Hell Bent (10 page)

M
y cell rings
, and I see Cam is calling me.

“Hey,” I answer.

“Hi,” he says, and I can hear there is something wrong. Cam is always innocently cheerful, even naïve in his optimism.

“What’s up?” I offer.

“Milly had lymphoma as a kid,” he says in a tight voice.

I expel a breath quietly in relief. Obviously, Susie has gotten through to Milly, and she is doing the right thing.

“I know,” I respond.

“You knew?” his voice is incredulous.

I prevaricate quickly, “I just found out from Susie.”

“Susie? Oh, yes, I suppose she would know, those two having been friends for such a long time,” he rationalizes to himself.

“So, how do you feel?” I ask.

“What do you think? It scares the shit out of me!” His voice is alarmed with concern. “What if it comes back?”

I am dumbstruck. The minx! She only tells him half the story. That’s when I remember—Milly doesn’t know what her mother or the general know. They are keeping that quiet, and only Susie suspects. This bothers me, but there is nothing more I can do. At least the poor guy isn’t walking into this blind.

“If Milly develops it again, you will love her, just as you do now, and you will take care of her. It’s the code, man…just like it was one of our guys. We take our chances and we have each other’s backs.”

“Yeah, you’re right, of course,” Cam agrees. “But if it comes back, we wouldn’t be able to have kids. It’s not that it would matter that much to me either way, I don’t think. Never really thought about it that much, I guess.”

I feel for the poor son-of-a-bitch. “You could adopt or something,” I add in desperation. I want Cam to be happy, and I can tell that Milly does it for him. He deserves happiness in whatever measure he can get.

“Yeah, I guess. I’m not giving her up, Bryce,” Cam says with fervor.

“No reason you have to, man,” I assure him. “She’s yours for life.”

“The girls have been setting up the details,” he goes on to say. “Milly wants this really dinky chapel place, and we can’t invite a lot of people. I’m not sure I care at this point, I just kind of always thought my wedding would be this huge affair, given my father is who he is,” he is saying, bordering on petulance.

I roll my eyes and thank the girls for this small blessing. I am not a fan of big events, and I am willing to bet that I see Susie’s hand in this. “Tough break,” I feign support for my friend.

“Not what I expected,” he says, and I’m a little surprised how whiny Cam can sound. This is new to me and doesn’t sound like the guy I’ve always known. I suspect he’s not all that upset about his wedding being small. It’s just all this news about Milly that makes him upset at everything.

“It’s not the end of the world,” I point out, flicking a hanger off my bed and stretching. This sounds like it might become a long talk.

“Anyway, man, we need to get fitted for our tuxes and go over the details. Can you meet me for a fitting and we’ll have a beer afterwards tomorrow afternoon?”

I’m delighted—not going to be the long heart-to-heart I was dreading. “No problem, buddy. Same as usual?”

Cam agrees, and I click off the phone and begin thinking of the cream-puff. More and more, I like everything I discover about her. Maybe my luck is finally changing.

S
he answers
on the first ring.

“Susie?”

“Hi,” comes her cheery response.

I love life through her sunny, albeit deeply brown, eyes. “Thank you,” I say meaningfully.

She knows what I’m saying. “It had to be done,” she agrees and my heart beats harder knowing she is a sensible sort of girl.

“Are you busy?”

“Not really. Just got home from work and doing a bit of laundry,” she responds. “Why?”

“Want to get together?” Why is it that those words have such a powerful effect on me? I feel like a school kid in his first crush.

“I’d love to. What did you have in mind?” She is enthusiastic, and I have a feeling she is getting the same sort of rush I am.

“Let me surprise you. I’ll pick you up in an hour. Dress casually,” I add in and wait to see what she says. I get my reward.

“See you then!”

B
ryce’s knock
at the door startles me, even though I am waiting for him. It seems like a tap on my heart, and suddenly, nothing in the world counts more than he does. I open the door to find him standing there with opened arms and a waiting kiss. I snuggle against his chest—it seems the world begins and ends here.

“Let’s go, grab your jacket.” He releases me and pats me on the behind.

I love it!

W
e head out of town
, and as the buildings fall behind us and the trees punctuate fields, tucked in for the winter, I can feel myself relax. Bryce is playing
Massive Attack
on the radio, and I settle back against the leather. I love the power of his Explorer and how it sits high above the road’s surface. This feels so much better than my ratty VW, but right now, until my student loans are paid off, this is the best I can do.

The roadway twists gently over small hills, and I notice how the leaves have just barely begun to change colors. I muse that the city is warmer and always a week or so behind the country. Flocks of geese fly overhead, heading for their winter residence deep in the south. I feel a sense of peace I’ve not known for a long time, and I’m loving it.

“Where are we going?” I ask, even though I don’t particularly care. Anywhere with Bryce is wonderful.

“Just a favorite fishing spot,” he fills in the answer. “I’ve been going there ever since I was a kid, and it always makes me feel good to be there. I wanted to show it to you,” he adds and his words make me feel especially warm inside.

As we approach the lake, squirrels scamper off the sandy two-track, bent on finding late season nuts to store for their winter. I haven’t been in the country for a long time, and it’s striking how nice this feels. I kick off my shoes, put down the window, and stick my bare feet out into the fresh air with all the aplomb of a twelve-year-old.

Bryce seems to think this is cute because he reaches over and lightly pinches me on the arm. I feel like the world is not such a bad place, at least for now.

We pull over into an area that is somewhat fenced with felled logs, indicating it’s a parking place. There is a rough-hewn picnic table nearby beneath a canopy of shade trees. You can hear crickets beneath the fallen leaves, a sure sign that Fall has begun and Winter is not far behind.

Bryce kisses me and then climbs out to open my door. While I am putting on my shoes, he pulls a tartan throw and a bag with a couple of boxed lunches out of the back, and we opt to sit on the leaves near the water.

Bryce sits down and then pulls me down to sit between his splayed legs. “Here, I want you right where I can find you,” he says, and I begin to blush. “You’re cute when you blush,” he says, chuckling and folding his arms around me.

I lean back against him and can feel his breath on my skin. It tingles the hair in my ear canal and this is very, very sensuous. I can tell my nipples are hardening.

We talk about things in general for a while, memories from childhood, well, more his than mine. I don’t like to talk about my own. He tells me about growing up in a small town where everyone knew everyone and a kid couldn’t get away with anything. Parents were always bound to find out. He is an only child and often wonders about what it would be like to have siblings. His mother is still living, but his father is dead. He isn’t elaborating on this, and I do not want to press him. It’s obvious he has some sore spots in his past, just like I do.

Bryce puts his hands beneath my bottom and hefts me up to standing, joins me, and then pulls me toward the lake. He picks up some stones and is challenging me to a stone-skipping contest, but I know better than to get involved in something I know nothing about. I rethink this a bit as I realize it’s probably something he does exceptionally well and he would like to show off a bit. He does, I let him, and yes, he is very good at it. In fact, I think if stone-skipping is something you could make a living at, Bryce would be filthy rich.

I begin to see him with different eyes. I think he will make an awesome dad someday. He is so loving and kind, protective, and yet fun to be with. Why am I thinking about this? I never think about kids, they’re not in my future. Is Bryce? Could I see him in my future? If he is, could he be happy without being a dad? Why is it that I don’t want kids? I give this some thought and decide it’s too big of an issue to think about on a fun day like this. I’ll think about this another time, when I’m alone.

Bryce skips another stone, and it’s a winner. I count at least ten skips. Now this is getting to the competitive side of me, and I can’t stand it any longer. I head over to the side where there are more stones to choose from. I take my time, finding one with just enough flatness and just enough heft…there it is, the perfect stone!

For another advantage, I decide the rules don’t include
where
you skip from, so I’m going to find a lower place closer to the water. This, combining with my shorter height, should give me the advantage I need.

I finally spot the ideal location—a bit of a dip in the shoreline, framed by a fallen tree that traps the sand from filling in. For even more advantage, I slide off my shoes and scrunch my toes into the muck so I’m the closest to the ground possible.

“Do you always go to such lengths to win?” Bryce asks.

I smile and nod. “It’s how I earn my reputation,” I point out saucily.

He laughs and bows, waving an arm as a gentleman does to tell a lady to proceed, and I settle in for what will be my supreme annihilation of his record.

I roll the stone between my fingers, feeling for just the right indent where I can finger grip and support my middle finger that will actually do the trajectory. Once I have it, I pull my arm back…look for the spot with the least interfering current…grip the stone in the perfect manner…let it fly…and promptly fall forward into the frigid water! I am so unprepared for this that I sputter and fight for my footing in the muck. I can hear my name being called through the gurgling bubbles emanating from my own mouth, assuming this is Bryce calling to me.

My foot becomes lodged beneath the lower part of the log I was standing behind, and now I’m really beginning to panic. With my other foot, I’m searching for solid purchase, but the muck seems to be pulling me deeper. I can feel the air dwindling from my startled lungs.

Suddenly, I am rising out of the water. Bryce’s arms are under mine, pulling me upward and against his chest. I sputter, gasping for air. I am wiping mud and weeds out of my eyes and nostrils, crying at the same time.

Bryce has me on high ground now, is grabbing the throw we were to going to sit on, and is tearing off my wet clothes. I open my mouth to protest, but rationale sinks in, and I know it’s too cold outdoors to do anything else. He wraps me in the throw and carries me to the Explorer, opening the back and depositing me quickly in its rear area before jumping out and swiftly starting the motor and kicking on the heat and fan. He is now back, toweling me with his shirt, muttering my name and how foolish the cream-puff is, or something like that. He seems almost frantic in his ministrations, not really himself. I’m fine, I want to tell him. Cold, but fine, and am amazed at how he is panicking.

He takes me now against his chest, wrapping himself around me as much as he can make himself stretch. His hands are moving up and down my body in an effort to stimulate the blood flow and help me warm up. While I want to tell him to stop because he is over-reacting, I love the feeling of him all over me and don’t want it to stop…ever. Why is he acting this way? It’s hardly like I was going to pull a Titanic on him. Sure, I might have a lung full of water, but I am not freezing to death. What’s going on?

Finally, I decide it’s enough, and I put my hand over his and lift it to my mouth. “It’s okay, Bryce. I’m fine. I’m warming up. You can relax now.”

There is a faraway look in his eyes and I can see he really isn’t with me.

“Bryce?” I repeat. “Bryce?”

Something snaps, and suddenly, the spark comes back into his eyes. He looks at me, and I can tell he is really, really looking at me. He takes my face in his hand and tilts it upward, kissing me. His lips are warm and soft and feel so very, very natural against mine. I am lost in their tenderness, and his hand is on the back of my neck, pressing me against his face.

His mouth moves over my lips and then on to my cheeks and the side of my temple. His hands begin to roam down my back, pressing me against his chest. The kisses become more frantic, and his hand has now found its way beneath the blanket and is stroking my skin. Long, sweeping strokes from my shoulder to the base of my spine…and then lower.

His head moves down, and he lifts my breast and puts his mouth over my nipple, sucking gently and kissing the tender skin in circles. I hear a low moan emanating from his throat as his kisses stray lower and lower. With one hand, he parts my legs and then lays me backward, shielding me from the light with the bulk of his body and the throw he has over me.

His mouth moves lower, and with a start, I feel his lips sucking the petals of my pussy. His tongue snakes out and begins a rhythmic lapping and sucking that sends chills throughout my body. I’ve never felt anything like this and I find…I love it. I feel embarrassed because I’m still reeking of the muck, but he seems unbothered. If anything, he is almost lapping me clean, claiming me in the most intimate sense I can imagine.

He is moaning my name, over and over, and I find I’m excited by the sound. I can feel the exquisite blossom of sensitivity increasing, and I lift my hips to take his mouth more deeply inside. He wraps both hands beneath my buttocks and lifts my hips up so that he can suckle upon me more fervently. The sensation is so intoxicating that I begin to rotate my hips, wanting to light up more and more. When at last I explode, I fight to pull back from the over-sensitivity, but he won’t release me. His face is buried into me, inhaling me, kissing me. I feel as though I will pass out.

When at last I am still, he cradles me against him and just puts his chin over the top of my head. This is when I hear him whisper my name and the words I never thought I would hear from a man.

“I love you, cream-puff,” he whispers…so softly that I think I must be mistaking them.

I am still with the realization of what is happening, and he hugs me even tighter.

Eventually, I feel him relax, and I stretch a bit to find myself again. The vehicle windows are steamy, and I giggle as the idea of going parking in the middle of the day strikes me. I reach out with a fingertip and draw a heart in the steamed glass, putting his initials and mine within it. I’m surprised to see that the steam is not blocking the light; the light is now gone. We’ve been here so long that night has arrived.

Bryce lifts me and carries me from the back of the truck to the passenger seat, tucking the throw around me and aiming the heat vent directly upon me. He then positions himself behind the wheel, turns on the lights, and slides into gear.

I place my hand on his arm, stopping him for a moment. I look up into his face and ask quietly, “What was that?”

He says nothing and I wait. “Bryce, put it in park and talk to me.”

He obliges, and I wait a few moments before continuing.

“I was fine—cold, but fine. You went somewhere else, you weren’t with me. You completely over-reacted, as though it was someone else with you. What was that?” I ask him in a soft voice, careful not to break the tenderness of the atmosphere that surrounds us.

Eventually, he answers. “I can’t help it,” he begins. “On our last assignment, back in Baghdad, we were out in the field, going down this road, checking for IEDs. There were eight of us, with Cam up ahead, walking in front of the Jeep with a handheld monitor. The rest of us were in the truck.” Bryce’s voice had grown hoarse with the memory.

“Go on,” I urge gently. “Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t want to go into it, Susie. It’s still too fresh. An IED went off under the Jeep. I don’t even know where it came from. Cam’s handheld didn’t pick it up for some reason.” His voice is filled with anguish. “We all flew off, and I landed next to Chad, my buddy. He was covered in flames, much worse than I was. I rolled around as much as I could to extinguish the fire around me and crawled back to him. It was too late: he was almost gone. I tried telling him to hang on, that I would get a medic and he’d be fine. All Chad said was, ‘I’m cold…I’m so, so cold.’ It was so crazy—he was covered in flames, but right before he breathed his last breath, he was cold.”

The vision he is sharing with me is sinking in, and now I understand his behavior. He was having flashbacks. It wasn’t me, it was Chad’s dying he was seeing. All Bryce knew was that I was cold, the rest was his feeling of helplessness. I know this feeling—as a nurse you are often placed in a situation of not being able to help the patient.

Bryce’s experience was deep, though. If he is suffering from such severe flashbacks, I think to myself, he may need some help. Not from me, though…from someone who knows what they are doing.

I nod and pat his arm. “Will you take me home now, Bryce?” I ask gently, and he shifts once again into drive and circles out of the parking lot and back onto the main road. We drive in silence by mutual consent, and once we get to my apartment, he grabs the closest parking available. He gets out and surveys the neighborhood for anyone watching, and once he feels the coast is clear, he lifts me effortlessly, swathed in the throw, and quickly takes two steps at a time to get me up to my apartment and inside the door. He places me on the sofa, and I tell him I need to shower. He nods and goes into the bathroom, the shower knobs squeaking to let me know he is turning the water on for me.