“Don’t suppose you have a maid at all.”
He didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he grabbed a pillow and blanket from the closet and headed for the door.
“I’m here if you need me.”
And then he was gone.
I couldn’t resist walking around, touching small objects that were sitting on the dresser, the side tables, wondering where they’d come from and why they mattered enough to him to keep on display in his private space. Some were pretty easy to deduce. A bullet fragment in a jar probably came from a wound he sustained, or a friend. A framed letter from a general whose name I couldn’t quite read and a shadow box filled with military medals, clearly things that were important to him. Not so obvious was a paperweight from meteor crater in Arizona. A root beer bottle stuffed with what looked like concert and movie tickets. A small, torn rag doll.
Standing there, looking at these things, I realized how little I knew about this person I’d known my entire life. So much had happened to him these last ten years. Would I ever know the full impact of those years and those experiences on his life? Would I ever understand what it was he went through in that time?
My life had been pretty uneventful. I went to college. I got a job. Nothing major or out of the ordinary. I didn’t learn how to shoot people; I didn’t go to a war-torn country and try to aid in keeping the peace. I dated a few assholes, but my experiences couldn’t come anywhere close to what he must have gone through.
Was that what caused his nightmares? Was it like that for Ash and Kirkland and the others, too?
I studied his medals, wishing I knew what they were for. I recognized the Purple Heart—and my soul ached. When was he wounded? Where was he wounded? Would anyone have contacted me if he’d died?
It was a sobering thought.
I slipped out of my borrowed jeans and crawled into bed, snuggling down against the pillows where he laid his head at night. How often did he sleep here? Was he off protecting some defenseless woman more than he was here? When he wasn’t doing that, what was he doing? Where did he go? With whom did he spend his time?
All these questions kept swirling around in my head, making it impossible to close my eyes. I wanted to ask him, but then I realized that I’d burned that bridge. When I told him to disappear, I lost any right I might have had to know him, to know what his life was like. And that made something deep inside of me hurt.
I tossed and turned for the better part of an hour. Maybe longer. And then the tiny house was filled with his voice. At first it was just a low groan. And then the groan grew into something like a growl. There were words, words I couldn’t quite make out, and then a bellow.
He was telling someone to get back. To watch out.
I didn’t hesitate to climb out of bed and pad into the living room. He was sprawled across the couch, his shirt and shoes set neatly on the recliner, the blanket he’d brought out with him tangled in a heap on the floor. He was thrashing, turning on the narrow space, his hands pushing away some unseen threat. I went to him, took his hands in mine and forced them down against his chest.
“You’re okay, Donovan,” I said as close to his ear as I could get. “You’re safe here.”
His eyes burst open, but I’m not sure he saw me at first. He jerked his hands from mine and grabbed my wrists, jerking me so that I fell hard on his chest.
“Donovan, it’s me. It’s Kate!”
His grip on my wrists was painful. It felt as though he was trying to rub my bones together. I wasn’t sure what to do, but then I realized that if I fought him, I would alarm him even more. Instead, I went limp, molding my body to his.
“It’s me,” I said again. “I’m here and you’re safe.”
Then I kissed his chest and pressed my lips to that place above his heart where my brother’s initials were permanently inked into his flesh. More kisses, moving slowly down, my tongue teasing his nipple before I moved to the center of his chest, playing in the fine hair that dotted his chest there. I felt his breathing slow and then a little hitch when I moved to his other nipple, teasing it a little before tugging it between my teeth.
“Kate,” he said as he released my wrists. But he didn’t really let me go. He buried his fingers in my hair and lifted my face to his. I think he only meant to make sure it was me, but I was beyond that. Maybe I’d been beyond that for a long time.