Broken:Flirt New Adult Romance(40)

"When I came to, we were in a dark room that smelled like shit and blood. I was tied up, and next to me . . ."

Paul's breathing goes ragged. "Alex is next to me. They didn't tie him  up. Probably because by that point he was . . . there wasn't much left. I  don't even know how he lasted that long."

Tears roll down my cheeks at the pain in his voice.

"You know the shit of it, Olivia? When they came at me with that knife, I  don't think they wanted anything but to hurt me. Afterward . . .  everyone thought that they wanted something from me. Information, or  whatever. But I think they just wanted to make a statement. They were  laughing when the smallest one got in my face, his breath smelling like  something had died, and put the serrated blade against my cheek."

My fingers dig into his stomach, and I want to beg him to stop.

"It hurt. That's such an understated thing to say, considering I just  saw my friends die, but when they carved those lines in my face like I  was a piece of meat, it hurt. More than the trio of bullets in my calf  or the one in my shoulder, that knife hurt."

I can't hold back the sob then, and he turns around to face me, gathering me to him like I'm the one that needs comforting.

"How-" My voice cracks, and I lick my lips and try again. "How'd you get away?"

He breathes out a long breath, ruffling my hair. "I wish I could say it  was my own ingenious maneuvering, but I was literally pinned there like  an animal for slaughter. It was Alex."

Paul's voice cracks then. "He was alive. Barely. But Alex was alive. Two  of the Afghans had left the room to do who knows what, and it was just  the guy beating the shit out of me. The idiot was so busy laughing and  admiring his handiwork on my face that he didn't have a chance to react  when Alex grabbed the gun from his belt and shot him between the eyes.  The others filed into the room like a couple of clowns, and Alex shot  them too. These weren't professionals, Liv. These were small-time, bored  jackals who resented like hell that we were there and used us as  entertainment. But it doesn't matter that they weren't the smartest or  the fastest. Guns don't care about who's pulling the trigger, and the  bullet in Alex's stomach ravaged him from the inside out."

My throat is dry, and not for the first time I think about how little my  problems are compared to his. Compared to any soldier's.

Paul's hands move up and down my back as he continues to talk. "The  papers all say it was torture. They have to, to explain my face, and why  we weren't all left to die on the side of the road. But it wasn't as  bad as it could have been. Not for me."

"Paul. Don't minimize what you went through."

He gives a sad smile. "But I'm alive, Olivia. Don't you get it? I'm alive and none of them are."

"What happened . . . after?" I ask. I'm not sure that I want to know, but I do know that he needs to say it.

Paul swallows. "Alex died in front of me. He died with that gun in his  hands, and I couldn't even go to him. I tried." His voice breaks now. "I  pulled and pulled at the damned ropes, screaming his damned name,  telling him to hold on, that I'd help him. But I didn't help him. He  just slumped to the ground, blood coming out of his mouth. He just  stared at me."

I'm full-on crying now. This is so much worse than I imagined, and I imagined a lot.

He keeps going. "You know how in the movies, you can always tell the  second someone's life fades away? Like their eyes just . . . change? I  couldn't tell. Alex lay there looking at me and I couldn't even tell  when he died."

I hug him harder, even though I know it can't take his pain away.

"They found us the next day. The fucking cavalry showed up too damned  late. I guess I should be grateful they found me at all. In the hospital  they told me that some kids had given them a tip about a couple ‘bloody  dead white boys,' but the truth is I don't remember anything about the  rescue mission, and I didn't care enough to ask."

Paul falls silent for a moment before continuing. "I didn't care about  anything for a long, long time. Not about the medical magic they worked  to save my leg. Not about the plastic surgeon my father hired to do what  he could with my face. The only time I felt anything was when Alex's  wife came to see me."         

     



 

My heart lodges in my throat. "He was married?"

Paul pulls back to look at me. "Amanda. They'd been together since they  were fucking fifteen. I'd met her once, at the Marine Corps Ball, and  she was perfect for him. Ballsy and sweet and gorgeous."

I wipe my nose on my sleeve.

"He's got a kid, Olivia. A little girl named Lily, and she's fucking  sick. Cancer, the kind with the shitty treatment options and the even  shittier prognosis."

He pulls back then to look at me, his eyes shining with tears. "I do  what I can to help them. The checks I get from my dad . . . they're not  for me. They've never been for me. But the money doesn't replace Alex.  It doesn't replace any of the people that die over there."

"Paul-"

"I lied to her, Olivia. I told Amanda that Alex died admirably, and that  much was true. But I also told her that it was over quickly and that he  didn't suffer. I think she knew I was lying about that, but she held my  hand so tight and said thank you, even though it was me that was home  instead of her husband . I . . . I told her that he said to say he loved  her. He didn't have the strength to have any last words, so I made them  up. I made a up a man's dying words, Olivia."

My hands frame his face, my thumb gently rubbing against the scars. "You  did good, Paul. You did right by your friend and his family. He'd have  wanted his Amanda to have that small bit of kindness."

He lets out a harsh laugh as though he doesn't believe me. But he lets me hold him as he starts to cry.

And for now, that's enough.





CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Paul


"I didn't think this was possible, but your girlfriend is actually  getting worse at darts the more she plays," Kali says, setting another  beer in front of me before plopping down in the seat beside me.

We've been at the bar for a couple of hours, and Kali alternates between  tending the bar and coming to join us in the back of the room.

It takes me a full minute to realize that I didn't recoil at the word girlfriend. Olivia's not my girlfriend. She's my . . .

Shit. I have no idea what she is, but girlfriend sounds like both an  overstatement and an understatement. Olivia is more than that.

And yet we have no future. Do we? I don't let myself think about it  much. After that night by the fire when I told her everything, things  have been . . . great. I almost don't let myself think it.

I wasn't lying when I told Olivia that back in Afghanistan, we were  worried we'd jinx the situation if we actually acknowledged the bad  stuff. And now? Now I'm even more terrified that I'll jinx what Olivia  and I have by talking about the good stuff.

And it is good. It's all good. The sex, the talking, the shared runs. I  even adore her special style of cuddling, just as long as her limbs  avoid my vital parts. She's everything to me.

But I don't talk about it. I can't.

"Ugh, do not start that brooding thing," Kali says, taking a sip of my  beer. "Do you have any idea how much you've changed since that first  night you walked into my bar when you picked a fight with a bunch of  drunken hotshots? Don't you dare go backward on us now."

Olivia lets out an outraged groan from the dartboard, and I shake my  head when I realize that despite the dedicated tutoring of Darcy "Dart"  Martinez, Kali is right. Olivia's actually getting worse.

She's having fun, though. And, surprisingly, so am I.

"Much better," Kali says, waving her finger in the direction of my  smile. "You do that every time you look at her, you know. Smile."

I push her hand away. "Stop, you're starting to sound like a bad valentine."

Kali flops back in her chair. "It's just so romantic. The beautiful  angel swooping in to save the surly dickwad who's quite possibly a  murderous recluse."

"Ugly. Don't forget ugly," I say without heat.

"Nah," she says, nodding in thanks as one of her employees brings her a  rum and diet coke. "You were way too pretty before. It was even hard to  eat with all that nauseating perfection around. Now you've got a bit of  character. It looks good on you."

"You flirting with me, Kal?"

"Not today. Although I admit I did have a few fantasies about you coming  across me after all these years and fainting over my beauty, realizing  that I was the one all along."

"Yeah?" I ask, giving her a wary look. Kali has always had this sort of  unnerving way of speaking in a really sweet, genuine voice, and you get  reeled in only to realize that she was yanking your chain the whole  time.         

     



 

"Sort of," she replies with a quick smile. "But let's just say I gave up  on that fantasy a couple of months after your dad bought the summer  home you used to rent. I kept thinking that one day you'd show up at  Frenchy's or my front door. But you never did. You never even called."