Chapter Twenty-Seven

Eric

After getting dressed, I'm standing on the back deck, sipping a scotch while staring out at the darkness of the ocean. Monica left about fifteen minutes ago, but Calee is still upstairs. I imagine this all has to be overwhelming for her.

I'd always thought that going from living a life of privilege to going to a life in the military turned my life on its head. And it had. But to go from living a rough, basic existence out on some cult compound in Wyoming to being dropped into the lap of luxury in San Diego – it has to feel like her entire world has been turned upside down. I can't even imagine.

“I – I'm ready,” Calee's voice comes from behind me. “I think.”

I turn around and nearly drop my glass of scotch. I stare in wide-eyed wonder at the woman standing before me. In a dark blue dress that hugs her curves and really flatters her body, she looks utterly amazing. And completely unlike the scared, lost girl in blue jeans I met in that diner. Her hair spills down over her shoulders and there is a light dusting of makeup on her face – just enough so that her dark eyes really sparkle.

“Is this too much?” she asks. “Too provocative? I asked Monica to –”

I hold up my hand and shake my head quickly. “No, you look – you look amazing.” I say.

I see her cheeks flush and a bashful smile creep across her lips. She looks away shuffling her feet, looking like the picture of embarrassment.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I'm not used to such nice clothing.”

“You wear it well,” I reply. “It looks incredible on you.”

When she looks back up at me, there's a tension in her face that's impossible to miss. Is she still worried about Raymond? Is this all too much for her? I don't know. I can't read her thoughts, although I wish I could. But she has the look on her face of the woman who'd spent a little time preparing a speech and was going to deliver it.

“Eric,” she says. “I don't know much, but I know that you spent a fortune on all those clothes. I'm grateful, don't get me wrong. But it's too much. I don't feel right with you spending so much money on me when –”

I can't help but laugh, not expecting that her biggest concern is money. She closes her mouth and looks at me, her expression inscrutable. I choke back the laughter and clear my throat, not wanting to offend her. Taking a quick drink, I look up and hold her gaze.

“Money isn't something you need to concern yourself with right now, Calee,” I say. “Eventually, you'll get a job and start making your own money. But right now, don't even give it a second thought.”

“I don't see how I can't though,” she says, sounding downright miserable.

I sigh. Money isn't something I like talking about. It's not something I like dealing with, actually. That's what my accountants and bankers are for. All I want to have to worry about is using my cards and not having them declined when I do. And given the inheritance my parents left me when they died, combined with the money I make as a surgeon on my own, that's not something I have to worry about.

“Because I'm telling you – because I'm asking you not to worry about it,” I say softly. “I know you're not used to having people do things for you or take care of you, but I'm asking you to let me. Let me do something good.”

“Why is it so important to you?” she asks. “Why am I so important to you?”

I still don't have the answer to those questions. I still can't say why I felt so drawn to her that first night. Maybe, in a way, I'm trying to atone for all of those people I couldn't save over in Afghanistan. I feel like I lost a lot more than I saved and it's something that haunts me every day and every night. I'm good at what I do. Damn good. But as good as I am, I wasn't able to save a lot of guys over there.

And maybe in some weird, twisted way, giving a life to this woman – helping somebody who so desperately needs it – maybe that's my way of trying to make up for those I couldn't help over there. Or maybe, in some even weirder and more twisted way, I'm trying to atone for being such a disappointment to my parents. For not being the man they wanted me to be.

I'm sure a shrink would have a field day with me – which is part of the reason I avoid them like the plague.

“Because you are,” is all I can muster though. “Because after everything you've endured, you deserve to have a life of your own. You deserve a chance to be the woman you want to be. Not the woman somebody tells you to be.”

The look she gives me is one of pure gratitude and I'm half-afraid she's going to start crying again. But she maintains her composure and gives me a small smile.

“I don't know how I'm going to repay your kindness,” she says. “I don't know that I can.”

“The only repayment I want is for you to live your life,” I say. “To do something with it. To be who you are and do something that makes you happy.”

She steps forward and embraces me again and just like upstairs, I feel this sense of connection pass between us. With her body pressed to mine, smelling the soft citrusy scent of her shampoo, I somehow feel a little more complete. A little more whole. I feel like that pool of darkness within me is being filled in. I can't explain it, don't really understand it, but there it is all the same.

A moment later we step back and share an awkward smile – and I can't help but wonder if she felt that connection between us too. For me, it felt like a puzzle piece was being snapped into place. And I find myself wondering if she felt it too – and if so, what it felt like to her.

I clear my throat and give her a lopsided smile. “So, would you care to accompany me to dinner?”

Her smile is warm and genuine. “I'd absolutely love to.”