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“Oh, God,” she whispered.
“And then there’s this boom, and I’m flying through the air. I end up on my back with the wind knocked out of me, one of my men pinning me to the ground. I can’t move, and there’s this drumbeat in my ears, muffling everything else. But as that fades, I can hear screaming and calls for help. I finally managed to get . . . ” he paused, swallowing hard. It was hard to say his name aloud. “Private Joel Hendrickson’s body off me. I roll onto my side and see that my guys are everywhere, some still alive. Some in pieces. I freeze.”
Violet’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, and she held him hard against her. “It must have been terrifying.”
“Yeah, it was. I finally got it together and called it in, but most of the guys were gone before help arrived. And that night, when it finally hit me, I cried. I cried like a damn baby.”
Her arms held him tighter, and it felt so damn good to have her there, surrounding him, comforting him, that for a moment he gave in. He took the care she offered and basked in it.
Finally, laughing bitterly at himself, he pulled away enough to kiss her lips. “I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you.”
When Violet put her hand to his cheek, he leaned into her touch.
“We can take care of each other,” she whispered. “Will you stay and hold me?”
He kissed her so softly it was like the brush of a butterfly’s wing.
“As long as you need me to.”
VIOLET LAY IN the warmth of Dean’s arms on the couch, listening to his heavy breathing. The early morning light streamed in through the curtains. How long had she slept? An hour? She listened for any stirrings from her open bedroom door, but Daisy was sleeping soundly. It was only Violet who couldn’t quiet her mind.
Dean’s words haunted her. As long as you need me to. She’d almost said forever. I need you to stay with me forever.
But it wasn’t fair to ask, so she’d stayed silent.
The worst part was that the closer they got, the more she wanted to tell him all of it. When he’d talked about his unit, she’d wanted to share, to unburden her own pain, but saying her fears out loud was harder than she’d ever imagined.
How do you tell someone about your mother’s suicide? That you found her bathing in a tub of red water, gashes on her wrist that she’d made with a razor. How do you explain that the image is always there, the peaceful look on your mother’s face now that she was free?
Free of you.
And no matter how hard she tried, Violet couldn’t shake the fear that she was just like her. That when life got to be too much, she would just check out. Leave the people who loved her behind to pick up the pieces.
It was why she’d chosen a psychology major and taken the job at the hotline. She’d wanted to help people with no one to turn to, but lately it had almost seemed like torture going in there and listening to them tell her how hopeless they felt.
And then the calls from the women with children, who regretted ever having them . . . Was that how her mother had felt? Had they just been a mistake to her?
Since meeting Dean, though, she’d been questioning everything and realized how unhappy she was. Her jobs, her major . . . All the things she’d chosen for herself didn’t make her feel complete.
The only times she’d been happy at all in the last few years were when Casey, Daisy, and she did things as a family, without any of the drama. Or times she spent with Tracy, during their one-on-one chats or girls’ nights. Baking. Cooking. Creating food always gave her a sense of peaceful bliss.
And Dean. When she was with Dean, even when he was driving her crazy, the warmth in her heart could only be described as joy.
The only issue with Dean was he always seemed to be around when she was feeling weak. He’d discovered so many of her secrets in just a few weeks; no one besides Tracy had ever known so much about her. And he was still here, wrapped around her back like a security blanket. Giving her the false promise that as long as he was with her, she was safe and sound.
A loud ringtone blared behind her, and Dean stirred. His lips brushed the back of her neck as his arms tightened. “I’ve got to go to work.”
“Okay,” she said. But when she tried to get up, he pulled her back down.
“I really, really don’t want to leave.”
His admission warmed her from the inside out. “But you have to.”
“Yeah. In the army they don’t fire you. They throw you in the stockade.”
“Isn’t that like jail?” She kept her mouth turned from his, positive that her breath was definitely lethal.
“Yep.” He climbed up over the top of her, grinning as he stared into her eyes. “I love the way you look in the morning.”
