Deep Night (8 page)

Slow dances weren't his thing, so Chris hung back by the punch bowl that had somehow gotten spiked. Some guys never outgrew high school. He noticed Sara standing alone on the other side of the dance floor. Should he ask her to dance or would that set her off again? While he was trying to make a decision, one of Sam's cop friends, Jim, stepped up to her. To Chris's complete surprise, she accepted and moved out with Jim to join the other dancers.

Chris refilled his cup and watched the dancers, unconsciously following the tall, handsome cop and the petite blond medic. Sara was smiling up at him, then burst into laughter at something he said. She didn't seem to be having any problem with Jim's hand on her waist. There was a comfortable familiarity between them.
Aha!
Maybe that was it. She had been secretly dating Jim, and, of course, would push Chris away.

“What on earth are you scowling at?”

Chris jumped, startled by his mother's appearance beside him.

“Was I?” he answered vaguely. “I must have been thinking about my finals.”

“I'm sure you'll pass with flying colors. School was always so easy for you.”

“High school biology and med school cell biology are two very different creatures…no pun intended. I've been studying my ass off.”

Pat reached up and pulled the back of his hair into a very short ponytail. “That probably explains why you haven't had time to get a haircut.”

“Mom,” he said, sounding much like his sixteen-year-old self as he pulled his head away from her hand. “I was tired of being almost bald for the past four years.”

“Just don't dye it blue again.”

“I think that would push the uniform policy,” he told her. “Besides, I got all that out of my system when I was a kid.” He nodded toward Sam as he whirled Kate past. “Besides, you've got two other sons who keep their hair regulation short. I like being different.”

His mother looked up at him with obvious concern. “Are you doing okay?”

He sighed. Everyone kept asking him that…as if he were a ticking time bomb. “I'm fine, Mom. Really. I'm just glad to be home.”

“You'll always be my baby, you know. If you ever want to talk…about anything…”

“I know where you live.” He smiled and gave her a hug. “Have a cup of punch and chill.” He filled a cup of the heavily spiked liquid and handed it to her.

She took a drink. “Hmm, this is really good.”

They watched in companionable silence. The song changed to a fast dance and everyone started hopping around.

“Don't you want to get out there and join them?” Pat suggested. “It looks like fun.”

“No thanks. But feel free to jump right in.”

Pat did a few moves, not because she wanted to be dancing, but because she knew it would make him smile…which it did. He and his mother had always been close. Maybe it was because he was the youngest. The older boys had been in school, so he had spent a lot of alone time with her. Or it might have been simply because they had very similar personalities. Both were peacemakers and champions of the underdog. And they also would rather be too busy than bored.

“You did a nice job pulling all this together,” he told her.

“I was glad to help. Julie's been so busy at work trying to train someone to take her place while she's on maternity leave.” Pat didn't turn her head, but Chris could tell she was looking at him. “Sam will probably be next…then you. Are you dating anyone special?”

“Real subtle, Mom,” he snorted. “I don't have much spare time.”

“You know what they say about all work and no play. I'm sure there are plenty of really nice girls in your classes.”

“Probably, and when finals are over, I might have a chance to check them out. Don't worry about me,” he tried to assure her. “Pretty soon, you're going to have a grandbaby to spoil.”

That successfully distracted her, and she started telling him, in great detail, how she was turning his old bedroom into a nursery so her grandchild could spend the night as soon as Julie and Rusty would allow it. She added that she secretly hoped it was a girl, but would be perfectly happy with a boy…as if everyone couldn't have already guessed that.

Sara and Jim left the dance floor and walked out of sight around the side of the house. All sorts of possibilities raced through Chris's mind, and he was annoyed with himself that he cared. What was wrong with him? He had barely noticed Sara for about a zillion years, and all of a sudden, he couldn't get her out of his mind.

What he needed was to get laid. And the sooner, the better. His gaze roamed the crowd and immediately dismissed every female there. Either they were attached or he knew too much about them to be interested. He had always heard it wasn't wise to date people you work with, which, considering his situation with Sara, was something he should take to heart.

Tomorrow night, after his exam, he would hit the bars and see what Denver had to offer. It was time he shook the sand of Afghanistan off his boots and got back in the dating game. Sara said she wouldn't care if a girl spent the night. Maybe tomorrow night, he would find someone he wanted to bring home.

He refilled his cup and tried not to notice that Sara and Jim were still not back.

“Oh, come on, Chris. High school biology taught us what endoplasmic reticulum is. What's wrong with you tonight?” Sara leaned back in her chair and glared at him. “I feel like I'm wasting my time.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you are.” He was propping his head up with his hand, his elbow resting on the small table.

“Too much tequila?” It was more of an accusation than a question.

“Probably.” He had no idea how many cups of crazy punch he'd drunk, and that wasn't even counting the shots after the rest of the guests had left. He could blame that and the fact that he was sitting across from Sara, who had changed into her usual baggy T-shirt and shorts, which he'd barely noticed before but now looked sexier than hell. “I'm beat. I think I'll grab a few hours of sleep, then study tomorrow.”

“It's going to mess up your…”

“I know…my cicada rhythm.” He closed his book and stood up.

“It's circadian.”

“Yeah, right. Sorry…I'm having trouble concentrating.” He walked to the refrigerator, opened it and took out a soda. He popped the top, lifted it to his lips and downed almost half of it.

“Well, go get some sleep, princess.” Her words dripped with sarcasm. “I'm going to study.” She returned her attention to her own Advanced Biology book.

He leaned one hip against the countertop. “So, how long have you and Jim been dating?”

Her head snapped up. “Me and Jim? What makes you think that?”

Oh God,
he was making a fool of himself. If he hadn't had too much to drink, his filters would have stopped him before he brought up that sensitive subject. He tried to ease out of it. “Not that it's any of my business.”

“Actually, it's not. But if it was, what difference would it make?”

He had no good answer for that one. He couldn't possibly tell her,
“Because all I can think about is what you look like under that T-shirt? Because you wouldn't confide in me, but you and Jim looked damn cozy? Because I'm a fucking idiot who hasn't had sex in months…and it clearly affected the blood flow to my brain?”

He drained the can, crumpled it and tossed it into the recycle bin. “It makes absolutely no difference to me,” he lied. “Jim's a nice guy. You're a great girl. And I'm really tired. Good night.” He gave her a little backhand wave as he went to his bedroom and shut the door. Without turning on the light or even taking off his shoes, he fell face-first across his bed. His brain was all scrambled, partly because of the alcohol, but also because he didn't want to care about Sara and who she dated…and he couldn't understand why he did.

He was almost asleep when the overhead light switched on.

“Let's get this straight,” Sara declared.

He rose up and rolled halfway over so he could look at her. He blinked and yawned. “What?”

“You and I are roommates, and maybe you got a wrong impression about me the other night, but I don't want a relationship. Not with you. We work together. We might go to the gym together. We can eat together. But you will never have the right to ask me who I'm dating. Is that clear?”

“So, you
are
dating,” he stated, not quite hiding his disappointment.

“Not even close. Jim's going through a bad time with his ex and wanted some female advice. Besides, he's not my type, which…like you said…is not your business.”

“I'd salute, but my hand's asleep.”

“Jerk!” She slammed the door shut as she left.

“You left the light on,” he called after her. He was completely unmotivated to get up and turn it off, so he lay back down. “Women,” he muttered. But he had to take part of the blame on this one. Acting like a horny kid wasn't cool. He wasn't a kid, but he definitely was horny. Clearly, his relationship with Sara would continue to be a friendship without benefits. And he was okay with that. He had to be.

Sara's door was shut and the surf was up in her bedroom. Chris took a quick shower and swallowed several Advil for his headache. Wearing just a pair of running shorts, he fixed a bowl of cereal and ate it while he studied. He felt bad about last night, but the punch had completely polluted his brain cells.

He vaguely remembered Sara driving them home and then both of them sitting at the table trying to review for their exams. Then he was asleep and she had gotten really angry.
Oh God,
did he really ask her if she was dating Jim?

Study,
he ordered himself. Three hours later, he dressed and left for class. Sara still hadn't come out of her room, but he had heard the ocean shut off, so he knew she was awake. She was three years ahead of him and her classes were on a different schedule than his, so they rarely rode together to campus.

The last-minute studying paid off, and he finished the final with confidence that he had done well. One down, one to go this week and two more next week. It was time to celebrate…and get lucky. Besides, the last place he wanted to be right now was their apartment.

He knew which bars were popular with the students and headed to the closest one. Everyone had the same idea, so the whole LoDo area was crowded. The bars, anticipating a crowd, had big aluminum tubs filled with ice and beer just inside the doorways, staffed with scantily clad females offering quick service.

“Welcome to The Shortstop…hey, I recognize you,” the young woman said as she took his money, then handed him a bottle so cold it hurt his fingers. “You're in my Human Behavior class. You ready for that final on Wednesday?”

He had definitely noticed her in class. Tall, slender legs that were a mile long and curly red hair tumbling around her shoulders. Tonight, dressed in shiny purple, skintight short-shorts and a silver halter top that barely covered her large breasts, she would be impossible to forget. Sure, the boobs were probably an eighteenth-birthday present from her parents, but they were inspiring, nonetheless.

“Yeah, you sit in the back by the windows,” he confirmed.

She smiled, pleased that she had made an impression. “It's Chris, isn't it?”

He returned her smile, flattered. “And you're Mandy, right?”

“Right on. Are you meeting up with someone?”

“Nope. I'm flying solo,” he told her. There was a crowd building behind him as newcomers lined up, impatient for their starter beer.

“I'll finish up here in a little while,” she said, lowering her voice so only he could hear. “Maybe we could hang out?”

Sounded like just what the doctor ordered. “Sure. I'll be at the bar.” With one last look that assured her he was definitely interested in continuing their conversation later, he headed inside.

There were at least a dozen televisions mounted around the room, and all were tuned to different sporting events. The Rockies game hadn't started yet, but there were a few East Coast games that were just getting under way. But Chris wasn't here to watch baseball. This was a mission and he had a plan. He spun his stool around so that his back was to the bar, giving him a full view of the room.

The selection was every man's dream. Co-eds of all shapes, sizes and nationalities, escaping from their dorm rooms and looking for some fun. Rarely was anyone looking for anything long-term, just a hookup. Chris wasn't sure when the rules had changed, but the women had become as carnal as the men. Oddly, it didn't make guys feel better; it just made them more insecure. Now it was acceptable for a woman to pick up a man for a one-night stand…and not text him tomorrow. Women were using men for sex, and frankly, men didn't know how to deal with that role reversal.

Chris's attention moved back to Mandy, who was handing out beer and flirting with all the new customers. But he caught her sneaking looks over her shoulder every few minutes to see if he was still there…and alone. It was all adding up to a promising night.

“Hey, you can't bring that dog in here,” a man's voice rose above the crowd noise.

“He's a service dog,” defended a man who Chris couldn't see.

“I don't care if he has a driver's license—he's not coming in here.”

“But, I'm a veteran…”

That was enough for Chris. He set his empty bottle on the bar and slid off his stool. He wove through the crowd until he saw the manager blocking someone's path. Chris stepped around the man and did a double take when he saw it was his buddy Miller holding the leash of a big black Labrador retriever.

“You're not denying this man entrance because he has a service dog, are you?” Chris asked. He really had no idea whether or not Miller was bullshitting about the dog being specially trained or a stray off the streets. But at this point, neither did the manager.

The manager was a big guy, but Chris was a couple of inches taller. It was clear the man was less comfortable confronting Chris than he had been the much slighter Miller.

“That's not a frickin' guide dog. This man isn't blind.”

“Haven't you read the law? It includes guide dogs, hearing dogs, and service dogs, which means any animal trained to assist someone with some sort of issue. My friend here is a veteran, and this dog is helping him deal with his injuries.”

“What injuries? I don't see anything.”

“Are you a doctor?” Chris waited.

“No, of course not. But I'm the manager of this bar, and I have the right to refuse service to whoever I want.”

“Really? I'm sure the owner of this place wouldn't want to lose it because he didn't allow a service dog in here,” Chris challenged, his voice low and calm in an attempt to balance the manager's increasing anger. He pulled out his cellphone. “Why don't we give him a call and ask him?”

The manager hesitated and looked around. He saw a crowd had gathered, enjoying the unexpected entertainment. He must have realized it was a battle he couldn't win, because he took a step back. “As long as the dog stays on his leash and doesn't make a mess. You're responsible for any damage.”

“Of course.” Chris nodded toward an empty table in the corner away from the basketball arcade machine that always attracted a rowdy group of players. Miller and his dog followed him. They sat down, and Mandy brought over two cold bottles of beer.

She gave Chris a wink. “These are on the house.”

“Tell the house, thank you.” Chris's crooked grin and raised eyebrows told her he knew they were from her.

She returned to her post by the front door.

“Fuckin' nice,” Miller drawled. “Looks like she's hot for you.”

“Hope so.”

Chris and Miller clicked the necks of the bottles together and took a drink. Chris leaned closer.

“So, is it really a service dog?” he asked.

Miller leaned down and gave the dog's long, floppy ears a rub. “Hell yes. This is Riley. He's been trained to calm my PTSD attacks. They sent me to Texas for the last few days to get acquainted with him.” He looked down at the dog with affection. Riley was lying quietly at his master's feet, but his thick tail thumped on the wooden floor at his master's voice.

“How does that work?”

“It's still experimental, but because they knew you, they let me into the program,” Miller explained. “Apparently, you made a bad-ass impression on them while you were in there.”

Startled, Chris glanced around, checking to see if anyone had overheard, although he knew that wasn't likely. His stay at the local VA hospital and his rehabilitation was a secret he hadn't shared with his family. They had no idea he'd been so seriously injured that he required several surgeries and extensive rehab. And he wanted it to stay that way. He'd been lucky he hadn't lost his leg, but no one but his doctors knew how close he had come to dying. His mother had enough to worry about with her other two sons being in danger every day on their jobs. “Hey, if you meet anyone in my family, don't tell them about that, okay?”

Miller nodded. “Sure, man,” he agreed without question. How people dealt with their time over there wasn't any of his business, and he was okay with that.

“How does the dog help?” Chris continued.

“Fuck, I don't know…some shit about dogs being intuitive. If I start getting anxious, he's supposed to sense it and put his head on my lap, which will calm me down and remind me that somebody loves me.” He didn't sound convinced, but his enthusiasm was unmistakable.

“Has it worked so far?”

“I guess. I haven't had any panic attacks since I got him.” He looked down at the dog and smiled. “I do like having him around. He makes me want to get out of bed every day.”

“So, you're feeling better?”

Miller shrugged. “It's day by day, man.”

“Staying off the drugs?”

“So far. But I have these fuckin' nightmares…you know?”

“Yeah, I have them, too,” Chris admitted quietly.

“How do we get past it?” Miller shook his head slowly, as if trying to knock away the memories. “Every time I close my eyes, I see the guy next to me fuckin' getting blown into little pieces. When I hear a loud noise, I want to drop to the ground and crawl into a hole. Or when I smell blood, I almost throw up.”

Chris understood and, to a certain extent, went through the same reactions on a daily basis. But he had somehow managed to separate the
now
from the
then
and the fact that if he died tomorrow, it wasn't likely to be at the hand of a terrorist.

“Are you going to meetings at the VA?” he asked.

“Not yet. But I have the names of a couple of guys who are regulars,” Miller answered. He lifted his bottle and put it down over and over, making a circular design out of the wet rings on the table. “I just haven't had time to go.”

“Is there a meeting tonight?”

“I think so.”

“Why don't we check it out?” Chris offered. “I'd like to hear what they have to say.”

Miller looked up suspiciously. “You don't have to do this for me.”

“Maybe I have to do it for
me,
” Chris told him. “Give someone a call and see when and where.”

“Uh…I don't have a cellphone.”

Chris took his out of his pocket and handed it to Miller.

The man pulled a wrinkled business card out of his wallet, punched in the numbers and talked to whoever answered. He pulled a pen out of his pocket and wrote an address on the back of the card. “We'll be there. Bye.” He ended the call and handed the phone back to Chris. “It starts at seven.” He showed him the address. “Can we make it there by then?”

Chris chuckled. “You're talking to a master driver. Let's go.” He tossed ten dollars on the table. As they headed out the door, he had a moment's regret when he saw Mandy and thought about how much he was going to miss out on tonight. Leaning toward her, he whispered, “I've got to take my buddy to a meeting. I'm going to have to take a rain check.”

She pulled a napkin out of her pocket and gave it to him. She looked up at him through lowered lashes and her red lips formed a pretty pout. “I was afraid this might happen. Call me if you want a study buddy…or whatever.”

He saw a phone number written on the paper, and he folded it and put it in the front pocket of his jeans. He wanted to tell her that she had no idea how much he wanted to take her up on that offer tonight, but he didn't want to sound desperate. And even though Sara had told him she was cool with him bringing a girl home, Chris knew it would feel weird…especially since he couldn't quite get Sara out of his thoughts. Instead, he gave Mandy a nod and a smile and followed Miller and Riley out the front door.

Sara was curled up on the couch with her textbook on her lap and her notes scattered around her. She paused to roll her head around, trying to stretch the muscles in her neck. She had been at this for hours, ever since she had gotten home after finishing her final on clinical ethics. Now she was trying to focus on the critical points of anesthesiology, but she jumped every time she heard a sound out in the hallway.

She hadn't seen Chris all day, which shouldn't have mattered, but she felt bad about how they ended things last night. He'd been a lot drunk, and she'd been a little crazy. That didn't really explain why she had violated her own rule and gone into his bedroom, then screamed at him like a shrew.

She tried to tell herself that it was because he wasn't taking their studies seriously. Med school required a hell of a lot of determination and sacrifice. She couldn't afford to fail, and she didn't understand anyone who didn't give it 110 percent. Looking back on it, she admitted to herself that Chris celebrating a little too much at his brother's wedding didn't signify that he didn't care about his grades.

So, why then had she gone ballistic over something so trivial? Could the fact that he hadn't asked her to dance…not even once…set her off? That didn't make sense, because she had made it quite clear that she didn't want him to touch her.

But then, there was the surprising disappointment that he hadn't even tried. She'd had plenty of partners on the dance floor…just not Chris. Her feet, unaccustomed to high heels, had been killing her by the time she got home. It amazed her that women chose to torture themselves every day just to make their legs look better. Although, she had to admit that it had been kind of fun to be four inches taller for a few hours. At only five foot four, she was always the shortest person in the room when she was hanging out with cops and firefighters. Even most of the paramedics were taller and bulkier than her. That was just one of the reasons that she had to work harder and never complain, no matter what.

It was vital that she fit in. The EMS department was her family now…and the Wilsons. She had always been comfortable around Pat, who treated her like a daughter. In high school after her father left and money was tight, Pat had always managed to find incredible sales on some very nice clothes that she would give to Sara with the excuse that she loved buying girl things. Sara's mom hadn't minded, because she couldn't afford to keep her daughter's closet filled with trendy clothes. High school was the worst time in a girl's life to be poor.