2. Bellamy
Bellamy
March 30th…
“I have to go,” I tell Peter the next morning following a third round in the bed and a fourth in the shower. I’ve never resented my job, nor the people who depend on me to do it, but then again, I didn’t have Peter in my life before.
“So do I,” he replies, though neither of us make a move to actually leave. “This isn’t the end of us,” Peter vows. “It’s only the beginning.”
“What about—” He shushes me with a kiss, and I ponder whether to continue so he’ll keep stopping me like this.
“We’ll figure everything out. I promise.”
“How can I feel so much for you in less than twenty-four hours together?” Honestly, it’s been more like half that, but it’s the quality not the quantity. And Peter has a lot of the former.
“Does it help that it’s mutual?”
“Yes.”
“Then lets focus on that and let the rest happen as we go.” He must see my grimace. “You’re a planner, aren’t you?” I nod.
“Doing what I do, it’s vital in order to stay on top of packing and such.”
“My job is that way, too.”
“You never said what it is you do.” Perhaps getting into this discussion after the fact isn’t the best idea. However, if we’re going to try this, the only way to learn more about each other is by asking questions and spending time together. This allows us to do both.
“I’m in the Army.” Peter answers, his attention seemingly on making sure he’s taking everything with him that he brought. But I can feel his gaze on me. As if he wants to see my expression.
“Cool.” I snag my cell off the charger, then remind Peter to do the same for his. The one item he couldn’t find. I tend to pack extra cords, never quite sure if I’ll be able to buy another wherever they send me. A precaution that has come in handy many times. Such as last night when Peter’s battery hit twenty percent. Seeing as we have the same device, it worked out perfectly.
Especially since neither of us wanted him to go.
“That’s it?” I feel like my reaction, or lack of it, surprises him.
“Sorry?” I’m unaware if I should be. Instead of upset, though, Peter seems pleased. Oh. “Dealt with some uh…enthusiastic responses, have you?”
“Unfortunately.” He shudders, letting me know he truly doesn’t care for what some would consider a perk.
Patting his arm, unable to pass up the opportunity to touch him, I promise, “I’ll protect you from that group.” I flex my muscles that, while nowhere near his mass, aren’t bad for my size.
“You’re hired.”
“Peter’s Protector,” I mumble, pretending I’m testing it out. “Has a nice ring to it.”
“I’d put a ring on it right now.”
“What?” He didn’t just…Did he? Was he teasing or serious? Why do I hope it was the latter? I decide not to press him, which is exactly what I want to do, and choose to ask if he’s hungry.
“I could eat.”
The way he licks his bottom lip as he admits that, I feel the need to clarify, “For breakfast.”
“Not nearly as satisfying as what I had in mind.”
And now I want to do his thing instead. Which, I guess, is me.
**Peter**
I have never felt like this. If this is how my dad felt upon meeting my mom, I can finally understand why he proposed within weeks and married her a month later.
And why he hasn’t looked at another woman since losing her.
The downside of loving someone so deeply.
But I know, were I to ask dad if he could do it all over again knowing he’d have to go on without her, would he choose the same path. He wouldn’t hesitate to say yes. Which is exactly what he does.
“The only thing I’d do different is ask her sooner.” Dad is watching me, my body language, and hearing what I’m not saying. “What’s her name?”
“Bellamy.” No point in acting as if this isn’t why I’m here. Besides, even if I tried, he wouldn’t let me get away with it.
“What’s she like?” This isn’t a test, though it feels as such. It’s simply Dad getting to know her. Wanting to see her as I do.
“She’s…” There are so many ways I can describe her, yet they all boil down to one. “Mine.” Dad is waiting patiently, though I can tell by his expression that he gets it. Of course he does. “Bellamy is funny. Sweet. Caring. Oh. She’s a nurse, Dad. How awesome is that? For the last five years, she’s gone where she’s needed.”
“Just like you.”
“Didn’t think of it that way, but yeah.”
“Does she enjoy it?”
“Yes and no.”
“The traveling wearing on her?” I nod.
“I’m sure you can sympathize with that.” Can’t refute that. In my line of work, my years of being able to do it are limited for a reason. The training, the missions themselves, any injuries, the emotional impact of all of it…it takes a toll. Ageing our bodies before they would naturally.
Having enlisted when I was eighteen, I’ll have my twenty in three years. Whether I retire at that point or transfer to a desk job remains to be seen. Wonder what Bellamy would prefer? I’ll have to ask her because her opinion will help me decide.
Seeing that my dad is waiting for an answer, despite it being more of a rhetorical statement on his part, I confirm it with a, “Yeah.”
“You need to talk to her, especially as they can send her somewhere else at any time. Besides, this could all be a moot point. It could be one-sided—”
“It isn’t.”
“Okay,” he replies, acknowledging and accepting my stance on that. “I want to meet her.”
“Done.” Dad pauses, my easy agreement throwing him off. Good to know I can still surprise my old man.
“She working today?” Clearly he doesn’t want to risk me reneging.
“Per her contract, while she’s here, she’s in the weekend rotation.”
“Next then. I’ll make dinner.”
“If we eat after the interrogation, she’ll have nothing in her system to make her nauseous during it.”
“I’m not that bad,” Dad scoffs. I raise a brow at this. “You care about her. That’s all I need to know.”
“You’re not going to ask her intentions?” I joke.
He fingers combs his full head of hair, the sun shining through the window to his right seeming to highlight the few strands of silver woven through the dark brown as if showcasing the innocence he’s trying to portray. “I reckon it’s too soon to petition for a promotion in my status.” What is he getting at? “From dad to granddad.” He’s so eager, his arms curl as if he’s holding his granddaughter or grandson already, and he begins the slight bouncing that all babies seem to love. I hate that my mom won’t be here for that. I know she’d be just as excited as he is.
I stay a while longer, enjoying the time with my dad, and the lunch he invites me to have with him, then head home.
Bellamy works two ten hour shifts when it’s her turn on weekends. I know she’ll be hungry, and probably too tired to do anything about it, when she’s done, so I plan to take care of that for her.
As much as I’d prefer to be there while she eats, what she needs is more important.
Always.
**Bellamy**
I’m dragging, barely having the energy to get out of my car, the idea of sleeping in it sounding better by the minute. With the lack of slumber last night, and the long and hectic shift today, I am existing on fumes.
Food, while a necessity, seems to be losing the battle of priority. I could nap for a couple hours, then eat and go back to bed.
Having decided on that brilliant strategy, I find the strength to stand up, grab my purse, and shut my car door. When a strange man calls my name, I tense, all traces of lethargy fleeing as scenarios go through my mind, none of them good.
“Shit. Did I startle you?” He appears very upset by this possibility. “Peter said if I did that, he’d be ticked.”
At the mention of who sent him, I relax. “Peter sent you?”
The guy nods. “Said to tell you fiddlesticks.”
Having no clue what that’s supposed to mean, I reach for my cell to find out, thankful we exchanged numbers before parting this morning. There’s a text from him waiting for me.
Peter: I wish I could be there with you, but you need food and sleep. In that order. I sent a driver to you with dinner. The code word is fiddlesticks.
Me: You’re the best.
“Thank you,” I tell the delivery fellow, digging in my purse for a tip.
“You’re welcome,” he replies, waving off my action. “Mr. Hawkins took care of everything.” Then he leaves and I’m left holding the bag. Literally.
Peter: Only the best for you. ;-)
Me: I’m beginning to think that’s you.
Peter: You make me that way.
Me: Maybe we do that for each other.
Peter: I like that.
Me: I like you.
Peter: I like you, too. Go eat, sweetheart. Then get some rest. I’m not going anywhere.
Getting inside my room, I don’t even bother removing my jacket or purse. I just plop on one of the chairs at the small table off to the side, remove the items he ordered, and dig in.
It could be the fact I’m starving that the food tastes so delicious, or that the restaurant it came from is good at what they do. While it could be both, my heart says it’s because Peter sent it to me.
That’s when I realize I’m in trouble.
And I’ve never been happier.
Nor more scared.