Sweet Tomorrows (23 page)

“You aren't a stranger to me,” Nick argued. He leaned forward and braced his forehead against my crown. “Mom is anxious to meet you. She's grateful I met you.”

I could feel myself weakening. “When will they arrive?”

“Next week.”

I exhaled. Nick's first appointment with the counselor was on Tuesday. I'd agreed to go with him. Not to sit in on the session but to drive him and wait for him. I didn't want a repeat of what had happened with our lunch date. “All right,” I agreed, not bothering to hide my reluctance. “I'll meet your parents on two conditions.”

His look was skeptical, wary. “Which are?”

“One, you don't cancel your appointment on Tuesday.” I held his eyes, unwilling to bend on either of my conditions.

He agreed readily. “What else?”

“That you talk to your parents privately before you bring me into the picture. I'll be happy to meet them, but only after you've talked to them first.”

He didn't look like he was willing to accept my second stipulation, but after a couple awkward moments he nodded. It took awhile for him to absorb what I'd said. He brushed his lips over the top of my head. “Thank you.”

Elvis settled down next to me and rested his chin on his paws. His dark eyes centered on me and Nick.

“A pot of tea will do us both good,” I suggested.

Nick released his hold on me and I rose from my knees, thinking there would be permanent indentations on my legs after kneeling so long. When I walked into the kitchen, I stood mesmerized for a moment by how well the brown walls highlighted the off-white kitchen cabinets and counters. It had turned out even better than I'd imagined.

Nick stepped behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders. “It looks good, doesn't it?”

At his touch, shivers of awareness skidded down my arms. When I spoke, my voice was barely recognizable. “It's lovely.”

“Yes, it is,” Nick agreed, but he wasn't looking at the color of the walls, he was looking at me. “Em,” he said, his voice deep and rich.

The timber of the way he said my name caused me to meet his look. His eyes were warm and sincere as he raised his hand to my face, cupping it. I sucked in my breath and stepped back. This couldn't be happening. I felt the pull toward him, as strong as any magnet, but this was a path we couldn't walk, a path that led to pain and heartache, and I'd traveled this rock-strewn corridor before and walked away bleeding and nearly destroyed. As tempting as it was to yield to his touch, as much as I yearned—yes, yearned—for the comfort of his arms, I couldn't.

“I have to go,” I said abruptly. Needing to get away quickly, I turned with the intent of running out of the house. Before I took the first step, Nick grabbed hold of my hand and brought me into the circle of his arms.

“Don't,” I pleaded. “Don't do this.”

“Em,” he whispered, his face buried in my hair. “Listen, I've been doing a lot of thinking and I've had a change of heart. I realize I can't only be your friend. That isn't working for me. I need more. I want more and I know you do, too.”

I so desperately wanted to believe there was a future for us, but if past experience was anything to go by, I knew Nick didn't know what he was saying. Going through that pain and rejection again would be too much for me. My heart wouldn't be able to take it.

Mark was up and walking, pushing his IV pole as he slowly made his way down the hospital corridor, when I arrived at Madigan on Sunday afternoon. I'd purposely waited until later in the day rather than arrive first thing in the morning. If he noticed I was later than usual, he didn't comment. Ever since I'd mentioned Greg's name less than a week ago, our relationship had been strained and awkward.

This wasn't the first time Mark had been out of bed. He was gaining strength day by day. I walked beside him down the wide hallway, matching my steps to his. “Did you have a good night?”

He shrugged. “I slept, if that's what you mean.”

“Good.” We were both avoiding the subject that was heavy on our minds.

“You talk to Greg yet today?” he asked, not looking at me.

“No.”

“Will you?” His gaze pinned me now, drilling me with the question, as if this was an interrogation.

“Probably.” It'd never been my intention to mislead Mark about my relationship with Greg. Although I didn't mention it, Greg had asked me out for dinner later and after a lot of discussion I'd agreed. I didn't feel good about seeing him when I was with Mark, but he'd insisted and I'd caved in. We'd set a time and location in Tacoma.

I held Mark's gaze, expecting him to comment. “Does that bother you?”

He glared back at me. “What do you think? I'm stuck in this hospital and there's another man in your life even though you know the way I feel about you. This isn't exactly how I pictured our reunion.”

“I didn't think there would ever be a reunion,” I reminded him, and he'd been the one to make sure of that.

I could see that he was angry and frustrated, and I wasn't helping. “Please, Mark, I don't want to argue.”

“Arguing is the last thing I want to do,” he admitted softly, expelling a lengthy sigh.

His steps slowed and I knew the walking had tired him out. “Let me help you to your room,” I suggested as I placed my arm around his waist. By the time we made it back, Mark almost collapsed on the bed.

“I can't wait to get out of here,” he muttered through gritted teeth. Frustration radiated off of him.

I was looking forward to the day of his release myself. It went without saying that he hated being incapacitated. I'd made arrangements for him to stay on the bottom floor of the inn. I knew he'd feel most at home at the inn. Having Rover close at hand would lift his spirits.

Mark rested against the back of the hospital bed and briefly closed his eyes.

“Have you heard anything more about…the mission?” I asked, not knowing what else to call it. I hated bringing it up, but for my own peace of mind, I needed to know.

“Can we talk about something else?” he pleaded. “I'm tired and not up to a serious discussion.”

Seeing how spent he was, I probably could have chosen a better time. “It can wait.” From his look I suspected he had an answer, only it wasn't one he wanted to tell me, which in and of itself told me everything I needed to know.

Within seconds Mark was asleep. The physical exertion of being outside of bed had completely worn him out. I used the time to answer emails and log on to my Facebook account. I hadn't talked to Dana in more than a week, so I sent her a text message.

I missed attending my spin class. I missed my life. My days revolved around Mark. Seeing him whole and well again had been my priority from the moment I learned he was alive.

He woke an hour later, and as I knew he would, the first thing he did was look for me. When he saw me at his bedside, he smiled and stretched out his arm to me, clasping my hand in his.

“You know I love you, right?”

“I plan on giving you plenty of time to prove it,” I said, hoping he caught my meaning. If he loved me he'd know he couldn't ask me to go through what I had in the last year. Not again.

He slowly withdrew his hand and looked away. “Your friend Milford was in to see me.”

I stiffened. “When?”

“Shortly after you left yesterday.”

That wasn't by coincidence. Paul's commanding officer had purposely waited until he could speak to Mark when I wasn't around. Doing my best to hide my irritation, I casually asked, “What did he have to say?”

“This and that.”

“I'll bet. He wants you to return to Iraq, doesn't he?” While he might not be directly connected to the mission, I wouldn't put it past the powers that be to use him to pressure Mark.

Mark avoided the question. “It was a casual visit, or so he said.”

“I bet.” I'd always liked Dennis and I appreciated the help he'd given me, but I wasn't fond of him trying to persuade Mark one way or the other.

“Milford reminded me of my father and grandfather's contributions to our country's defense.”

“He would, of course he would.” I strongly suspected Dennis would use whatever tactic he felt necessary to persuade Mark to put his life in danger once again.

“He wants me to re-enlist.”

“No way.” I felt so strongly about this that I leaped to my feet. “Mark, please don't do it. Please, I couldn't bear it.”

“You don't understand—”

“You're right, I don't,” I said, cutting him off. “All I understand is that I already nearly lost you once.”

“What I do, it's important. I can save lives.”

I felt like weeping. Nothing I said would influence him. As far as I knew, Mark had already made up his mind. I only had one thing to say. I focused my attention on him. “If you're seriously considering this, then I need to know
now.
” I placed heavy emphasis on the last word.

My words hung in the air between us and seemed to vibrate. It seemed to take a long time for Mark to respond. “Why, so you can continue your relationship with another man?”

I held his gaze for a long moment, my heart racing, before I slowly nodded and answered with one simple word. “Yes.”

His eyes widened as the implication hit him and appeared to have a direct impact. He exhaled. “Jo Marie, you don't understand. Until a few years ago the army was my life…”

“What about a civilian job?” I said, grabbing at straws. “There are plenty of army contractors. Work for one of them.” I didn't have any idea what I was talking about, but it sounded good.

“I have the opportunity to make a real difference. No one has been to the places I have, no one knows the people I know. And most important, no one else is capable of seeing this through.”

“You're parroting Milford.”

“I'm speaking the truth.”

“Then go,” I said, as if it meant nothing. “But when you do, you need to keep one thing in mind. I won't be waiting for you.”

My words landed in the middle of the room like a bomb waiting to explode.

“You're that serious about Gary?” I saw a flash of pain in Mark's eyes as he asked the question.

“Greg,” I corrected, knowing full well Mark purposely said the wrong name. “I don't know how serious it is with him, but I'll tell you this, it won't matter because our relationship, yours and mine, will be over.”

“You don't mean that.”

To be fair, he was right, but I couldn't let Mark know this. “Is that something you want to find out, Mark?”

He frowned and looked as miserable as I felt.

I walked around to the other side of the bed. “I can't do this, Mark. I'm sorry. It would be best if I left now.”

His face tightened and it seemed like he was holding his breath. “Are you leaving for good?”

I wanted him to know how serious I was and toyed with the idea of telling him I didn't know, but that would have been cruel. “I'll be back sometime tomorrow.”

Relief showed in his face and he visibly relaxed. Then, almost as if he knew my intentions, he asked, “Where are you going now?”

I hesitated.

“Is it to see him?”

“If by ‘him' you mean Greg, then yes; we're meeting in Tacoma.” I was fully aware this news would upset him, but I refused to be anything but straightforward and honest, and I expected the same from him.

Mark didn't think I understood his position, but he was wrong. I understood all too well. The army to Mark and his family was like a mistress: tempting, addictive, attractive, and powerful. Like his father and his grandfather before him, Mark yearned to leave his own mark on the history of our country's defense. He wanted to be a hero, live up to the family name.

I collected my purse and headed out of the room, pausing long enough to look back. I struggled with what to say. He held my eyes, his own troubled, and then I realized they were a reflection of my own.

“Good-bye, Mark,” I whispered.

“It's not good-bye, Jo Marie, not by a long shot.”

I wasn't going to argue with him.

Once I was in the parking lot, I called Greg. “Can you meet me earlier?” I asked, struggling to control my emotions.

“Sure. When?”

“How long will it take you to drive to Tacoma?”

He hesitated, as if calculating the route from the east side. “Thirty minutes, or forty, I suppose. Is something wrong? You don't sound like yourself.”

“I'm not myself…in fact, I don't know who I am anymore.” I hated it when Mark and I disagreed. He'd changed in the year he'd been away and so had I. As I'd so recently reminded him, we were different people now and I wasn't sure we were capable of going back. I felt like I hardly knew him any longer.

“Things aren't going well with Mark?”

“No.” It was the blunt truth.

Greg didn't comment. “I'll get there as quickly as I can. Wait inside for me and have a glass of red wine. It will help you relax.”

“Thank you,” I whispered. Through all this Greg had been my one constant.

“Jo Marie?” he asked.

“Yes?”

“You realize I'd do anything for you, don't you?”

I nodded, which of course he couldn't see. “I know,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

By the time Greg arrived, I was on my second cup of coffee. Thankfully, my nerves had settled and I was in better control of my emotions. I looked up when the restaurant door opened. Right away Greg saw me sitting in the booth. He slid into the seat opposite and reached for my hands.

“I think I broke a speed record getting here. Tell me what's happened.”

Tears filled my eyes. “Mark might be going back to Iraq.”

Greg didn't bother to hide his shock. “You're joking.”

I wished I was. “No. He hasn't made his decision yet, but I know he's only fooling himself. I can see it in his eyes. He feels an obligation to return, to be a hero the same way his father and grandfather before him were.” Saving Ibrahim wasn't nearly enough to satisfy Mark. This was in his blood, part of his DNA.

“What does this mean for us?” Greg asked.

I sucked in a harsh breath. “I don't know…but I basically told Mark if he decides to go that I was finished with him.”

Greg's eyes flared. “Do you mean that?”

I nodded and answered, anyway. “Yes…I do mean it, but then I don't know…I just don't know.”

His hands squeezed my fingers. “Then there's a chance for you and me?” he asked, his eyes filled with hope.

Greg had been wonderful through all this. Never demanding, never showing outside signs of resentment or jealousy. He couldn't have been more understanding.

“Jo Marie,” he whispered and raised my fingers to his lips and kissed my knuckles. “Give me something to hold on to.”

“I think there is a chance,” I said. “Yes, definitely, yes.”

Greg kissed my fingertips a second time. “I wouldn't be honest if I told you I was sorry things aren't working out between you and Mark. Your happiness means a great deal to me. I'm fairly certain you already know how I feel about you.”

“I do know.”