Broken Page 21

  “But that day, Williams let it get to him. We were out on routine patrol, and he said something about it being hot. A harmless statement, really. But over there, nothing felt harmless, and like superstitious morons, we all jumped down his throat for jinxing us. We were still giving him shit about it when we stopped. There were…there were bodies on the side of the road. Two women and a child—”

  He breaks off, and I swallow in dread.

  “One of the women was dead. At least I think she was. We never had a chance to find out for sure. But the kid…it was this little boy, maybe six years old, and he was crying, pointing to the bodies of the women. One of the women lifted her head, barely, but enough for us to see that she was all bloody, and her hand was motioning feebly in the direction of the boy, as if she was begging us for help. Like, take him—help him. We were in the middle of goddamned nowhere, with nothing in every direction. The kid would have died…they all would have.”

  He falls silent again, and I barely breathe, afraid that one wrong move will have him retreating inside himself again, where this story comes out only in the nightmares.

  “It was a trap. I’d like to think they weren’t willing accomplices—the blood on that woman’s face was real, and the kid’s fear was plain in his eyes. He was scared. But the insurgents were on us before we could even get to him.”

  I close my eyes.

  “The thing that gets me the most is that I never knew what happened to them,” Paul says, almost absently. “From the military perspective, they were merely the catalyst for what happened next. But on a human level, they were, well, human.”

  He gently sets my legs aside and goes to throw another log on the fire, even though it’s not needed. His hands find the mantel, his finger sliding along the wood, back and forth, back and forth, as though the gesture can help calm his mind.

  “They came out of nowhere. I don’t know where they came from, because like I said…there was nothing around for miles that I could see. But they ambushed us. It happened so fucking fast, Olivia. One second we’re like, ‘Oh shit, this poor kid,’ and the next…Williams fell first. He was two steps in front of me and I think I saw him fall…saw his blood, before I even registered the sound of gunshots.”

  I press my lips together, wanting to tell him he doesn’t have to do this, but knowing that on some level he needs to.

  “There were six of us that day, and four of the guys died in under a minute. All that training, all those weapons, but when it’s you and bullets and bad guys, it takes a minute. I play it back…I play it back over and over, and I don’t know why they didn’t just kill all six of us then and there. I think they meant to, because Alex and I both took a shot. I got a stupid flesh wound to my leg, another on the shoulder. But him…they shot Alex in the stomach. It’s the worst. You hear it’s the worst, but it’s not until you see it that you realize. It’s not until you see the agony on their face that you understand it’s so much better to just take a bullet straight through the heart or between the eyes.”

  Alex. That’s whose name he cries in his sleep. I feel a little like I’m going to throw up, even though I know we’re not at the end of the story.

  He continues. “I barely registered the pain in my leg, and I turn to open fire before I realize my shoulder’s not moving like it should. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Alex called my name as they moved toward us, and he was just—his face was just stunned. He was lying there in the dirt, lying half on top of Clinksy’s body, and he just looked up at me like, What is happening?”

  Paul swallows. “I mean, what the fuck are you supposed to do when your best friend is sitting there, his stomach a bloody mess? What do you say? You’re dying, dude. We’re all as good as dead. And that’s when the jackasses got us. There were only four of them, and I’m humiliated to say that I didn’t act fast enough to shoot when they ambushed me. I got off a couple of wild shots, but the last thing I remember about that deserted road is a split second of feeling like my brain had been bashed in.”

  I stand, moving behind him and resting my cheek against his back as my hands wrap around his waist. One of his hands covers mine, and he keeps talking, his words coming a little faster now, as though we’re coming to the end of the story.

  “When I came to, we were in a dark room that smelled like shit and blood. I was tied up, and next to me…”

  Paul’s breathing goes ragged. “Alex is next to me. They didn’t tie him up. Probably because by that point he was…there wasn’t much left. I don’t even know how he lasted that long.”

  Tears roll down my cheeks at the pain in his voice.

  “You know the shit of it, Olivia? When they came at me with that knife, I don’t think they wanted anything but to hurt me. Afterward…everyone thought that they wanted something from me. Information, or whatever. But I think they just wanted to make a statement. They were laughing when the smallest one got in my face, his breath smelling like something had died, and put the serrated blade against my cheek.”

  My fingers dig into his stomach, and I want to beg him to stop.

  “It hurt. That’s such an understated thing to say, considering I just saw my friends die, but when they carved those lines in my face like I was a piece of meat, it hurt. More than the trio of bullets in my calf or the one in my shoulder, that knife hurt.”

  I can’t hold back the sob then, and he turns around to face me, gathering me to him like I’m the one that needs comforting.

  “How—” My voice cracks, and I lick my lips and try again. “How’d you get away?”

  He breathes out a long breath, ruffling my hair. “I wish I could say it was my own ingenious maneuvering, but I was literally pinned there like an animal for slaughter. It was Alex.”

  Paul’s voice cracks then. “He was alive. Barely. But Alex was alive. Two of the Afghans had left the room to do who knows what, and it was just the guy beating the shit out of me. The idiot was so busy laughing and admiring his handiwork on my face that he didn’t have a chance to react when Alex grabbed the gun from his belt and shot him between the eyes. The others filed into the room like a couple of clowns, and Alex shot them too. These weren’t professionals, Liv. These were small-time, bored jackals who resented like hell that we were there and used us as entertainment. But it doesn’t matter that they weren’t the smartest or the fastest. Guns don’t care about who’s pulling the trigger, and the bullet in Alex’s stomach ravaged him from the inside out.”

  My throat is dry, and not for the first time I think about how little my problems are compared to his. Compared to any soldier’s.

  Paul’s hands move up and down my back as he continues to talk. “The papers all say it was torture. They have to, to explain my face, and why we weren’t all left to die on the side of the road. But it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Not for me.”

  “Paul. Don’t minimize what you went through.”

  He gives a sad smile. “But I’m alive, Olivia. Don’t you get it? I’m alive and none of them are.”

  “What happened…after?” I ask. I’m not sure that I want to know, but I do know that he needs to say it.

  Paul swallows. “Alex died in front of me. He died with that gun in his hands, and I couldn’t even go to him. I tried.” His voice breaks now. “I pulled and pulled at the damned ropes, screaming his damned name, telling him to hold on, that I’d help him. But I didn’t help him. He just slumped to the ground, blood coming out of his mouth. He just stared at me.”

  I’m full-on crying now. This is so much worse than I imagined, and I imagined a lot.

  He keeps going. “You know how in the movies, you can always tell the second someone’s life fades away? Like their eyes just…change? I couldn’t tell. Alex lay there looking at me and I couldn’t even tell when he died.”

  I hug him harder, even though I know it can’t take his pain away.

  “They found us the next day. The fucking cavalry showed up too damned late. I guess I should be grateful they found me at al
l. In the hospital they told me that some kids had given them a tip about a couple ‘bloody dead white boys,’ but the truth is I don’t remember anything about the rescue mission, and I didn’t care enough to ask.”

  Paul falls silent for a moment before continuing. “I didn’t care about anything for a long, long time. Not about the medical magic they worked to save my leg. Not about the plastic surgeon my father hired to do what he could with my face. The only time I felt anything was when Alex’s wife came to see me.”

  My heart lodges in my throat. “He was married?”

  Paul pulls back to look at me. “Amanda. They’d been together since they were fucking fifteen. I’d met her once, at the Marine Corps Ball, and she was perfect for him. Ballsy and sweet and gorgeous.”

  I wipe my nose on my sleeve.

  “He’s got a kid, Olivia. A little girl named Lily, and she’s fucking sick. Cancer, the kind with the shitty treatment options and the even shittier prognosis.”

  He pulls back then to look at me, his eyes shining with tears. “I do what I can to help them. The checks I get from my dad…they’re not for me. They’ve never been for me. But the money doesn’t replace Alex. It doesn’t replace any of the people that die over there.”

  “Paul—”

  “I lied to her, Olivia. I told Amanda that Alex died admirably, and that much was true. But I also told her that it was over quickly and that he didn’t suffer. I think she knew I was lying about that, but she held my hand so tight and said thank you, even though it was me that was home instead of her husband. I…I told her that he said to say he loved her. He didn’t have the strength to have any last words, so I made them up. I made a up a man’s dying words, Olivia.”

  My hands frame his face, my thumb gently rubbing against the scars. “You did good, Paul. You did right by your friend and his family. He’d have wanted his Amanda to have that small bit of kindness.”

  He lets out a harsh laugh as though he doesn’t believe me. But he lets me hold him as he starts to cry.

  And for now, that’s enough.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Paul

  “I didn’t think this was possible, but your girlfriend is actually getting worse at darts the more she plays,” Kali says, setting another beer in front of me before plopping down in the seat beside me.

  We’ve been at the bar for a couple of hours, and Kali alternates between tending the bar and coming to join us in the back of the room.

  It takes me a full minute to realize that I didn’t recoil at the word girlfriend. Olivia’s not my girlfriend. She’s my…

  Shit. I have no idea what she is, but girlfriend sounds like both an overstatement and an understatement. Olivia is more than that.

  And yet we have no future. Do we? I don’t let myself think about it much. After that night by the fire when I told her everything, things have been…great. I almost don’t let myself think it.

  I wasn’t lying when I told Olivia that back in Afghanistan, we were worried we’d jinx the situation if we actually acknowledged the bad stuff. And now? Now I’m even more terrified that I’ll jinx what Olivia and I have by talking about the good stuff.

  And it is good. It’s all good. The sex, the talking, the shared runs. I even adore her special style of cuddling, just as long as her limbs avoid my vital parts. She’s everything to me.

  But I don’t talk about it. I can’t.

  “Ugh, do not start that brooding thing,” Kali says, taking a sip of my beer. “Do you have any idea how much you’ve changed since that first night you walked into my bar when you picked a fight with a bunch of drunken hotshots? Don’t you dare go backward on us now.”

  Olivia lets out an outraged groan from the dartboard, and I shake my head when I realize that despite the dedicated tutoring of Darcy “Dart” Martinez, Kali is right. Olivia’s actually getting worse.

  She’s having fun, though. And, surprisingly, so am I.

  “Much better,” Kali says, waving her finger in the direction of my smile. “You do that every time you look at her, you know. Smile.”

  I push her hand away. “Stop, you’re starting to sound like a bad valentine.”

  Kali flops back in her chair. “It’s just so romantic. The beautiful angel swooping in to save the surly dickwad who’s quite possibly a murderous recluse.”

  “Ugly. Don’t forget ugly,” I say without heat.

  “Nah,” she says, nodding in thanks as one of her employees brings her a rum and Diet Coke. “You were way too pretty before. It was even hard to eat with all that nauseating perfection around. Now you’ve got a bit of character. It looks good on you.”

  “You flirting with me, Kal?”

  “Not today. Although I admit I did have a few fantasies about you coming across me after all these years and fainting over my beauty, realizing that I was the one all along.”

  “Yeah?” I ask, giving her a wary look. Kali has always had this sort of unnerving way of speaking in a really sweet, genuine voice, and you get reeled in only to realize that she was yanking your chain the whole time.

  “Sort of,” she replies with a quick smile. “But let’s just say I gave up on that fantasy a couple of months after your dad bought the summer home you used to rent. I kept thinking that one day you’d show up at Frenchy’s or my front door. But you never did. You never even called.”

  I wince. “I’m sorry.”

  The words don’t feel like enough. She was once a good friend, and I shut her out the way I shut everyone out. I don’t know how to explain how lost I was—at this point, anything I say will merely sound like an excuse. And I don’t know how to explain what changed.

  I don’t know how to tell someone, even a good friend like Kali, that something as simple as Olivia’s touch and smile melted away what so many psychiatrist appointments had failed to do.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again.

  Kali puts her hand on mine briefly. “It’s okay,” she says. “I’ll just say it’s good to see you, and leave it at that.”

  I give her a smile of gratitude. Not just at her understanding, but at the way she’s brought both me and Olivia into her social circle. For the first time in years, I have friends. Just a handful of guys to grab a beer with, and we’re not like braiding each other’s hair or anything, but they knew me back before I was an ugly bastard and don’t seem to mind that I’m not as pretty anymore.

  Olivia all but skips over to our table, thrilled because one dart made contact with the board. Barely.

  “I think I’m getting better!” she chirps.

  “No,” Kali says, taking a sip of her drink. “You’ve been in four times this week, and you’ve literally shown no improvement. It’s incredible, actually.”

  Olivia wrinkles her nose at Kali and sips her wine. “Don’t make me take my patronage somewhere else where the staff is more supportive of my sports skills.”

  Kali holds up a finger. “First, darts? Not a sport. Second, if you can find another bar open in the off season that serves wine as good as mine, have at it.”

  “That’s true,” I say, tilting my head at Kali. “Frenchman Bay’s not exactly a mecca of nightlife during the winter.”

  “We should all go to Portland,” Olivia says, leaning forward excitedly.

  “Yes!” Kali says, at the same time I say, “No fucking way.”

  Both girls turn to glare at me. “Why not?”

  “First of all, have you ever been to Portland?” I ask Olivia. “It’s not exactly the Village.”

  Kali rolls her eyes. “Quit making it sound like a one-horse town. I’m not suggesting there will be any celebrity sightings, but there are a couple of great wine bars, and restaurants that serve something other than onion rings.”

  “No.” My voice is a little sharper than I intend, and I don’t miss the way the two girls exchange a what-the-fuck glance.

  Do they not get it? Patronizing Frenchy’s is one thing. The people here know my story; they know what to expect. This place is like
99 percent regulars, which means they all got a good look at my face that first night. Except for the occasional drunk gawker, I don’t get a second look when I come in anymore.

  But leaving Bar Harbor? I’d be all but begging for people to point and stare. I’d be openly inviting questions and pity and disgust.

  Worse than that, people will wonder what the hell someone like Olivia is doing with someone like me. She’s gorgeous and dazzling. I’m disfigured at best, monstrous at worst. Just because I’m finally at peace with myself doesn’t mean that everyone else will be.

  The last thing I need right now is Olivia getting a dose of what real life would be like with someone like me. Things are going too well right now.

  I can’t risk it. I won’t.

  And deep down, I know that once she figures out that the rest of the world won’t be quite so accepting of her pet Frankenstein’s monster, she’ll want more. She thinks she cares about me, and I know that she does. But eventually she’ll care about a normal life more. She’ll want spontaneous trips to Vegas, winter cruises, and anniversary dinners. I can’t give her any of that.

  Olivia’s future is glamorous Hamptons parties and pretty boys in suits. Mine is solitude and hole-in-the-wall bars like Frenchy’s.

  Kali distracts me from my ruminations with an annoyed yelp and goes dashing back to the bar, where her newbie bartender in training is sloppily mopping up beer that’s all over the place.

  Olivia turns toward me, her smile easy and adoring, the way it’s been every day this week. She pulls me in for a playful kiss, and I let her. And then I deepen the kiss, a little bit out of want and a lot out of desperation. I know she’ll leave eventually, and I’ll do anything in my power to slow down that process.

  Because once she’s gone I’ll be worse off than before.

  I won’t just be damaged.

  I’ll be hollow.