Stitched Up Heart (Combat Hearts Book 1) (26 page)

“Sure.” Bree followed her over to the small corner table.

“Jase’s family moved across the street from us when the boys were about four. I’m a few years older than Melissa, Jase’s mom, but we became good friends.”

The waitress stopped by their table. “Hey, Ms. Carol. The usual?”

“Yes, please.”

“And for you?” the waitress asked Bree.

“Coffee with cream, please.”

“Okay.” She flashed a smile. “Be right back.”

“Where was I?” Carol asked.

“Uh, Jase’s family moved in across the street.”

“Right. Jase’s daddy was in the Army and was gone a lot. I was never sure what he did, but I think he was Special Forces. Tim was six, and Shannon, their sister, was a baby. Poor Melissa had her hands full. Tim was a serious little boy. Always watching before joining in on things. Never gave his mama any bit of trouble. Jase, though, was a little hellion. I started taking him in the afternoons to give her a bit of a break. Tony was my youngest and I had him late in life. He was unexpected, if you know what I mean.”

The waitress returned with their drinks. “Here you go. Can I get you anything else?”

“No thank you, dear,” Carol said. She took a small sip of her coffee before continuing.

“Jase and Tony were like night and day. I think if Tony had been older, he and Tim would have been friends. They’re much more alike. Whereas Jase would run hell-bent into anything, Tony would follow cautiously, but he always followed Jase. I thought when they started school, Jase and Tony would find other friends, but neither of them did. They had their own groups and interests, but they remained best friends all the way through high school.”

Bree sipped her coffee and listened in rapt fascination as Carol unveiled a part of Jase’s life she might not have learned otherwise.

“Jase idolized his daddy. Always said he wanted to be a soldier like him. Wanted to save the world. Melissa convinced him to wait a year after he graduated before enlisting. Jase took some classes at the community college, but he knew it wasn’t for him. He did it only because his mama asked. He walked into the recruiter’s office as soon as his last class was over. Tony went with him.”

Carol contemplated her coffee, as if drawing courage from the tendrils of steam rising from the cup. “Tony was…sensitive. Always bringing home strays. Sticking up for kids at school. He was a very talented artist.” She glanced back up at Bree.

“I saw one of his drawings. The one Jase has.”

“He drew that one after he got out. The Army offered him a position in the media. What’s it called? The news network?”

“Armed Forces Radio and Television Service?”

“Yes. That one. They wanted him to be a graphic artist or something, but he refused. Said he joined with Jase and was going to stay with Jase. Even Jase told him it was a great opportunity and to take it, but he was adamant. I asked him once why he was so hell-bent on staying with Jase. He told me, ‘Mama, Jase needs me. He’ll lose himself if I’m not there to remind him who he is.’ That was Tony. Always looking out for everyone.”

Bree sniffed, fighting back her tears. She ached for Carol’s loss. For Jase’s loss.

“He came back haunted. Physically, he was whole, but that war killed something inside him. I could see it. A huge piece was missing from my boy. He’d go out fishing or camping and come back happier, but it would last only a day or two. I convinced him to get counseling, but he did it only because I pleaded with him. I had hope when he and Jase fixed up that house that things were going to turn around. He was drawing again. But….”

She sipped her coffee, gazing out the window.

Bree bit her lip and swiped at an errant tear.

“I found some of his drawings when I was going through his room…after. Some of them, like the one Jase has, were beautiful. Poignant. But others were horrible. The nightmares he must have suffered to draw those pictures,” she whispered.

A tear escaped and she dabbed at her eye with a napkin. “I had no idea the depths of his despair. But it helped me understand why he killed himself. Why he felt that was the only way out. The pain is always there, in the corners of my heart, but I’ve come to accept it. Jase, though. Jase blames himself.”

“Why?” Bree blinked rapidly, trying to prevent her tears from falling.

“He thinks if he hadn’t let Tony follow him into the Rangers, he wouldn’t have been scarred by the war the way he was. I’ve tried to make him understand he couldn’t have made Tony do anything he didn’t want to, but Jase still blames himself. I had hoped, since he started dating you, that he’d finally realize there are more important things in life than regret.”

Carol reached over and grasped Bree’s hand. “I’m glad you came by today. Jase is like a son to me, and I’m going to ask you to do something very difficult.”

Bree placed her hand over Carol’s. “Whatever you need.”

“I need you to go and kick Jase’s ass for me.”

A surprised laugh escaped Bree. She slapped a hand over her mouth and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. You just surprised me.”

Carol’s eyes twinkled and she patted Bree’s hand. “That’s alright, dear. Laughter is the best medicine. Go get Jase’s head out of his ass.”

Bree parked next to Jase’s truck and shut off the engine. Dim light from the kitchen window shone like a beacon in the darkness surrounding her car. She found the kitchen door unlocked and made her way through the quiet house to the family room. A floor lamp threw soft light onto the recliner where Jase sat, staring vacantly at the picture above the mantel. Beer bottles lay scattered on the coffee table and a few more on the floor where they had rolled off.

“Jase.”

He started. Lines appeared on his forehead as he stared at her. “What are you doing here?”

“Carol told me what today is,” she said softly.

Jase looked away and lifted the bottle of liquor to his lips. Apparently beer wasn’t getting the job done.

“Jase?”

“I forgot.”

“Forgot what?” She walked farther into the living room, stopping a few feet in front of him.

“Forgot what today was.” He looked at her again and her heart clenched. His eyes were vacant. Devoid of emotion. Pain, even anger, she could have handled. But there was nothing in his gaze.

“That’s understandable,” she said, thinking as time passed, he would begin to forget. Begin to hurt less. In time, the good memories would override the bad. But that wasn’t how he took it.

“How is that understandable, Bree? How is forgetting about someone killing themselves because of you
understandable
?”

“Carol told me about Tony. It’s not your fault.”

“Bullshit. You think because Carol shared a story with you, you understand? You have no idea. You couldn’t possibly understand what he went through. What I went through.” He took another pull from the bottle in his hand and looked away from her.

His dismissiveness slashed through her heart in a way that nearly brought her to her knees. She gasped at the pain as it radiated outward from her chest. And it infuriated her. He didn’t have a monopoly on pain. After everything they’d talked about — everything that had happened the last few weeks — how dare he dismiss her?

“How dare you?” she seethed.

“Go home, Bree.”

“Fuck you. I don’t understand? You think I don’t know what it’s like to be standing at the gas station and hit the ground because you think someone’s car backfiring is incoming mortars? You think I don’t know what it’s like to not want to sleep because of the never-ending nightmares? To not want to see the montage of faces of everyone you lost?” Her hands balled into fists. “To not want to wake up when you finally do sleep because you have to face the world? A world so fucking wrapped up in its own selfish bullshit and oblivious to everything else that’s going on?”

Her chest heaved, a sob fighting to escape. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to be in a crowd of people trying not to have a panic attack because there are too fucking many of them and no one is watching where the hell they are going? Or how about almost crashing your car because the asshole in front of you threw his cigarette butt out his window? Or when it takes everything not to throat punch the motherfucker in front of me complaining about the cashier taking too long?

“Or how about when your best friend calls you and says she can’t take it anymore and all you can do is pray you aren’t too late?” Tears flowed freely now. She scrubbed the heels of her hand across her cheeks, angry she couldn’t stop them. “You think I haven’t had days where it was everything I could do to make it through the next five minutes? And the five after that?” She gasped and fought to catch her breath. “Or that I haven’t stood in front of my gun safe and thought it would be so easy. One bullet and the pain would end?”

She gritted her teeth and took a step back. “It’s a conscious decision every fucking day to wake up and promise the people who love you that you won’t leave them. That you won’t take the easy way out and leave them with the bottomless well of pain they’ll have to live with for the rest of their lives.”

“Bree…” The light flickered back into his eyes. It was a painful light, highlighted by the shimmer of tears.

“Fuck you, Jase. This is how you protect this?” She pointed a finger at her chest. “This is how you fight for it? Bullshit.” The sob tore through her, compressing her chest with its forcefulness.

“Bree.” His voice broke when he spoke her name.

Lost in her pain, she whipped around and blindly stormed back to the kitchen. The pain in her chest throbbed with every heartbeat. She tore through the door as Jase shouted her name.

Fumbling with her keys, she slammed the door to her car. The headlights illuminated Jase as he stumbled out of the kitchen after her. The tires chirped on the concrete as she pressed on the gas pedal, reversing in a wide arc around his truck. Throwing the SUV into drive, she sped down the long dirt road. She sobbed and wiped furiously at her tears as she drove to the one person she knew she could always turn to.

J
ase tripped on the edge of the concrete where it met the grass. Reflexes dulled by an entire day of drowning his sorrows, he couldn’t stop himself from sprawling on the rough surface. The pain radiating from his cheek as it bounced against the concrete was nothing compared to the pain gripping his chest. He pushed himself up to his knees and watched as Bree’s taillights faded.

He roared into the night, slamming his fists into the ground. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

He’d done it a-fucking-gain. He’d lost his best friend to his own goddamned selfishness. Now he might’ve lost the woman he loved. Her words had seared through his chest and ripped out his heart. The pain in his chest beat in rhythm to where his heart used to be as he admitted the truth to himself.

He dropped his head to the ground, curling in on himself.
Bree
.

He hated this fucking day. He’d forgotten. Actually forgot what day it was. He wouldn’t have even remembered if a guy on the trip hadn’t made an offhanded remark about the date. He’d hated himself in that moment. Hated that he’d forgotten he was the reason Tony was dead. Hated the happiness he’d been living for the last few weeks when Tony wasn’t alive to be happy at all.

Bree hadn’t deserved what he’d said. He’d just wanted her to leave. Not see him like that — wallowing in his misery. He was such a fucking asshole.

Her pain had resonated with every word she spoke, ripping through his heart like razor wire tearing through skin. He’d let her down. Broke his promise to take care of her.

He stumbled back into the house and collapsed face down on the couch. Tomorrow. He’d make it up to her. Apologize. Grovel. Anything to erase the agony on her face. Anything to have her back in his arms. To make good on the promise he’d made her.