Navy SEAL Romance: MC ROMANCE: Axel (Bad Boy Alpha Male Military Romance) (Military Suspense Protector Romance) (36 page)

The clenching, the screaming, the look of her gorgeous, sweat dripped curvy body on top me… that’s what did me in. With one more powerful thrust, I too was clenching and convulsing within myself.

“Damn!” I breathed out, my chest heaving powerfully.

*****

Holy shit he was a good lay. So good that I swear we must have done it three or four times that night. It was more than that though, I was starting to think.

It was more than just sexual attraction.

I hadn’t known him long, and it seemed surreal to have feelings of any sort about a man I hardly knew – especially one that I was supposed to know professionally as a patient.

But, they were definitely there, developing at the very least.

I sighed contently as I walked toward his kitchen to grab a glass of water. But, just as I passed in front of the front door, my foot hit a cardboard box full of stuff.

My brows contorted. I felt them twist in confusion as I bent down to investigate. I knew it was considered snooping, but it seemed like such an odd place for a box.

Hell, if it hadn’t had so much masculine stuff in it, I might have thought it was his ex-lover’s stuff or something. A box of things to be thrown out or picked up by someone he was no longer interested in; but that couldn’t be. It was a box of guy stuff – and him with a very familiar looking man.

I couldn’t place where I’d seen the man at first, but when I glanced through a few of the photos stuffed behind a couple of Boy Scouts, I read the name tag.

Benjamin Monroe.

It was Ben’s stuff.

“What’s all this?” I asked as soon as I heard him rounding the corner.

“Just stuff I’m throwing out…” he sighed. “No use for it.”

My head cocked to the side as I looked at him. “It’s Ben’s stuff – and pictures of the two of you.” The sadness in my voice was growing apparent. I knew I had to pull myself together or risk him shelling up almost immediately. “Why are you throwing it out?”

I couldn’t for the life of me understand what that meant; to throw out your best friend’s stuff… your dead best friend. What would that mean for him? Was he trying to move forward? Was he shutting it out? What was it exactly?

“I just don’t want that shit in my house,” he deflected once again.

“Come on, David. Stop. We were finally getting somewhere —“ but in an instant, he held his hand up to stop me and spoke over me.

“We’re getting nowhere if you don’t just understand that I don’t want to talk about this shit!”

I crossed my arms over my chest defensively and looked at him square in the face. My feet were planted firmly on the ground. I wasn’t going anywhere.

“David, you know you need to —“ I started, but once again, he spoke over me.

“I need to what?! If you must know, this is shit that Lisa brought over and shoved in my face when she was making me feel like shit!”

And in just one moment, I felt the walls crumble from around him and land at my feet. I watched as his face scrunched in pain, and even caught a glimpse of his knees wobbling and his balance becoming unsteady. He was breaking; completely breaking.

“Look…” I trailed, extending my hand out to grasp his forearm gently. “I’m not trying to press you…” I knew that I was lying though. That was exactly what I was doing. If I wasn’t pressing, I would let him tell me on his own, not bombard him with questions. “But, you need to let go of whatever it is that you’re holding on to…”

“Fine! God dammit! Fine!” he bellowed, shaking free of my hold. “Everyone wants to know what the fuck is wrong, I’ll fucking tell you! I watched a man that I’d known for years go from normal-stressed. You know, part-of-the-shitty-job-we-have stressed to full blown stressed… so much that the pressure of the job was too much. It ate at him... so much that he started going crazy! I watched him plow down our buddies; our fucking comrades. I watched him pick them off! I watched him turn his gun on me and try to pick me off too! I had to take him down myself! Like a fucking rabid dog!” He was starting to hyperventilate. He was crumbling – falling fast – to the floor. “I killed my fucking best friend!”

“You did what you had to…” I said, really not knowing what else to say as tears welled up in my own eyes. Some fucking therapist I was.

“I can’t face his wife! Or his gorgeous kids that look just like him! Because I’m the one that stripped him of his life and stripped them of the life that they all should have had!”

“He did that to himself! He should have sought out help!” I yelled. “Why the hell didn’t you tell your commanding officers all of this!?”

“Are you shitting me?!” he stood up again. “Every single ounce of honor that that man built over the years would have been gone in a second. And, it would destroy his entire family – even more than they’ve already been destroyed!”

He took a step toward me. “No one can know!” I felt like a part of him was warning me not to say anything.

I was so moved by it all… by the sacrifices he made to keep quiet. But, I was also so sad for him. He had done the unthinkable to someone he so clearly loved. I wasn’t even sure if it was legal for me to keep that a secret -- but I knew that I had to.

I felt my lip quiver and tears beginning to stream freely. “I won’t tell a soul, David.”

He shook his head quickly. “Please leave.”

“What?” I asked, taken back.

“Just go. Get out. Please.”

*****

I stood smack dab in the middle of my living room, staring out the window that overlooked the shitty town that I’d felt stuck in for what seemed like years now. I burped, and immediately smelled the whisky I’d been drinking for the last three days straight. I had barely been awake, but when I was, I had a bottle of whiskey in hand.

I was angry; probably more angry than anything else.

There was pain flooding through me, sure. Just thinking about Ben and everything that had happened was enough to kill me with a pain that I’d never known before – and I thought I knew pain fairly well. I lived it and breathed it. I even fucking bathed in that shit.

My entire life revolved around pain. I was used to it… at least, I thought I was. Nothing could have prepared me for this. I mean, I not only had to lose him in death – but I had to lose him before death.

Everyone else just lost him once. It was like I had lost him twice. I had been the only one – at least, the only one alive – that had seen Ben become a shadow of himself before he died.

To everyone else, he died a hero. He died himself. To me, he died in soul before he ever died in body. He was only a shell of himself, and I knew there was no getting him back once he killed his men. Even if somehow I could have gotten him to stop -- if I could have reached him somehow – I knew that when he had realized what he had done, it would have been over all over again. He would have been gone forever. To me, I had to watch my friend die twice.

“Jesus Christ,” I sighed. Wasn’t the whole point of whiskey forgetting the shit that was plaguing you? Here I was going into a fucking inner monologue think-fest about it all.

That wasn’t what I needed.

I turned on my heel, away from the window and headed toward the kitchen. I wasn’t sure if I’d eaten anything more than a hot pocket in three days, but I wasn’t there for that. I know that I’d tried that a couple times before, but a quick glance into the fridge yielded a whole lot of nada as far as interest in food went. I preferred my calories in alcohol for the moment.

“Fuck, fuck, fuckity-fuck…. fuck…” I mumbled in a sing-song voice as I clapped on my thighs as soon as I saw the crystal bottle of whiskey sitting on top of my center island. It was basically screaming out to me; calling to me like the perfect temptress it was.

I lifted up the glass that was sitting just beside the bottle, just after pouring a few splashes in and held it at eye level for a moment. I was doing nothing but admiring the amber colored liquid. "It's not about whether the glass is half full or half empty,” I giggled, not really knowing what the hell I was even talking about. “What matters is that I can fucking fill it again!”

I slung back the glass and choked down the liquid inside before just saying, “fuck it,” and grabbing the bottle instead. Who needed a glass?

I smiled, proud of myself for some ungodly reason, and stumbled to the kitchen table. I took swig after swig before finally feeling a bout of dizziness begin to take control. I was starting to feel nauseous; so much so that it was pissing me off. With a firm, tight grip, I slammed the glass onto the counter.

The alcohol was probably making it worse. My mood was blackening more and more by the second, and it was no time before I found myself on the verge of tears all over again. They burned and pounded against my eyelids. My chest and throat tightened. For all intent purposes, I was a fucking mess.

I didn’t like to admit that I even had emotions, so knowing that I was so close to tears bothered me. It did more than bother me; actually, it devastated me. I hated that I had ever cared about someone enough to feel this way in the first place, and more than that, I hated that I’d lost that person. Not even just lost him, either – I had eliminated him; at least, his bodily form.

I started to pace, muttering to myself, cursing and scowling as I laced my fingers through my hair. Talking to myself was a bad habit I’d found myself picking up more and more since I’d gotten back to this shithole town.

“So fucking stupid!” I growled to myself as I felt my pacing slow, and eventually stop when my phone started buzzing on the table where I was standing just inches from. I glanced down, my vision doubled, but still clear enough to make out the contact information.

It was Kate.

She had called and texted at least a dozen times in the last few days, but I didn’t want to talk to her. It was all her fault. I was perfectly content with forgetting all about it; what I’d done, what he’d done – all of it.

But, here she comes on her fucking white stallion trying to save the day, and making shit worse.

“Fuck off!” I yelled, sliding my phone as far away as possible.

I didn’t even pay attention to where it went. I just heard it clang against the hardwood floor below. I didn’t give a shit if it broke. I just wanted it out of my sight.

I stumbled away from the table toward my bedroom when I felt myself trip over something, and fall forward – all the way forward -- until I completely face-planted onto that same hardwood floor that I’d just made my phone fall onto. “Son of a bitch!” I growled, looking at the culprit.

It was Ben’s box.

His mother fucking box... the box that Lisa had brought over, the box that had started this whole god damn thing. I seethed just looking at it, and almost on its own, my leg drew back and kicked it into the wall. The box crumpled beneath my feet and flung over, contents spilling out all over the place.

I took a deep breath and wiped away another stray tear before grabbing at the wall to try and pull myself up somehow. Only, that wasn’t what happened. Through the struggle, I caught a glimpse of something; something I wasn’t quite expecting.

Pictures of Ben and I… a lot of them. Ever since childhood, and in the midst of them was a video tape. An old VHS that I knew had to be from our childhood. I smirked, remembering exactly what it was. It was of Ben’s tenth birthday party. It was Ninja Turtles themed and his mom made the cake – which turned out to be a huge fucking disaster – and looked nothing like a turtle; let alone, a Ninja Turtle. But Ben, being Ben, told every kid there to shove it up their ass and ate his mom’s cake like it was the best thing in the world.

I laughed. That was Ben.

That was the Ben I remembered.

That was the Ben I loved.

“Well, son of a bitch…” I laughed through the tears. That was it. It was shining out to me like a fucking spotlight, telling me exactly what it was that I needed to do. I needed to do what I had wanted to all along. The only thing was, I needed to actually fucking do it. I didn’t need to keep it bottled up. I needed to talk about it. I needed to talk about him. I needed to honor his memory.

Ben wasn’t Ben at the end, and ultimately, I knew I would have to forgive myself for what I’d done. He would have wanted that. He was always so selfless and good like that, and I knew that I needed to do everything in my power to give him the good name that he deserved.

*****

A knock at my door sounded as I laid down on the couch meant for patients. I felt like a fucking wreck ever since David had basically kicked me out of his place. I didn’t know what to do. I kept calling, kept texting… nothing.

I wasn’t even sure why it was that I cared so much.

It was clear that he wasn’t ready for help. It was clear that I wasn’t doing much good as his therapist. Hell, I was making it worse by having sex with him.

With a groan, I struggled to pull myself up from the comfortable couch I’d only ever watched people lay on before now. No wonder people talked about their issues in this thing. It was like lying down on a leather cloud of fucking wonderment.

“What are you doing here?” I asked as soon as I pulled the door open.

“It’s my appointment time, isn’t it?” David asked, his breath ragged as if he’d just ran a marathon. He smelled like whiskey and musk; almost like he hadn’t showered in days – unless that shower was a shower full of alcohol.

“You didn’t confirm your appointment,” I huffed, still angry at the fact that he hadn’t been answering my calls or texts. “I tried to call you several times to confirm.”It felt petty to be bitching about something like that. He still had his appointment in my books and, beyond that, I should be glad he was there. At least, I knew he was okay… at least, sort of.

Despite the fact that it was clear he’d been drowning his sorrows in alcohol, which definitely wasn’t healthy.

“Cut the shit,” he groaned. “You know this is more than that.”

“More than what?” I crossed my arms.

“More than patient/doctor!” he snapped, tossing his arms in the air. “And, I’m here because I need to talk.”

“If we’re more than patient/doctor, then I can’t be your therapist and I can’t talk to you!” I closed the door quickly behind him. If my mentor had heard that I was sleeping – or even had any sort of inappropriate relations at all with one of my clients -- I would be fired immediately and lose my license, likely forever.

“Then don’t be my therapist and talk to me as more than just a therapist!” With that, I felt him pull me by the forearm directly into his sturdy chest.

“Did we not say that we weren’t the relationship type?”

“Who said anything about a relationship?” He smirked.

“Is that not what you’re asking for?”

“A friendship, maybe?” he asked, still smirking. I shot my gaze away from his, almost scared to death how much my stomach had fallen by the word “friend”.

Was I really entertaining the idea of having something more than friendship?

Was I really upset by the fact that he’d even mentioned friendship?

“I’m just fucking with you,” he whispered, pulling my gaze back to his just before slamming his lips against mine.

“Will you help me with something this weekend?” he asked, his eyes glazed over with something I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen before in him… actual excitement… even maybe a little joy?