Her Soldier (That Girl #3) (14 page)

When I return, he’s still on the phone, so I pour him a Coke and add some Crown to it. He sits up to drink while listening to whoever is on the other end. When I turn to walk away, he seizes the back of my leg and holds me to him. I rest my lips on the top of his head and comfort him as much as I can. I lean back as he downs the rest of his drink. This time he lets go as I mix him another. The sweet smell of the Crown fills my senses and I take sip, making sure the ratio of Crown to Coke is right.

This time I hand it to him and don’t settle in between his legs. I go back to the bathroom and strip down naked, waiting for him to end the conversation. When I hear him say goodbye, I turn the shower back on and head out to him. I take his hand and guide him into the bathroom. He holds his drink in his other hand, drinking the rest of it as we walk.

The bathroom is filled with steam. I pull down his pants and boxers in one swoop and then set his empty drink on the sink. His face is a bit more relaxed and I can only assume it’s from the Crown. He raises his arms and I pull his shirt up over his head. He turns for the shower and I follow him in. This time it’s all about Beau and trying to relax him as much as possible. Relaxation doesn’t come to him no matter the amount of soaping and massaging I do.

He turns me to face the back of the shower and enters me fast and hard. My palms splay out on the wall, supporting my torso. I want to moan and scream in pleasure, but it feels selfish. I know the feeling of wanting to lose yourself completely and not face the cold truth of the present. And I let Beau have that with me. His hands wrap around the front and begin stroking me. I’m falling from the edge, holding in screams.

Beau continues to pound into me until I hear his grunt. The next thing I hear is a bottle of soap opening, and then I feel the smooth liquid on my back and then around to my front. His hands wash down every single part of me, and then he moves to my hair and washes it. I let him take care of me and enjoy his touch. I spin around to face him. “I love you.”

My lips cover his before he has a chance to speak. I don’t want to know if he’d say it back. I reach for a towel and step out of the shower, letting Beau have a few moments to himself. I’m dried off and digging around the solo bag for some lotion. I know I threw some in the bag and just need to find it. I find the pink bottle of princess lotion and my heart melts. Quickly I squeeze an ample amount into my palm and bury the bottle back into the bag.

Slipping on my panties, I climb into bed and send up a prayer of thanks I happened to land upon a decent motel with clean sheets. I send Danielle a quick text giving her just enough information to appease her curiosity and do the same with Lynlee and Jazzy. Of course, Lynlee sends a text right back, digging for more information, and I silence my phone. My curiosity gets the best of me and I Google ‘Rhodes, Iowa car accident’ and immediately I regret the images before my eyes.

There’s absolutely no way any survivors escaped the wreckage. Without the caption below the picture I would have no idea what the hunk of burnt metal was. It was a one-car accident, and the small car wrapped around a tree. The article clearly states the driver wasn’t wearing a seatbelt and was declared dead on arrival. It also states that a minor was involved and no further information could be disclosed.

As I stare at the wreckage my heart weeps, knowing that no one could possibly survive the wreck. Seatbelt or no seatbelt, no way of survival. Beau enters the room and I quickly put my phone to sleep and roll over to face him. It kills me to see his posture so depressed. Yes, beyond deflated with sagging shoulders and absolutely no bounce to his step. He makes one more drink and pounds it in seconds, then I watch as he pours straight Crown Royal into the short hotel glass. He tilts his head back, letting the amber liquid glide down his throat. He does this a few more times until only a thin line of liquid remains in the bottle.

I lightly pat the bed. The small action gets his attention. He crawls in, still naked and somewhat damp from the shower. His back is to me and I pull him in tight, cocooning him into me. My hand brushes through his damp hair. I want to whisper, “I love you,” but again feel selfish for doing so. Soon the rhythm of his breathing takes on a steady pace. I place my hand over his chest and feel it with each rise and descent. He’s out and I wonder just how long he will sleep. Will the Crown be enough to keep his past and present nightmares away?

***

The bright sun is peeking through the curtains and nailing me right in the eye. I try rolling over, but Beau has me in his arms. It’s a force I can’t battle without waking him up. We are in the complete opposite position from when we both fell asleep last night. My mind didn’t give in until after three a.m. The scene on my phone wouldn’t quit invading my thoughts.

Beau’s phone begins to vibrate on the small office table in the corner. Wiggling from his grasp, I go and grab it; I don’t even look at the screen before I race back to him. My hand begins to rock back and forth on Beau’s shoulder trying like hell to wake him. It takes several seconds before he rolls onto his back and tries to open his eyes, and by now the phone has quit vibrating.

“Beau, wake up, baby, someone is calling you.”

He sits straight up with my words and takes the phone from my hands. I watch as he hits redial and waits for an answer. He mostly listens, and he lets the person know we’d be there in about six hours, give or take. From the state he was in yesterday, I didn’t think he even knew what planet he was on.

His body flops back on the bed as he drops his phone on the mattress. Retrieving his charger, I plug it in, and then make my way to the bathroom. I figure I better get dressed and ready to hit the road. And a large cup of coffee would be beneficial before heading out.

“Jenni.”

Cracking open the door, I peek my head around the corner with a toothbrush hanging out of my mouth. “Yeah?”

“Come here.”

I hold up a finger to him and then race back to the sink and spit out my toothpaste in a rush.

“What?” I’m too nervous, so I stand near him by the bed.

Beau tries to talk, but nothing comes out of his mouth. Finally, his hands fly up to his forehead as he scrubs it.

“She’s not dead. Lucy isn’t dead.”

The photo on the Internet flashes in my memory and I want to ask him if he’s sure and how he knows.

He holds his hand out for me and I take it, letting him drag me onto the bed next to him.

“The person calling me on the phone is an old commander of mine. He’s always stayed in contact and given me updates on Lucy. Never pictures or anything, but general updates. He always promised me he’d take care of her.”

“What will they do to you?” The selfish aspect of this whole situation that I’ve been bottling up finally comes out.

“If the U.S. government finds out…”

I know what’s coming and stop it before he can go any further. “They won’t. I’ll go to the hospital and see her. I’ll do anything.”

“Ella had no family and nothing set up for Lucy. She had Gram down to take her in case anything ever happened to her.”

“I’ll adopt her. They’ll never connect us. Let me help you, Beau.”

“How am I going to go see her and not be able to touch her?”

“I don’t know.” My hands go straight to his chest. “I don’t know, Beau.”

Chapter 13

Six hours of straight silence. Beau takes a couple calls, but doesn’t share any information with me and I don’t ask him to. I follow the directions on my phone and pull into the sleepy little town. Beau points out his gram’s bakery, and it’s disheartening to see the window broken out and weeds overpopulating the window baskets. It’s a beautiful building, and I can so easily visualize it in its prime.

I don’t ask him which hotel to stay in. When he was showering off his alcohol smell this morning, I searched different hotels and found the one that might be the most secluded and least likely to have onlookers spotting Beau. However, I saw the proof in the folder. I’d be shocked if someone recognized him as Jeremiah. We settle into the small and very musty hotel room.

“Beau, please talk to me. I don’t want to push, and I won’t, but please talk.”

“The memorial service is tomorrow afternoon. I guess Ella recently was saved by Christ and attended a church after her last live-in moved out.” His hands strum the counter. “They’re hosting the funeral. Lucy was released from the hospital today with only burns and a few bruises. The pastor and his wife have her.”

I don’t inch my way near him, as I can already sense his tension level is through the roof. “Are you going?”

“Yes, I want to see my Lucy.”

“Okay, Beau.”

“Does that make me a bad guy?’

I tilt my head, trying to process his question. In no shape or form does it make him a bad guy.

“I vowed to my country to serve and protect.”

“She’s your daughter and you have to heal and feel what you need to. Beau, I don’t understand all of the legality shit, I’m only here for you.”

I wait for his response, and nothing comes, only the silence. Silence in an unfamiliar place for hours upon hours with the one you love at their worst. There’s no Band-Aid to offer them or a corny joke; no, it’s the harsh reality of watching them suffer minute after minute.

***

When we enter the church it never dawns on me who we are if people ask. We spent the last day in silence. Beau took a couple calls and then hit the bottle, passing out frequently. The only comfort he offers me now is he’s holding my hand as we walk in. He passes up the guest book and picks up a piece of paper from a small table covered in cream lace and doilies.

A young man in a suit and tie offers to take us to a seat. Beau simply declines with a wave of his hand and turns to sit in the back row. We arrive with plenty of time before the ceremony and watch as the church benches fill. I didn’t know Ella, but the sadness covering everyone’s face is evident and heartbreaking.

Beau has mentioned ill feelings and not the nicest of words about his ex, who cheated and lied as a way of life, but even I know he’d never wish her dead. He always claimed she was the best mother a girl could have, but never offered up any further details.

I notice the urn at the front of the church and know a casket won’t be entering the sanctuary today. Flowers cover all the surfaces around the podium and mic. A light music fills the air and people begin walking down the aisle. Beau squeezes my hand every so often, and I wonder if he’s recognizing old faces. Soon a man carrying a Bible and holding the hand of the most beautiful little girl stands at the back of the church and all eyes fall on them.

The little girl with her dark brown eyes and jet black hair steals all of the attention. She’s in a teal dress with plenty of lace and fluff. Her little legs are wrapped in gauze, as is her left arm. Her cheeks are a flushed crimson and her eyes are a bit swollen. The pressure of Beau squeezing my hand almost causes me to cry. The pain is surreal and can’t measure up to anything I’ve ever felt.

Using my other hand, I wrap around his midsection for extra comfort. His body quivers as he stares at her. When she begins to walk, he takes several long strides to the end of the bench. We are the only ones in the back row, so he gets about ten steps before he’s at the end. One simple action of reaching out his arm and he could touch his own flesh and blood.

A strange man steps into our section, blocking Beau from making any contact. His glare is serious and all warning. I notice Beau immediately bow to him and back off, and I assume it’s his commander. After giving him a slight nod, his eyes follow Lucy again to the front of the church.

I sit in a haze through the service and cling to Beau’s hand as we sit in the pew. The man on his other side nods to me a couple of times, acknowledging my presence. When the service is over and the pastor and friends walk back down the aisle, we are all again magnetized to the little girl holding the pastor’s hand. This time when she passes she stops at our row and looks up at Beau and offers him a little wave.

It breaks my heart when I feel Beau’s knees collapse from under him. I do my best to steady him from the back, as does the man in front of him. We both keep up until the pastor is out of sight. Beau collapses on the bench and begins sobbing. The strange man takes him in his arms, comforting him while trying to drown out his sobs.

Before long we are the only three left in the church. The pastor mentioned a gathering across the street at the city center where lunch would be served. I sit on the orange velvet cushioned bench, helpless and emptier than ever.

“Do you mind?” the stranger asks, and pointing at Beau who is still slumped over.

Instantly offended, I fire right back, “Do I mind what?”

“I’d like a few minutes with Beau, please.”

When he uses the name Beau, it’s confirmed he’s the man who Beau has been talking to on the phone and referring to as commander. I nod to him, giving him my approval.

“I’ll bring him back to the hotel.”

My heart sinks with his words. I was all right giving him a few minutes, or hell, even an hour as I wait out on the steps or in his truck, but going back to the hotel wasn’t in my plans. The man must read the clear hesitation displayed on my face. He doesn’t ask again or break eye contact, basically strong-arming me into a decision.

I wait for Beau’s reaction. A lift of his head, a nod, turning and kissing me, or just about anything. Nothing comes, and I instantly feel like an alien in the situation. I’m finally the one who nods and stands, but before I leave I bend over and place a kiss on Beau’s cheek.

“I love you.”

He doesn’t move or acknowledge my voice, and I’m okay with that. Making my way from the church, I find the truck and head straight to the hotel room and collapse on the bed, which is still freshly soaked in the scent of Beau. I spend several minutes sniffing the sheets before my phone rings and I pour my heart out to Jazzy.