Off Limits (18 page)

Emily

It's Friday afternoon and I'm trying to study. My eyes skim over half a page before I realize that I’ve not absorbed a single word.

I throw my textbook aside with frustration. It's no use...I can't concentrate.

It's been this way for the past two weeks. All I can think about is Nix and how much I screwed up. My heart is broken and I don't know how to fix it. Nix is angry, and I don't know how to fix that either. I feel useless...and lonely.

I am also tired of feeling this way. I have to snap out of this funk and move on with my life. It's clear that whatever I had with Nix is no more, and there is no going back.

Unfortunately, it doesn't feel like there is any going forward either.

There's been no word from Nix. I texted him the day after our fight asking him if he wanted me to still work for him. I knew the answer to that already, but I was desperate for some contact from him...anything.

His return text was short and biting.

Just pay me when you get your trust money.

That was it. Nothing else.

I didn't have the guts to try again. It hurt too much to have this bitter freeze from him.

Danny and Fil have been great. Between the two of them, they are sporting some soggy shoulders. They've both listened to me bitch, grouse, cry, moan, and gripe to them. They've cursed Nix with me and they've defended my feelings. They both threated to cut off his balls for me, but when it boiled right down to it, they would have welcomed him back with open arms if he walked through my door, because they both knew that would make me happy.

Ryan is another matter. I haven't really talked to him yet but Danny has filled him in on everything. I think she said it would be wise for Nix to stay away from Ryan unless he wanted a broken nose. I don't think Ryan is going to be happy if he were to walk back through my door, but it really doesn't matter. It's not going to happen anyway.

Surprisingly, I even told my parents about our breakup and they were amazingly supportive. I mean, my mother wasn't threatening to cut off his balls but she did tell me that sometimes men just need time to see the error of their ways.

I hated she told me that because it kept my hopes alive far longer than they should have been.

That's it,
I say to myself. I stand from the couch and stomp into the kitchen. I'm done feeling sorry for myself. It's time to put Nix Caldwell to rest and start getting back on this crazy train of life I had been riding.

I open the fridge and pull out a bottle of wine we had opened a few days ago. I don't even bother with a wine glass but pour some into a coffee cup.

Ah, the benefits of freedom.

Heading back into the living room, I take a generous sip. Maybe I'll get drunk tonight. Just as I'm almost ready to sit down again, someone knocks on the door.

Setting my wine down, I head over to the door and look through the peep hole.

And my world starts crashing as I see Nix on the other side of the door.

My heart starts into overdrive and my skin starts to itch. I suddenly realize I'm wearing his t-shirt. It's the same one I had pulled on when he kicked me out of the apartment. I walked out wearing it, not even realizing it until a few days later when I found it in my laundry bin. I didn't wash it because it smelled like him and now I'd taken to wearing it around the house when I was feeling blue.

Maybe he's here for the shirt. Surely there would be no other reason for him to be here.

I take a deep breath and open the door. As soon as my eyes meet his, all of my false bravado and promises to move on flee my mind. Instead, I take in the beautifully, damaged man that I had fallen foolishly in love with.

And the tears immediately well up in my eyes.

Hastily blinking them back, I manage a whisper, "What are you doing here?"

"Can I come in so we can talk?"

Can he? Should I let him? Or should I stay hard and unyielding?

"Okay," I immediately capitulate as I step back from the door.

Nix, as always, looks beyond mouth-watering. Simple t-shirt and jeans. Nothing different from what he normally wears but he owns that look. His hair has been trimmed a bit but he's still sporting that five o'clock perpetual shadow that I love so much.

He walks in, shutting the door softly behind him.

I try to make my words strong, confident. I need to steel myself against further pain. "What do you want, Nix?"

"You."

My legs turn to jelly over that one simple word. Does he understand the power of what he's just said? The fact that I am ready to submit to that power leaves me shaken.

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. "I think it's a little late. Don't you?"

"Probably. But I need to try."

I turn away from him and walk to the living room. I can hear him follow me in. I take a sip of my wine, hoping it will fortify me. It tastes like vinegar in my mouth.

"Emily," he says softly and I cannot help but look at him, immediately getting lost in his eyes. "I will never be able to tell you how sorry I am for the words I said to you. Those were unforgivable. The only thing I can do is offer you a way to understand them."

He has my attention but I have no clue what he is trying to say. "How's that?"

"I want you to come with me to Washington, D.C. I want to explain to you what happened in Afghanistan...why I freaked out when you saw the medal...why I said those horrid things to you."

"And you can't do that here?"

He shakes his head, determination hard on his face. "No. To make it count, it has to be done in front of one other person. My best friend, Paul."

Huh? He has a best friend named Paul?

I didn't know this but why am I surprised? I didn't know a lot of things about Nix.

"When did you want to go?"

"Now."

Now? Holy shit.

"I know I'm springing this on you," he continues, "but I desperately want to fix things with you and this is the only way. The sooner we can go, the sooner you can begin to fully understand me. That is...if you want to."

I don't need to think about this. I can't help it but I love Nix Caldwell. If he is willing to go out on a limb and open up his entire pain to me, I'm ready to go to the moon with him if he asks.

I'm smart enough to know that this doesn't mean
we
will be fixed. In fact, he's offering me nothing more than a means to understand him at this point.

None of that matters, though. Not really.

There isn't anything I wouldn't do for Nix.

"Okay, let's go."

***

Our trip to D.C. is uneventful and fairly quiet. Nix tells me he's been traveling around the country with Harley. They drove out to California and back. He said he used the time to think. He also talked to his neuropsychiatrist, Dr. Antoniak, by phone a few times. They apparently discussed me but Nix said he would tell me the details later. The only thing I knew about Paul was that he was supposedly Nix’s best friend and that they served in the Marine Corps together during his last tour there.

When we got close to Paul's house, Nix actually pulled into a hotel. He explained it would probably be late when we finished up at Paul's and that we would stay the night. He came back out with two rooms and handed me my key. I didn't say anything even though the thought of two rooms saddened me. It makes me think Nix doesn't have much faith that we can work through this.

Nix drives us a few miles down the road and we enter into a small, middle class neighborhood. He finally finds the house he is looking for and we pull in.

Turning to me, he reaches out and trails his fingers down my cheek. "I'm scared, Emily. Because what you are getting ready to hear is something that is incredibly shameful to me. I'm doing this because I want you to understand why I flipped out on you. I'm hoping it will let you possibly forgive me."

I just nod because I don't know what to say. He has me imagining the worst and I can only pray that whatever I'm about to learn about Nix is not so horrific that my memories of him will be tarnished forever. I think I may be as scared as he is right now.

We get out of his truck and Nix leads me up the front porch. With every step he takes, his shoulders become more hunched. He looks like he is marching off to his death.

After a brief knock, the door is thrown open and I see a handsome, stocky man staring out at Nix. He has very short hair, buzzed the same length all the way around. It's blond and his eyes are bright blue. He stands much shorter than Nix but you can tell he works out. His build under his t-shirt and sweatpants is solid.

"Nix Caldwell," the man says reverently. "I never thought I'd see the fucking day you just showed up on my doorstep."

His words are soft. His eyes are sparkling with something I cannot name, although it could just be tears. Nix doesn't make a move but the guy doesn't notice. Instead, he steps towards Nix and wraps him in a big bear hug. Nix hesitates for just a second, then his arms wrap tightly around the other man.

Pulling apart, Nix steps back toward me. "Paul...this is Emily Burnham. A very good friend of mine."

My eyebrows rise. Good friend? Is that true?

I have no clue what we are to each other. If you asked me—especially with the way things ended—I'm not sure we were much more than fuck-buddies. Emphasis on the fuck part, not the buddy.

Paul sticks his hand out toward me. "Emily...it's good to meet you. Nix didn't tell me he had such a beautiful friend."

I blush prettily because that was about as sweet of a compliment as a man can dole out.

Paul invites us in. He tells us his fiancée, Marie is still at work and won't be home for another hour. He seems truly happy to see Nix but I don't see that reciprocated. Nix has tension vibrating off of him in waves.

I can tell that Paul will chatter on and on if Nix doesn't stop him and that's exactly what he does. "Listen, Paul. I need to talk to you about something serious."

Paul's carefree smile he had been sporting fades away. "Sure, man. What's on your mind?"

I'm sitting beside Nix on the couch, and Paul is sitting in a chair opposite us. I've turned slightly so I can see Nix’s face as he talks. He's clearly stressed. My gut churns at his obvious discomfort and I feel like I might puke just from Nix’s fear of what he is about to do.

Nix leans toward Paul, resting his elbows on his knees. He lets his hands hang loosely for a minute but then grasps them tightly together. I want to slip my hand in between his, to give him comfort, but I don't. I’m frozen in place by fear and dread.

"Paul...I need to tell you something that I should have told you a few years ago and it's tearing me up. Worst, it's turning me into someone that I don't like, so I need to get this off my chest."

Paul looks worried and he says as much, "Nix...dude...what the fuck? You're freakin' me out here."

He's freaking me out, too, Paul.

Nix takes a deep breath and lets it out. "Okay, here goes. Paul...I need to apologize to you. The guilt over what I did is eating me up, man. And I'm hoping you will forgive me one day. But I need you to know how sorry I am."

I'm glancing back and forth between Nix and Paul. Nix looks like he's ready to break down, and Paul? Paul just looks...angry. This does not bode well.

Then Paul does the unthinkable and starts laughing. Genuine, belly deep amusement pouring out. I glance at Nix who looks astonished.

"What in the hell do you find so funny about this?" Nix sounds affronted, as he apparently should be. Nix just bared his soul and Paul is laughing at him.

Paul finally winds his chuckles down. He leans forward in his own chair and points his finger at Nix. "Let me get this straight...our squad gets stuck in the middle of a firefight. I get hit with a bullet. So do you. You drag me out to safety, save my life, and you're... you're...apologizing to me? Are you smoking crack or something?"

Paul no longer sounds amused. In fact, he sounds pissed off.

Nix stands abruptly from the couch. "That's not how it went down and you know it. I got your fucking legs blown off." As if to prove his point, Nix stomps over to Paul and pulls up on both legs of his sweatpants. I see teal blue metal rods poking out and disappearing into his tennis shoes.

"Look at this, Emily. You want to know what you found in my drawer. This is what I got a fucking medal for."

My eyes are wide in astonishment. I'm looking at a man with two prosthetic legs, and I had no clue. I couldn't tell. He walked...perfectly. No limp. No awkward gate.

Amazing.

Nix throws his hands up in the air. "I can't fucking do this. I thought I could, but I can't."

He walks to the door, opens it and slams out.

I just sit there in stunned silence, wondering what to do next. Finally, Paul stands up and shakes each leg in turn to get his pants' legs to fall down. "Want a beer?"

"Sure," I respond. Because I have no clue else what to say.

"Come on in the kitchen. I'll tell you the whole story."

Emily

Paul pulls two beers out of the refrigerator for us and opens them up. We're sitting at his kitchen counter.

"You're more than just friends with Nix," he observes.

"Not really. Maybe once...but not now."

He watches me while he takes another sip of beer. "Why did Nix want to come here?"

I shrug my shoulders. "I'm not sure. He sort of flipped out on me a few weeks ago because I found his Navy Cross and asked him about it. I haven't seen him since then. He just bailed. Next thing I know, he shows up on my doorstep this afternoon. He wanted me to come here with him so he could explain why he flipped out."

Paul puts his beer down. He leans up against the counter. "I met Nix six years ago when we got assigned to the same unit. We did both tours in Afghanistan together...best friends...always."

"What did you guys do in the Marine Corps."

"We were part of MARSOC. It’s a Special Forces command within the Marine Corps. We were trained to do a variety of things. We are like the equivalent of the Navy SEALs. Our mission this last tour was to patrol local villages, help to protect against the Taliban, try to negotiate with the Taliban and help further train their local police and military forces."

Paul's voice is low and melodic. I’m sitting on the edge of my seat, finally getting information that I had been hoping that one day Nix would tell me.

"One of the most dangerous aspects of our job was the threat of a 'green on blue' attack."

"What's that?"

"It's basically Afghani forces attacking NATO forces. It's usually people we are working closely with. Say, for example, we may be embedded in a local village for months. We work with the local police to help train them to protect the village. Unfortunately, many of them are secretly part of the Taliban. A ‘green on blue’ is when one of them attacks us."

That's horrible and beyond frightening. "How do you ever trust anyone?"

"You don't. You learn to look at everyone as if at any moment they can pull a gun on you. At any rate, that happened to us. One night on patrol, several of the Afghani police that we had been working with turned on us and opened fire. A vicious gun battle ensued and three of us got pinned down. Me, Nix and our buddy, Gary."

Paul picks up his beer and takes a swallow before he continues. I feel like I am on pins and needles, watching a scary movie and waiting for the monster to jump out and scare the living daylights out of me.

"We had to call in helicopter support to help us out, but the Taliban outnumbered us and were moving toward our position. We had no choice but to try to make our way to higher ground so we could be easily accessible when the helos came in. Unfortunately, all three of us had been hit. I had been shot in my right thigh and I'm pretty sure that the bullet had hit the bone because I couldn't put any weight on my leg. Gary, though, had taken one right in the stomach and was bleeding really bad. And Nix...he took one —"

I finished for him, " —to the chest."

Paul nods. "That's right. Luckily, the bullet he took was pretty high in his chest, going just below his shoulder. Quick in and out so he was still pretty mobile. At any rate, we had a quick discussion and it was decided that Nix would carry Gary out first while I laid cover fire. That worked nicely. Even though Nix had a bullet hole in him, he was able to carry Gary to safer ground where a helo landed right away. While they were tending to Gary, Nix came back to get me."

My heart is pounding. I'm fearful for Nix’s life, even though I know he makes it out. "What happened next?"

"Nix came back, hauled my ass up over his shoulder and ran us out of there while I shot my 9mm pistol at them...hanging practically upside down on his back. I think I was giving sort of a Braveheart scream the entire time."

"But..." I know there is a punch line coming.

"But...one of the Afghani's threw a grenade at us. It didn't hit us directly but it was close enough that the blast caused Nix to stumble. We both went crashing to the ground. Nix was back on his feet, now dragging me by my arm, when the second grenade hit. I remember it landing right about five feet from my legs when it blew."

"I'm so sorry, Paul."

"Hey," he says softly and grabs my hand. "Don't. This is a hero's tale, nothing more. The grenade took my legs but it threw Nix into the air. He hit the ground so hard his brain was pretty scrambled, and of course, he had that bullet hole in his chest. None of that stopped him though. He crawled back to me and started dragging me to safety. Of course, I weighed a lot less by that time."

I gape in horror at Paul.

"Geez. You and Nix need to lighten up a bit. Both of you are too tightly wound."

I try to smile but I'm failing miserably. I clear my throat. "Sorry. What happened next?"

"Nix got me to safety. The helo flew us out and we went to a field surgical hospital. Then we were separated. Nix was able to get medically stabilized a lot quicker than I was but we both ultimately ended up at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center."

I'm silent for a moment. Nix flipped out when I found the medal. Nix came here to apologize to Paul. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that he's feeling like he did something wrong in the rescue. But after what Paul has just told me, I can't see how.

"What happened to Gary?" I ask.

Before Paul can answer, Nix provides me the information in a voice that barely registers above a whisper. "He died on the helicopter."

I turn around to see Nix leaning against the entryway to the kitchen. He looks sad. Beaten down. "And had I chosen to take Paul out of there first, he'd still have his legs. Gary would still be dead, because he wasn't going to make it out of there anyway...not with that stomach wound. Had I just taken Paul first, he'd have his legs."

And there was the source of Nix’s guilt. He has been second guessing his decision making all of this time. Having the power of hindsight and calm conditions, he'd reasoned out that he made a poor choice.

I wanted to smack him.

But before I can say a word, Paul walks around the counter to stand in front of Nix. "Get your head out of your ass, man. You're not the only one that made that decision. We decided that together."

"What the hell did you know? You were suffering from blood loss —"

" —as were you, you jackass. It was the right call. If we had any chance of saving Gary, we had to get him to the medics first. They ultimately couldn't save him but it was still the right decision."

Nix is silent, digesting this. Paul doesn't let up though. He grasps Nix by the back of his head and makes him look at him. "Hear me when I say...I'd make the same decision all over again, even knowing what I know now. And if you'd be honest with yourself, you'd say the same."

Nix’s gaze lowers, and he seems to be processing what Paul is saying. I want to wrap my arms around him so badly, but it's not the time or place. This is Paul's job right now.

"Nix," Paul says softly but with command. "You need to let it go, man. You did the right thing and you saved my life. You hear me. You didn't cause me to lose my legs...you caused me to live. You. Saved. My. Life. I will forever be indebted to you."

I'm watching Paul and Nix through the hazy film of tears that are pouring down my face. I'm witnessing something beautiful here...something that I'll never see again in this lifetime.

I watch Nix closely. I see pain, and fear, and then hope that maybe he has the story wrong. That maybe his life might have more purpose than he once thought. I can see he wants to trust what Paul is saying, but he's afraid to take that chance. He's wallowed in so much guilt and misery for so long, I think the idea that he could actually be a true hero is too much of a foreign concept to him.

Paul finally says, one more time. "Thank you, Nix for saving me. You are the most amazing person I know and I'm honored to call you my best friend."

And then I see it. I see the moment where Nix finally releases the pain. His body stands a little straighter. The glaze of guilt recedes from his eyes and I actually see a small smile grace his beautiful lips.

He doesn't say anything but nothing needs to be said as Paul pulls him into a tight hug.

***

The rest of the night was so nice. Paul's fiancée, Marie, came home with some pizzas. She and I actually ate in the kitchen, getting to know one another. Nix and Paul spent the time in the living room, talking in hushed tones while they ate. When we finished, I gave Paul and Marie hard hugs. I wasn't sure if I'd ever see them again but I hoped so.

At the hotel, we walk to our rooms. Nix has been noticeably quiet and introspective on the ride here. I’m not sure what he expects. Hell, I don’t know what I expect, but I still want some time to just hold him and to thank him for sharing that part of himself with me. And for finally giving himself permission to be free from guilt.

We get to my room and I stick my key card in. Nix asks, "Can I come in? I want to show you something."

"Sure," I say with a smile. I have no clue if he intends to show me pictures of his trip out West or if he wants to seduce me. I'll go with the second option if I have a choice but for now, I'm just thankful he wants to continue to talk.

After the door shuts behind us, I turn to look at Nix. "How do you feel after your talk with Paul?"

"Liberated. Relieved." He's silent for a second. "Peaceful."

I smile at him. "I'm so glad. Thank you for sharing that with me. I'm really humbled to know someone like you."

A shaky breath flutters out and Nix looks almost shy. "So...like I said...I want to show you something if that’s okay with you."

"Sure." I'm more than curious.

Nix doesn't hesitate and pulls his t-shirt over his head. It happens every time that I see his amazing torso...all thoughts sort of melt away and all I can think of is,
Oh my, he's a god.

He throws the shirt down and just stares at me. I don't know what he wants me to do. Does he want me to make a move? Because if so, then I'm ready throw myself into his arms.

My gaze rakes over his body, down then up. I glance at his eyes once, and I see amusement there.

Glad I can accommodate.

I do a once over again, staring a little more leisurely this time at his chest.

And then my breath catches. I see what he wants to show me. His tattoo has been finished.

I can't see any of what the writing says, but the scroll has now taken off from his left ribs and flows up over the top of his left pectoral muscle. It drapes over the top and comes to rest right over the area where his heart is nestled deep in his chest. I can see that the end of the scroll has been closed. It's complete.

"You finished your tattoo?" I'm in awe that he found enough inspirational messages that had meaning to him that he could fill it in so quickly. I'm itching to walk closer and see what revelations he inked on his ribs and chest to complete the artwork.

"I did. Would you like to examine it."

Oh, boy, did I.

I walk toward him on shaking legs. My fingertips are tingling with just the thought of touching his skin. I know I don't need to touch his body to read the tattoo, but I'm going to.

Walking up to the side where the tattoo starts, I note that Nix is watching me intently. I circle around to his back. I trail my fingers along his skin, appreciating the way his muscles twitch at my touch. I finally get to the spot where the tattoo had previously ended and I touch the words,
"I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear. Martin Luther King, Jr. 1929-1968".
That was the last entry I remembered seeing.

I peer at the next word. It simply says, "Emily". And the next word..."Emily".

And the next..."Emily".

I let my fingers brush the words.

I'm stunned. My name must be on his body dozens upon dozens of times within the scroll. I follow it across his ribs, making my way in front of him again. I slide my fingers over the tattoo...
Emily, Emily, Emily
...on and on, up over his chest and then coming down to rest over his heart. The last two words say, "My Emily".

I drag my eyes up to Nix who is staring at me intensely. He's holding his breath, waiting for my reaction. And he gets it.

I immediately start sobbing.

"Oh, Emily...don't cry," he tries to sooth.

His arms come around me and he pulls me into his chest. My cheek rests on top of my name.

Nix kisses the top of my head. "Do you like it?"

I nod my head and sob harder.

Finally, he picks me up, grabs a box of tissues from the dresser and carries me to the bed. Sitting on the edge, he cradles me in his lap and lets me cry. When I'm finally worn out, I lay there quietly, taking in the beauty that is this man.

My Nix.

Just as I'm his Emily.

Nix places a butterfly of a kiss on the top of my head. "Thank you for coming here with me, Em. I'm not sure I would have had the courage to talk to Paul had you not come."

I lean back so I can see his face and I bring my hand up to stroke his cheek. "I'm glad you asked me."

Nix covers my hand with his own and closes his eyes, relishing the touch. When he opens them, they are burning. "I want to make love to you, Emily. Will you let me?"

Oh, my. Words I have wanted to hear and yet I don't want to read meaning into them.

I nod my head slowly, holding my tongue.

Nix swoops in and masters my lips with his. My mouth opens readily for him and his tongue settles in for a leisurely exploration. I sink into the feeling, never wanting to let it go.

Nix suddenly pulls back. "Did you notice I said I wanted to 'make love'?"

He's smiling at me and this time, it's different than anything I've ever seen on his face before. It's completely at ease...filled with peace.

"I did notice."

"I just wanted to make sure you heard that. Because...it's different now with us."

"How so?" I whisper.

"Well, first, don't go thinking my style is going to change. I'm still more likely than not going to drive into you so hard you'll be screaming the walls down."