Chapter 6

Evelyn

Any second, I’m going to wake up and find out I’m dreaming—no, I’m going to find out I was having a nightmare. It’s the only explanation.

I feel like slapping or pinching myself to end this terror, but it’s as if I’m frozen. None of my limbs respond to my commands.

My brain refuses to accept what my eyes see. As I continue to stare, I don’t think I’m even blinking, and my eyeballs are starting to hurt.

“Can I have a drink?” Shawn’s voice sounds a long way away.

Of course, it sounds a long way away, because that’s how people sound in dreams. If I give it just a few more minutes, I’ll wake up. As I approach waking state, his voice will fade until I won’t hear him at all and it’ll be over.

It’s too simple for an explanation.

He makes a strange noise, as if clearing his throat.

“Sorry,” I mumble and slowly get off the couch. Everything feels strange. It’s almost as if I’m having an out-of-body experience.

“Ehm, I mean, if it’s not too much trouble, could you get me a drink, please?”

My head turns toward him in slow motion.

“Tea, coffee, beer, milk, what would you like?” I myself might need something much stronger. Not that I’m a spirit drinker, or a drinker full-stop, but if I had whiskey in the house, I’d have some right now.

Ever since my pregnancy, I keep alcohol to a minimum.

“Beer, thanks,” growls Shawn, and I stumble into the kitchen.

For a few seconds, maybe even minutes, I hang onto the fridge door as I open it, as it if were my life raft.

It’s real.

Shawn is real.

He is real and in my living room.

Who would have thought?

Holy shit.

Fuck.

My mind’s racing. Millions of thoughts and questions are tumbling over each other. The most important one—is this really happening?

Maybe I’m just going mad or am developing a brain tumor which manifests with severe delusions. When I walk back into the other room, he won’t be there, not until my next episode.

Eventually, I open the fridge door and find the beer. James likes to drink beer and keeps a bottle or two in my fridge.

Slowly, I walk back to the living room and find Shawn exactly where I’d left him. So…I’m not having a delusional episode.

I take a big breath in and walk toward him.

My hand only shakes a little as I hold out the cool bottle.

Our fingers touch for the briefest of seconds as he takes the drink from me.

Electric shockwaves rip through me, followed by a severe aching. The tips of my fingers, where I felt his warm skin, are burning.

I drink in his muscles of steel, his broad shoulders, and—almost of their own accord—my eyes move to his crotch. How I loved his cock.

When he was inside of me…

I stop myself.

Feeling my cheeks burn, I look back up.

He’s put his lips around the bottle and is taking a big swig.

“So…” I start, trying to make sense of it all. “You were injured in Afghanistan and left for dead.” It’s more a statement than a question.

I watch him nod as he takes another swig. His Adam’s apple bops in and out as the cool liquid slides down his throat.

It’s hard not to imagine my fingers caressing that neck of his and running from there, along his shoulder, back, and chest. Despite the injuries he must have sustained, he looks amazing.

“But why weren’t you shipped back here? I mean, once you were picked up?”

My voice is a little shrill and out of control, but I’m trying my best here. Not only am I confused, I also have a million of questions buzzing around my head—and yet my body is only interested in one thing.

“I don’t know. I think it might have to do with me not knowing who I was. Like I said, I lost my memory. Lots of things are still only a blur to me.”

“How can that be? Don’t you wear those metal things around your neck all the time? And you must have been in uniform. Someone must have known who you were?” By now, I’m nearly shouting, and I’m trying to remind myself not to get too upset.

Really, there’s no point in getting upset, I know.

Unfortunately, my emotions have gotten the better of me. Like raging hormones, they’ve taken charge and are running away with me, making it almost impossible to have a coherent thought and to process the information I’m given.

“My dog tags were missing. They’d been taken off me.” Shawn’s sounding very calm, almost too calm, as far as I’m concerned. “At least, that’s what I was told.”

How can he just sit there, drink his beer, and act as though this was…I rub my forehead with my right hand. To be fair, he’s not acting like an asshole or anything.

“But when you came back to the US, you got a job, and…” I trail off. I’ve lost my train of thought. I need to focus and think.

“You came back and what? You got a job?” I manage to continue. “What about people in the military—couldn’t they help you? I mean, surely, someone must have sat down with you to talk about your past. How long were you in Afghanistan before you came back?”

Shawn looks at me, and I feel myself stripped of my clothing. It’s as if he can see right through me and into my soul. Time seems to slow down and almost stands still.

Time.

I’ve lost so much time.

We’ve lost so much time.

And what a time for him to come back into my life—our life—right after James’ proposal.

“You must remember what happened?”

Now, his brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

Automatically, my chin moves forward, and I feel like a five-year-old not getting her way.

“I mean, you must remember what happened after the accident, and—”

“Yeah, I remember when I woke up, I had no fucking idea who I was or where I was. I didn’t even know what country I was in, let alone that I had fought in a war.”

He’s glaring at me, and I shrink into myself.

“But—” I start, only to be interrupted by him.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to be surrounded by gunfire, in over a hundred-degree temperatures, day in and day out, with very little food and water while suffering severe head injury and other trauma to your body? Do you?” His voice has risen considerably.

“No, I don’t. I’ve had to endure other obstacles thrown into my life,” I shout back.

“Obstacles? I don’t call nearly getting my head blown off a fucking obstacle.”

I’m not sure why I’m yelling at him and what the point of this conversation is. All I know is I’m about to boil over.

Years of pent-up negative energy is bubbling to the surface and needs to get out. I’m erupting like a volcano. It’s not fair—it doesn’t make sense—it just is.

“Well, excuse me for not signing up to join you in the war! Excuse me for staying home to keep the fires burning. Next time, I’ll do better. But I still don’t understand how come I was never told you were still alive. I want to know exactly what happened! When you came back, what did you do, where did you go, what name did you use?”

I’m shooting the questions at him faster than a machine gun.

“I don’t have the answers. I don’t have answers to all those questions.” He holds up his hands in defense.

A noise behind me has me spinning on my heels.

Darn.

“Mommy?” Tanner is coming down the stairs.

“What’s up, sweety?” I call out to him.

His little face appears in the door way. “I’m scared, Mommy. Why are you shouting?”

Once he’s by my side, his eyes find Shawn.

“Who’s that, Mommy?”

Suddenly, I’ve got a massive lump in the back of my throat. It’s so big, I can’t talk. I’m not ready for this moment at all.

How many times had I imagined the first time Tanner would see his father? Every time, it had been different, but it had never been like…this.

I wrap my arms around my little boy and wonder what I’m going to say. Right now is not the time to say, Guess what? This is your father!

No.

Right now, I need to work out what to do myself.

My eyes find Shawn’s. He’s standing there, arms by his side, staring at Tanner.

To say I understand what he must be feeling would be a total lie. I have no idea what’s going through his head.

Sensing my gaze on him, he looks at me. Questions. I can see multiple questions in his eyes.

I know he deserves answers. But right now, I haven’t got any for him, either.