13. Leila
13
LEILA
I’m so lost in a haze of lust and passion — and Kyle — that it takes a minute for his comment to penetrate the fog in my brain.
“I don’t have any condoms.”
His words are like a bucket of ice water being thrown over my head. What the hell am I doing? After everything he put me through, the first time he touches me I simply fall into his arms like some lovesick puppy?
I must have lost brain cells when that asshole terrorist hit me in the head. God, I’m such a fucking idiot. Have I learned absolutely nothing about guarding my heart from this man in the last five years? He tore me apart, left me a broken, bleeding mess on the floor, and yet here I am ready to let him fuck me.
Jesus, what is wrong with me.
I’m tired, my head hurts, my heart hurts, and I’m fighting back the tears that once again show up to the party. I’m not the weeping-willow kind, yet I’ve done nothing but cry the last few days.
Nausea wells up at the enormity of my stupidity. If Kyle’d had condoms handy, I would have let him fuck me. Because I’m under no illusion that he’d have been making love to me. That ship sailed a long time ago.
“Bathroom,” I whisper past the boulder in my throat.
“Leila —” Kyle’s voice is so tender, it takes everything in me not to beg him to stay with me. To not leave me again.
“I’m going to be sick ...”
“Shit, sweetness. I’m so sorry. What the hell was I thinking?” He rolls off to the side of me.
I want to scream at him to shut up. That his words aren’t helping. In fact, what they’re doing is the exact opposite. But I don’t utter a sound. Instead, I focus on getting to the bathroom before I embarrass myself.
Aware that if I move too quickly things won’t end well, I ease out of bed, breathing through my nausea. I shuffle to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. Moving as quickly as I can, I make it to the toilet just in time.
I empty the meager contents of my stomach into the porcelain bowl. Despite there being nothing left, my body continues to dry heave. Finally, my legs shaking like a newborn lamb, I’m done. I stumble over to the vanity and brush my teeth.
About to let myself out of the bathroom, I hear Kyle moving around my bedroom, and I can’t do it. I cannot get my hand to unlock the door and turn the handle. Instead, I cautiously slide down the wooden panel and lay my head on my knees. If it wouldn’t hurt so bad, I would slap myself on the forehead. Where’s my self-preservation when I need it?
The despised tears make a reappearance, and I have to bite my lip not to make a sound.
I startle at a knock on the door. “Leila?” I hear Kyle say. “Is everything okay? You all right in there?”
“I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute,” I say, trying to make my voice sound as normal as I can.
“You sure everything’s okay?” I can hear the confusion and concern in his voice.
The tears fall harder. My chest aches under the pressure of not allowing myself to make a sound as they do.
“Yes, all good. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Well, all right then, if you’re sure.” He doesn’t sound convinced but leaves it at that. “Call me if you need help.”
“Will do.”
When hell freezes over, that is. I need to pull myself together because I need to get Kyle gone. I hate needing help, and I know I shouldn’t be here on my own, but I need him to leave. Before I break down and do something really stupid. Something I’ll regret forever.
More than I regret this morning’s lapse in judgment. I can’t believe it took the lack of protection to call a halt to intimacy that should never have happened in the first place. Sheri would kill me if she knew what I’ve done.
I could ask her for help, but she has the kids, and I don’t want to inconvenience her. I’ll figure something out. Hearing Kyle still moving around my bedroom, I know it’s a matter of time before he’s banging on the door again. So I gingerly lift my ass off the floor, flush the toilet again, and wash my face to try erase any sign of my tears.
The first thing I notice when I open the door is that he’s made the bed and put Donkey in the middle of it. My heart melts a little at the sight. I can’t help it. He’s always thoughtful, helpful, considerate, and a million other things that women look for in a man. That they’d kill to have in a partner.
Sure, I hated that he sometimes had to be gone for long stretches, and I wasn’t allowed to know where he went; that his job was dangerous, and I never knew if our goodbyes would be the last time I saw him again.
And I saw what Sheri and some of the other wives when through when they lost teammates, colleagues, and friends. But I was willing to take my chances just to have him in my life. I would have suffered through losing him in the line of duty, knowing I’d been loved by the best. And I really believed he loved me. Until the day he decided he didn’t want me in his life. That I was a liability. That I “tied him down and caused him to worry when his mind should be on his mission.”
As if it were just yesterday, I feel the pain slice through me again.
His words bounce around my head, making it ache more. And also more grateful than ever he didn’t have a condom handy earlier. I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if he did. God, how could I be so stupid.
Coffee.
That’s what I need. I can’t remember when last I had a hit of caffeine, and I’m suddenly desperate for some. Letting myself out of the bathroom, I make my way down the hall to the kitchen. I wonder where Kyle disappeared to. He’s awfully quiet. I’d expected to find him hovering when I came out of the bathroom.
When the open-plan kitchen comes into view, I catch my breath at the sight of a shirtless Kyle standing at my stove, a wooden spoon in his hand, a pan on the burner. Just then, he turns and gives me that smile that has made me weak in the knees since the first time I saw it.
“Hey. I was about to come check on you. You had me worried.”
“I’m fine. Would love a cup of coffee though.”
“Coming right up then. Grab a seat. Your omelet is almost done.”
My mouth waters at his words. Come to think of it, I can’t remember when last I had anything substantial to eat either. He places a cup in front of me, and the smell of the coffee hits me. I inhale deeply, loving the aroma of my particular blend.
It isn’t long before Kyle places two plates on the breakfast bar, and we tuck into the food. I bite back a moan of pleasure as the taste of the omelet hits my tongue. I’d forgotten how good he is at cooking.
When we’re done eating, he clears the dishes away and tidies the kitchen as I sip my coffee, watching him move around the small space, completely at ease. Deciding to go make myself comfortable in the living room, I stand up too quickly, and my knees buckle. Kyle’s lightning-quick reflexes save me from face-planting on the tiled floor.
I allow myself a moment to soak in the feel of his arms around me before I step back. Instead of letting me go as I’d expected him to do, he tightens his arms.
“Give me a second. Let me hold you a little longer.”
“Kyle, I –”
With a sigh, he drops a kiss on the top of my head, then murmurs, “You know, the guys aren’t the only ones who missed you.”
An anger unlike any I’ve experienced washes through me, and just like that, I’m mad all over again. Mad at him for hurting me. Mad at myself for being weak when it comes to this man.
Just. Plain. Mad.
Jerking back out of his arms, I glare up at him. “You don’t get to say that to me. You threw the right to back in my face five years ago when you packed your shit and left without so much as a backward glance.”
“Leila, sweetness –”
“No.” I make a chopping motion through the air, as if the mere act will cut off the flow of his words. “I asked you the other day, and now I’m telling you, stop calling me that,” I shout.
The shock on his face would be funny if I weren’t so pissed off.
“Leila, you have every right to be angry, but give me a chance to try and explain why I did what I did.”
“Oh, you had a chance already without giving me the same courtesy. Now you get to listen to what I have to say.” I have to stop for a moment. My head is pounding, and I’m breathing like I’ve run a marathon.
“Do you know — or even care — that I got sick after you left? I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, lost more weight than I could afford to because on the odd occasion that I managed to get something down it didn’t stay down.
“Then I accidentally discovered that despite cutting me off cold, you were still calling and visiting Sheri to make sure she and the boys were doing okay. I get the honor code you SEALs have. I do. But do you have any idea how deep that cut? Any fucking clue? Do you even care ? It almost ended Sheri and me, at a time when I needed her most.
“So, not only did you throw me away, but then you almost tanked the second most important relationship in my life. Sheri was the one person who gave me a reason to live, and you just about ripped that away from me too.”
Kyle’s standing, staring at me like I’ve just ripped his heart out, but I’m on a roll. It’s likely to be my only opportunity to tell him how I feel, so I’m going to let him have it with both barrels. “Thankfully, we got through it, but it was the worst time of my life. First, we lost John. Then you tore my heart right out of my chest and stomped on it like it meant nothing to you.”
At this point, those fucking annoying tears are back, but I’m determined to finish this.
“And if it wasn’t devastating enough losing you, when you left, you took all the guys with you. People who’d been like brothers to me cut me out of their lives because you did, and they were showing their loyalty to you – their blood brother.
“You broke me when you left, Kyle. There were days I wanted to die — more days than I care to count. But somehow, I managed to make it through. To piece myself back together. And now I have no intention of allowing you back into my life — to give you another opportunity to do it again. I am not your plaything to pick up and put down when you’re tired of playing house.”
At this point I have to stop to catch my breath. I’m out of air from yelling at him, and my head is pounding. But, dear God, I feel so much better for it. Despite the renewed thumping in my head, I feel a strange kind of peace settle over me for finally having said what’s been in my heart all these years.
Kyle’s standing with a hand gripping the back of his neck. “Leila, I – Jesus.” He stands there for a moment, still looking shocked. “I had no idea.”
“No, you didn’t. Because you didn’t care enough to ask. You were more concerned about a dead man’s widow than the woman who would have done anything for you had you only asked.”
“Sweetness –”
Hearing his old nickname for me once more, after I’ve repeatedly asked him not to, finally pushes me right over the edge.
Shutting him down, I say, “You know what, Kyle? I’m done – done talking, done grieving a man still alive and one hundred percent done with your bullshit. Do me a favor and get the hell out of my house. And my life while you’re at it.”
At first, it looks like he’s going to argue, but then he seems to think better of it. Stalking over to the breakfast bar, he puts on his shirt, then grabs his keys and cell phone before letting himself out of my apartment. When the door closes quietly behind him, I shuffle back to my bed, curl myself around the giant stuffed donkey, and give in to yet another bout of tears.
God, I’m so sick of crying.