Because of You: A Loveswept Contemporary Military Romance (28 page)

She’d been weak and afraid to drop that barrier between them, just like she always was when it came to that stupid scar.

“You, my dear, are an idiot,” Laura said to her from across the table.

Of course, she was an even bigger idiot for sharing what had happened with Laura. Now she was never going to hear the end of it.

“Wow, that’s something I usually say to you when we talk about your divorce,” Jen said, cradling her coffee in both hands. It was the only source of warmth she could hold on to. Hence, the emergency coffee trip first thing in the morning. Jen hadn’t even bothered to hide any of the details. She’d told her friend everything.

“We’re not talking about me today, we’re talking about you. And it’s your issues that are keeping you from having a real relationship with someone who cares for you,” Laura said as she pinned Jen with a hard look over the edge of her coffee cup.

“Well, how do you really feel? ’Cause I’m completely in the mood to be beaten about the head, neck, and shoulders with your opinion.”

Laura laughed. “At least your sense of humor isn’t dead,” she said. “Look. I love you. You’re the sister I never had. I’ve known both you and Shane for years. He doesn’t deserve to have your hang-ups thrown at him like this. And you’re better than that.”

“So much for understanding,” Jen muttered.

“I do understand. I get it. You’re short a breast. I was there, remember? I held your hair when you were throwing up and I held your hand the first time you looked at the scar. I do understand. You’re alive because you made that choice. You keep telling everyone else that it’s okay not to be okay every once in awhile. So why don’t you take your own advice?”

“Laura, we were having sex and he wanted me to take my top off. It was the biggest buzz kill I’ve ever felt.”

“You already showed it to him. What’s the difference? You were turned on. He was turned on. Let him see it and feel it through a sexual haze of lust and desire. What’s the real problem here?”

Jen opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. “I can’t. Yes, he’s seen it, but it’s a whole different ball game to get fully naked in front of him. I want to feel sexy around him, not like something is missing. And I wouldn’t have been able to relax at all.”

“You don’t know that. You didn’t even try.”

Jen ignored her and drove on, letting everything out. “Now he’s not talking to me. He called Carponti to come get him today rather than ride into work with me.”

“Do you blame him? Jen, hon, you left him with blue balls last night.”

Jen’s horrified laugh escaped before she could slap her hand over her mouth to stop it. “This really isn’t about his balls. Blue or otherwise.”

“No, it’s not. I guarantee you, he’s not pissed about the coitus interruptus. He’s hurt about your lack of
trust
.”

Jen closed her eyes and took a sip of her coffee, letting the liquid burn down her throat slowly as she absorbed Laura’s words. Shane’s whispered plea burned in her memory.
Trust me with that
.

“I trust him.” But she hadn’t. Not when it had really mattered.

“Not enough for him. Shane defines trust as watching his back in a firefight. Keeping your shirt on was like telling him you might not fire if you had to.”

Reality of what she’d lost crept in, closing off her throat. “I can’t fix this, can I?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to talk to Shane about that. I think you’re going to have to work on that trust thing. I’m pretty sure it’s a deal breaker for him.”

Jen sighed, wishing she was dealing with something easier. Like maybe a root canal. Or a Pap smear. But this?

This was hard.

This was not something she was going to be able to just decide to do. It involved changing years’ worth of habits. Years’ worth of seeing herself a certain way and still pretending everything was fine.

Everything was not fine.

It wasn’t fine because she wasn’t fine.

She was broken.

Flawed.

Damaged.

She didn’t know how to trust someone to look at her and not see that. How could she, when it was all she saw when she looked in the mirror? But the alternative was losing Shane.

Somehow, she had to find a way to walk through the fire and trust him. She needed to fix this.

The question was, how?

* * *

“Sarn’t G! Got an emergency here.” Carponti raced into the PT room, ignoring the protests from the Dee Snyder look-alike.

The minute Shane saw the look on his friend’s face, panic curled in his guts.

Carponti jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Osterman. Dude is barricaded in his room and won’t come out. Supposedly he has a gun, or a knife or something. The kid finally just started talking through his door, and he’s been asking the MPs what the point of it all is.”

They raced out of the hospital, all the while Shane praying that it wasn’t too late. As Carponti helped him into the truck, Shane kept on thinking that this was his last chance. If he screwed this up, Osterman died.

Goddamn it, he was not burying another soldier.

The parking lot of the medical hold barracks was blocked off. Carponti pulled his
truck up onto the grass and helped Shane out of the cab. Three police cars created a barrier between the building and the small group of people outside. Shane thought he saw Becky, Osterman’s fiancée, in the crowd but he wasn’t sure and he didn’t have time to check because Randall broke away from the military police, his mouth pressed into a tight, humorless line. “You’re not authorized to be here.”

“And you can pound sand,” Shane snarled. He pushed around the lieutenant only to have Randall step in front of him again.

“What part of what I said don’t you understand?” Randall asked, holding a manila folder to his chest.

“The pound sand part, obviously,” Carponti said from behind Shane. “Oh wait, that was your line.”

“Move, Lieutenant. Because I am getting up those stairs.”

“You’re not on duty, Sergeant. That soldier is attempting suicide to get out of having to accept responsibility for losing night vision goggles.”

Shane lunged up from his chair and grabbed the front of Randall’s uniform. He kept his voice low. Low enough that even Carponti couldn’t hear. “I don’t care who your father is or who you’ve jerked off to remain an officer after you killed two of our boys, but listen to me and listen to me well. I will tear your fucking heart out if you don’t get the hell out of my way.”

“That’s communicating a threat. Violation of Article 134 of the Uniformed Code of Military—”

Randall was ripped from Shane’s grip suddenly. Carponti had his fist wrapped tight in the LT’s uniform, and he marched him backward until his back collided with one of
the squad cars. The little brown-haired soldier from physical therapy—Kristin—came around from the other side, wearing an MP brassard and a concerned smile. If Shane hadn’t seen her every day for weeks on end, he’d never have known that a prosthetic foot filled her left boot. Her partner, a heavyset guy who looked like he might have been Samoan, circled the car, his palm resting near the butt of his weapon.

“Kristin, can you help me out for a sec?” Carponti asked. “I think this lieutenant’s got a problem with his driver’s license. And you know, it’s so hard to get troops to do the right thing when their officers don’t do it themselves.”

“Sure, Sarn’t C. This is the guy you were telling me about? The one who’s been fishing without a license, too?”

“That’s the one.” Carponti smiled at Randall and patted his chest, smoothing the ruffled uniform. “You wouldn’t hit a girl with one foot, would you? Now be a good lieutenant and show the young MPs here your license and registration so she can see what she needs to verify.”

Randall attempted to bluster his way out of the conversation but the big MP blocked his escape.

“That was easy.” Carponti walked back toward Shane, who sat dumbfounded. “What? I took a play from you and made up some bullshit to get him out of the way. Kristin has been listening to me bitch about Randall for a couple weeks now. Glad she played along. That could have been awkward, to say the least.”

“Wasn’t one of the females in PT going to file a complaint against you?” Shane asked.

“The Nub talked her out of it. Now, where were we? I’ve got the master key to the
barracks room, by the way.” Carponti called over one of the MP sergeants. “Hey, Sarn’t Jack, any problem with us going up there?”

Sarn’t Jakelov frowned and looked between Shane and Carponti. “Not supposed to. But I’m thinking I might have something else going on that keeps me from stopping you.”

“How do you know all of these people?” Shane asked in amazement. He’d known Carponti was good under pressure, but this was unprecedented, even for him.

“Jake lives upstairs from my apartment. He filled me in on the situation before I came and got you.”

“Do you know everyone on Fort Hood?”

Carponti didn’t smile. “Almost.” They stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Shane swore, long and colorful, when he realized how futile their mission was. He’d forgotten about the goddamned stairs. Carponti groaned and rolled his eyes. “Oh great. Guess this means I get to carry your heavy ass up the stairs? You can bet it isn’t going to be the princess carry.”

In the end, Carponti wrapped his arms around Shane’s waist and kept most of the weight on Shane’s left leg, the one that Jen had told him was the closest to being healed. Between Shane holding himself up with the rails and Carponti’s assistance, they managed to get him up the stairs to the second floor. Carponti went back for the wheelchair, then helped Shane into it.

“This is all on you, man.” He handed Shane the master key and waited at the top of the stairs. “But I’ve got your back if you need me.”

Fuck, he wished Carponti had cracked a joke.

Shane rolled down the darkened corridor alone. The smell of mildew and old cigarettes permeated the air in the hallway. The only light flickered from one working overhead fluorescent bulb and the daylight filtering in from the dirty windows at either end. This was worse, way worse, than clearing a building by himself. Shane held his breath and knocked on the door.

“Osterman? Hey, man, it’s Shane. Sarn’t G? Can I come in?”

No sound acknowledged Shane’s words.

“Just want to talk, buddy. I’m going to open the door, okay? Just me.” Shane figured that the silence meant agreement. He sucked in a deep breath and slid the master key into the lock, pushing the door open slowly, surprised when there was no resistance.

Osterman’s room was immaculate. Shane had half expected to find it trashed, destroyed in some kind of tantrum with mattresses and furniture blocking the door. Nothing was out of place. Not even the soldier’s toothbrush, which was stacked neatly in a little black holder by the small sink.

Osterman sat in the bottom of his closet. He just sat there, showing no recognition when Shane rolled into the room. He had no weapon. He was just alone and distraught, an orange bottle of white pills near his hip.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?”

Osterman looked up and Shane saw a lost little boy. A kid who’d gone off to war and had seen things that no one should ever see no matter how many years they walked the earth. Shane could lie to himself and pretend he’d dealt with everything he’d seen and done, but sometimes he still couldn’t sleep at night.

“He was my best friend and he’s just gone,” Osterman whispered, his voice flat,
dull. Like he’d given up and was just waiting for his turn to check out. Shane glanced at the pills, wishing he knew how many were in there and what they were. “One minute he’s there and the next I’m covered in his blood and bone.”

“How long did you know him?” Shane asked. He’d known Osterman since he was a private. How was it that his buddy had gotten killed and Shane didn’t know about it? Who the hell was he talking about?

“Man, we grew up together. Since kindergarten. Same school, everything. We went through basic training together.” Osterman rubbed his hands over his eyes, rimmed red and swollen.

“Who are you talking about?”

“Jimmy Peters. He died when our chow hall got blown up when we first got to Iraq.”

“I didn’t know you and Peters were close. Why didn’t you say anything? Shit, man, you’ve been carrying this around for months.”

“Because we were all busy. I just shoved it away and stayed focused on the mission. I didn’t want to let anyone down. But now? Now all I do is think about Jimmy and the rest of the guys we lost.” He swiped his forearm across his eyes. “His mom calls me still, all the time, and I— Man, I have no idea what to say to her.”

“Do you think she blames you?” Shane asked quietly, his voice steady and strong, barely controlling the chaos inside him.

“Heck, no. She keeps telling me she’s so grateful that one of her boys is okay, that she didn’t lose both of us. She tells me that I can stay with her, whenever I want.”

“Sounds like an awesome lady.”

Osterman smiled. “She is. She took me in a lot when I was a kid. I always stopped by Jimmy’s on the way home from school. Mrs. Peters always fed me because she knew my mom didn’t always remember to keep food in the house.”

Shane remembered many nights when he’d gone to bed hungry for that very same reason. In Iraq, he’d listened to Osterman talk about how he and Becky were going to have a different life than the one he’d had growing up. How his kids were never going to go to bed hungry. Now, though, Shane wondered if Osterman remembered any of that or if all he could think about was his friend’s death.

“I feel like she calls me because she wants to hold on to Jimmy. Tells me how glad she is that at least I’m okay. It’s like she wants me to replace Jimmy, though, and I can’t do that.”

Shane wanted to chase away the demons that tormented Osterman. He wished he could take all of this kid’s pain into himself, so that he could grow up like a normal person would, not some scarred veteran carrying the ghosts of a war with him for the rest of his life.

“What would Jimmy want you to do?” When was he going to get the words right? This small talk was killing him, like taking screws to his soul.

“He’d kill me if I didn’t talk to his mom.”