Sol (Love in Translation Book 1) Page 12

  “Well, now you have time to travel, you know. If you want.” She shrugged, but it almost sounded like she was holding back from saying something. Maybe that we could go together wherever she was going next.

  “This is true. I always wanted to travel. That’s part of the reason why I wanted to join the army.”

  “It was?”

  “Sure. I wanted to get to go see places, like Thailand or Alaska, which I did. But basically Afghanistan is where I stayed most of the time.”

  She appeared thoughtful. Maybe she was thinking what it would be like to have a new travel partner.

  “How have your parents been?”

  “Just fine. I’m sure they’d love you to stop by if you ever went back to California.”

  “Cool,” she said. “I’ll look them up if I do. I’m curious. What were you like as a soldier?”

  “Kinda quiet. I guess I figured I just kept my head down and did my work. Didn’t question much of it. Just did my job.”

  “That sounds like you. Loyal Trent who does his duty. And Degan?”

  “He was a character. He didn’t get in trouble, since everyone liked him. But he always was pulling some stunt. Like getting everyone together to play Frisbee golf or have poker tournaments.”

  Her eyes shone, and she picked up her fork.

  After dinner, we got up and cleared the table. I washed the dishes and she dried, which jogged another memory. “Degan always got stuck on KP duty.”

  “Kitchen Patrol? He did?”

  “Yeah.” I laughed. “Sometimes he’d volunteer, just so he could hang out with the cooks and grab some cereal for later.”

  “That sounds like him.” She caught my eye, wistfully. “I still can’t believe he’s gone. I miss him.”

  “I do, too. Constantly.”

  I handed her a glass, and she dried it and put it away. With her back turned, I saw that she was wiping a tear. Quickly toweling off my hands, I came up behind her and wrapped my arms around her, nuzzling her neck.

  “I think he’s always gonna be with us.”

  “Yeah,” she whispered, then turned around and gave me a hug.

  We stayed in the kitchen for a long time, with our arms wrapped around each other, not moving.

  Once we finished the dishes, she lit a candle and incense, then turned on the television and started flipping channels. The smoky scent felt like her. “What do you want to watch?”

  “I have no idea what kind of TV there is in Spain.”

  “Umm,” she mused, as she flipped through. “The Simpsons in Spanish. Some weird old Western movie. The news. A sitcom. And oh! This one. We have to watch it!”

  “Which?”

  “This French movie. Amélie.”

  “I’m voting for cartoons.”

  “But Amélie is my favorite movie!”

  Like I cared what we watched. “Fine, babe.”

  I lay on the couch, and after a tentative second, she curled up in front of me, both of our heads on the same cushion. I played with her bare shoulder while she watched the movie.

  Since it was in French with Spanish subtitles, I was totally lost.

  Before I knew it, filled up with a good dinner, a few glasses of wine, and still jet lagged, nestled with this tiny beauty on her couch, I fell asleep while the movie played in the darkened room.

  The blades of the Chinook helicopter whipped overhead. We needed to get a move-on.

  “Just a few more,” Degan said.

  The interpreter said something to the group of five or six Afghan men waiting off to the side. The body language of two or three of the men made me nervous. They were glancing around, fidgety, expecting something.

  But my unit had already done an anti-IED sweep before we got here.

  Today we worked in this little village, high in the shrubby, remote mountains of the Korengal Valley. While it was May, there was a still a bite in the air. Our job was to register every male and take their biometrics.

  “Let’s get these guys done and go back,” I muttered.

  Sunglasses covered Degan’s big blue eyes, but that smile was unmistakable. “What are you gonna do when we get back home?”

  “I dunno,” I said. “Probably go to In-N-Out.” A branch of this fast food chain had been by my parents’ house my entire life.

  “Oh, yeah. Double Double.” His eyes rolled up. “Sounds so good. Animal style?”

  “No. Just regular.”

  “Burger,” he drooled. “Want.”

  I laughed. That guy was governed by his stomach.

  For now, all I had was fruit punch Mentos to chew on. The guys in my platoon always carried them. We never knew how long we’d be out, and they were portable energy.

  The next man in turn stepped up to have his retinal scan. Jerry Lin, one of our buddies, clicked a few keys on the laptop and took his picture. “All done. Next.”

  As the man walked back to the village, he turned around, and I saw his face. And I could tell, I could just tell, that something was up.

  “Deg, we need to get out of here.”

  “Yeah, I don’t like that guy.”

  “Degan. I think. I think he’s up to somethi—”

  A scuffle.

  A few clicks.

  A moped engine vrooming by, then the beep-beep of an inadequate horn.

  Commotion. Yelling off to the side in a language I didn’t understand.

  And as if in slow motion, Degan pushed Jerry behind a Humvee and threw himself on top of me, his short, sturdy body heavy with a helmet, equipment, and his backpack, knocking the wind out of me.

  “Dude,” I started to huff.

  And then I heard the explosion.

  Boom.

  Like a mortar strike.

  I struggled to get up, but he hissed, “Stay down.” He trapped me on the ground, his eyes wide and visible through his sunglasses.

  More shouts. Gunfire. And I couldn’t move, Degan holding me down.

  I felt something soak through my pant legs and shirt.

  His heated, dark blood.

  “No!” I screamed. “No!”

  “It’s okay, Trent.”

  “You are not okay. Let me get a medic. Let me get you out of here.”

  As I struggled to get up, he leaned over and retched off to the side. To my horror, he was missing his legs. His femoral artery burst, bleeding all over me and him. I ripped off my bag, searching for anything to stop the bleeding.

  “Degan,” I panted. “Dude. Stay with me.”

  He shook his head, his eyes pleading. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I don’t feel anything. It’s all gone. T, just promise me you’ll find my sister.” He coughed and gasped. “Tell her I love her, and dude tell her you love her too. Please tell her.”

  “I promise, Deg.”

  “Find Dani, T. Keep her safe.”

  “I promise. I’ll find Dani. Just hang on, Deg, we’ll get you help—”

  But his eyes glazed over, he got a sort of smile on his face, and his last breath sighed from his chest.

  13

  Dani -- Comfort

  Trent thrashed on the couch, wailing out with a haunting, mournful cry that spiked my fight-or-flight response to cave woman versus grizzly bear levels. I sprung up and wrung my hands over him, unsure what to do. I could guess what his nightmare was about.

  I’d never heard any noise from a person that heartrending, a cry both of pain and of sorrow. It started from somewhere deep inside him and came out like a grieving, but insistent lament. I hated to say that it reminded me of a dog howling at the moon, only it was so horribly human. Not otherworldly at all.

  The noise terrified me, but I had to act. I kept trying to reach him, rub his arm, soothe him, do something, but as he’d turned into a wily octopus with arms that went everywhere, I couldn’t touch him for fear of getting hit.

  “Trent. Trent! Wake up, it’s just a nightmare. It’s okay,” I said, as I hopped back and forth next to him. The movie played behind me on the flat screen. I s
napped it off with the remote.

  He continued flopping about on the couch like a freshly caught fish. I held back, tentative, trying to reach him and get on in there to calm him, but not wanting to be in the way of his arms flailing like the Whomping Willow. My eyes darted around the room, searching for something to help him. I didn’t have anything except me.

  “Trent!”

  With a vein popping on his forehead, he sat up with open eyes, then fell back onto the couch. He’d get hurt if I didn’t wake him up.

  “Trent! It’s me. Dani,” I said more forcefully, and with a jump, I ducked under his thwacking arms and swaddled myself around his waist tightly, almost tackling him to the couch cushion on his back. Instantly, he squeezed me tight like a boa constrictor, breathing elevated as if we’d just run around Parque García Lorca. I straddled him, holding him as firmly as I could, wishing I could hug the hurt out of him.

  He shook in my arms. Holding me so tight he might leave a mark—and I didn’t care—this beautiful man sobbed in my arms.

  “You’re safe. It’s okay. Shhhh, it’s okay,” I repeated over and over again.

  He clung to me while lying on his back on the couch, with his nose in my neck. I tried to comfort him with my entire body.

  “Right here, right now, you’re alive. You’re with me.” And I couldn’t help but enjoy his body, the muscles, and the soft fabric of his shirt and velvet of his skin. The muffled thump of his elevated heartbeat in his chest.

  The street noises wafted up to my studio apartment. Groups of people walking by and talking. The clink of glasses. Laughter. An engine. A luxurious breeze caressed my bare arms and back where my maxi dress had no fabric.

  Life went on outside my doors. I didn’t know what to do inside though, except hold him.

  Over and over again, I said against his torso, “Shh, shh. It’s okay. You’re safe. Nothing is happening to you. I’m here. It’s Dani. It’s okay. You’re safe now. You’re here in Spain, not in the army any more. Breathe with me. Do it.”

  He shuddered in my arms.

  “I don’t know what movie is playing in the theater of your mind,” I kept going. “War is not required viewing for anyone. You saw stuff no one should have to see. It would scare anyone.”

  Blood. People dying. People torn apart by IEDs.

  My brother dying, torn apart by an IED.

  “I’m sorry, Dani,” he whispered in my ear, his lips brushing it. “I’m sorry I have these attacks. Fucking hate this,” he muttered. “Hate these nightmares. All I see is him, his legs blown off. He reacted too fast. He saved me. I didn’t save him.”

  My poor brother. My poor, poor brother.

  I was wrong to hold a grudge against Trent Milner.

  “I’m so sorry I was ever angry at you,” I said, my eyes welling up. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I hope you forgive me for lashing out at you.”

  Shaking his head, he sat up. With a disbelieving look on his face, he pushed away from me. “Me? Forgive you? Why? There’s nothing to forgive.”

  “But I was such a bitch.”

  “Anyone would have acted that way.” His dark blue eyes exuded sincerity. “There’s nothing you did that’s wrong. But if you need reassurance, I forgive you.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered, rearranging myself so I was sitting next to him on the couch. He put his arm around my shoulders. “And I don’t know if you needed it or not, but you have mine, too. My forgiveness. I forgive you. My brother’s death was not your fault.”

  A light shone in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “Thank you,” he said, almost in awe. As if I had lifted a burden off of him he hadn’t known he was bearing.

  “You couldn’t have saved him,” I assured him, and I meant it.

  “I could have—”

  “No. You couldn’t.” I reached over and took his hand.

  With a nod, he gathered me in his arms. He brushed his fingers up and down my bare back.

  “You have PTSD, don’t you?” I asked, knowing the answer, but wanting to talk about it.

  “Probably. Too early to tell, but…”

  “Have you tried yoga?”

  “No, but I saw there’s a studio right by my hostel. I saw someone reading a magazine on the train coming here. A tabloid. And there was a Spanish celebrity who did yoga.”

  “It’s all over the place. I think it’d be good for you. Get you out of your head and into your body.”

  “I’ll give anything a shot.” His wan smile broke my heart.

  “Do you take meds?”

  “No. They gave me Xanax, but I didn’t like how it made me feel. I’m not gonna take it again.”

  “Have you seen a therapist?”

  “I have a card and a contact, but I’ve never called her.”

  “We can set that up on Skype. I’ll help, if you like. The late afternoon here is morning there.”

  “Okay.” He stared at the open window. “It’s getting to the point I can’t function. I need to do something. Any little thing triggers me. Mopeds. Sunglasses. Helicopters are the worst.”

  “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

  “Yeah. I just keep reliving it over and over again. I don’t want to, but it’s like I’m there. Like I’m being bombed again.”

  “Honey,” I whispered.

  “The crazy part is, I escaped a roadside bomb without any injuries. Why am I freaked out? I feel so guilty.”

  I shook my head. “No. Your injuries are the hardest, deepest wounds to heal, because they’re invisible. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

  “I don’t feel brave.”

  “The bravest ones never do. They just act.”

  Tired, bloodshot eyes met mine.

  This sweet, watchful man who always made sure I was safe. The man who made me feel like I was home when I was with him. Especially since I didn’t have a home anymore.

  Anything.

  I’d do anything to make him feel better.

  “I vow to help you heal.”

  The corner of his mouth edged up in a half-smile. “Don’t know that you can do that, but I’ll let you try.”

  “Oh, I can be healing.” I got up and got us washcloths from the bathroom to wash our faces. Then I knelt at his feet and untied his boots one after another, throwing them on the floor along with his socks.

  “Come to bed,” I said. “There’s more room.”

  He looked at me warily.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Dani. We talked about this.”

  I picked at the couch. “Okay, so can I say something?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ve been doing some thinking.”

  “Okay.”

  “First, you don’t have to do anything. You can just let me hold you.”

  He nodded.

  “Second, you have to know that you make my pulse run at gallop speed every time I see you.”

  He closed his eyes as if I were feeding him something that made him whole. Then he opened them and gazed at me with a passion I felt between my legs. “Same.”

  “And third? You matter to me.”

  His eyes widened, and he didn’t say anything.

  “You, Trent Milner, matter to me. I am goddamn attracted to you, and I have been for years. Four years ago in the pizza parlor, I knew I was gonna miss you. I wanted you then, and I want you even more now. As soon as I bumped into you in the hallway at school and saw your amazing smile light up my life again, I knew you were the one.”

  “You’re letting me in,” he whispered.

  I took a deep breath and made the decision. Certainly, I wasn’t keeping him out. And this scared the fuck out of me. But I couldn’t nod more vigorously if I tried.

  “Yes.”

  In a nanosecond, he picked me up under my knees and neck and set me down gently on my bed, unbuckled his belt, slid off his jeans, and climbed behind me, spooning me. I sighed in his arms. Then, I turned over and kissed him, open-eyed, open-mouthed.

>   He groaned. “I have dreamed about this for so long, you have no idea. I need a minute.”

  “I’ve got a pretty good idea. Just hold me.”

  I turned back and let him hold me for a very long time, his lips at the back of my neck.

  No sirens tonight, only the calm breeze and the murmur of a summer’s night.

  His boner pressed me in the back, though. But I’d give him his time.

  After a while, he lifted his head, turned me over, and kissed me. An exploratory kiss. One that said he was being gentle, and wanted comfort. One that said he needed to be held. He needed to be touched.

  I’d give him all that.

  I tugged at his shirt from the back. “This needs to come off.” Tugging it, he lifted it over his head, letting me see his sculpted chest.

  His heartbeat pounded so hard I could hear it.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “You seem like you’re gonna burst.”

  “Now that I’m here, I want it to be good, but I don’t know that I have it in me.”

  “Then make it be good the second time,” I said cheekily.

  He stared at me.

  “This isn’t your only chance with me. You’re not my fuck boy. You’re my Trent. Right now, though, I think you need this. I need this.”

  He once again burrowed his face into my neck and ran his teeth along my shoulder. I shivered. It felt so good. “I want you desperately,” he said.

  “Then take me desperately. I’m yours.”

  He shook his head. “You need to know something,” he muttered.

  “What?” I asked, reaching up to kiss him.

  “I’ve never done this before.”

  I scooted upright and gazed down at him, lying on his side in my bed. “What?”

  His cheeks reddened, and he shrugged.

  “No way.”

  He blushed even more. “The chances weren’t right in high school or the army. And since none of the girls were you…I mean, I figured I never had a chance with you, so I should try to find someone else.”

  “Oh my God,” I whispered.

  “Doesn’t mean I’ve never touched a girl before or gotten close. I always pulled back, though. I guess because…Because it wasn’t right. They weren’t Danika Anderson.”