Out of Mind (3 page)

“But I don’t think he needs space.” I swallowed hard. “I think he needs me.”

Dad flinched. “I think he needs you, too, but not right now. He’s not ready yet.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re my daughter, and I love you.” Dad stood. “And because I won’t be the one to break you two up. Unfortunately, I think he’ll be able to do that just fine without my help.”

I stiffened. “We’re
not
breaking up.”

Dad rested his hand on my shoulder. “Even you have to see the changes already. If you want to make this thing between you work, give him space. He needs it. And pray that he comes out of this resembling the guy he once was.”

“How do I know you’re not telling me what’s worse for him so we break up?”

He hesitated before heading for the doorway. “You don’t. You’ll have to just trust that I know what’s best for you—and him.”

He left, and I was alone for all of two seconds before my mom came in. “Did the men abandon you?” Mom asked, her phone still in her hand. She sat beside me, grabbing the remote and switching on the television. “Did I hear you went shopping without me?”

I forced a smile. “Just to CVS. Nothing too exciting.”

“Oh. Well,
Downton Abbey
is on. You know how much I love that show.” And it was on the only pre-approved channel in this house: PBS. Educational and political all at once. “Want to watch with me?”

I sighed and settled into the corner of the couch, pulling a throw blanket over my lap. “Sure. Put it on.”

As Mom started the show, I glanced over my shoulder. I wanted nothing more than to chase after Finn, take away the whiskey, and hold him until he was better. But something told me Dad was right this time. I probably couldn’t fix him with a hug. And maybe it was time to accept one thing about this whole mess.

He needed more help than I could give him.

Bombs exploded all around me, punctuated only by the screams of the dying men. I could smell the blood. Taste the fear. Feel the pain. I was sent back there again, living through the attack while everyone else died. But at the same time, I also
knew
I wasn’t there anymore. I was in bed, alive and safe—unlike the rest of my squad. It was almost like an alternate universe where I wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t.

Which haunted me now: Nightmare or reality?

I sat upright, my eyes scanning my surroundings. Lightly painted walls and expensive furniture surrounded me instead of blood and bombs. Another nightmare. I’d been stuck in the same hell I was in every night, and no matter how much I drank, nothing made it go away. Nothing saved me. I was starting to think nothing could.

I must have been tossing and turning in my sleep, because my broken arm throbbed like a bitch. My sheets had tangled themselves around my bare feet like a noose, but even so I was still covered with sweat. My door opened and closed. I turned toward it, breathing heavily. It would be Carrie. It was always Carrie. She always calmed me down. Always took care of me.

I loved her for it, but I hated the need for it at the same time.

“Are you all right?” Carrie sank on the bed beside me, her hands reaching for my one good one. “You were having the dream again, weren’t you?”

I flopped back down, hating that she was seeing me like this. Scarred. Weak. Broken. Scared. Maybe I should start gagging myself when I went to bed. Or just give up sleeping altogether. “I’m fine,” I said, my voice a lot harder than I’d wanted it to be. “Just fucking relax.”

She stiffened. If this had been before I’d been fucked up, she would have snapped back at me. Given me as good as I gave her. But she was walking on eggshells around me. Pampering me. I just wanted her to fight with me and be my stubborn Carrie. I wanted that easy camaraderie back so bad that it hurt more than my arm and my head combined.

She nodded, nibbling on her lower lip. “I’m sorry. I—”

“
Don’t
.” I rolled out of the bed. “Don’t apologize to me again.”

“Excuse me?”

“You keep apologizing when I’m the one being a prick. Stop it.”

She shook her head. “You’re not being a ‘prick.’”

“Yeah. I am.”

She stood up, too, and curled her hands at her sides. “I know you’re stressed and not sleeping well. It’s okay to be a little cranky after what you experienced.”

“A little bit
cranky
?” I locked the door. “That’s the understatement of the damn century.”

She ignored me. Just lifted that stubborn chin of hers higher. “I know this is hard for you to deal with, so I’m not going to fight with you, no matter how hard you try to piss me off.”

“You never do anymore, Carrie.” I crossed the room slowly, never taking my eyes off her. “You’re too scared to.”

She bit down on her lip. I watched her, studying the curve of that lip. I loved that little pink mouth of hers. And suddenly, I wanted to taste it. No,
needed
to taste it. Wanted to feel normal for one fucking minute of today, before I lost myself in the agony that wouldn’t leave me alone. Wanted to go back to how I’d been, instead of what I’d become. “I’m not scared of you, Finn. But tell me, what do you want from me? You want me to fight with you?”

“Sometimes, yes. But not right now—not anymore.” I stepped closer. “Right now? I want you. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

“
Finn
.” She held her hands out. “You already have me.”

“No. I had you.” I shook my head. “But I haven’t
had
you since I’ve come back.”

Comprehension lit her eyes, and she flushed. “Then you can have me.” She closed the distance between us, reaching up to close her palms around the back of my neck. “What are you dreaming about every night? Tell me about it. Talk to me.”

Talk? I didn’t want to fucking talk. I wanted to
feel
. Forget. Move on. “I c-can’t, Carrie.” I shook my head, dissipating the bloody images she’d brought to life with her words. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know about anything else, but I can’t talk about that night. Not to anyone.”

“Okay. Okay.” She made a soothing sound, as if I were a baby or some shit like that. That needed to end right fucking now. I was a man. A broken man, but a man nonetheless. “You’re not ready.”

“I never
will
be ready,” I managed to say through my suffocating anger. “It’s not something I’m willing to relive through conversation. I already see it every night, and that’s enough for me.”

She shook her head. “But if you talk to someone, it helps.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not a therapist.”

A flash in her eyes answered me before she even opened her mouth. A hint of the real Carrie shined through. About damn time. “No, but I
am
going to school for it.”

“Occupational.”

She pressed her lips together. “Still—”

“Nope. Not happening.”

She narrowed her eyes on me. “You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to, but you need to talk to someone. It will help you recover.”

Recover, my ass. Therapists made you talk because it made them money. End of story. It wouldn’t help me. Wouldn’t fix me. They’d just tell me to pop some pills and call me healed. Bullshit. I would do it my way, in my own time. “I’m already recovering.”

She pursed her lips. “I’m not talking about the visible injuries, Finn.”

“Yeah, well, they are the only ones that matter, as far as I’m concerned.” I hauled her closer. “Can you ever want me again, even with how scarred I am now?”

She shook her head, and for a second my worst nightmare came to life. “Finn, I never stopped wanting you, and I never will.” She rested her hands on my chest, and I almost collapsed from the relief surging through me. “So how can I possibly answer if I’d ever want you again?”

I tried to believe that. Tried to be optimistic like I’d been before I went overseas and almost got blown to pieces like the rest of my buddies. But she had the benefit of not seeing inside my head. She didn’t know just how far gone I was—so she was still blissfully optimistic. Her world still had rainbows and butterflies and all that shit.

But me? I saw it all, and part of me thought it might be better for her if I walked away. But we’d promised to stay with each other. Promised no more running or lies.

Her eyes lowered, and her stare lingered over my abs before dipping even lower. Good. She could see what I fucking wanted right now—
her
. I wanted to remind her why she was with me, since she probably couldn’t see it anymore. Not when she looked at my wounds.

All she saw was what I used to be.

She hesitated. “Finn, I don’t know if you’re ready yet…”

“Why wouldn’t I be ready?” I stepped closer, and she tilted her face up toward mine. Her pupils flared, and she bit down on her lower lip again. “I’ve been ready since I met you.”

Her mouth twitched into a reluctant smile. “You know what I mean. With people recovering from trauma, sex can be a trigger. It can make things worse. I don’t want to make you suffer—”

“The only way I’ll suffer,” I cupped her face with my good hand, my thumb under her jawline, “is if you say no. So don’t say no.”

Part of me needed to know she still wanted me, scars and all. She might be right, and this might not be good for my head, but fuck it. I needed it. I needed
her
.

Carrie

I knew this wasn’t a good idea. But when he looked down at me like that, all blue eyes and soft words, I couldn’t stop myself from giving him what he wanted—even if it wasn’t what he
needed
. The two didn’t always go hand in hand, did they?

Reaching up on tiptoe, I curled my hands around his neck and kissed him, keeping it light and easy. I didn’t want to scare him off or be too pushy. I didn’t need to worry, I guess. He backed me across the room, his breath coming fast, his hand flexing on my chin. I knew he was frustrated with feeling helpless and broken, and I wished I could help him.

Wished he would let me help him.

I spun him so his back was toward the bed and pushed him gently onto it. Good thing he’d locked the door. As long as we were quiet, no one should know what we were up to. I straddled him, skimmed my hands up under his shirt, and sighed with satisfaction even as it bugged me that he was wearing a shirt. He never used to sleep with a shirt on. Was he hiding his wounds from himself, too? It seemed that way.

I pulled back and studied him. His eyes were shut, and his cheeks flushed. He looked so freaking hot like this. Turned on and ready for me. All mine. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

He smoothed my hair off my face. “Of course I’m sure.”

“Okay.” I reached for the bedside light, but he snatched my hand before I could turn it on. “What? What is it?”

“No lights,” he rasped, his fingers tightening on mine. “I like it like this.”

“Finn…” I swallowed hard. “You don’t need to hide from me.”

“I’m not. I don’t want your dad to know.” He let go of my hand and hauled me closer. “That’s all.”

I wanted to believe him, but I didn’t. He hadn’t let me see him yet. Hadn’t even taken his shirt off in front of me. But I couldn’t push it. Couldn’t push him. “Okay.”

I kissed him, holding myself back again. I wasn’t sure how to be with him when he was being like this. Should I be bold? Or should I let him take the lead? I was out of my league here, and I knew it. He broke off the kiss and cursed under his breath before saying, “If you don’t want this from me anymore, then you can leave. I understand.”

“I want this.” I tried to kiss him again, but he didn’t let me. “Finn, what’s wrong?”

“You’re acting as if you can’t stand the thought of kissing me,” he rasped, his hand flexing on my hip. “I get it. I’m fucked up now and—”

I slammed my mouth down on his, shutting him up before he insulted himself again. It was killing me to act as if he was going to break at any point, and I was done listening to him put himself down. Freaking
done
. He was gorgeous, injuries and all.

His mouth opened under mine, so I slid my tongue inside, seeking his. As soon as I found it, heat shot through my body, making me tremble. I deepened the kiss, needing more of him. Needing to kiss him, touch him, love him. It had been too long since I’d gotten to kiss him like this. Feel him like this.