Inseverable: A Carolina Beach Novel (16 page)

Like Callahan promised, he drove me back to my place following closing and clean up. He pulls into my driveway, but doesn’t punch in the security code when I offer it. “You don’t want to come in?” I ask.

He runs his fingers along his steering wheel. “I better not. It’s late and I haven’t slept much these past couple of days.”

I didn’t say we were going to sleep. In fact, I’d planned to do anything but. I want him with me, and while he’s been a gentleman―especially after recognizing how scared I was earlier―I’m hoping he’ll change his mind and make love to me all night.

Yet as I watch his eyes grow distant, I’m reminded how rough these last few days have been for him. He does look tired, and more than a little sad.

I click out of my seatbelt and turn to rest my head against the seat. “How do you sleep?” I ask.

He swivels to face me, the change in his expression alerting me that he understands what I’m really asking. “Not well,” he admits.

“Has it been like that since you’ve been back from war?”

“No, longer. I haven’t had a good night sleep in years,” he says. “When I first joined, the excitement and thrill of being part of the U. S. military kept me up. They reel you in, those recruiters, emphasizing all the lifetime benefits, building up the honor of serving and protecting your country, and making like you’ll be a hero and someone who’ll always be respected. ‘You’ll be a part of history, son,’ one of them told me.”

He leans back a little, as if wondering if I’m listening. It’s only when he sees that I’m hanging on his every word that he continues. “That excitement turns to fear real quick when you realize you could actually die. And that respect? It may come good and strong from those people who appreciate your sacrifice. But it doesn’t erase all those haters calling you a murderer to your face―or those screaming mobs yelling at you in a language you can’t understand, and in a country that’s not your own.”

My eyes widen, but I’m quick to control my shock and anger. Callahan’s expression remains neutral, and though the pain is evident by the rigidness in his posture, he keeps his voice low and steady. “You wonder if you’ll be good enough. And when you are, you’re given more opportunities to kill, put in situations that seem more suicidal than strategic, and sent on special assignments that the last team didn’t come back from. So then you stop wondering, because you know you’re good, and wonder instead when your luck will finally run out and whether you’ll be the next one sent back home in a box.”

He looks in the direction of the house. “Trin, given what I’ve seen and done, sometimes I don’t know how I’m still here in one piece.”

But he’s not. For all he looks whole, his soul is busted up something awful.

“I don’t know either,” I tell him. “I’m just glad you’re here with me.” My eyes sting, but I manage a smile. “I can’t imagine ever not meeting you.”

Callahan cocks his head slightly, his stare softening with enough kindness to cloak the ire and pain that lies beneath. He unsnaps his seatbelt and leans forward.

“Come here,” he says, reaching for me.

Our lips part when they meet so our tongues can immediately play and explore. This kiss isn’t like the heated ones before. It’s slow, reassuring me that he’s safe and that I shouldn’t be afraid.

I slide my hand up, digging my fingers through his thick silky waves while his arms circle my waist. He holds me tenderly and so close I feel his warmth and the thud of his beating heart. For a moment, I fool myself into believing that I’m the one reassuring him. Maybe I am. So I give more of myself to our kiss, hoping he’ll take a part of me with him so he’s not so alone.

His hands slide over my waist to grip my hips before gradually loosening his hold. I watch him edge away, struggling it seems to let me go.

“I think I should leave,” he says.

As much as I want him to stay, I don’t ask him to. He needs space. I can see it, and sense it. I’m only hoping he doesn’t pull completely away. “All right. Goodnight.”

I reach for my purse and start to climb out when he says, “Wait. Don’t leave yet. “He hops out of the truck and jogs around the other side to open the door for me, offering me his hand to help me down.

“I want to make sure you get inside,” he says.

He keeps my hand in his and leads me up the long driveway. “You let me walk up by myself the other night,” I remind him.

He offers me a one shoulder shrug. “That’s different. You weren’t walking into an empty house.”

He glances up, taking in the house when we reach it. “Can I ask you something personal?”

“You can ask me anything,” I tell him truthfully.

He laughs a little. “You said your parents did volunteer work.”

“That’s right. They did so for years, and they still do locally.”

“How is it that they came to live here?”

It’s not the first time someone asked me this question. As a child, it made me uncomfortable. I had friends who didn’t have much. And even though I did, it’s something we never flaunted.

My parents bought us only what we needed, not just what we wanted to have. They kept my brother and I humble by taking us around the world and showing us what poverty really was, introducing us to those who didn’t have much, so we’d see firsthand what it was like to be hungry, sick, and alone. They taught us the importance of compassion and how we should spend our lives demonstrating it to everyone we meet.

“Trin?” he says.

“Sorry,” I say, pausing as we reach the bottom of my front steps. “My father comes from what people refer to as old Southern money. There’s a lot of blood attached to those dollar signs, and even my granddaddy admitted he’s not proud of how the family fortune was built.” I push a strand of my hair behind my ear, feeling the brunt of what I’m telling him. “No one has ever come out and fully explained, like I said, there’s a lot of shame. But it’s understood that good people broke their backs to make my great-granddaddy rich.”

A lot goes unsaid in my words, but Callahan seems to understand. “It’s not something many southerners with our degree of wealth discuss. And many like to pretend it didn’t happen. But we know it did, and I’m not going to lie.”

He nods like he understands. “All right,” he says.

“What’s your family like?”

He motions toward the large front doors. “Not like yours,” he says.

The way he responds makes me think that his family is another sore spot in his life. After baring his soul about his experiences in the war, it’s clear that he’s already shared more than he’s comfortable with. So instead of pressing for more, I lift up on my toes and kiss his cheek. “Okay,” I whisper.

He smiles, sweeping a finger along my jaw. “Are you going to be okay by yourself?”

No. I’d rather be with you.
Again it’s what I think, but don’t dare say aloud. I motion up the brick steps. “The alarm’s set, and you may not believe it, but sometimes even I need some peace and quiet.”

He chuckles. “You’re right. I don’t believe it.”

I laugh, lifting my arms to embrace him when his hands reach around to stroke the small of my back.

“Do you want to go out to dinner tomorrow night?” he asks. “Maybe catch a movie?”

“Callahan Sawyer, are you asking me out on a date?” I say, trying not to gush and failing miserably.

His lovely baby blues twinkle. “What if I am?”

“Then I’ll have to say yes,” I answer.

“In that case, I’ll pick you up here after your shift.” He pauses, and then adds. “I didn’t own a cell phone, but I bought one earlier today. I’ll give you the number so you can call me to let me know when you’re ready.”

“Okay. Sounds good.” I pull out my phone from my purse and send him a text so he’ll have my number, too.

As soon as I’m done, he leans in and offers me a very small, but very alluring kiss. “Goodnight, Trin.”

“Goodnight, Callahan,” I respond, struggling to pry my hands off him.

Somehow I manage and hop up the steps, resetting the alarm after I slip inside and lock the door.

I hurry to the upstairs balcony to watch him leave. Anyone else passing him on the street wouldn’t notice the darkness he’s experienced, and how it squares his shoulders, tightens his stance, and evens his stare. At least I don’t think so. But I see it, and maybe know it a little better now, too.

I only hope I can help him through it, and that he’ll somehow use me to be his light.
 

Chapter Fourteen

Callahan

Boom
.

“Yeah. Get some!”

Boom
.

“Run, Cal,
run
!”

Boom
.

“It’s an ambush—Retreat. Jesus Christ,
retreat
.      

Limbs fly. Maris’s blood soaks my shirt. They’re dead. All of them.

I curl inward, gathering the pillow around my ears. I tell myself they’re just fireworks in the distance—that I’m
not
back in Iraq. But between Billy’s death and all the blasts lighting up the sky, all I hear is enemy fire and all I see are my friends lying in pieces.

My breath is too fast to register, my pulse too quick to trace. I clasp my wrist, focusing on counting each beat. One-ten. One-twenty. One-thirty.

“Cal, help me. I don’t want to die.
Help me
!”

“We’re counting on you, Ranger.”

Sweat soaks my sheets. I go back to counting my heartbeat. One-forty. One-fifty. How fast is too fast?

Fear rattles my body, making me convulse.

“Callahan?”

They’re dead
.

“Callahan, are you in here?”

I know they’re dead.

“It’s me, Trinity . . .”

God, please let me die with them.

“Oh, Jesus,” my angel whispers. “Sweet Jesus.”

The slamming of a door, the trample of steps rushing forward, and fingers sweeping along my sweat-soaked brow. “I’m going to take care of you. You hear me? You’re safe, and-and strong, and you’re going to be fine . . .”

I wrench away. She’s wrong, dead wrong.

Another blast. Another death.

Something crashes to the floor. “Shit—I’m sorry,” Trin says. “I’m so sorry.”

The sound of pouring rain drifts in, growing louder, filtering the next blast. I don’t know what’s happening. Something pushes into my ears.

“Hey―
hey
. It’s okay. Don’t fight me. They’re earplugs I bought to cushion the sound.”

I shake my head, not understanding. Not caring to either. I need to run. Need to get the boys out. Need to carry Lewis. He’s not moving. Christ, why isn’t he moving?

I push up from my bed only to be wrenched back down.

Lips find mine, warm and sweet. I welcome them, taking the kiss deep and digging my fingers into hair as smooth as silk.

The mouth and body I crave and need withdraw abruptly. I haul both back, but again I’m denied.

“Later. I promise,” she tells me. “Right now let me help you, okay?” She struggles to catch her breath. “I’m going to try to put these plugs in again, all right?”

I don’t respond, waiting to understand. Something soft forces its way deep into my ear canal. This time I don’t fight it.

“That’s it,” she says, her voice is muffled and the sound of pouring rain dims. “Just like that.”

Next explosion. Next death. They’re weak, those sounds, but I jolt with each one.

“Lewis is dead,” I tell her.

She pauses and smooths my hair. “He’s at peace, Callahan. I swear he is.”

Something in her voice makes me believe her. “Shhh,” she says. “One more. One more and we’re good.”

Pressure against my ear, and the world fades. I remember a body curling around me. I remember hands stroking the length of my spine. I remember shaking. Why was I so cold?

Life ends.

But
she
is with me.

Something tickles my nose. I bat it away, but there it remains. I fight the sleep engulfing me and try to push away the itch, lifting my head when I realize its hair.

Trinity is lying on top of me. I think she’s asleep until she tilts her chin and rubs her eyes, squinting at the sunlight trickling in through the windows.

“Hey,” she says, sounding far away.

She inches upward, using her legs to slide her body along my chest. Her eyes flicker from side to side. “Keep still a moment and I’ll fix you right up,” she tells me.

She lifts her hands and reaches for me. With a sudden pop the room fills with sound. The air conditioning blasts in the corner, a bird sings outside, and in the distance the sea’s lullaby welcomes me home.

Trin leans in, skimming her lips over mine. “You okay?” she whispers against my mouth. She cocks her head when I don’t answer. “I think the fireworks were too much, especially since it hasn’t been long since you left Iraq,” she explains. “When I arrived at the bar, Jed told me you couldn’t take it and had to leave. I swung by the drugstore and bought one of those white noise CDs―one with rainfall sounds—only it had a four-hour running time so I bought these, too.”

She lifts the ear plugs, showing them to me before tossing them into the waste can beside my bed. “They seemed to help,” she continues. “The thing is, you were in such bad shape I couldn’t leave you. I hope you don’t mind that I stayed. As far as the plugs, I bought a whole container of them. Maybe you should keep using them and the CD together. They helped you settle and―”

I crash my lips against hers. Instead of pulling away and denying me like she did last night, her mouth invades me. Her lips suck, her teeth nibble, stirring moans loud enough to vibrate my chest.

We consume each other. I thread my fingers through her hair, needing to taste more of her. Heat drills its way down to my groin. I struggle with the sheet tangled around us, wrenching it free from her hips to find her bare legs.

The denim shorts she’s wearing scarcely cover her round ass. Good. She’s already wearing too much. Especially for what I want to do to her.

She jolts as I pry my hand between us and rub directly above her center. For now I keep my hands outside her clothes, that doesn’t mean I’m not hell bent on making her feel good.