Reckless Endangerment (11 page)

Becky paced in front of her.  “You’re not what he needs, not now when he’s close to making a break through and not when he has a custody battle ahead of him. You and your producer were out here cooking up some scheme, something dangerous probably, and you look like you want to kick my ass.  You need to stay away from him. He doesn’t need your kind of trouble.”

“You have no idea what either of us needs.”  She smacked her hand on the hood.  “You don’t know me, but he does. He knows me better than you do, better than anyone.”

“What do you know about what a man in his condition needs?”

“In his condition?  What the hell do any of you expect?  Do you have any idea what we saw over there, what that last day was like?  He is in this condition because he covered my body with his.  He saved my life, damn it.”  She poked Becky in the chest.  Hard.  “Stop talking like he is some poor guy who is too fucked up to know his left foot from his right. Five months, two weeks and three days ago our entire world blew up, Beck.  Do you know how Marines are?  Proud. Fierce. Courageous. They put all of us to shame.  Think about that the next time you dare consider calling him a coward.”

“Calm down, Hope,” Becky looked toward the hospital.

“Go to hell, Beck.  You don’t know anything about me or about him. You never bothered to ask me what it was like to see Peter’s head disintegrate in front of me or what it was like to see Michael die on the helicopter.  Did you know he died?  They revived him right in front of me.  Now he’s here being told by a woman who has never left the safety of the United States that he’s a coward because he finally let it all get to him.  Yes, he snapped. He lost control.  So what?  It’s about damn time, don’t you think?” 

Becky stepped back, eyes wide and mouth open.  “Hope…I’m sorry, I…”

“Shut-up.  I’m sick of everyone apologizing to me.” She hated crying, yet lately she couldn’t stop the tears.  Trembling hands scrubbed at her face.  “Make him better…treat him like the hero that his.  He’s all I have.  He is the one true thing in my life.”

“Hope,” Becky grabbed her shoulder, “he’s not all you have.”

She shrugged off her sister’s touch.  “Yes, he is.”

Without looking back at Becky, she pulled herself into the driver’s seat, started the engine and burned rubber when getting out of the parking lot.  Away from the institute, she thought about Michael’s outburst.  He’d snapped.  He’d lost it.  Too much pressure, too many demands, too much pain; too little certainty, too little understanding, too little peace.  He was fighting his present circumstances by holding on to who he used to be and it wasn’t working out too well.  He had done exactly what she feared doing. 

She stared at the taillights in front of her as she weaved her way through downtown Denver, but distractions filled her mind. Maybe she was a fraud, a wannabe normal person who tried too hard to fit her square self into a round hole.  She had loved the gypsy lifestyle, living out of a suitcase, meeting new people, and keeping a studio apartment in New York for home base.

She parked in the secured parking ramp without even realizing how she had gotten there.  The envelope at her side reminded her that this endless day continued.  With it tucked beneath her arm, she locked her SUV and exited. 

A man stood several cars behind her.  She stopped and looked at him.  This was the residents’ only part of the lot, which required a swipe of a badge to enter.  Public portions of the ramp were above this level.   Wearing sunglasses, he simply stood and watched. 

Keys in her hand, she turned her back on him and walked toward the lobby entrance. 
Stop being paranoid
, she cautioned herself even as she looked over her shoulder. 

He stood there. Not moving. Watching. Maybe he was a resident who waited for his girlfriend or boyfriend or someone else.  It’s not like she’d been Ms. Social-Get-To-Know-Your-Neighbors since moving in. Or maybe he had walked in here from the public lot above to freak her out.  If that was the case, congrats to him because he was definitely freaking her out. 

Hands shaking, she slid her security badge through the card reader on the door.  Several other people walked through the lobby on their way to the street exit and some checked their mailboxes. She glanced behind her at the door from the ramp.  It remained closed. 

Inside her loft she locked the deadbolts, checked the security camera that showed the hallway outside and double-checked the locks before dropping her bag on the floor. 

As she released Dude from his crate in what was supposed to be the dining room, she read a note from the dog walker.  Dude apparently ate through yet another leash and the dog walker called him the beast.  Grinning at her mischievous pup with the speckled paws, she tossed him a dog treat.  She’d always been a sucker for the bad boys.

She glanced around the loft with a new perspective.  Michael could manage well here.  Gleaming hard wood floors flowed seamlessly through the open space.  Dude’s crate, oversized dog bed and tub of toys occupied the space intended as the dining area, although she had yet to purchase a table. The living area consisted only of a leather sectional sofa and the biggest flat screen television she could afford.  Unpacked boxes piled against the wall opposite the kitchen.  Four floor-to-ceiling windows divided the brick wall.  A gas fireplace sat at the far end of the room.  She had taken minimalist to new extremes. 

A hallway led to three bedrooms, only the master had been completely unpacked and organized although she rarely slept there.  Her office remained a disaster area full of books, forgotten awards, pictures and her computer.  The last room...well, that’s where her shame manifested...that’s the room that proved she’d lost her mind.  That door was firmly shut.  

Too big.  What had she been thinking?  Going from a studio apartment to a massive loft had been the move of a dreamer.  A romantic.  She scoffed and tossed Dude another treat. 

She dropped her head and squeezed her eyes closed at the thought of the empty loft she had purchased next to hers with plans of expanding.  God, she had had big plans.  Michael, Dalton, an office for both of them, kids of their own…big plans.  Stupid. Silly. Romantic. Dreamer. 

She pulled a chew toy out of the cupboard and tossed it Dude.  Maybe she could catch a quick nap.  She curled up on the sofa and closed her eyes.  Just. A. Quick. Nap.

* *  * *

He read the custody documents for Dalton for the fifth time that night.  Becky had been more accurate than he’d admit.  She’d nailed it when she told him to snap out of it and fight.  No one had ever spoken to him like that in the past five months.  Well, except for Hope, but that didn’t count. 

He pushed the documents aside and glanced out the window.  Sleet fell softly against the yellow lights illuminating the trees.  He tee-peed his fingers in front of his face.  He’d purposely watched Channel 9 news for a glimpse of her and hadn’t been disappointed.  She’d been on a live shot near where there’d been an accident earlier that morning. 

His gut told him that it was more than that. He’d learned to read her well over their two years together.  He’d never asked her where she’d been that morning, hadn’t cared after the welcome committee that had greeted him after his mini adventure.  From the footage they’d shown, she’d been there at dawn, had returned again tonight. 

He missed knowing the inside scoop, he realized.  He wanted to know the details that the public didn’t yet know, talk it through with her. 

Her business card taunted him from where he’d dropped it on the table next to the paperwork. 

So far this place didn’t suck as bad as he’d anticipated.  Transitional facility equaled assisted living, he’d figured out.  After his spasms, the nurse had given him medicine but then had left him alone.  It’d been hours since anyone had checked in on him.  Strange.  It didn’t feel quite right.  Yet, as he knew from the morning’s drama, he’d better not go out the front door without permission or all hell would break loose.  That seemed hypocritical to him, like an illusion of freedom.  He wanted the real deal.

He fingered the edge of her business card and wondered where she was now.  Probably having dinner with her crew in between newscasts, busy living her life with people who didn’t push her away or freak her out every chance they got. 

“Hey, babe.”  Hope leaned against the door leading to the hall, yellow scarf tight around her neck, hair loose around her shoulders and holding a pizza box out like an offering. “I’ve got a few hours to kill, thought I’d stop by and make sure you’re still alive.”

“Still here.” She had such a way with words. He grinned despite his determination to remain grim.

“May I come in?”

He arched an eyebrow.  Had she actually asked permission to do something?  Shocking.  “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had pizza?”

“Is that a yes?” She stepped in, her smile tentative as she kicked the door closed behind her.  “I have beer in my bag, thought you could handle that if you could handle the ouzo from yesterday.”

Interesting. He smiled at her more relaxed approach, wondered what she was up to, and salivated at the idea of pizza and beer.  He scooped the custody documents into a pile on the side of the table to make room for the pizza box. 

“I saw you on the news, sounds like a bad story, but why another live shot?  Is there a story beneath the story as you used to say?” 

“As I used to say, hmm?  And here I thought you never listened to me.”  She dropped her bag into his lap before looking through the cabinets for plates and cups.  “I was going to bring you some clothes, but forgot.  Sorry.  I can’t stand those blue sweats they have you wearing.”

He pulled at the front of his blue sweatshirt and frowned.  He hadn’t worried about wardrobe in a long time.  The fact that she noticed his clothes did something weird to his heart, twisted some feeling into it, the kind of stirring a man gets before asking a woman out on a date. 

She slipped into the chair opposite him and glanced toward the television he’d left on in the background.  With a sigh, she unzipped her jacket. 

“You okay? The spasm? Are you sure you should be here?  You’ve been through a lot in the past few months.  Did Walter Reed really agree to this release so soon?  Seems strange, that’s all.”  She poured her beer into a glass she’d filled with ice.

“Do you want me to go back? Are you planning on stamping ‘return to sender’ on my forehead?”  He mirrored her action, his taste buds dying for a taste of beer. 

“I want you healthy, that’s what I want.”  She grabbed for a piece of pizza before finally looking him in the eye.  “You okay?”

He knew she was talking about the scene with Becky and the attack.  He met her gaze and nodded.  “You left your bra.  I had to stuff it in my dresser.  Luckily I found it and not your sister.  We’d both be banned for life.”

She snorted before peeling a pepperoni from the slice.  They ate in awkward silence for a few minutes with her glancing toward the door more often than not. 

He savored the beer, thinking that he’d never had anything so good in his entire life.  His gaze fell on the legal papers. 

“What do you think of Dalton?  You two seemed pretty cozy this morning.  Where’d you go?”  He’d been dying to know. 

“I took him back to my place to meet Dude.  We went for a walk and they played Frisbee for awhile.”  She finished off the beer in her glass before reclining further back in her chair.  “Dude’s my puppy, before you ask.  He’s a nine-week-old nightmare.  I adopted him days after I moved.  He’s a menace.”

So she’d taken his son to meet her puppy.  He felt a pang of envy over Dalton’s peek inside her world. 

“Dalton opened up to you pretty fast.  Last night he seemed...shy.”  He crumbled a napkin and tossed it onto the pizza box.  Hell, yesterday he’d scared his son to death with his silence.  Of course he’d seemed shy.  The kid was only six, had been abandoned by his mother and hardly knew his dad.

“He’s curious about you, asked me a lot of questions about the war, taught me to play Xbox, and is head over heels in love with Dude.”  Her gaze pinned him in place.  “Don’t beat yourself up about being at war.  You did your best.  How many times a week did you Skype with him?”

“Skyping isn’t parenting.”

“Yeah, well, we all do our best with what we’ve got.”  She rubbed her fingers against her forehead and closed her eyes.  “It’s been one helluva day, huh?”

“It’s been a helluva five months.”  He grinned.  They were both softer, less edgy, as if the events of the day had deflated them.  “Do you have to go back to work tonight?”

“Hell, no.  They woke me up for a live shot at five in the morning and I wrapped it up at six tonight.  Enough.”  She rubbed the back of her neck, eyes still closed.  “I needed to make sure you were okay.”

“I scared you earlier, didn’t I?”

“Nope, not even a little bit.”

“It scares me how easily you lie.  Yes, I did.”  He leaned his elbows on the table and sighed.  He’d scared himself, so of course he’d scared her.  How could he not have?  The same old arguments insisting he go this alone and that he push her away whispered their usual taunts, but he shook them off.  For now, right this second, he enjoyed the easiness too much to let it go.