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Jake
I need to change these fucking sheets, they still smell like Livi. It’s been three days since I fucked everything up. Her words have been ringing in my head ever since, because she’s exactly right; I’m the worst kind of coward, a man who has information that could give her and her family peace. But instead I choose to keep the details to myself for my own selfish reasons.
However, the more I think about it, I have nothing else to lose. The main reason I was keeping the details of Pete’s death to myself was because I couldn’t stand the thought of Livi looking at me like I was the scum of the Earth. Well, I seem to have accomplished that anyway. The way she scowled at me as she pushed past me the other night was so full of pain and hatred that once I heard the screen door slam, I slumped to the floor and stayed there for the rest of the night, hating myself. I told myself that as soon as the sun rose, I’d get on my bike and go back to the base and put my house up for sale, cut all ties with the Masters family and this fucking town. That’s what us Hartmans do, isn’t it? Cut town as soon as shit gets hard? Might as well follow in my parent’s footsteps and keep up that family tradition.
But for some reason, I just can’t leave. I’ve walked for miles along the beach just trying to figure out what the hell to do. I’ve ridden my bike up and down the Pacific Coast Highway, but nothing clears the fog from my brain. The only time I find peace is when I’m lying in this fucking bed, the smell of Livi on the pillow and the sheets, a half-eaten apple turnover on a plate on the nightstand. It’s the only thing I’ve managed to eat since the night Livi brought them over and it’s only because it reminds me of kissing her, amongst other things.
“God, you’re pathetic,” I growl to myself. It’s midday and the room is hot because I can’t be bothered to turn the air on, and I’m beginning to smell a little ripe. Who the fuck cares anyway?
The knock on my screen door startles me but the voice I hear turns my blood cold.
“Jake Hartman! You’d better be decent because I’m coming in,” Sheila calls from the front door.
I stay rooted to my bed as the screen door slams shut, and I hear Sheila tutting and huffing at the state of the kitchen. I know what she’s looking at: way too many empty beer bottles and an uneaten pizza that I ordered but couldn’t stomach. When I hear the faucet running, I know she’s cleaning up, so I heave my sorry ass out of bed, pull on some sweatpants and a grubby, filthy t-shirt and gingerly walk through into the kitchen.
Sheila looks up from wiping down the table and crinkles her nose in the exact same way Livi does. It crushes the breath out of my body and suddenly I feel light-headed.
But I don’t get any time to be a wuss because Sheila says, “No offense honey, but you smell like week-old garbage. Go and have a shower, and I’ll fix you something to eat. Then we’re going to talk.” She nods her head firmly, and I know from years of experience that what she’s just told me is non-negotiable, and I’d better get my ass in the shower.
By the time I’m showered and dressed in clean athletic shorts and a white t-shirt, I can smell something delicious cooking on the stove top. Sheila smiles as I come in and nods for me to sit at the table where she serves me a bowl of chili from the pot on the stove with some homemade cornbread bread.
Even though I’ve felt sick about what happened with Livi, my stomach gives a loud rumble, and I dive into the chili like a convict on death row. Thankfully Sheila lets me eat most of it before she starts talking, but her first words make me freeze—a spoonful of chili halfway to my mouth.
“Olivia hasn’t left her apartment since she came over here the other night. She called in sick for work Thursday and Friday, which she never does, so I know something happened.” Sheila steeples her fingers under her chin and fixes me with her famous mom stare. “Now, she won’t talk about it. That girl is like a vault when she’s got something on her mind and no amount of trying on my part will open her up. So I’m coming to you to tell me what’s going on.”
Shit! I can’t believe Livi hasn’t gone into work for two days. Those weird little kids are her entire life, and she loves her job. I feel like such an asshole for making her feel this way. And as I think about her holed up in her apartment, in the dark, crying her heart out, I get a stab of guilt that forces me to say the one thing I never thought I would.
“Pete died because of me.”
Sheila blinks several times but other than that she doesn’t react or say anything. So I continue.
I explain what happened that night in Afghanistan; how the team had liberated the hostages but that a hidden insurgent had appeared, and I took the shot, thinking I’d taken him out. I watch Sheila’s face as I say the next part, waiting for the hatred and disappointment that is bound to come with my revelation.
“Pete was bringing up the rear, like he always did, making sure the team made it out safely. I was so intent on watching them through my scope that I didn’t notice the insurgent get up and aim his gun at Pete. He managed to get one shot off before I took him down, but the bullet went through Pete’s throat and severed his carotid artery. I watched him bleed out on the ground and there wasn’t a fucking thing I could do about it.” My voice cracks on the last word.
When I stop talking, I realize my face is wet with tears, but Sheila isn’t looking at me with disgust or hatred. Her own eyes are full of tears and before I can speak again, she gets up from her chair and pulls me to my feet, wrapping her arms tightly around me. I sink into her embrace and six years of guilt and pain come out in great gasping sobs that shake my whole body and soak the shoulder of her shirt. Sheila just holds me and rubs my back, her own sobs are quiet and dignified, and it feels like we both need this moment of release.
After what feels like an endless amount of time, I pull away and swipe my hand across my face, slightly embarrassed now that the moment has passed.
“I’m sorry,” I grumble, grabbing a napkin to blow my nose and flopping down into the chair.
“You don’t have to be sorry, honey,” Sheila replies, also grabbing a napkin for her eyes. “You can’t hold any blame for what happened to Pete. You both signed up to go into dangerous situations and like you said, that son of mine would always put himself in the way of harm to protect others.”
“But I should’ve made the shot,” I argue. “It’s a shot I’ve made hundreds of times before and since, but the one time I missed, it cost Pete his life.”
“Jake, I’m going to say this once and I want you to listen very carefully,” she says firmly, reaching over to cover my hand with hers. “Dave and I have never blamed anyone for what happened to Pete, not the Navy, not the guys on his team, and definitely not you. He knew the risks of joining the Navy and training to be a SEAL. It was his dream, but he knew he’d have to go into life-threatening situations. I know that you did everything in your power to protect him, and I love you for it.”
Her words help to lift the dead weight that I’ve been carrying around with me since that night, and for the first time in years I feel a sense of peace. Sheila squeezes my hands and by the look on her face I can tell that our chat isn’t over yet.
“Now you need to tell me what happened between you and Olivia.”
Damn, that almost feels like a more complicated conversation, and I feel deeply ashamed of the way I treated her after we made love. I’ve known since the first moment I saw her again at the Founders Fair that I’m hopelessly in love with her, but I’ve fucked it all up.
I take a deep breath and prepare to tell Sheila everything that’s happened, obviously sparing her the intimate details, hoping that she can help me fix my mistake and make Olivia mine forever.
Chapter 12
Olivia
