“Shit.” Aaron muttered the curse as he drove toward his parents’ home through the still half-flooded roads in Colorado Springs on Saturday.
He cursed a lot when he thought of Thursday night and how it had ended between him and Lana. He’d pushed her too far, told her too much of what he was thinking. He’d babbled and let it all hang out. It hadn’t gotten him the result he wanted. Lana happy, satisfied personally and sexually. He was selfish, he knew, because he’d almost choked on the desire to slide his cock into her sweet body and make love to her until she came around him, calling his name.
He hadn’t lied when he said he wanted to wipe Raul out of her head. At the same time, he knew what he wanted might never be what she wanted, and pushing her to get what he desired would make him an asshole. He might be a lot of things, but he wasn’t that guy. The one that forced his will on a woman. He hoped to God she’d heal and find happiness, that the bastard Raul and his minions hadn’t permanently scarred her. He hated that idea so soundly, he’d found himself wallowing in anger over the damage done to her by the fuckers.
Then there was that whole nightmare thing. Of all the nights for him to have a dream about Fillman shooting himself. Rotten damned timing. He didn’t like anyone seeing him that vulnerable. Yet with Lana, he’d felt safe and understood in a way he never had before.
Breakfast Friday morning at his apartment had felt awkward as hell. The rain had stopped, and she’d left for her apartment by six o’clock that morning with a promise to see him next Tuesday. He’d promptly gone out in the damp day and jogged five miles. He’d come home and exercised until he couldn’t move. At least the exercise accomplished what it did every day. It acted like a meditation, a way to remove the toxic thoughts he would have if he didn’t jog. An important thing had happened, though. He’d deepened his connection with Lana, and for that he was both grateful and terrified.
He pulled into his parents’ driveway with the intent to do as he had for a week, to help his parents. His mom opened the door with a weary look that instantly freaked him. Mom always came to the door with a smile.
“Hey sweetie, come on in,” she said.
As he entered the house, his Dad was sitting on the couch looking perturbed. “Hey, Dad. How’s it going?”
Dad grunted. “It’s okay.”
Ah shit. That meant the day wasn’t going that well.
“Can I talk to you in the backyard, sweetie?” his mother asked.
Part of him wanted to demand they just spill it right here and now, but he said automatically, “Okay.”
Shit, man. I’m as lame as Dad. Okay?
He followed her through the kitchen and to the sliding glass door which led onto the big deck.
“Let’s walk,” she said.
Today she wore a light sweater, even though the day had started to warm up. She almost looked gray, her hair a little mussed. Yeah, something had gone down, and it wasn’t pretty. A million ideas crashed through his mind. Dad was sicker than they’d thought, maybe? He followed her down the deck steps to the green lawn below. He breathed in the fresh air, glad for the blue skies.
When she turned toward him, he took her shoulders in a gentle grip. “Mom, what’s wrong?”
She sighed, and her eyes looked moist. “It’s more than one thing. I’ve…you don’t know everything that’s happened between your father and I since we evacuated the house during the Waldo Canyon Fire.”
“Like…what?”
“The day I evacuated the house your father wasn’t home, of course. He was at work.”
He knew all that. “Right. You had less than twenty minutes or so to get out, right?”
“Yes. I’d come home from grocery shopping and had put stuff in the fridge when the evac order came.”
“I remember.” He understood that fear—the sudden rush of do or die. He’d felt it more than once in war, but his mother wasn’t a soldier.
She stuffed her hands in her jean pockets. “For about the millionth day he was working his rear off. When I called, there wasn’t a lot of time, and when I told him I was evacuating, he didn’t seem concerned. Not at all. He was just cold. I told him I was going to your sister’s house and his attitude was…” She shrugged. “Do what you want. I couldn’t believe it. But he was dealing with things at work that were overwhelming him again.” She shook her head and sighed again. “You know all of that already.”
“I do, but I thought you’d worked it out with him.”
“Are you kidding? No matter what it is, he can’t seem to get it through his stubborn head that he needs to do something. Earlier today he started running around the house doing chores, and while I appreciate his help, the doctor said he needed to stay off his feet and read and relax. When I told him to sit down and stop helping me, he snapped at me. He needs counseling. Maybe I need it. I don’t know, but this was the last straw. I told him he either gets help for his workaholic attitude and dismissive behavior or I walk.”
He released her, shock holding him silent before he managed to blurt one word. “What?”
She averted her gaze, which was weird for her. “Your father has worked himself into a lather so many times over the years, it’s a miracle he hasn’t had something worse than an ulcer. I told him he needs to do something to reduce his stress or it will kill him eventually. He just won’t listen to me, and I just can’t take it anymore. I won’t.”
Surprise and worry settled in his stomach like a ball of lead. “I know he’s a workaholic. Hell, he passed that trait on to me. That’s why he’s disappointed I haven’t amounted to shit since I left the marines.”
She gave him an exasperated look. “Aaron…”
“I know.” He held up his hands. “I know. This isn’t about me.”
When her eyes meet his this time, sadness built inside him at the misery on her face. “You’re a part of this, just like the rest of the family is. Your father has always been a hard worker, but after your brother died, he sank into this hole. If he just worked harder, he could outrun his grief. Remember how I cooked until I couldn’t stand the sight of the kitchen for weeks after? I was looking for something to sink into. That’s what he did when your brother was killed. Everything from that day forward reflects his pain. He keeps trying to outrun his grief, and he just can’t. It’s eating him up from the inside out. He won’t acknowledge it out loud, and he won’t share with me. He’s cut himself off from feeling anything but anger.” She rushed onward, now using her hands for emphasis, the exasperation in her face rising. “Do you know what he said to me when I was on the cell phone with him and I was freaking out about the fire and driving down the road knowing we might lose practically everything we own?”
He was afraid to know the answer. “No.”
“He had this very bland voice and all he said was, ‘well don’t be so hysterical’. Your father is about as warm as an iceberg these days.”
Damn. Son of a bitch.
Aaron rolled his head on his shoulders to relieve the tightness growing like a rubber band around in his muscles. “I’m sorry. He shouldn’t have said that. You had every right to be afraid.” A revelation came to him, and it made his stomach suddenly sour and his throat dry. “When Craig died, I shut down all but the essential emotions so I could survive. I was terrified I’d get other marines killed. It was all about not getting dead. I couldn’t feel a damn thing.”
Oh, he’d grieved all right. During the funeral, he’d sobbed big ole buckets of tears and afterwards had felt as if someone had beat him with a baseball bat. He’d never cried like that before in his life and hoped to never do so again.
Mom moved toward him this time, her hands going up to his cheeks and forcing his gaze to hers. “You and the girls are all I’ve got left if your father and I…”
He put his hands over hers as a sharp pang of worry struck him. “No, Mom. You’re going to work this out. I’ll talk to him.”
She released him. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“You got a better one? Dad and I never talk about Craig. I’ve heard you, Gina, and Mandy talk about him. Sometimes sad and sometimes good memories. Like you said, Dad walks away and clams up.”
Her mouth took on a grim tightness. “Just like you?”
Aaron hadn’t thought of it that way. In fact, the idea hit him between the eyes like a gunshot. “What?”
Tears filled her eyes. “You never talk about Craig. Ever.”
His throat tightened, and he didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t say a damn thing.
She reached out for him, her hands at his shoulders. “I’m sorry, sweetie. It wasn’t meant as a criticism.”
“Maybe I cried myself dry at the funeral. I don’t have anything more to give to grieving. But I’ll…would it help the rest of you if I talked about Craig?”
She gave him a tremulous smile. “Yes. Because I’d know you were all right. I’d know what’s going on in that mind of yours.”
“That’s what you want from Dad too?”
“Of course,” she said softly. “I want him to talk, to be something other than driven and always running. He’s always so stressed, but he won’t do a thing to relieve it. It’s going to kill him one day. The doctors told him to slow down.”
“I know.”
“So you aren’t oblivious to what he’s been doing?”
“Maybe I’ve been too caught up in my own crap to notice everything, but I’ve always thought he works too hard.”
“Just like you?”
He nodded. “Takes one workaholic to know another one, I guess. Do as I say, not as I do. All the clichés.”
“You deserved the break, sweetie.” Her voice held understanding and love. “You were in a war, for goodness sake. A man killed himself in front of you. It’s a lot to process…it would be for anyone, no matter how tough they think they are.”
For some reason his mother saying it made the difference. The remembrance of the day Fillman had killed himself stung like a sharp bite and brought a bad taste to his mouth.
The back door opened and Dad walked onto the deck. Great. This wouldn’t be easy. “I’ll talk to him.”
“I’ll stay out here for a while.”
Aaron returned to the deck.
Dad’s eyebrows rose. “What’s going on?” A weak smile touched his lips. “You guys plotting to put me in a rubber room?”
“Well, I’d be in the room with you. We’d have matching straitjackets.”
Dad snorted a laugh, a rare occurrence for him. “Speak for yourself. Seriously, what’s going on?”
Aaron took a deep breath. “Can we talk, Dad?”
Doubt filled Dad’s eyes, but he nodded. “Sure. Let’s go downstairs.”
They headed inside and down to the basement, which Dad had turned into a low-key man cave with wide screen TV, easy chairs, and an enormous sectional couch. A bar for entertaining and a pool table stood at the other end of the basement.
“Want something to drink?” Dad asked.
“Nah. I’m good.”
Dad settled into his easy chair and pulled up the footrest. Aaron sank onto the sectional couch.
Looking defensive, Dad asked, “Okay, what’s up? Your mother been giving away our secrets?”
“Yep. And I don’t blame her.”
“If you’re going to lecture me in some way, you can stop right there. I’m still your father.”
This is going to be a shitload of fun. Aaron flashed to a question in his own mind. What would Lana say to this man if he were her father? Aaron swallowed his pride, his ego, and plunged forward.
“No lectures. I’m just going to tell you some things I think you should know if you don’t already. You and I are a lot alike. Driven to succeed, hard working. That can be good, and it can be bad. You’ve got to slow down, Dad. You’ve got to take time off and learn somehow to relax.”
“My job is important to our well-being. I can’t just quit.”
“I get that. But you need to find some way to let go of the stress. If it isn’t going away, then you have to deal with it.”
“I thought you said this wasn’t a lecture.”
Aaron put his hands up. “Okay, okay. All I want here is for you to be all right. I’ve seen marines…” Aaron swallowed hard as he remembered Fillman. “Stress and trauma do a lot of things to a man. The way I am now is a direct result of those two things, Dad. I’m hanging on too tight. I have to learn to let it go.”
His father’s eyes cleared of anger into a sort of resignation. “You were in a war, I wasn’t.”
Aaron dredged up some patience. “Granted. Doesn’t mean you can’t get an ulcer from your work situation. It’s stressing out Mom too.”
His Dad’s mouth pinched into a tight line. “She wouldn’t leave me. We have lots of solid years behind us. You have no business getting in the middle of this.”
Anger started inside Aaron. “I’m a part of this family. So I’m in the middle of it, no matter what.” Aaron scrubbed one hand over his face. Way to go Aaron. Make a cluster fuck out of it. “Mom loves you. She isn’t saying these things to hurt you. I’m going to counseling for my issues. Maybe you and Mom should go to a combined grief counseling and marriage counseling.”
Dad’s mouth popped open. “You’re not serious?”
“Yeah, I am. What are you willing to do to deal with the grief over Craig and save your marriage, Dad?”
His father’s cheeks went red, and for a second Aaron thought his Dad would go supernova. “That’s none of your business.”
“Look, I wouldn’t normally butt in. And I never have before now. I just want you and Mom to be happy. Don’t throw away what you’ve got, Dad. You know your health has suffered because of this and Mom’s worried. I’m worried. Gina and Mandy are too.” Aaron threw his hands up. “Are we all just nuts here?”
“I’m not talking about my marriage with you.”
Anger brewed inside Aaron, but he drew in a deep breath and decided to come from a tougher, harder to swallow angle. “Okay, then. Talk to me about Craig.”
His Dad’s face paled. “Why?”
“Because I want to.” Aaron felt a sting of tears touch his eyes. Jesus. “Because I clammed up about him right after his funeral and never said anything about him again. Until Lana Burns and I started talking.”
“The woman from the group?”
“Yeah. We’ve been able to talk about a lot of things.”
“You’re involved with her.”
“Maybe…yeah. Sort of.”
“Which is it?”
Aaron’s exasperation popped a gasket. “Yes. I care about her a lot and she cares about me. We’re good friends. That’s all we are right now.” Liar.
“I see.”
“This isn’t about me and Lana. It’s about you and Mom and Craig.”
Dad leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “I suppose your Mom told you I won’t talk about Craig.”
“Mom isn’t lying. I know she wouldn’t.”
Dad threw Aaron a disgruntled expression. “She’s right. I haven’t talked about him. And I’m not going to now, either.”
Aaron drew in a slow breath. Lana would tell him he needed to just tell the truth. “I want to talk about him Dad. For me.”
Aaron’s father shifted, obviously uncomfortable. “All right.”
Encouraged, Aaron swallowed around the tightness in his chest. Now his father agreed, Aaron didn’t know what the hell to say. “We’re all hurting because Craig died way before his time. I know I still am, but I know I can move on. It’s what Craig would want.”
Dad cleared his throat. “I’m the parent. My pain is—”
“Worse. I know. Of course it would be. I think maybe the frantic way we work—you and I—is to shut out the pain of losing Craig. Slowing down means we have to feel…anything.” Aaron had an epiphany. “Seeing Fillman shoot himself in front of me was icing on the cake. The cake was losing the big brother who I looked up to, who had so much left to give in this world. The war was the crumbs. That’s what took me down and out and left me this way. But Craig wouldn’t want me to remain like this, Dad. He wouldn’t want your health to suffer because you’re grieving. Get some help. Talk to a professional. Talk to Mom. To me and the girls.”
To Aaron’s surprise, his father’s expression eased. It wasn’t a full-on agreement sort of expression, but the light had turned on and someone was home.
“All right. I’ll talk to your mother.”
Satisfaction flooded Aaron. At least Dad had agreed to something. “Good. I’m going to head out and give you guys some privacy.”
When Aaron left, he drove home and started cleaning his apartment. Then he turned on his desktop computer and looked at his long-neglected application for admittance into a Master’s Degree program. Time to take his own advice and work on getting a life. After the discussion with his father and cleaning the apartment, he really just wanted to drop, face-first, on the bed. Yeah, sport. It sucked the life outta ya. Not the housecleaning, but talking to his father. What would he have felt like if they’d discussed Craig in any detail? Like needles stuck in his eyes, probably. It chafed that he couldn’t get through an emotionally charged discussion without wanting to sleep. He’d walked miles in Afghanistan while on recon. Why the hell did talking about Craig make him such a pussy? So weak in the knees?
He rarely drank, but tonight he decided a glass of whiskey wouldn’t hurt. He went into the kitchen and found the unopened whiskey in a cabinet. The bottle had been there three years, a birthday gift from Cruz who couldn’t think of anything else to get. Cruz’s words went through Aaron’s head.
Drink it to celebrate something or to mourn something.
He quickly opened it, found a glass, and poured a couple fingers of whiskey. After one sip he carried the glass with him and headed to the computer and sat down. He stared at the glass in his hand for a full thirty seconds. Which was it? Celebration or mourning? Maybe both. Celebrating that he’d recognized the big event that had made him so damned fucked up. Fillman’s suicide. Mourning his fellow marine, and maybe his parents’ divorce if they couldn’t work shit out. If it was both, he might need two glasses of whiskey. He snorted a laugh and put the glass on a coaster.
Master’s Degree application or writing the freaking letter? Which one to start first? Get a life. How the hell did you survive a war when you can’t make a decision?
He turned on the desk lamp and fortified himself with a slow sip of the amber liquid. He put the glass down and stared at the drink. He could slam it down. Maybe it would make relaying this shit easier. Yeah, it probably would. But he’d never used alcohol as a crutch, and he sure as hell wouldn’t start now.
Fuck, who am I kidding? He was using it as a crutch right now. He stared at the blank screen, fingers over the keys. He hovered. He took another small sip of whiskey. Yeah, go girly on the whiskey until you can get this puppy written. In a flash of clarity he understood if he didn’t write this with a clear mind, he wouldn’t tell the truth. He’d gloss it over. He’d pretend. He’d say what he thought others would want to hear. God forbid he freaking got dramatic.
Do the Masters application first. So he did.
He filled in the application and then started the process for having his Bachelor’s Degree transcripts sent to the program. Paperwork didn’t bother him. The military had improved his patience for filling out paperwork because God only knew the military loved freakin’ paperwork. He was refreshed and feeling good that he’d cleaned the house and was now working toward obtaining a Master’s Degree.
Finally he couldn’t avoid the letter.
He opened his word processing program. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He didn’t know where to start. He decided to just jump and allow a stream of thought to take over. Stream of thought was always more honest.
I seriously considered not writing this letter. The skeptical part of me says this is stupid. The marine in me demands I follow through and not give up. I’ve never been much of a touchy-feely man, so this experience…this whole group therapy thing, is like fingernails over a blackboard. I’ve finally discovered, as I write this letter, what my biggest problem is. The thing that fucked my shit up—
Nope. He couldn’t be that honest. He typed a new sentence.
The thing that broke me and made me crave the need to beat the man in the restaurant.
Tears welled in his eyes. Ah, shit. Okay, this was going to be hard. As gut-wrenching as anything he’d done. He thought of Lana and what she’d say. The comfort she’d give him as he wrote it. Maybe the big bad marine needed a modicum of help. His cell phone was on the charger on his desk, and he snapped it up. Without giving more thought, he called Lana. The phone rang twice before she picked up.
“Aaron.” Her voice held sweetness and welcome. “How are you?”
Oh, hell yeah. There was that soothing, sin-filled voice making him want to kiss her, to lay her down and make love to her for hours. He cleared his throat. “Am I interrupting anything?”
“I’m grading some papers. Nothing that can’t wait.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Aaron, you sound a little funny. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. Well, okay, that’s kinda a lie.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m sitting here trying to write this damned letter for therapy.”
“Oh.” The oh was filled with complete understanding. “It’s tough. I’ve already written mine, but I had to keep coming back to it. I wrote it yesterday.”
“I just got home and tried to start. I’ve written an entire paragraph.”
“Good. Don’t be hard on yourself.”
“I’m not sure I even understand how not to do that.”
“Start now.”
Longing hit him and tenderness hollowed out his gut. “You’re bossy, Miss Burns.”
She laughed softly. “Oh, I’m pretty good at telling other people what they need to do. Not always so good at taking my own advice.”
“Ditto.”
“Did something else happen today to make it worse?”
“Maybe. I visited with my parents today and some excrement has hit the fan.”
“Is your Dad all right?”
“He’s good. I guess the doctors think he didn’t do as much damage to his stomach as they first thought. But he’s on medication, and they’ve told him to lower his stress level or else.”
Another laugh came over the line. “Let me guess. He’s not listening.”
“Mom says he isn’t. She gave him an ultimatum.”
“Ultimatum? That doesn’t sound good.”
“She’s going to leave him if he doesn’t do something about his stress.”
“Oh, no. No.”
“Yeah.”
“That must feel…” She drifted off.
He filled in the blank. “It feels like if my parents’ divorce, that’ll be one more crack in the family. Craig dies, I get arrested, they get divorced. At this rate I’ll turn into a drama queen.”
She laughed, and this time it was full of volume. “Aaron, there is no way you could turn into a drama queen. You’re just human. Sometimes I think you forget.”
“Marines aren’t human, Lana. They’re marines.”
“Oh, please.”
“All right, I’m exaggerating. It’s just the training. Sometimes it bleeds over into the rest of our lives.”
“Of course it does. Transition to the civilian world from the military is hard enough, and then the experiences you had in war make it doubly hard to sort out. But you’re getting there just like all of us are. Step-by-step. The letter is just one more piece.”
“You’re right. As always.”
“What have you written so far?”
He read the short bit to her. “Maybe I should erase that.”
“Why? It’s what you feel, right?”
“Yep.”
“Then keep it. Write what you feel. All of it.”
“Is that what you did?” he asked.
“Yes. Wadded up a few tissues too.”
“I’m not going to cry.”
“Uh-huh. Well, even if you don’t, you might need a catharsis afterwards.”
“Such as?”
“Exercise? Have you exercised already today?”
He stared at the whiskey glass. “Yeah. But I could do some more.”
“Do you…do you want me to stay on the line while you type it?”
Oh, man. “Yeah. Would you mind?”
“No. Go ahead and put me on speaker and type away.”
So he did. One agonizing word at a time. He checked once in a while to make sure she was there.
“I’m still here. Grading papers,” she said once.
Soon the words wouldn’t stop coming and he typed faster and faster. One tear made a track down his face, but he wiped it away and cursed it internally. So he increased the speed of his typing. If he could get this bad boy written up quickly, he could ignore the tears now flowing steadily down his face. The typos were racking up, but he could fix those later. Finally, he stopped. There was no more to tell. No more. He stared at the black letters on the white screen, but couldn’t read a fuckin’ word. It was blurred.
“Aaron? I don’t hear typing. Are you done?”
“Yeah.” His voice was hoarse. Fuck that too. Another tear rolled down his face. “Shit.” Okay, so there went his vow not to curse in front of women. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Did you say all you needed to say?”
“I think so.”
“That’s wonderful.”
Her voice had turned even more soothing, a quality that wrapped around him.
“Lana Burns, you’re one hell of a therapist.”
“I was hoping I was one hell of a friend.”
He laughed and realized he wasn’t sad. Not one damned bit. It was if the dam had broken and washed away the sins, the gnawing hurt that had pawed away at him for ages.
“You’re amazing, Lana, that’s what you are. I’m getting a handle on this crap once and for all. I’m trying to decide whether to celebrate with this glass of whiskey on my desk. Like I said before, I’ve already exercised for the day.”
“I thought you exercised all the time.”
“I used to. Maybe I’m over that too.” He grinned. “It gets even better. I cleaned up this sorry excuse for an apartment.”
“Wow. I’ll have to see that.”
“I wish you would. Soon.”
Silence hung in the air for a moment before she said, “Maybe next week.”
He closed his eyes, and this time when the tears came, it was out of happiness.
“Aaron?”
“Yeah.”
“Drink the whiskey, marine. It’s time to celebrate.”
So he did.