He stands up with me still in his hold, and I smack his shoulder. “Are you kidding me? You’re going to hurt your back!” I yell at him.
“My back is fine.” He continues to walk to the bedroom, setting me down next to his dresser before pulling out an old Marines shirt and tossing it at me.
“You can’t just toss me around and throw shirts at me and expect me to just go along with everything.” My need to be rebellious, to not cave too quickly to him overrules any logic.
“Just trying to get you comfortable,” he says, so nonchalantly it grates on my nerves.
“Liar,” I snip as I snag the shirt and head to the bathroom.
“Where are you going?” he calls out.
“To the bathroom to change,” I say over my shoulder.
“Seriously? Like I haven’t seen you naked?” His confusion is kind of adorable, but I refuse to focus on that.
“We need to talk. Seeing me naked will distract you, and I need you to focus.”
“What makes you think I won’t think about you naked either way?”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re gorgeous.” He shrugs.
“Arlo!”
“Rina!”
I laugh at his response. “I’m changing,” I say before walking into the bathroom and shutting the door. Leaning against the door, my chief concern is that he’ll keep this playfulness and make me forget that we have a very real conversation to have.
I strip out of my jeans and tank top, tossing on the oversized shit, and leave my legs bare. Staring at myself in the mirror, I vow to myself to figure out where we stand before things go further between us. Sex comes easily, but if I really want to move forward with him, then a long, hard talk is in order first.
Cautiously opening the door, I peek out and see him in basketball shorts, lying on top of the bed. I really wish he wasn’t so damn hot or that the tattoo on his ribcage wasn’t a glaring sign that we were never quite done with each other.
It’s time to grow up and deal with the past.
As I softly walk to the bed, his eyes follow my every step. Climbing into the bed, I quickly get under the covers to help with the temptation that is Arlo.
Turning toward him, I tuck one hand under my head as the other trails over his tattoo.
I take a deep breath and ask the question that’s been bothering me for almost two weeks.
“Why didn’t you sign the papers?” I can hear the shakiness in my voice, the fear that the answer will be too much for me to handle.
His heavy exhale draws my attention, and I watch as he slides down and mimics my pose, facing me.
“Logically, I knew it was the right decision. I saw so many guys die on missions, men who had families and kids. When one of my closest friends died, I visited his wife while I was on leave. Seeing her devastation was something I never wanted for you. At the time, it felt … merciful. Not saddling you with the life of being married to a Marine who may not come back from a mission or might not come back the same man. We were so young…” He trails off, his voice betraying the pain caused by his decisions.
“Did it ever cross your mind to just talk to me?” The pressure of unshed tears and a tightening throat send me right back down the depressive spiral from all those years ago. I’ve asked this question what feels like a million times, and somehow, I still don’t understand it.
“This is where I sound like an asshole, but no. I knew you would never agree, and I didn’t think you understood how tragic things could be.”
“So why go through the trouble of sending papers? At the same time my parents died, I might add, and then not actually filing them? I still don’t understand any of this.” I’m not trying to guilt-trip him, but I do want him to understand how broken I was. Hell, probably still am because of his solo decision.
“When you sent them back, it was like my heart smashed in my chest. The pieces were just carnage left behind in my body. And I know that doesn’t make sense, but I couldn’t even look at them for weeks. Every time I tried, it stole my breath and I started to panic. It took me a few months to look through them, and that’s when I found your note.” His hand goes to his ribs, and the pain in his eyes almost makes me forgive him, but we both need to work through this if we’re to move forward.
“When did you decide you weren’t going to file them?”
“I honestly don’t know. I said I would do it the next time I was on leave, and then I would put it off and just repeat the process, and then I got hurt and it got brushed to the side while I figured out how to recover and deal with a life outside of the Marines.”
