Hold On (Delos Series Book 5) (28 page)

Beau heard Callie
stir and looked up from the table where he was working on a mission plan. She slowly sat up, the blue blanket he’d tucked around her falling to her waist. She pushed her fingers through her thick red hair, her eyes puffy and drowsy-looking. He sat up, envisioning her waking up in his bed beside him. It seemed like a dream that could never come true again, but Callie inspired him to dream, to want. No woman had triggered his heart like she did. He slowly rose, pushing the chair back and walking over to her.

“Hey,” he drawled. “You look like a princess waking up from a long, long sleep.” He smiled at her as he sat down at the end of the bed. He longed to kiss those lips of hers, remembering that kiss with her days earlier. Beau wanted to take her into his arms, but her sling prevented it.

Her mouth tightened a little as she sat up and crossed her legs beneath the blanket, her left hand resting protectively against the sling.

“What time is it?” she asked huskily.

“Dinnertime. Five p.m. to you civilians and 1700 to us military types. Is your arm bothering you, Callie? Are you in pain?”

She nodded. “I need to get up and take more ibuprofen,” she muttered.

“Let me get it for you,” he said, rising from the bed. She had put some in her purse when she came over to the Eagle’s Nest. Beau opened it and found the prescription bottle. He brought back a glass of water and one of the white tablets.

“Here you go,” he said, and dropped the tablets into her palm. She looked half-awake, and Beau understood—shock made people sleep a lot. Sleep was the antidote to working shock out of their systems. He sat down on the edge of the mattress, handing her the glass of water.

Callie softly thanked him, took the tablets, and handed him the half-empty glass of water. “What were you doing over there?”

Beau set the glass on the nightstand. “Matt was over at HQ and brought the laptop and our mission intel to me. I’m working on that right now. Are you hungry? Anything sound good to you for dinner tonight?”

Making a face, she muttered, “I’m not hungry yet. I’m still waking up.”

“Maybe a cup of fresh, hot coffee? I just made some for myself.”

“That would be nice,” she said, giving him a grateful look.

He eased off the bed. “Okay, come join me in the kitchen and we’ll look through what’s in the fridge, and I’ll put something together for us.”

Callie nodded, immediately missing him as Beau casually sauntered across the room to the kitchen. He was being so solicitous to her, and she’d done nothing to deserve it. He seemed immune to what had happened to them last night. How could that be? Was he really that different from other men? Was it military training that made that difference? Even though he had a bullet hole through his calf and a bruise on his chest where another bullet had struck his Kevlar vest, could he really feel like nothing had happened to him, to them?

Shaking her head, she threw off the cover and scooted over to the edge of the bed. Bathroom first. Cold water on face afterward. She felt drugged, unable to wake up and be alert. What was wrong with her?

Beau gathered up all the reports and put them in files, setting the laptop on the coffee table. He felt a lot of confusion from Callie, saw the yearning in her eyes for him. But at the same time, he saw that she was dealing with the assault and the images of men dying around her, on top of her. Her focus was probably not going to be on him. Or them. If there was a “them.”

If only he could be with her in Montana. He could be the one person who could listen to her without interrupting her. Her feelings were deep and dark, and that worried him. People who went through this kind of horror, as he well knew from his time in Afghanistan, often didn’t emerge from its grip. Would Callie be one of those casualties? How many women had seen a man’s head come apart because of a bullet while he sat on her?

Was there a possibility that they could still have a relationship? Beau wanted that more than he wanted to breathe. He feared that when Callie went home to people who loved her, they wouldn’t be able to help her as much as he would because only he knew the depth of her wounding. He had been there. A part of it.

The wounds of war never depended on what people had done—only on who was left to remember them. And the memories for him, and for Callie, were as bitter as any he’d ever known.

B
eau stood near
Callie at the fixed-wing terminal the next morning. The sky was overcast, and it was definitely going to rain. He had already taken her luggage to the Kuwait Airways luggage cart a few minutes earlier. A hundred other civilian contractors, mostly men, were in the Operations area, waiting to board too. He saw Matt with his arm around Dara’s shoulders, off to one side. Trying not to envy their intimacy, Beau focused on absorbing every second of Callie’s final minutes with him.

He wanted so badly to tell her he loved her. Last night, after making her dinner, she had been so exhausted, she’d almost passed out, and he’d slept on the couch, a blanket tossed over him. She had not asked him to join her in bed, and that had cleaved his heart wide open. Beau reminded himself that she was most likely remembering his abandoning her. That or feeling guilty as hell about endangering both their lives.

He knew that Callie had been tired, and he could tell she was emotionally up-and-down, so it wasn’t the right time to discuss anything important, even though she was leaving the next morning. Beau might not ever see her again.

Sadness gripped his heart as he took her in, loving every inch of her. She had turned away, watching the airline’s boarding ramp being pushed up to the middle door of the awaiting airplane. Now Callie looked desolate, grief-stricken. Her sad green eyes were almost lifeless, and her beautiful mouth was set tight. Beau was sure her broken arm was acting up, too. He knew there were all kinds of pain Callie was wrestling with, from physical to psychological to emotional.

She had closed up on him last night after dinner, and he wasn’t sure why, but he felt as if Callie had left him. Sure, she was still in the same room with him, but it felt as if the light she always carried so brightly within her had been snuffed out.

He didn’t want to believe that. She had been such a sunbeam in everyone’s lives before the ambush and assault. Now she was a shell of her former self.

This morning, he’d helped her with her hair. She’d wanted it plaited into one long red braid after she’d gotten her shower. It was a special pleasure for Beau to sit on the bed, brushing her thick, silky red hair. They’d even laughed a little, and Beau ached to lean over and kiss the soft nape of her neck, and then make love to her. But Callie was treating him as a dear friend, not a lover, so right now, he’d settle for that.

He wondered if, after she boarded that plane for home, she’d forget him. To remember him would be to recall the experience that had robbed her of so much. He let himself sink into despair, seeing a future without the auburn-haired pixie who had stolen his heart.

Callie had worn her black wool pantsuit with a bright green tee beneath the blazer. He’d tied off her braid with a green ribbon of the same color. With her small gold earrings and a little makeup to hide her pallor, she looked almost the way she had that first night. Right now, that night seemed like a dream to Beau.

The doors of Ops opened up and a female flight attendant called them to come and board the flight. Out of the corner of his eye, Beau saw Dara lean up and give Matt a passionate kiss good-bye. He wanted to kiss Callie, and she turned to him, reaching out, her left hand meeting his. She slipped a piece of paper into his hand.

“This is my email address,” she said. “Just in case you feel like letting me know how you’re doing.”

Beau’s heart leaped as he opened up the paper, memorizing her email address. “Yes, I will,” he said, his throat tightening with a multitude of emotions he couldn’t show her. The soft strands of hair around her face only made her that much more beautiful to Beau. God, he wanted to kiss her! There was such confusion and darkness and yearning in Callie’s eyes as she looked earnestly up at him. Was there a pleading quality deep behind her request?

She looked like a beautiful bird among the mostly dully dressed male population, walking out between the doors toward the airliner.

To hell with it.
Beau wasn’t going to let Callie go without kissing her. He reached out, sliding his arm around her waist, drawing her close to him. If she didn’t want that kiss, she’d let him know right now. Hope lit up her sad green eyes, and her hand came to rest against his chest.

“I’m here for you, Callie,” he growled, leaning down, capturing her lips, wanting to tell her through his kiss just how damned much he loved her. To his relief, Beau got no resistance from her; instead, as he slanted his mouth against hers, he heard a whimper catch in her throat and felt her fingers dig into his shirt. She was warm, wet, her lips hungry and eager against his. Callie couldn’t press herself against him because of the sling she wore, so he held her lightly, his hand floating against the small of her back, aching to love her.

Beau didn’t want that kiss to end, but he heard other people leaving Ops for the plane and knew he had to release her, let her go. Easing his mouth from hers, he stared intently into her half-closed eyes. Now he saw a faint sheen of gold in them. She’d had gold flecks in her eyes before the ambush, he suddenly recalled, and heartened, he smiled a little unsurely and released her, touching her cheek briefly with his fingers.

“I’ll be in touch, Callie. I promise. I’m here for you if you need me. Never be afraid to email me about anything, okay?” Beau knew she would need to talk to someone who understood the anguish she was experiencing. Whether it was him or someone else remained to be seen.

She smiled brokenly as she stepped away from him, picking up her purse. “I will be in touch, Beau. Thank you,” she said, her voice choked. Her eyes suddenly moistened, and she blinked the tears away. Reaching out, she grazed his bearded jaw. “Thank you for saving my life . . . I’m so, so sorry I disappointed you . . .”

What the hell?
He opened his mouth to protest, but Callie was already gone, walking quickly toward the opened Ops doors. Where did she get the idea he was disappointed with her? Confusion made him stand there paralyzed for a moment, not sure what to do. Run after her? Stop her? Ask what she meant by that crazy statement?

Eventually, Beau let it go. He wasn’t sure what Callie was thinking, but it was erroneous as hell. He’d never told her he was disappointed in her. He never would.

She was in emotional shock, traumatized, and maybe not thinking clearly. Still, Beau rubbed his chest where his heart lay, because her words had hurt him deeply.

He joined Matt at the windows, watching the Kuwaiti airliner slowly trundle out to the ten-thousand-foot runway. A light, misting rain was beginning, the clouds low and gray. Beau felt as if his heart had been torn out of his chest. He wanted to be on that plane with Callie, not watching her leave him behind.

Matt turned to him. “How are you doing, bro?”

“I’ve had better days,” Beau muttered, afraid to trust himself to say more.

“Yeah. Me, too,” Matt agreed grimly.

Beau met his group leader’s gaze. “At least you’re going home in two weeks and you’ll be with Dara.”

“And I am so looking forward to it,” Matt said, his voice thick with feelings. Glancing over at Beau, he said, “I’m sorry our captain decided to keep you here at the base.”

Shrugging, Beau said, “I guess I’m stuck creating missions.” He watched the jet anchor at the end of the runway. So many emotions tore through him and he swallowed hard, sitting on them. After the jet took off, he watched it until it disappeared into the gray clouds. Then Matt clapped him on the shoulder.

“Come on, we’ve both got work waiting for us at HQ.”

*

Three days later,
Beau received an email from Callie. He was nervous but excited to read it as he opened up his personal email inbox on the HQ’s computer. The last three days had been pure hell for him. Matt was already bringing the team together for another mission in two days, and he was stuck back at Bagram. His leg was slowly healing, so he was hobbling around the office like a three-legged horse.

Beau’s disposition wasn’t as even-keeled and charitable as it had been, and he frequently lost his temper. That just wasn’t like him. If not for Matt pulling him aside and listening to him, he felt as if half of him had left the station the morning Callie had walked out of his life.

Now there was an email from her. Eagerly, he read:

Hi, Beau. I’m home. It was a grueling flight, and I didn’t realize just how sensitive I was to everything. Dara traded seats with me on the flight because guys would walk up and down that narrow aisle and brush against me sometimes. I couldn’t handle it. It was a stupid reaction, but I couldn’t deal with it. Thank God Dara was there. I felt safer, more secure, in that middle seat. There was a woman civilian contractor in the window seat, so that was good. It’s only men who scare me, and I understand why, but I still feel threatened.