* * *
Beer and shutoutbaseball should distract me, but in the silent spaces between pitches, there’s only Cam—or a sharp, witty, and gorgeous Cam-shaped hole. We should be chatting on VetNet or blasting hostiles online while the game plays on the radio. I didn’t realize how much she’d come to mean to me in six short weeks, or how often we’d text one another for no reason at all, then end up chatting for hours. I close my eyes, letting the droning of the announcers lull me into the space between asleep andawake.
Blood. The scent fills my nose, so thick and cloying I can’t breathe. My shoulder’s on fire, and try as I might, I can’t move my arm. Smitty stares from a few feet away, his skull dented, his eyes dilated in the shock of sudden death. Screams bounce off the clay and stone walls until I can’t think, can’t do anything but pray someone will get us out before the nextmissilehits.
My throat burns when I jerk awake, the screams in my nightmare echoing in the here and now. Sweat plasters my t-shirt to my chest, and my eyes feel hollow, my cheeks wet andclammy.
“Fuck.” Every time I think I’ve beaten the nightmares, they shock me into humility. Losing most of my team, the grandmother and infant girl who perished alongside us, and my own weakness haunt me, and though my therapist tells me I’m doing fine, there are days I think he’s fullofshit.
My phone’s in my hand before I even realize what I’m doing, and I have a message from Cam starting back at me—along with heraddress.
You didn’t disappoint me—I disappointed myself. I’d like to apologize in person. Maybe then I won’t screwitup.
* * *
Cam
By 5 p.m., I still haven’t heard from him, and I’m contemplating dinner options and an early bedtime. At least asleep I won’t have to keep staring at my silent phone. But the doorbell rings as I’m thumbing through takeout menus. “Hangon!”
My hunger—at least for food—takes a back seat when I open the door. West’s t-shirt—green this time—turns his eyes a brilliant aquamarine, and a hint of aftershave reminds me of hiking through the Sierra Nevada foothills after a rainstorm—back before the bombs when I was free and whole. He holds up a bag from my favorite Thai restaurant, and in his other hand, he’s got a six-packofbeer.
Nervousness settles in my belly. He’s here, with food. But the serious expression etched on his face doesn’t say “you’re forgiven.” I try for a smile. “How’d you know about ThaiOcean?”
He looks baffled. “I pay attention. You talked about this place last week. Can Icomein?”
I nod, unable to come up with anything eloquent to say, and stepaside.
He heads for my kitchen. While he arranges the takeout containers, I slide past him, intending to retrieve plates and glasses. But the narrow galley leaves little room, and he turns to face me, the heat in his gaze rooting me tothespot.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper and lift a tentative hand to cup the back of his neck. I might not get another chance for this, and I have to know. Pulling him closer, I kiss him, and he wraps his arms around my waist. His tongue teases against the seam of my lips, and I open for him, heat flooding my core. As his hands roam upwards, his fingers tangling in my hair, I let him take, and I surrender to arousal so strong, I’d rip his clothes off if I thought he’dletme.
When he pulls away, his voice is strained. “Sit down. I’llgetthis.”
If he’s trying to punish me, he’s doing a damn good job. I grab a beer to stop from licking my lips, to taste him lingering there because I’ll only want more. The microbrew washes down my longing, and I stare out the window, the glittering diamonds of Puget Sound duller now that we’re at odds. I can’t help watching him as he sets the plates down and makes a production of separating hischopsticks.
“All right. I’m here. Talk.” He examines a fresh roll as I push the pad thai around on myplate.
The warm breeze from my open patio door tickles my cheek, and I drag my fork through crumbled peanuts, searching for the rightwords.
Frantic to fill the silence, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “We’ve spent almost every night together since we met—virtually. And every day, I’m glued to the clock, anticipating our next gaming session, but while Halo’s a blast,you’rethe real reason I log on. To talk to someone who understands me, who laughs at my stupid jokes, and who brings over takeout and beer because he ‘paysattention.’”
“So why can’t we see where this goes? What about me is so scary you won’t evenconsiderit?”
Desperate for a minute to think, to come up with something worthy of this man in front of me, I shove a large bite of noodles into my mouth. And with it, a pepper. As the spice hits the back of my throat, I start to gag, and the battle to swallow brings tears tomyeyes.
“Breathe, angel.” West springs from his chair and slides his arm around me, his palm resting flat against my stomach. “Can youanswerme?”
My nose is running now, and I can only manage short noisy breaths. But I nod, swallow after another exhale, and reach for my beer. He’s still so close, his heat branding my back, and as he releases me, the absence of his touch leaves me with a shudder. “Sorry.” The word rasps over my raw throat, and my cheeks catch fire as I push the plate away. “Give me aminute.”
I lurch to my feet, and after a few awkward steps, I lean against the kitchen counter and try to compose myself. Will we ever have an easy conversation? Once I’ve stopped sniffling, I take a moment to study him from the door jamb. He’s tense, his hands balled into fists at his sides. I rejoin him at the table. “I’m probably the only Mexican you’ll ever meet who hatesspicyfood.”
His eyes widen, and he slaps his hand over his heart. “Way to wound a guy, Cam. Now you’ll never go to Szechuan Noodle Housewithme.”
The promise of another date coaxes a smile as I shake my head. “Never. Lucas took me there for my birthday two years ago. I spent the whole meal crying into my ma po tofu. Even their one-star spice is too much for me. I haven’t let him pick a restaurantsince.”
West chuckles. Despite my reservations about starting something, the fact that we can share a light moment despite recent disasters says a lot about his personality. Something’s shifted between us, and my next words are easier,lighter.
“I didn’t know how to explain.” I turn my right hand palm up on the table. The deep, jagged scar that runs up my wrist doesn’t hurt, but I feel the repercussions every day. “I don’t have any sensation in my last two fingers. Sometimes, they have a mind of their own. Then when I couldn’t even keep my ass in thechair…”
