The Officer and the Secret (7 page)

It wasn’t a question. Dwayne could only imagine how many times he’d heard the same thing, with Marines beating around the bush. “Yes, sir.”

“Let’s, for now, drop the sir. And I’m begging you, sit back. Kick up your feet if you want. You’re making me stressed just looking at you. The couch was meant to be lounged on.” Major Dunham gave him a smile. “You seem uncomfortable enough with the visit; why bother making it worse with a stiff neck?”

Dwayne sank back at that, grateful for the chance to loosen a little.

“Let’s talk about what made you seek help. Anything specific?”

“Typical stuff, I guess. Driving still freaks me out a little.”

The major nodded. “Of course. You spent seven months not going over ten miles an hour, having to suspect every bit of debris that crossed your path as an IED. Driving seventy on the highway and ignoring typical roadside litter is bound to be tough.”

Just hearing that it was understandable, his tension started to melt. “I also scared the life out of someone. She woke me up, startled me. We’d been watching a movie and I fell asleep. I felt a tug on my leg, heard the sounds of gunfire from the speakers, and…”

“I assume she’s okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Your wife?”

Dwayne snorted. “No. Acquaintance.” Or could he just think of her as a friend by now? He’d like to.

“How did she react?”

“Fear first. Then, it almost felt like pity.”

“And that made it worse?”

He got it. The chaplain was all but reading his mind. Talking around the lump in his throat, he choked out, “Yeah.”

“Captain.” Major Dunham leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “This isn’t uncommon. You are aware of that. You lead the briefings on looking for the signs of PTSD, of reintegration problems for your men. You know this is normal, almost expected. After living in a state of heightened awareness for seven months, where your very job has life or death consequences attached, coming home to daily life and all its trivial, silly moments that civilians can ignore with ease is not as simple as flipping a switch. Nobody expects it to be.”

Dwayne shook his head.

“And it doesn’t make you crazy, no matter what you want to think. You served the country, and you deserve the time to pull yourself back to rights. Give yourself a break. You’ve come seeking help; you’re not a danger to anyone. I don’t see you snapping anytime soon. All in all, I think you have a healthy grasp on the situation. And you’ll work out that
left
seat, right seat
mentality soon enough. Give it some time.”

“Can I do anything to speed it up?”

“Keep hanging out with your friends, the ones who will notice changes in you. Talk about it if you need to. If there’s someone you trust to air your worries with, all the better. You’re not married, as you said. How about a serious girlfriend?”

“Nope.”

“Dating anyone?”

“Not yet.” Hold on, what did that mean? “I mean, not currently, no.” He shouldn’t be thinking of dating anyone. He couldn’t dump his problems on anyone.

“Then stick close to your buddies. They’ll know if you’re struggling, and they can do what is necessary to help you out. If you trust them—”

“With my life.”

“Then don’t disconnect. Keep those relationships open, and communicate. And come back.” He chuckled at the wide-eyed stare Dwayne gave him. “It’s not an order, merely a suggestion. My door is always open. And despite the fact that you might hate handing your problems to someone else for analysis and help, it can sometimes be the best thing. A person once-removed from your inner circle can provide perspective. So, if you need to talk, my door’s open.”

He nodded, stood, and shook the major’s hand before showing himself out.

As he opened the outer door of the chaplain’s area, it opened in, hitting him on the shoulder.

“Oh, sorry, ah. Robertson.” Captain Bryson Beckett looked up from the stack of papers he was carrying. “Welcome back.”

Dwayne took the offered hand. “Thanks. Good to be back.” He squinted. “You shave today, Beckett?”

The younger man smiled and rubbed at his jaw. “That bad already, huh? I blame my Italian mother. Dark hair and the background means I get the five o’clock shadow around lunchtime.”

Dwayne smiled in sympathy. Shaving daily wasn’t fun, but having to do it twice would just suck. “You’re just lucky you got here after the old CO took off. He’d have you shaving every hour, on the hour.”

“So I hear. Managed to transfer in at the right time, right command.” Bryson had transferred in after receiving his promotion to captain. They shared a rank, but Dwayne had a couple years on the new guy, both in age and time in service. “Is the chaplain in?”

“Yeah, he’s in. I’ll let you get back to your errand. See ya.” Dwayne held the door open and let Bryson pass by to—he assumed—deliver the papers to the chaplain. He walked back into his office ten minutes later and shut the door behind him. He’d meant to head straight there from the chaplain’s office, but his first sergeant intercepted him with forms to sign. When he was able to sit down in the quiet, peaceful silence of his own office, the enormity of what he’d confided to the chaplain finally hit him. Added to that, the realization of the work he had ahead of him made him want to lay his forehead down on the desk and take a nap.

His mind, without permission, drifted back to the small woman with the long golden braid. The shy sweetheart that looked at him so watchfully with those clear gray eyes. On the quiet side, but always absorbing, taking it in. His hands remembered the smooth skin of her back as he’d zipped her up into that dress, and he clenched them, shook them out to relieve the feeling.

The chaplain wanted him to keep his friends close. That wasn’t a problem. Tim and Jeremy had his back, always. There was never any doubt about it. And they would pull him away from the edge if he even started looking at approaching it. But staying close to them meant staying close to the group as a whole. And he was afraid that one tiny, blond woman might end up getting in his way more than anything.

A knock on the door sounded, and he ignored it. Let them figure out problems for ten or fifteen minutes. The Corps wouldn’t fall apart in the meantime without his help. But all the same, his conscience made him sit up a little straighter and open his email to clear out the spam.

Starting something with Veronica could end in disaster. For her. He couldn’t let that happen. Wouldn’t let that happen. She deserved more than a guy with a screw loose. Even if he could get it back together eventually, right now was the worst possible time to start forming something—anything—with a woman. And with her sweet, sensitive nature that he instinctively sensed… she could get hurt, big time.

She deserved more.

Veronica strolled in behind Madison, closing the garage door to Tim and Skye’s townhouse behind her, using her foot. Her hands were freezing from the fruit platter she carried in from her own fridge.

“Can someone tell me exactly how a coed bachelor and bachelorette party works?” Jeremy asked, dropping the box of decorations on the coffee table.

“Pretty self-explanatory, isn’t it?” Madison picked up a rolled-up crepe streamer and tossed it at him. “It’s the same theory as a regular bachelor or bachelorette party. Only difference is, both sexes will be at the party together. Duh.”

“I fail to see the difference. There are usually women at a bachelor party.” Jeremy threw the streamer back at her.

“Strippers don’t count.” She bent her head to pick through the box.

“Now that’s just hurtful. Strippers are people too.” Jeremy grabbed the box from her with a grin.

Madison rolled her eyes and ducked out of the way when he tried to steal a kiss. “This isn’t even really a bachelor or bachelorette party, given they’re already married. It’s just a relaxed celebration before the more stressful hype of the real ceremony gets here.”

“So, you’re telling me I should call and cancel all those sweet girls working their way through college on the pole? Well, all right, but it seems a little cruel now.” Jeremy took his cell out of his pocket and pretended to dial.

Madison rolled her eyes. “You’re such a gentleman.” She ignored when Jeremy wiggled his eyebrows comically at her and turned very deliberately, giving Jeremy her back and facing Veronica. “Poll time. What do you think? Lots of decorations? Or use sparingly?”

Veronica chuckled under her breath and shook her head. It was like watching children with a toy. But she knew they had just as much fun snipping at each other as they did being sweet with each other. It was purely how they operated.

She glanced around the townhouse that Skye and Tim had abandoned earlier that day. The couple were out doing a cake testing and something about invitations. They wouldn’t be back for a few hours, which provided plenty of time for the four friends to sneak in and decorate to their hearts’ delight for the surprise party.

Bringing herself back to Madison’s question, she set the fruit bowl down on the coffee table and surveyed the room and the box at Madison’s feet.

“Sparingly. Too much of anything and it will start to look like we let a child handle things. Or a pair of children.” She gave Madison a pointed look. Her mature friend stuck her tongue out and went back to sorting through the box.

Dwayne strolled in through the garage door they’d left unlocked. “Hey, boys and girls. I just texted Tim, and apparently he’s already close to falling asleep, and they just got started. Something about rosettes and fondant and I don’t know what any of that meant. I started tuning out and it was just a text message. I can’t blame him for being bored out of his gourd.”

Surprisingly, Dwayne came and sat on the couch next to her. Maybe not so surprising, though, since Madison and Jeremy had already moved into the dining area to bicker about another subject entirely. The heavy weight of him directly to her side was the biggest shock of all, in that it was more comforting than anything. When had she become so at ease with men she barely knew?

They both watched in silence as Madison threw up her hands and let out some agitated animal sound and Jeremy crossed his arms over his chest.

“Have they been doing this all afternoon?” he muttered to her, leaning close so she could hear.

“Only since the minute we walked in,” she confided, giving him a smile.

His gorgeous blue eyes crinkled back at her when he grinned. He leaned closer and she breathed in. He smelled wonderful. Nothing thick or sickly sweet. Almost smelled like what she imagined an open country road would smell like. Fresh, inviting, daring her to sit in the back of a pickup truck, toss her arms up to the sky, and feel as if she were flying.

And oddly, the panic, the thick weight that normally felt like it rested on her chest when she spoke to strangers, was no longer there.

He chuckled and nodded toward the other two. “They get like this sometimes. Really, we should just lock them in a room together and see who comes out alive. God knows how these two ended up together, since they constantly argue.”

“It’s sweet. It’s their thing. It might be exhausting to someone else, but it works for them.” At Dwayne’s expression, she realized maybe she was absolutely off base. Maybe she hadn’t picked up as much about how people interacted after all. “I mean, I just thought that…” She raised her hands helplessly.

Dwayne shook his head slowly. “No, you know what? The more I think about it, you might be right.” He turned to watch as Madison smacked Jeremy on the shoulder with a stack of paper cups, only to have Jeremy rip them out of her hands and poke her in the stomach with them. But before an all-out fight could break out, Jeremy swooped in and planted a kiss on Madison’s lips that silenced any protest she might have put up. When Madison wound her arms around Jeremy’s neck, Veronica flushed and looked away. Their voices were too low to hear, but it was clear whatever words they were saying to each other were not of the
sweet
nothings
variety.

“No wonder he’s always sucked with women. His style hasn’t improved since the fourth grade.”

She couldn’t hold back a snicker. Partly from the image the words brought up. And partly from relieved self-gratification at having read the situation correctly. It was then she realized Dwayne had walked in empty-handed. “Did you leave the party cake in your truck? You really should get it; the heat will make the icing run.”

“What cake?” He didn’t look at her, his eyes fixed on how expressively Madison and Jeremy argued, and then quickly made up, in the dining room.

“The cake for the party.” He didn’t respond, just kept staring into the other room. “Dwayne. Hello?” With no response, she got feisty—as Madison would say—and grabbed his chin in her hands. Forcing his head to turn her way, she repeated slowly, “The cake? For the party?”

When he just looked at her, then one side of his mouth quirked up, she realized her fingers were still tight around his jaw. She snatched her hand back quickly. But she wouldn’t apologize. Nope. People touched like that all the time. It meant nothing. And he wasn’t offended.

She hoped.

“Darlin’, I have no clue what cake you’re talking about. So why don’t you run it by me again?”

Oh, that voice. It lulled her into a happy place, and her body wanted to melt back into the couch and just relax. But Veronica’s brows lowered in thought. “I could have sworn Madison said she called you and asked you to stop by the shop to pick it up on the way over here.”

“She might’ve. But I didn’t get it.” He shifted one hip off the couch to reach into his pocket. From her shoulders down to her thighs, he pressed into her with unconscious intimacy. She repressed a shiver of awareness. This man was not her training wheels man. He flipped the phone open with one hand, propping the other arm over the back of the couch. Its heavy weight pressed slightly against her shoulders, and she resisted the urge to snuggle farther back so that they draped over her as well.

“Yup. Look at that. She did leave a message. Just didn’t notice it while I was busy figuring out what Tim and Skye were up to. Well, guess I better go back out and get it.”

They both turned to the dining room, now empty. Something clattered in the kitchen, and Veronica didn’t even want to know what that could mean. But she was not moving off the couch to find out.

“Uh, are you going to be okay here? Or do you want to come—”

“Yes!” She jumped up, ready to bail out on the intense duo. Every woman for herself.

“…with me,” he finished on a chuckle. “That answers that. Okay, let’s roll.”

Before she shut the door leading out to the garage, she called out, “We’re going to get the cake!” toward the direction of the kitchen. Sure, it might be cowardly to not go back and tell them to their faces. But self-preservation demanded she scoot out the door as fast as possible.

Madison and Jeremy never called back, so she shrugged. “Guess they don’t care.” Or couldn’t hear her. She wasn’t about to stay longer in order to figure out which it was.

“Come on.” Dwayne grabbed her hand with easy familiarity and laced fingers with her, tugging gently to lead her to his truck. “They won’t even miss us.”

She liked the feel of his hand. It enveloped hers completely. Strong, capable, a little rough but with a gentle touch. She locked the memory away.

After unlocking the truck door, he gripped her hips without warning and popped her up on the tall seat. Her stomach dropped just a little, partly from the weightless feeling, partly from his touch. But he didn’t even seem to notice, just pushing her feet in and shutting the door like it didn’t matter.

Noted.

***

Mistake. It was a mistake to bring her with him. Not that he could take it back now.

He shook his hands while walking around the front of the truck. He’d almost been able to fit them around her entire waist, she was so tiny. But the look she’d given him when he boosted her up… Whether she realized it or not, it was one that said she was interested. Curious. Wondering about the really untimely spark that seemed to happen between them. And it scared the shit out of him.

Dwayne hopped up into the cab and, before she could speak, he turned on the radio to a level high enough to discourage talking but not so loud it’d blast her eardrums out. He needed to think. Not chew the fat.

Untimely was only the first of a billion words he could use for the thing he felt around Veronica. It wasn’t outright lust. No, that was easy to define, and he could identify that in a second. And what’s more, lust could be substituted easily with a simple one-night stand. Or hell, his hand.

This was more comfortable than a hot punch of lust. Like they’d been friends for years. Like they could just lie on the front porch, shoulder to shoulder, watching the sun go down and say absolutely nothing. And enjoy it.

Which was crazy, given he’d known her for less than a month.

She couldn’t be right for him anyway, even if he was looking. She was shy, quiet. And he’d guess she’d cower if he said boo.

Except, when he’d momentarily freaked out, she hadn’t cowered. Oh, he’d startled her, so who wouldn’t have been a little frightened? But she hadn’t freaked out or called him a monster, which was how he’d felt at the time. Still felt sometimes, if he was being honest with himself.

And now that he thought about it, she’d been changing a little bit more each time he saw her. Becoming more assertive. A little more free with the jokes and laughter and teasing. Maybe she was just a late bloomer, coming out of her shell.

He noticed her shiver and flipped down the AC automatically.

“Which cake shop is it?” she said, fighting to be heard above some classic Garth.

He turned it down with reluctance. “According to Madison’s voice mail, it’s a little bakery downtown. Not the one Skye and Tim are using for the wedding, luckily. Not much of a surprise if we ran into them while they were doing a tasting.”

She nodded and said nothing more. He liked that. Didn’t have to fill the void with chatter that meant nothing. Another point in her column.

Wait, why was he keeping score?

They pulled off the exit and made a beeline for the bakery. When he parked, she opened her door and jumped down before he could help her. She looked up at him with a smile. “A girl could break an ankle getting down from there.”

“Most females wait for help.” He led the way into the shop, a little silver bell chiming as he opened the door for her and followed her in.

Veronica stopped so fast he almost bumped into her and breathed deeply. “Mmm. Oh man, that smells like heaven.”

The look on her face said she’d just gotten her first taste of ambrosia and couldn’t wait to get back in line for more. Dammit, now he was going to be fighting a boner through the rest of this little errand.
Thanks
a
lot, smell of donuts
. Though, really, when he stopped to take a breath, she was right. Oh man, that was good. Like warm sugar and vanilla and a little hint of chocolate.

A short, grandmotherly woman with graying brown hair and flour on her cheek stepped out from the back of the shop, wiping her hands on an apron. “Can I help you?”

“We’re here to pick up a cake,” Dwayne said, nodding between himself and Veronica. “Should be under the last name O’Shay.” Okay. He should just focus on the baker lady and think of grandmothers. That should help keep the boner at bay.

The woman smiled sweetly. “Oh, and you two are just the cutest couple we’ve had in here in ages.”

He took an automatic step back, as if her words were actually a swinging punch coming for his nose. “Oh, no, we—”

“Thank you.” Veronica cut him off and wrapped a hand around his wrist… or around what of his wrist she could reach with her tiny hand. “I happen to think he’s a keeper.”

The bakery worker tittered and walked back toward the other room, calling, “I’ll be right out,” behind her as the double doors swung shut.

“What was that?” He glanced down and saw her biting the inside of her lips. He couldn’t stop his own from twitching a little.

“Oh, come on. She was cute and really excited for us. No harm done.” She patted him on the arm, but then started to look nervous and let go. “Sorry it’s such a trial to pretend to be my fiancé.”

“That’s not what I—oh, hell. Never mind.” This was what most men would call a no-win situation. “It’s not a trial. I just didn’t understand where you were going with that.”

Veronica shrugged, her back to him as she inspected the baked goods on display. “She thinks we’re a couple, she said we were cute together. It might have embarrassed her to be corrected, and she was nice. It’s not like we’ll see her again, so why not?”

Why not, indeed? He really didn’t need to react so fast to the whole thing. She was right—no harm done. He might have tried the same thing if it were Madison with him. Someone who he had no plans or hopes of ever dating. Why did it seem so much more denial-worthy with Veronica?