Stitched Up Heart (Combat Hearts Book 1) (27 page)

The steady, painful throb at the base of his skull woke him. Bright sunlight streamed in the windows and he covered his eyes to add a layer of darkness. His cheek was wet and he lifted his head off the puddle of drool.

He wiped his cheek with the heel of his hand and rubbed across the scrape. “Ow! Shit.” He rolled onto his back, and his stomach rolled with him.

“Fuck.” He bolted for the bathroom, kicking at empty bottles littering the floor. He purged his stomach, then rinsed his mouth. Sinking to the floor, he leaned against the wall next to the door.

He propped his elbows on his knees and fisted his hands in his hair.

Bree.

Fuck
.

He banged his head against the wall. His watch showed nine thirty-three. Groaning, he heaved to his feet and went to find his phone.

He scrolled through his contacts until he found her work number. Holding the phone to his ear, he stared at the mess of his living room. The ringing sounded like a firehouse bell vibrating in his ear.

“Physical therapy. May I help you?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Dr. Marks, please.”

“I’m sorry, sir, she’s out sick today. May I take a message or have you speak with one of the other doctors?”

He grabbed at his hair again and paced back and forth behind the couch. “No, thank you. I’ll try back tomorrow.”

“Fuck.” Pulling up his favorites, he called Bree’s cell.

“This is Bree. Leave a message.”

“Fuck!” Leaning his hands against the back of the couch, he hunched over, dropping his head between his outstretched arms.

He heaved a sigh and stood. Thumbing through his contacts, he stared at the name his thumb hovered over. He pressed the name.

“You’re a fucking asshole.” Denise hung up. Well, Bree had talked to her. He dialed again.

“Are you shitting me right now?” If phones could click anymore, he was sure she’d have slammed hers down. Inhaling deeply, he dialed again.

“Meat grinder, motherfucker.”

One more time. “Denise, let me—”

“Not on your fucking life.”

That was a lie. He was going to keep calling until she told him where Bree was.

“Denise, please. She’s not answering her phone.”

“No shit. Did you really expect her to?”

“Denise, I’m trying to make this right. I was an asshole. I know that. But I can’t apologize if I can’t talk to her. The clinic said she called in sick. I don’t have her grandmother’s number and I don’t know who else to call.”

Silence.
Please, Denise, help me
. More likely, she was planning how to chop up his body. Just in case, he came clean.

“I love her. I fucked up. I need to fix it.”

Denise sighed. “She’s at her gran’s. Haven Springs Village. Villa 42.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t make me regret this.” She ended the call.

He rushed through a shower and brushed his teeth. Sweeping his fingers through his wet locks, he got dressed and grabbed an apple from the counter. He looked up the directions for Haven Springs Village on his phone as he got in his truck.

Jase pulled into a visitor’s parking spot a few doors down from Villa 42. After taking a deep breath, he got out and walked down the landscaped path to the small cottage. He opened the screen door, but hesitated before he knocked. Doubt assailed him. How would she react to him being there? Would she see him? Let him apologize? He steeled his courage. It didn’t matter. He would make this better. Had to. There was no way he would let her go without a fight.

The door opened before he could bring his knuckles down.

“Hello, Jase. Would you like to come in?” Vivienne Coffee’s polite invitation was the last thing he expected.

“Thank you, Mrs. Coffee.” He followed her in and closed the door behind him.

“Call me Vivienne, dear. Have a seat. Is iced tea alright?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He sat at the small kitchen table and watched her bustle around. He glanced around the well-appointed villa. Across the open floor plan, he spotted Bree’s service picture on the mantle in the living room and went to take a closer look. A younger Bree stared out from the silver picture frame. Her cut just below her ears. Her face serious, as all basic training pictures tended to be. He studied the other pictures on the mantle. Bree as a child and a teenager. A picture of a man in a World War II-era uniform. Her grandfather.

On the center of the mantle, in a place of prominence, sat a framed Bronze Star medal with a Valor device. Next to it, the citation. He picked it up, stunned to see Bree’s name on it.

CITATION TO ACCOMPANY THE AWARD OF THE BRONZE STAR WITH V DEVICE FOR HEROISM IN ACTION AGAINST AN ARMED ENEMY, WHILE SERVING AS A CULTURAL SUPPORT TEAM MEMBER DURING OPERATION ENDURING FREEDOM.

“She’s an extraordinary woman.” Vivienne interrupted him before he could finish reading the citation. “But then, you know that already.”

“Yes, ma’am, I do.” He set the frame back on the mantle. Damn, he owed her a huge apology. He’d been a self-righteous ass.

He joined Vivienne at the kitchen table and accepted the glass she offered him.

“She’s sleeping right now. I checked on her when I heard your truck drive by.”

He nodded, not sure where she was going to take the conversation.

“I’ll be honest. I’m hesitant to let you see her. She hasn’t been this withdrawn since she came back from Afghanistan — after that happened.” She pointed toward the citation on the mantle. “The fact that you’re here speaks volumes, so I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“Thank you. I don’t know what she told you about last night, but I messed up.” He looked down at the glass in his hand.

“She hasn’t told me anything. She showed up last night with Polly and Charlie, so I knew things were bad. She came out this morning for breakfast and went right back to bed.”

“I’m guessing she wouldn’t want to leave her dogs by themselves with everything that’s been going on.”

Vivienne cocked her head and considered him for a moment. “Jase, dear, Polly is a therapy dog. Bree got her when she was diagnosed with PTSD. She helps Bree cope when her emotions overwhelm her. Or when she retreats into herself.”

Jase rocked back in the chair. He’d had no idea. How many times had he watched Polly lean against Bree. His brow narrowed. Each time Polly had stuck to Bree, she’d been upset or stressed. “I didn’t know. She just seemed like a sweet dog.”

“Oh, she is. Bree doesn’t rely on her as much as she used to. She hasn’t had to.”

Jase raked his hands through his hair. Guilt and regret crashed against him like storm waves against a rocky coast. At least this time he could do something about it. “Can I talk to her?”

“Down the hall, on the left.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she warned him. “You still have to talk to Bree.”

He nodded and walked down the short hall. He paused outside the bedroom door and took a deep breath. Easing the door open, he entered the darkened room, barely able to make out Bree’s form curled up on the bed. Charlie stood from his position on the floor at the end of the bed. He brushed past Jase and left the room. Polly lifted her head from where it rested on the crook of Bree’s knees and thumped her tail against the bed. Jase closed the door and walked over to her. Polly rose from her spot next to Bree and hopped off the bed.

He gathered Bree in his arms and fit his body close. Her breath shuddered, evidence that she had been crying. He cringed. Shit, he had screwed up.

Her head shifted on the pillow. She stiffened, and he tightened his arms around her. Her silence pained him. He kissed her shoulder.

“I’m sorry for what I said last night. I’d like to explain.” She remained silent and he took it as permission.

“I always knew I wanted to be in the Army. I never expected Tony to follow me. Selfishly, I was glad he did. We went through basic training together. Infantry and Pathfinder school. Finally, Ranger school. I was so proud of Tony. I didn’t think he’d make it through, but he surprised me. Hell, he even pulled me through at times. We both got orders to Savanah with First Battalion. Back-to-back rotations to Iraq, then Afghanistan. We were done. Couldn’t take it anymore.

“We both had PTSD.
Have
,” he corrected. “For me,
have
. We dealt with it differently, though. Tony pretty much became a recluse. He’d barely leave the house to go to the store. I bought my house because of the land it sits on. It gave us space. There’s a pond a half mile from the house. We stocked it so we’d have a place to fish without having to go anywhere. He’d go fishing, and when he came back, it was almost like I had my best friend back. It didn’t last long.” He drew in a deep breath, dreading what he had to tell her next.

“I dealt with things the exact opposite. I’d go out every night and get drunk. Bring home a different girl every other night.” She stiffened again. “I’m not proud of how I dealt with things. Or didn’t deal with them. I wanted an escape. A way to drown the anger and the bitterness. I started to resent Tony.” He whispered his horrible admission in her neck. “He always wanted me to hang out with him. Talk about what’d happened. I didn’t. I wanted to forget. Bury it so far down it’d never see the light of day. I started avoiding him. Ignoring his calls.”

He took a deep breath. Moment of truth. He had to get the worst out. The shame. The guilt. She’d hate him when she knew, although she couldn’t possibly hate him more than he hated himself. “The night he killed himself, he called me. I ignored him. I turned my phone off and kept partying. Went home with some chick I couldn’t even pick out of a lineup. I found him the next day. An empty bottle of whiskey and pills next to him. He didn’t leave a note. Just that drawing that’s above my mantle.”

Bree’s breath heaved through her again as her fingers dug into his forearms. She turned her face into his arm and tried to muffle her sob. Tears slid from her face to the skin of his arm. He placed another kiss on her shoulder. Polly climbed back onto the bed in front of Bree and low-crawled over to them. She rested her head on their entwined arms and whined. Jase placed a hand on Polly’s head and rubbed his thumb over the spot above her eye.

“Jase…” Bree said, his name coming out on a broken sob.

“Not yet. Let me finish.”

She nodded. He took another breath and moved his hand back to her arm. “It tore me apart when I realized he’d been calling me at the worst moment of his life and I ignored him. I quit drinking. Quit partying. Started seeing a counselor at the VA and went to group therapy. During one of the sessions, a few of us made plans to go on a camping trip. It was great. One of the first times any of us had really relaxed. Six months later, I started V.E.T. Adventures. I talked to Ms. Carol about it and she helped me get it off the ground.

“I was…okay with my life. I had a routine. Some close friends. I’d go out every now and then to blow off steam, but nothing too crazy. I dated a couple times, but nothing serious.” He held her tighter. “Until that night you walked into The Deck. You laughed, and it fixed something. Like sewing a wound back together. That was the best night I could remember in a long time. When you were gone the next morning, that piece of me ripped apart again. You made me want to be whole again. But you also made me forget.”

She stilled, and he rushed on. “It’s not a bad thing. Or, it shouldn’t be a bad thing. But my guilt wouldn’t let me see that. I saw it as a betrayal to Tony that I didn’t remember. That I was so happy I’d forget for even a moment he wasn’t here to be happy, too. I knew if you stayed last night, I’d forget again, so I lashed out.

“Watching you walk out was a thousand times worse than finding Tony. The thought of not having you in my life shredded me. It ripped apart all the pieces you’d stitched back together without even knowing it. I love you, Bree. I can’t lose you too. It would destroy my world.”

Her body rocked with the force of her sobs. “Bree, shh. Please don’t cry. Darlin’, you’re killing me.”

She turned suddenly and dislodged Polly. She buried her face below his chin and fisted her hands in his shirt. It took only seconds for her tears to soak his shirt. His hands rubbed her back and hair as he tried to calm her. He peppered small kisses along her forehead and cheek. She turned her head and his mouth found hers. He tasted the saltiness of her tears on her lips and pulled back to look at her. Brushing her hair away from her face, he looked into her swollen blue eyes and hated himself just a little bit more.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I’m sorry you lost your best friend.”

“Me too. He would have liked you.”

“I’m sorry you went through that.”

“Me too. I miss him. I hate myself for not being there for him.”

More tears welled in her eyes. One fist unclenched and she rested it on his face, fingers brushing the raw spot on his cheek. Her eyes searched his. “I love you. I’m still scared shitless. You have unimaginable power to hurt me.”

“I promise, Bree. I promise I will do everything I can to never make you feel this way again.”

She nodded and took a deep breath. He kissed her softly. Her mouth opened and her tongue flicked at his bottom lip. He parted his lips and her tongue swept in. He kept the kiss gentle. Languid. A balm for them both. She pulled back, her expression unreadable.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I need to blow my nose.”

He smiled and unwrapped his arms.