She took a single step forward. He flinched and the ingrained reaction hurt, cutting her deeply.
She stopped a breath away from him. His breathing was the only sound over the quiet that was falling over the now empty yard. Ragged. Rough.
She touched his shoulder gently. It was the same strong man she’d come to know beneath her fingers. The same solid man beneath her touch. “Ben,” she whispered.
Slowly, he turned to look at her. His eyes were filled with unshed emotion. She ached for him. “Let me take you home,” she whispered.
He shook his head. “I have to go to the hospital.” His voice sounded like broken glass.
She glanced down at the blood. He shook his head, answering her unspoken question. “I’m fine,” he said shortly.
“You’re not fine.”
“I don’t have a choice.” His smile was brittle and humorless, and he pressed his lips into a flat line. “I’m a big boy, Olivia.”
She knew he’d just been through a traumatic event. But knowing it didn’t make the pain of his harsh distancing any easier to bear.
Now was not the time to pick that fight.
“I’ll drive you,” she said, refusing to let him push her away.
“You’ll get blood in your car.”
If he was trying to piss her off, it worked. “Don’t be an asshole, Ben. Get in the goddamned car.”
When she could trust that he’d follow her down, she led him to her vehicle. Silence hung on between them on the short drive to the hospital. It hung on as he walked into the emergency room and caused a minor panic until he explained that the blood wasn’t his.
They sent him to the back and let her go along. He disappeared into an exam room and when he didn’t come out, she followed him.
She found him bent over the sink, scrubbing his hands furiously. Scrubbing, scrubbing. His face a mask of bitter concentration.
The water in the sink ran clear and still he scrubbed. He dragged paper towels from the dispenser and scoured his skin.
Her heart broke for him.
She approached him carefully. Slipped her hands into the water and captured his hands. The water nearly scalded her but she did not yank away.
Slowly she urged his hands out of the blazing hot water. “Stop,” she whispered. She held his hands to her chest, ignoring the water penetrating her jacket. She simply held them there, waiting, hoping she could break through the shell-shocked haze and see the man she cared so much about.
Finally, finally in the dim silence he met her gaze.
She could do nothing but wrap her arms around him. He stood there limp as she held him. Then slowly, he leaned into her and put his arms around her.
The only thing that mattered was the grief in his eyes. The blame and self-loathing that looked back at her.
Sorren walked in without knocking. He didn’t even blink as Olivia took a step away from Ben’s embrace.
Sorren held up his hand. “Don’t worry about it, ma’am,” he said roughly. “Sir, you’re needed.”
Ben frowned. “What’s going on?”
“Escoberra’s not cooperating. We need you to do that direct order thing.”
He turned toward Olivia. She urged him toward the door. “Go. I’ll wait for you out front.”
He was gone, a shadow of himself. He was functioning purely on autopilot. She knew it. Sorren knew it.
But she wondered if Ben knew it.
And worse, she wondered what would happen when he finally surfaced from the haze.
* * *
It was nearly sunrise the next day when Ben finally stepped out of the emergency room. Hospital lights illuminated the grey pre-dawn and dark silence stretched out across the now deserted installation.
“It’s quiet at dawn,” he murmured, hiding his surprise that she was still there. That she hadn’t left him.
Olivia stuffed her hands in her pockets and nodded. “Yeah.”
He stopped walking and looked at her. “You’ve been here all night.”
She lifted one shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Aren’t you going to get in trouble?”
She shrugged again. “Had something more important to do,” she said softly.
“Worry about me?”
“Maybe.”
He swayed on his feet as fatigue finally conquered the adrenaline that had been keeping him upright.
Olivia was there, slipping an arm around his waist and pressing to his side. “Let me take you home,” she said. Her voice was gentle but brokered no argument.
“I’m not going to be much company.”
She lifted her chin to look up at him. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
He glanced down at his hands. Searched the shadows for signs of blood. They were still red and raw from the hot water and scrubbing he’d done earlier.
Olivia’s hand slid over his. He looked at her. “I have to call my boss,” he said quietly.
She waited near the car as he palmed his cell phone and called LTC Gilliad. “Sir, it’s Captain Teague. They’ve got Escoberra stabilized. They’re admitting him.”
“Good work today, Ben. That NCO is alive because of you and your first sergeant.”
Gilliad’s words ran hollow. Ben tasted bile in his throat. “Roger, sir.”
“Get some sleep.”
Ben’s first thought was to say something flippant about taking the party into next week, that sleep was a crutch. But he was too fucking worn down. “Roger, sir. Here’s hoping I don’t have to call you until Monday.”
“We can only hope,” Gilliad said.
Ben hung up the phone, too bone-dead tired to bother putting it back into his pocket. It sat, cradled limply in his hand. He leaned his head back on the seat and closed his eyes, fighting to keep the fatigue and soul-crushing sorrow from washing over him.
She drove him to her house and he simply closed his eyes and tried to stay awake. He wasn’t sure if he dozed, if the sleep that pulled at him had actually managed to lure him into slumber but the next thing he knew, they were at her small home.
He tried to smile, he really did. But his bones felt just too fucking heavy. She silently closed the door behind him.
Then her arms slipped around his waist. Her palms folded over his heart. She simply stood there, pressed against his back, her body solid and soft against his when he wanted to crash to his fucking knees and collapse.
Her arms tightened around him then released him. “Go take a shower,” she said, slipping around to his front. Her fingers were cool on his cheek. “I’ll make breakfast.”
Ben swallowed and lowered his forehead to hers. His fingers rested on the side of her neck and he simply stood, absorbing the heat of her skin against his. “Olivia,” he whispered.
She brushed her lips against his. “Go. Shower.”
He nodded and stripped off his bloodstained clothes. The shower seared his skin. Ben stepped beneath the water and let it scald his face and neck but he knew, knew that no matter what, the stain of Escoberra’s blood would forever be on his hands.
* * *
His uniform was gone when he stepped out of the shower forty minutes later. He hooked a towel around his waist and padded into the kitchen to find Olivia chopping an onion on the center island.
She glanced up at him. She’d tied her hair up in a ponytail, releasing it from her daily bun.
The fog in his head was clearing. The grief was fighting for release but still, Ben fought it. He wasn’t ready to go there. Not yet.
Today was a win. No one had died.
Except for Ben’s faith in the men around him. His blindness had nearly cost Escoberra’s entire family.
She smiled up at him. “Omelets?” Her gaze flicked down at his towel.
He flushed. “It smells fantastic.”
“I’m not much of a cook, but I do know how to do this much.”
He leaned across the counter and kissed her. A gentle kiss. Nothing more. But loaded with all the things he couldn’t say.
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He wanted to tell her she was right; that he’d been a blind fool. But the words were lodged in his throat and he was terrified that if he started talking, everything would tear free.
And he wasn’t ready to fall apart. Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
* * *
The crash would come soon. Olivia knew it from too much previous experience. Ben could have been a raging asshole tonight and she wouldn’t have left him alone.
He padded back into the kitchen as she pulled the eggs off the stove. She set the pan in the sink and went to him then, wrapping her arms around his waist. She brushed her lips against his. “Eat. And here’s hoping we don’t end this horrific night with food poisoning.”
His laugh surprised him. She saw the flicker in his eyes. As though it was wrong to crack a joke at that moment. “That’s not very encouraging,” he said, nudging the pile of eggs with his fork. “But I’ll take my chances.”
She picked at her own food while he ate, her stomach twisted into too many knots to keep much down. “This is fantastic,” he said, clearing his plate.
He sat there after he finished, his gaze a hundred years away, staring at memories only he could see.
“Hey.” She padded over to him and slipped her fingers into his, urging him to his feet. He followed her down the hall to the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped, his eyes bleak.
Then she crossed the space between them, kneeling in front of him. She slipped her arms around his waist, resting her head against his heart. Its beat was slow and steady and real beneath her cheek. His arms came around her effortlessly and held her tight. He rested his head against the top of hers. A simple, powerful embrace. “I’m so fucking tired,” he whispered against her hair.
“Sleep is an excellent plan,” she said, tipping her lips up to brush against his.
She crawled into bed next to him, shifting until they were both comfortable.
“I don’t sleep well,” he whispered when they were both settled. She rested her head on his shoulder, her palm over his heart.
“It started after I got blown up.” His voice rumbled beneath her cheek. “That’s how I got the tattoo. I was awake at all hours of the night. Tattoo parlors are open.” He turned, brushing his lips across her forehead. “I started it because I wanted to feel again. I wanted to hide the scars.” He shifted, his arm tightening around her.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
He breathed in deeply. “It didn’t help me sleep.”
She curled her fingers into his chest. There was nothing for her to say. Nothing that could ease the pain or the fatigue in his voice. She simply stayed with him.
And waited until his breathing evened out, until sleep pulled him under before she closed her own eyes, nestling closer. As she drifted down into troubled sleep, she couldn’t help but worry about what tomorrow would bring.
In that space between sleeping and waking, his hand came up and covered hers. He threaded his fingers with hers, his grip warm. Solid.
Real.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The phone vibrated incessantly. Ben blinked at the solid weight pressed against his side. He angled his chin in the darkness and realized Olivia was curled against him. He groped and found his phone. He’d slept all day and into the night.
It was a goddamned miracle.
“Teague.”
“Hey sir.”
Ben frowned and eased from the bed. “Top?”
“Yeah.”
Ben didn’t think it was possible to slur the word “yeah,” a word without a single hard sound in it, but Sorren somehow managed. “Are you drunk?”
“Very much so.”
“Are you alone?”
Sorren’s laugh was caustic. “Don’t worry, I’m not calling to tell you I’m cashing it in or anything. I just wanted to check on you. Today kind of sucked balls.”
“What time is it?” Ben asked
“Yeah, well, fuck you, too. That’s the last time I worry about you.”
Ben grinned and it felt real. Tired. But real. “I love you too, Top.” Ben braced his forehead on his palm. “Yeah, today really did suck.”
“But Escoberra’s gonna be okay.”
Ben felt something sour in his guts. “Until we court-martial him.”
“Nah,” Sorren said. “Sarn’t major is going to advise the colonel we just throw his ass out. No point in court-martialing him.”
Ben frowned, rubbing his eyes with his hand, trying to clear the fog in his brain. “When did you talk to the sarn’t major?”
“After I left the hospital. He came by with cigars.” Ben heard the twist of a cap off a bottle. “We don’t need to prove a point with Escoberra.”
Ben snuck out of the bedroom, somewhat amazed that he was having this conversation. But what the hell.
Ben cradled his head in his palm. “Yeah, Top. I know.” He took a deep breath. “Can we talk about it Monday? It’s been a long fucking week.”
“Yeah. Here’s hoping I don’t have to call you again.”
“Here’s hoping,” Ben said. He clicked the phone off.
Ben’s brain was fogged with sleep. He stared at the phone for a long moment. Sorren was half past hammered but for once it wasn’t a middle of the night phone call about someone being in jail.
That was a good thing at least. He padded back into the bedroom and set his phone down quietly on the nightstand next to Olivia’s bed.
Olivia was curled beneath the blanket, her body outlined by soft fabric. A searing tenderness ripped through him. There was no detachment toward this woman. No professional distance.
She’d stood with him when he’d fallen completely apart. He vaguely remembered it but still. Still, she’d stayed.
Ben brushed a strand of hair away from her temple and kissed her gently.
He slid into the bed with her and curled around her body until she was flush against him, her thighs cradled by his, her back pressed to his chest. He slipped his arm around her waist, his palm resting against her chest. She was everywhere against him. Soft and comforting. Warm and real.
He was tempted to wake her up. He had the sudden urge to lose himself in her, to find his pleasure with this woman.
But it had been a long day and even longer night. She needed sleep. God, but he’d wanted to keep her from living through the clusterfuck at Escoberra’s. His hand trembled as he brushed her hair out of her face.
She’d already lived through it. Too many times. He should have been the one protecting her but instead, she’d kept him upright. She was so strong, so driven.
Damaged. The scars on her body hid the deeper scars, the scars that drove her to try and save the world.
But for now, she needed sleep. He wrapped her against his body, unaware of falling into sleep. Only that between one moment and the next he was awake and then he wasn’t.
* * *
She found him outside as the sun rose in the eastern Texas sky. He sat with his feet on the porch railing, cradling a half-empty cup of coffee against his knee. A gentle breeze rustled his hair.
For a moment, Olivia considered leaving him in his solitude, unsure whether to interrupt. She considered going to take a shower and letting him be. But that wasn’t in her nature. It was two days after they’d gotten Escoberra admitted to the hospital. They’d slept and eaten, made love and slept some more. But the shadow of the previous night hung over them.
Olivia stepped onto the porch. Ben glanced at her and after a moment, offered her the coffee cup. She was tempted but instead shook her head gently. “I’m fine, thanks.”
She moved to sit in one of the chairs on the porch, sliding close enough that she could slip her feet onto his chair near his thigh.
“Did you sleep?” she asked after a moment.
“Yeah.”
She rested her cheek against her knees. “I didn’t sleep for days after the Hellmans died.” She shifted, locking her fingers in front of her legs.
“Not sleeping happens a lot for me. Especially when something triggers the memories from finding my dad,” she whispered.
“Jesus, Olivia. I’m so fucking sorry you went through that again.”
“Thanks,” she said quietly. She met his gaze. “But I can’t keep hiding from it. It might have sucked but it’s part of who I am.” She bit her lip.
“That’s why you stayed with me?” he asked.
She offered a half shrug. “I stayed because I care about you.” She met his gaze in the midmorning light. “And I don’t think anyone should be alone after something like that.”
He lifted the cup again, then set it back down. “Are you hungry?”
“For food?” His eyes lit up a little at her weak attempt at a joke.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Why don’t we go to Talarico’s for breakfast. I hear they have amazing crepes.”
She cupped her chin in her palm. “Sounds like a good plan.”
She stood then and moved between the table and his knees and sat on his lap. The chair groaned beneath their combined weight but she ignored it. She slipped her fingers into his hair, urging his mouth up where she could kiss him.
It was meant as a teasing kiss, something easy and light. It quickly detoured into something searing and intense. It was harsh. It was fierce.
And it ended with both of them breathless. Ben’s fingers cradled the back of her neck, stroking lightly. “Food?” he whispered against her lips.
“Food,” she said. She lowered her forehead to his. “I worried about you last night,” she admitted finally.
“It’s nice to be worried about,” he said softly.
He pulled her close then and she didn’t protest. She buried her face in his neck, felt his breath on her shoulder as he held her. Or maybe he simply held on to her. She didn’t know. She didn’t care.
Something that had started as a casual escape from the darkness had morphed into something more. And now? Now she couldn’t remember what her life had been like before Ben Teague had become a part of her day. Her morning. Her night.
It's Always Been You Page 25
