Chapter 11
11
For a moment, she froze. “What do you mean? How do you know about Taer?” His words finally penetrated, and the sick feeling of leaving a wounded man alone, in danger, pain, and fear bore down on her like a weight she had never felt before.
“We found Greg in the jungle,” he said softly. “He told us everything.”
She had been forced to leave him, she knew that in the back of her mind, but she couldn’t seem to reconcile her survival with the act of fighting for his life. She hadn’t fought hard enough. The guilt that she had been pushing down for months rose like a specter, mocking her, grinding her actions into her like dirt into a barely healed wound.
The death of her colleagues six months ago had been horrific. Murdered, mutilated, and dragged through the streets. She closed her eyes, her breath coming in small bursts. Tammy March had taken her place on that aid mission. She had been eager for her first assignment, and Helen had been burned out, just getting over a cold, and yearning to see her family. She had bowed out and Tammy had died in her stead.
It could have, would have been her, but instead she had been safe and sound at her family’s ranch while her whole team had been brutalized. She closed her eyes, knowing confidently that she was a selfless person, but what she did for a living allowed her to escape thinking about the problems in her life that might make her unhappy. But because she automatically avoided pain, without realizing it, cutting herself off from her true feelings, she also avoided feeling all the other emotions that were so important in life, especially love.
Oh, how she had missed out on so much. Facing all of this while she was trying to process all the survivor guilt over her team, Greg put her into a mental tailspin.
“And you got him help?” she asked tentatively, her gut clenching in hope and dread. “He’s going to be okay?”
He shook his head, his hand covering hers where she was suddenly clutching the hard edge of his vest. “No, Helen. He wanted me to tell you he was sorry about not being able to get you out of harm’s way.”
She shook her head, her heart lurching in her chest with alarm and a sick realization she didn’t want to even think. Their relationship had been long over…D-Day filled her world so full she had no room for anything else. She’d told Greg so at the restaurant, but he had tried to rescue her anyway, put his life on the line for her, and now he was— “No. Please, no.” Her voice broke on a soft sob. Greg deserved her grief, her guilt, and her tribute to his courage. That was all she had for him, everything else belonged to D-Day until her last breath.
Full of stark agony, she tried to hold onto hope. “Drew,” she pleaded, feeling as if she were hanging on by a mere thread, the feeling of fear and helplessness surging back. Everything was piling up behind her eyes, so much that this time there may not be a dam strong enough, or she was losing the heart to shore it up, and yet, all these years she had again…missed out on so much.
His face turned grave, and his eyes sad. “I’m sorry, darlin’. He’s dead. He bled out.”
“Oh, no,” she whispered, trying to will away the forces battering at that dam, the sting of tears a precursor to all the situations she’d handled badly in an effort to keep her options open, staying adventurous and maintaining a freedom that was a lie. She hadn’t been free at all. All her denied emotions kept her in a prison of her own making.
Reliving the awful moments after she’d heard about her team mingled with those heartbreaking moments she’d tried to get Lando to listen to her, and in the midst of all that turmoil, there was only the memory of D-Day’s comforting arms, his male scent, and the warmth of his hands as he was there to hold her through the aftermath of her grief. He was here now, when she needed him the most in her life, hanging onto that flimsy branch to keep her from getting pulled in that churning maelstrom, so that she could dictate the way she lived the rest of her life.
A bad case of the shakes hit her as she lowered her forehead to his shoulder. God, she had been so scared, was still scared. So damn scared. But all that residual pain, horror, sadness, and guilt hit her, and her throat closed up with a terrible tightness that didn’t want to clear, her vision blurring with tears. Covering her face with her hands, she came apart piece by piece. She had to lose herself to find out who she was, and wasn’t that a fucking conundrum?
“Ah, darlin’,” he whispered roughly, an agony of feeling in his softly spoken words. “I’m so, so sorry.” He cupped the back of her head in that big palm of his, those capable hands, whether handling tons of horseflesh or one of those wicked weapons he carried or the gentle touch of his fingers as he used them in ways that made her sweat and cry out. She finally gave into the intolerable pressure in her chest, needing to build a bridge over that thrashing, tumbling water, to scramble onto some solid ground.
It was his tenderness that unraveled her—and the awful tension that had dogged her every moment since she’d been forced here. And it was also the accumulated strain of months of unhappiness and moments of heart-stopping longing. For months she had shoved the constant anxiety, the horror, the frustration, and the inevitable revelation that she was so deeply in love with Drew that there was nowhere to go with it. All of that was crowding in the back of her mind, and her refusal to give in to it. But now, at the end of this harrowing experience, still enmeshed in terrible danger, she let it take her under, as if, after months of stockpiling all those emotions she refused to acknowledge, her own internal dam had broken.
But she wasn’t alone. Miraculously, he was here, and the solid, sheer solace of his comforting presence allowed her the relief she needed. Helen huddled in his arms, pressing her face against his jaw. Her breath catching on a sob, she wound her arms around his neck.
“It’ll be all right,” he murmured softly. “I promise.”
Shifting his hold, he slid his arm under her knees and rose, lifting her securely in his arms. He tightened his hold around her back as he carried her down the hall. A questioning male voice stopped him for a few seconds. She barely caught the conversation, but then he was moving again. D-Day eased her through a doorway, shouldering the door shut behind him. He carried her over to the bed and sat down. Bracing his back against the headboard, he swung his legs up onto the bed, keeping her secure in a tight embrace. He stroked her hair back from her face, then kissed her forehead. “It’s okay, Helen, you’ll get it all worked out. Take your time, and don’t rush.”
Her purge was soul-shattering and long. The outpouring of so much bottled-up emotion ravaged her, and D-Day continued to hold her, murmuring soft assurances as he rubbed her back. It seemed like an eternity before she cried herself out, her harsh sobs dwindling to the occasional ragged one as the sound of his voice and his long, soothing caresses brought her back from the depths of her personal dark night of the soul, and she was finally able to ease her hold on him.
Through it all, the pressure of his embrace didn’t relent for one second as he rocked her through the worst of her sorrow.
There was no way she was going to get through all this morass tonight or even the next day. She didn’t have the luxury of sorting out her own life right now. What she had to do was pretend to despise D-Day, work Taer for the location of the triggers while he betrayed his brother, and then get out of this alive. She didn’t want to think about his impending death, their time ticking away, or what would happen if the NPA showed up before they could secure the triggers. All of that was just too overwhelming. One moment at a time until she, D-Day, Zorro, and Buck were out of here with mission success.
But her big brother always laughed at plans. He always said it was imperative to have a well-thought-through and -practiced plan for action. Stay one step ahead of potential problems. But he also said that most plans went to hell in a handbasket the moment that firefight started. Adapt and overcome was one of the SEALs’ mottos.
Yet that was her plan and had to be the only plan for them to deal with. Her personal problems and their relationship had to take a back burner.
That’s when she realized that he must do this all the time. Had he been shoving all his feelings, all his personal problems so hard to the back of his mind that drinking, fighting, and working himself to death in the weight room allowed him to operate? That was a cocktail of impending disaster. No one could do that and not implode or explode or both.
“Ah, darlin’, I wish you were anywhere except here,” he whispered gruffly, a peculiar catch in his voice. “Things have happened, things that can’t be undone.”
Holding on to him for dear life, Helen flattened her hands against his back. “What things?”
He tightened his hold, pulling her hard against him as he buried his face against the curve of her neck. He didn't say anything. He just held her, the tension in his body making his arms tremble. Closing her eyes, Helen caught him by the back of the head and nestled him closer. It wrenched at her, knowing he was feeling so raw, and she stroked his hair, trying to contain the ache around her heart. “Drew, please,” she whispered, already violating her previous edict about keeping personal stuff from distracting them.
He didn’t move for a long time, then he finally inhaled heavily, relaxing his hold just a little. Smoothing back his hair, she eased away and looked up at him, projecting nothing but concern in her eyes. His face was etched with strain…and something else she couldn’t identify, and there was a starkness in his eyes that made her heart twist.
He held her gaze for a moment, a flicker of hesitancy in his eyes, then he turned, sliding them down onto the bed, drawing a light cover over them. With a ragged sigh, he settled her between his thighs and locked his arms around her, resting his head against hers. He seemed almost too drained to move.
“Buck knows about us. Zorro, too.”
Helen covered his hand as it settled at her waist, caressing it with reassuring strokes. This was a big fucking deal. D-Day’s whole identity, his very soul, was deeply attached to his team. The whole reason he had fought so hard against his own desire for her was because it was breaking an unspoken rule. Now that the cat was out of the bag, what the hell had her brother said?
“It didn’t go very well, did it?”
D-Day hesitated, then exhaled heavily, his tone even softer than hers. “I got my way. There was no other option for me.”
A flutter of alarm settled in her gut. “What does that mean?”
With an angry set to his jaw, he said, “I…disobeyed orders coming here to get you out.”
She closed her eyes, dread spiraling through her. Not only was he in danger because of her, at odds with her brother and probably his whole team, but he stood a chance of getting reprimanded or something even worse…for her. Taking a steadying breath, she said, “Oh, God, babe. Why did you do that?”
D-Day shifted his hand, lacing his fingers through hers, the naked expression in his eyes making her throat contract. “Fuck—Helen— fuck —because abandoning you is not an option.”
And she was faced with that man who had walked away from her with such torment in his eyes, with such gut-wrenching need, and for the first time since she met him, she was fully aware of why he had buried the deepest, most complex of his emotions. She was his one vulnerability. She had been his weakness.
But he was her strength.
Overwhelmed by the feelings that one revelation set off in her, she cupped his face, staring into his eyes, at the baring of his soul, and the beauty of it was more than she could handle. “You sweet, crazy man,” she whispered.
With a gruff sound, he enfolded her in a fierce embrace, holding her as if she were his next breath. Fighting tears, she closed her eyes and cradled his head against her, loving him so much her heart couldn’t hold it all.
“What did Buck say?”
All of a sudden that weariness was replaced with a fierce look. “He was pissed.” His jaw contracted, his expression altering to something bleak. “He called me a stupid son of a bitch.”
“In regard to what?” Something unbearable unfolded in her chest as she steadied him this time.
“The situation between us. I thought…” He swallowed hard, his expression bitter, his voice harsh with self-contempt. “…I thought he’d lost faith in me as a man and a teammate.”
“But you were, of course, wrong,” she said adamantly, her voice breaking badly. Closing her eyes. Quite aware of how hard that must have been for him, she fought against the sudden welling of tears. She clenched her jaw, feeling as if she were about to shatter.
He brushed his knuckles across her cheek, his expression etched with strain, then he swallowed hard, his eyes dark and tormented. “Yes, on so many levels. I was wrong.”
“Does he…approve?” she asked, pretty sure that Buck would make that very clear in very few words.
“Approve,” he scoffed, his eyes lightening just a tad. “He said you were your own woman, and your decisions carried water with him. He preferred the honesty of my feelings for you and accused me of making us both miserable, which I am guilty of.”
“We both have to bear some of that burden. I wasn’t very sensitive to your issues…manipulating you into the barn.”
“You didn’t manipulate me, Helen,” he said fiercely. “I wanted to fuck you. I always want to fuck you any chance I get.” His body was taut, and she rubbed at his shoulders until he relaxed.
He kissed her softly then, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close, trying to infuse as much warmth and comfort as she could. He broke the kiss, a somber frown etching lines around his eyes. It was obvious that he was mulling something over in his mind, and it was something that both disconcerted and disturbed him. Troubled by how he had pulled back into himself, she touched his jaw with her free hand. “What is it?” she asked softly.
Caught off guard, he met her gaze, an odd blend of uncertainty and disquiet darkening his eyes, then he looked away. Spanning his jaw with her hand, she forced him to meet her gaze, her expression serious. “Tell me, Drew,” she directed quietly. “I need to know what you’re thinking.”
D-Day stared at her, then looked down, the frown reappearing as he looked even more remote. There was a taut silence, then, finally, his tone very subdued, he said, “I’m thinking that we should get some rest. We have some hard days ahead of us, and we should take advantage of this respite and sleep.” He paused, and Helen saw the muscles in his throat contract, and she sensed a gut-deep distress in him. “Just be aware that I will protect you with everything I have, even my own life. You have to be prepared to run, and keep running, even if I fall. Can you do that?”
His gaze sharpened, and Helen’s heart nearly stalled. Swallowing with great difficulty, she touched his face, her voice breaking as she whispered, “I don’t know, babe. I really don’t know if I can leave another man behind to die because of me.” Her eyes brimming with tears, she held his gaze and spoke from the heart, her voice breaking with emotion. “Especially you, Andrew Nolan.” Her throat painfully constricted from the awful weight of that emotion, Helen blinked away the tears, unable to say the most important words of all.
The ache in her throat intensified, and she tried to swallow again, an agony of emotion clogging her chest. She suspected that whatever he was keeping from her was potent and life-changing. But just like her, he needed time.
D-Day tried to rise, but Helen stopped him, knowing he didn’t want her to see what her words had done to him. Trapped by her weight, he turned his head away and massaged his eyes, but she had already seen the glimmer of moisture along his lashes. Her own face wet, she caught his wrist and tried to drag his hand away, the love and compassion she felt for him were so big, so consuming, they were unbearable. “Don’t hide what you feel from me, babe,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
He shuddered as if she’d touched a raw nerve, but he yielded to her and lowered his hand, his gaze dark and tormented. He tried to speak, but his voice gave out on him. His face contorting in an agony of emotion, he shut his eyes tightly and pulled her against him, holding on to her as if she were the one solid thing in his life. Closing her own eyes against more scalding tears, Helen cupped the back of his head, loving him with every bit of love she had in her. He was raw and he was hurting, but there were things he couldn’t seem to tell her right now.
She held him until the pressure eased in her chest, then turned her face against his. Her face damp with tears, she pressed a soft, trembling kiss against his neck, more tears wedged in her throat. God, but she loved this man. Swallowing hard, she took a deep, quavering breath, her touch infinitely gentle as she combed her fingers through his hair again and again.
D-Day’s chest expanded raggedly, and he smoothed his hand up the back of her neck, pressing her head tightly against his. “Darlin’, I don’t know what I would ever do without you.”
Her chest so full she couldn’t answer, Helen pressed another kiss against his neck, spreading her hand wide against his head, wanting to draw him inside her tenderness and caring. D-day let his breath go on a shaky rush, locking his arms around her in a rough hug as he pressed his face against the curve of her neck. Sensing the frenzy of feeling simmering in him, Helen spread her hand wider against the back of his head and tightened her hold.
It took a while for the volatile emotions in both of them to ease, but finally D-Day’s hold on her slackened just a little, and Helen shifted her hold. Cupping his jaw, she lifted his head and brushed a soft, gentling kiss against his mouth, then she eased back and looked at him, her gaze somber. His face was ravaged by strain, with lines of soul-deep weariness around his eyes and mouth, but what made her heart contract was the bruised, tormented look in his eyes, as if he were so raw, he simply couldn’t handle much more. And she realized that D-Day had never been more vulnerable than he was right then.
Twisting so she straddled his thighs with her knees, she took his face between her hands and kissed him again, softly, gently with infinite care.
Emitting a low guttural sound, he caught the back of her head, and she could sense how hard he was struggling to keep himself in check. How hard he was trying to keep all those feelings from exploding into a rage of need. And with some deep feminine intuition, she knew he was still fighting with himself over what he was refusing to tell her.
“I can’t talk about it now, Helen. I…I don’t have the words or the understanding to get where I need to go. I’m sorry.”
Tightening her hold on his face, Helen fought back the sudden frenzy in her chest as desire surged through her, making her heart pound. After brushing her mouth against his one last time, she made herself withdraw, knowing it would kill him if he thought he was compromising them. Trying to control her escalated breathing, she brushed her mouth against his cheek, his jaw, his temple trying to soothe him. As much as she wanted to break through all those barriers again, to touch that passion in his soul, to experience the white-hot rage of feeling, now was not the time. Until they got out of here, they had to put their own personal life on hold. Tonight, they were faced with the unknown of what Taer was capable of learning and Lando’s reactions.
But she was adamant that when they were free of danger, she would push the boundaries—his, hers. She was never going to be satisfied until they got everything out into the open, and she found the courage she was lacking to tell him that she loved him and then deal with whatever fallout that would come.
It was clear to her that he needed her in a fundamental way, and she could only wait until he could say the words that would alleviate that anguish locked deep inside him that she suspected had nothing to do with Buck, the team, or any kind of pending decision by the Navy as to his fate for disobeying a direct order. So, she snuggled down against him and let his rhythmic breathing lull her to sleep.
Helen awoke to an empty bed the next morning. She had been up and down in the night, checking on Taer. She was surprised to find an IV bag and a change of his bandage, and she attributed that to the darkly handsome and dashing Zorro. He must be their medic.
Taer was surprisingly resting comfortably, but that wasn’t going to last long. He was in and out of consciousness from the morphine. Hopefully, there would be time for him to convince Lando to either hand over, destroy, or let it slip where the triggers were.
Tucking the sheet around her, she sat up, resting her elbows on her raised knees as she dragged her hair back from her face, a flutter of dread stirring in her belly. The next few days were going to be a nightmare—an unbearable, never-ending nightmare.
Sighing heavily, she stripped away the sheet and got up, feeling dragged out from the accumulated tension and worry. It seemed like years since she’d had a solid night’s sleep.
When she came out into the living area, the door opened, and D-Day came into the room. She could tell that something was terribly wrong by the way he was holding his body, the etched strain on his face.
She looked around, finding that they were alone. Swallowing hard, the thick pulse in her throat nearly strangling her. “What’s happened?”
Bracing his hands on his hips, D-Day closed his eyes and tipped his head back, his body perfectly still. He didn’t move for the longest time, then he let his breath go in a heavy sigh and rubbed his eyes. He swallowed just as hard as she had, then finally he said gruffly, “Zorro found Buck unconscious in the jungle. He’s taken a bad blow to the head.”
She covered her mouth, muffling a soft cry.
“They’re gone. Zorro’s taken him for medical treatment. We’re on our own.”