by Cecy Robson
He pushes off the wall and leads me to the couch, turning down the air conditioning and draping a small throw against my legs when he realizes how frigid the room is. I won’t lie, the odd stab to his voice scares me. So when I adjust the throw around me, I can’t help but bunch the edge in my hands and clutch it against my chest.
He sits beside me, leaning forward so his big feet are planted firmly on the floor and his forearms rest above his knees. He regards me, the pain in his expression as obvious as the chill spreading along my exposed toes. I tuck them beneath me, trying to stay warm and protect myself from what’s to come.
It’s only when he turns his head away from me that finally speaks. “I’ve killed a lot people, Trin,” he says, taking a few breaths to force out the rest. “They weren’t all adults, and they weren’t all men.”
I know war doesn’t discriminate. But I’ll admit, it’s not easy to hear those words come from a man who holds me so tenderly.
“I’ve killed women, and young boys too young to grow their first beards.” His hands ball into fists. “But one of my last kills was a little girl who couldn’t have been more than five.”
This time, I’m the one who falls perfectly still, the first draw of air I manage strangely shallow. “Did . . . did she get in the way?” I stammer. “I mean, was it accident?” In my trembling voice, I’m begging him to tell me yes.
He meets me with ghostly blue eyes. “No. Every kill I made was intentional.”
“And she was five?” I don’t mean to speak out loud. But I do.
He doesn’t answer, returning his attention to the unlit fireplace directly in front of him. “Tell me what happened,” I say.
He shakes his head and rams his eyes shut when I sniff. He knows I’m crying, and I hate myself for it. But what he’s saying is important, and needs to be said. Not just for him, but for us.
I let my feet slip to floor and drag my heavy body closer so my hip rests against his. My hand slides along his back. “Please tell me.”
For a long time, I don’t think he will. But when he finally opens his eyes, he does, spilling his soul painfully slow. “It happened three days before my discharge from the Army. Our intelligence discovered insurgents plotting an attack and moving weapons into an area we thought we’d secured the previous month. But the war being what it is, regardless of how hard we fight it, nothing guarantees anything will stay secure for long. In just a matter of days, our so-called clear zone had quickly become hostile territory again.”
His eyes briefly dart my way. He wants to know if I’m listening. And I am. Right now, I’m hanging on his every word like it will somehow keep him from slipping away.
“I was one of several snipers positioned on rooftops throughout the city. Given my record, and skill, I was placed deep into enemy territory. Convoys of Rangers were moving in, most of them among my best friends. Like me, they were good at what they did. So they were sent in first to sweep, and locate those weapons before they were used against us.
“I’d been in position for several hours, watching, and waiting without needing to fire a single shot. That’s when I saw a mother and her little girl moving closer to my boys. The woman had a detonator in her hand. I shot her in the head―”
My hitching breath cuts him off.
Callahan bows his head. “I don’t mean to upset you, Trin. And I can’t take back what I did―any of it. But if you want to know the real me, then you should know I didn’t hesitate to shoot. Her job was to kill. Just as mine was to protect my men sweeping the streets. So I pulled my trigger . . . and killed her in front of her child.”
I press my lips tight, trying to beat back my tears that fall. It’s one thing to hear these awful stories on the news, or read about them online, it’s another thing to hear the man you love tell you firsthand what he’s done, and feel what it’s done to him in return.
My body settles against his side as my arms wind around his waist. “I’m sorry you had to do that to her, and her daughter,” I tell him. “But you had to save your friends.”
He releases his breath in a shudder. “Trin . . . I didn’t save my friends.”
The blood drains from my cheeks and down to my gut.
Callahan’s face is buried in his hands. It’s then I know I’m not crying alone. “I didn’t hesitate to shoot that woman,” he says. “But I hesitated to shoot her little girl. My men trusted me, so when they saw the woman go down, they moved forward, thinking they were safe―believing I’d saved them. But unlike the detonator the woman had―the kind you have to push, her child had one that fires when pressure eases off the switch. So when I killed that child, I killed my friends, too.”
“No.” My voice is harsh, angry and vicious. “Those people―those cowards―who strapped that little girl with explosives, and shoved her out the door to die―they’re the ones who did that to your friends, and her, and her momma. You didn’t do this, Callahan. That wasn’t you!”
I’m on my feet now, but I don’t even remember standing.
Callahan rises, his chest heaving in and out faster than seems possible. “I know what the enemy does, Trin. I lived and breathed it, and saw it every time I was there! I shouldn’t have hesitated. Knowing what I know, I should’ve fired because that’s what I was trained to do―it was the right thing to do by those men. But I didn’t. Instead I watched my friends get blown to pieces!”
I cover my eyes. It’s all I can do, unable to fathom what he went through that day alone. It would be like me seeing Hale, Sean, Mason―my friends dead. But they weren’t. They were Callahan’s.
He takes another moment, and another after that, before pressing on. “I wish I can tell you I grieved, that I went down to collect what was left of my friends. But I never had the chance. We came in too close to where the weapons were stored. The mother and daughter were more than just a way to take us down, they were a distraction in order for our enemies to move their shit out. So instead of mourning, instead of going into shock like my body was fighting to do, I added to my list of kills. And this time, I didn’t hesitate.”
I stand numbly in place for what seems like too long, yet not long enough. “You want to know why I have long hair and a beard?” he asks. His statement catches me off guard, but it’s the agony behind his words and those that follow that clench my heart like a vice. “Because after that day, after I let my men down, I couldn’t stand to look at myself in the mirror. I can’t stand that man I see. He should’ve died along with his friends. Instead he was given a medal he didn’t deserve, and a chance at life they’ll never have.”
“You’re forgetting about me,” I choke out.
His head whips my way.
“You’re forgetting what that man means to me.” I step forward and take his hands in mine. “You had a human moment, in a very inhuman situation. Not every soldier hangs onto his soul during combat, because they can’t, it’s too hard given what you have to do. You hung onto yours, Callahan. You hung on tight all the while shielding your heart. I’m sorry you lost your friends―I’m so sorry you watched so many die.” I’m crying so hard, I’m not sure he can hear me, but I continue, doing my best to be clear. “But I’m not sorry you lived. You came into my life when I needed you. And I thank God for that. You may not like the man you see, but I do. He’s the best man I know and I don’t know what I would do without him.”
Callahan tightens his jaw, and for a moment all he does is stare. My chest collapses inward when he slips his hands from mine. “I wish I could believe you. But I can’t.”
He withdraws from me, not just physically, but in the way his essence tears away from mine.
Time passes like melting snow along a rooftop. My head is pounding. I need to eat, to drink―I know I do. But as Callahan’s exhausted form sinks into the couch, I know there’s something else I need more.
And maybe he does, too.
His stare travels to the ceiling as I inch forward. “If you want to go, I’ll take you home,” he says. He closes his
eyes briefly and breathes. “And if you don’t come back, I’ll understand.”
I answer him the only way I can, placing my knees on either side of hips and lowering myself to his lap. “You know how you said I can take my words back?” He meets my eyes as another tear spills down my cheek. “I can’t,” I admit. “Because they’re true.”
“Trin . . .” he says.
I don’t wait for him to say more. “I love you, Callahan.” I bend to kiss his lips. “I love you.” My lips move to his neck. “I love you so much.”
I remove my shirt. The rest my clothes follow between my kisses and whispers of love.
My lover has known too much pain.
From this moment on, I only want him to know pleasure.
Chapter Twenty-four
Callahan
“Hi.” Trinity draws out the word as she greets me with a bright smile, and lifts up on her toes expecting a kiss.
She laughs when I shove the flowers in my right hand in front of her. I don’t keep my hands to myself when we’re alone, but here at her parents’ home is a different story, at least for me. She doesn’t share my traditional thoughts, and now following several suppers with her folks, she’s even more affectionate around them.
“Now, how am I supposed to have my way with you with these pretty little things rammed between us?” she teases.
“You’re not,” I say, pretending to be annoyed, but unable to hide my grin. “Besides, these are for your momma.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet.”
I bring my other arm around. “These are for you.”
She beams when she sees the yellow roses I hand her. I don’t tell her I picked them because they remind me of sunshine and make me think of her. Men don’t say shit like that. At least not men from Texas.
“They’re beautiful. Thank you.”
She flings her arms around me. I allow her kiss, but I don’t let it linger. She giggles when I turn my head, to keep her tongue far from mine.
“You sure you aren’t a virgin?” she purrs against my ear. “I promise not to tell anyone if you are, cross my heart.”
I groan. “If I was, I think you took care of business a long time ago.”
“Hey, Daddy,” Landon calls when he sees us, a big grin planted on his face. “Callahan’s in the foyer fondling your little girl. Want me to get the shotgun?”
“Already have it,” Owen barks from the back.
Trin neither blinks nor loosens her hold around me, even when I try to pull away, choosing instead to rise to my defense. “He’s not fondling me. I’m fondling him!” she hollers back. “But Landon’s being rude and interrupting. Momma, shouldn’t you send him to his room or something?”
“Christ,” I mutter.
The last few nights we’ve had supper, Owen has been exceptionally quiet, and so have I. I suppose our talk on the first night we met, and then my long talk with Trin the next day, took us to a place neither of us enjoyed revisiting. If it weren’t for Miss Silvie’s quiet interjections and Trin and Landon going at it nonstop, supper would be more silent than church on Monday.
Trin pouts when I ease away. “Fine,” she pouts. “But you’d better make it up to me tonight.”
I give her a knowing wink, letting her know that’s exactly what I plan to do. She pauses, to give me one of her more nymph-like stares before leading me through the foyer and across the house.
We step onto the terrace where her father’s sitting at the table . . . cleaning his shotgun.
For the first time, he smiles when he sees me. “Hello there, son,” he says. “How you doing this evening?”
“Fine, sir.” And please don’t shoot me in front of your daughter.
Landon comes up behind me and claps my shoulder. “Look a little nervous there, cowboy. You all right?” He plops down next to his father, a big shit-eating grin spreading along his face.
Miss Silvie appears then, placing a basket full of wet sheets at the other end of the patio table. “Hello, Callahan.”
“Evening, ma’am. These are for you.” I hand her the flowers, not just to get rid of them, but so I can move quicker if I have to make a run for it.
“Oh, isn’t that lovely.” She steals a glance toward her husband. “Can’t remember the last time a handsome man brought me flowers.”
She means well, but her comment doesn’t earn me any points with her husband.
“Now, Daddy, quit looking at Callahan like you want to kill him and be nice,” Trin says, staying true to her cheery disposition. “Here, Momma, let me get your flowers in water before they wilt.”
“Oh, sweetie, I can do that. I have to check on the pies anyway,” Miss Silvie answers.
“Well, then I’ll help,” Trin says. “Have a seat,” she tells me, patting my ass. “I’ll just be a minute.”
And yeah, her daddy and brother notice the ass pat.
I lower myself to the chair directly in front of Owen who happily cleans his weapon of choice while he continues to eye me. Landon sits back in his chair and swigs a beer, appearing to have the time of his life. He reaches between him and his father and pulls another beer from the cooler. “Want one, Callahan?”
“Sure, thank you.” I don’t really want one. I mostly just don’t want to piss anyone off. I catch it when he pops off the cap and slides it across the table at me.
It doesn’t take long for Miss Silvie to return, but it seems like a long time when there’s a protective father with a 16-gauge waiting across from you. She lifts one of the pillow cases from the basket and examines it. “Trin’s just adding more marinade to the steaks. You like steaks, don’t you, dear?” She asks me.
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”
Owen continues to regard me, but doesn’t say anything. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Landon’s having a good old time watching me squirm.
“I don’t know if I like this new bleach,” Miss Silvie says like her husband isn’t seconds from shooting me between the eyes. “These sheets look dull. Don’t you think, Owen?”
“They’re fine, sugar,” he says to her, keepings his stare trained on me.
I take in the pile of wet sheets in her basket. “If your dryer’s broke I can take a look at it for you, ma’am,” I offer. Hell, anything to escape right now. “I’m pretty good with my hands.”
“I kind of figured, seeing how you can’t seem to keep them off my little sister,” Landon says. He’s laughing. I’m not. And neither is his daddy.
“Leave him alone,” Miss Silvie tells him. She pats my shoulder. “Thank you for the offer. The dryer’s fine. In the summer, I always hang my sheets and iron them afterward. There’s nothing like sleeping on sheets dried in sun,” she says.
“In bed,” Landon adds. “With her husband. Because you know, they’re married.”
Landon wasn’t warm the first time we met. And the past few times I’ve visited, he hasn’t said much to me, quieting and watching every interaction between me and Trin closely. He probably doesn’t know what to think of me yet. But I have to admit, something changed between us when he learned of my past.
I’m not sure if I’ve earned his respect. Nor am I certain if he’s busting my balls because he likes me, or because he can. The one thing I’m sure of is his daddy doesn’t find his son as funny as his son thinks he is.
While I’m not thrilled with the attention, and my preference is time alone with my girl, I know it’s important to Trin that I’m here. So I take a sip of my beer and do my best to relax, smiling softly when she sweeps back onto the terrace.
“You doing all right?” she asks.
“I’m good. Thanks,” I tell her.
Landon offers me a wry smile. Apparently, he’s not on board with my plan to fit in and not die. “So what’s it like living in sin with my sister?” he asks. “You think you might go to hell for that?”
Trin, because she likes to help, flops on my lap and wraps her arms around me, snuggling close. “Momma, Landon’s giving Callahan and me a har
d time for having consensual adult relations . . .”
I squeeze the bottle in my hand tighter. Jesus Christ, no.
“Are you going to let him embarrass our guest like that?” she continues.
“I’m just watching out for you, Trin.” He winks at me. “Making sure things stay right and proper, just like Daddy always was with Momma.”
Miss Silvie exams another pillow case. “You mean before or after he deflowered me in the middle of the Amazon rainforest?”
I choke on my beer at the same time Landon spits his out.
Trin lifts the beer out of my hand and takes a sip, an evil grin unlike I’ve ever seen aimed at her brother. “Aw, Momma, that’s so romantic,” she gushes. “Why don’t you tell us all about it?”
And then she does!
“Oh, it was sweet,” Miss Silvie says, fondly. “Owen was fresh out of the Marines and I was finishing my degree in Anthropology when he joined our volunteer group. Well, he didn’t know anything about fruit trees, or so he claimed. So one night, after everyone went to bed, he talked me into taking a walk with him in the jungle so I could teach him.” She sighs, as if remembering. “But he’s the one who taught me.”
Lord, help me.
Miss Silvie tosses the pillow case on top of the basket and plays with the long braid in her hair. But she’s not done talking. Nope, not Trin’s momma. “Turns out this young stud just wanted a taste of my fruit,” she says, adding a wink. “If y’all know what I mean.”
By now Landon’s covering his ears. “Momma, please stop right there,” he begs her.
I drag a hand down my face. Yes. Please stop.
Trin, being Trin, only encourages her. “Is that how Landon was conceived, Momma? Up against some mango tree?”
“No . . . I think they were plantains―”
“No. Hell, no!” Landon says, mercifully cutting her off. He pushes off from the table shuddering. “I could have gone my whole life without hearing that.”
