Chapter 47 Confessions
confessions
ROXANNE
His chest is still heaving beneath mine, and neither of us says anything at first.
“Well,” he says, voice hoarse, “you are getting better and better at getting my attention.”
I chuckle and try to lift my head, but I feel boneless. “You’re lucky I didn’t break you.”
“Pretty sure you did.”
“You’re still breathing.”
“Barely.”
“I know … I think we’re in real trouble here.”
I was so sure of my answer before when Duke asked me if I was all in, but thinking about what comes “after” this moment now makes me shudder. What comes after this is separation and the gut-wrenching possibility that Duke and I can’t be together.
“We don’t have to think about it tonight,” Duke says with a yawn. I lift my head to look past him and see the clock on his nightstand. It’s almost 2 a.m.
“You need to get some rest,” I say. I can see that his eyelids are heavy, but a whimper at the door causes them to shoot back open.
“Better let him in,” I say, sitting up. “He’s been a very patient young man.”
“Poor guy,” Duke says, throwing back the covers and sliding out of bed.
I bite my lip and grin at his perfect ass until he puts his briefs back on. We get cleaned up and brush our teeth and then settled back in bed with Jameson tucked between us. I should be tired, but I’m still buzzing from the evening, and I lie curled up by Duke, watching him slowly nod off.
I’m memorizing the rise and fall of his chest, how long his eyelashes really are when his eyes are closed. The gentle rhythm of his breathing slowly lulls me to sleep.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been asleep when the bed jolts beneath me. My eyes grow wide as Duke’s body goes rigid, then thrashes, heat radiating off him like he’s part of the sun.
“No!” he cries. His head twists from side to side.
I don’t even have time to think about my pulse ticking up. Duke is having another tremor, but this time, I know what to do.
Jameson hops down off the bed as I slowly leave Duke’s side and begin to calmly call his name.
“Duke,” I say, turning on the nightstand lamp. “Duke.”
I call his name softly, but he’s still thrashing, calling out commands. I rush into the bathroom and get a cool cloth. He calls out for someone, his face twisting in anguish. I know I have to be patient.
“Wrong coordinates … it’s the wrong fucking building!” he shouts.
“Duke, you’re okay. I’m here. Duke … it’s not real. It’s just a dream.”
He’s panting, but at least he’s stopped punching the bed.
“Duke?”
Slowly he opens his eyes and sits up, grasping his chest. I approach only when I can see that he’s back with me now, in our bedroom and not fighting his endless war. He buries his face in his hands as I sit on the bed near him. I put the cloth on the back of his neck and his breathing slows.
“Roxanne?”
I wrap my arms around him, and he buries his face in my shoulder. “You’re okay. You’re safe. I’m here.”
What happens next, I’m not prepared for. He envelops me in his strong arms and then starts to shake uncontrollably.
“I’m sorry,” he gasps. “I can’t … I can’t stop it … I’m sorry—”
“Shhh,” I whisper, stroking his back, my voice low and steady. “Don’t apologize. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
A sob tears out of him and it’s the kind of crying that sounds like he’s kept a lid on this bottle for years. I hold him tighter, whispering his name as his grief pours out in waves. I don’t try to stop it. I don’t say a word because that might make him tuck it back in.
“Every time I close my eyes, I relive it … their faces … the smell of the diesel … the copper taste of blood in the air, the sound of Hassan calling my name, getting fainter and fainter.”
I swallow because I’m about to lose it. My heart is absolutely breaking for this man who is crying in my arms. This wild, beautiful man who is strong for everyone else around him is coming apart, and now I have to be strong for him.
“It’s okay. You’re home, with me, and I won’t let you go, okay?”
He nods and hugs me tighter. Eventually, his body begins to relax and his trembling slows. He pulls back, eyes bloodshot and glassy. He swipes at his face with the back of his hand.
“Christ,” he mutters. “That’s never happened before. That was embarrassing.”
I cup his warm face in my hands. “Listen to me. Do not be embarrassed. You’ve been holding onto this for so long. You need to get it out.”
He rubs his eyes. He goes quiet for a beat and then nods in agreement. I tilt my head and brush a damp strand of hair off his forehead.
“Do you want to sit outside and cool down again? Get some air?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
I grab the blanket off the end of the bed and throw it around his shoulders as we walk. The patio door slides open with a soft whoosh, and the night air kisses our skin, cool and quiet. We sit side by side on the same lounger. He doesn’t speak at first and I don’t push.
“Everything went sideways,” he says, breaking through the hum of crickets.
“The op?”
He nods once, jaw tightening.
“The intel was bad. We weren’t even supposed to be near that location. Stedman made the call, Topper, Hayamer, Thatcher and I followed orders.”
He clears his throat as he tries to get the words out. “We lost two men. One of them our interpreter, Hassan, who risked everything to help us, and … Hayamer. He was twenty-five.”
His gaze becomes unfocused as he stares out into the trees.
“Duke,” I say. “I’m so sorry.”
“When command started investigating, they needed someone to blame.” He swallows hard. “The intel failure went all the way up the chain, but that’s not how the military works. They needed a clean story.”
“Stedman?”
“Yeah. It was his op and they needed a scapegoat. Someone they could quietly shuffle out.”
“So you stepped in.”
He scratches his neck. “Yep. Told them I was the one who broke protocol, and they accepted it. They got their scapegoat while I got discharged. No court-martial, just a quiet end to my record. They scrubbed it to look like burnout.”
“And you gave up your career.” I feel like I’m going to sob now.
“I had to. Couldn’t let Stedman take the fall. Twenty-year man with a family. He deserved better than being hung out to dry for following bad intelligence. At least I had a place to come home to. A lot of vets don’t have that. A lot don’t even come home.”
Neither of us says anything for what seems like the longest time.
“Thank you for telling me, for talking about it,” I say.
He finally looks at me, his eyes glassy again. “I don’t talk about it because if I do … I have to admit how much I lost. How much I still carry.”
I reach for his hand and squeeze. “You didn’t lose everything.”
I stare at him for a beat. I can’t keep it inside anymore.
I knew the second he gave me the box of my favorite perfume.
My ex barely remembered my birthday, and Duke remembers every little thing.
And then, then watching him fight his demons tonight, I realized that I want to fight right alongside him.
“I love you, Duke.”
He turns to me, gaze flicking over my face like he’s stunned. “Say that again. Please tell me I didn’t imagine it.”
A watery laugh escapes me. “I said I love you.”
His eyes widen. “You don’t know what that does to me. I love you too. So damn much it hurts.”
“And we didn’t even have to test our love at IKEA.”
Duke lets out a ragged laugh. “Good thing. I can field-strip a rifle blindfolded, but assemble a dresser with those instructions? That would’ve broken me.”
I giggle and he pulls me in, pressing his forehead to mine. “We’ll stick to pre-assembled furniture. Less chance of losing each other that way.”
I laugh too, softer this time. War nearly broke him, but love is mending what it can. Eventually, we make it back to bed, the night settles and we drift to sleep—tangled together, warm against the dark.