CHAPTER TEN
Carson
Upsetting Amelia hurt me more than it hurt her. At least, I would like to believe that. After I left her in the attic, I went to my room, sat down on the bed and covered my face.
The moment had been so tender, so good. The way her head had rested on my forehead, exactly like when we were kids. It had felt so perfect. And, that close, I could smell the fragrance of her, my body hungering for her like a starved creature.
But I couldn’t do it. After that chat with Brett, I knew that. I had exposed to myself all my flaws. The way I was still so jumpy had surprised me. I thought I had gotten over it. But there was still a forest of broken things inside me and I couldn’t pretend otherwise now.
What if she dropped something, and I went off at her like I did at Brett? The level of my aggression had surprised me. If I took a turn like that and she was there, defenseless and confused, what might happen?
I bit my lip. I didn’t want to think about the possibility that I might turn violent. But it was there. I had to acknowledge it.
I will not endanger her by putting her up for that kind of treatment.
In my heart, I could admit I loved Amelia. I wouldn’t let anyone else hurt her the way I might, inadvertently, do. So I had the added duty of protecting her also from myself.
I should go away, I thought wildly. This wasn’t working out right. Every time I saw Amelia, I lost control of myself. I couldn’t maintain the aloof, cold exterior I wanted to.
Without any conscious thought, I started to pack. The habit of years meant that I could pack my cases in an instant, ready to move on to the next place I was needed. As I rolled my socks into a ball and shoved them into my suitcase, I blinked, shaking myself.
Carson, stop acting crazy. You can’t just walk out!
What would Brett say? It was a few days before Christmas and he’d invited me here for the holiday. I couldn’t very well just throw my things into the car, drive off without any farewell. Much as it would have been what I wanted to do to save my sanity from the constant torment of loving Amelia, it wasn’t what I could do.
You’d regret it.
I sighed. Dropped the socks soundlessly onto the carpet, lay back on the bed. There was just too much going on in my life to make sense of anything. As it was, I thought miserably, I should probably cut my time here short. It wasn’t like I had no commitments.
I closed my eyes and felt wretched. I had no idea what to do. Making sensible choices and dealing with interpersonal issues wasn’t something I had a skill set for.
I even know a bit about defusing bombs, I thought, laughing a little hysterically. But I had no idea at all how to defuse the wild, devastating bomb that was my love for Amelia.
The thing is that I won’t be the only casualty when it erupts. It’d hurt her.
The thought of Amelia called her vividly to mind. Her soft skin, that glistening pink mouth that made me want to kiss it as I pressed against her on the bed, my lips chewing the side of her sweet face and moving lower…
I groaned as my cock responded with some urgency to the picture in my mind of Amelia, nude and defenseless, lying on her back with that alluring look she used to level my way.
I wanted her so much. She was in the room next door right now, possibly nude and lying on her bed and my mind couldn’t get around that. I gritted my teeth.
In my mind, I built another picture. Based it on what happened the other day in the kitchen. Imagined Amelia washing up, dropping a plate. Imagined myself turning on her with the same cold fury I had leveled at Brett. I let my mind conjure her response, which would probably, like his, only make me worse. I made myself imagine her crying, wounded irreparably by my hatefulness.
You see, Grant? That’s how your life would be.
I sighed. I sat up on the bed. The mirror on the wall revealed me to myself, my brown eyes a little shattered, my face tight with nervous tension. I stood, brushing my brown curls flat. I couldn’t very well go around like that: someone would notice.
“A shower. Now.”
I gathered my shower caddy and marched myself to the shower with the same efficiency with which I would have handled soldiers in my battalion. Once inside I showered briskly, shaved and tried not to cut myself, then headed into the bedroom again. The clock by my bedside told me it was around lunchtime. My stomach clenched ambivalently and I decided I had nothing to lose. At least if I went downstairs, Brett and his wife—or the kids—were probably also there, and they might act as a buffer. I had made up my mind that I’d do my best not to be alone with Amelia again.
“Carson?” Brett’s voice called me as I went downstairs. He was in the sitting room, so I headed in there. He had his laptop open on his knee.
“Yeah?”
“I wanted to show you that building I was talking about the other day,” he said peaceably. “And to give you the details of that guy I told you about; the one who went to Logistics?”
“Oh?” I frowned. I didn’t remember any guy. Probably because I was thinking about Amelia. I felt my mouth twist ironically.
“Yeah. Preston Brinkley. Here we go,” he added, finding an email address. “Should I forward it to you?” he asked hopefully.
“Yes. Please,” I nodded. Why not? It wasn’t as if I had anything to lose, after all.
He pressed some buttons and then leaned back, brushing faded blond hair out of one eye as he looked up. “What’s it?”
“Nothing,” I said, blinking rapidly. Why the heck was my face so transparent? “Why do you ask?”
“Nothing,” Brett said carefully. “Only, everyone seems a bit subdued around here and I was wondering if I’ve done something. Only my wife is normal.”
“What was that, Brett Carlyle?” a voice called ominously from the kitchen. We both laughed.
“I said, you’re normal, honey.”
“And what a cheeky thing to say!” Reese said with a big grin, coming out of the kitchen with her hands stained with some sort of berry-juice. “I’ll have you know, I’m extraordinary.”
Brett roared with laughter and I had to smile. “Yes, honey,” Brett agreed firmly.
Reese blew him a kiss. Then she went back to the kitchen, shoulders shaking with mirth.
I sighed. It was inspiring and bittersweet to see them. I wished, from the bottom of my heart, that I could be like that. Friendly, and simple, and normal. But I couldn’t.
The war had left big holes in my heart and in my mind. I only had one major scar—a wound high on my chest where shrapnel had struck me. But inside there were so many more.
“Is…is Amelia around?” I asked. When his eyes widened, I prayed he hadn’t made the leap of linking my odd mood and her.
“She was,” Brett nodded. “She went up when I came in. Said she had a headache. Why?”
“No reason,” I said mildly. “Just wanting to know where everyone is, I guess.”
“Well,” Reese appeared again. “Everyone ought to be here.”
“It’s ready, is it?” Brett said, sitting up and shutting the laptop quickly.
“It will be in about two minutes,” Reese said wryly and I smiled.
“Lunch?” I asked.
“Yup,” she nodded. “I’m making my famous roast pumpkin, with a berry tart to follow.”
“Oh!” I smiled. My stomach rumbled and I remembered I was hungry. Brett chuckled.
“There you go. Sounds good, right?”
“Sounds awesome,” I agreed fervently.
“Could you find the kids?” Brett asked, as he stood, taking his laptop over to a side-table. “I just have to go and help with the oven door.”
“Sure,” I nodded as he headed into the kitchen. I heard low voices coming out of it as Brett and Reese performed some intricate operation around lowering the pie dishes to the oven shelf.
“Kids?” I called. I tensed at the door to the attic, praying inwardly that Amelia wasn’t in there. I was nervous to confront her alone now, for fear of my resolve wavering.
“Yes!” Josh appeared immediately.
“Is it lunch?”
“Yes,” I answered the inquiry briskly.
“Finally!” Cayley sighed, making me laugh.
“We thought that’d never happen,” Josh lisped, rushing past me and into the corridor, heading for the bathroom to wash their hands.
“Auntie!” Cayley called outside Amelia’s door. “It’s lunchtime.”
I sighed with relief. At least I wouldn’t have to call her by myself.
A voice called back through the whitewashed door. “Coming.”
It was bright and brittle and cheery and, if I hadn’t known Amelia so well, I would have thought she was enthused about the lunch, just like all the rest of us. But I did know her. Too well. So I knew that tightness in her voice and how it covered she’d just been crying.
I shook my head. I was such an asshole.
I sighed. I hadn’t much choice, had I? I could either be an asshole now, and avoid hurting her in future, or I could do what I longed to now—renew our closeness in every way possible and then be an asshole later.
It will hurt her less if I am an asshole now.
I walked briskly down the stairs to the kitchen.
I took a place at the table, sitting beside Brett who looked about expectantly as Reese dished out the steaming roast, then turned to the kids as they swarmed in and took their seats.
Amelia came in last. Her face was pale and she had combed out her hair. She was quiet and composed and I think it was clear only to me that her eyes were soft and fluid with recent tears.
“Hey, Brett,” she said, giving her brother a tired smile. She went and sat at the head of the table, the last vacant seat and as far away from me as anyone could get. I winced.
As I watched her from my place opposite, I felt my heart clench. I wished I could do things differently, but I knew I couldn’t.