In the Stillness (41 page)

“You’re welcome,” he whispers as he kisses my cheek.

The last few months have gone much smoother than my anxiety tried to tell me they would. Ryker and I started by meeting for lunch or dinner on the weeks I didn’t have the boys, and he’d come see me at work for lunch a few times on the weeks I did. Tosha gave me a teary-eyed grin when I told her that Ryker and I were going to start seeing each other again.
 

“I’m happy for you, Nat,” she said.

“Thanks, Tosh. I’m scared a little, though.”

“It’s okay,” she said with a wink, “love is supposed to feel that way.”

We’ve kept up weekly visits with Marion, who hasn’t had much to say about us other than,
told you so.
She doesn’t ever
say
that, but each crook of her eyebrow and shake of her head tells us just the same.
 

Dr. Greene has met with us together a few times as we try to navigate through our apprehension about starting our relationship. It’s only fear, she says, and that’s scarier than what may or may not be behind it. She’s encouraged us to look at it as
starting
our relationship, rather than
re-starting,
to try to leave the past at the door rather than right between us. We’ve been taking it slow, though, and tonight is the first night I’m staying at his house.

“You look nervous.” I say, walking toward Ryker as he dries the last plate and sets it on the shelf.

He sighs and leans against the counter. “I still get nightmares, Nat. Not all the time, but, I still get them.”

“It’s okay,” I wrap my arms around his waist, “I do too, sometimes.”

“You do?”
 

I nod. “Mmhmm.”
 

“What are they about?”

“Oh,” I sigh, taking his hand and leading him to the living room where we sit on the couch, “lots of things. Until a few months ago I’d have dreams about you, and the last couple of months before . . . you know.” He nods, understanding that I’m talking about the few months after he got home from Afghanistan. “Sometimes I dream about that, about Lucas, or about cutting.”

“You dream about cutting?” He leans away, seeming to study my face.

“Not
dream
—it’s a complete nightmare. The dream starts with me on the bathroom floor, bleeding from my arms and legs and I can’t get out of the bathroom—the door’s locked.” A chill runs up my spine and I shiver a little.

“Have you wanted to cut recently?” Ryker brings my hand to his lips and softly kisses my knuckles.
 

After a couple weeks of him being overly attentive in that department, we had to have a tough discussion, setting some ground rules for checking in with each other. I appreciate his concern, but I need to feel supported rather than watched over. He’s starting to get that.

“No, thankfully. I want to stay healthy for me, for the boys, and for us. But . . . I can’t promise that it will always feel this easy
not
to. I went ten years without doing it before, and in a second I was back there.”

“I get it.” His eyes look off to a place where I understand that he really does
get it.

“I want you to talk to me, Ryker. I don’t want you holding things back because you are worried about how I’ll
handle
something. If you’re having a tough day, tell me. If you want to talk about what happened with us all those years ago, let’s do it. And, if you ever,
ever
want to talk about Lucas . . . I’ll be here.” Ryker doesn’t talk much about Lucas, and I’m not sure if he ever will, but I need to remind him that I’ll listen if he ever decides to.

Ryker’s nervous blue eyes look into mine. “I know you are, Nat. It just feels so unreal sometimes . . . still. I’ll try to be more open about it with you, okay? It’s the least you deserve from me after all you’ve given
me
.”

“Hey,” I start nervously, “there’s something I need to talk about with you.” I sit back, tucking my knees into my chest. I’ve been preparing this talk all week.

Ryker sets his arm on the back of the couch. “What’s up?”

“I know this is going to sound super crazy and way ahead of ourselves, but . . . I just feel like I need to be honest with you and tell you that I’m not sure if I want to have any more children.” I exhale as I watch Ryker take in my words.

He shakes his head, just slightly. “Natalie . . . it’s—”

“No,” I cut him off. “I really want you to think about it. I mean, I know I’m only thirty-two in people years . . . but in biological clock years, that’s
thirty-two
. You don’t have kids, and, if you think you’re going to want them . . . then we need to reevaluate some things.” I choke a bit over the last words, realizing with bitterness that this not-so-little detail could screw things up for Ryker and me.
 

It’s not super romantic to have this conversation on what has been silently planned as our “second first time” together, but, it’s more romantic than an
oh, shit
conversation, I suppose.

“Natalie,” Ryker grabs my hand away from my knee and laces his fingers between mine, “I want
you
, I love
you
. And, if the last ten years has taught us anything, hasn’t it taught us that when you love someone, you love them head-to-toe and inside out because . . . well, because you can’t help it? I love you for a reason, Natalie. You’re mine and I’m yours. We took an odd route to prove that to ourselves, but we did, didn’t we?”

I nod as emotion swells deep within my chest. “We did.”

“What I’m saying, Nat, is that the only way I would want children anyway is with you, and you have them. And, if it’s okay with Eric, and you, I’d be honored to be in your boys’ lives.” His smile starts at his eyes as he brushes hair away from my neck, pulling me in for a kiss.

While Eric isn’t going to be throwing us a parade any time soon, he’s been fairly supportive of my relationship with Ryker. By fairly supportive, I mean he doesn’t fight me on it and isn’t an ass when I take the boys to the farm to play. And, really, that’s all I need from him at this point. I know Eric and Ryker will have to meet and talk sometime in the near future, and I half-cynically wonder if that meeting should take place in Dr. Greene’s office.

After a few seconds, I pull away and run my thumb across Ryker’s bottom lip. “I love you, Ryker, you know that?”

“I do,” he whispers as he lifts me off the couch. “And I love you, too, Natalie. I always have.”

With his lips barely leaving mine, Ryker carries me to his bedroom, where I spot
our
picture on his bedside stand.
 

“They were a great couple.” I look to the picture as he sets me down.

“Mmm, they were.” Ryker pushes my hair away from my neck with his nose as he kisses me softly down to my collarbone.
 

“Good looking, too,” I chuckle.

He laughs, too. “The hottest.”

“I wonder whatever happened to them,” I tease as I shakily unbutton his shirt.
 

Ryker tosses his shirt to the floor and gives me that heart-melting, kiss-me-the-second-you-meet-me smile as he leans down toward my mouth.
 

“This.”

The End

While Natalie and Ryker are fictional characters, their struggles are not. If you, or someone you know, are in crisis, whether or not they are considering suicide, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline.
 
1-800-273-TALK (8255). For veterans, press 1.

5% of the proceeds of this e-book are being donated to The New England Center for Homeless Veterans.
 

Read on for an exclusive look at “The Last Hour”, a contemporary fiction novel by Charles Sheehan-Miles set to be released May 15, 2013

CHAPTER TWELVE

Eight Months Ago: New York

Tell the Army I said hi! (Carrie)

The plane touched the ground with a bump and screech of tires, and I felt the force of the sudden deceleration as the engines reversed. I closed my book as we taxied across the airport. For the first time since I’d left my parents’ townhouse that morning, I felt tension, just a slight twist in my stomach. I was excited to see Ray, but nervous too. He’d sounded so stressed when we spoke on the phone last night. Stressed and exhausted. He’d spent another day being questioned by the Army. It was beyond excessive. How many different ways could he tell the same story?
 

I wanted badly by the end of that phone call to hug him so tightly that all of the tension would just drain out. And that’s exactly what I was going to do the moment I met him at the security gate.

I tensed in my seat, watching out the window as the plane inched toward the gate. Now that we were moving slowly, I pulled my bag out from under the seat and put away my book, then took out my phone. The flight had been smooth, and I’d relaxed and read a book since the eight a.m. departure from San Francisco. I was tired, but not so much I wouldn’t be fine making it through the day and evening.

Finally. The plane shut down, the engines slowing to a stop, and I heard the clicks and thumps as the gate connected. I switched on my phone. At least I’d be off the plane quickly, my frequent flyer miles let me upgrade to business class, so I was on the second row of the plane.

My phone chirped with an incoming text message, and the screen lit up.
 

Damn it.
The preview on the screen said, “I’m so sorry.”

I unlocked the phone and flipped to the messages.

The Army and FBI just showed up here AGAIN with more questions. I don’t know how long this is going to take.

The next message read:
It’s been two hours. I’ll keep you updated.

And two more. The first said:
Shit. There’s no way I’m going to make it to the airport in time. Take a cab to Glen Cove, and I’ll pay.

Finally:
I’m so sorry.

I sighed. Poor Ray. They were putting him through the wringer. The thing was, they hadn’t called him in. They hadn’t called him up and said, “We’ll be there tomorrow at 11.” Instead, they just randomly showed up. It was as if they thought he was lying and were trying to catch him on inconsistencies. I couldn’t even imagine the stress he was under.

Once I got clear of the gate, I called Ray.

It rang four times, then he answered.

“Hey,” he said. “Carrie, I am so sorry. I feel awful.”

“Stop,” I replied. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for, it was out of your control. I’m going to rent a car, just text me your address?”

“You sure? Wouldn’t it be cheaper to take a cab?”

“Yeah, but this way we’ll have wheels for the whole visit. You
did
say you don’t have a car right now?”

“True. How about we split it?”

I rolled my eyes. “Ray, I get this ridiculously stupid allowance from my father. Let me use it. Besides, you bought the tickets to the show tonight, and I know that couldn’t have been cheap.”

“But … all right, fine.”

“Send me the text, and I’ll be there as soon as I can. Tell the Army I said hi!” I have no idea what possessed me to say that.

He chuckled. “Cute. At the rate we’re going, you may get a chance to tell them yourself.”

So I got my luggage, then made my way to the Hertz counter and flashed my membership card, which usually catches their attention very quickly, and ten minutes later I was programming Ray’s address into the GPS. It estimated 39 minutes. I got on the road. Traffic was heavy though, and somehow I doubted the time estimate.
 

An hour later I pulled to a stop in front of a large apartment building in Glen Cove. I leaned out and looked up at the building. It was old, the stones painted with a light blue which was peeling off here and there. It was a nice building, and looked to have been built to last, but it wasn’t in the best repair. The lawn was covered in snow, and someone had done a not very good job shoveling the sidewalk. I got out of the car, took my bag out of the trunk and carefully made my way up the walk, then studied the directory next to the front door. I found “Sherman” in the directory and hit the button.

Just a moment later the buzzer went off, and I headed inside.

Ray’s apartment—or his parents’ rather—was on the eighth floor. The inside of the building reinforced my first impression. It was a nice building, but was suffering from lack of repair. Ray had told me his parents’ story—they’d been not quite wealthy, but firmly middle class. High paying jobs with lots of debt, and when the jobs vanished, so did their lives. Sometimes, when I heard stories like that, I felt guilty. I took my parents’ wealth for granted sometimes. My father inherited his money, and it allowed us things that few people had, not the least of which was security that our homes wouldn’t vanish out from under us due to a job change or because someone got sick.

Ray met me at the door and I involuntarily sucked in a breath when I saw him. It had only been three weeks or so, but the reality of him hit me all over again as we looked in each other’s eyes and embraced. Then his mouth was on mine and I forgot the time in between, I forgot the distance, I forgot the Army and everything else other than this very moment. I squeezed him tight, trying to do what I’d planned… easing the stress I knew he was under. I could feel it in his shoulder muscles, which were tightly bunched, tense, rock hard. He kissed me, and it felt as passionate, as hungry, as it had the very first time.