Forever Girl

by Sam Destiny

  “I didn’t. The things you learn.” He smiled, hoping to make her smile as well.

  “Right? That’s what I keep saying. Anyway, that’s what I meant with breaks, you know?”

  “Definitely.”

  Silence spread between them and he wondered what she’d been up to, wanted to ask so many questions, but didn’t know which to pick first when she stood.

  “Anyway, I need to get going. We’ll do a girls’ evening. Well, girls plus John,” she winked and then wiggled her fingers at him in a short goodbye. Before his mind had consciously caught up she was out of the room.

  “Hey, Tessa?”he called after her, looking down the hallway, and she paused on top of the stairs, giving him a questioning look.

  “Yes?”

  “So your number is still the same as it was in October?” Clearly, since Kris had been able to reach her, but he wasn’t yet ready to let her out of his sight.

  “Yes.” She arched a brow, no doubt realizing he was stalling.“See you around, Jesse.” She didn’t even give him another smile, being down the stairs before he’d muttered a quiet ‘bye’. He crossed the hallway only after her steps had faded away and stayed on top, listening intently.

  He could hear his sister coo, and his mother gush, talking in high-pitched voices while Tessa laughed and then announced they needed to go. His knuckles turned white on the banister as he kept himself from going down there to see the child with his own eyes.

  The child that would forever connect him and Tessa, and damn if that thought didn’t make him feel proud. Making sure no one came upstairs, he snuck into his mother’s room and stood at the window, seeing Tessa lift a bundled-up baby into the car. There was nothing for him to see but blue material, no dark head, no small face, nothing. Disappointment settled in his stomach and he pushed it down, thinking that this was exactly what he deserved.

  He was so close to everything he’d ever wanted and yet so far away from it.

  Weeks passed and September flowed into October before turning into November. Jazz had been out of the hospital for more than six weeks and yet hadn’t been cleared to go back to base, making him restless at home. He refused to see a therapist and therefore the doctors refused to let him work. It was a vicious cycle, but his nightmares weren’t as numerous as they’d been in the beginning, and the flashbacks were few and far between.

  He itched to be back, to get his head stuck under a hood again and search for the things that were wrong with the cars. He wanted to work with Tank again, be together with his best friend twenty-four-seven, and he wanted to live at the base because his mother and sister were smothering him with love.

  Stringing his fingers along his guitar, he closed his eyes. Two days after he’d gotten out of the hospital Tank had brought the instrument over and Jazz couldn’t deny that getting lost in playing had been his salvation more than once. In contrary to what he’d expected he’d refrained from calling Tessa, too, after waking up sweat-drenched and heart pounding a few times, but that didn’t mean she’d stopped coming around. It wasn’t every day, and it certainly wasn’t long whenever she was there, but it was consistent. He had realized by now this had all been calculation on her part, probably belonging to a plan of making it impossible for him to forget her, even when it was unnecessary. He wouldn’t ever be able to get her out of his mind anyway.

  A wailing sound made him quip up. It was ten in the morning and he hadn’t heard anyone come, yet he was sure there was an infant crying downstairs. Opening his door after placing his guitar on the bed, his sister confirmed his guess.

  “Coming, little man. I just need to… ugh!” Kris answered the call, but her voice sounded muffled while the crying got louder.

  “Yes, your auntie is on the toilet. Jesus, you couldn’t have waited two more minutes to wake up, could you?” She sounded half annoyed and half amused, yet Jazz went forward. He’d just stay at the side of the living room, making sure nothing happened to the boy while his sister was… indispensable.

  The problem was once he was downstairs he couldn’t just stay back. He stepped to the travel crib and looked down at the baby that was supposedly his. He had a head full of dark hair even though he was tiny, and despite having no idea about babies, Jazz found himself reaching inside the crib.

  “Support the head,” he told himself in a low voice and instantly the child stopped crying, seemingly listening. “Yeah, little man, what can I say?”

  He wrapped his hands around the little body, surprised and shocked at how breakable it was, then he pulled him up, resting his son’s head in his palm and his body on his forearms. God, he was tiny, so tiny.

  John reached for him with his little hands, his mouth opening and closing while Jazz’s chest constricted with emotions. This was his son and he had blue eyes, even though somewhere in the back of his mind he thought he recalled that sometimes they still changed their eye color as they got a little older.

  “You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice choked as he crossed over to the sofa, sitting down, silent sobs shaking him. What had he done in refusing to hold this tiny bundle before? Who was he to refuse a son his father? After all, wasn’t it his duty to teach his son how not to be?

  “I am so incredibly sorry,” he muttered even though his son had no clue what he talked about. “So so sorry,” he repeated and then felt the first tears roll down his cheeks, leaving hot tracks. He rested his forehead on his son’s stomach and couldn’t contain his emotions any longer.

  Everyone had a breaking point and Jazz just had reached his.

  “Sorry, I was—”

  Tessa bumped into Kristine from behind, but Jazz’s sister just pointed her to be quiet. She followed the other woman’s gaze until seeing Jazz on the sofa, his face buried against his son, shoulders shaking, while Johnny dug his little hands into his father’s hair.

  “It worked,” Kris stated, her voice barely above a whisper.

  It had. Although it had taken longer than Tessa had hoped, finally Jazz had seen his son and actually held him. The emotions that evoked in him worried her, and she brushed past Kris, walking around the sofa and breaking the rule of not touching as she gently placed her hand on the back of his head, combing her fingers lightly through his hair.

  “Peaceful, isn’t it? Holding your own child?” she asked and his shoulders started shaking stronger. She watched as he gently shifted the boy and then wrapped one arm around her, drawing her in until his head was resting against her chest. She leaned in and kissed the top of his head, careful to not smother her son.

  Over the last six weeks she’d seen a lot of Jazz and yet not nearly enough, and they’d talked a lot, too, but barely had said anything. She’d never understood the difference, but small talk wasn’t the same as a meaningful conversation about worries, dreams, and hopes. It didn’t matter, because she was fine with at least seeing him. He’d picked up jogging again, and playing the guitar. She heard him sometimes when she was there with John and he refused to come down.

  “I was stupid saying I didn’t want to see him,” Jazz finally forced out, his voice thick with emotions, remnants of his tears showing. Whoever said crying men were weak had never seen a real guy break. There was something almost poetically beautiful about the way tears rolled over those strong cheeks and she wished she were better with either words or a pen so she could capture the moment. The point when strength snapped and all you had left was vulnerability made Jazz perfect in her eyes.

  “I would’ve told you that, but I had the feeling you’d be insulted,” she shrugged, trying to make light and being glad when she heard him chuckle.

  John stirred in his arms, most likely complaining about the way he was squished in his father’s grip.

  She stepped back even if it was one of the hardest things she’d ever done and watched how Jazz got to his feet, pushing John into the air before pulling the little boy down to rub his nose against the soft stomach.

  “God, aren’t you perfect?” Jazz asked, happiness war
ming his voice.

  Tessa sniffled quietly, wiping at her eyes as she realized it now was her turn to bawl her eyes out.

  “Let’s wrap him up and take a walk,” Jazz suggested and she nodded. She had a stroller in the car and enough clothes to move out with the little one. It just came with the territory.

  “Okay,” she agreed, swallowing around the lump in her throat. She glanced over her shoulder, but neither Kris nor Raphaela were anywhere in sight.

  “Will you show me how to dress him?” Jazz asked, insecurity coloring his features and she opened her arms to take their son from him, but his father seemed reluctant to let the child go. “You don’t even have the clothes here. How about you get those first and—”

  “You can’t go out in track pants, Jesse. It’s cold, despite what you think. You change and then I’ll show you, okay?”

  He nodded, drawing a deep breath before relenting her son to her. She shook her head with a small smile, cuddling the boy close. It was funny how fast he’d taken on his father’s scent, making her close her eyes. Maybe now things would get better. Maybe now everything would change. He’d accepted their son finally, and if things worked themselves out, maybe they’d be a family before long.

  The problem was that in the back of her mind there was an annoying voice telling her there could always be a second shoe ready to drop.

  The trails around the house were easy to navigate, even with a baby, and Jazz couldn’t deny that he loved pushing the stroller forward, his mind on the silent woman next to him.

  He wondered what was going on in her head, and if she was proud because her ploy of bringing the little guy over had actually worked. After holding his son once he couldn’t imagine it any other way anymore, no matter how big the happiness was filling his chest. It was possible he could get over everything that had happened on his deployment, and there was no question about the fact that things had settled down for him.

  Could he maybe even win Tessa back? After all he’d done to her, all he’d said, would she be willing to try?

  “What’s on your mind?” he asked out loud, startling her. She had her hands forced into the pockets of her jacket, swallowing.

  “Nothing really,” she replied and he knew she was lying.

  “I know you, Tess,” he reminded her. “And I can read you still, no matter what. It’s what friends do, right? So tell me.”

  “With you I never know what to expect. Today, now, after holding him, you seem to be more than happy about having him, but what if you decide tonight that you cannot have him in your life? I can absolutely deal with you closing me out,” she explained and he knew it was another lie. Her voice cracked the slightest bit at the end, but then she went on. “But I won’t allow you to withdraw from him. He might not know you, or recognize you yet, but the time will come, and I will not have my son raised by anyone but you. You’re his father. I can take all the heartbreak you throw at me, every day if I have to, but not him. It’s the only reason I came by as often as I did.”

  He swallowed as blood rushed through his ears.

  It’s the only reason I came by as often as I did…

  Did that mean what he thought it meant? He could barely formulate the question in his mind, let alone get his lips to articulate the words for her to understand. Coldness claimed him on the spot and he wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. Instead he held on tighter to the stroller, his knuckles turning white. She didn’t even seem to notice.

  “Ryan pointed out that your trauma might make it impossible for you to ever care properly for him. It doesn’t happened often, but it had been heard of,” she stated in a hushed voice.

  “You’re still meeting Ryan?” His throat was closing a little more with every word she said and he had no one else to blame but himself.

  “Yes. He’s turned into something like a friend, to be honest. You never talk to me about what you feel or going through, what has changed and what hasn’t, and Ryan knows how to deal with PTSD. Or at least a little. I don’t know, I have a feeling he feels responsible for you, so… you know.” She shrugged and Jazz detected color rising in her cheeks. Was she blushing because she was embarrassed or because she was angry with him for being so closed off?

  “Talking about this isn’t as easy as everyone makes it out to be, and between us, you know more about what happened down there than anyone else.”

  “Except for Betty,” she gave back so low, he wasn’t sure he’d imagined her saying that.

  Betty had been by almost daily, telling him about her position at the hospital and how much she enjoyed it, about all the people she’d been able to help so far and about the guy she’d met, falling for him head over heels. Something in her tone whenever she said that triggered something, but Jazz couldn’t get a handle on it, no matter what he tried, as if something was off.

  “You talk to her about it all, and you never have troubles formulating your thoughts there.” Her bottom lip was quivering as if she was ready to cry, but then she drew a deep breath and exhaled. “But then, that’s your choice and I’m just a friend, right?”

  He didn’t want to hear that damn word one more time or he’d probably turn and punch a tree until his knuckles were bleeding. Rationally he knew he’d started this whole thing, and he’d even insisted on her staying away, but now he didn’t want it any longer.

  He was about to reply something when next to them a huge branch cracked, the sound whipping around then like a gunshot. He saw it fall to the ground, technically knew it wasn’t what his brain turned it into and yet he felt himself slipping.

  “Gunshot,” he gasped, blindly reaching for Tessa or something else to hold onto.

  “No, just a tree, Jazz. Look at me,” she ordered, her voice wavering as if she was walking first closer and then further away.

  “Forest,” he repeated, closing his eyes. “Forest.” But even as he said the word, the heat on his face increased, the sound he’d just heard whipping around him, making it clear that—

  Soft, warm lips on his startled him back to reality with such a clarity he nearly stumbled. She didn’t give, probably not knowing if he was still lost or back with her, but he didn’t care. Instead he wrapped her in his arms, her hands still cupping his cheeks, and tasted her the way he’d wanted it since getting on that bus nearly a year prior.

  She tasted of honey and vanilla, of something sweet and faintly minty, as if she’d chewed a gum not too long ago. He angled his head, deepening the kiss while twisting one hand into her hair at the back of her neck.

  Had there ever been something as grounding as this? He had his doubts because he couldn’t remember ever having felt so connected to the there and then like he did that second.

  “Definitely no longer caught in a flashback,” she announced, breathlessly stepping back. “I’m sorry for touching you, but it seems to be the only thing keeping you with me.”

  Right, he’d set up that no touching rule, too. He had a hard time believing she still remembered all of that when his mind was nicely blank for the first time since… ever.

  “Touching me, huh?” he teased, arching his brow at her.

  She actually blushed, her lashes fluttering closed in embarrassment. “I… you know…”

  He reached for her, drawing her back against him while checking for the stroller. John had fallen asleep a while ago and still seemed to be out like a light.

  “Touch me some more,” he suggested quietly, watching her eyes widening as he leaned in and rubbed his nose along her cheek and down the side of the neck.

  “Jesse,” she gave back, her voice cracking. “Don't. I cannot do hot and cold, and I know you always get all gentle after a flashback, until you push me away.”

  “No pushing away,” he insisted, but her hands were still pressed against his chest, trying to keep her distance.

  “You say that now. Let your mind catch up and—”

  “No catching up, Tess,” he interrupted and she looked up at him, her chocolate eyes ho
peful and dark against her pale skin and fair hair. “You’re my woman. You always have been. I thought that maybe… I mean, after all that happened, I didn’t think I deserved this… you.” It was damn hard putting into words what had dominated his thoughts for so long, especially because guilt still weighed him down most of the time. He couldn’t forget his dying comrades, or their screams, and some days their faces were more present in his mind than the ones of the people surrounding him, but something inside of him had shifted. It had already begun weeks prior, each time a little more when he’d listened to Tessa’s radio show, and they had clicked into its final resting place as he’d held his son.

  “What? What changed suddenly?” she wanted to know and he shook his head, cupping her cheek. She leaned into his touch, hiding her gaze from his by lowering her eyes.

  “Not suddenly. You’ve been chopping away at all my defenses, knowingly and unknowingly. You’ve been my invisible companion back in hell, and it never changed. You occupy my thoughts as much as my former unit does, and that’s a huge feat. If I wouldn’t deserve this, or belong into your life, would you have been as persistent? Would whoever decided our fates have given us a son if it weren’t meant to be? Maybe it’s my task to raise him better, to make sure John becomes a man of honor and—”Anger crossed her face and it made him interrupt his own sentence. “What now?”

  “You are a man of honor, Jesse. I don’t know why you blame yourself so much since I’m pretty sure whatever happened was not your fault, but don’t pretend your mother didn’t raise you right. If, and that is the biggest ‘if’ ever, if the failure of the cars was your fault, than it was nothing more than a tragic mistake. Granted, one that will haunt your forever, and I’m not going to talk that pretty or anything, but you never did it on purpose. You aren’t that man!”