I'd say that's a victory any day of the week.
She looks down at me, her golden eyes heavy and dark. "Thank you. For everything tonight." She traces her fingernail over the black heart tattooed over my chest. It's shaped like the muscle and wrapped in a crown of thorns. I was feeling particularly morbid and dark when I had that one done. "I swore I'd never date a soldier."
"Because of your dad?"
She shakes her head. "Because of Ray. My mom’s boyfriend."
The rage is back, slowly burning away the fleeting pleasure. I only speak when I'm sure I've got things under control. "Is he still active duty?"
"I don't know. And I don't want to know, honestly."
"What's his last name?"
She looks at me sharply. "Why?"
"Because if he's active duty, the Army can do something about it."
She shakes her head and cups my cheek, kissing me sadly. "She won't leave him. It doesn't matter what the Army does."
I exhale sharply and pull her down into my arms, tugging the comforter over both of us. I wish she wasn't telling the truth but I saw far too much of this kind of thing when I served.
And as much as I want to believe the Army would do something to him if they found out about it, I know just how little they really care about things like domestic abuse. If they needed him, the value he'd bring to the unit would outweigh any allegations of abuse.
I lay there in the dark, helpless and angry at the world, wishing there was some way to fix even a small part of it. For her, for me. Anything would be a welcome change over the stasis that my life is at that moment.
It's a long time before she shifts against me, her body arching into mine.
She's getting ready to go. I'm not ready for her to leave. I want to ask her to stay.
Please don't leave me.
But instead I kiss her gently. "I'll drive you home?"
"I'd like that."
I watch her dress, her body lithe and strong. She's a light in the darkness of my world.
And I will lose her the minute she finds out that I'm only half present in this world. The rest of me is still at war.
And always will be.
Chapter 16
Abby
"There you are."
I stop short, really not wanting to deal with the owner of that voice. I'm in a hurry to meet Josh at the library to go over our lecture notes from Quinn’s class.
My ex may not be the dead last person on the planet I want to see, but he's up there in the running. Right next to the demon from The Exorcist and a few family members who can drop dead for all I care.
But because I'm trying to be polite in public and not be the stereotype people pretend they're not waiting for, I stop and turn. I leave one hand on the door. Just so he's clear that I am not planning on lingering in this conversation.
"Yes?" Yep, my tone is short. I can't summon the ability to care if he's calling me a bitch beneath his breath. If he hadn't been so insecure, he might not have been threatened by my refusal to sit in the corner like a good little trophy.
"Why aren’t you returning my calls?"
“Maybe because I blocked your number months ago.” I try, really try, to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
He rubs the back of his neck and looks at me like he used to. Once upon a time, he would get me all twisted up inside with just a look. With his broad shoulders and wide smile, Robert is as close to being a god as a man can get. You wouldn't think he had a fragile male ego by looking at him.
"I wanted to see you."
"That’s not really in the ‘don’t ever call me again’ playbook," I say. I'm not interested in his concern, fake or otherwise.
Because he doesn't actually care about me. He cares about how I make him look, and I'm willing to bet money he’s got some event that he wants me to attend with him to make people think he’s a normal, well-adjusted, non-threatening black man in an wealthy, trying-to-pretend-it’s-not-all-white business school. He stands in front of me, his arms over his chest, looking every bit the big, tough guy I fell for all those months ago.
Too bad it was all an act.
And I’m no one’s trophy.
"We're not dating anymore. You made it abundantly clear that I didn’t meet your expectations of a woman you can be seen with."
His jaw tightens. There he is. The insecure little man I know so well. "Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I…maybe I miss you being by my side."
I smile flatly. "You should have thought about that before you asked me to shut up when that woman asked me why I didn’t straighten my hair to make it look neater. It never occurred to you to speak up. To defend me so that I didn’t have to be the angry black stereotype." I turn to go. Because the truth of it is, his silence hurt. I expect biting comments from strangers.
I also expect more from the people in my life.
I'm not sure why I am reacting this way. Maybe Robert's hand on my upper arm is the proverbial straw.