The Officer and the Secret (8 page)

“Here we are.” The woman backed through the doors and swung around with the cake in hand. “I have to say, I think it’s just so interesting how couples are doing their bachelor and bachelorette parties together now. Whose idea was that?”

“Hers.”

“His,” Veronica said at the same time. They both turned and locked eyes on each other, then started laughing. The worker just looked confused as she handed over the cake.

“Have fun then, you two. And many blessings on your marriage.”

“Thanks,” Veronica said brightly, holding the cake out as they left the shop.

Once he helped her settle the dessert in the backseat of the extended cab, he lifted her up once more. But she didn’t stare down at him, just looked straight ahead.

“Are you angry with me?”

Her head turned, confusion written all over her face. “No. Should I be?”

“You just looked… never mind.” He was about to sound like an insecure chick any second. Time to stop the insanity. He got the truck back on the road and started the drive, turning the music down enough so he didn’t feel like a douche for discouraging her from talking to him if she wanted to.

She only hummed along to the tune. Badly, and not in harmony at all. But she was trying. It made him smile.

Fuck!

Dwayne swerved to miss the debris littering the road, overcorrected, and did his best to get the Humvee back on track. Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades, and his cammies felt like a furnace, trapping all his body heat. The white-hot sun penetrated through his shades. He was blinded for a moment, unable to watch for another IED. Unable to watch for the far-off glint of an insurgent sniper in waiting.

Who the hell was yelling in his ear like a girl? Christ Jesus, they were Marines, for the love of God. Could they not pull their shit together and keep it shut for five minutes? Didn’t they see him trying to keep them alive?

“Dwayne, Dwayne, pull over. Take the exit.”

Fucking almost hit a goddamn possible IED and some jackass in his Humvee can’t even shut the…

The black haze started to drift, the horns started to penetrate his mind, and Veronica’s shaky voice was making sense now.

“Right here. To the right. You have a clear lane, just merge over now. There we go.”

He followed her directions almost by rote, not trusting himself to make the right decisions anymore. He was sweating. Why was it so hot? He was only wearing a polo. But his arms were shaking. And he could smell burned rubber. Worst smell in the world… it stayed with you forever.

“To the right there’s a parking lot. Turn in. Let’s park over here in the shade. There we go. Now turn off the car.”

He sat, fists clenched around the wheel, breathing deeply. He didn’t trust his voice, with his throat dry as dust. But he felt her. Knew she was rubbing his back lightly, talking some nonsense that was soft and low, like she was soothing an upset infant. It should have pissed him off. But it felt good, and he didn’t want her to stop.

“Let go of the wheel now. Come on, it’s okay,” she whispered. One small, cool hand wrapped over his and started to gently pry his fingers off the wheel one by one. They ached as he flexed; he’d held on so tightly. She took one hand between her two and kneaded and rubbed, saying nothing more. Giving him time.

Thank
you, God, for small favors.

Finally, the shaking stopped, the sweat that coated his body started to cool, and he felt confident enough to reach for the bottle of water in his cup holder and take a sip without spilling it all over himself.

It washed the taste of panic and shame from the back of his throat, made him want to gasp with relief.

Except there was no relief from the embarrassment of not only freaking out in front of Veronica for a second time, but that he could have gotten her killed. His hand tightened around the water bottle, releasing it when the crinkling plastic threatened to break. She must be terrified of him. He really was some sort of monster.

“Are you okay?” He stared at the wheel, unable to look at her.

She breathed in, and he could hear the shaky quality. “Yeah. I’m fine. What about you?”

He made some noncommittal noise. He wasn’t hurt. But fine? Far from, it seemed.

Another minute passed, with her rubbing his back and the long-past sounds of war fading from his ears. Finally he sat up and let his head drop back against the headrest.

“I’m sorry.” The words sounded inconsequential, even to him. But it was all he had to give.

She didn’t reply. Not a “Stuff it” or a “Bite me” or even an “I accept.” Just sat, facing him. He still couldn’t face her.

Then, in her low, soothing voice, she said, “Tell me about it.”

And to his amazement, he did.

“I thought it was getting better. I was doing so well. Huh.” He grunted and looked out the driver window. “Doing well,” he repeated, voice mocking.

She could guess. Though she and her parents had stayed close to whatever village or town they’d set up camp in, other missionaries were intent on reaching the truly needy. The ones on battlefields, in the middle of genocides, dying in third-rate hospitals. The horrors they saw, she knew, stayed with them a long time. Sometimes haunted them for years. Though she didn’t go through the trauma with them, she watched as they fought their way through it, as others helped them cope.

“If you’d rather not—”

“I have no excuse for this. That’s the worst part. I wasn’t badly hurt. None of my men died, or were even severely injured. Bumps, one broken bone—already healed—and a concussion. Nothing major.”

Clearly their definition of “nothing major” differed greatly. But she wouldn’t point that out.

“I think that adds to the problem. It’s bad enough, coming back from that place and having… problems.” His lips twitched up into something resembling a mocking smile. “But knowing there’s no good reason for it makes you feel weaker still.”

How could he think that? It broke her heart. She bit her lip to stop the burning behind her eyes and just held his hand. Though she doubted he even realized it.

“It was such a simple thing. I stayed inside the wire ninety percent of the time. Safe, secure.” He laughed, a chilling, unamused sound. “I used to actually complain about that. That I was stuck playing desk jockey while other guys got to get out, have all the fun. Fucked up, right?”

She said nothing. She’d never heard him curse like that before, and she doubted he’d be happy to know he slipped up later. But now, it was his story and he didn’t need to censor himself.

“It’s not like I wanted to get into a firefight or anything. But with my job, I just wasn’t expecting such inactivity. You stay inside the wire and you start to forget that there’s so much else going on. Tunnel vision. Mentally and physically, I was on alert. But emotionally, I wasn’t ready or prepared for anything to happen. Like I blocked the possibility out. Though really, how else can you function?”

She rubbed his arm and silently agreed, even as the thought of Dwayne having to emotionally numb himself made her want to cry. Her tears weren’t going to do anything for him.

“The one time we had to move operations…” His breath shuddered in and out. “The one time we were going to step out of the wire, and we run over a goddamn IED. Driver tried to swerve it, but it still got us. Humvees are protected, but they’re not impenetrable. They can only take so much before they break. And the bottom on those things aren’t meant to withstand blasts like an MRAP.”

His voice turned hollow, as if he forgot that he was even talking to someone. “We all walked away. Except for one guy, who had the broken leg. But I mean, compared to the possibility…” He trailed off, then shrugged as if it were no big deal he’d been hit with a bomb and lived to tell about it.

Veronica listened in horror. Despite living in some of the world’s poorest countries, during some serious conflict, her parents had managed to shelter her enough to keep her from such sights firsthand. She knew they existed, but she’d never left the protection of the missionary camps or their host homes. And yet Dwayne had lived it, lived through it, survived it.

“I went through the briefs, the required meeting with higher-ups, everything. Over there, I was fine. Pissed, upset, but functioning at the same level. Maybe higher, since I guess my subconscious went on high alert or something. But over here, where there’s no war, nothing to be on alert for, where everyone’s relaxed and it’s business as usual…”

He looked so lost, as if he couldn’t even figure out how to end the sentence, let alone how to get through the next minute. He had survived a deployment yet was struggling to drive home.

“Do you… have you talked to someone? Professionally?”

Dwayne rubbed the back of his neck and closed his eyes like he was too weary to go on. “The chaplain, yeah. He said I needed to talk with friends, keep things open.”

“Did you? Talk with Tim and Jeremy, I mean. Or other Marine friends. I’m sure they know something’s up, but in detail?”

He shook his head, then nodded, then shook again.

Maybe it was perverse, or wrong, or selfish, but she felt a little pride, a small sense of honor that he’d trusted her enough to let himself spill out.

She reined herself in before she became too prideful. Maybe he just didn’t feel like he had a choice. It was twice now he’d had an unfortunate episode with her as a witness. Maybe he just felt like he owed it to her. Or maybe he hadn’t even meant to spill the story out, but in his state, he just went with it.

“Sometimes it’s just hard, and my brain flips back and forth. I’ll be fine for days. I was fine for over a week. And then that blown tire on the side of the road startled me, and it was like a switch flipped and I was right back in that moment, in the Humvee. Only this time I know how it ends before we hit the IED, and I’m just anticipating, doing what I can to change history.”

He sighed and finally looked at her for the first time since before they pulled over. His eyes looked exhausted, but almost with a hint of relief in them. She could easily imagine why. Carrying the burden of such pain alone would be so hard.

She rubbed his hand briskly. “Time to get out.”

“Out?” He surveyed the parking lot. “It’s a Walmart. Not exactly our destination.”

“Of course not. But now I’m driving.”

His eyes widened, and he looked as if she’d just told him she was about to bomb the Capitol Building. “Wait. You? Drive my truck? You can’t be serious.”

Veronica hopped down and cut his protests off by shutting her door. She didn’t know why, but she had a hunch about what he needed. No pity, no petting. Coddling not allowed. Just no-nonsense tough love.

Love—okay, maybe not the best choice of words. But it was a saying. Not the real thing.

So when she said it in her mind, why did her heart dip down to her stomach?

Veronica walked around the truck and opened his door, tugging on his arm. “Step out or scoot over. We’ve got a cake to deliver.”

“Shit. The cake.” He looked sheepish. “It’s probably ruined.”

“I’m sure it’s not. Now out.”

He stared at her. “Do you have your license? Are you insured?”

“Sure I do. And of course I am.” As of a few months ago. But he didn’t need to know that. Trying to reassure him, she added, “I’m a very safe driver.”

He didn’t look convinced, though whether that was about her driving skills specifically or just the thought of turning his truck over to anyone other than himself, she wasn’t sure.

Men. They were such babies over their vehicles. It was just a truck, not a prized heirloom.

Taking another tact, she shoved at him until he scooted over enough for her to climb in. “Shoo. Go. I’m driving this big thing.” Big monster was more like it. The truck was huge. But she wouldn’t let him see her apprehension. That was a surefire way to get him to say no.

He shifted to the passenger seat. “This is my baby. I beg of you to not screw her up.”

Giving him the
yeah, duh
look, she hopped up into the driver’s seat with only one false start. Buckling in, she took a minute to look at the dashboard and figure things out.

Then she threw the truck into reverse and stopped short. As they both jerked forward and back, she gave him a sheepish look. “Whoops. Just getting used to the pedals.”

Dwayne mumbled something as he buckled his seat belt. She had a feeling whatever he said was dirty, so she didn’t ask him to repeat it. She cranked up Garth Brooks, who she’d heard once or twice but was really starting to enjoy, and drummed her hands on the wheel while waiting to get back on the highway.

“You have really awful rhythm,” Dwayne said, a smile in his voice.

“Shh. I’m doing you a favor. You don’t mock the favor-giver.”

“Maybe I’m doing
you
the favor, letting you drive my truck.”

She snorted, and he laughed. It was nice. For the first time, she felt completely, one hundred percent at ease with a man, minus a few butterflies here and there. It was almost as if she was just another normal woman.

Imagine that.

***

Tim waved his arms and tried to make a
settle
down
gesture. Not that anyone was paying attention. “Okay, okay, everyone, listen up.”

The noise inside the townhouse was too much to be heard over. Nobody noticed Tim’s attempt to grab attention, as if everyone was having too much fun to listen to the guest of honor himself. Dwayne smiled, waited a moment, then stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Everything but the music halted, and then someone turned that down too. He grinned at Tim and swept out an arm, as if taking a bow. “You were saying?”

Tim flipped him off. “I could have done that.”

“But you didn’t. Now, go on.”

“Right.” He stepped up on a chair—something he never would have done a year ago—and waved his arms. “Everyone, over here. My wife and I—”

“That’s sexist. Why don’t I have a name?” Skye asked from behind him.

Everyone laughed. Tim rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Skye and I,” he corrected, then paused, waiting for an objection. Hearing none, he continued. “We would like to thank you guys for coming to our not-so-bachelor and bachelorette party. And a special thanks to our friends who set the whole thing up. You guys seriously scared the hell out of us when we walked in the door. It means a lot to us that you guys are here, partying with us. And that you’ll be there in two weeks when we tie the knot.” He gave a sheepish shrug. “Again.”

Another round of laughter followed, along with cheers.

A few people took their leave of the party, and things started winding down. Dwayne watched as Veronica helped Madison start picking up abandoned plates and carrying them to the kitchen. He followed, wanting a moment alone with her.

“Hey, Madison. Kick-ass idea. And great work with the decorations.” He leaned around her at the sink to give her a kiss on the cheek. She patted his face with a soapy hand and he wiped it off.

“No problem. We all contributed. I’m just glad we somehow managed to keep it a secret for as long as we did.”

“Yeah, luckily someone’s big mouth didn’t spoil the secret. That sure as hell surprised me.” Jeremy dumped his plate in the trash and stood at the edge of the kitchen.

“Bite me.” Madison didn’t look up as she sang the words.

“Save that talk for later.” Jeremy reached around her waist and pulled her back up against his chest. He might have said something else, but his words were lost as he bent down to nuzzle against Madison’s neck. And though she rolled her eyes, she tipped her neck to the side to give him access.

If those two were going another round, he was getting way out of range. He touched Veronica’s wrist and motioned with his head. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

She gave him a curious look but nodded. “Just give me a minute to wash my hands.” She wiggled them and he saw they were covered with frosting from scraping plates into the trash. His mouth watered at the sight of her skin coated in all the sugar. He could think of a few things to do with those fingers…

No. No, he could not. That wasn’t the right track at all for his mind to be racing down. Excusing himself, he stepped outside the patio door and down the wooden stairs to the small yard below, out of eye range from anyone inside. If he needed even a remotely good reason why he shouldn’t be thinking anything remotely sexual about Veronica’s fingers—or any other part of her body—all he had to do was think back to his stellar display on the highway a few hours prior. Nothing sets the romantic mood quite like war flashbacks.

The door opened and shut, and he straightened. Watching her walk toward him was like an erotic dream. Or nightmare. White shirt and matching skirt, little ballerina-type shoes, her long blond hair braided and swinging around her shoulders. She was pure innocence. And he was… not.

“Hey.” She stopped on the bottom stair of the patio and laced her fingers together in front of her. The height of the step still put her a good few inches below him. But not as much as normal, with her tiny stature. “So, you wanted to talk?”

He took a deep breath, then just let it go. “I wanted to apologize one more time for earlier. You must be scared to death of me by now, and I can’t blame you. But I need you to—”

“No.”

No? “No what?”

“I’m not scared of you. Far from it.” She gave him a sweet smile that seeped into him and spread through his chest with warm waves. “I actually think it takes a gentle soul to be so affected by what you’d seen. If you hadn’t been the least bit affected, it might be concerning. But despite your job, I feel like you’re more of a lover, not a fighter. I can sense that in you. If it were up to you, you wouldn’t hurt a fly, would you?”

Wow. Insight from someone he barely knew. And she was dead right, which was the really amusing thing. He shook his head, then nodded, then tried to remember what her question was.

She just laughed. “Don’t worry, Dwayne. I’m not frightened or mad. And I know you didn’t ask it of me, but I won’t be saying anything to anyone about what we talked about either. That’s your story to tell, if you choose to or not. So no worries.” She patted his chest lightly, and he caught her hand there.

He was about to do something completely stupid and unnecessary. Maybe a little dangerous. And he couldn’t wait.

***

Dwayne trapped her hand flat against his chest. An impressive, rock-solid chest. Wow, they really built men like this? But she looked up to his beautiful blue eyes and they weren’t amused, or laughing. Or even upset. They were intent, like she was on his radar and he was ready to go. Before she could even begin to guess what he was thinking, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

Oh.

Oh.

She wanted to melt. Her first real kiss, if that one sloppy kissing session with Robbie at sixteen could be discarded. Because this was nothing like that fumbling, embarrassing, discovering time. This was, as Madison would say, a whole new ball game.