A SEAL's Heart (9 page)

“How long have I been saying that Fitz loves you?”

Zuly shrugged. “Since the day you met him?”

“But how many times have you really
listened
to the words? I mean
heard
them?”

“Are you about to make an extremely good point? Or is this going to lead to more physical and verbal abuse?”

Kamilah’s eyes narrowed. “It could be a bit of both.”

Zuly shut up.

Her sister stabbed at the table with her index finger. “Fitz
loves
you. I mean
loves
you. If you were dying from suffocation, he’d give you his last inhale.”

I breathe for you...

“He stares at you like you hold the very purpose of his existence.”

You hold me in the palm of your hand...

“Your opinion means
everything
to him. So if he thought for a moment that there was something he had done that would cause you to look at him differently, sweetheart, he’d try to wipe that very thing from the face of the Earth, never to be brought up again.” Kamilah stared at Zuly with eyes that held insight. “It’s the same reason children hide report cards with bad grades from their parents. The same reason a teenager is terrified to call after their first car crash. The same reason girls will wait until they leave the house to
really
wear what they want. I’ve seen this more times than I can count. Fitz isn’t running because he doesn’t care about your opinion. He’s running because your opinion and the ones his family hold shape who he is as a man. As a brother, a son, an uncle, a SEAL...and a potential husband.”

Zuly’s eyes jerked to her sister’s. Kamilah nodded. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen more love and adoration radiate off a man than when Fitz is near you. Do you get that? He’s held back all this time. He’s battling with whatever he’s done because he wants to be
perfect
for you. And the experience that is haunting him, the PTSD that is haunting him, mars that. It mars the man he wants to be. The
Fitz
he wants to be. You have the ability to cut him
deep,
and he wants to be impenetrable should it ever happen.”

          “He doesn’t
have
to be perfect...” Zuly murmured. “He’s
already
perfect.”

          Kamilah shook her head. “He doesn’t know that. If he goes to therapy. If he admits his problems. If he finishes the rehab on his knee, it would be admitting failure, it would be admitting he’s not made of steel.” Grabbing Zuly’s hand, she squeezed her sister’s fingers. “Z, you have to show him. You have to make sure he understands that his vulnerability isn’t a weakness. That he doesn’t have to always be the hero in your relationship, whether it leads to your admittance of being in love with one another or not. He needs to grasp that it’s okay to need you to hide under sometimes. The moment that clears in his head is the moment he can get help.”

          What was she supposed to say to that? Obviously her sister had been looking at this from a completely different perspective. Zuly had no illusions about the state of Fitz’s mental well being. Seeing a counselor was necessary at this point, and she’d questioned more often than not why he hadn’t taken the steps to do so, but now she had a better understanding. The problem was, how did she get him to see that needing help didn’t make him weak, but the refusal to voice his need
did
?

          Before she could ask that out loud, the phone in her sweat pants pocket began to sing “Titanium,” and without a moment of hesitation, she answered, knowing the ringtone signaled a call from the one person she’d been waiting to hear from for what felt like eternity.

          “Fitz?”

          There was a pause. “Z-Zuly?” His voice sounded garbled. Within a second it changed to something entirely different...almost
perky. “
Hi! I’ve...I’ve been trying to call...call you but this stupid phone.”
Hiccup.
“It wouldn’t work right.”

          Kamilah was gesturing wildly to her but Zuly waved her off.

          Her eyes closed. “Fitz, sweetheart, have you been drinking?”

          “Just a
leetle, teenie, tiny,
bit.” He snorted. “Teenie is a funny word.”

          Zuly bit the inside of her cheek. “Where are you, baby?”

“Uhh...” There was movement--the rustle of sheets if she was guessing right. “I dunno.” He sighed. “I...I think it’s a hotel.” A pause. “A
really
big hotel...like...one of the nice ones. The...the manager is really...really nice. He uh...he gave me a free stay when I told him I used to be a SEAL.” Fitz chuckled but it was humorless. “He didn’t care that I’m damaged.”

She opened her eyes to find Kamilah setting a piece of paper and a pen on the table. “Which one, Fitz?”

His exhale was hard. “I shouldn’t tell you...” he said softly. “I should...should leave you alone. But you told me. You said...you said to call when I need you.” Fitz’s tone went low, sad. “I need you, Z. I need you bad.”

Zuly swallowed the lump in her throat. “I know you do. But you have to tell me which hotel it is so I can come find you, okay?”

“Okay,” Fitz whispered. “If I tell you...you’ll come, right? You...you won’t be angry with me? Like Riley?”

The despondency in his voice broke her heart.

“No, baby. I won’t be angry. Not like Riley. I promise.”

***

“Zuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuly!”

Zuly’s eyes crossed as he swung the heavy wood open to his suite, leaning against the jamb with a crooked grin, his face flushed, eyes glassy.         

         
“Hiya, pretty lady.”

“Handle with care, Z or you both could end up hurt.”

         
Zuly kept Kamilah’s warning in mind. Fitz had been given a suite at a five-star hotel just inside White Sulphur Springs, hours away from home. She stopped, wondering if she should’ve called someone else to come here, wondering what might or might not happen once she got on the other side of the door.

          She knew Fitz would never hurt her, at least not intentionally, but what if she was wrong? What if something happened here that couldn’t be taken back?

          “C’mere.” He reached out and tugged her across the threshold, his movements sloppy and slow as he managed to get her into his arms. “You smell
good.”

          She wrapped her own arms around him just as tightly. “And you smell like a distillery.”

Pulling back, he frowned down at her. “That’s not...not nice.”

Zuly sighed, patted his back. “I’m sorry.”

Swaying back and forth, he started humming a little. “Don’t be mad, okay?”

Biting the inside of her cheek, she nodded. “Okay.”

Fitz let her go and wobbled over to the sitting area where the coffee table was lined with empty bottles. He reached for some of them. “I wanted to clean up before you got here.” His hands missed every attempt to pick up the trash. “But nothing works like its s’posed to right now.” Standing straight, he waved his hands in front of his face, flexing his fingers back and forth like a toddler discovering something new.

Obviously frustrated, he let them drop to his sides, his shoulders slumping. “I fucked up.”

She leaned against the wall and silently watched him flop down on one of the couches.

“I fucked up
sooo
bad,” Fitz continued, lying on his back, eyes toward the ceiling. He glanced at her. “You don’t love me anymore, do you?” Waving his arms, he said, “I wouldn’t...I wouldn’t love me anymore.”

“I’ll always love you, Fitz. That’ll never change.” Zuly walked toward him. “But, sweetheart, you need help.” She took a seat near his legs. “You need to see a counselor.”

He shook his head vigorously. “No. No counselor. I don’t need a fucking counselor.”

“You do.”

Fitz looked to her, eyes wide. “All I need is you...”

Jesus.

          He sat up on his elbows and intertwined their fingers. “That’s all I’ve ever needed.” Rubbing the back of her hand against his face, where his beard had begun to regrow, he added. “My sweet Zuly. All mine
.”

         
She swallowed, whispering, “I can do a lot of things, but I can’t make your PTSD disappear, baby.

          Crystalline eyes open now, he glared at her as he let go of her hand. “You think something’s wrong with me.”

          “No,” Zuly said slowly. “I think you’re hurt and you need to see someone.”

          Fitz turned over, away from her. “No help.” He mumbled, voice beginning to sound farther and farther away. “Just you...always you...”

          Rubbing her temples, Zuly started to stand but his hand shot out to stop her. “Where’re you going?”

          “To clean up.”

          “Unh-unh.” Turning back toward her, he pulled until she lay between his thighs, resting against his chest. “Stay right here...with me...”

          “Fitz–”

          “Shh,” he hushed her. “Just for a little bit?” Pressing his face to her hair, he dropped his tone to a murmur. “Need to feel something other than sad...”

          Hot moisture pricked her eyes. God, she hadn’t cried this much or this often since the nickname
Bush head
had come along and stuck as a kid.

          Zuly settled into his embrace until she was comfortable. “Just for a little bit...”

         
 If the good Lord truly loved him as he said he did, he’d spare Fitz and bring him through the pearly gates now. Like
right
now. What the fuck had he been
thinking?
Why in the name of all that was sweet and holy had he figured a drinking binge would fix his life?

          “God,” Fitz rasped in a whisper as he slowly lifted one hand to cover his eyes, praying he’d never have to experience sunlight again. “I solemnly swear–”

          “You might as well stop, Fitz, because right about now your promises mean shit.”

         
Zuly? Oh, God, Zuly!

          Jerking upwards, his eyes squinted on the figure sitting on the far side of the room and realized it was nowhere near daylight out but that she had all the lights turned on in his suite. His suite that was now spotless...

          She didn’t even lift her head from the magazine in her hands, just turned the pages with an easy demeanor that completely belied the frustration rolling off her.

          “Z–”

          “Do you really wanna do this now?” Zuly questioned, cutting in calmly. “
Right
now?” Those pages kept turning.

          He didn’t know what bothered him more--the fact she wouldn’t look at him or the fact her voice had yet to surpass a whisper. Standing, Fitz pushed his hair back from his forehead before scratching his jaw. “How long have I, uh...” He gestured to the couch.

          “Not that long.” She answered his incomplete question. “About six hours at the most.”

          He nodded, awkwardly searching for his next words. Where did he go from here? He’d confessed the one thing he’d been holding onto for
years,
and then he disappeared just to end up calling her to clean up his shit. How had she not
slit his throat and dumped him by now?