by Neal, Xavier
Totally agree. Don't you?
Standing, the two of us slip out of our back row seats and take the stairs, fingers lightly touching. We round the corner, thankfully running into our server. After lying about a family emergency he agrees to bring me the tab in the lobby as soon as possible.
Once our bill is settled, Archer and I stroll around outside the strip mall center, the brisk air refreshing to him, and only mildly uncomfortable to me. After passing a few stores, we reach a deserted bench in the open courtyard area. On it he leans his weight onto his thighs, arms bent, attention down. Sorrow settles throughout his body and the only thing I wanna do is offer him solace.
I place my hands in my lap. “This was all my fault.”
Archer's rough voice argues, “It wasn't.”
“I should've never taken you to see an action movie-”
“You didn't know.”
“Not exactly.” My head bobs back and forth. “But there's the loud gun shots. The bright flashy light thing-”
“Doesn't always happen-”
“But it did this time and-”
“Jaye,” he grouses louder. Clenching his hands together he looks over his shoulder at me. “Drop it. You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't send me on that mission. You didn't kill my team.”
Hearing the words out loud drops my jaw.
He did say kill, right?
The intuition to tread carefully gnaws at me. “You're the only one who survived?”
“Yeah...” Archer's jaw trembles as he turns back around and lets his head fall again. “It was a simple order. Clear the building. Get in. Get out. Keep moving. Locate the target. ” Desperate to hear more I lean forward, guessing the next part will drop in volume. “We had heard they used children like bait. We knew it was possible. But that little girl didn't look like a threat. She looked scared. Terrified to be in the middle of a fucking war zone...” Regret or remorse clogs and strangles his vocal chords. “There was a flash. A fucking bright flash. Then a bang. It was all over after that. I don't remember much more than smoke filling my lungs, a harsh ringing, and staring into the dead of eyes of Seth Smith, my best friend, as I floated in and out of consciousness.”
The only thing I can whisper out is, “Oh my God...”
Hey, if you can figure out something better go right ahead. Trust me, as someone who has received the bullshit sorry for your loss lines a million times over, it's not typically the thing someone wants to hear.
“I was the only one who survived and barely at that. Severe concussion. Minor memory loss. Cuts, bruises, a fucked up knees, and some shrapnel in my leg. I was furthest from the blast. Nothing more than dumb chance. Dumb fucking chance that I was left breathing and they weren't.”
Uncertain how anyone could live through that or with that level of guilt, I simply give his upper back a heartfelt touch.
“I had to look Seth's wife in her face when she came begging for answers, pounding on my door for answers, begging me to tell her what she was supposed to tell their little girl when she grew up. I have to live with those nightmarish cries. The reality my god daughter is no longer my god daughter. If that shit wasn't enough, I had to deal with mental and physical therapy that would suck every penny out of me I had, at the same time I found out the chick I had been calling my girlfriend had replaced me with some bartending asshole and took the money from my account that she could get a hold of. One minute I'm trying to learn to function again and the next I'm out on my ass because I'm lost in a fucking nightmare paperwork based hell. Homeless because all the programs designed to help men like me require more hoops for you to jump through than the fucking Olympics.” Archer turns to look at me, hate raging through his stare. “I gave my life for this country. For these...people and when the tables are turned they can't give back? They can't help make the process of vets getting the help they need less complicated or at least have less pitfalls for us to fall into? They can't help us from becoming just one more case number in an endless line in their fucking system? Can't they see we really need fucking help? Can't they show a little more....compassion? Like you did.”
Heated hatred fades into pure anguish of a broken man.
I can't blame him for being the silent and angry type knowing that. Can you?
“Maybe the compassion of one can be enough to help you let go of not having the compassion of many.”
Archer whispers, “Maybe...”
I run my hand slowly down his arm until our fingers are linked again. “You don't have to keep fighting by yourself. You're not alone any more, Archer.”
He squeezes my hand but doesn't say another word.
Now doesn't seem like the ideal time to tell him maybe therapy, maybe talking this out with a third party might help him move past it, might help him shed some anger, but I think it would help. Just... jot that down as something we need to talk about in the near future when he hasn't just broken down in a public setting or just confided in me the deep dark demon that screams at him.
The cold air picks up acting as our big hint that sitting around in the winter air might not be the wisest idea.
Totally didn't need that reminder.
“How about bowling?” I suggest trying to cheerfully change the subject. “How does that sound?” Before giving him a chance to answer I cringe, “Wait. The sound and the noise-”
“It's the lights, Jaye.”
“Well it's day time. It should just be the shitty overhead one.”
Archer's lips tug at the corners. “If that's what you wanna do.”
“I just wanna hang out with you,” I confess. “Even if that means we have to go home and just lay on the couch.”
This time he smiles wide. “We'll spend the day doing that tomorrow. Today...let's keep battling the outside world. If you wanna bowl, let's try it.”
Just as we're about to stand up, an unexpected voice pins me to the seat.
Shit....
“Why aren't you at work?” Merrick playfully smiles. “Are you playing hookie?”
Oh stop drooling. I've told you. Taken. Happily taken! More importantly, can we focus on the concept that I've been busted?
“I took a personal day today.” My answer is proceeded by Archer's hand tightening protectively.
Or maybe he's a little jealous? I'm hoping jealous. I like him a little jealous. Reminds me I'm not the only one interested here. Besides it's gotta be the jealous thing because Merrick doesn't look the least bit threatening to me. Maybe that's because I know him? Tall, dark, and handsome with bright blue eyes. Hint of a baby face with a smile too charming for it's own good. None of that screams danger. He probably couldn't harm an ant.
“Archer Cox meet Merrick McCoy, he works at the school. He's our in house wall artist.”
Our hands drop, so the two can shake. My protector grunts, “Is that fancy phrasing for painter?”
Merrick grins, “Basically.”
“It's more than just painting. He does these elaborate murals and décor for the season or events that are coming. It's remarkable. He's insanely talented.”
Archer's weight shifts uncomfortably. “Is that so?”
Merrick shrugs folding his arms, “I do alright.”
“Alright? Are you kidding? I saw some the sketches for the spring event coming on Presley’s desk. They're...just...wow.”
Archer awkwardly shifts again.
What? I was just...I wasn't...crap. Did I mess this up?
“I just want it to be a success.” He moves his attention to Archer. “I will say it is a pleasure to finally meet the man who's been putting a smile on my favorite librarian's face.”
Sharply I snap, “Merrick!”
Instead of pushing the subject nature, Archer gives me a simple glance, smiling brightly this time. Nonchalantly he nods. “She's putting one on mine too.”
“You must really mean something to her if she's skipping work for you,” Merrick continues to sell me out. “From my understanding and word on the street gir
l doesn't miss work for anything shy of death.”
“You're one to talk,” I fuss back. “You don't miss work for anything either.”
“I love my job,” he shrugs. “Besides I can do it any time day or night as long as the buildings empty or damn near empty anyway. You hate leaving those kids without books or books read to them for any long period of time.”
My body slides down on the bench.
God he makes me sound like a workaholic with no life outside of books....Oh, shut up.
“She loves her job too,” Archer kindly defends. “It's one of the things I love about her.”
Before Merrick has a chance to throw me under the bus again, I ask, “Why aren't you at work? Or in class?”
“I've got class in about an hour. I'm gonna meet my girlfriend for a quick bite.” Archer's entire body seems to relax as soon as the word girlfriend is said. “I was on my way to grab her some flowers first.”
“I love you flowers or I'm sorry flowers?” Archer questions.
Merrick smirks. “This time, I'm sorry flowers.”
Curious I lift my eyebrows. “What'd you do?”
“Forgot we made plans and agreed to work late. It was just a mix up. She's not mad or anything, but I feel like an asshole.”
“Red tulips,” Archer suggests. “They're better than roses. In poems they've be associated with declarations of love. Tied to imagery and proclamations of passion, heat, and desire running so hot it scorches the heart of the flower.”
To my surprise, Merrick smirks. “Red tulips it is.” He slips his hands in his jacket pockets. “I'm gonna get going so I'm not late for lunch too. Thanks for the tip, Archer.”
“Anytime.”
Merrick playfully looks at me again. “Enjoy your day off.” When I let my jaw slip open to comment he adds, “Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me. Relax, Jaye.”
He strolls away and the second he's out of ear shot I ask, “You like poems?”
Archer turns to face me, green eyes softening. “Some.”
“Modern or classic?”
“Both.” Without waiting for me to ask for further information, he offers, “Always have. I enjoy the complexity of some and the simplicity of others. The themes of a spiritual paradise, the products of war, and unmistakable passion sometimes bordering obsession are what I prefer, but I'll give almost any type a chance.”
Excited that he really relishes some form of literature, I try to calm my voice. “Have you ever tried to write one?”
Archer sides steps the question. “You ready to go? I used to be a kick ass bowler.”
“Is that right?”
He stands and slides his hands in his jacket pocket. “Yup.”
“Well just so you know, my daddy used to take me bowling with his league and I know a thing or two about knocking down pins.”
“Sounds like you might be a challenge.”
Mimicking his action, I stand up and bury my hands as well. “Think you can handle me?”
His face lowers closer. “I think I wanna try...”
Are we still talking about bowling?
The rest of our day together is amazing. After bowling for a few hours, we enjoy a late lunch at one of my favorite sandwich shops, before checking out a local art exhibit that spurs more laughter than philosophical conversation. By the time our evening is wrapping up, we grab a couple of fast food burgers and head home, exhausted from the outing.
“I honestly don't remember the last time I spent the entire day having fun like that,” I sigh, leaning against the railing.
Archer smiles leaning against the wall opposite of me. “Me either.”
“Are you doing okay?” I toss a nod to his leg. “Was it too much for your body?”
“Nah,” he denies immediately. “It doesn't hurt. Most of the time I don't even realize I've got a limp. But I appreciate the concern.”
A warm feeling takes hold of me. Casually I grip the ends of my long sleeve shirt, stretching the material with my fingertips. “Of course I'm concerned about you.”
“Of course?”
“Of course,” my repetition, pushes my body towards his. “I've been worried about you since the first time I saw you by my trashcan.”
Restraint of his movements is clear. Archer's body tightens as his feet stay in place. “Why?”
Letting my body drive itself closer, I whisper, “I don't know. There was just something there. Something in those green eyes of yours that I couldn't get out of mind no matter how hard I tried.”
Somehow my body has bridged the short distance, which has us the closest we've been since the theater this afternoon.
Apparently my brain and body aren't working in tandem. Should I fix that?
“You look like you needed someone. You looked scared and alone.” I carefully run my fingers down his chest. It tightens further on contact. His breathing seems to cease. “You looked like part of you was hiding from the world, afraid to just be you, whoever that is. I saw something in your eyes that I had seen in my own morning after morning.” When Archer's green gaze looks like it's heating, I bare the remainder of my feelings. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I wasn't. Either way, I don't care. I'm just thankful you're here with me now.”
His head wavers back and forth while his lips plead, “Jaye...”
Some unknown source pushes me up on the tips of my toes. “Yeah?”
With my face too close for anything else than the inevitable, I observe the turmoil tumbling through his eyes at the temptation I'm begging he gives into. “Promise me you'll lock your door tonight?”
Confusion climbs onto my face. “Why?”
“Because once I taste you, I know it won't be enough.” He wets his lips but remains still. “And I can't promise I'll have enough self-control not to have every fucking bit of you.”
Holy hell...What am I supposed to say that?!
Rendering me basically speechless causes him to growl, “Promise.”
“Promise.” The word barely has time to roll off my tongue before Archer's is on top of it with a forceful greeting. One of his large hands is gripping the nape of my neck while the other is planted on my hip. Effortlessly he leads me backwards, tongue feverishly exploring every inch I'm offering and even the ones I'm not. The kiss overpowers my ability to breathe as it sucks the life from me. When my body is lowered onto the stairs, I toss my arms around his neck, desperate to take him with me. He follows suit while one of his hands slips under the edge of my thin shirt. Lost in the overwhelming euphoria, a moan divulges from me without consent.
Archer unexpectedly pulls away, the glowing of his gorgeous green gaze enough to make another heated exhale seep out.
What is wrong with me?! I never made these kind of sounds with Chris! I was so quiet and hardly ever vocal. What? What do you mean he wasn't doing it right then? Stop that...he was....good in bed. I mean he wasn't bad in bed. Why are you asking me about how many guys I've been with? Now doesn't really seem like a good time for this conversation!
Afraid I screwed up somehow, I painstakingly question, “Did I do something wrong?”
Tenderness floods his expression. “I don't think that's fucking possible.”
My lips curl into a playful smirk.
A small groan comes out of Archer as he pushes himself completely off of me. “We need to say goodnight.”
Displeased in more ways than one, I sit up straight, on the stair, my eyebrows darting down. “But-”
“Jaye, it was already a miracle I didn't rip off your clothes and fuck you rotten on those stairs, but hearing you moan...” He shakes his head slowly, hand gripping the railing hard enough to have it come flying out of the wall. “If I don't walk away right now, the only mission on my mind will be doing everything possible for you to make that sound from this moment until mid-morning tomorrow, and I only say mid-morning because I know you'll need to refuel.”
Um...that's quite an amount of endurance.
I swallow the urge to whimper. “And
that's bad?”
The fierce sexual groan I'm loving more each time I hear it falls from his mouth.
Is it wrong to love the animalistic part of man?
“Not bad,” he states slowly. “Far from bad. It's just not...it's just not time.”
My pussy clenches in objection. Suddenly like one of the children who want a sticker when leaving my library, I pout. “Don't I get a say in that?”
