My ears burning, I play it off by grinning at her as I slide under the covers, turn on my right side, and face her. She places a palm to my cheek, her eyes darkening somberly. "Another nightmare wake you up?"
"Nightmare?"
"You had one about an hour ago," she says. "Sort of jerking around in your sleep and moaning."
I cock at eyebrow at her. "How do you know that wasn't a sex dream?"
I expect her to laugh, roll her eyes, or punch me playfully in the shoulder. Instead, her look turns more worried. "It wasn't a sex dream. You were really scared … distressed. I tried to shake you a bit to wake you up. You never did, but the dream apparently stopped because you went quiet."
"Huh," I say, my eyes drifting past Jillian to look at the far wall. I've certainly had my share of nightmares, but I don't remember one tonight. Or a sex dream for that matter.
"Do you get nightmares?" she asks.
My gaze comes back to hers. I shrug. "Yeah … I guess. I mean, they don't come as frequently now, but … "
With a trailing voice, I turn on my back, put my hands under my head, and stare at the ceiling. What in the fuck was I dreaming about? And worse, I hate that Jillian saw it. It conveys a weakness I don't want her to see. Fuck knows she's seen enough of my shortcomings.
"Tell me about some of your nightmares," Jillian whispers as she scoots over to me and lays her head on my chest. She wiggles her body into me, pressing her leg against my stump and wrapping an arm over my stomach. It's secure and comforting, and my arm immediately goes around her waist to hold her tightly to me.
"They were no big deal," I tell her.
"Then tell me about them," she persists.
"Why?"
"Because I want to know everything about you," she says quietly. "Everything."
I let out a sigh of defeat because Jillian will never be satisfied with just looking at my scars or picking at my scabs. She wants to rip the hurt away, understand it, and then help me try to feel better. I know this because I've watched her do it for weeks with Connor. I've also seen her do it for the past several days with Barb and me.
"I don't get them often anymore. Apparently, I don't remember the ones I do get," I tell her, brushing off the whole thing. "But it's mostly of the explosion and when I got injured. Sometimes I'll have a nightmare where they go in to amputate my leg, but they can't get it off so I'm stuck with the rotting thing."
"Oh, God," Jillian practically whimpers as her hand slides up my stomach to my chest. She presses her palm over my heart. "I can't even imagine."
I shrug. "Like I said … doesn't happen often. I'm mostly over it."
"Not true," she says, calling me out and then telling me why. "You're not over it and may never be. But I do think you're trying to deal with it for maybe the first time, and I think it's important to talk about it."
"Let me guess," I say dryly. "You have a psychology degree too?"
"Nope. Just an art history degree, but come on, Christopher … you know letting it out is the way to heal. I know you're smart enough to get that. You would never share in group, and you haven't shared much on the trip, but here I am … lying naked beside you, wanting to get naked with you more often in the future, and I want you to know you're safe with me. You can tell me anything, and I don't even have to say anything in return if you don't want me to. You can just talk and vent, and I'll listen. I promise you'll never be judged by me."
I lift my head from the pillow slightly to look down at Jillian as she rests on my chest. She tilts her head to look at me. Her eyes are clear pools of determination, reflecting a promise that she'll do exactly what she just said she'd do.
My head falls back to the pillow and my hand squeezes her waist. "I was just a few short weeks away from returning home when I ran over the explosive device. So fucking close to making it out unscathed. I was there almost a year, saw a thousand different things. Had some good days and some bad ones. Had great friends and a girl back home waiting for me who wrote me sexy letters, but that was all tempered by a constant, nagging anxiety that I could be killed on any given day. And yet, I really don't ever think about that stuff. I don't dream about it. The one thing I keep remembering over and over again, when I'm awake and in my nightmares, was my buddy Jelonek who was in the passenger seat. I mean … I was literally just talking to him. Right in the middle of a conversation. He was there one minute, and then the next … poof … he was just gone."
"Oh, my word," Jillian says in a distressed voice.
I give sort of a half laugh, half cry of outrage. "There was this red mist floating in the air, and I thought it was sand, or even something was wrong with my eyes, but when I inhaled in, I tasted copper and knew it was blood. I knew it was the finest of remnants of my buddy Jelonek."
"Christopher," Jillian whispers with sorrow.
"To this day, I can't eat beef unless it's well done. Like almost burnt to a crisp so I can't taste the blood. And if I see blood, real life or on TV, it feels like someone stacked about ten cinder blocks on my chest. It's hard to breathe. And I try to remember … did he scream before he died? Did he have time to do that? I mean … I don't know because the explosion was so loud that I was temporarily deafened. When I think about it, all I can hope is that he didn't feel anything in that split second from when he was alive to when he was dead, because as bad as my leg hurt, I don't think it would have been anything to the comparison of getting reduced to a bloody mist."
Jillian pushes up and rolls until she comes to lay on top of me. Her hands slide to my face as she peers down at me. "Please tell me you talk to someone about this, Christopher."
I shrug. "I'm talking to you right now."
She shakes her head, those blonde locks rippling around her shoulders. "No … a professional. You can't see something like that and not be haunted. And you can't just bury it."
"I had to talk to plenty of shrinks before I got medically discharged. I'm fine."
Jillian narrows her eyes as best she can with her weak muscles. "You are not fine."
"Okay," I say carefully, pushing a hand around the back of her neck and cupping it. "Maybe I'm not fine, but I'm done talking about that tonight."
Jillian gives out a slight huff of exasperation, but then changes tactics on me. "Fine … let's talk about something else-"
My head comes off the pillow, and I crush my mouth against hers. She jerks against me but then her hands go from my face to around my shoulders, and she's kissing me back hard. I keep this in mind for future conversations, filing away that Jillian is way too easy to distract.
But now I'm the one distracted as I feel my body start to tighten under the warm weight of her body, her breasts pressing to my chest and the feeling of her tongue against mine. My hands slip down, skimming her back, and Jillian rocks her body against me, causing me to groan.
I pull back from the kiss and whisper, "No more condoms."
"We can be creative," she pants at me. "Plenty we can do with hands and mouth."
I groan again and kiss her once more. Hell yes … plenty of stuff we can do without a condom.
Chapter 25
I've pulled the Suburban up to the side of the cabin duplex, busying myself with pulling everything out so I can reorganize. Over the last few days, we've just been throwing shit in the back and it needs cleaned out.
But this is only a cleaning and reorganizational plan because I need something to keep busy until the others get out here. If they like my brilliant idea, we won't be packing up our bags just yet.
The door to the room I was supposed to share with Connor opens, and he steps out. Last I'd checked, he was in the shower, so I decided to clean up the Suburban until he was done. Barb is back in her room, presumably getting ready, as I'd kicked her out of the backseat about fifteen minutes ago. I'd left Jillian still sleeping soundly when I'd come out here, but I assume Barb will wake her up.
"Morning," Connor says with a cheery grin.
I grunt back an acknowledgment to him before leaning into the back of the SUV and grabbing an empty McDonald's bag to throw away. When I pull back, Connor is beside me. He asks, "Need any help?"
Again … very cheery. With a wide, goofy smile. His eyes are shining as he rocks back and forth on his feet with his thumbs hooked into his belt loops at his hips. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was drunk, but he definitely looks like the cat that just ate the canary.
And then it hits me.
My gaze shifts to the door that Barb just walked in, and then back to Connor. I'd found her sleeping in the Suburban, but that didn't mean …
"Did you … and Barb … ?" I let the question hang in the air, but it's clear enough what I mean.
Connor's grin gets bigger. Cheesier. "Let's just say I won't need your help on that one bucket-list item we talked about."
I do a quick, critical scan of Connor. His color looks good, he's clearly riding a wave of smug happiness, and whatever Barb did to him or with him last night must have been good. If that's the case, she just scored big time with me in the respect department.