Chapter 11
Bennett
THE NEXT 48 hours were spent alternating between studying what I needed to pass my classes, and reading anything I could get my hands on about Combat Stress Reaction, or what the shrinks were now calling Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.
In combat, soldiers learn real quick how to suppress emotions. There’s just too much other baggage to handle without putting feelings into the mix. And, I think it’s a way to help soldiers come to terms with the idea that death could be just around the corner. Any normal guy off the street would run away screaming if shots were being fired at him, but for us, it was just another day at the office.
But burying all that fear and guilt came with a consequence and I was living it. The molten lava of all that suppressed emotion was bubbling to the surface, ready to erupt, and I was powerless to stop it.
Truth is, I felt safer, more like myself, in combat. There, I could hide behind weapons and ammunition. Had it not been for that day in the desert a little more than eighteen months earlier, I’d probably still be there. Fighting the war out there was much easier than fighting the one inside my soul. There, the bad guy was tangible, real. Right now, I was my own worst enemy. I was living in past tense and it was time for me to come to the present.
Caught up with the latest research done by a psychiatrist in England, I glanced at my watch and popped up, dropping the journal on the floor with a thud.
“Damn it!”
It was Friday, and I was late, so I ran the half mile from the library to the cafe and got there just as the doors were opening.
“You’re late.” Mrs. Lowe smiled, taking in my disheveled state.
“Very observant. Be right back.” I left her serving what looked to be chicken spaghetti in the dining room to wash my hands and prepare to get my volunteer on. Nodding to a few others I recognized as I walked through the kitchen, I found my apron and headed back out.
Where is she? Automatically, my eyes scanned the growing crowd for Jillian. Why? I wasn’t too sure I was ready to deep dive into that question, but here I was, looking high and low, and not finding her anywhere.
“She’s over there.” I glanced up at Chance, his Cheshire grin larger than life.
“She who? I’m not looking for a she.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Thunderous laughter rumbled out of the older man’s mouth and I rolled my eyes. “Okay, man.” He clapped me on the shoulder, shaking his head. “And I bet if you tell yourself that long enough, you might actually start to believe it.” More laughter followed as he walked away.
I turned the direction she was and saw her sitting on the floor, holding Ari Macias in her lap, while engaged in an animated conversation with Gabby. Ari’s head was resting on her shoulder as the little girl played with the string of silver beads around Jillian’s neck. If I had to guess, she and Gabby were discussing books, which she did successfully all while playing with the baby’s hair. Her face was so relaxed when she thought no one was watching. I always felt as if she were putting on a show with me. Now, watching the real Jillian, she was breathtaking.
As she talked, she scanned the room a few times before she finally found me. Our eyes locked for the briefest of seconds and the corners of her mouth turned up for a quick moment, but it was fleeting. She had obviously been well-schooled in getting her emotions under control. Back to her conversation as if that little smile hadn’t been just for me, I saw the apples of her cheeks redden and for some odd reason, I took great pride in that.
“Can I walk you to your car?” She nodded.
“Sure, just let me put my apron up and grab my purse. Be right back.” After a calm night and a quick cleanup, we were getting out a little earlier than expected. While I waited, the Lowes came out of the kitchen, Mrs. Lowe laughing at something her husband was saying.
“Bennett, why are you still here, boy? It’s Friday night! Shouldn’t you be out with some pretty thing on your arm?” Mrs. Lowe grabbed my arm, pulling me out the front door.
“Lillie, you need to let that boy be. Besides, if I’m not mistaken, in about thirty seconds I’m guessing your wish will come true.” And as if timed by Hollywood, Jillian came barreling out from the back.
“Sorry, Bennett. I’m ready to go now.” She hadn’t realized I wasn’t alone. She stopped short and her blush returned, seeing the knowing smiles of the older couple. “No, this is not what it looks—”
“It’s okay, Jillian.” I jumped in, grabbing her arm and guiding her out the door. “The Lowes aren’t interested in the romantic side of our relationship.” Unable to contain my grin, I watched Jillian’s gaze volley between their eyes and mine, her silent mouth opening and closing like a goldfish as I dragged her down the sidewalk. We walked about a hundred yards before she said anything.
“Why did you do that?” She definitely wasn’t happy, but mad was the wrong word. Maybe, annoyingly curious?
“Do what, Princess?” I answered, feigning innocence. She made it too easy.
“Why did you make them think we were dating? And don’t call me that. It’s patronizing.” A cold front had blown in and the cold October wind bit through the thin shirt I’d put on this morning when it was seventy-five degrees. Jillian felt it too, but tried to mask her discomfort. Why did she always try to appear so perfect and in control? It’s like she viewed vulnerability as a poison. But, I thought, didn’t we all?
“Bennett? Hey, Ben! Over here.” We both turned our attention to the frantically waving brunette huddled with other versions of herself at the bus stop across the street. The girl waved her friends on and ran toward us.
“Hey, Ben.” Her voice purred as she slinked toward us like a cat. Jillian and I had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, our conversation halted for the moment.
“Darcy, right?” Darcy? Marcy? Macy? Kasey? What was it?
“Oh, you remembered. Good boy.” What was I, a dog?
She sidled up beside me and grabbed my bicep, both of her tiny manicured hands barely able to wrap around it. “It’s so cold out here.”
I nodded. She was right, it was cold. And as if my nod was an invitation, the girl eased in a little closer. Maybe she was the dog. She reminded me of the blue heelers Doc kept on the ranch. Sometimes, he’d throw them a bone and they’d slobber all over themselves to get to it.
“Hey, it’s not too late and you don’t look busy. Do you wanna come to my place and study for the psych test next week? I have a fireplace. We could… warm up.” She flashed a million-dollar smile as she waited expectantly for my answer. Beside me, Jillian guffawed, probably at her ‘you don’t look busy’ comment.
“Oh, um… “ It was Friday night. I was walking Jillian to her car. Then I was going home. I had to admit, it took balls to come on to someone with such fervor while a much more attractive girl stood not a foot away. Sure, she was just a friend, if I could even call her that. But Miss Priss didn’t know that, which made me like her even less. Still, this was not something I’d expected and a blind man could read between the lines and know that studying was the last thing on her mind. I startled when my other bicep was seized and a hand shot out from beside me.
“Oh, hi.” The inflection in her voice made me cringe. It screamed, back off, bitch, and it seemed to come naturally to Jill. “It’s nice to meet one of Ben’s school friends. Darcy, was it? Hmmm, he’s never mentioned you. Ever. Anyway, I’m Jillian Walker.”
If Darcy was a dog drooling over a bone, Jillian was the alpha, baring gums and teeth, along with a low growl. She was prepared to protect her territory. I shivered. Darcy must have felt it too. She took Princess’s hand and the lust-filled smile melted off her pale, over made face as she sized Jillian up. No comparison. None. Checkmate. Matchpoint. Pack it up and go back to your friends, chick.
“Oh, well.” She squirmed in place and looked at me, then to Jillian again, who was holding her hand much longer than was comfortable. And if I were to guess, her grip was probably much tighter than necessary, too. “It’s nice to meet you. I guess I should go, I think I hear the bus.” She wrenched her hand from Jillian’s and scuttled back to her hive of overdressed, overly hairsprayed friends without a backward glance.
Jillian started walking again while I just stared. Actually, ‘walking’ may be too weak a term. Her pace made what we’d been doing just moments before seem like a casual stroll compared to the speed walking she was now doing.
“What the hell was that?” I asked as I caught up with her after a few beats. I had to admit, the events of the last few minutes had been funny as hell, and I very much appreciated her coming to my aid while I floundered like a fish out of water, but it was only natural to question her motivation.
“What? Certainly, you didn’t want to go with that bimbo, to her house of sin and debauchery under the guise of studying, while she, and possibly her crew of Barbie girl, airheaded friends pawed all over you. Or did you?” I laughed.
“Not particularly, but I could have handled it. It’s not like that’s the first time I’ve been hit on.” She stopped again and turned back toward me.
“What do you mean?” Her cute little head was cocked to one side and a deep wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. Was it really that unbelievable that I would occasionally gain the attention of the fairer sex? I should have been offended, but I wasn’t.
“Hey, what can I say? This is a military school… chicks dig soldiers.” I shrugged. “It happens occasionally.”
“How occasionally?” Her arms were crossed tight over her chest. She wasn’t moving until she got her answer.
“A few times a week?”
“Define a few.” Now her hands were on her hips. Adorable.
“Six or seven?” Her mouth gaped open.
“You get hit on that aggressively six or seven times a week?” I chuckled.
“You think that was aggressive? That’s nothing. I found a pair of silk undies in my backpack the other day with a phone number written on them and a few have gotten a little handsy with the goods, if you know what I mean. Now that qualifies as aggressive.” Closing her eyes, she shook her head and with a huff, started walking again. When we arrived outside the garage where her car was parked, she stopped, but hesitated.
“What?” I wanted to know what was going on in that privileged little brain of hers.
“I’m just wondering, have you ever taken any of them up on their offers?”
I took a deep breath, burying my hands in my pockets, where I found the photo scrap tucked away. I flipped the corner of it with my fingers and, refusing to meet her eyes, I shook my head, hoping to avoid where this conversation was headed.
“Why not?” Looking up, her eyes bore holes into mine, like she was searching for the answer deep inside my soul. What should I tell her? That I wasn’t interested in girls? No, that would be a lie. That I wasn’t interested in a relationship? Well, that was true, to an extent, but I had no desire to tell her the real reason I didn’t date—the same reason I would never enter into a serious relationship or get married. That was my burden, my weight to carry, my souvenir from that ill-fated day in the desert.
“Look, I’m here to study and get a degree. I won’t let anything or anyone get in the way of that.” The corners of her mouth turned down just a little and I felt it in my chest. She wasn’t satisfied with my answer, almost as if she knew there was a truckload of baggage behind my words. But with a quick nod of her head, telling me she’d accepted my answer, for now, she turned and headed into the garage.