A PLACE CALLED HOME
Chapter Eighteen
“I never really thought the Army would be this hard.”
“No one ever thinks handing out flowers and candy to the local nationals is hard.”
His voice rumbled through her body. She was leaning back against him now, her feet draped over the handlebars of the Harley. His chest was a solid wall behind her, his arms steel. She felt protected. Safe.
There was little noise around them now. Night had fallen and the woods had grown quieter. She hadn’t wept but it had been a close thing. She was a therapist. She should know how to stop seeing a memory flashing over and over in her mind.
Instead, the doctor had become the patient. She enjoyed Reza’s form of comfort. Just sitting. Quietly.
She shifted against him and his arms loosened to allow her to find a new position. Then they were back, tight around her once more.
“I’m not naive enough to think that you handed out hearts and candy during the war,” she said after a while.
“Most people forget there’s a war going on, let alone give any real thought to what war really involves.” She loved the feel of his voice, the rumble from deep in his chest. He was a big man. She’d never been attracted to big men. They’d always seemed too much, too overwhelming. But Reza carried his power like a shield, one he was infinitely comfortable wearing.
“When I told my parents I was joining the Army, they asked me why I wanted to go and do something so stupid. I was too smart to join the Army.”
“Contrary to popular belief, we’re not all idiot hillbillies with no other prospects in life.”
He lifted her hair from her neck, exposing her skin to the cool night air. “Why did you join?”
“To get away from my family,” he said. He nuzzled her gently, just below her ear. “My mother died. My dad went to jail. My uncles? That was a whole other story.”
She tipped her head. The feel of his lips on her skin was intoxicating, this insight into the boy he’d been more so. “Uncles?”
“Let’s just say that there are some members of my family who wanted me to think long and hard about fighting a war against our people.” She turned to face him. “My grandfather came here in the fifties with my mother and her brothers from Tehran. My dad married a non-Catholic Persian woman so he obviously was the apostate of the family. That was until I went and joined the war on terror.” He nipped her ear. “I left home as soon as I could after my mom died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.”
His voice held a strange note and she angled her face to be able to look up at him. “Why not?”
“Would you go running home right now?” he asked, his thumb rubbing gently against the side of her throat.
“No. My family made it abundantly clear that I was to come home immediately, which is the number one reason why I won’t go back.” She closed her eyes against the pleasure of his touch. She shifted and threaded her fingers through his.
“Your family wouldn’t approve of me,” he said against her hair.
She squeezed their joined hands tightly. “Their approval doesn’t matter to me.”
“We both know that’s a lie.” He rested his cheek against hers, his chin cradled in her neck. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“Maybe it hurts. Maybe being rejected by your family should hurt. But I know this: I feel more alive with you than I ever have before. And as long as you’re willing company…”
Reza straightened and turned her to face him. Her thighs draped over his. In the low moonlight, his features were harsh, unforgiving. He looked like an angel of death.
She could forget that when he was loving her but looking into his face now, she knew she should never put that thought out of her mind again. This man looked comfortable in the darkness. As though he was at home in it.
If left here alone in the woods, fear would likely paralyze her. Reza? Reza looked like he would simply hunker down and wait, at home in the shadows.
“I’m not willing to let you throw away something important just to get a quick screw on the back of my bike.”
“Oh, that’s what we’re going to do out here?” She wriggled against his hips. “I thought we were just going to snuggle.”
His dark eyes looked black and narrowed dangerously. The moment hung for what felt like eternity between them.
And then his lips curled into a warm smile.
***
His little captain kept surprising him. She made jokes when he didn’t expect them and looked like she was ready to break at other times. Reza shifted against her, surrounding her with his body and knew a flickering moment of something he’d never felt before: contentment.
“You’re such a contradiction,” he murmured.
“How’s that?”
“Librarian fetish, remember?” he said. His blood felt heavy in his veins. Like he wanted nothing more than to pull her against him and fall into sleep. “You’re all buttoned up and tense but now you’re talking dirty to me on my bike. It’s really hot.”
“You were serious about that?”
He lifted one shoulder. “What do you think?”
She twined her arms around his neck and lifted her chin to look up at him. It was such a simple embrace. Simple but powerful. Laced with something more than just sexual attraction.
Something vibrated between their bodies. “Is that me or you?” she asked.
“Me.” Reza reluctantly leaned back to pull his phone from his chest pocket. There was an angry text message from none other than Captain “I Don’t Text” Marshall. Wisniak is being held by the military police. They won’t arrest him because they say he’s suicidal.
Reza sighed and dialed his commander. He held his index finger over his lips and Emily nodded. “Sir, what’s going on with Wisniak?”
How the hell had he found the kid? Wisniak had promised he’d stay in his room until the investigators finished up. Now he was being held by the military police?
“Nice of you to answer your phone.” Reza could hear the leading edge of a full-blown tantrum in Marshall’s voice. “Apparently, he made some comments about blowing up the theater.”
That didn’t make a damn bit of sense. Wisniak hadn’t been around anyone in the company since Reza had relocated him across post. How the hell had Marshall found him?
“Then why don’t they just arrest him?” He had to play it off like he didn’t know anything about where Wisniak had been.
“Because he tried to slit his wrists, apparently.”
“Ah fuck.” Reza rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “All right. I’ll head in and pick him up.”
“He goes straight to the emergency room for an evaluation so I can brief the battalion commander we’re actually doing something with him.” There it was. The classic Captain Marshall. No concern about whether or not the trooper had actually tried to slice his wrists. Just how could we shape this so the boss doesn’t get pissed.
“Roger, sir.” Reza ended the phone call before he said something that would really irritate Marshall. He sighed and looked at Emily. Regret was thick in his voice. “I have to go.”
“Is everything okay?” Genuine concern. For once, it didn’t piss him off.
“It’ll have to be, won’t it?” There was no acrimony in his words. Just fatigue that he could feel in his bones. He wanted to tell her what was going on with Wisniak. Maybe he should have. But right then, he didn’t want to see the shadows creep back into her eyes. He wanted her to be able to sleep tonight.
He’d call her if he needed to but he hoped that Marshall was wrong.
Emily slid her arms around his waist. Her warmth penetrated his clothes. Made him want to hold on to her with everything he had.
“It’s my job,” he said softly. “I take care of soldiers.”
“Even guys like Wisniak?”
Her words hurt, cutting him with a reminder of his own callousness. He did nothing to staunch the wound. He deserved it. “Especially guys like him. Guess I forgot that for a while.” He tucked his phone back in his pocket and wrapped his arms around her. Brushing her hair out of her eyes, he kissed her gently, struggling to hide the magnitude of feeling that swelled inside him from simply being near her. “I’ll take you back to your car,” he said softly.
She nodded, slipping off the bike and back on behind him. Her arms wrapped tightly around his waist and he felt her cheek pressed against his back. He closed his eyes for a brief moment before firing the engine.
Everything had been simpler before she came into his life. Now? Everything was twisted and complex. But as her arms slid around his waist and her thighs gripped his from behind, he knew it was worth it. She was worth it.
Whatever the cost.
He pulled down the gravel drive toward Talarico’s a little while later and came to a stop near her car. The bar was brightly lit against the night lake and people were scattered in various alcoves surrounding the bar. Emily climbed off and Reza killed his bike, leaving them surrounded by shadows. “Will you be okay?” she asked, smoothing her hair down.
“I’m always okay.” A non-answer. One she didn’t press him on for once.
She reached for him, her palm warm against his chilled skin. Her thumb brushed against his cheek, the gesture a comfort. “Let me know if there’s anything you need?”
Because he couldn’t resist, he tugged her toward him and claimed her lips. It was not a gentle kiss; there was too much storming inside him for it to be anything but fierce. She opened beneath his onslaught and met his passion with her own.
Reluctantly, he nibbled on her bottom lip before releasing her entirely. “Drive safely tonight,” he said softly.
She smiled and said nothing, merely stepping back until she bumped up against her car. He got back on the bike and pulled out, but the last thing he saw was a secret smile on her lips and a promise in her eyes.
***
Reza straightened and braced for confrontation as he walked into the MP station on Fort Hood. He waited to be buzzed in and then followed the portly young private first class back to the holding area. Reza couldn’t help but wonder how this kid would hold up downrange, wearing seventy pounds of gear in a-hundred-and-twenty-plus-degree heat.
He pulled his mind away from the trivial mental gymnastics as they rounded the corner to the holding area.
Wisniak sat in the corner. His shoulders were hunched; his elbows rested on his knees. His eyes were dark. Bleak. There were bandages wrapped around both wrists.
Rage boiled in Reza’s blood. If Wisniak had attempted suicide, the cops should have brought him immediately to the hospital instead of holding him here. “I need a copy of the official report,” Reza said to the desk sergeant, barely keeping his voice civil.
The heavy PFC slunk out of the room at the sound of an impending battle. The desk sergeant straightened and stood behind a desk fronted with bulletproof glass, and his expression flickered but he didn’t budge. “I need your commander’s permission to release that information to you.”
Reza slapped his cell phone on the counter with Marshall’s phone number visible. “Call him.”
He glanced at Wisniak as the sergeant dialed Marshall’s number. There was a spot of blood on the bandage on the inside of Wisniak’s left wrist. Reza scowled. “Who triaged his wounds?”
The desk sergeant pulled out the police report, holding the phone up to one ear. “His wrists were already bandaged when we detained him.”
Wisniak looked up at the sound of Reza’s voice. His skin blanched and he turned a sickly shade of green before his lips pressed together in a hard, flat line. He lifted his chin defiantly. Reza lifted one eyebrow at Wisniak’s expression and the soldier quickly lowered his gaze back to the floor.
The desk sergeant spoke with Marshall and hung up the phone. Reza held out his hand for the report, saying nothing as he skimmed the pages. Finally, he looked up. Wisniak was watching him cautiously. “Let’s go,” Reza said.
Reza had swapped his bike for his truck on the way to post. Wisniak followed him to it without speaking, then climbed into the passenger’s seat. It was only a short ride to the hospital but the closer they got, the more Wisniak physically shrank into his seat.
Reza parked outside the emergency room, grateful that it didn’t seem too busy.
“I don’t want to be here,” Wisniak said. His voice was hoarse, as though he’d been screaming.
“You don’t get much of a choice after you threaten to blow up one of the theatres,” Reza said, killing the engine.
“I didn’t.”
Reza shifted and pinned the kid with a hard look. “So you’re telling me the military police have started arresting people for shits and giggles now?”
“I didn’t do that, Sarn’t Ike.” There was an urgency in his voice that quickly faded. “Not that I expect you to believe me.”
“Then explain it to me, Wisniak, because, right now, I’ve got Captain Marshall calling me, telling me you’ve been arrested, I’ve got a police report of a text-messaged threat, and I’ve got you sitting in the police station with bandages on your wrists. So right now, your claim of innocence isn’t holding a lot of water with me.” Reza sucked in a deep breath and eased back the boiling rage in his voice. “You’ve got one chance to set the record straight.”
Wisniak looked at him, his eyes wide with shock. His mouth moved for a moment before sound actually came out. “Song set me up.”
Reza said nothing. Mike Song was one of Marshall’s boys, part of Marshall’s so-called A-Team, a crew that he’d brought with him from his previous unit once he’d taken command. “Wisniak, I saw the picture of the text message,” Reza said, wanting to shake Wisniak so badly for trying to lie to him once more.
Wisniak balked and looked at Reza like he had a dick growing out of his forehead. “You’re not very tech savvy, are you, Sarn’t Ike? All he did was take a screen shot of a contact that said my name. There’s nothing to prove the message was from my number. He faked the pic and sent it to Captain Marshall.”
Reza considered Wisniak’s argument. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, especially since one could manually create contacts on phones. “Why would Song do that?”
Wisniak looked away and sat silently for a long minute. “It really sucks not having a combat patch.” There was shame in his voice. “It sucks not being a good enough soldier.”
Reza frowned, rubbing his hand over his mouth thoughtfully as he listened to Wisniak’s words and thought about what to say. His own prejudice rang loudly in his ears.
“I’ve done everything the Army asked of me.” Finally, Wisniak looked back at him. “All I ever wanted to be was not a fuck-up.” He blinked rapidly then squeezed his eyes shut. “Song said he was going to make sure I was run out of the Army because I was a waste of time. That I didn’t deserve the honor of wearing our uniform.” He looked back at Reza, his eyes filled with the loss of something much more fragile than the most precious glass. “He’s right.”
“You tried to kill yourself tonight, didn’t you?” Reza finally said softly.
Wisniak looked down at his wrists. “I even fucked that up.”
Reza swallowed a hard lump in his throat as a memory collided with his present reality. This was not the first time he’d sat with someone wearing bandages on their wrists.
He was at a loss for words. He searched for something to bridge the gap between him and the wounded young soldier next to him.
He settled on the truth.
“We all take a knee sometimes,” Reza said softly, his voice rough.
Wisniak eyed him warily. “You never do.”
Reza pressed his lips together into a flat line. “You didn’t see me six months ago.”
“What happened six months ago?”
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