Deep Night (14 page)

Riley met them at the door with a happy doggy smile, his tongue hanging out one side of his mouth and his tail wagging full speed.

“I heard that dogs' memories regenerate every fifteen minutes,” Sara commented as she squatted down and greeted Riley with a big hug. “Too bad that doesn't happen for humans.”

Chris took the leash off the hook by the door and clipped it to his collar. “I'll bet you're ready to go outside, aren't you, boy?”

As usual, he had changed out of his uniform in the locker room at the hospital. He had stuffed the envelope in the pocket of his jeans, and although it was out of sight, it was definitely not out of mind. He and Riley both had a lot of energy to wear off, and they covered the blocks quickly with occasional stops for Riley to sniff out a scent or to do his business. A little container attached to the leash held small plastic bags that came in handy. Chris had never lived in a city where he had to clean up after his dog, but he knew the laws and was conscientious about leaving nothing behind.

Riley, on the other hand, was comfortable trotting along a city street, exploring the different smells and leaving his mark on every pole he passed. Chris was beginning to worry about the dog's bladder control. How was that going to work out in the apartment? But he didn't regret his snap decision to adopt the dog. It was the least he could do for Miller.

They circled around and walked past Coors Field. The area was crowded with fans enjoying music and buying souvenirs. It was a game day and the gates would be opening soon.

As Chris and Riley continued down the street, the bars were already full even though it was barely ten a.m., and he saw Mandy flirting and selling longneck beers as fast as she could pull them out of the icy tub. She looked up as he paused outside. She lifted her hand with her thumb by her ear and her little finger by her mouth in the classic “call me” symbol. He gave her a smile and a nod, then walked on.

By the time they returned to the apartment, both man and dog were exhausted. Sara had set up the dog dishes and filled them with food and water, and Riley trotted straight for them as if they'd been there forever. He lapped and slurped while Chris got a bottle of water out of the refrigerator, screwed off the top and guzzled the contents.

“Holy shit, where did you two go…Death Valley?” Sara watched both of the males gulp down their water.

Chris wiped the dribbles off his chin and tossed the empty bottle into the recycle bin. “We were checking out the neighborhood. It's getting hot out there.”

“Yeah, but we'll probably get snow next week.” She leaned on the counter, watching him as if she wanted to ask him something else.

He knew it was probably about Miller, and that was a subject he didn't want to discuss. “I'm going to take a shower and hit the sack. I'm beat.” He hung the leash back on the hook and went into the bathroom.

The hot water pounded his shoulders, trying to work their magic on his bunched muscles. But after ten minutes, he gave up and stepped out feeling as tense as he had when he got in. He ran his fingers over the stubble on his chin and jaws, but he decided against shaving. He was off for the next three days, and maybe he would leave it until he had to go back to work. He towel-dried his hair but left it rumpled. Right now he didn't give a shit how he looked.

With his towel wrapped around his waist, he gathered up his clothes and walked out. Sara was sitting on the couch, pretending to watch TV, but he felt her gaze on him as he tossed his clothes into his room, then went to the kitchen, took a beer out of the refrigerator, popped it open and took a long drink.

“Want one?” he asked.

“No thanks.” She hesitated, then offered, “Do you want to talk?”

“Nope. I want to sleep.” He emptied his can, crushed it and tossed it in the recycle container. “I'll take Riley out when I wake up.” He knew he was acting like a dick, but he just didn't want to encourage her. Women liked to talk about everything, and he couldn't deal with that right now. “ 'Night.”

He gave Riley a pat on the back, then went into his bedroom and shut the door. Without turning the light on, he plopped down on the bed. After the brutal shift and the long walk, he'd expected to fall right to sleep, but the silence pounded in his ears and the dark was almost too thick for him to be able to breathe. He found his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.
Damn! Shit! Fuck!

Chris got up and turned the light on. He realized his wet towel was still wrapped around his waist, so he took it off and hung it over the back of his desk chair. He pulled on a pair of loose gym shorts and picked up the clothes off the floor that he had tossed into the room earlier. The crumpled letter tumbled out and slid under the bed.

He stood, looking down and dreading what he knew he had to do. There was no way he was going to get to sleep with that letter under the bed. With an almost angry sigh, he got down on his knees, peered under the bed and grabbed the envelope. He sat back on the bed and slowly smoothed out the wrinkles of the envelope. He opened it and pulled out the letter. Something else fell on the bed, but Chris focused on the letter. Again, he went through the motions of smoothing the paper out flat before he lifted it and began to read.

Lieutenant,

Sorry to disappoint you, but I can't keep going. My life was shitty before I joined the Marines. My dad was killed in a coal mine and my mom died when I was fifteen. I got a partial football scholarship to college, but had to drop out my junior year because I couldn't afford the books and living expenses. I thought the Marines were the answer. In a uniform, I felt like a hero. I was strong and special. It was hard, but I loved every minute of it.

But that fucking bullet took it all away. They discharged me. I didn't want to leave, but I thought being a soldier and fighting for my country would at least make it easier when I got home. Wrong. My ex hooked up with another dude. I can't find a job. I live in a shithole. I sit here, looking at these walls, and feel like I'm going fucking crazy. Shit, I can't even afford to get high. I'm just taking up space in a world that doesn't need a broken-down soldier.

Please make sure they send my ashes to my ex so she can take me back to my favorite spot by the river where I grew up. She'll know where it is. I know she won't want to, but she fucking owes me that much.

I have another big favor to ask. Would you take care of Riley? He's a great dog, and he deserves a better life than I can give him. And will you take care of my medal? I was going to give it to my son…if I ever had one. Shit, I earned it, and I don't want someone to just throw it away. Thanks, Lieutenant, for being my friend. You have no idea how much that meant to me.

Semper fi,

Malcolm Miller

After her shower, Sara was tired, but she didn't want to go to bed. She was really worried about Chris. He was acting weird. After they saw Miller, it was as though Chris had become a robot, going through the motions required to do his job but with all his emotions shut down. It was a classic sign of shock, though that was always difficult to self-diagnose. She had seen it often enough to recognize it as potentially self-destructive, which would be totally out of character for Chris. But still, she was worried about him. Probably the last thing he expected was to have the ugliness of war follow him home.

She watched an HGTV show about how to install tile in your kitchen, something she was highly unlikely to ever do, but the hostess was enthusiastic and perky, so it kept her awake. Riley was stretched out on the floor in front of the couch, exhausted from his walk.

When the show ended, another started about a lively young man who grabbed customers from Home Depot so he could redo their backyards. Sara yawned and was about to give up and go to bed when Riley lifted his head and looked toward Chris's bedroom. The dog jumped to his feet and trotted across the room. He sniffed under the door, then whined and tried to push it open with his paw.

“What's wrong, Riley?” Sara patted the couch next to her. “We can't bother the bear right now.”

But the dog refused to be distracted. He continued to scratch at the door, stop and look back at Sara as if asking for help, then start scratching again.

She tried to ignore him, but it occurred to her that maybe something was wrong with Chris and Riley sensed it. She should at least check it out before the dog left permanent marks in the old wood. Intending to pull Riley away from the door, she walked over and reached for his collar. Her hand froze as she heard sounds inside the room that startled her.

Sara leaned closer and put her ear against the door. A low, gut-wrenching sobbing moan barely made it through the wood, but it was enough to make her break her rule about interfering. Slowly, she turned the knob and eased the door open. Riley rushed in and rose so his front paws were on the bed. He stretched his neck until his nose bumped Chris's leg.

He was facedown on the bed with his face buried in a pillow and a piece of paper clenched in his hand. Sara's heart broke at the sight of such raw emotions. Apparently, Chris hadn't been as unaffected by Miller's death as he'd pretended to be. She had overheard the conversation when the cop gave Chris the letter, and she suspected that was what had triggered this delayed reaction.

Without knowing how she could help, she stepped toward the bed and eased down on the edge. Chris didn't move. In fact, he didn't even seem to know either she or Riley was there.

Sara reached over and stroked his shoulder. She had studied how powerful human touch was when trying to connect with someone. It felt awkward because she wasn't, personally, comfortable with physical contact. The irony of a job where she constantly had to handle people wasn't lost on her. But touching patients was clinical and impersonal, whereas stroking the shoulder of an almost naked man was
very
personal.

The harsh sounds coming from deep inside him were painful to hear. She couldn't begin to imagine what pain must have created them. There was something about a man crying that was so disarming…probably because it was incredibly rare.

Sara realized her own cheeks were wet. It had been a traumatic day, and it all caught up with her. She was sad that Miller hadn't been able to find another solution, that Chris was taking it so hard and that Riley had lost his master and must be very confused about what was going on.

She felt Chris stiffen as if he suddenly realized she was there. He wiped his face on his pillow before looking up at her.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice husky.

“Riley wanted to come in. I guess he sensed you were…upset.”

He sniffled and tried to hide it. “I'm okay.”

“No, you're not. And stop trying to be so stupid macho.” She gave him a withering look. “It's too late to try to impress me. I saw you cry like a little girl when your horse broke his leg and had to be put down.”

His shoulders slumped as if the last ounce of bravado whooshed out of him. He held the letter out to her.

She took it and read through it. “Poor Miller. But at least he had you for a friend.”

Chris's head dropped even lower. “I wasn't a very good friend.”

“Of course you were.”

“No, no I wasn't. I should have dropped by to see him more often. I should have gone with him on that job interview. I should have—”

She reached up and covered his lips with her fingers. “You were his friend, not his mother. You've been busy with finals and work. He knew that.”

“I could have done more.”

“He was a grown man. The choices were his. You saved his life…twice. It's unreasonable to expect it to be an ongoing activity.” It was a hard lesson she had learned early in her career when she recognized people she had helped before. Somehow their failure to thrive had felt like a personal defeat for her.

Sara had spent very little time with Miller, but she had seen his highs and lows. He had tried so hard to adapt to life outside the military, but apparently the rejections, combined with the nightmares and flashbacks, the usual symptoms of PTSD, had taken away his self-worth and his hope. “It was the VA who dropped the ball here. They should have required he get therapy or even in-patient care.”

Chris lifted his face until his eyes met hers. The agony in his voice revealed the burden he felt. “You don't understand. I saved his life because he was just one more soldier in the field. I barely remembered him. There were so many…” His words trailed off.

Sara noticed something on the bed and picked it up. She held out the gold medal attached to a purple ribbon to Chris. “Was this his?”

Chris nodded. “It's his Purple Heart.”

“It must have meant a lot to him,” she spoke softly. “And he gave it to you.”

“I could have done more,” he continued. “But I was too busy having a picnic or going to the gym.” His jaw tightened and his nostrils flared. “Yeah, I was a great friend…I didn't know anything about him. I thought he was a poor kid from Kentucky, but he was bright and talented enough to get a scholarship. He had hopes and dreams…and I never asked. Hell, I didn't even know his first name was Malcolm.”

Without thinking about it, she scooted across the bed and wrapped her arms around him. He started to resist, then relaxed and let himself be cradled against her. She moved slightly so that her back was against the headboard. “Miller was a nice guy, and he was probably a great soldier. It wasn't your fault he got shot or that his girlfriend cheated on him or that he moved to Denver or that he couldn't find a job. And it wasn't your fault that he made the decision to commit suicide rather than wait a little longer or to get psychological help.”

“You don't understand…I told him I would
never
forget. But I didn't even know him.” He sighed, and she felt the warm rush of air on her neck. The heat seemed to spread through her body like wildfire. She meant to console him, but all coherent thoughts fled her mind, only to be replaced with sensations. She became very aware of the hardness of his body pressed against hers and the smoothness of his skin beneath her fingers. His damp hair tickled her cheek and his masculine fragrance filled her nostrils. Lightly, gently, she continued to stroke his shoulders and his back, following the ridges of his muscles and the valley of spine. When she'd been a teenager, she had daydreamed about being held by the younger version of this man. Back then her head had been filled with romantic ideas and dreams of happily-ever-after. But the thought of such closeness also frightened her to her very soul.

Of course, it had all been a ridiculous fantasy, because Chris never so much as held her hand beyond pulling her up or dragging her along behind him. And no one since then had even tempted her to test her boundaries.

He became very still, and she wondered if he'd fallen asleep. It would probably be a good time for her to slip out of the room and let him rest. She knew that was what she should do. But she didn't. What kind of horrible person was she to be enjoying a moment of closeness to this man who was so vulnerable and broken?

Chris lifted his head and looked directly into her eyes. It happened so quickly that she was caught by surprise and didn't have time to hide her emotions. She blinked rapidly, trying to regain her composure. It didn't help at all when he sat up and somehow managed to pull her into his arms in one smooth move. His hand lifted to her face, where he let his fingers sensually outline her mouth.

“You probably should leave,” he whispered.

Her breath caught in her throat. “I probably should,” she agreed, but her legs weren't listening to her. Instead, she felt her traitorous body stretching out to conform to his. A strange desire flowed through her like warm honey, melting her resistance and what little common sense she still had left. This was all new and dangerous territory. She was excited, yet terrified.

Chris's eyes narrowed as if he was trying to read whatever signals she might be sending out. Since she wasn't sure what they were, she didn't know how he could possibly figure them out. He must have gotten the answer he was looking for, because his eyes softened and focused on her lips. His hand moved to cup her jaw with his fingers curved around her neck. Slowly, giving her plenty of time to move away, he leaned closer.

Time stopped. Her breath burned in her lungs as she held it, waiting…waiting…

His mouth touched hers, gently, tentatively. He pressed closer, his lips opening slightly.

Her lips responded, moving against his, encouraging him. She was amazed at how his very masculine lips were so soft and sensuous. It was her first real kiss…ever.

His body shifted, partially covering her. Against her chest, she could feel his heartbeat, its rhythm as rapid as her own. The tip of his tongue circled her lips, and she opened her mouth wider to let it inside. The kiss became harder…hungrier. Sara couldn't get enough. He tasted delicious, and his tongue moved with hers in an intimate dance.

She barely noticed when his right hand slid down to one of her breasts. But when his thumb brushed across her nipple, it was as though an electrical jolt streaked through her body. Chris must have felt it too, because he lifted his lips from hers and captured that nipple in his mouth. Even through the fabric of her shirt, she could feel the warmth of his breath. She heard a moan and realized it had come from her. Impatiently, he pulled her shirt up and licked her bare nipple before sucking it into his mouth.

Sara felt her stomach tighten, and there was a strange tingle inside her. Chris pulled away, and she held on to him, not wanting him to stop. But he moved just far enough to pull her shirt and panties off and toss them aside, followed by his own shorts. For a few seconds, he looked down at her. But instead of feeling uncomfortable under his appraisal, the affection and the desire in his eyes assured her that he wasn't judging her, but was appreciating the femininity of her curves.

“You're so beautiful,” he whispered.

She could feel the weight of his erection on her leg, and she knew he was as aroused as she was. But she couldn't force herself to look down. She didn't want to see his manhood. She suspected that would break the mood and ruin it for her. He reached over, took a condom out of the drawer of his nightstand and ripped the package open with his teeth. She couldn't watch as he put it on, but she heard the thin latex stretch over him. Instead, her eyelids drifted closed as he edged between her legs, his hard, swollen penis finding the exact spot of her excitement. A moistness flowed out of her, welcoming him inside and easing his smooth, deep thrust. He was large and filled her completely. It was painful and pleasurable, at the same time.

Her hips lifted automatically, allowing him to push all the way in, then he pulled out. She almost cried out at the loss. Her fingers dug into his buttocks. His muscles tightened, and she felt his tip probing, then sliding back inside. His right hand moved back to her breast, squeezing it and gently pinching the nipple as his movements settled into a rhythm that started slowly and built gradually. Their stomachs, slick with sweat, rubbed together. His ragged breath caressed her ear and his shaggy hair tickled her face as he built momentum.

Deep in the pit of her stomach, that little tingle tightened and expanded until it enveloped her. She felt it from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. Her skin was hypersensitive and her bones melted from the heat of their passion. A sensation she had never felt before started as a little curl that twisted and became a raging tornado, bursting into something that was as close to unconsciousness as she could be without actually passing out. Ripples of pleasure so intense they hurt pulsed through her, and she heard herself calling his name over and over. It was as if she were floating over her own body, and the friction of his manhood inside her kept her on the very edge until she heard a guttural cry wrench from his throat, and he gave one last thrust and stiffened above her. She felt his liquid pumping, captured before it could actually flow inside.

For a moment, neither moved as they floated back to earth together, caught up in their own sensations. His arms, which had been braced on each side of her, relaxed, levering his torso down and off to the side so he was only partially on her. Her eyes were still closed as he stroked her hair off of her face.

“Sara, I…”

She shook her head. “Don't get all mushy.” The last thing she wanted was to hear some sort of excuse…or worse, an apology.

His eyes twinkled. “Can I at least say that you surprised me?”

“Oh?”

“Back when we were twelve and covered head to toe with dirt, straw and horse shit from cleaning out the barn, this is the last thing I ever thought we'd be doing.”