by Maya Cross
"Anyway, popcorn," I said, doing my best to act like I wasn't already rock hard. "You don't have to get any, but I haven't been to the movies in ages and I'll be damned if I'm not eating stale popcorn covered in butter out of a bucket."
"And I'll be damned if I don't steal just a little." She grinned at my expression. "What? Other people's food has no calories. It's a well-known fact."
"Is that right?"
She nodded firmly. "Yep."
"Well, you're the chef, so I'll defer to your expertise."
By the time we got inside, the theater was half full, and the stream of people didn't let up. My chest tightened. It was the restaurant on steroids. People everywhere, no matter where you sat.
I nodded toward the back corner. "Any chance you mind if we sit up here?"
It was a ridiculous request considering there were still great seats free in the middle, but she must have seen the tension in my muscles because she nodded quickly. "Of course."
"It helps to have my back to a wall," I said, by way of explanation. I felt like an idiot. A child. "That way I can see the whole room. I know it sounds nuts, but it makes a difference."
She took my wrist, pulling us to a halt. "Stop saying stuff like that. Nothing you do will make me think you're nuts, Logan. It's fine, really, I don't care where we sit. Whatever helps."
I nodded, grateful.
The room continued to fill. Our section was the worst in the house, but eventually the final stragglers had no choice but to take the seats nearby. By the time the lights dimmed and the screen came alive, we were completely hemmed in. I locked my eyes to the front and wrapped Grace's fingers in my own. I was going to be fine.
It only took a minute for me to realize that wasn't true. It was the darkness that did it. So many dangers lurk in the dark, dangers you can't see until it's too late. The room seemed to swell around me, the flickering light of the projector making ghosts of everything and everyone. A cough, a popcorn rustle, a jostling elbow; my brain struggled desperately to take it all and file it away in the right boxes, but the space was just too big, the stimuli too varied. It all bled together until it felt like the world was a single writhing entity forcing itself steadily closer and closer. I couldn't breathe. Ice ran in my veins.
I closed my eyes and tried to count to ten, but that only made things worse. I could still hear the threats, but now they were totally invisible, and they loomed there in the dark, reaching for me. A cleared throat became far off gunfire, a scraping shoe was an enemy in the brush. My mind was there now, in an earlier time. I could feel the hot desert air on my face, taste the sharp, metallic tang of adrenaline on my tongue. There was smoke on the wind, burning my nostrils. Men lay dead and dying around me, good men, friends, ripped to shreds by gunfire that they never even saw coming. Their screams were like nothing I'd ever heard before, tearing at me like shrapnel. I wanted to help them, but they were beyond help. We were all beyond help.
I reached urgently for my rifle, longing for the comforting weight of it, the fleeting peace of mind that comes with being armed, but my hands only found empty air. I was defenseless. Helpless.
It was too much.
I shot to my feet. Some distant part of me was aware of Grace talking behind me, her voice heavy with concern, but I didn't have space for that right now. My flight instincts had taken over. The people in our row recoiled as I shoved my way past, frightened by whatever horror they saw on my face. It was good that they did. I don't know what would have happened if there had been anyone in my way. At moments like that I'm not in control, my mind reverts to something animal. Someone may have wound up hurt. It had happened before.
As soon as I was in the open, I ran. I ran as though the memories were a physical thing, a snarling beast snapping at my heels. I ran until my muscles ached and my lungs burned. I needed that pain, those endorphins; they grounded me, brought me back to reality. I don't know how much time passed. I had no conscious direction, just an overpowering need to flee.
The streets grew emptier as the shops around me turned to tumbledown houses, then windswept scrubland. When I finally came to rest, I found myself at the edge of a nature reserve. Anthem Hills Park. I always gravitate toward the desert when shit hits the fan. It doesn't make much sense, since that's where most of my messed up stuff went down, but I feel at home there like no other place on Earth.
Footsteps rang out on the pavement behind me. I felt a surge of panic, but it was only Grace. Somehow she'd kept pace with me. She came to a halt a few meters away and doubled over to catch her breath.
"Jesus," she wheezed. She looked about ready to pass out. "You scared the hell out of me."
Even now, free from that place, images still ran amok in my head. Talking to Grace, that felt like the dream. She was hazy, faint, and the battlefield loomed vivid and terrible.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"Are you okay?"
I wanted to explain myself, but it was too soon. I was too on edge. "I need a few minutes."
I wandered a few feet out onto the hard earth and sat on a rock. After another few seconds of panting, she joined me. The view was spectacular: open space, red earth, mountains rising in the darkness, painted with moonlight. I sucked in a deep breath, as if I could draw that serenity into myself through the air.
Normally I enjoy the desert because of the solitude. I never brought anyone there. But Grace's presence wasn't an imposition. It felt...right, somehow. She didn't speak, seemingly content to let me take my time. I had no words for how much I appreciated that. With other women, this had been the time for questions, for screaming, sometimes for tears. And Grace had every right to lose it like that. I'd run off in the middle of a date without saying so much as a word. That's pretty much the fucking epitome of a faux pas. But instead of freaking out, she took it in stride.
Minutes passed and my anxiety gradually bled away. My mind cleared and my heart slowed.
"I get flashbacks," I said eventually.
"To Afghanistan?" she asked. She seemed hesitant, like she was afraid just the word was going to set me off again.
I nodded. "And I'm not talking about just regular old memories. These are something else entirely. They take over. It's hard to understand if you haven't experienced it. For a while then, I was back on the battlefield. The theater was gone. You were gone. There were bullets whizzing past my head. Mortars going off. My friends were dying three feet away. I could smell it, hear it."
"Jesus," she said, her hand finding my knee.
"Usually it's triggered by something simple. Some innocuous noise tweaks something in my brain and boom, I'm right back there."
"That sounds horrible."
"It is." I closed my eyes. "I hate that I can't control it. Even when you try and explain, people just look at you like you're crazy. They don't get it. A blown off leg? Shrapnel wounds? People can see those. They can touch them. Can understand them. Those wounds fit into a nice neat little box. But this shit? It scares people."
She studied me for several seconds. "It doesn't scare me."
"It should. It sure as hell scares me."
"Maybe, but it doesn't."
I searched her face for insincerity, but found none. Seriously, who the fuck was this girl? Not many people were strong enough to stare my issues in the face, but she did it without even blinking.
"Do you ever have those attacks in the ring?" she asked. "I imagine all that noise and movement would be a trigger."
"Under most circumstances, it would. I could never be in the audience of one of those things. But when I'm preparing to fight, I'm already in combat mode. I can see my enemy, and I know where the threat is. That focus keeps all the bad shit at bay."
She nodded. "That makes sense."
"Anyway, I'm sorry I freaked out," I said.
"It's okay. I should have pushed harder for us to leave at the restaurant. I knew it was more than you were letting on."
I shrugged. "I wanted to give you a proper date."
"Why do you think I care about that?"
"Because that's what you're used to. You always talk about the restaurants you used to visit, how you love always have something new to do. I could see how excited you got when I asked you to pick a place to eat. I don't want you to have to make sacrifices for my sake."
"Well I don't want you putting yourself at risk for mine. Look, I appreciate the effort, but you don't need to pretend to be someone you're not. I want to be with you because I like your company. Because you make me feel good. I don't care what we do with that time. A night on the sofa with you is better than an infinity of nights out on the town."
I couldn't help it; I found myself smiling. Normally an attack like that leaves me on my ass for hours, but those few words, that simple acceptance, swept all the self-loathing from my mind.
"A night on the sofa I can definitely do."
Nothing moved in the space in front of us. If you stared long enough, you could almost convince yourself the whole world stood absolutely still. A sense of peace began to descend on me, and it wasn't just the peace of seclusion and silence, it was something deeper. Something that seemed to seep through me all the way to my bones. That constant undercurrent of tension that underlined everything I did felt more muted than it had in years.
"Will you sit here with me for a while?" I asked.
"As long as you want."
Chapter Fifteen
Logan
A night on the sofa with Grace was easier said than done. Between our rotating schedules and my training, simultaneous nights free were few and far between. We squeezed in time together where we could. We had the gym, but there was only so much goofing around Tony would tolerate before he got that look on his face, the one that said "you don't pay me enough for this shit." If it was any other time, I'd have just said "fuck it," but I had another fight coming up and I needed to be ready.
Thankfully, there was still one place we could reliably be together; cleanup time at Charlie's. We weren't always alone, but with everything between us out in the open, there was nothing stopping us from being that sickening new couple that's all over one another, much to Joy's chagrin.
"Seriously, I will pay for a hotel room right now," she said. "I'm not even joking. It's my gift to you."
Grace pulled her mouth away from mine. "But there's a perfectly good pool table right here." She seemed to take great pleasure in torturing her friend.
Joy made a retching sound and dramatically thrust a finger down her throat, though she grinned as she did it. It was obvious that despite the song and dance, she approved of our relationship. I'd never made much effort to get to know her — more to do with my general approach of keeping everyone at a distance than anything personal — but the last few nights had taught me she really was a lot of fun. More importantly, she was good for Grace. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't be everything for her. She needed friends, people to look out for her when I couldn't, people to bitch to when my shit got out of control, and I got the sense Joy was one of those.
That impression was only confirmed when she pulled me aside a few minutes later while Grace was out back.
"I need a word, mister." She wore a look of mock severity, but something in her voice told me that this really was important.
"What's up?"
She glanced over her shoulder. "This is the part where I go all pseudo big sister on your ass."
I couldn't help but smile. "Is that so?"
"It is." And then more seriously. "You better not just be messing around here, Logan. Grace may not have been here long enough to remember Sheryl, but I sure as hell do."
I grimaced. Sheryl had been a bartender here about a year ago. We'd had a fling during my "fuck anything that moves" phase. I'm not proud of it but, at the time, I was in a really dark place and just snatching whatever moments of light I could. I never intended it to be serious, but apparently I wasn't clear about that and it blew up in my face. After a screaming match one busy Friday night, she quit, and nobody ever heard from her again.
"This isn't like that."
"I hope not. Grace has been through a lot. She cares about you, and if you screw her over, it's going to crush her."
She was absolutely right. "I don't do that anymore. This thing is the real deal. I'd cut off my own arm before I hurt her."
Joy stared for several seconds, weighing my words, then gave a quick nod. Apparently I'd passed the test.
Her smile reappeared. "Well, good. Just keep in mind, you'll be answering to me if you're lying. You may be some hotshot in the ring, but we fight street rules, out here. You'll never even see me coming."
I laughed. "I believe you."
Half an hour later, I was out on the sidewalk with Grace, lips locked together. My hands had started around her hips, but it had only taken a matter of seconds for them to gravitate downwards. I swear to God, that ass was fucking magnetic. I could have played with it for hours. In fact, I planned to.
After what was probably far longer than appropriate in public, I broke away. "So I'll see you at the gym?"
Disappointment flashed across her face, although she hid it well. "Sure."
We may not have had much time together, but we had plenty of opportunities to sneak in a quick fuck after work. I think if it were up to her, that's exactly what we'd have been doing. But despite the fact that certain parts of me were vocal advocates for that course of action, I'd held off. It felt too cheap, too familiar, like all those throwaway relationships I'd had in the past. Obviously the dinner and movie plan was beyond me, but that didn't mean we couldn't have some semblance of a normal relationship. Thankfully, after a week of negotiating, I'd finally changed shifts so we both had tomorrow off for a quiet evening on the sofa. Twenty four hours, and that body was mine.
"Do I need to bring anything to your place?" she asked.
I gave her a playful little slap. "Just this...and maybe some chips."
She laughed. "Ass and chips. Got it."
*****
For the entire next day, I could barely concentrate. Normally, nothing can distract me once I slip into the zone, but today all I could think about was Grace's hot little body and all the things I wanted to do to her. It was driving me fucking crazy.
I left the gym a little early to give my house a once over. It was the first time Grace had been to my place, so I wanted to make a good impression. I'm not messy, but I'm also not the most social person, so my place usually isn't in a state to receive guests. Thankfully it didn't take long. I've always lived a pretty minimalist life. In the army, you don't have much beyond what you can carry on your back and I've continued that philosophy out of habit. It doesn't look fancy, but it makes cleaning a breeze.
As I looked over the Spartan furnishing of my living room — bare walls, dull carpet, just a television, a sofa and a coffee table for adornment — I tried to picture it through her eyes. It wasn't exactly the friendliest place. In fact it kind of had the look of one of those bare bones serial killer apartments from Law and Order. I briefly entertained the idea of ducking back out to buy a rug or something, but I had no idea what the fuck I'd be looking for. They didn't exactly teach interior decorating at the academy. She was just going to have to take me as I was.
About thirty minutes later, there was a knock at the door.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey yourself," I replied. Despite how casual our plans were, she'd clearly put some effort into dressing up. She was wearing a tight little red dress that clung everywhere and barely covered the top half of her thighs. It wasn't cut too low in the chest, but the slim shoulder straps also made it fairly clear she wasn't wearing a bra.
I swallowed hard. "You normally watch movies dressed like that?"
"You don't like it?" she asked coyly.
"I most definitely do like it. I'm just worried about how much watching is going to get done."
"I can restrain myself if you can." There was a mischievous glint in her eye. She knew what she was doing to me. I'd made h
er wait, and now she was getting a little revenge. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
She held up a bag of chips, then turned on her side and popped her ass out. "As requested," she said, dragging out the "s" just a fraction longer.
It took a ridiculous amount of effort to keep my hands by my sides. That dress was in serious danger of ending up a shredded heap on the floor.
"Thanks," I replied, taking the chips and doing my best to keep my eyes on her face. "Come in."
Despite the fact that I stepped aside, she managed to brush up against me as she walked past. And just like that, I was hard. Did she want me to bend her over and fuck her in the doorway? Because that's where this was headed.
"Welcome to my humble home," I said.
"It's nice," she replied, scanning the room.
I shrugged. "I wouldn't go that far. It does the job."
"Hey, it's got a sofa, a TV and you." She smiled. "It'll do just fine." She headed toward the far doorway. "Of course I'll have to inspect the kitchen. That's where you learn all the real secrets about a person."
"You might be disappointed."
"No bodies in the freezer?" she called.
"Only a couple. Emergency corpses, you know?"
"Of course."
I followed her into the back to find her already riffling through my cupboards.
"Where's all your stuff?" she asked.
"You're looking at it."
She held up my lone saucepan. "One pan?"
"Why would you need more than one?"
"I can literally think of a million reasons."
"That doesn't surprise me."
She shook her head in disbelief. "Owning one pan is like only owning one pair of underwear."
"Wait, you have more than one pair of underwear?" I deadpanned.
"I know, I know, I have a problem." She began poking through the drawers. "Seriously, there's like one knife in here. Where's the grater? Where are the measuring spoons?"
"Have you tried measuring chicken breast by the spoonful?"
