Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Angus
S tretching myself awake, flashes of last night play like a movie on my still closed eyelids. After rushing to my room to get protection, we made love all night. Well, not all night long.
Shortly after midnight, Sawyer woke after a leaky diaper left him wet and uncomfortable. Mia, in my T-shirt, and I, in my sweatpants, worked in tandem as she changed and cleaned him, and I changed the sheets. His fire truck bed is cute and all, but damn if it being so low to the ground doesn’t kill the back and knees when making it.
Sawyer went back to bed easily and was fast asleep two seconds after his mama laid him down. That wasn’t the case for the two of us.
We had worked up quite an appetite and needed a snack. Over the last week, we discovered our mutual love for peanut butter, so we grabbed the jar and two spoons and dug in for some much-needed protein to get us through the night.
Once we were back in bed, I put her right where she belonged, in my arms.
Spooning her, holding on tight so she didn’t slip away, I whispered into her hair, “We make a pretty good team.”
Her body tensed as she fidgeted. Disappointed by her reaction, but not surprised, I lightly squeezed her back to my front even tighter, not letting her out of my grasp. I didn’t let her distract me from what I had to do before things went any further.
“Shh.... You know it’s true.” This time, I kissed her head.
“Angus—”
“I don’t want to hear the reasons we can’t be together. I don’t care about your secrets. And I don’t care what Daisy or the rest of the family think. Shit, Daisy already knows this is much more than a fake relationship. You and I belong together, Mia. You know it. I know it. So, let’s get over our shit and do what makes us happy. What do you say?”
“You can’t be serious.”
“As a heart attack.”
She shifted in the bed to turn toward me, so I released my hold on her. Her eyes were glossy, yet she somehow looked elated that I wanted to be with her, scared shitless at the same time. She didn’t speak, instead taking me in as if waiting for me to drop the other shoe. And damnit if that wasn’t what I did next.
I told her about that day in Afghanistan. About the mission the five of us were given to secure a high value target who had been supplying weapons that were being used against not only us, but also the civilians in the region.
As hard as it was, I recounted the worst day of my life. I explained how we gained entry into the compound, and how Chris took a bullet to the leg as soon as we did. Instinct told me to rush to my best friend, but my training kicked in, reminding me that the medic was right behind me and better equipped for the job. I continued as planned around the walls of the enclosure we had been studying for the last week. I let the rage consuming me after watching my brother in arms fall wounded fuel my determination to not only hit our target, but to make sure the asshole on the other end of the gun never saw another sunrise.
Seeing red, I ordered the other three into positions where they were protected by what little shelter we could find while I ran into a barrage of gunfire. I didn’t stop firing until the shooter was dead, along with the supplier we were sent there for.
There was no need to go into much more detail. When I was awarded the CMH, the story of what happened on the mission became public knowledge. She knows I was shot in three places that day. Her fingertips have traced my scars, her lips have kissed them. According to the Army, I sacrificed myself to protect my fellow Marines and take down one of the biggest weapons suppliers in the war.
Nowhere does it say I chose the mission over my best friend. Over Mia’s brother. But I tell her all of that.
That by the time I got back to him, it was too late. Little did I know, but Doc had taken a bullet to his arm. Both he and Chris were bleeding out. Chris was fighting to stay conscious, but he made me promise to take care of his sister. It was the easiest promise I ever made, but the last one I ever wanted to make. Richards and Cano carried Doc. I had Chris, and Nibbs carried our shit as we made the mile long trek to our evac team. They worked on Chris in our rescue vehicle all the way back to base, but he had already lost too much blood. The citation doesn’t say that I held him as he took his last breath. That they had to pull him from my arms because I refused to let him go.
Swiping a tear from her cheek, I continue. “Goof, when I promised your brother I would take care of you, I don’t think this,” I motioned between our naked bodies, “was what he meant. But I need you to know I would have taken care of you with or without my promise to him. Deep down, Chris knew how I felt about you. We didn’t discuss it, but he knew. There wasn’t anything about me he didn’t know. He saw the way I looked at you.”
She scooted closer to me, caressing my face with her hands.
“I need you to know my role in Chris’s death before we go any further. You deserve the truth, not the bullshit the president read the day he put that medal I never wanted around my neck. You deserve the choice to be with a man who could have saved your brother but chose not to.”
I waited for her to pull away.
Ask me to leave.
Anything but to lean forward and kiss me. To tell me it wasn’t my fault, as she wrapped her naked body around mine.
At first, I wasn’t sure she understood what I’d said. “Mia, did you hear me? I left him there.”
“I heard you.” She pressed her lips above my heart. “You were doing your job. It wasn’t your fault.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Angus, you can’t change what happened that day. I’m heartbroken that I lost my brother. My life will never be the same. But you came home.” Another kiss against my chest, where my heart is begging for her to listen to me. To understand that my action, or lack thereof, caused her heartbreak. But to no avail. “I’m glad you came home.”
Her words confused me.
Relieved me.
Broke me apart and put me back together again.
She wrapped me up in her love while I wept in her arms. She held me, telling me over and over that it wasn’t my fault.
It wasn’t my fault.
Once my tears subsided, she kissed every inch of my face before she climbed on top of me, telling me with her body that it wasn’t my fault and that she wasn’t going to run away. At least not because of this.
It was more than I deserved.
This morning as she got ready for work, I laid in bed and watched her go through her morning routine. She told me I was stupid, as she so often does, and stuck her tongue out at me. I didn’t care. I could gladly turn watching her do the most mundane tasks into a full-time job.
She also told me to stay in bed when I offered to help with Sawyer. Her reply was quick. Adamant. Almost as though she didn’t want Sawyer to realize I was here. Likely, so he didn’t get used to me being a part of their daily routine. After everything we shared last night, it stung, but I stayed in bed as requested.
They’ve been gone at least an hour, but I’m still between the sheets, my mind all over the place. Talking about the day I lost Chris made sleeping dangerous. Choosing to stay awake all night rather than drifting off and risking a nightmare. I tend to thrash in my sleep when I get trapped in one of those nightmares and I would never forgive myself if I hurt her. Granted I’ve never had anyone sleeping beside me during a nightmare, but I wasn’t taking that chance.
I’d also never talked about that day with anyone other than my therapist. Nor had I cried since the day they pulled me away from Chris. And I didn’t cry last night. I sobbed until I had nothing left in me.
She accepted me as I was, didn’t blame me, and didn’t walk away. But there’s no denying the look in her eyes when she kissed me goodbye this morning. Fear and sadness lingered behind her cerulean eyes. It was the same sorrow she wore when she took my hand and led me to the bedroom last night.
The ringing of my phone interrupts the barrage of thoughts and emotions threatening my sanity. Grateful for the distraction and to see it’s my brother on the other end, I answer.
“What’s up?” I answer, because Cal isn’t the type to call for a chat.
“You busy this morning?”
“Nope, not going into the bar till noon.”
“Meet me at the barn. I need to go for a ride.”
“See you in twenty.”
“Thanks.”
When Cal says he needs to ‘ go for a ride’ , it means he’s stressed out and needs to talk. I’m more than happy to talk about his problems. Anything to stop replaying the fear in Mia’s eyes when she left.
I heft my exhausted body out of my bed that still smells of her. I saunter to the spare bedroom where I’m staying, get dressed, brush my teeth and head to the kitchen, relieved to see she filled a thermos of coffee for me with a sticky note on it.
Thank you.
Thank you for what?
A nice roll in the hay? Telling her the truth about Chris? Or thank you for the place to stay?
Callen has the right idea. A ride is what I need to get my head straight.
Patting my pockets for my truck keys and coming up short, I look around the kitchen counter, finding them next to Mia’s ever growing to-do list. I’m not purposefully snooping when I read it. It’s her writing that calls to me. It’s rare you see a person’s handwriting, what with texting and technology, so seeing her writing draws me in. Anything and everything about this woman captivates me.
The list is your regular laundry list of things to do around the house, but at the very bottom she’s crossed out a line that says, Tell Angus about bar invite email . Below it, she’s added two words in all caps...
TELL HIM!
My heart plummets to my stomach. Nausea swirls in my gut. My mind races once again.
A small part of me is relieved she wants to move forward with our relationship. She wants me to know her truth. But the way those two words sit on the page makes me queasy. Not in her sweet swirling writing, but in harsh block letters written so hard she nearly ripped the paper. Not to mention the force she used to cross out the line above it.
My fear is short-lived, though. Whatever she has to tell me won’t matter in the least. She’s it for me. Let her tell me her worst so I can prove my loyalty and stick by her side.
Standing a little taller, I say out loud to the empty house, “Hit me with your best shot, Goof. I’m not going anywhere.”
Checking my email for an invitation, I see one sent from Mia’s work email two days ago that I somehow missed. An invite for a casual after work night of dancing at The Cross-Eyed Cricket next weekend. “Scratch it out all you want, woman. You aren’t going dancing with anyone, if it ain’t me. You better believe I’ll be there.”
We’re finally crossing the imaginary bridge we’ve always had between us. I never thought we’d get this far, but now that we have, I’m not giving her up for anyone or anything.
Tell me your secrets, Mia.
You don’t scare me.