He’d replayed those words in his head a hundred times since Erin had spoken them. He knew why, too. He was trying to convince himself that he could have what he wanted so much it was like a slow burn in his blood.
One night with Erin Shaw.
He might not have much to give emotionally, but he could give her something else. He could make sure that her first time was good—physically, anyway.
Better than good.
Of course he could never act on his desire. Even if she’d said she’d consider a one-night stand, Erin deserved a hell of a lot more than that.
And it would wreck their friendship. He’d already crossed the line with their conversation that night at O’Malley’s, after she’d made it clear she didn’t want to talk about her love life with him.
Losing Erin’s friendship wasn’t a sacrifice he was willing to make. Not for one night—even if he couldn’t stop himself from fantasizing about what that night might be like.
He’d gotten to that point in his thoughts when his phone rang. It wasn’t a number, or even an area code, that he recognized. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone so he let it go to voicemail, and when a beep indicated a message had been left he listened to it.
“Jake, this is Angie Fiorello. I—”
He snapped the phone shut before he could hear any more.
Erin was forgotten. Pictures came crowding into his head, pictures he’d learned to keep at bay during his waking hours but that still haunted him at night.
Dan in Tikrit, helping him pull bodies out of rubble. Dan fighting alongside him in an Afghan village. Dan laughing and cracking jokes back at the base, his face glowing whenever he showed him pictures of Angie and Paul. Dan refusing to leave him alone after they got the news about Hope.
And a year and a half after Hope died, Dan flipping a coin and watching it come down tails, never knowing he was signing his own death warrant.
Jake didn’t know how much time passed before he was finally able to listen to the rest of Angie’s message.
“I’m sorry to call you, but…it’s Paul. He’s been acting out, getting into trouble at school. I thought maybe if you had time…if you could come for a visit, or even just give him a call…get him to talk about Dan. It’s been six months, and he still refuses to go to grief counseling. This morning I got a call from school and he’s been suspended for fighting. Jake, I’m so sorry to bother you with this but I don’t know what else to do.”
For a long time after he listened to Angie’s message, Jake sat on the couch with his head in his hands.
It hurt to breathe. It felt like he was back in Afghanistan, the first few weeks after Dan’s death.
He would have traded his life for Dan’s in a heartbeat. He still would.
He felt the weightlessness again. Nothing held him to the earth, nothing held him to life. He was already a ghost, with nothing left to do but haunt the living.
Dan had had so much to live for. He’d been so much more than the Army, so much more than the mission. He was a fine soldier, one of the bravest and best Jake had ever served with, but he’d always said that being a husband and father was just as important…and just as tough.
And now Angie and Paul were alone.
After what felt like a long, long time, Jake remembered that he had a bottle of vodka in his freezer. He’d had a scary night a few months back when he’d drunk too much and woken up on his bathroom floor. After that, he never had more than one drink if he was home alone…and he was always home alone.
But now he went to the kitchen and got out the bottle. It was misted over with cold, so icy it numbed his fingers.
He didn’t bother with a glass.
“So, how long have you been volunteering at the clinic?”
Dr. Frank Ellison finished his bite of steak and washed it down with a sip of red wine. “Three years. It’s an excellent program. We’re affiliated with the local Veterans’ Center and the hospital.”
“And most of your patients are dealing with combat-related stress?”
“That’s right. I deal principally with cases of PTSD and TBI.”
Erin nodded. “Post traumatic stress disorder and…what’s the other one?”
“Traumatic brain injury.”
“And are you able to help them? Your patients?”
“Most of them, yes.” Frank smiled at her across the table. “I must say, it’s refreshing to be out with a woman who’s actually interested in what I do. Most of my dates couldn’t care less about the issues veterans have to cope with when they come home. It’s obvious that you have a great deal of compassion, as well as intellectual curiosity.”