Finding Heart (Colorado Veterans Book 2)

by Tiffani Lynn

  The rest of the week goes well and although the celebration of life seems to be more emotional this year than last year, it’s still a good day. When it’s time for me to leave, Leslie passes me the keys to Stu’s fully restored red 1951 Ford F-100 pickup truck. When I lived with them she said she wanted me to have it when she was ready to give it up. I should have realized when she called about me taking it home at the end of this visit that bigger things were going on. Even though I knew in advance I was going to drive it back to Colorado, I wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of emotion climbing behind the wheel of that truck would produce in me. Everything has been left the exact same as the last time he drove it. Folded up on the backseat is an old T-shirt he kept there in case he needed a fresh one after the gym. Two old lottery tickets sit faded in the corner of the dash. A picture of Les and the kids the day she brought Skylar home from the hospital is wedged in by the odometer. When I turn the key Tim McGraw’s voice pours through the speakers. Because of Stu I know every word to every song the man released up until Stu died. Nights when we were off duty and had nothing to do, we’d sit around playing cards and he’d play this stuff until I begged for something else. A rare smile crosses my lips at the memory.

  This old truck smells musty from sitting too long so I roll down the windows, ready to drive cross-country. Leslie has driven her once a week and made sure to have the oil changed so I’m certain I’ll make it to Colorado with no issue. I glance around before I put it in gear and think about how I won’t have moved a single thing by the time I turn her back over to Rushton when he’s 16. I want him to have the same opportunity to experience his own memories he might have of his dad and this truck.

  It takes two days to drive home. When I arrive, it’s one in the morning and the only light on in my apartment is from the television. Marina is sitting in front of the TV with two big pillows propped next to her, one on each side and a blanket pulled up to her chin. She’s watching a cheesy 1980s movie.

  “Hey.” I had too much time to think on my way back in Stuart’s truck and most of it involved Marina. There was nothing specific. My thoughts ranged from wondering why she wears all that makeup and hardware to why she seems to still just barely be getting by at this point in her life. The thoughts drifted so far that I started to wonder dumb shit like if my apartment would smell like her when I got back.

  “Hi. Did you have a good trip?”

  “Yeah, but it was long.” I twist my upper torso hoping to crack my back. The long drive has everything feeling tight.

  “Oh.” Her answer is quick and she doesn’t say anything else for a minute. “Dee’s hoping our apartment door will be fixed by tomorrow. The landlord said the door itself was damaged not just the lock and isn’t easy to fix. So basically, he’s being a dick about replacing it, but she lit him up yesterday. I’m sorry I’m still here. I was hoping I’d be back at my place by the time you returned.”

  I won’t say it out loud but I’m glad she’s not back at her place. “I told you that you could stay. I won’t be here much; I work the next five days straight.” She doesn’t say anything else so I tell her, “I’m beat so I’m headed to bed.”

  “Okay, night,” she replies to my retreating back. I lift a hand to wave and slip into my room. As I submerge myself under the hot flow of water from the showerhead, I think about how beautifully broken she is. And how I wish I could save her without losing myself. The more she’s around, the more I feel, and riding alone for two days with thoughts of her hasn’t helped my state of mind.

  After my shower, I dry off and tug on some boxers and a T-shirt. Then I lie down and stare at the ceiling for an hour with too much tumbling around in my mind. As my eyes drift shut I hear a tentative knock on my door so I prop up on my elbows. “Come in.”

  Marina’s head pokes in the door and she sniffles like she’s been crying.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  She’s quiet and hesitant as she answers, “I’m scared. I haven’t slept in two days, I’m exhausted, but I’m scared. Can I please come in? I promise I won’t bother you, but I can’t sleep alone.”

  “Where’s Dee?”

  “She’s at Reggie’s. He was getting pissed because she wasn’t with him so I told her to go. I thought I’d be okay, but I can’t sleep and I’m so tired. I just need a couple of hours.”

  This is a bad idea for me, I know it, but Dee warned me this was an issue for Marina and she’s a mess. It’s the tears that get me, though. I’ll do almost anything to make those stop.

  “Come in.” I lift the covers for her to climb in. I thought she’d roll right into me with the koala-hold that Dee was telling me about, but she doesn’t. She curls up as far from me as she can get and covers up. Her crying is shaking the bed, but it’s obvious she’s trying to keep it quiet. The little squeaks are painful to listen to and I can’t take it. The need to comfort her is so overwhelming that I reach out and pull her toward me. “Come on, Mari. Get over here next to me.”

  She sniffles loudly and lays her head on my shoulder as she curls into my side, fitting there perfectly like that spot was made for her. Her body shakes with muffled sobs as a stream of tears soaks into my T-shirt and even a few strays drip down my ribs. I pull her tight to me, doing my best to comfort her. I have no words of wisdom and don’t quite understand what she’s going through. The strange part for me is that I can’t help but notice how normal it feels to be holding her and taking care of her this way. Because of my preference to be alone and have my own space, I never thought I would enjoy lying like this with someone. Once the sex is done I usually leave or usher them out. I’ve never lain like this with someone before other than when we were teenagers.

  After 10 or 15 minutes of holding her tight to me, I feel her body relax and her sniffles slow to a stop. I think she’s finally asleep. As tired as I am you’d think I could fall asleep, but the terrified beauty in my arms has my head all messed up. I want to rail against her closeness. I don’t want to let anyone in, especially someone like her who seems to be a bottomless pit of need. Everyone I’ve ever cared about leaves or dies or gets pulled away by life, so it’s simply easier if I don’t go there. But her sweet little body fits so nicely into mine, so much like a missing puzzle piece that it’s hard to ignore. Although I’m damp from her tears it feels good to have her next to me. Without thinking I kiss her hair and settle into the comfort. Maybe I shouldn’t fight it. Maybe I should see how it goes.

  The next morning, I wake up with a raging hard-on. I get them from time to time but not like this. Mari and I shifted in the night and her sweet little ass is backed up tight against my dick—which is probably why I’m like steel—so I’m certain she realizes my state of affairs. Evaluating my position, I find that one arm is under her head instead of a pillow and the other is wrapped around her with my palm on her breast. Shit, I have to get out of this or she’ll think I’m a teenage horndog who can’t control himself. I don’t want to be another person who takes advantage of her.

  Wiggle, stop, shift. Wiggle, shift, stop. It takes a couple of minutes of this to separate myself from her. After a quick tiptoe to the bathroom, I close the door with a sigh of relief. I’m so glad I didn’t wake her. A quick shower will take care of my issue and she’ll be none the wiser.

  Chapter Seven

  Marina

  Oh, my God! He’s huge! I woke up with his cock fully hard and pressed against my backside. Gone is the young scrawny kid I once knew. He’s all man now in all the ways a woman needs. I just wish he wasn’t so repulsed by me. Something about his quiet confidence draws me in and scares the shit out of me at the same time. I was terrified when I knocked on his door last night, but I was also desperate for sleep and a little bit of comfort. His prickly attitude should have kept me away but the few moments of tenderness I’ve seen from him were enough for me to chance it, and I was tired enough after two sleepless nights to ignore the fear and instead hope for his tender side. I have a job interview today and needed t
he rest so badly.

  I was more than a little surprised by his response to me. When I climbed into his bed I hoped that merely being in the same room with someone would allow me to sleep, but it was so much better when he brought me close. The sound of his heartbeat and the warmth of his muscular body settled me. I haven’t slept that well in forever. Even curled up next to Dee, I never relax like that.

  If he wasn’t so disgusted by me I could have taken care of the morning wood for him, but he hauled ass out of bed as soon as he realized I was in here with him. Well, he didn’t haul ass, but his crazy little maneuver to get out of bed was so careful I understood he didn’t want me to wake up. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised since he can barely tolerate me. I don’t know what cracked his armor last night when he pulled me in close, but if I figure it out, you can bet I’ll exploit it in the future.

  The last drip of coffee falls into the complete pot and I pour myself a cup adding three scoops of sugar with a splash of cream and prepare him a black coffee. As I’m turning to place them on the table, he appears in front of me like an apparition, scaring the crap out of me and I lose my grip on the cups. They drop to the ground and shatter, sending hot coffee and shards of ceramic all over the room, one of which jabs right into the instep of my left foot. Next thing I know I’m screaming from the burn of the hot coffee, which seems to be everywhere, and the blood…Oh God, the blood! I can’t deal with blood and as soon as I see it rushing out of the gash in my foot I black out.

  When my eyes flutter open, the first thing I see is the white ceiling of the living room. What the hell? Something wraps around my foot and as I glance down I see Jase tying a shirt around it and I remember what happened.

  “You’ll ruin your shirt,” I squeak. “And I’m gonna get it on your couch.” An attempt to sit up brings on a wave of dizziness I didn’t expect so I lie back down. Usually he’s in his uniform or a T-shirt and I notice for the first time that the front of his body is covered in intricate, beautiful tattoos.

  “Mari, don’t move.” His tone is stern and my eyes snap to his.

  “I need to. It’s not only the blood, I’m covered in coffee too. I’m so sorry! I can’t do anything right.”

  He frowns before he asks, “I don’t care about what gets on the couch. Are you okay? Let me grab a washcloth and wipe you off.”

  “I hate blood. I can’t see it in movies or in person and especially not from myself.” As he walks away to get a washcloth his bare back is visible and unlike the front with its tattooed beauty, the back is a scarred mess of burnt flesh from his shoulders all the way down below the line of his pants. I’m so shocked that I can’t help but gasp.

  “Jasen!”

  He glances back at me and then down. “Fuck!”

  “Jase, what happened?”

  “It was a long time ago.” He continues his retreat to the bathroom and returns a minute later with a new shirt on and a washcloth in his hand. By the look on his face I’m afraid to say anything about the burns, but I want to know what they’re from. How did he get burnt that badly? He didn’t have them when he was young. Did he get them in the Army? I thought he was a sniper. Aren’t those guys removed from the main portion of combat?

  He cleans me up and luckily the coffee only left little red marks instead of my own full-fledged burns. The slice in the foot required some butterfly bandages and he said it may need stitches. I’m hoping it doesn’t because I can’t afford a trip to the ER. In fact, I need to find a way to get a shoe on for the interview today. Ugh. Oh well. I’ve dealt with and felt worse. It’ll be okay.

  “I’ve got to get ready for work. Are you okay?” he asks me.

  “Yeah, I’m fine or I will be.”

  With that he nods and returns to his room, shutting the door. I go back to his spare bedroom on unsteady feet and figure I’ll clean up the mess once he’s gone to work.

  When I come out after getting ready for the day, I return to the kitchen to find it’s already been cleaned. He must have done it when I was in the shower because I didn’t hear it at all. I’m grateful since I was dreading seeing the blood.

  Before the interview, I take the bus to my apartment and pester the landlord about the door. He promises it will be done the day after tomorrow. It was awesome sleeping next to Jase last night, but I don’t want to push my luck with him. He’s kind of moody and I hate when he looks at me like he’s disappointed, which seems to be all the time.

  To test my tolerance for pain and my stamina on the injured foot, I cook dinner for Jase and I since Dee won’t be here again tonight. I got the job at the bar and am supposed to start tomorrow, but my foot is sore and I’m nervous I won’t be able to work on it yet. I need the paycheck so I’ll test it out now.

  When Jase comes through the door he pauses in the entryway and looks around in search of something. His eyes reach me in the kitchen, leaned over the pot, stirring, and his brow furrows.

  “You cooked?” he asks, clearly shocked by this idea.

  “Well, yeah, it’s the least I could do since you’re letting me stay with you. By the way, I can go back home day after tomorrow.”

  “You don’t have to cook for me, but I’m hungry tonight so I’ll say thank you and shut up.”

  “You don’t have to shut up. I like when you talk. Your voice is soothing or something, all deep and strong. Most of the guys I know have normal voices...” I don’t finish my thought because I realize that I sound like an idiot. Shrugging my shoulders, I go back to stirring.

  Despite my declaration of the enjoyment his voice gives, he doesn’t speak much during dinner. He only answers questions when I ask them. I smile to myself, pleased that I’ve done something right where he’s concerned because he likes the food at least enough to go back for seconds.

  When dinner is over he refuses to let me help as he washes the dishes. After that he sits in front of the television with a hockey game on. I’ve never tried to watch hockey before, but it looks kind of cool. I sit at the other end of the couch, so I don’t make him uncomfortable, and ask questions, trying to understand what we’re watching. After a while I don’t care about the game, I only want to hear his voice so I come up with question after question.

  If I had my way right now, my head would be on his lap as he runs his fingers through my hair and talks to me about anything. It could be the New York Stock Exchange for all I care. Just to hear the soothing sound of his voice would be awesome and to have those hands in my hair… Damn.

  “Marina.” I startle out of my reverie and realize I was probably staring at him with my mouth hanging open or something stupid.

  “Sorry, what did you say?” I blink rapidly, trying to clear the thoughts from my head completely.

  “I said game’s over so I’m headed to bed. You okay? Need anything?”

  I shake my head because what I want I’m sure he wants no part of.

  “Okay, night,” he says as he walks out of the room without a second glance. I’m so affected by him I don’t know how to function with him in the room, and our history, although brief, is still meaningful to me. Why can’t I find a guy like him? Stable, sexy, thoughtful and strong. He’s everything I ever wanted in a man—minus the attitude—but I’m such a screw-up he’d never look at me for anything romantically. He probably only dates classy women with college degrees who work the pampered princess look. I’ve never seen a woman as eccentric as I am with a guy like him. You’d think I’d change my look to gain his attention, but even if you polished me up pretty that’s not who I am.

  I like the colorful streaks in my hair and the tattoos. The piercings are cool and although there are some I could live without, I like most of them so why would I change that? Whatever. I don’t know why my brain has taken this path tonight. Maybe it’s because we had dinner together and then sat and talked like normal dating people do.

  I get up, brush my teeth, wash off my makeup, pull my hair up in a messy bun and put on my pajamas. It’s late, it’s been a long day and I sho
uld be wiped out, but the closer I get to that empty bed the more awake I become. I’ve had enough therapy over the years that it shouldn’t seem like such a huge feat to get into that bed alone and sleep. But bedtime is the one thing I never could get past. Too much of the horror in my life happened in the wee hours of the morning.

  It doesn’t even have to be dark in the room for me to freak out. I’ve tried sleeping with every light on and it still didn’t help. Before our stuff went missing I’d gotten to the point in my apartment that I could sleep alone for at least a couple of hours a night when Dee was gone or when Reggie was staying over. The sleep wasn’t as good as when Dee was with me or when I was dating someone and they would stay over.

  Leaving the light on in the hopes that it will help, I climb into bed and pull the covers up to my throat. Then I spend the next hour staring at the walls, wondering if I’ll be awake again all night. I hear the front door open and close and figure Jase has gone out for a booty call. I mean, what does a guy like him leave the house at one in the morning to do? He did it the first night we were here too. Then he got a call from some chick named Leslie that he took in private. He even moved up his vacation because she wanted him there earlier. I wonder if she’ll show up here before I leave. I’m curious about her enough that I want to see her, but I don’t think I’ll be able to hide the jealousy that’s sitting just below the surface.

  Now that he’s gone I don’t have to worry about keeping him awake with the television on so I can go back to the couch and find an old movie to watch. Maybe I’ll doze off while I’m there. I trudge back to the couch and grab the blanket that’s neatly folded over the back and flip on the television. I pull the cover up as I settle in to the super-comfy couch that’s covered in chocolate-colored microfiber. It’s nothing like our old threadbare pink and white floral couch that Dee’s mom gave us when she got new furniture, but it’s really comfortable.