His Soldier Under Siege

by Regan Black

  A kicky song blasted from her speakers. Liking the beat, the happy promise in the lyrics, she put the song on repeat as she scoured her kitchen from top to bottom. Busy was the most effective path she’d found through life’s rough patches.

  Her hands started shaking again within minutes of completing the task. Grabbing her supplies, she started on the living room. A voice in the back of mind, sounding uncomfortably like her mother, suggested she make an appointment with a chaplain or counselor.

  “That didn’t work,” she said aloud. “It isn’t PTSD.” It couldn’t be. People grieved when things went wrong. Time smoothed things out. She was managing.

  Had she seen some ugliness on her deployments? Absolutely. Just like everyone else who’d served in a war zone. Bad stuff happened and some injuries and scars never fully healed. It was the nature of the work. Service and sacrifice would always walk hand in hand.

  Further platitudes failed her as she worked until the house sparkled from door to door. Hands on her hips, sweaty and a little breathless, she assured herself this wasn’t a big deal.

  Everyone had some sort of hang-up. If hers was loud noises she was in good company with many of her peers. At least it didn’t interfere with her hospital work.

  “It’s temporary,” she coached herself as the memories floated to the top of her mind.

  The first pop...the boom...the reverberation that seemed to come from overhead and underfoot simultaneously. Her breath caught with remembered helplessness as the building came down, dust falling like rain, cries rising and silenced.

  “Breathe.” She latched onto the chorus of the song. “You’re home.” She forced her feet to move to the music until the pressure subsided and the memories faded away.

  Stowing her cleaning supplies, she went to her bathroom and started the water for a long, luxurious soak in the tub. Perspective was what she needed. The reaction she’d had in the parking garage was rare and it certainly wasn’t the end of the world.

  Considering everything that had happened, she should’ve expected a small setback. She had to cut herself some slack before she turned an incident into an issue. When Derek stayed over tonight, she’d make it up to him. Sex would burn away the residual fear and soul-clogging memories and bring on some restorative sleep.

  She was alive and well. That alone gave her an obligation to live big and create a full and happy future. It was the best way she knew to honor the lives that had been cut short. By the time she sank into the hot, scented water of her bath she’d convinced herself her earlier fright was part of moving forward.

  * * *

  At the hospital, time seemed to crawl. Derek’s attention was fractured as he repeatedly resisted the urge to check in on Grace Ann. It wasn’t his place to get clingy and he thought it was best to take her at her word that she’d be fine. When he’d left, he’d seen the team Hank had posted, but it was little comfort when he wanted to be there for her.

  The distraction exacerbated his guilt over his brother. He couldn’t recall the last time they’d spent a full day together. There was the occasional hockey game and dinner and holidays. Most weeks they did little more than check in with a quick series of texts. He couldn’t imagine any reason that would bring Kevin crashing into his house the way Hank had descended on Grace Ann yesterday.

  When Kevin woke up, they watched game shows to pass the time. He stayed through dinner, urging Kevin to do more than poke at the food on his tray. Derek channel surfed until he found a baseball game and promised Kevin he’d bring another one of Grace Ann’s brownies in the morning.

  With the warm scents of the Tex-Mex takeout filling his car, he drove toward Grace Ann’s neighborhood, hopeful that she felt better. Her reaction to the car backfire had left him wrestling with sadness and anger on her behalf. It had been so tempting to grill his brother about her and what might have happened on their last mission.

  Derek received plenty of material from the unit’s family group on how to support their soldiers at home or overseas. He’d dutifully studied literature on suicide prevention, PTSD and general reintegration, just in case Kevin ever needed him. He never anticipated putting the knowledge to use with someone else.

  While the suspension and stairwell attack might have put Grace Ann on edge, today’s incident suggested the trouble might go deeper. Whenever he’d seen her at unit functions or on their private weekends she’d been happy, bordering on carefree. He’d never thought of her tendency to pitch in with a ready smile as a mask that hid real pain.

  According to the literature, he could make an anonymous call and someone would reach out to her. And he knew that approach would fail spectacularly. She clearly wanted him to think it wasn’t a big deal. It would be easier to let them both off the hook but his gut told him that would be a mistake. The army would have him believe they were part of one big family and every member had a responsibility to look out for one another.

  He parked in her driveway and grabbed the take-out bag. Her garage door was down, so he went up the front steps and rang the bell, his mind still circling the predicament. She’d promised to tell him why she was pulled from the training exercise. Maybe that would give him an opening to talk about taking care of herself.

  He probably would have stood a better chance of reaching her if they’d shared more than a physical relationship. Being detached had worked for both of them. Until it didn’t.

  She opened the door and his mind blanked. Her cheeks were pink and her hair was styled in a way that emphasized the sparkle in her deep brown eyes. His gaze drifted over her, taking in every sweet detail, down to her bare feet and back up again. Form-fitting leggings showed off her trim legs under the colorful tunic that fluttered at mid-thigh. She hadn’t bothered to hide the bruises at her neck, though they seemed to have faded since this morning.

  “Hi,” he managed.

  “Hi.” Her lips, shimmering with rosy color, curled into a smile. “What’s for dinner?”

  He wanted to take a bite out of her as a soft cloud of tantalizing fragrance swirled out to greet him. Being near her was like walking through the tulip fields in Holland at peak season. Glorious and lovely. Peaceful.

  “You look...” Better. Refreshed. “Amazing.”

  “I spoiled myself a little,” she said. “It’s a start. Tomorrow I’ll go for a run first thing. The endorphins will keep up the positive attitude.”

  Was this one of those compensation things mentioned in the literature? He didn’t want to overstep or offend. Neither could he walk on eggshells. “Good for you.” He carried the sacks to the kitchen, noticing she’d set the table with two sets of coordinating dishes and tall, slender candles in the center.

  “Hot date?” he joked.

  Her gaze drifted to his lips, lingered long enough to make him want to forget dinner. “Would that be so bad?” she asked in a voice as soft as he knew the tunic’s fabric must be.

  She kept showing him facets of her he hadn’t seen before. If she was actively trying to seduce him, it was working. And he’d gladly take her up on it, after they talked about what had set her off. “As long as food is part of it,” he said. “I’m starving.”

  Her brow puckered and her expression shifted from sensual curiosity to professional assessment. “You didn’t eat all day,” she accused.

  “I grabbed a snack or two out of the vending machine in the lounge.” He opened the bags and his stomach growled. “Starving,” he repeated. “Couldn’t decide, so I got a little bit of everything from the Tex-Mex place.”

  He set the containers of enchiladas, tacos and carne asada on the table and she brought out serving utensils and drinks. “How’s Kevin feeling?” she asked, taking her seat.

  “Everyone agrees he’s doing well. They expect to release him in another day or two.”

  “That’s great.”

  Something in her voice caught his attention and he paused,
fork halfway between his plate and mouth. “You think it’s too early?”

  “No, no. If he’s ready, it’s better for him to clear out.” She traced the side of her water glass with a finger. “There have been so many advancements in spine surgery lately. I’m not accustomed to the timetable.”

  She went quiet, picking at her food bit by bit while he made quick work of his first helping. Wondering where her mind had drifted to, he waited for her to come back around.

  When she did, it was with a start and a sheepish half smile. “Sorry for zoning out.”

  “Welcome back,” he said. “Want to talk about it?”

  “About Kevin?”

  “If that’s where your mind went,” he said. “You don’t like Tex-Mex anymore?” he asked when she sat back, her dinner seemingly forgotten. He could have sworn she’d mentioned loving the spices and flavors during one of the family events.

  “It’s great. I’m just feeling awkward.”

  He set down his fork. “Why?”

  “We’ve never done this.” She spread her hands. “We should’ve talked about some of this mess last night, but Hank was in the way.”

  “I’m listening now.” For as long as she needed him.

  “You don’t need to worry about any of it,” she began. “Hank has teams posted everywhere keeping an eye on me. The MP at the garage and you can’t miss the car out front. Someone even walks the ‘perimeter’ apparently,” she finished with air quotes.

  “That’s all good.” He used one chip to pile salsa onto another and took a bite.

  “What I’m saying is you don’t have to hang around here.”

  “All right.” He ate another salsa-loaded chip while she watched him with a wary gaze. “What if I want to hang around, help out, whatever you need?”

  “I liked what we had.” Exasperated, she pushed back her chair and stood up. “We can’t let this get weird,” she said, weaving her fingers together.

  “Weird how?”

  She shot him a dark look over her shoulder. “We don’t date.”

  “Maybe we should start.”

  Her eyes widened. “That isn’t funny. Our arrangement worked so well because we didn’t blur the lines or let things get too personal.”

  “Sharing dinner is too personal?” He leaned back in his chair when she huffed out an impatient breath. “Maybe that was a mistake, Grace Ann.”

  “You’re just saying that because I had a moment earlier and you’re a nice guy.”

  That sounded more like an insult than a compliment. “If you want to talk about it, I’ll listen.”

  “That isn’t necessary,” she snapped, folding her arms over her chest.

  “Would you listen if I wanted to talk about Kevin?”

  “Of course.”

  He smothered a smile at her immediate answer. “What’s the difference?”

  She opened her mouth and snapped it closed again. “Okay, okay.” She paced away from the table. “At least admit this is new territory for us.”

  “It is.” He’d gone too long without really touching her. Following, he blocked her path and slowly, slowly reached out to trace her cheek, her jaw, eventually bringing his hands to rest on her trim waist. “I like this territory. Don’t you?”

  “Not the why of it,” she replied with the honesty he admired. “But I enjoy my time with you.”

  “Good.” He kissed her lightly, seeking only to comfort. But her lips, warm and yielding under his, ignited the passion always simmering under the surface. He eased back before he got carried away. “I enjoy our time, too.”

  She studied him from under heavy lids, her eyes full of temptation, and just that quickly he was ready to dive into her. Although sex was their go-to way to communicate and escape, he wanted tonight to be different. He wanted to give her more.

  Her eyes cleared, grew serious, and she stepped back, just out of his reach. “I suppose you want to hear the whole story about the accident.”

  “It’s been a rough couple of days.” He couldn’t imagine ruining this moment with the guilt she’d expressed earlier. “Would you be up for watching a movie?”

  She tilted her head, as if confused by his suggestion. She couldn’t be any more puzzled than he was. A smile bloomed a moment later, lighting up her face. “How about James Bond?”

  “You’re a Bond fan?” he asked.

  “My parents raised me right.”

  “I’ll say.”

  When they’d cleared the table and stored the leftovers, she opened a cabinet under her television. He whistled, impressed to see a collector’s set of the movies based on Ian Fleming’s famous character.

  “You choose,” she said.

  He crouched next to her, giving thought to each story line before choosing one of the films starring Timothy Dalton.

  “Perfect,” she said. “He’s one of my favorite Bonds.”

  His, too. “I shouldn’t be surprised we have so much in common.” He knew how and where she liked to go backpacking. He knew how a field of wildflowers would always bring out her camera and an easy smile. He knew her body intimately, exactly where and how to touch to bring her pleasure. But he barely knew her and he was determined to rectify that oversight.

  Distracted with cuing up the movie, she said, “We haven’t spent much time together alone in typical dating settings.”

  It was the perfect opening to redrawing the lines of their relationship. How could he bring her around to his way of thinking without spooking her? They settled on opposite ends of her couch and as the movie got rolling, she pulled a quilt over her legs, tucking it around her feet. The familiar dialogue of the characters gave his mind plenty of room to wander.

  She’d dodged his suggestion about dating. Granted, she had more pressing things on her mind. He should wait. But that didn’t feel right, either.

  Oh, he’d developed patience by necessity after his parents died. He knew what it was to wait and work and wait some more on the journey to realizing a goal. Though the circumstances sucked, he had to be thankful his eyes had been open. He couldn’t go backward with Grace Ann. Maybe it was the pancakes, or the way she looked at him over coffee, but everything he’d been willing to settle for in a partner rang hollow now.

  Between her suspension and Kevin’s recovery, he saw an unexpected gift. Time they could use to build something new and remarkable. His office was only about an hour’s drive away. Her career could take her anywhere at any time, yet she’d bought a house here. He wanted more, beyond helping her through stairwell attacks and cowering from loud noises, but rushing her could flop. He had to be reasonable about his expectations. And hers.

  She wriggled, pulling on the edges of the quilt. Faded with age, it wasn’t quite big enough to stay around her toes and cover her shoulders at the same time.

  “Cold?” he asked as they watched a milkman raise havoc in a safe house.

  “Tired, mostly,” she replied.

  “Come here.” He stretched his arm across the back of the couch. The look she gave him was more doubtful than eager. “You’ve used me as a heater before,” he reminded her.

  Color flooded her cheeks. “This is hardly the same thing as that night in the Blue Ridge.”

  That had been the first night they’d let those kisses sweep them away. He’d tried to tell himself it was a onetime deal.

  “Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind,” he said.

  Her lips twitched, but whether at him or Bond, he wasn’t sure. At last, without saying a word, she scooted over to sit next to him. Relaxing against his side, Grace Ann dozed off shortly after Bond stole his first kiss and long before overcoming the villain. He enjoyed the peacefulness of it as the credits rolled and regretted that he’d have to disturb her so she could go to bed.

  As gently as possible, he scooped her into his arms and car
ried her to her bedroom. He eased her onto the bed and thought about undressing her. That was more temptation than he could resist tonight. Pulling her comforter over her to keep her warm, he jumped when her hand gripped his wrist.

  “Don’t go.” Her voice was thick and heavy with sleep.

  “I’m just across the hall.” He kissed her forehead and tried again to leave.

  She held on. Tight. “Mmm. You’re warm.” Her eyes were closed and aside from her grip, she seemed completely relaxed. She had to be caught in that twilight at the edge of dreams. Extracting himself from her grasp, he backed quietly toward the door.

  “Derek.” Her eyelids fluttered open. “Please stay?” Her slender arm reached for him, fingers waving him closer.

  She was awake enough to know what she was asking. He gave in and stretched out on the other side of the bed.

  In no time her head was pillowed on his shoulder, one hand resting over his heart and the comforter over them both. It was their first time sharing an actual bed, rather than a bedroll and sleeping bags. He stared up at the ceiling and tried to think platonic, restful thoughts. Instead, memories of her soft lips on his skin, her lithe body moving in perfect time with his, left him aching, body and soul.

  It was a desperate act of self-preservation when he retreated to the guest room once she was asleep again. After pouring all he had into raising Kevin, he’d thought he was empty, that there was nothing left to invest in a relationship. Grace Ann reignited that same deep instinct to love and protect and nurture, but this time it didn’t feel like a burden. He had no idea that being wrong could feel so good.

  * * *

  Grace Ann woke up alone, caught between the comforter and her sheets, confused for a moment that her tunic was bunched up around her waist. Oh, right. Derek had tucked her into bed and she’d turned all clingy. She dragged a pillow over her face and groaned. She’d begged him to stay with her like some ultra-insecure version of her normal self.