This Time

by Kristin Leigh

  “I never meant for it to go that far. You have to believe that. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want it to, but I didn’t want to push you before you were ready.” Michael reached across the table, his palm up, waiting. His voice lowered to an agonized whisper, “Tara, I don’t want to hurt you again.”

  Tara looked at his hand as if it were a spider and remained silent. She knew if she started talking, the dam would break and she’d cry.

  Michael pulled his hand away and scrubbed it down his face with an impatient grunt. He scratched the stubble on his chin absently and sighed. “Tara, say something. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  She jerked a hand across her face to brush away the mortifying tears that escaped and shakily responded, “I’m thinking I should have stayed home.”

  Michael looked down, his brow furrowing as he studied the tabletop. “I deserved that.” He cleared his throat several times before asking, “Do you know what it means to me that you came?”

  Tara yanked her head up to look at him, thinking he was referring to their lovemaking. An angry retort hovered on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back. Michael blinked rapidly and gave her a questioning look. His eyes widened, and he shook his head rapidly.

  “I mean here, that you came here to see me.” He rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  Tara glanced away, ashamed of the direction her thoughts had immediately taken. “I know,” she said softly. “But Michael, you need to accept that even if I decide I want to have a relationship with you, I want to move slowly. Slower than we did before, slower than most people. I don’t trust you not to just walk away again, without a backward glance. It’s not just me anymore. Maddie and I…” she broke off, swallowing against the lump in her throat, trying to keep from crying. “We’re a team. I can’t just add someone else to our team, especially when I don’t know how long it’s for.”

  Michael stared at her intently for long moments before awkwardly sliding his chair around the table toward hers. Tara glanced around quickly, looking for an avenue of escape before she realized she’d positioned herself in a corner with only one escape route, and he was now blocking it. Michael reached for her arms and roughly pulled her out of her chair and into his lap. She struggled against him, angry but irritatingly impressed by how easily he kept her from escaping. Once she was positioned to his satisfaction, her knees crooked over one arm of the chair with her feet dangling, Michael pulled her head down to his shoulder and wrapped his arms completely around her.

  “Cry,” he commanded, his voice rough and sharp.

  Tara tried to sit up, to get away from him. She didn’t want this!

  “No, damn you, cry.” His hand held her head against his shoulder. “I hurt you then, and I hurt you now. Cry on the right shoulder this time.”

  That did it. Michael’s admission of his own folly and the almost hostile attempt to provide Tara with what he’d denied her broke her down where his compassion had failed. She clutched his shirt and buried her face in the crook of his neck and sobbed. She cried for the past, for the single woman who gave birth with only her best friend and mother present; she cried for the mother that struggled to make ends meet and provide the best for her child alone; she cried for the years Madelynn had spent fatherless; but mostly, she cried for the lonely woman. It was selfish, she knew, but Tara wanted a man to love her, and only her. She wanted someone’s world to revolve around her. She cried because she’d gotten a taste of it nearly six years ago, and two hours ago she’d been given another taste, and now she craved it. She felt like a perpetual dieter standing in the middle of a Krispy Kreme. Only instead of lounging around eating pastries, she was sobbing and crying and snotting all over her own personal donut. And he was stroking her hair and murmuring soothingly to her.

  Tara only caught about one word in five, but the most common ones she caught were never, baby, love, and sorry. It felt somehow wrong and right at the same time to sob against the shoulder of the man who’d made her cry. After what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, the tears began to fade, and she struggled to gain control.

  *

  Tara cried against him so hard, Mike was afraid she was going to pass out. Every sob, every tear, tore a hole in his heart and piled heavily on top of the guilt he carried with him. He’d done this to her with his own cowardice, and it was killing him. Disgusted with himself, he thought grimly that he’d deserved to lose both legs for what he’d done. Death was too good for him. Mike closed his eyes and rested his cheek on top of her head.

  He whispered to her, words he should have been saying for years, fervent declarations Mike wasn’t sure she even heard. They tore from his throat in agonized whispers as she sobbed against him.

  “Baby, I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry. I swear, if you let me love you again, I will never, ever leave you. I’ll never make you cry again, baby, I promise. I’ll never hurt you again. I am so sorry. I know I don’t deserve a chance to love you and Maddie, sweetheart, but please let me try…”

  Mike continued until Tara’s sobs had slowed, and he knew she was probably exhausted. It was torture to hear her cry that way, but he was the only one to blame, so he considered it well-earned torture. He held her until she was only sniffling. Minutes ticked by, the silence broken only by her occasional sniff and one deep, shuddering sigh as she struggled for control. Mike stroked her hair gently, marveling at the strength and courage she’d adapted over the years. The Tara he’d known wouldn’t have fought him when he pulled her down to cry. She would have gone into his arms easily and allowed him to comfort her. But not this new Tara. She was proud, and rightfully so. Proud of the years she’d struggled through alone and proud of the person she’d become. Mike didn’t blame her. Hell, he was proud of her too. But it hurt like hell to know that he’d been the one to force that on her. Pulling away just enough to see her face, he looked down at her and waited for her to look at him.

  When she finally did, she looked quickly back down and said in a small voice, “I need a tissue.”

  Mike nodded and loosened his hold on her. “If I let you up to get one, will you come right back?” At Tara’s nod, he relaxed his arms and watched her as she stood and walked to the bathroom. She blew her nose several times, and he heard water running and guessed she was washing her face.

  When Tara walked out of the bathroom, she glanced over at him and smiled hesitantly. “Your shirt is soaked. Where are your clean ones? I’ll get you another one.”

  “Top right drawer,” Mike said, gesturing to the dresser next to the door. He jerked his soggy, tear soaked shirt over his head and put on the new one she tossed to him. “Thanks.”

  Tara moved toward the table, but when she started to sit in her previously vacated chair, Mike stopped her.

  “You said you’d come back. I meant over here.”

  Tara froze halfway into the chair and looked at him with wide eyes. “You mean in your lap?”

  “Yeah.” When she hesitated, Mike promised, “I won’t bite. Come on.”

  Tara moved closer, and Mike took her arm to pull her into the same position she’d been before: legs dangling over the side and her head tucked snugly against his shoulder. When he was satisfied with her position, he began.

  “We made love, Tara. We can’t pretend it didn’t happen or dance around the issue. I know it was too soon, and I’m sorry. But I’m sorry it was too soon, I’m not sorry it happened.” Mike linked his hand with hers and toyed lightly with her fingers. “I’m not going to tell you I won’t try to kiss you or hold you again, but I promise that I will do my damnedest not to let it get out of hand again.” He took a deep breath. “Just promise me you won’t shut me out. Okay?”

  Tara dipped her head down and let her hair fall forward to hide her face. Mike brushed her hair behind her ear, his touch light. He watched her carefully, trying to read her expression. He wanted to say the right things, do the right things. But he wasn’t always certain what that was with Tara. He wanted
her to know that he was even feeling the right things. But every time she seemed to be considering another relationship with him, he’d fuck up somehow and bring all those old issues to the surface.

  Mike had abandoned her, abandoned their child. He’d hurt and humiliated Tara, and worst of all, he’d made her feel cheap and used. Mike didn’t want her to ever feel that way again, especially at his hands. And she needed to understand he would never let Madelynn be hurt that way.

  Unable to bear the silence a second longer, Mike said, “Please tell me what you’re thinking.”

  Tara opened her mouth to answer and hesitated before saying, “I’m thinking that I don’t want to get involved with you because the odds are that you’ll leave again. And I have to think about Madelynn. She’d be crushed.”

  Mike looked down, anywhere but at her, as his heart sank. “What will it take to convince you that I’m not going anywhere? Because whatever it is, Tara, I’ll do it.” When she didn’t respond, he continued, “Would you be convinced if we got married?” She looked up at him, horrified, and Mike bit his tongue to keep from saying something else really stupid and scaring her off for good. Like how he wished that he’d asked her to marry him when she’d told him she was pregnant, and how he’d thought about her every day since he’d left, and that she wasn’t alone because Mike had never recovered from losing her, either. The admissions built up behind the wall of his chest, threatening to explode from him. But he knew some things were best left unsaid, at least for a little while.

  “Is that your idea of a proposal?” Tara asked, incredulous.

  “No,” Michael answered tersely, his jaw tight. Fuck. He had to get control of his mouth. “Forget I said anything. I just want you to trust me when I say I’m not going anywhere.”

  Tara watched him, angry sparks shooting from her eyes. “Time, Michael. It takes time.”

  Mike took a deep breath and looked out the window. He had time. “Time. I can do that.” He looked back at Tara and cupped the side of her face, running his thumb across her lower lip. He brushed the hair away from her forehead and watched the way it drifted over his fingers. Mike stroked his hand down her cheek and murmured, “I’ve got all the time in the world.” He tilted Tara’s chin up and touched his lips gently to hers for the briefest of moments, and then let her go with a deep breath. “Maddie. You’d better go get Maddie.”

  Tara nodded, stood, and then moved across the room to open the door. She paused in the open doorway and turned back to him. “For what it’s worth, Michael, I wouldn’t have said no.” She smiled softly. “I wouldn’t have said yes, either, but I wouldn’t have said no.” With that, she turned and left the room.

  When the door closed quietly behind her, Mike let out the breath he’d been holding. He’d been afraid while she was sitting in his lap that Tara would notice the hardness beneath her bottom. Then when she’d made that admission before leaving, it had been everything he could do to bite his tongue to keep from asking again. What had she meant, she wouldn’t say no? Maybe? Later? Mike would give his good leg to be able to wake up beside her every morning for the rest of his life; to be able to see her pregnant with his baby again. Now that he knew he had a chance, he was going to—

  Mike’s thoughts were cut off by the sound of the door opening. “That was fast,” he started, but stopped when he saw his visitor. If he’d had to describe the man, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to accurately. His hair was black, his eyes were a light, indeterminate color, and he looked tall and medium at the same time. He was wearing khakis and a black polo, but other than those obvious physical characteristics, nothing about the man stood out. He was painfully…plain. At least plain was the only word Mike could think of to describe his looks. If he was asked—and he would be later—Mike would have said the man was normal. Nothing else would come to mind. “Hi,” he said. “I think you have the wrong room. This is—”

  “I know what room it is.” The man cut him off, and much like his appearance, his voice was disturbingly unmemorable. No decipherable accent and neither deep nor soft. Strange. “I have a question for you, Chief Davis. It is very important that you answer this question to the best of your ability.”

  Mike’s heart gave a slow thud. With his security clearance, and considering the reason he’d been temporarily assigned to a Ranger unit, questions from a man like this did not bode well. “All right,” he responded slowly.

  The man gave a curt nod. “Think carefully before you answer.” He paused, waiting for Mike’s acknowledging nod before continuing. “Was there a last minute substitution for the interpreter used for your patrol?” He watched Mike carefully.

  Mike narrowed his eyes and thought hard. It was difficult to remember the day preceding the explosion, even harder than remembering the explosion itself. The explosion came back in sharp, clear images when he had flashbacks. But the day before…Well, that was fuzzy and spotty, probably because the details felt small and insignificant.

  “Yeah,” Mike said, the memory coming back to him slowly. “Yeah there was. I can’t remember why, but—”

  “Why is not important.” The man cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Was the assigned interpreter civilian or military?”

  “Civilian,” Mike replied. This was harmless information, so Mike didn’t mind sharing up to a certain point.

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure about that? There were no civilians on staff.”

  “Yeah,” Mike responded. He didn’t need the memory to know that. “They only used locally contracted civilian interpreters. The Army interpreters filled in when they didn’t show up.”

  “Why did they use contracted civilians when you had military interpreters readily available?” The stranger watched Mike closely.

  Mike eyed him suspiciously. This was going a little farther into details than he was comfortable with. “Look, I’m done answering questions until you tell me—”

  “You’ll be done answering when I say you are.” The man’s previously unmemorable voice suddenly became deep and gravelly and extremely memorable. He cleared his throat quickly and said, “I’m part of a team investigating the explosion. That’s all you need to know. Now please, Chief, tell me why your unit wasn’t using the military interpreters provided to the Tactical Operations Center.”

  “Can’t you ask the commander?” Mike asked. “Colonel Thomas will—”

  “I need someone to answer that had a high enough clearance to know but doesn’t have the authority to make changes before I conclude my investigation. You are the prime candidate.” The visitor continued to watch Mike, his gaze cold and forbidding.

  Mike shifted in his chair. “Look, the higher-ups felt contracting locals would give them a reason to like us and less reason to try to kill us. The two Army interpreters attached to the unit didn’t make too much of a stink about it. You know those types. They like to brag about being the smartest cookie in the box and show off their high clearance. But when it came right down to it, they were just a couple of brains without balls. They didn’t want to have to put their asses on the line, especially when there were Afghani citizens willing to do it for them.”

  The man watched Michael closely for a few moments and then tightly said, “Thank you.” He left the room without another word.

  Mike blinked. What the hell was that about? They were just interpreters, and it wasn’t like the Army interpreter that was tagging along had been injured, anyway. He’d been in the other Humvee, the one that hadn’t been hit by the IED. The only thing he could think of was they thought the civilian interpreters had been passing information along to the terrorists and had failed to show up to keep from being killed by their own IED. It seemed a little too obvious, but he didn’t think that was the case. The regular interpreter that usually went along on patrols, Hadji, had returned home from a London university to help his family rebuild after the war was technically over. He’d been a shy young man, no more than twenty, and Mike couldn’t see him harming anyone intentionally. />
  His thoughts were once again interrupted when Madelynn burst through the door, and the strange visitor was forgotten.

  “Michael! I played a new game after my nap!” Madelynn hopped up and down on her toes, barely able to contain her excitement.

  “A new game?” Mike exclaimed, glancing up at Tara. “Well, what was it?”

  “Guess who!” Madelynn bounced over to the table and hopped up in one of the chairs.

  “Well,” Mike said, grinning playfully, “Who?”

  Madelynn giggled. “No, silly! That’s the name of the game!”

  “The name of the game is Guess Who?” Mike scratched his head and levered himself carefully into his wheelchair. “Well, did you find out who?”

  Madelynn frowned and stuck her lower lip out. “No,” she said sullenly. “Colter guessed before I did.” She brightened just as quickly and continued, “But the lady said I could borrow it and play with you if I want to!”

  Mike wheeled himself over to Madelynn’s side of the table and ruffled her hair. “That sounds great! But I don’t know how good I’ll be at guessing. You’ll probably have to teach me how to play.”

  Madelynn nodded and then folded her hands in her lap and looked at him, her expression very serious. “Michael?”

  He took on a solemn expression to match hers. “Yes, Madelynn?”

  “Are you sick because you don’t have but one leg?”

  Ah. He’d wondered when it would come up. Mike had been using his wheelchair and crutches all day to give his leg a break from the prosthesis. The soreness and redness had worried him a little, so he wanted to take it easy for a day or two and make the nurses and Dr. Walters happy. “Yes, Maddie. When I was in the Navy just a few months ago, I was in a car wreck. It was really bad, and I hurt my leg so badly that the doctors had to take it off.”