All for You (24 page)

“You should go.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’m not some special project for you to save.”

A sharp intake of breath. A direct hit. “I’m not here because of some noble desire to save you from yourself. I’m here because you’re hurting and I care about you. There’s nothing more than that.”

“Why? So you can see the big sarn’t break down? So you can have me as some kind of case study in fucked-up GIs?”

She flinched beneath his anger and the shame squeezed a little tighter on his throat. “That’s uncalled for.”

“That’s exactly what this is!” He shoved away from the couch, staggering to his feet. “I’m not some fucking conquering hero. I’m a goddamned infantryman who is only good at three things in this world: drinking, fucking, and killing. I’m no good at anything else, so if you’re looking to save me and break me out at dinner parties as your personal hero, you’ve got the wrong man.”

She opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off. “Don’t stand there and tell me this isn’t some bizarre fetish about a man in uniform. That maybe you can be a personal hero to the man you claim to care about. I’m not a friend. I’m a fucking project for you.”

“If this is the real you, I’ve been missing out,” she said softly, her words a mask of hurt.

“What you see is what you get. I’ve never hidden that.”

“Like you hide your tattoos?” She lifted her chin, defiant, just like the first day he’d met her. “Don’t go half asshole. Go all the way to full-blown asshole.”

“You don’t get it. I don’t want someone to save me.”

“I’m not here to save you, you ass!” She shot off the couch and stepped right to him. “I’m not here to be your shrink or your fucking head doctor. I’m here because I care about you, you idiot.”

“And so what if you do?” He sank down to the coffee table, staring at the empty hands in front of him.

She shocked the ever loving shit out of him by kneeling in front of him. “When I first met you, I thought you were a powerful man. Intimidating. And you are. But you’re more than you give yourself credit for.”

“I didn’t see Sloban heading for the wall.”

“No one can see that.”

“Everyone could see that.” He jabbed his thumb into his chest. “Except me. I fucking failed him.”

“So getting drunk is a great way to atone for that?”

“Fuck you, Emily.” He shot to his feet again. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“You’re right. Because you’re really good at keeping things light and fun, aren’t you? No deep soul searching. Not our boy.” She stepped into his space. “Did you ever think that maybe you drink so much because you’ve been trying so long to be so strong for everyone else, you forgot to take care of yourself?”

Reza opened his mouth to argue but Emily cut him off. “I know about your history. I know what you’ve been struggling with.” She placed her hand over his heart. Right over his mother’s name. “I’m here anyway. You said I can’t see the real you but you’re wrong. This isn’t the real you. This isn’t the man I care about. But if it’s all you can see, I can’t fix that for you.” She took a single step backward, her heart lodged in her throat.

“Enjoy your bender, Reza. Call me when you want to have an adult conversation.”

I
t had been a week since her fight with Reza. A week she’d tried valiantly to stay busy and ignore the gaping wound somewhere in the vicinity of her heart.

It hurt that he’d walked away so easily from what she thought had been growing between them. She’d avoided the gym, changing her routine to avoid any chance of running into him. But still, when she’d gone for a run out by Engineer Lake, the disappointment that he hadn’t been there had stung. It wasn’t like she expected him there but a tiny piece of her heart had hoped.

Hoped that he would make the next phone call. That he cared enough to try again.

But her phone had stayed silent and she had thrown herself into work, doing her best to ignore the pain. To try and move on.

It was like Reza Iaconelli had fallen off the planet.

She’d faced the reality that night as she walked out of his life. The cold, dark reality that she’d fallen in love with a man who had a serious alcohol problem. She couldn’t enable that.

And it broke her heart not knowing how he was.

She knew the man she’d seen that night was only the façade he put on for the world. Oh, he was big and powerful and intimidating but the man she’d seen that night had been something so much more. So much stronger and yet so much more broken. He was fighting a losing battle.

And he’d been determined to fight it alone.

And it
hurt.

It hurt that she hadn’t been enough for him. That he hadn’t let her in. Hadn’t trusted her enough to let her stand with him when he’d stood with her.

That he’d pushed her out of his life and that she was left worrying without any answers.

She could get the answers she needed. But it would involve violating every ethical principle she had.

After a week, the need to know pushed even that concern aside.

She’d made up her mind that morning to check his medical records to make sure he was okay. She wasn’t going to read them beyond ensuring he had not checked into a hospital or worse. Her skin chilled from the barest hint of the thought.

But she had to know.

She’d simply never done anything like this. It was violating a dozen policy letters, probably the law and everything she was supposed to hold sacred. But the worry ate at her. Tore at her heart until all she could see was the twisted grief on Reza’s face.

She just wanted to make sure he hadn’t been admitted to the hospital. That he was okay.

It would be enough to assuage the incessant worry. She could move on after that.

She could let him go.

She walked into her office and closed the door behind her. Her hands shook as she opened her laptop and logged on. She held her breath while she logged in and searched for Reza.

Her heart clenched in her chest. No recent hospital visits. That was good. She hoped.

She logged off his information and closed her eyes, wishing her heart didn’t feel like it was breaking in her chest.

Reza braced for the worst. He half expected Sarn’t Major Giles to take his ID card and rip the rank off his uniform.

But it was so much worse than he expected. The week had ticked by with aching slowness. Each day that there was no phone call summoning him to the colonel’s office, the dread had tightened further and further around his heart.

Sarn’t Major didn’t yell. Didn’t scream. He just left Reza standing outside his office at parade rest for more than an hour while he was in with Colonel Horace, discussing Reza’s fate.

There were worse feelings in the world, Reza supposed. Getting blown up. Having the shit scared out of you when a rocket missed your truck. But there wasn’t much that topped the feeling of sweat trickling down your spine as you waited to find out how your career would end.

The hands on the clock over the secretary’s desk ticked by with aching slowness. It felt like dog years just standing there. His shoulders ached but he dared not move because the way his luck had been running, he’d probably move just as Giles opened the door.

He’d made a choice. A hard choice in the shattered glass of a broken vodka bottle.

He didn’t think it was going to matter. He’d gone down this road before.

But he had to try.

He could never make up for the hurt he’d caused Emily. He couldn’t take that back or make it go away.

He had nothing left. He’d run the one good thing he had out of his life. He’d thought it was the army. He’d thought it was the men he led.

He was wrong.

He’d never felt the aching, burning emptiness like he felt without Emily in his life.

His career was over and none of that mattered.

He’d lost her. He’d driven her out of his life, pushing her until she’d left.

He’d tried to tell himself that was what he wanted. He’d tried to convince himself that he was better off alone, that people were better off if they didn’t get too close to him.

But there was a hole inside him now. A chasm.

He could never ask her forgiveness. He didn’t deserve that.

But he could clean himself up for good. He could do that. And maybe, someday in the far distant future, he could be man enough to beat back the demons that haunted him.

It was a lifetime before the door opened. Sarn’t Major Giles stuck his head out. “Report to the brigade commander.”

Reza breathed deeply then knocked on the door loudly. At Colonel Horace’s command “Enter!” Reza walked into the office. He stopped three paces from the colonel’s desk and saluted.

“Sarn’t First Class Iaconelli reporting as ordered, sir.”

Colonel Horace returned his salute but did not tell him to stand at ease, leaving Reza rigid at the position of attention.

“Sarn’t Ike, you have a problem.”

Reza swallowed, remembering the last time he’d been in this office. It had been another commander, another incident. Then, he’d walked out of the office unscathed, his pride mostly intact. “Yes, sir, I do.”

Now? Now Reza wasn’t so sure.

“I’m not going to read you your rights again, Ike.” Horace looked up at him over the rim of his glasses. “Everything right now is off the record. “

Reza resisted the urge to glance at the sergeant major, who stood to one side, arms folded across his chest, one finger curled around a fat, unlit cigar.

“Roger, sir.”

“You put on a memorial ceremony, did you not?”

“I did, sir.”

“For Specialist Sloban?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you did this, knowing it was the policy of this brigade not to honor those who die by their own hand?” Horace’s voice was mild.

“Yes, sir.”

“Why?” Horace removed his glasses and set them on the desk. “I encourage you to think carefully how you answer, Sarn’t Ike.”

“Sir, I’ve known Sloban since he was a private. He deployed twice with me, once with Bandit Company. He came back wrong this last deployment. Something changed and none of us caught it until it was too late.” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t catch it. Sloban served with honor, sir. He’s a casualty of this war just as much as if he’d died by the enemy’s weapon. Sir.”

Horace said nothing for a long moment. “Did you get into a physical altercation with your company commander at the memorial ceremony?”

Off the record? He could only hope Horace was telling the truth. “Roger, sir.”

“Are you aware that there is an investigation into the command climate in your battalion? That there is a soldier who is currently in the mental health ward who initiated that investigation?”

“I am, sir.” Wisniak was staying in the hospital because of a complication from the cuts on his arms. The kid was going to be okay.

Reza had visited him every day since he’d been admitted.

“What is the command climate in your battalion, Sarn’t Iaconelli?”

Deep breath. “Sir, we used to pride ourselves on the strength of our teams. But somewhere along the way, we crossed the line from building strong teams to picking on those weaker than us. We should have been protecting guys like Wisniak and Sloban. Instead, we ostracized them.”

“You’re including yourself in this.” There was amazement in Horace’s voice.

“I am, sir.”

“Why not just blame the commander?”

“Because I have been part of the problem, Sir.”

“Ike, you’re painting a damning picture of the environment down there. You’re not doing yourself any favors.” Sergeant Major Giles’s words were a harsh reality.

“Sarn’t Major, maybe we need to do something different.” One last chance to make a difference.

Colonel Horace glanced up at Sergeant Major Giles. Giles nodded once sharply.

Reza took a deep breath. “Sir, I’ve been drinking for as long as I can remember.” He cleared his throat roughly. “I’m not handling it as well as I need to be. I’m not going to ask for my career, sir. But I’m going to ask to go to inpatient treatment before you put me out of the army.” A deep breath, to dislodge the knot in his throat. “I want to get clean. Really clean.” Reza swallowed.

Horace folded his arms over his chest. Silence hung in the room. Reza kept his head and eyes locked on a spot over Horace’s head. His lungs burned. His throat was tight.

The silence was crushing.

“I can do that.” Horace’s chair creaked as he leaned forward. “This is the last chance you will get, Sergeant Iaconelli. Get sober, get your temper under control. Figure out how to unpack all the shit you’re carrying around with you that drives you to drink. Because if you can’t, your career will come to an inglorious end. I need boys like you in the fight but I cannot and will not allow you to continue on your current path. I will not protect you from yourself. Do I make myself clear?”

“Rog—” he cleared his throat. “Roger, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Reza sat in the sergeant major’s office, staring at a sheet of paper. In the harsh florescent light, it consumed his entire field of vision. A bright, gleaming hope on the steel grey of his desk.

He left for rehab tomorrow. Saturday was the first step on his path to sobriety. Real sobriety.

Granted it was supposedly some swanky place on Lake Austin so it wasn’t like he was going to prison.

Except that he’d rather be deployed and getting blown up than go sit in a circle and talk about his feelings. He scrubbed his hand over his face with a frustrated sigh.

But if that’s what it took, he was going to do it.

There was a tendril of hope unfurling in his stomach that had little to do with rehab, but it didn’t matter. Nothing blocked out the sadness and the sorrow from his fight with Emily.

He wasn’t a blackout drinker. It would have taken a hell of a lot more than a few shots of vodka that night to make him forget what he’d done.

He remembered every vivid detail of their fight.

Part of him was glad she’d used her backbone and left. She didn’t deserve to have to put up with his shit. Reza was not a nice person; he wasn’t even a good man.

Because he did fucked-up shit like throw good people out of his life.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

It was a long time before Giles closed the door behind him.

Giles sat and kicked his feet up on his desk and chewed thoughtfully on his cigar. “Captain Loehr turned in his recommendations to the boss.”

Reza met his sergeant major’s eyes. “And?”

“Let’s just say that things are going to change significantly by the time you get back from rehab.”

A stone in Reza’s throat. “Define change?”

“There will probably be several new folks in leadership positions by the time you get back.” Giles scowled at him.

It was a rare thing for Reza to see the sergeant major at a loss for words but for a long moment, Giles just sat there, chewing on the end of his cigar. “So when are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow morning, Sarn’t Major.” He didn’t need to ask where Giles meant. It felt tattooed on Reza’s forehead. Rehab.

He pushed aside the twisted nerves.

Giles said nothing for a long moment. “This is going be a good thing for you.”

Reza shifted uncomfortably. “You’re not going to bare your soul to me, are you, Sarn’t Major? ’Cause I’ve seen you bare enough in the shower and you’re not really my type.”

“Fuck you, Ike.” But there was a glint in Giles’s eyes that made Reza think he’d almost gotten a grin out of him. “Look, get your ass in there, clean yourself up, and I’ll get you out of the headquarters and back in a line platoon.”

Reza looked up sharply. A chance to lead men again. A chance to stay. To be part of the team. The chaos, the noise: that was all part of his normal.

A normal he’d been trying to drown every single time he’d come home from the war.

A normal he wasn’t sure he wanted anymore. He sucked in a shaking breath.

The war was simpler than this. Just the war. Rough and gritty and dirty. Covered in mud, dirt ground into his pores.

He looked down at his hands.
Blessed be the Lord my strength, which teaches my hands to war, my fingers to fight.

He closed his eyes briefly and saw his hands cradling Emily’s face, shaping her hips. Regret was a sour taste in his mouth and blocked his throat.

He met Giles’s eyes. “Can we talk about that when I get sober, Sarn’t Major?”

Giles said nothing for a long moment. “Don’t go getting clean and turning into a tree-hugging hippie on me. I need you to teach these kids how to shoot a motherfucker in the face.”

“Never, Sarn’t Major.” Reza stood to go.

“Ike…”

He paused and looked back. “Yeah, Sarn’t Major?”

“Nothing. Get yourself fixed. I need you back in the fight.”

“Roger that.”

He stepped into the ops office. He wanted to ask Evan about the investigation.

He didn’t expect to see Claire in his office instead.

Her hair was pulled back tight, her face leaner than he remembered. She looked tired but good. She looked up at him, her eyes glinting dangerously. She rocked back in Evan’s chair, folding her arms over her chest.

She looked like she’d just come in from the field. She was wearing her body armor and her hair was plastered to her head. Claire was a consummate warrior and he wondered how someone like Captain America Evan Loehr had managed to tame her.