Book of the Month: TAKE ME HOME: Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Ben was used to not sleeping well. He supposed it had started in Iraq, after their base had gotten blown all to hell and nearly taken Ben with it. But it had worsened with a vengeance when he’d been in the hospital after having his stomach stitched up and with the burns on his shoulder itching and driving him crazy. He’d drift into that foggy space between consciousness and unconsciousness, unsure whether he’d ever really fallen asleep.
He supposed it had been around the same time that he’d started to let things drift apart between him and Escoberra. He was too ashamed that he hadn’t been able to keep the commander from lighting Escoberra’s ass up over the attack. He’d given up sleeping much after that and developed a strong affection for caffeine.
But he’d also learned to appreciate the little bits of sleep he did get. So when the phone started ringing at the ass crack of dawn, it really ruined any chance of him actually sleeping.
He squinted at the blurred number.
“Sir, it’s First Sarn’t. We’ve got guys in Bell County jail.”
Ben sat up, cradling his head in his hand, and waited for the words to connect to actual thoughts in his brain. “Who?”
“Sarn’t Foster and Wookie.”
“Ah fuck.” Ben frowned, surprised to hear First Sarn’t call one of their boys by his nickname so soon after arriving to the unit. Of course, Wookie was exceptionally hairy. The kind of hairy where you could see the thick carpet outlined through a combat t-shirt.
Ben had once bet him a three-day pass that he wouldn’t wax his chest. He’d waxed it. He’d bled while he did it, but he’d waxed it. At the time, Ben had been a lowly platoon leader who had not yet had his faith in the men around him destroyed by malfeasance.
And now Wookie was in jail. With Foster. Awesome.
Ben was going to kick both their asses. Foster’s especially.
“What’d they do?” he asked First Sarn’t.
“Public intox with a possibility of a bar fight still being considered. I talked to the arresting officer. Sounds like our boys were in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Sorren sounded far too alert for this early in the morning.
Ben scrubbed his hand over his face. “Can we send someone to pick them up?”
“You sure about that?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because the battalion commander has a policy that if our boys go to jail, they’ll post their own bail.”
Ben stared into the darkness. “Were they actually arrested or are the police just holding them at the police station?”
“What else would they be doing at the police station?”
He scrubbed his hand over his face again. He was going to kill Foster. Damn it, Foster knew better than to do this shit. “The cops here sometimes just take our boys in without arresting them. Which means we need to send someone to go pick those two knuckleheads up before they do get arrested and hit the blotter.”
“Got it. But you’re going to need to call it in.”
“Sure thing, Firs’ Sarn’t.” Ben clicked off the phone and cradled his head in his hands. He wanted to crawl into bed and wake up in the middle of the afternoon like he’d done when he was a lieutenant.
First Sarn’t expected him to follow the rules and call the incident with the police in to the battalion commander. Except that they hadn’t really been arrested so there really wasn’t anything to tell. Ben wasn’t about to wake the old man up for something that could easily wait two more hours.
It wasn’t as if they’d killed someone. Then the police would have actually arrested them and then they’d have had to do a lot more than just call the first sergeant.
Anger pulsed in his veins. He wanted to whip Foster’s sorry ass for being dumb enough to get into trouble. Damn it, Ben didn’t need this shit right now. There was another reason he didn’t want to be a commander. He didn’t want to have to bail his boys out of jail. He wasn’t cut out for responsibility. He looked at the phone. He probably should call the boss. But a little piece of his soul died at the thought.
It felt too much like narc’ing on his boys.
His to-do list ran through his head as he sat there and he debated heading into the gym or not. He still had to inventory all his property. He had to counsel his lieutenants on what he expected of them. All the administrative tasks that responsible commanders were supposed to do.
He didn’t want to be a good commander. He wanted to be a good friend. It was infinitely more important to him at that moment to take care of Escoberra and Zittoro and even Foster’s stupid ass. He scrubbed his hand over his face. It was easier to think of the tasks than the people. His mother would tell him he was being weak. That he was there to accomplish the mission, not coddle soldiers.
She certainly hadn’t coddled him after his dad had died. And her coldness had left an emptiness in Ben that he’d given up trying to fill with anything other than the war and his boys. Because those things never let you down.
Everyone else always did.
Except that now Ben was in charge, so he had to be the guy that didn’t let people down.
And that just wasn’t how he was wired. He hated letting people down.
Ben sat up, frustrated that he couldn’t sleep. He was going to pay for this later. And by later, he meant about three in the afternoon when he’d want to curl up beneath his desk and hide from the world, and try to catch a fifteen-minute nap to sustain him for the rest of however long the day was.
Funny how he’d learned to nap over the years when he’d realized that insomnia was going to be a permanent companion.
He shuffled into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. It was going to be one of those days-the kind that required chewing on coffee beans straight up instead of just drinking coffee.
All he could do was get up and get after it.
Maybe a good workout before he faced the day would help. He glanced at his watch. He could get into the gym at the division headquarters. It was open twenty-four hours. Ben packed a bag.
He wasn’t going back to sleep. Might as well do something useful with the time.
***
Olivia made a habit of working out every morning. She tended toward cranky when she didn’t get in her morning run, a fact that more than one of her subordinates had pointed out on more than one occasion.
So when she got to her regular gym that morning and it was closed for maintenance, her temper sparked. She had a routine for a reason.
She didn’t want to work out in the division headquarters but it was the closest building to her new office and she could shower there and walk across the street to her office after, thereby avoiding the morning traffic jams.
She hoped it wasn’t busy. One of the reasons she preferred her usual gym was because she timed her morning workout so she’d be showering by the time everyone else was first arriving. She always managed to avoid the crowds that way. She didn’t enjoy pressing up against towel-draped bodies in the female locker room. It closed her in and threatened to suffocate her.
It was early but not so early that the division headquarters wasn’t already filling up. She walked to the back and headed into the locker room, changed and secured her bag in one of the lockers, then made her way toward the small but functional gym.
She checked her e-mail as she walked toward the gym. Music blasted in her ears from her iPod.
So it was a complete surprise to run into a solid wall of man.
She braced her hand on his chest to keep from stumbling.
And then looked up.
Ben. God but her life was such a clich’e9.
His fingers gripped her upper arm where she’d collided with him. His t-shirt was wet, his hair spiked with sweat. The smell of man and soap mingled in her senses and crashed over her. Her eyes met his. A silent look passed between them. A silence that alternated between a fragile truce and a terrible anger. It was all there, thick and heavy.
She should move.
But neither one of them moved.
And then she felt it. A slight caress. The barest of gestures. His thumb brushed over her exposed upper arm.
Her breath caught in her throat. Her skin came alive beneath the strength and power in his grip. His lips parted and she could see the tiny lines at the edge of his mouth.
It was Ben who moved, releasing her arm and taking a step back.
And just like that, the spell was broken.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
“No problem.” She had to work with him. She didn’t have to run around pissed off and angry. She could be civil despite their last argument. Right? “Is the gym busy?”
He ran his tongue over his teeth, making an irritated sound. “Just two guys lifting. Cardio is clear.”
“Thanks.” And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what interpersonal hostility feels like at five o ‘clock in the morning. But she didn’t say that.
Ben moved out of the way and she pushed open the door to the gym, needing the workout now more than ever. She made a beeline for the stair stepper, her preferred torture method, and popped her headphones back into her ears. Cranking up whatever came on, she hit the start button and started climbing.
She was not going to spend the entire day pissed off. She refused. She was going to listen
to music and find her happy place and go to work and do what the Army paid her to do. She was not going to fume over Ben Teague’s refusal to do his job. And she damn sure was not going to think about the feel of his skin on hers or the smell of his skin…
She took a deep breath and cranked up the speed on the Stairmaster. If her brain was working overtime, it meant her legs were not.
She closed her eyes and let the music pulse over her. Her feet fell into step with the beat.
She climbed, leaving behind the anger. Leaving behind the frustration.
Leaving behind too many bad memories, dragged to the surface by Ben protecting his men.
She breathed deeply, forcing her legs to work harder. Forcing her body to comply.
She was never going to be weak again. She would never again fail to act.
She could have gone over her commander’s head all those years ago. Should have gotten the lawyers at division involved. She should have done something other than stand there when her commander had decided to protect his sergeant.
But she hadn’t. And a family was dead because she’d failed to act.
But Emily was right. All night, she’d wrestled with Emily’s words. Ben hadn’t said he wasn’t going to process the packet; he’d only said he wasn’t processing it right now. She could give Ben the benefit of the doubt. But she was not going to forget about that packet.
There were too many good soldiers doing the right thing that deserved an Army focused on how to bring them home from war. They deserved leaders not distracted by bad seeds who took time, effort, and energy away from training for the next deployment.
They deserved officers worthy of being called leader. The anger crept back in over her ineffectiveness, her inability to argue her case better. If she closed her eyes, she could still see Mrs. Heilman the day she’d come to battalion. The bruise blackened her left cheek. She’d made eye contact with Olivia and slipped her hand into the hand that had put the bruise there in the first place. Olivia knew the feeling so well.
She knew what it was to put your hand in your abuser’s and hope that your love was enough to make him change.
Even if Olivia had managed to get her commander to act, Mrs. Heilman had already decided to stay with her husband.
The futility of it burned. Olivia climbed harder, trying to outpace the demons from her past. She kept going even as the haunting echo of her failure stung behind her eyes.
She needed to stop before she imploded. She’d hit a wall before. When frustration and anger and hurt had overwhelmed her and she’d been unable to act.
She was terrified that if she stopped she’d never get started again. She hated that fear. Hated that weakness. She should be better than that.
But she wasn’t.
Her feet moved in time with the beat. Climbing. Climbing. Trying to leave the past behind. Trying to forget how she’d failed. Trying to stop blaming herself for someone else’s decisions.
The Stairmaster slowed. She glanced down. Her workout was over.
But the blame, the residual flame of anger was still there.
And so was Ben Teague.
***
Ben was a firm believer in the magical powers of a hard workout to cure even the shittiest of bad days but considering this one hadn’t even started, he was more than a little shocked that Olivia’s day was as bad as her workout indicated. Her skin was slick with sweat. Her hair clung to her face, her clothes to her body.
But it was the torment etched into her features that gave him pause.
He’d showered and started to leave the headquarters. But instead, he’d detoured down the corridor and headed back to the gym.
He’d planned on telling her why he hadn’t processed Zittoro’s packet. He didn’t want her telling the battalion commander. He didn’t want his boss breathing down his neck, micromanaging him, limiting his ability to command.
If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right. And that meant doing something good for his soldiers when he could.
But getting Zittoro his GI Bill benefits would only happen if Olivia didn’t tell the commander. And as much as he resented the hell out of her threatening to go over his head, he couldn’t discount the chance that she might actually listen to him if he tried to explain.
He didn’t have to do this. But there was some part of him that needed someone to acknowledge that this was the right thing to do. Ben was doing the best he could but he didn’t know how to do this.
He needed an anchor. Someone to make sure he didn’t lose his soul in this job fighting the demons.
But Olivia had her own demons. Watching her then, seeing the violent, haunted emotion on her features as she worked out, shutting down the world and lost in her own thoughts, something else pushed aside his selfish need. Concern.
Olivia Hale was running from some powerful memories.
Ben didn’t know what they were, but he recognized the feeling as she lost herself in that workout. He looked up at her now, her skin flushed and wet, her cheeks flaming red-either from exertion or embarrassment, he couldn’t tell.
“Sorry to interrupt your workout,” he said after an uncomfortable silence stretched between them for too long.
Her lips were parted as she struggled to catch her breath. “I was done anyway.”
Forced civility.
She stepped off the machine, palming her iPod. Waiting silently for him to step into the breach and say whatever it was that he was going to say.
Ben breathed out. “I wanted to explain about Zittoro’s packet.”
A slight crease appeared between her brows but other than that, her expression remained impassive. “I’m listening.”
“Zittoro’s got problems. And I get that the Army can’t fix those problems.” Ben clenched his fists, fighting for the right words. “I’m sitting on his packet to make sure he hits his thirty-six months’ time in service so he can qualify for his GI Bill.” Ben ground his teeth, wishing she would say something, do something. Show some sign of a human fucking heart. “He may never use it but we owe him that.” He cleared his throat. Met her gaze and hoped-prayed-that she would hear him out. “And I’m asking you not to tell the battalion commander.”
***
The words were hard for him. She could see the strain written in the tense muscles of his neck, the rigidity of his stance, that she wanted to smooth beneath her fingers. It was tempting, so tempting to reach for him.
She looked into his dark eyes and saw the quiet hope, the faith that it took for him to trust her enough to talk to her.
Ben Teague was not a man who trusted easily. She could see that now. And she wanted to know why.
He stood a little too close. His body was a little too warm. With that simple request, Ben had turned her damning indictment of commanders-of him-upside down.
She had judged him harshly. Unfairly.
All because of her own bias. She was supposed to be better than that. She’d based her opinion of him on another commander’s behavior in another unit in another time.
He stood there asking for her help, and she was at a loss.
She wanted to cross that divide, to bridge the chasm between them. She wanted to trust him. More, she wanted him to trust her.
Because she was so tired of being alone. Of standing and fighting the good fight with no one by her side.
Ben dragged his hand over his mouth, breaking the spell. “Look, never mind.”
“Wait,” she said quickly. She reached for him. Her hand closed over his upper arm, over the leading edge of that intricate black ink only hinted at beneath the cuff of his Army t-shirt. “I was trying to think of what to say.”
He looked at her hand on his skin. He didn’t have his uniform jacket on yet. A simple omission but where their skin touched, heat radiated through her palm. She yanked back, releasing him quickly.
“A simple yes or no would have worked,” he said mildly.
Her hand tingled where she’d touched him. She rubbed her thumb against her palm. “But it’s not a yes or no answer.”
The muscles in his neck tensed. His eyes searched her face. “I thought it was a pretty simple request.”
“It was. But there’s more to it than just that.” She took a deep breath and hoped she wouldn’t screw this up. Met his gaze and summoned every ounce of her courage to step into the breach and ask this man’s forgiveness.
Ben frowned, his brown eyes locked on hers. Her pulse throbbed in her temple. Nerves tightened in her belly. “What does that mean?”
“It means that I made assumptions about what you were doing.” Olivia swallowed the bitter pill. “I owe you an apology.” It choked her but she swallowed it anyway, the biting realization that she’d been so flat out wrong. “I won’t say anything to the battalion commander.”
He didn’t relax. He didn’t say anything. His eyes searched hers. His lips were parted, just a little. And then she felt it. The sigh of relief. A slight sensation of air brushing over her skin as he breathed out deeply. That simple movement released every ounce of tension. The lines around his brown eyes lessened. His mouth softened.
He shifted then. His hand moved before she could realize what he’d done. His palm cradled her cheek, his touch soft, his hand gentle.
It was something so simple yet it rocked the foundation of the world beneath her feet. “Thank you,” he said. His throat moved as he swallowed and lowered his hand.
She didn’t know if he’d meant to do it or not but her skin cooled without his touch.
She nodded in acknowledgment. “Next time? Next time just tell me what you’re doing?”
He offered a wry grin. “Maybe next time, you don’t jump to conclusions?”
“Yeah, that would be a good place to start.” Deep breath. “I judged you based on my past experiences and I’m sorry.”
Ben lifted a single eyebrow, his lips quirking at one corner in that ridiculously sexy way of his. “You’re not wrong often, are you?”
“I try not to be,” she said, swiping her palm across her forehead. “When I’m wrong, bad things happen.”
He cocked his head at her. “Like what?”
She shook her head slightly, looking away, not wanting him to see the truth of the failure she could never atone for. “It doesn’t matter. But I made a mistake and when I make mistakes, I own up to them and try not to repeat them.” She draped her earphones around her neck and offered him a tentative smile. “Next time? Let’s confer properly without me jumping to conclusions.”
“I doubt there will be a next time. Not for something like this,” he said. A shadow flickered across his face. He licked his lower lip and her gaze locked on that simple, reflexive movement. “I’ve been looking through my packets. There are a lot of straight-up criminals that need to go home.”
“We’re scheduled for a legal sync meeting this afternoon with the battalion commander. We can do a quick huddle afterward to set up the next priority of your packets to start tackling some of them.”
Ben nodded and shifted his assault pack to the opposite shoulder. “Sounds like a plan. I
appreciate it.”
There was cool formality between them now, but beneath the professional veneer something simmered. Something dark and hungry that made her want to lean in, to feel his touch again.
To let his fingers trace over her skin.
He held the door open for her as they walked out of the gym and started down the hall.
“Thank you,” he said after a moment. “For letting me do this for Zittoro.” Something in his voice cracked and she was tempted, so tempted to reach for him.
She stopped near the locker room door. He stood a little too close and for once, she didn’t take a step away from the heat radiating off his body. She lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “It’s not the by-the-book right thing to do but I understand why you’re doing it.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.” She paused. Terrified that she was giving in to something unprofessional, that she was doing this because she was starting to look at Ben like he was someone who could be more than a coworker. Her own motives made her suspicious. Still, she stood too close. And made the leap of faith. “Giving him something tangible like his GI Bill to hold on to, even if he probably won’t use it, is hope. Maybe he can kick his addiction, maybe he can’t. But you’re giving him hope, if nothing else.” She paused. She reached for him then, because to do otherwise was to admit to herself that she was a coward. She cupped the soft skin on his neck. Felt the prickle of stubble against her palm, the heat sear through her skin. “It’s a kind thing to do,” she whispered.
A strange emotion flickered across his face. “There’s not a lot of room for kindness in command,” he said softly. She slid her hand down his shoulder, her fingers brushing over the cool fabric of his uniform. It was crisp beneath her fingertips, his muscles solid beneath her touch. She squeezed his forearm gently, then released him. Because it would have been too tempting to linger.
“Command is difficult. But there’s room for being just. And it’s sometimes more difficult to be just and easier to be cruel.”
Ben opened his mouth to say something then snapped it closed.
“What?” she urged. There was something in the way he looked, the flicker of fear in a confident man that drew her to push past her own barriers and misconceptions.
“I worry about that,” he said.
“What, being unjust?”
His jaw tensed and he looked away, down the empty hallway. “About being cruel.”
Olivia wiped her neck with the towel. She took a single step forward, her palm resting on his upper arm. “The fact that you’re worried about it is a good sign.”
Silence. Awkward and heavy. His arm was solid and warm beneath her touch.
He glanced at her then, his eyes dark with uncertainty and shaded in doubt. “This is the part where I’d normally have a snappy comeback. But I seem to lose my stride around you.”
She dropped her hand, because to leave it in place would take this conversation to a place she wasn’t ready to go. Not with Ben, not with anyone.
She smiled, grasping for something light and flip to ease some of the want pounding in her veins. The space between them crackled with heat, with electric energy. “That’s good. It means I’m keeping you on your toes.”
“You think so?”
She backed up, one hand on the locker room door. “I’m leaving now.”
“Hey.” She paused and turned back. He stood where she’d left him, his assault pack thrown over one shoulder. His eyes were dark, his mouth wide and far too beautiful. “Thank you, Olivia.”
She offered a light smile, knowing it was a mistake and making it anyway. There wasn’t room for her to feel this way. Not for Ben Teague. She had to work with him. “You’re welcome,” was all she said instead.
He left her there, holding on to the fleeting connection for as long as she could.
ONE CLICK TAKE ME HOME NOW!
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