"I don't need you to." I bow my head. "I judge myself. I sit in these classes and I remember how sure I was. How satisfying it was to pull the trigger and see the bodies drop." I can't breathe. "I celebrated. I high-fived my buddies every single f*ck
ing time we made it back from a mission without getting blown up." God but those feelings–those things I had been so certain about at war–I was no longer certain about any of it. “I walked away. When it hit me how f*ck
ed up it was that we were celebrating, I left the Army.” I hand my head, unable to hold it up. “Part of me misses it. Fiercely.”
I doubted. And I hate the f*ck
ing doubt. I hate how it makes me feel dirty.
Like a monster, cloaked in the flag and worshiped for his service.
I feel her move a moment before the warmth of her hands penetrates the ice around my heart.
I can't stop. I have to tell her. She has to know. Someone has to know.
And if she walks away, then so be it. But I can't do this with her, knowing the weight of the lies I carry with me. That haunt me.
"I never regretted any of them. I never thought about their families. I never thought about whether they had a dog or a brother or a sister." I can't look at her. Can't bear to see the shame. The judgment. "I didn't care. It wasn't my job to care. It was my job to kill them before they killed me."
I finally, finally open my eyes. I see the shadows in her, the resigned press of her lips into a flat line. "I sit in class, and it resurrects everything, Abby." I suck in a deep, heavy breath and it does nothing to break the knot around my heart. "And it hurts. It f*ck
ing hurts. There's no f*ck
ing parade. There's no celebration. Just doubt. Did I do the wrong thing? Did I make a good kill?"
Her eyes are filled now but she doesn't pull away. "I keep waiting for you to walk away. For you to say you know what, this f*ck
ed up GI with the broken dick isn't worth the effort." I shake my head slowly, fighting desperately to keep the last of it contained. Because it might just break me. "But you're here. And I can't figure out why." I grip her wrists and lower them from my chest. "You should go. Leave and go find some normal well-adjusted college guy. Preferably with a working cock and a clean conscience."
She makes a horrible sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob as she buries her face in my neck. "I hate that you're hurting," she whispers. "I hate that I can't fix this for you." Her breath is warm on my neck. "But please don't tell me to leave. Don't push me away before we even have a chance to try." Her lips are soft against my skin. "And you do just fine, cock or no cock. We can always buy you a strap-on if it's that big of a deal."
It's my turn to make the horrified sound. I pull her tight against me, clinging to her. She is solid and steady and real. I grind my thumb and forefinger into my eyes. "That is quite possibly the most f*ck
ed-up thing you could have said." But I'm laughing, despite the pain, despite the hurt and the doubt.
She leans back, her hands light on my sides. "I think we have a date, don't we?" Her hand slides down the front of my pants. "Something about taking your cock for a test drive."
"I might die if you don't stop with the bad jokes." But her hand feels good, driving away the darkness, leaving only the soft pleasure of her touch.
"But they made you smile," she whispers.
I kiss her then, my tongue sliding deep, filling her, tasting her, telling her without words what I can never say.
Because she did more than make me smile. She brought me back into the light.
Chapter 30
Abby
“What about these?” Josh holds up a box of red-hot-flavored condoms. Who knew the prophylactic aisle at the drug store had gotten so risqué?
I lift one eyebrow and try not to laugh. “Those are not going anywhere near my girl parts.”
He slips his index finger into the waistband on my pants and tugs me forward. “What, you don’t like the idea of a fire p*ssy
?”
“No, no I don’t. I imagine it’s somewhat like Icy Hot and that just doesn’t strike me as a good idea.” I have never in my life done anything like this. It is awkward and funny and sweet.
I brush my lips against his mouth. What is meant as something light and teasing turns suddenly serious. Heat snakes down my belly and I very much want to be out of here. “Can we just get some and go?”
It’s bad enough that the clinic had been closed today for inventories or something.
“I think that’s a good idea.” His voice is thick and rough, all teasing gone.
We get what we need and leave. It is a painfully long walk to my apartment.
Then I close the door behind us. I turn the lock. And then we’re standing, together, apart. Not quite touching, not quite not. His chest is there, brushing against mine. I am afraid to move. Afraid to break the spell.
Afraid to face what I feel for this man. It is twisted in the heat and the promise of pleasure.
“I don’t really know what comes next,” he whispers against my mouth. He is still barely touching me, his hands hanging by his sides.