Chapter 6
Trent sat at his desk, dreading the ticking of the clock on the wall. Fifteen more minutes and he’d have to leave for his appointment. And wasn’t he in a right old jolly mood to sit down and discuss his feelings with the shrink?
He hadn’t slept last night. He’d lain awake in Shane and Jen’s guest bedroom, the silence sending him crawling up the walls. He’d considered getting up and getting a beer or six and letting the alcohol coax him to sleep but he didn’t think that would have helped.
“Don’t you look like you’re in a chipper mood?” Iaconelli swung around the corner of the cubicle that made Trent’s “office” and straddled the chair in front of him. “Rough night?”
Trent frowned, pretty certain that Iaconelli had either just woken up or had never gone to bed. “Not as rough as yours, apparently,” Trent said.
“Yeah, well, I at least have no idea what happened last night. You look like you remember every single minute.”
“Just about,” Trent said. He shifted, pushing his glasses higher on his nose. “What are you up to?”
“Back from NTC early because Captain Marshall can’t plan shit and now I’m running a range with Captain Montoya. We’re going out to do a site recon this morning.”
Trent frowned. “I thought we had a burn ban going on and they were limiting ranges.” There had been flooding the previous year when they’d all been deployed. This year? Dry.
Really dry. The kind of dry where a cigarette could set off a range fire that would burn for days.
“So far, range control has cleared us so we’re good to go. Why do you look like someone pissed in your Wheaties?”
Trent pushed his glasses up on top of his head and scrubbed his hand over his face. “I’ve got to go see a shrink in a little bit.”
Iaconelli looked like he’d told him he was going to a proctology exam. “You can keep that shit. Shrinks don’t do a damn bit of good. They give the kids with no backbones excuses and they don’t help the kids who really need it.”
“Strong feelings, much?” Trent said.
Iaconelli scowled. “One in a long list of failures that have jaded my opinion of the Army’s mental health system. And why are you going to a shrink? Isn’t that verboten for an officer?”
Trent shrugged. “My lawyer wants me to have a clean bill of mental health.”
“Oh, for your court-martial. Good times. Enjoy yourself,” he said with an evil grin.
Trent flipped him off but grinned despite himself. “I’m sure I’ll have so much fun discussing how not enough hugs in my childhood scarred me for life.”
“Yeah, well, watch what you tell them. It goes into a permanent record so if you tell them the war made you crazy, that shit’s going to follow you around.”
Trent wanted to ask what had happened to Iaconelli to make him distrust the mental health system but the big man was already gone. And it was time for Trent to face the judge, jury, and executioner: his new shrink.
The drive across post was too short. He even had no trouble finding a parking space, something that never happened on Fort Hood. So he had no excuse for being late or stalling or any other way of avoiding the doctor’s office.
A physical dread uncurled in his stomach as he walked into the R&R Center. His palms were slicked with sweat and his heart pounded in his ears. He checked in at the front desk, rubbing his hands on his uniform, and waited for the admin assistant to lead him back to Captain Lindberg’s office.
It was strange walking through the waiting room. The highest-ranking person was a rugged-looking sergeant who looked battle worn and broken down. There were First Cav combat patches on his right and left shoulders but it was the haunted look in his eyes, the strain that Trent recognized all too well.
He felt a rush of sympathy even as he felt all eyes on him from the myriad of soldiers sitting in the waiting room. It was unusual for an officer to be walking through that waiting room. Mental health was something sought by junior soldiers. Officially, anyone could seek mental health without fear of losing their careers. The reality was that officers simply did not go to the R&R Center. Not for themselves, anyway.
Officers didn’t break under the stress of war. If they did, they ended their careers. Maybe not immediately, but their inability to cope with the stress and the pressure was there, hanging over their heads.
Trent was leery about using this as a tool for the court-martial. But Patrick had insisted and Trent had known him too long to question his judgment. If he needed to see the shrink and have her tell them he was fine, well then, Trent would play along. He could tell her what she needed to hear then move out and draw fire.
Still, it was a hard thing to walk through the maze of hallways knowing that this was where the Army sent its broken and breaking soldiers. With one more wipe of his palms on his pants, Trent pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and knocked on the door.
“Captain Lindberg?” he said.
The captain behind the desk stood and Trent was struck by how prim she looked. Most women looked the same in uniform as most men: just like another soldier. But there was something about this woman’s movements that reminded Trent of Jacqueline Onassis.
Something about East Coast old money. Something desperately out of place in the Army.
But she stood and stuck out her hand, clearly comfortable in her own office.
“Please, call me Emily,” she said, sticking out her hand. The handshake was firm, though, shattering his expectations with a single gesture. Guess that’s what he got for stereotyping.
“Have a seat. Trent, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“We’re the same rank,” she said quietly. “I may not know a whole lot about the Army but I do know that captains do not call each other ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’.”
“Why don’t you know a lot about the Army?” he asked.
“I’ve only been in a little over a year. So I’ve got a lot to learn.” She glanced down at the captain’s bars on her chest. “A special program brought me in as a captain.”
“Just add water and stir and poof, insta-captain,” Trent said.
“Something like that.” She smiled easily. He liked this woman. There was something about her that made him feel…comfortable. Some of the tightness in his chest from walking through the waiting room faded.
“So, how does this go?” he asked.
“Well, you’re here for me to evaluate you for the defense. My job is to get a feel for your current state of medical readiness.”
“Can you state that in English?” He shifted against the chair, his back protesting the too- soft seat and back. It made him want to relax further. “I was a company commander and I don’t understand what you just said.”
She smiled quietly, folding her hands in front of her. “We’re going to do a mental health eval. It won’t hurt a bit, I promise.”
Just like that, the strain was back. The pressure built above his heart and the scar throbbed over his breastbone. He breathed in slow and deep and tried to keep the panic at bay.
“It’s not nearly as scary as it sounds,” she said. She was watching him closely. He felt the walls closing in, like he was under a microscope. All his plans about playing it fast and loose slipped right out of his grasp.
“Sounds terrifying.” He tried to make his voice light. He failed.
“Trent.” She waited until he met her gaze. “Relax. Nothing I write is going to go in your official file. We’re just going to talk, okay?”
He swallowed but his throat was closed off, thick. Finally, he nodded.
“Do you want to talk about what’s going on with you right now?”
He focused on breathing. In. Out. In. Held it until his lungs burned.
Emily came around the desk and sat in the chair next to him. “Look at me, Trent. Are you listening?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not a betting woman but it looks like you’re having a little bit of a problem with anxiety.”
“Is that what this is? It feels like a fucking heart attack.” The words forced their way past the block in his throat.
“That’s actually a very common misunderstanding,” she said. “Does this happen a lot?”
Trent leaned forward, pushing his glasses up to the top of his head. He covered his mouth with his hands. “Yeah.”
“And how long has it been going on?”
He swallowed, staring into the distance, unable to meet her eyes. “Since I got shot.”
“Do certain things set it off? Just happens whenever?”
“When things get too…out of control. When things are going smooth and easy, I’m fine. But the minute I tense up, I have trouble breathing.” He finally looked at her. “Tell me I’m not crazy. I really don’t want to be crazy.”
She smiled. “Crazy isn’t really a clinical term,” she said. “Anxiety isn’t on the spectrum of crazy, at any rate. It’s more of an adjustment issue.”
He frowned. “What does that even mean?”
“You said you were shot? What happened?”
Trent breathed deeply as the memories rose up out of the dark, one by one, replaying in front of his eyes in vivid Technicolor. “We were in the middle of a bad fight in Sadr City. A round got between my body armor and my heart. The impact stopped my heart. They thought I died.”
“If your heart stopped, technically you were dead,” she said. “When did the anxiety first happen?”
He rubbed his hands over his mouth. “The first time I was getting ready to go back out in sector with our boys.”
“What did you do?”
“What could I do? I stuffed it down and went out in sector.” His skin was slick with sweat. His face felt clammy beneath his hands.
“You’ve been stuffing things down for a long time, huh?”
“Maybe.” He felt a little peevish. It was just one round and he hadn’t even gotten evac’d out of theater like Garrison. Garrison was fucking fine after getting the shit blown out of him. Trent had gotten one little bullet wound and his world went to hell. What was wrong with him?
“You don’t sleep well, either, I bet.”
“Jesus, what are you, a psychic?” He tried to make a joke. Failed badly.
“Not really. But your body language is pretty defensive right now and you’re presenting some pretty strong indicators of distress.”
“English? Did you just tell me I look crazy?”
“No, Trent, I did not just tell you you’re crazy. But, if you’re willing to work on things, I think we can make things better.”
He glanced over at her sharply. “You can’t fix this. You can’t make the memories go away or put feeling back in the dead spot inside of me.”
“Maybe we can’t fix everything but I think we could do better than you’re doing right
now.”
Better than he was doing now? Better so that he could listen to his kids play and not feel the pressure creeping up on him? Better so that he could maybe, just maybe, find a way to fix things with his wife?
Maybe he could go home and just be still for a moment. Maybe there was a chance he could sit on the couch with Laura and watch a movie. He would never complain about Shane and Jen’s hospitality but there was something to be said for sleeping in his own bed, with his wife’s body curled next to him. A pulse of longing beat through his veins.
Something so simple. Something so important.
He sucked in a deep breath. Each step into this room had made his chest tighter, his lungs more strained, but each question was…it was lightening the load. Just a little bit, but the pressure around his lungs lessened. Just a little. “Is this going into my official medical record?”
Her expression softened. “I’ll make sure there is nothing put in there that will negatively impact your future military career, should you choose to continue.”
He rubbed his hands over his mouth again. What good was a worn down infantryman in the civilian world? There wasn’t a lot of use for men with his skill set. And how would he support his family? His kids would need money for college and clothes and God knew what else kids required these days.
He needed to take care of his family. What else could he do beyond the military? He’d given it everything he had. Including, apparently, his sanity.
“Okay,” he said after a while. “So how does this work?”
“So let’s talk about this not sleeping thing,” she said. “Not sleeping well is the number one cause of some of these issues. I think if we can address that, everything else, especially the anxiety, will be a lot easier to deal with.”
Trent took a deep breath and held it. He’d never thought about avoiding the R&R Center because of how other people would judge him. It was because he’d had work to do. He was a good infantryman, a good soldier. He had tactical skills. He’d needed to be in the fight. It had been the most important thing in the world to him to prove that he hadn’t been slacking, that he’d been doing everything he was supposed to be doing.
Because the day he’d gotten shot, his soldiers had died. And while intellectually he knew that wasn’t his fault, if he’d been there, if he’d been a little bit faster, a little more prepared…maybe they’d still be alive.
He closed his eyes. But they weren’t. And nothing he’d done for the last four deployments had made a damn bit of difference to the Army. To the individuals he’d served with? Yeah, that mattered. But to the Army?
He’d been ready to sacrifice his entire life to that institution and this is where it left him: sitting in a shrink’s office, talking about not sleeping.
He’d lost his marriage because of his choices—because the Army had needed him. Or at least, that’s what he told himself.
And he’d let Laura slip further and further away.
He glanced over at the doctor, sitting patiently while he waged his own private war. “I have to go home,” he whispered. “And it absolutely terrifies me.”
* * *
Laura opened her e-mail and stared at the words scrawled across the screen, her mind foggy from lack of sleep and too many things at home.
Her phone vibrated on her desk. Laura flipped it over. She didn’t feel like talking to Jen. It was nothing against her closest friend, but Jen’s love for Shane was still so new and shiny that Laura needed sunglasses to protect herself from the brilliance of it. She would never say that to Jen, though, because it would make her feel bitchy and small.
Two days had passed since Patrick had asked her to put on a happy married face. Two days and Trent had found excuses to not come home.
And each day had reaffirmed her belief that whatever demons he was facing, he was going to face them alone. The way he always had.
Just then, as if her thoughts had somehow summoned him, Trent appeared in the doorway, his shoulders filling the narrow entrance. He gripped his beret tightly in both hands, twisting it like he wanted to strip the color from the black wool.
“Hey.”
She stopped typing and looked up, wishing she didn’t see the worry, the lack of sleep in his eyes. “Hey.”
“Can I talk to you?” he asked. His voice was hoarse, deeper than she remembered. It grated over her skin like a callous and she wondered how often he’d had to shout over smoke and gunfire for it to get this gravelly.
Bracing herself, she swallowed the lump that rose in her throat, squeezing out the air along with her ability to speak. She cleared her throat. “Sure.” Wariness in that single word.
He glanced at her desk, then his black gaze met hers. He cleared his throat roughly. “I just wanted to see if you could get away. To be alone for a few minutes? It’s early. We can go get coffee…”
She heard what he didn’t say. He was asking for her. Just her. A chance to be alone with him. To try and talk to him without a thousand things going on around them at once.
It was a risk. But she could do this. She could have coffee with the man and still stick to her guns about ending things. Couldn’t she? She picked up her purse and cell phone. An unfamiliar ache pounded through her and for a moment, she couldn’t place it.
She stopped short as she recognized the feeling. A latent desire swirled through her belly. Funny how her body recognized him when her heart refused.
He didn’t move as she approached. She stopped, stood close enough to see the corded scar running along his jaw. It ended just beneath his left ear, a hard slash through the shadow of his nearly black stubble.
That had happened almost two years ago. He’d called home to tell her about the injury. If she really thought about it, she realized she hadn’t ever seen it up close. He was always in motion whenever he’d been home, before she’d sent him the papers. The few times they’d had sex, the lights had been off. She hadn’t seen him close up like this for a long, long time.
Curiosity tugged at her.
She lifted her fingers to trace the line on his jaw, her anger fading with the evidence of his pain. God, how it must have hurt. He stayed absolutely still as she traced the smooth, white skin, the edge of his stubble scraping the sides of her finger. He might as well have been made of polished granite. He loomed over her, larger than she remembered. He was leaner, his body hard, the lines on his face deeper.
Alone with her husband in the solitude of her office, the urge to touch him drove her closer to him than she should be. But she didn’t fight it.
“This didn’t heal well,” she murmured.
“I thought women liked scars.” His lips quirked at the edges.
“I don’t like how much this must have hurt you,” she said, lowering her hand.
He slipped his hands into his pockets. “It was a long way from my heart.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Her gaze dropped to his chest, covered now by the grey of his Army uniform. She opened her mouth to speak but no words formed in her throat. She withdrew her touch, retreating away from her fragile hopes. What she wouldn’t give for a single space of normalcy, a single moment where she could forget the war, forget all that it had done to her husband, to her family. To her marriage.
They could have all the coffee in the world but until he came home, well and truly came home, not this facade they were putting up to convince the world that their marriage was fine, she could never give him her heart again. She knew that. More than half a decade at war had taught her that. And no amount of wishing in the world could change that essential truth.
* * *
Trent watched his wife walk in front of him into the coffee shop in Copperas Cove. He’d deliberately driven them away from Fort Hood and Killeen, away from the Starbucks and the McDonalds to a place where they could get away from the uniforms and the crowds and the prying glances.
He wanted time with her away from the office. Away from the constant demands on her attention. He had only just found the words he needed and they were stuck in his throat. And she was already wary around him, already tense whenever he managed to be near her.
He didn’t blame her. He was struggling to find his bearings, struggling to find the strength to walk into their front door for that first time. He wanted so badly to be a good dad, but it seemed like everything he did with his family came out twisted and wrong. So he kept avoiding it. Until he no longer could.
He didn’t talk until they had ordered their drinks and were seated in a quiet corner, him on an overstuffed chair, her on an old couch that once upon a time had probably been fuzzy faux brown suede. Laura traced one finger around the lip of her mug, avoiding his gaze. The steel resolve he saw in the set of her jaw was nothing compared to the intense emotion he’d glimpsed in her deep golden eyes.
There was a reason for her reticence. He didn’t deserve to be here with her right now. But he wanted so badly to fix things between them.
Trent cleared his throat. “So, um, Patrick has me talking to one of the counselors,” he said quietly. “He’s trying to build an ‘I’m not one step away from a psychotic break’ case.” He swirled his coffee, unable to look at her. “And I was, ah, talking to her about stuff. About how I feel out of control around the kids.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth, taking her silence as a cue to continue. He pushed his glasses to the top of his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose, avoiding her gaze. And after his session with Emily, he felt a cautious optimism that he might actually be able to pull it off. He wasn’t happy about walking out of there with a prescription for Ambien and a low-dose anti-anxiety medication but Emily had given him her cell phone number and he was supposed to call if he had any questions or concerns.
It was probably the best medical care he’d ever gotten from the Army.
But right then, all the doctors in the world didn’t have the answers he needed.
“She said it’s normal.” He looked at her then, seeking any hint of compassion in her eyes. He didn’t deserve it but still, he dared to hope that maybe, just maybe she could forgive him. “But it doesn’t feel normal, Laura. Everything feels wrong.”
Her lips parted just a hint. Her expression softened and he thought for a brief moment that he’d broken through the barriers between them. Then she looked down into her coffee.
“I can’t fix your normal, Trent.” She lifted her gaze to meet his. “And I won’t let you keep doing this to the kids. They don’t understand what’s going on, why you’re back in Killeen but won’t come home.”
Cold crawled across his skin like spiders with icepicks for feet. He leaned back, grinding his teeth. “I understand,” he said roughly.
“I don’t think you do.” There was no acrimony in her soft words. “I don’t think you realize what you’re doing to them. Emma cried herself to sleep last night because she doesn’t think you love her.”
“That’s horse shit. Of course I love her.”
“Yes, I can hear the devotion in your voice,” she said dryly. “Emma is barely four years old. It hurts her when you ignore her. She misses you. They both miss you.”
“I know that.” He gripped his coffee cup tightly. “I just don’t know what to do about it.”
“And I don’t know how to help you,” she said, her words hard and filled with hurt. “Because you won’t let me.”
Tension wound tight around his heart, squeezing the air from his lungs. “You don’t understand,” he whispered.
“You’re right. I don’t. Because every time I try to get close to you, you run off to another war. Another training exercise, another deployment. I don’t understand what you’ve been through because you won’t talk to me about it. You never have.”
“Maybe I don’t like talking about it,” he spat. “Talking about it doesn’t fix anything.”
She looked at him with patience and understanding and unbreakable resolve. He’d meant to try and talk to her about things, to try and open up, and even that was turning into an epic clusterfuck.
“And maybe not talking about it is what’s causing half the damn problems between us,” she said quietly.
“No, the divorce is what’s causing the problems between us.” His words lashed out at her and she flinched.
“That’s not fair and you know it.”
“You’re right, it’s not.” Trent set his mug down, scrubbing both hands over his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Silence greeted his admission and it was a long moment before he moved his hands to peer at his wife. Tears had filled her eyes and she blinked rapidly, turning her face toward the door, away from him. “Shit, Laura, don’t cry,” he whispered.
“I’m so tired of crying over you,” she said and her voice broke.
Trent didn’t think before he moved. A piece of the tight knot around his heart loosened. He didn’t consider whether or not his wife would pull away. He simply moved, sliding onto the small couch to pull her against him. He didn’t know what he expected her to do but what she did shocked the hell out of him.
She stiffened the moment his arm slid around her shoulder. But he simply held her. One moment. Then another. And then he felt something he’d been longing for since forever.
She relaxed against him.
For a moment, nothing more, until something, some fleeting sensation unfurled in the dead space inside him. She trembled, then, a violent shudder and he realized she was crying. Deep, silent sobs that threatened to break them both.
He sat there and held her, hating himself for hurting her so badly. Hating the war and the illusions that he’d told himself to justify being gone. Hated the fear that made him hide from his family instead of being there for them.
He held her. Because it was the only thing he could do.
* * *
His uniform scraped the edge of her cheek. His body was a solid wall beneath her skin and for a brief moment, she simply let him hold her. His strength wrapped around her, his scent pulled her close, reminding her that somewhere inside this man was the man she’d married. The man she’d loved.
She hadn’t meant to cry in front of him. Not again. But the truth had simply slipped free of the chains she’d attempted to bind it with, breaking her resolve until it emptied out of her, tearing free and leaving her drained.
It was a long time until the tears stopped. Her eyes felt swollen.
Now, she rested against Trent and closed her eyes. She simply stopped. Stopped fighting. Stopped arguing. Stopped resisting her stubborn heart that still loved this man no matter how many times he hurt her or lashed out.
His leaving, his anger: he wasn’t in control of those things. Not like she’d convinced herself he was in those dark days when the rumors and innuendos had been breeding like a live thing in the silence between them. But there was more at work here than her husband simply walking out on her.
He’d made a huge step by talking to the counselor. And he hadn’t needed to tell her about their conversation, but he had. Laura leaned back, refusing to believe the insidious voice in her head that said he was just telling her this out of sheer selfishness.
She lifted her gaze, looking deep into his eyes. She started to shift and pull away but Trent moved first, cradling her face with his palms. Gently, his thumbs caressed her cheeks, wiping away the tears.
“I’m so tired of screwing everything up, Laura,” he whispered. “I want to fix this. Not for the trial. For us.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Yes, it is.” His voice was urgent and harsh. “I can’t fix what I’ve done. And I damn sure don’t deserve your forgiveness.” He lowered his forehead to hers, his palms warm and solid against her skin. “But I’m asking you to help me. Help me reset my normal. Help me learn how to be a dad again. A husband.” He blinked rapidly.
She pressed her lips together, biting back fresh tears. “And what happens when you leave again?” she whispered. “What do I do then?” She sniffed quietly. “You keep breaking my heart.” Her voice cracked.
His fingers crooked around her jaw. “I want to stop.”
They were tucked away in a quiet corner of the coffee shop. The couch was blocked by a high booth. No one could see them. Laura kept her eyes locked on his. Finally, he’d laid his fears, his hopes, his dreams in her lap.
She could crush him so easily. A stronger woman might have walked away, doing to him what he’d done so many times to her. But she was not that woman. She wanted to end the pain between them, not prolong it.
She’d thought divorce was the right answer. Ending the sham their marriage had become, protecting their children from more pain. The kids were her life now and she would not apologize for that. For all intents and purposes, she’d been a single parent for years and that was okay because she knew how to do that. Now fear latched on to her heart. Fear that he would leave her again. That he would once again shatter her into a thousand pieces.
But he was here. At this moment, it was all she had. Without giving herself time to think about the consequences, she leaned closer and brushed her lips gently against his.
She pulled away before he could deepen the kiss. Fear and awareness and arousal skittered through her veins, making her off balance, like a needful, sensual thing. She’d grown accustomed to the hugs of her children, their wet kisses and enthusiastic embraces.
What she craved now was something darker. The faintest brush of lips against lips had sparked something primitive inside her. Something deeper and richer. A long-forgotten need to be touched by a man. But not just any man—by this man. His hands, roughened by combat, sliding up her thighs. The coarse pads of his fingertips caressing her skin.
Memories bombarded her as she attempted to lean away and salvage the remnants of her pride.
But Trent was not operating under the get-some-space battle plan. He reached for her, his eyes rich with dark emotion. His palms scraped against her cheeks, his fingers strong as his lips claimed hers.
His breath was a gasp against her tongue and for a moment, Laura was stunned into stillness, unable to move beneath the assault on her senses. But then her body remembered his taste, her tongue remembered his touch, and a warmth awakened inside her. She opened for him, stroking his tongue with hers, her body folding into his like it was meant for him.
Her every nerve came alive. A cascade of long-denied arousal mixed with bittersweet memories of other homecomings, other farewells. It crashed into them both, driving them under a torrent of emotion.
This was the man she had married. A man who could make her body purr just thinking about him inside her. A man who knew exactly how to kiss her to drive her wild.
This was the man she’d been waiting for. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into his lap and have that urgent, passion-filled sex of first homecoming. It was a long moment before the arousal faded and she became aware of the tender, sucking kisses he placed on her lips.
Another moment before he rested his forehead against hers.
An eternity passed before the words she’d never thought she’d ever say again slid past her lips. “I miss you,” she whispered.
And for once, he did not pull away.
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