by Cecy Robson
I start to rise, but Owen’s words cement me in place. “I was a Green Beret. Got sent to Somalia on special tour to find some rebels.” His voice grows distant. “Lost count after I fired those first thirty-five shots.”
I’m hovering mere centimeters from my chair. Somehow, I find my way back down. Owen’s cold exterior remains. Only his eyes are different. They’re those same vacant, dead eyes soldiers get after serving too many tours, and the same eyes that stare back at me each time I dare to look in the mirror. But he continues, although he doesn’t seem to be breathing, not anymore.
“We spent close to three months rounding them up,” he says. “Some were just children, really. Children bred and trained to take lives. But that didn’t make a difference.” He looks at me then, the torment deadening his stare as palpable as his daughter’s presence beside me. “We had a job to do. Didn’t we, boy?”
My fists clench and I swallow the lump that’s building. “Yes, sir,” I say.
Chapter Twenty-two
Callahan
I don’t think this is Trin, or her brother’s first time learning their father was a Green Beret. And based on the heaviness in the room, I don’t think it’s the first time learning the extent of his sins. We eat a homemade sweet potato pie in silence, with nothing more than the clinking sound of forks against the plates to break the quiet.
The minute we’re done, Landon excuses himself to make a call.
I thank Silvie for dinner and help Trin gather the plates, my hands not quite steady as I load the dishwasher. She tries to catch my stare more than once, but each time I deny her the reassurance she seeks.
She wants, okay, maybe not wants―she needs to know I’m okay. That we’re okay. But I’m not sure if we are. Not after learning I killed a hundred and seven people all on my own. Those same fingers that sweep over her body, pulled the trigger that abruptly ended a shitload of futures. And those hands that give her pleasure, caused a hell of a lot more pain.
Trin knows what I am now, knows what I did. I can’t take it back, but then I never could.
The plate, the one I think I used, doesn’t quite fit along with the rest. But I need it to.
I place my plate on the counter. Compulsively, erratically, I start rearranging the dishes. I move the pie dish, a lid, and a flat pan her momma used to fry okra. My hands move fast, snatching up her daddy’s plate, her mother’s, and everything else in between.
And it’s still not enough. There’s no room for me among the rest.
It. I mean it not me.
I take a deep breath, and release it slowly, knowing I’m seconds away from breaking every damn dish in this piece of shit appliance. That rage, the kind I’ve beaten down more times than I can count, hovers close to the surface. I can taste the adrenaline it stirs in the back of my throat and sense the fury of the beast I’ve become.
I need to get out, need to leave fast before I lose myself to that darkness―the one where the bodies of those I failed lie bloody and still.
“Here, baby,” Trin says. “Let me.”
Her voice is soft, patient. I stare at her outstretched hand for several painful heartbeats before I surrender my plate. She removes a lid from the rack and replaces it with the soiled dish I held for too long.
As easily as that, she makes a place for me.
I can’t do much more than breathe, and even that much hurts. But her gesture is effortless. Her solution simple. Her voice relaxed. She’s . . . Trin. Fixing everything as naturally as she fixes everyone with her smile.
That doesn’t stop me from moving stoically away.
Landon’s returned. Whoever he called, and whatever he or she had to say, pissed him off. But I don’t ask why. Instead I shake the hand he offers, and thank Miss Silvie again for the meal and the hospitality.
There is though, one person I need to see before I can leave. And while I’ve only just met him, it’s his words I won’t forget.
Trin’s daddy stands alone out on the terrace. Miss Silvie stops me with a gentle clasp to my arm. She flashes that small smile all southern ladies somehow manage, even when they’re hurting for those they most love.
“Mr. Owen needs a moment,” she says. “You’ll excuse him if he doesn’t pay his respects, won’t you, son?”
I nod, although the motion barely registers. “Yes, ma’am. Please tell him I said thank you, and good night.”
“I will, son,” she answers.
The wrinkles along the corners of her eyes soften as her hand slowly slips away. She steps out onto the terrace, where her husband is leaning against the stacked stone railing and staring out into the darkness. He’s likely searching for the peace I’ve often sought, and I hope he finds it.
Miss Silvie takes her place beside her husband, not to speak, but to let him know she’s with him. It’s a sight to see, and a moment I don’t remember my mother ever sharing or offering freely. But right then and there, feeling what I’m feeling, it’s a form of beauty that’s too painful to watch.
This time, it’s my turn to walk away. I march down the hall, out the foyer, and through the main doors. By the time I slip behind the wheel, my chest is as rigid as titanium and my lungs raw with every breath I take.
I grip the steering wheel, trying to ease my breathing before I crank the engine. I can’t drive like this. Not safely. So I take my time and concentrate so I can.
The apocryphal foot mashing my chest in, slowly releases its pressure. I rub it a few times, more to be sure I’m well enough to drive, before starting my truck with a roar. As I shift into reverse, the passenger side door handle slaps back.
Through the window, Trin stares back at me, her thin brows puckered. At first, her presence confuses me and I don’t initially act. I’m not proud to admit this, but I wait before setting the truck in park and flipping the locks to allow her in.
She opens the door and hops into the seat, reaching for her seatbelt and snapping it in place. “You were leaving without me?”
She’s not asking me, or yelling. She’s genuinely dumbstruck that I’d take off without her.
I fiddle with the steering wheel. “I figured you’d be staying with your folks.”
I don’t miss the disappointment in her voice. “Then why didn’t you tell me goodbye?”
Shame has me bowing my head. She doesn’t deserve the way I’m treating her. “I’m sorry, baby.” I sigh. “I’m tired. It may be too much for me to drive you back later, and no way in hell are you walking back alone.”
“Why are you talking like I’m not spending the night? It’s what we planned.”
I swivel my body to face her. “Your parents are here,” I say, slowly, leaving out the obvious.
“I know. We―I mean if you’re up for it―are meeting them for brunch tomorrow.”
I angle my body in the direction of the house again. “Do they know you plan to be with me? All night?”
“Yes. They know. Just like they know we’ve been sleeping together―why are you covering your face like that? Callahan, my parents aren’t stupid. They know we’ve been doing it like horny rhinos beneath the hot Serengeti sun.”
I finish running my hand down my face to find her laughing. “I told you, my family and I are close,” she drawls. “Now, I did spare them the details. Especially about that night you lifted me up and pleasured me against the wall―by the way that was real hot, hon―Oh! And that time you bent me over the dining room table―you know the one we just ate on―and gave me like four mind-blowing orgasms. And, hey! Remember when we did it the shower? Goodness, we never did find that soap now, did we . . .”
She keeps talking, because she’s Trin. The best I can do is pop my truck back in reverse and pull out of her driveway. It’s a wonder Owen and Landon didn’t each pick a ball to shoot off.
The closer we get to my place, the less she says. I park close to the back door, but I don’t make an effort to move, and neither does she. Despite her animated voice, I know I hurt her when I tried to leave witho
ut her. I take her hand, watching it disappear within my grasp.
How did this little ball of energy come to be the most important thing in my life? More to the point, how does she sit beside me knowing all I’ve done?
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. This time when I say it, she knows I’m apologizing for a lot more than walking out without saying goodbye.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks gently.
I tighten my jaw and shake my head. That shit in the kitchen. Lord, she has no clue how close I came to losing it. But I don’t mention it, even though I think she may know a lot more than she lets on.
I lift her hand and kiss it, then slowly edge out of my truck. This time she waits for me to open the door because maybe she knows I need to make up for how I treated her.
She leans against me when I wrap my arm around her. It’s a warm night. Beautiful, perfect, just like most nights here on Kiawah.
All the stars sparkling brightly above us, and the ocean’s gentle purr, beckon us to walk along the shore. On another night, I’d surrender to its call. But tonight’s not like all the other nights with Trin. Tonight she learned that the same man who gave her his heart, and who’s holding her now, is a killer. And regardless of her smile, and the way she wraps her arms around my waist, it’s a truth I can no longer spare her from.
We walk in the house and straight to my bedroom. I slip off my shirt and sit on the edge of the bed. This time, I don’t touch or tempt. I lean back on my hands and wait. Now that she knows what I am, I have to be sure she’ll still want the man before her.
I don’t wait long.
Trin kicks out of her flip-flops and pulls off her tank in one smooth move. Her tiny denim shorts―the ones that drive me wild―are next, followed by her bra and panties. With her knees, she pries my legs open and stands before me. But it’s not until she unbuttons my jeans and reaches for the erection her naked body stirred that I act.
When I take her, it isn’t gentle. Not once I flip her onto her back and join her body with mine. My thrusts are hard, driving her up the bed. I don’t know how many times she orgasms. All I know is that by the time I finish, she’s thrashing, her nails raking my unmade sheets, and her hot body dripping with sweat.
She trembles, whimpering, her breaths more pronounced than mine. I look down at her, taking her in before seizing her mouth, my lips hungry for hers. She wraps her arms around my neck. But I can’t stop the rock of my hips. Again, I’m hard.
I break our kiss and dip down to suck on her stiff nipple. She screams, jolting hard enough to break my suction.
“Don’t stop,” she begs me when I hesitate. “Please, don’t stop . . .”
Chapter Twenty-three
Trinity
I don’t know how long we make love, but the birds are beginning to sing as we settle down to sleep. Callahan’s head lowers to his favorite spot between my breasts while I drape an arm along his back.
As glimpses of sunlight trickle through the sheer curtains, I remember our plans with my folks. I cradle his head against me as I reach for the cell phone he left charging on the nightstand following round two, or three―I don’t remember which. I only know we both had this overwhelming desire to feel close to each other.
Using pure skill, and one hand, I send Landon a text, letting him know we’ll meet him and our parents for dinner instead. I don’t manage much more than that. Instead I surrender to that blissful exhaustion sex with Callahan always brings.
Sometime around one in the afternoon, he stirs against me. I awoke only a few minutes before, but use this moment to stretch my arms over my head. The motion causes my breast to glide along his cheek and in an instant later, something hardens along my leg.
An anticipatory grin spreads along my face as his body drags along mine and my lady parts rejoice. He stirs again, tilting his hips. I’m not sure if he’s completely awake, but I like what he’s doing, so I don’t dare interrupt.
What I do is moan, a lot, when his dense tip presses against my center and slides along my folds. Sweet mercy, he feels so good rubbing against me. I involuntarily squirm, my body ready to receive his. But it’s not until his hand slides between us and he slips two fingers in, that I’m sure he’s not going back to sleep.
He lifts his head, his lids heavy with sleep and lust.
My expression splits with agony and pleasure as his fingers circle. Agony because I want more than his fingers inside me, and pleasure because he knows how to work me into a frenzy.
He licks his lips, accelerating the movements of his fingers, wanting to watch me peak and lose control. Knowing so, and how hot it makes him, surges the spasms claiming and electrifying me. My orgasm hits me hard enough to buck my body, I’m still reeling from it when he hauls me to him and joins his body with mine.
He hooks my knees under his elbows, his face scrunching as he rams me, going deep. I’m no longer grunting, or whimpering, or even trying to be quiet, the lust Callahan invokes rattling me down to my core.
Callahan roars with his release, falling forward and folding my body. His hands splay on either side of me, his chest heaving with each breath. I meet his gaze, smiling softly as the fervor in his eyes dims, replaced by an adoration that flutters my heart.
“Hi, there,” I say.
“Hey, beautiful,” he whispers back, his warm smile lighting his blue eyes.
“Is now a good time to tell you I love you?” I ask.
My smile fades as his leaves him. He averts his head to the left. But the only thing there is a wall. “You may want to take that back,” he says.
“I don’t want to.”
I barely get the words out before he carefully separates us and disappears into the bathroom. I clasp my hand over my eyes, trying not to cry, but those tears silently push their way through.
My misery isn’t caused by his rebuff―I know he loves me. He’s never said it, but I feel it. Feel it every time he opens doors for me, pulls me close, and seeks me out to make sure I’m safe. His soft words, his gentle ways, his kindness―no man has ever been this good to me who wasn’t blood.
I sit up and wipe my eyes, staring at the wetness they leave against my fingertips. No, these tears aren’t for me. They’re for him, because he can’t believe I love him.
Before he can return, I dress and leave the room. I walk down the hall and into the spare bathroom. Without meaning to, I slam the door a little too hard.
Callahan mistakes it for me walking out on him. The bathroom door in his room flies open and quick feet speed past the bathroom I’m in. With a crash, he wrenches the front door open, yelling my name. “Trin!”
Desperation and fear etch into his voice like a shard of broken glass. I grip the edges of the sink, sighing with relief. It’s not that I enjoy hearing his pain―I don’t in the least. But I can’t say his reaction doesn’t reinforce what I believe. Without intending to, and through his actions, Callahan just proved I mean more to him than he’s ever claimed.
Again, I wipe my tears, and call out when he yells my name again. “I’m in the bathroom.”
There’s a brief pause before his bare feet pad against the hardwood floor and stop outside my door. “You all right?” he asks on the other side.
I wrestle with how to answer, not wanting to lie. I’m not all right. I can’t be knowing he hurts as much as he does. “I’ll be out in a minute,” I manage.
I find a spare toothbrush and comb, and freshen up. The comb is one of those tiny ones from a man’s grooming kit so it takes me some time to run through my thick hair. When I step out, he’s leaning on the opposite wall with his arms crossed, wearing nothing but an old pair of sweats cut into shorts.
He lifts his head. “I thought you left.”
In two strides I’m in his arms. He kisses the top of my head, curling his body around me. I almost tell him I would never leave him, but that’s a lie. My time in the Corps is coming up fast. It’s already August 1st, and I’m scheduled to fly out the second week in September.
I’ve asked for extension in writing, knowing I can’t simply walk out on Callahan―not this soon—not after everything we’ve been through.
My struggle is, I may just have to.
I’ve committed every part of my being to Callahan. But I’ve also committed the next two years and three months of my life to the Corps. I’m trying desperately to push it off as long as I can, but even that feels wrong.
The director emailed me back a few a days ago. She said she’ll see what she can do. But she made it clear how few volunteers are being recruited, and how desperate they are for people with medical training. She reminded me how many kids they’re losing who could’ve been saved through vaccinations. Children are dying, and here I am making excuses so I can be with my boyfriend.
All logic and common sense compel me to be honest with Callahan. I have to tell him. I know this. But I just told him I love him, and he reacted so badly when he thought I took off on him.
I bury my face against his chest. Things are screwed up, and there’s no simple solution. He won’t follow me across the world. No matter what he feels for me. He made it clear the other week when I asked him if he’d ever leave the country. I intended to tell him about the Corps then, and ask him to consider coming with me. But his decision to never to leave the states was absolute. I can’t blame him, not after being gone for so long and everything he’s endured.
But I can blame myself for placing me and him in this position.
“You know what you said,” he asks, his voice deepening as his hands trail to my hips. “What I told you to take back?”
I almost repeat it, but I don’t think he needs to hear those words just then. “Yes.”
“I’m going to tell you a few things about me―facts very few people know. After I’m done, you can decide for yourself if you want to keep feeling what you think you do. But if you don’t, I’ll―” He stops, and for a few seconds it’s like he ceases breathe. It’s not until I hear him swallow that he continues. “Just know you can take it back,” he adds quietly.
