got to you, maybe I would have sent you more.” She spoke without moving, still looking out the window. But the emotion in her voice let him know he’d hurt her feelings.
So much for peace between them.
He tried to explain. “When I’m in a warzone I can’t be distracted by thoughts of home. I’m there to do a job, to complete the tasks I’m assigned and get out alive.” He glanced at her. “And I thought it’d be easier on you to not feel obligated to write me or think about me.” Or worry or search for lists of dead and wounded every time a bloody battle made the news. Like his mother had each time his father had been deployed overseas.
“So let me get this straight.” She turned to him and finally took off that ridiculous wig. “For the better part of four months we spent a portion of almost every day together. I ran with you.”
He’d timed his runs to make sure he’d pass by their parking lot at exactly six o’clock to facilitate their meeting up for the last five miles of his ten mile jog.
“I cooked for you.”
His mouth watered at the memory of her chicken with rosemary.
“We watched movies on my couch.”
His body ached to feel her cuddled up beside him.
“Our friendship progressed to the point I invited you into my bed, into my body, into my future. And in that feeble-minded head of yours you came to the conclusion if you fled my condo—in your boxer shorts you were in such a hurry—then scurried off to the base hours before you were scheduled to report and cut off all contact with me I would poof,” she flared out her fingers in front of her beautiful face, “forget all about you?”
Or hate him. Either way, a clean break.
“Maybe your attempt would have been more successful,” she went on, “if you hadn’t stolen from me. If each time I looked at the shelves in my living room I wasn’t reminded that the empty space where my favorite picture of Jena and me is supposed to be is empty because of you.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “All you had to do was ask, and I’d have happily given you a picture.”
But it may not have been the one he’d wanted. Jaci and her identical twin, standing arm in arm by what looked like the family swimming pool, wearing matching string bikinis so skimpy they wouldn’t have passed for bathing suits on most public U.S. beaches.
And had he asked to take a picture of her with him to war, she would have thought there was more to their relationship than there was. Or than he’d thought there was at the time.
Would she be less angry if he’d ripped the photo down the center and only taken the half with her in it? Because as much as he’d wanted to make a clean break, he couldn’t get himself to leave without having some piece of her to hold on to, and one glimpse of the snapshot in the light and he could tell the twins apart.
Jaci’s smile warm and genuine. Her eyes lit with laughter, fun, and mischief. Her sister’s smile shy almost forced. Cautious. Her eyes haunted and sad.
“Maybe if someone hadn’t e-mailed my brother and a dozen or so other men in our social circle that some soldier in Iraq was bragging about a threesome he’d had with me and Jena. God.” She threw the wig in a bag at her feet. “The thought repulses me. You repulse me.”
Ian fought for calm as he leaned out the window to punch in his code, waited for the metal gates to open and steered the car into the parking lot of their luxury high rise. “I never said that, Jaci. I swear.”
“Were we or were we not referred to as Ice melt?” she yelled. “That’s your nickname, isn’t it? Ice?”
Ian parked the car in Jaci’s spot, turned off the engine, and shifted to face her. “I didn’t tell anyone you, Jena and I had sex together.” He ran a hand over his face. Disgusted. “Guys are pigs. Get a bunch of them together on a military base, add in a picture of two, identical, hot, almost naked women, and it was the twin fantasy run amok.”
Apparently he was going about this explanation thing all wrong because Jaci thrust open her car door and jumped out like the interior of the vehicle had caught fire.
“Wait,” he called out, rushing through the rain, his left leg stiff, slowing him down. “I didn’t say it was my fantasy.” Well. Okay. To be perfectly honest the thought had crossed his mind—briefly—when they’d first met. But since honesty didn’t seem to be working out so well for him at the moment, he decided to keep that bit of truth to himself.
Bottom line, a few days in Jaci’s company and he’d had no desire to share their limited time together with anyone else. Male or female.
He caught up to her as she was scanning her key card in front of the security sensor. With a buzz the door unlocked and Ian opened it. In the vestibule he pushed on the inner glass door to stop her from entering the lobby. She wouldn’t look at him.
“In all the years my squad has known me, I have never once tacked up a picture on my locker,” he explained to the back of her head. Or gotten caught staring at one like some homesick teenager, unprepared for how much he’d miss her or how the idea of having a beautiful wife to return home to would start to appeal to him. “They made a big deal of it and things got way out of hand. You have to know I would never disrespect you by discussing anything that went on in private between us. And I would never disparage your or your sister’s reputation by spreading lies. I had no idea the rumors made their way back to the U.S. until I returned home and Justin told me.”
“My face is in the newspaper at least twice a month. You didn’t consider the possibility someone might recognize me?”
No. He hadn’t. “It’s a different world over there. I’ll talk to your brother.” Had already left four messages at his office requesting an appointment. “I’ll make a statement to the press.”
Jaci looked at him like he’d offered to don a pink tutu and tights. “Don’t you dare. All that will do is stir the whole thing up again and bring out the whack-a-dos who corroborated the stories and made up lies about Jena and me dating back to junior high school. Now if you don’t mind, I’m wet and tired and would like to slip into a hot bath and put this night behind me.”
At the thought of a naked Jaci, her slick body surrounded by bubbles, submerged in a candlelit tub, Ian felt the twinges of life return to Ian junior.
Ah, yes. Half an hour in Jaci’s presence provided Ian with glimpses of the man he’d been before the explosion, a man capable of feeling more than the anguish of regret, guilt, and loss, something weeks of therapy hadn’t been able to do. He opened the door and followed her through.
In the elevator she pressed the buttons for the fourth and fifth floors. He broke the uncomfortable silence by offering his most sincere apology, “I’m sorry.” Because he was.
She let out a breath and looked down at her black rain boots. “I’m glad you made it home safely.” The doors opened on the fourth floor. She took a step forward, and, standing between them she looked back at him and said, “But what’s done is done. It’s over. Leave it alone.”
He exited the elevator and followed her. God help him, he didn’t want it to be over. Which was why night after night he’d fought the urge to bang on her door, to explain why he’d run, to apologize for what he’d said, and beg her forgiveness.
But
