell him I didn’t want him to go either. I wanted to say I was sorry he had to. I wanted to reassure him that it would be okay but I didn’t. “You love being a marine.”

  “I did.”

  I forced myself not to react. “And now?”

  For the first time ever, Buck looked unsure of himself. He turned away from me and stared out the window. “I don’t want to let my unit down. I owe my life to those men and they rely on me. I should be there with them right now but... Fuck.” He ran a hand over his face. “I’m not the same. I’m not as fast as I was before.”

  “How fast do you have to be?” When you were carrying a hundred pounds of equipment, it seemed like a trigger finger would be more important.

  “Fast,” he said unhappily. “Hesitation gets you killed.”

  And then I got it. He wasn’t talking about how fast he could run, or how quickly he could pull the trigger. Hesitation was fear and fear could get you killed. “Are you afraid you’ll get hurt again?”

  His answer was immediate. “No.” His voice settled into quiet anger. “But I’m questioning my instincts.”

  I breathed in, fighting the impulse to reach for him, to comfort him. His strained muscles, the rigid set to his jaw, he had a stand-back vibe that was pouring off of him in waves. But one thing, above all else, stood out in my mind. Everything I’d ever heard about the military, they emphasized training. A well-prepared soldier was a good soldier. “Isn’t that what all your training is for? So you don’t need to question your instincts?”

  “Yeah.”

  By the tone of his voice, I hadn’t reassured him at all. “You’ll get it back. It’s just going to take time.” I couldn’t stop myself, I stroked his arm.

  “What if I don’t?”

  “Then you keep your head down and stay out of doorways.”

  The side of his mouth tipped up. “Good advice.” His muscles relaxed by a degree.

  I pulled back. “I’m being serious.”

  “I know. You’re sweet.”

  My face scrunched up.

  He smoothed the worry lines in my forehead. “It was good advice and I appreciate being able to talk to you.”

  I leaned in to his touch. “I like this. Us, right now, talking.”

  A ghost of a smile spread across his face. “You didn’t tell me why you call me Blaze now.”

  “It’s respectful.” The answer just popped out. I hadn’t realized that that was why I was doing it but now that I’d said it, I knew it was true. I’d made fun of his name when he’d first told me it, but now I had to admit, it suited him. Blaze was a force of nature to be reckoned with.

  “I can live with that.”

  It was my turn to smile. “Good.”

  “Jennifer or Layna? Or are you going to throw a third name at me?”

  I tucked into him. “Baby’s okay.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “It wasn’t the first time I used it.”

  I grinned at the memory. “I might’ve been offended.”

  “Might have? You were mad enough to spit.”

  I liked this. Me and him, laughing at one of our memories, it felt good. Normal. “What do you want to call me?”

  “Whatever you prefer.” He played with a loose strand of my hair. “Most people would probably be sentimental over their birth names.”

  I wasn’t most people. “I want to keep Layna.”

  “Layna,” he murmured, kissing my neck. Pulling me closer, his strength tightened around me.

  “Why did you rip your letter in half?” I asked quietly.

  His arms tensed. He was silent a moment and when he spoke, his voice sounded pained. “I meant to throw
it out. Leaving it out was a mistake.”

  “You don’t make mistakes.”

  “I make plenty,” he said sternly.

  “Name one.”

  “The scar on your arm, my wounds, your ring, our baby, Shorty and this conversation,” he rattled off, his voice tight.

  I leaned my head back to look up at him. “This conversation?” I wasn’t ready to touch the baby comment.

  “Yeah,” he bit out. “And throw Talon in there while we’re at it.”

  I smiled. “Talon was definitely a mistake. He’d flirt with a donkey if it stayed still long enough. You must have been desperate, enlisting his help.”

  “Not desperate.”

  His serious tone was instantly sobering. “Then why?” I stupidly asked.

  “He’d kill if I needed him to.”

  Air whooshed out of my lungs. “Did you? Need him to?”

  Buck sighed. “I was right.”

  My hands twisted together. “About?”

  “This conversation was a mistake.”

  “You’re never going to tell me, are you?”

  “Get some sleep, Layna.”

  He lay back and settled me against his shoulder but I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to keep him talking. He was here and I didn’t want to waste a single minute. “Tell me what your mother was like.”

  Buck exhaled and said one word. “Quiet.”

  My finger traced the muscles of his stomach through his shirt. “Like her son.”

  “You think I’m quiet?”

  I didn’t think it, I knew it. “Yes.”

  “Hmm.”

  I wasn’t sure what that meant. “You don’t think you’re quiet?”

  He grasped my hand and brought it to his mouth, leaving a soft kiss on my knuckles. “Not around you.”

  “Tell me about your mom.”

  He pulled my arm so that it was around his chest, then his hand settled on my shoulder. “She worked harder than anyone I’ve ever met. She’d work all day at the school, then come home and cook for me while she helped me with my homework. She wasn’t strict, but she rode me hard about my grades.”

  “She loved you.”

  “We only had each other.”

  I tilted my head up so I could see his face. “Did she ever tell you about your father?”

  A flash of anger furled his brow, then his blank mask face fell into place. “Three things. I’ve got his last name, I look like him and he was a mean drunk.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be, I’m not.” But there was a hard edge to his voice.

  “Okay.” I traced a vein that ran down his arm. When I brushed over his hand, he turned it over and opened his palm to me. I slipped my fingers between his. “Why were you throwing the letter out?”

  “I wrote a new one.”

  My heart faltered, then picked up its pace. I wanted to ask about it so bad, but I bit my tongue.

  His voice became a whisper that barely disturbed the air around us. “After I got hit, all I could think about was you. I knew I was losing a lot of blood and after the tourniquet went on, I was in and out. The head wound was fucking with my vision, I couldn’t focus for shit and I—Jesus, Layna, you don’t want to hear this.”

  No, I didn’t but my instincts told me he needed to say it. “Tell me.”

  He exhaled. “I thought I was going to die. Training, everything you see out there, I knew rationally I wasn’t that bad, not even close to some of the shit I’ve seen. Fuck, my legs were still attached, but there was a lot of blood and it’s different when it’s your own.” He pulled his hand away and absently ran it across the scar on his head.

  I forced away the thought of how much worse it could have been.

  “I wasn’t worried about the shrapnel killing me, it was the blood. It’s drilled into you from the moment you get over there—seconds count. Stop the bleeding and your chance of survival goes up tenfold. Don’t control the bleeding? You’re through.” He laughed without any humor. “Good thing I couldn’t see my fucking head, Doc said my skull was coming out to play.”

  I swallowed back bile and clutched my stomach.

  Buck turned his hard stare on me. “But you know what was the worst part?”

  I shook my head.

  “That fucking letter,” he bit out angrily.

  My eyes welled with tears.

  “I was going out and that was gonna be the last of me? A fucking letter that left out all the important words? I was going to die and I was leaving you with bullshit.”

  “Blaze...I read the letter.”

  He rolled to his back. “I figured.”

  “It was a good letter.”

  “I’m a selfish prick,” he muttered.

  My breath caught. “Why?”

  He turned and looked at me. “I didn’t mean it.”

  My stomach bottomed out. “What didn’t you mean?”

  “I didn’t want you to live your life. I didn’t want you to move on.”

  Gutted by his honesty, my heart was devastated that he would think I could simply forget him. Forcing my voice, a raw whisper came out. “Do you honestly think I would’ve just moved on?”

  He stared at me, his expression tightly contained.

  “You saw me.” Even the memory of him in the airport was too much. The tears spilled over. “You saw me,” I accused. “You witnessed my reaction when I first saw you. Ripped apart and stitched back together like a rag doll.” My voice cracked. “And hurting?” I couldn’t take this.

  He pulled me into his arms, into a fierce embrace, then he grasped either side of my face. “We’re fucking even, baby.”

  I couldn’t even comprehend what he was saying. I was back in that airport. “I can’t lose you,” I choked out.

  “I’m not putting us through that again. You understand me?”

  I didn’t answer because his lips crashed over mine. He kissed me like he owned me. He kissed me like he needed me. He kissed me like he loved me. And I kissed him back.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  A faint noise made me stir and I knew he was gone before I opened my eyes. No strong chest at my back, no arms around me tight, and I was cold. When I focused my eyes in the direction of the sound, I froze.

  Black hair, black pants, black shirt, mean-looking boots and too many muscles, a huge man was at my bedroom window. His back to me, he had a screwdriver in his hand. I pulled the sheet to my chin. Quick, precise, he turned his head two inches but he didn’t look at me.

  “Gunny,” he called quietly.

  “Yeah?” Buck’s voice came from the bathroom.

  “She’s up,” he said before going back to whatever he was doing.

  Buck walked out of the bathroom and glanced at the guy. “Take five.”

  “Roger.” Mr. Black Hair inclined his head at me without making eye contact. “Ma’am.” Then he silently walked out.

  The second he was gone, Buck came to the side of the bed and wrapped his hand around my nape. “How are you feeling?”

  The tension eased out of my body. “Better now.”

  Affection softened his features. “You needed sleep.”

  Looking up at him, my stomach filled with butterflies. Would I ever not feel this way when I saw him? “I didn’t mean the nap.”

  He frowned and studied me but he didn’t say anything.

  “I want you to come back to bed.” I didn’t care right now that there was a stranger in my house.

  Buck’s eyes darkened and his fingers put just enough pressure on my neck. “Do you, now?”

  “Yes.”

  He gazed down at me a moment as if torn. “We have company.”

  I didn’t care and my body didn
’t care that I’d just had surgery. I wanted him. I wanted to feel connected to him. “I miss you,” I whispered.

  He brought his lips down for a sweet kiss, mingling his tongue with mine then gently pulling away. He kissed the sensitive flesh under my ear. “Two months and you’ll have me.”

  I cringed at the time frame. “Lie with me?”

  Concern furled his brow and he sat down on the edge of bed. “What’s going on?”

  We had so little time. I was losing him all over again and suddenly it became insurmountable. His injuries, me waking up in the hospital, losing the baby, Shorty, it all became too much. Buck would be gone in hours, not days. I felt like he was slipping through my fingers but I couldn’t say anything. “Nothing.”

  He grasped my chin. “Don’t lie to me.”

  I pulled away. “I’m not.”

  He caught my face with his thumb and index fingers around my jaw. His steely eyes leveled me with a glare. “He has nothing on me.”

  Acidic regret churned in my stomach. I never should’ve let Buck get involved. I should’ve run from him that night. If I had, Shorty wouldn’t be after him. And Shorty had always been the most persistent of Miami’s men but now there was no Miami to rein him in. There was only one way out that I could think of and that was if Buck was innocent. “Did you kill Miami?”

  A pause, then, “No.”

  His answer should’ve been instant. “You hesitated,” I accused.

  Nothing. No response.

  Goddamn it. “You called Talon and there’s a steroid-pumped ex-marine-looking guy in my house—with tools. What does no mean? You didn’t kill him but someone else did? Or no one killed him and he’s still out there, living it up in Cuba, plotting his revenge? How the hell am I supposed to know? I don’t even know Miami’s real name. I can’t even check the tabloids to see if he died in the first place so I can tell if you’re telling me the truth or not!” I threw my hands up.