Only for Her (2 page)

“It’s your neighbors who are sketch. A couple years ago, it was fine. Now? Shit changes.”

“Not telling me anything I don’t already know,” I mumble and push open the door for day care, waving at the girl at the desk. “I have to go. Cally and I are running behind.”

“Dad put first and last month’s down for you. You can afford everything in between. Sign the paperwork. You can move in immediately.”

“What!” I spin away from the receptionist, ready to tear into him then call my dad to do the same. But I can’t. God, I’m grateful. I hate needing them, but I’m drowning. I pull in a breath and drop my head.

“Emma, you need a break. Take it, okay?”

“Ryan, I don’t…”

“You’re month-to-month now, right? Almost the same rent, so you have no reason not to.”

It would be so nice to leave that apartment, and I’ve been saving so one day I could. “I want to do it myself.”

“Emma, look… I owe you.”

He’s been even more protective since we all heard about Grayson. It’s weird. When Ryan found out I was pregnant, I thought he would be sick, then I was scared he would kill Gray and his chances at the police academy. But eventually Ryan calmed down, in a very protective kind of way. Grayson was a name not to be mentioned around Ryan, but now that it’s back in circulation, thanks to county gossip, the protective claws are back.

“No, sweetie. It’s me who owes everyone,” I say.

He huffs, sounding frustrated in my ear. “Please sign the lease. We’ll take care of the move.”

“I can’t.”

“Dammit, Emma. Just say yes.”

Whoa. “Easy there.”

“You’re my baby sister. This is… just something I have to help you do.”

I hate the baby sister argument. “We’re almost the same age.”

“I’m responsible for you.”

This again. God love him. “No. You’re not. But I’ll talk to Dad, okay? See what I can do. Deal?”

“One day we’ll all be on the same page.” He sighs. “Kiss Cally for me.”

“Mommy!”

I turn toward Cally’s voice. “Gotta go. Love ya. Bye.”

My little girl’s running toward me, arms outstretched. I scoop her into a hug, sign her out, and hit the door.

“You have a good time with your friends?” I ask.

“No! My hair got pwulled and I cwolored on da wall.” Cally took a breath. “Timeout for me.”

Rolling my lips to hide my smile, I can’t stand how stinking cute she is. Even if it’s her explaining why she was in time out. “Probably shouldn’t have drawn on the wall.”

“Mommy.” She buries her head into my shoulder as we head toward the parking lot. “I wanna go to sleep. Story?”

Oh… I sigh. “Sure thing, snugglebug.”

A story makes her bad day go away. My heart squeezes. Like daddy, like daughter.

CHAPTER THREE

Grayson

Aches and pains. It’s the only thing I can register. That, and my tongue feels like sandpaper. Slowly, I blink my eyes open. Everything is white. Searing light streams through a window. I look down and around. I’m in bed. In a hospital? Equipment is on both sides of me, monitors hooked to my arms and chest. Taking a deep breath, I turn and—oh, damn. Pain slices through my side. I moan, fight to catch my breath, and drop back.

My mind struggles to find the missing pieces, and a headache throbs. Dark flashes of action and memories of the insurgent attack—the voices, the screams. Everyone’s dead. Everyone… except me? Empty clips and useless weapons. By the time the extraction team arrived, I was the last man standing.

Constant pain consumes me. Gunshot wound? The memory of exploding pain surfaces. What else… broken ribs? Cracked bones? Have to be, because I can’t breathe. But still, I’m alive. Out of everyone, why me?

Emma.

I shake my head. A cold sweat drenches me. I had begged God to let me make it right. To stay alive and see my girl. A desperate shudder runs through me. It’s too late. It has to be. It’s been three fuckin’ years since I last saw her. They’ve been hell. I bitched out on a shot at love, at happiness. She’s not my girl. Not anymore.

All alone, I come apart.

Emma would’ve waited for me after basic, would’ve waited through these goddamn deployments. I’m a self-fulfilling fuckin’ prophecy. I’m everything Pops expected: a piece of shit, not good enough to do anything but ruin lives, ruin myself. I’ve been out fightin’ and doing my damnedest to forget that I love her. That I was too pussy, too jacked in the head to mumble the word “good-bye” and hope that she’d wait.

Nausea hits me. Regret shreds me. Emma’s moved on. Why wait for a man who never came back to bed? A girl like her probably has a boyfriend. Or a husband? Bile burns my throat. My hands tear into my hair, and my pain spikes again. How had I never thought about her moving on?

“You’re up!” A nurse walks in, heading for a bottle on the wall, and snaps me from a nervous breakdown. She squirts sanitizer on her hands, rubs them together, then snaps on gloves. “Time to take a look at your side, honey.”

I groan, hands still in my hair.

“You okay? Remembering again?” She sits on a rolling chair and scoots over.

“What?”

“Memory still foggy? That’s the painkillers. Give it a few minutes. The cobwebs will disappear.”

I don’t know what to say. I don’t remember this woman. Flashbacks hit me… cracked ribs. Discharge papers. Maybe? I can’t remember what’s real, what’s a dream.

With a few well-practiced moves, the nurse lifts the covers, moves my gown, re-bandages me, and smiles. “Looks great. Probably still feels awful. I’ll let the doctors know you’re up, okay? And your girl.”

My girl? “She’s here?”

The nurse smiles again and snaps off her gloves. “Arrived a bit ago. She’s a wild one, that’s for sure.”

Wild one? Oh… no. Shit. “Um—”

“Grayson!” Behind the nurse, in walks crazy Mazie. That’s a face I could never forget. “You’re awake.”

“Maze—”

“I’ve been waiting forever for you to wake up.”

The nurse heads for the door. “Well, I’ll let you two be.”

“Wait, no.” But my words are muffled by Mazie’s smothering hug. “Ow, shit, Maze. That hurts.”

She finally pops up. “Hey, you.”

This can’t be happening. My head’s pounding. When I left Emma and ended up at basic training at Fort Benning, then stationed in the same place, I spent enough time with Mazie that we became close friends. She was one of the boys and always knew what was in my head. I told her, probably too many times, that I was in love with Emma.

Sitting up, I ignore the sense of loss that I woke up to her, not Emma. “You have to stop telling people we’re getting married.”

“That lines always works.” She shrugs. “Gets me in the door. I was worried about you.”

I nod.

“Word travels fast. I’m really sorry, Gray. Just—” She rolls her lips together. The bubbly, near-manic girl I know is speechless. Don’t blame her though. “I thought you were dead. Everyone did. The reports that filtered back were wrong. No one knew anything.”

I should’ve been. Better men than me died. Guys with wives, with children. I take a deep, painful breath, needing a subject change. “I’m back in Georgia?”

She shakes her head. “No. Walter Reed.”

“Maryland?”

She nods. “Yeah, sweetie.”

Not far from Virginia—not far from Summerland County. Not that Emma’s there anymore. She had college and… life. “Why’d you come up?”

“When I heard you survived, I figured no one would come check on you.”

That’s what happens when you walk away from everyone. My head’s spinning. I want her to leave so I can be alone in my misery. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Someone has to check on you. Besides, I needed a change of scenery. You know how I am.”

For as much I want one girl, she wants any guy, so long as he has a tag around his neck and loves just her. Our backgrounds have eerily similar histories, and while I’ve run from Emma, Mazie’s run to any soldier with half an interest, always getting hurt. She’s a tag chaser at heart. Really, she’s not one hundred percent right in the head, and that’s why she’s my crazy Mazie.

The guys would get a kick out of her being up here.

The guys…
are all dead.

Flashes and explosions rock in my head. I smell fear, taste death. It’s revolting. Their screams. The blood. As though I’m living a nightmare, it hits hard and fast. Bile rushes up my throat. My stomach churns; I can’t breathe. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“Oh! Eek. Um.” She grabs a trash can and shoves it under my face just in time.

Shit. God. My wound kills.

I try to block out the sounds from the room around me. My memory explodes with pain. Mazie’s talking fast, and rough hands switch the trash can for a bag. My pain radiates as I heave. My gut roils. Everything sucks in a way I can’t handle.

Finally, it subsides, whatever it was. My heart beat slows. Cold sweats stop rushing over my body. I take a breath as my stomach calms, and I drop back. I won’t open my eyes, won’t talk to anyone. The nurse and a doctor are talking. I hear their murmurs, their questions as they mumble words like
trigger, stress,
and
attack
. I don’t care. All I want is Emma. I need her, and I fight for her memory. A story. A smile. Anything. But it’s all blank.

“This will help you,” the nurse says by my IV.

A slight hit of warmth bleeds into me through the drip in my arm. My muscles relax, but not my mind.

Until… finally, it’s quiet around me. Sleep pulls me toward its dark, heavy hold. Struggling, I open my eyes to see Mazie sit in a chair near me.

“I’m…” I work my numb jaw, running my tongue over my teeth. My body has odd sensations, all pin prickles and fuzzy feels. “Tired.”

“Should be. They gave you a knock-out shot.” Her eyes are red, her cheeks tear-stained. “I’m sorry.” She tucks her knees up and wraps her arms around them. “I shouldn’t have been so… cavalier. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned the guys. Or stupid gossip.”

I shake my head, dizzy with exhaustion but not in nearly as much pain. Crazy Mazie is more messed up than me. “It’s just a thing.”

“Panic attack or something.”

“Maybe.” My fists feel heavy. So does my soul. I rub my knuckles into my eyes. My skin feels fuzzy and funny. I want to say something, figure out how to make the hurt lessen. “I was the last guy. No one else made it home.”

“I know,” she whispers.

“I can’t see Emma’s face anymore. You know, that’s always been my fix. It’s not working.” I drop my hands and tears burn. “It’s been too long.”

When I focus on Mazie, she’s watching me and hugs her legs tighter to her chest. “Maybe it’s time you fix it?”

My tongue is thick, dry. I chew on my bottom lip, but it’s numb like the rest of me. Everything except my mind. “Maybe.”

But first, I have to fix me. Not just my side but what’s in my head. Then I can find Emma and fix… everything.

CHAPTER FOUR

Two weeks later

Emma

“Cally, Cally, Cally, honey.” I’ve been home for three hours of power sleep. “Please, baby, get up.”

If I don’t make it to class on time, Professor Dickhead will call me out as he’s done the past two times. The jerk swears by a three-strikes rule, and today is not the day I’m losing my place in Business Management 201.

But if I don’t get my precious baby out of bed, dressed, and into the car, we’ll never make it to the community college’s child care.

“Mama, don’t wanna.”

Oh, baby. Me neither. I’m exhausted. Funneling coffee. I overslept by three minutes, which shouldn’t be that big of a deal, but I have life planned to a T. I drop to my knees and cuddle her head. “I know that, snugglebug. But up, up, and”—I scoop her out of bed—“out.”

Droopy-eyed with bedhead, she rubs her face and looks around. “Sleepy.”

I nod. “Yuppers, me too.”

She looks around, acknowledging her new bedroom. The excitement on her face makes this fast move worth it.

“C’mon. Super-fast breakfast, then we gotta roll.”

Cally buries her head into my neck. “Want a muffin.”

“Good thing that’s what we have.”

I hustle her down to the kitchen, and she devours a banana muffin, finishing faster than I would’ve bet. Thank goodness. That shaves minutes off the schedule. We can totally do this. It’s my mantra. Cally and I are a team. We can survive anything, do anything, manage it on our own with just a few helping hands.

Like Cherry, who babysits at my place on Wednesday nights while I’m at Emerald’s, and my parents, who watch Cally for any shift I can pick up at the Delightful Diner, where I sling pancakes. Who knew it was possible to hate the smell of butter and batter.

I groan for so many reasons. But this morning, there’s no time to lament barely getting by. Because if I do that, we fail, and right now, we’re so close to making it with more than just a couple of dollars a paycheck.

Cally’s in her clothes, trying to brush her teeth, and batting away my help. She’s like me—a little stubborn but going to do it on her own if it kills her—and I love that about her.