Maureen Child - Little Secrets

“I’m glad. I don’t want to lose you, either, Jack.”

“You won’t.”

Late-afternoon sunlight spilled into the room and bathed the two of them in a golden haze. A soft, cool breeze ruffled the curtains hanging at the partially opened window.

Letting his gaze sweep up and down her body, he finally met her eyes again and whispered, “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Rita. Never forget that.”

Oh, God. That sounded too final and she couldn’t accept that. He had to come home. To her. So she smiled and fought for courage.

“Don’t you forget it, either,” she said.

“Not a chance.”

He kissed her again and she knew it was goodbye. He had to leave. See his family before shipping out in the morning. And she had a flight to Utah to catch.

When he slid off the bed and grabbed his jeans, she sat up, dragging the coverlet up to cover her breasts. Pushing her hair back out of her eyes, she watched him dress and her mouth went dry.

“You’ll write to me,” she said, not a question.

“I will.” He patted the pocket of his shirt. “I’ve got your address and you’ll have mine as soon as you get a letter from me. I’d give it to you now, but I can’t be sure it won’t change. Hell, I’m not even sure my email address will be the same.”

“Doesn’t matter.” She shook her head, went up on her knees and reached for him. He held her close and she locked her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest. She heard the steady beat of his heart and prayed it would remain safe and steady until she was with him again. “Just write to me, Jack. And let me know you’re safe.”

He tipped her chin up with the tips of his fingers. “And when I’m coming home.”

“That, too.” He kissed her again, looked long and deep into her eyes, then turned for the door. At the threshold, he paused, turned back and sighed. “You take my breath away.”

She covered her mouth with one hand and knew she would soon lose the battle with her tears. “Be safe, Jack. And come home to me.”

He gave her a sharp nod, then turned and left, the door closing quietly behind him. Alone, Rita walked to the window, the coverlet a toga of sorts, around her naked body. She pulled the edges of the curtains back, looked down into the parking lot and saw him, taking long, sure strides toward his black Jeep.

As if he could sense her watching him, he turned, looked up at her and simply held her gaze for several long seconds. Then he got in the car and drove away.

But he never wrote. He never came to her. If she hadn’t moved to Long Beach to feel closer to a memory, she might never have known he was even alive. Was that Fate blessing them? Or cursing them?

“Down! Get down!”

Startled at the muffled shout, Rita jumped to her feet and whipped her head around to stare at the darkened hall leading to Jack’s bedroom. Starting down the hall, the wood floor was cold against her bare feet. With every step she took, his voice came louder, more desperate.

She ran, following his shouts, his pain.

Her heart.

Seven

Jack shouted himself awake, jolted upright in bed and struggled to breathe. The dream—nightmare—still held him in a tightfisted grip and he had to force himself to look around the moonlit room to orient himself. He was home, yet his heart still raced and his mouth and throat were dry. A black duvet pooled in his lap, his bare chest was covered in sweat and his gaze was wild. He scrubbed one hand across his face, rubbing his eyes as if he could wipe away the fear raised by the images still stamped in his mind.

“Jack? Jack, are you okay?” Rita hurried into the room.

“I’m fine,” he muttered thickly, jumping out of bed. Perfect. Just perfect. He’d woken her up and now she’d stare at him with either pity or fear and he didn’t think he could take either.

He wore loosely tied cotton pants that dipped low on his hips and he was grateful he’d decided not to sleep naked since she’d moved in. Damn it. Jack needed a little time to get a grip. To shove those memories back into the dark corner of his mind where they were usually locked away. He needed to be clearheaded when he talked to Rita. Jack just didn’t see that happening anytime soon.

He pushed one hand through his hair and looked at her as if she were a mirage. Jack had pulled himself out of a hot, dusty dream where the sound of explosions and gunfire still echoed in the stillness around him. Seeing her here, in the dark moon-washed confines of his bedroom, a world away from the scene that still haunted him, was almost too much to compute. “Sorry I woke you. Just...go back to sleep.”

He turned his back on her, hoping to hell she’d leave, and walked out onto the terrace, welcoming the brisk slap of wind. Sea spray scented the air that he dragged into his lungs, to replace the dry dustiness that felt as though it was coating him in more than memories.

“Jack?”

Damn.

She’d followed him onto the terrace and the touch of her hand against his bare back had him flinching. Every nerve in his body was firing, on alert.

“What is it?” She stood right behind him, her voice soft, low, soothing. “Talk to me.”

He whipped his head around to glare at her. “I don’t want to talk. That should be clear. Just leave me alone, Rita. You don’t want to be with me right now.”

“Yeah,” she insisted and didn’t look the least bit cowed. “I do. Or I wouldn’t be here.”

Gritting his teeth, Jack ground out tightly, “I’m on the ragged edge here, Rita. I need some space.”

“No, you don’t.”

He choked out a harsh laugh. “Is that right? And you’re an expert on me, is that it?”

“Enough to know that you’ve had enough space,” she countered, stepping in closer. “Too much, maybe. Everyone backs off when you tell them to, but I won’t. I’m here, Jack, and I’m not going anywhere. You can’t use a nasty tone and a miserable attitude to shake me off. Talk to me.”

His skin was buzzing, his mind racing and his heartbeat was still at a fast gallop. Jack had come out of that damn dream ready to fight, but there was no enemy to face. He needed to move. To fight. To do something, to expel the ghosts gathered around him, shrieking for his attention.

“Damn it, Jack,” Rita said, tugging at his forearm until he turned to face her again. Her whiskey eyes were hot, burning with passion and fury and he wasn’t sure which had top billing.

“I’m not deaf or blind,” she said. “I heard you shouting. I stepped into your room in time to see you bolt up in bed as if the hounds of hell were after you.”

She’d hit that one on the head. Scraping one hand over his face, he muttered, “They were.”

“Then tell me.” She held on to him, the heat of her touch sliding into his arm, moving through his bloodstream. “Let me in, damn it. What does it cost you to open the door just a crack?”

He speared her with a hard look. There was no pity, no fear in her eyes. Only concern and curiosity and maybe that was worse in some ways.

“You think it’s me I’m worried about?” He grabbed her shoulders, giving her a little shake for emphasis. “It’s you I’m thinking about here. I’m trying to save you, don’t you get it?”

“Save me? From what?”

“God, you won’t let this go,” he muttered thickly.

“Not a chance.”

He stared into her eyes. “Fine. I’m trying to save you from me. Okay? I don’t even trust myself around you right now.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

There was a response he hadn’t expected.

“You’re not trying to injure me in some way, Jack,” she pointed out, her voice a little louder, her eyes a little more fiery. “You’ve done your best to simply avoid me at all costs.”