Because of You: A Loveswept Contemporary Military Romance (29 page)

Shane sucked in a deep breath, holding it until he felt a shade steadier. “You know, it’s hard to hear, but, sometimes, moms know a whole lot more than we give them credit for. Maybe she’s telling you she’s grateful you’re still alive, because she is. Did you think of that?”

Shane rubbed his hands over his face. Was he getting through to Osterman at all?
Had he already taken the pills?

“How can she be glad that I’m okay? I’m not her real son. I’m just some stray she picked up off the street. Her real son, he came home in pieces.” Osterman dug his palms into his eyes and Shane saw more tears leaking from beneath his hands. “So did I.”

“One thing I know for sure is that family is not defined by blood. If she thinks …” Shane swallowed and cleared his throat, a lump blocking his words. “If she says you’re family, then, son, you’re family. Don’t run off someone who cares about you. Because most people don’t stick when times get hard.”

Osterman was quiet. “How do I get that picture of Jimmy out of my head?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. “How do I talk to her when all I see is him exploding in front of me?”

Shane didn’t have any answers and for once, he didn’t try. He couldn’t offer advice or counseling. Not on this. “I wish I knew. I know she’s hurting, too, and talking to you must help her in some way. Maybe that’s how you start to heal. You know, helping Jimmy’s mom heal.”

His voice cracked, and Osterman finally let the sorrow escape in great, racking sobs. “Why did he have to die, Sarn’t G? Why couldn’t it have been me instead?”

Shane set the brake and heaved himself out of his chair, ignoring the fire that exploded as he jarred his pins when he dropped to the ground. It was so much harder than dragging himself into bed or off the weight bench in physical therapy, but he didn’t care. He reached into the closet and dragged Osterman against him. And Osterman let it all go, let his pain and sorrow and the guilt tear free until Shane thought it would destroy them both.

There were no words to make the pain stop. Nothing Shane could do to help him through it. He could only offer the understanding of shared experience. Of loss. Of grief for fallen friends and fellow soldiers. That grief never went away, and only time would make the sharp stabbing pain subside to a dull throbbing ache.

Osterman finally eased away, his eyes red and puffy. “I think I need to call Becky,” he said softly.

Some of the tension around Shane’s heart eased back. “She’s right outside, buddy. She’s been here waiting for you this whole time. You just needed to figure that out.”

Osterman nodded and helped Shane back into his chair, then pushed him out of the room. The silence around them was filled with the ghosts of the friends and brothers who’d made the ultimate sacrifice so that men like them could make it home.

For once, Carponti had nothing smart to say as he and Osterman managed to get Shane back downstairs. They nearly fell a half dozen times. Shane was damn near certain Carponti had a joke in there somewhere about the three gimps, but he kept it to himself. At least, for now.

The moment they were outside, Becky rushed up and threw her arms around Osterman’s neck, and sobbed that she was sorry she’d left him alone. One of the MPs started to break them apart but Shane waved them off. There was nothing else Osterman needed at that moment and it seemed like forever before Osterman eased Becky back, a whispered “I’m sorry” tearing from him.

Later, Carponti helped Shane into his truck, and they watched as Osterman went in the other direction, following Becky into the hospital. He wouldn’t be allowed to go home. Not right away. Osterman would spend the night with the hospital psychiatrists,
who would make sure he wasn’t going to hurt himself.

Shane knew Osterman was going to pull through. Sitting in the driver’s seat, Carponti was looking over at him like he’d just moved heaven and earth. Carponti was wrong. He wasn’t a hero—he just hadn’t screwed up today. The sooner they all accepted that, the better it would be. Osterman had finally trusted him with what had been gnawing on his soul. It was more than Jen was willing to do. He needed to pack up his stuff and find a place of his own, where he could figure his life out.

Alone.

Because that’s how it was for him. Even when he’d been married, he’d been alone. Now that his boys were safe, he could finally rest. Alone.

Because he was so damn tired of fighting.

* * *

Shane and Carponti didn’t talk much on the way to Jen’s. His friend’s failure to crack his usual jokes had Shane watching him out of the corner of his eye. He could see stress in the lines between Carponti’s eyebrows and in the way his knuckles stood out stark white on the steering wheel.

“How’d you know Osterman wasn’t going to hurt himself?” Carponti asked quietly.

Shane didn’t answer right away. “I didn’t,” he said, after clearing his throat.

“Yeah, but you just went into his room. The MPs were out there for over an hour before you showed up, and they wouldn’t risk going in. I’m shocked I talked Jake into letting you through.”

Tension squeezed around Shane’s heart again, a vise that prevented him from breathing deeply as he relived that first push through the door. It had felt like being the
first man in a stack to enter a room, the first man in a fatal funnel—only worse, because Shane had been forced to slowly enter the door rather than using violence and overwhelming firepower. “The MPs have protocols for dealing with situations like that. I figured, worst-case scenario, I’ll get shot. Osterman was just— He was just lost.”

Carponti didn’t speak as he pulled onto the road leading to Jen’s house. He put the truck into park next to her property and his eyes stared forward, over the field toward a distant line of woods.

Shane cleared his throat, wishing the block in there would break up. “You had my back today. Thanks.”

“More like I had your ass on my back,” Carponti muttered.

Shane cracked a grin as relief pushed back some of the tension.

“Osterman didn’t know how to deal with what happened to him. With losing guys on our team let alone someone he grew up with.”

Carponti’s fingers twisted on the steering wheel. “How do you deal with it? With the guys we’ve lost?”

Shane rubbed his chest, hoping to ease the ache throbbing there, just above his heart. He was going down a road he’d deliberately avoided until now, but Carponti seemed determined to explore it. “I don’t know.”

Silence filled the truck again, but neither man made a move to leave. Shane sucked in a deep breath. “Man, when you first came to see me, you messed me up. You weren’t feeling sorry for yourself or anything. I still had all my fingers and toes and I couldn’t find the energy to get out of bed. Man, you awed me.”

Carponti cracked a wry grin, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel. “I could
say the same thing. ’Cause the whole time I was in the hospital in Germany, every time I started to get depressed, or feel sorry for myself, I thought about you. Mostly I thought about how heavy you were, when we dragged you across that field. I thought, Sarn’t G would tell me to quit being a crybaby.” Carponti swiped at his eyes. “You getting hit and getting evac’d out, I think that’s why I’m here today.”

He pinned Shane with a hard look, with eyes that had seen all the horrors of hell. A hell that was very, very real, and Carponti had walked right through it.

Shane’s stomach twisted. Carponti blamed him for losing his arm. Guilt pulled Shane a little further into the hole he’d been sliding into all day, but his friend didn’t seem to notice.

“You’re the reason I’m alive. If I hadn’t crawled onto that vehicle, if my arm hadn’t gotten stuck, that secondary explosion would have tore me to shreds. I’m here because of the way you trained me.”

Silence, and Shane had no words to fill it. His throat was blocked.

Then Carponti grinned and just like that, the moment was gone. “Hey, I lost my arm, but I got to keep my ass intact.” He cracked a wide grin but then, just as quickly, turned serious again. “I guess what I’m trying to say is … watching you today with Osterman just proves that you’re still in there.” He glanced over at Shane. “You’re like decrepit and broke, but you still got what it takes to get through to soldiers. So, ah, just don’t forget that. You know, when you have trouble sleeping?”

Shane cleared his throat, unable to speak past the lump. “Yeah. Sleeping is overrated.”

“Yeah.”

Silence stretched between them, and Carponti finally got out of the truck, and moved toward the back.

“Do you ever wonder why you’re here and they’re not?” Shane asked quietly.

Carponti paused as he hoisted the wheelchair from the bed of the pickup. “Every day, man. Every day.”

Shane had no response for that one. Carponti helped him out of the truck, and into his chair, then pulled away, off to meet his wife for lunch. Shane desperately needed a bit of time to pull himself back from the edge. Carponti was coming back in a few hours to pick him up and help him find a place to live. He’d even promised he wouldn’t forget this time.

Once he was inside the house, Shane wheeled himself in front of the mirror in Jen’s guest bedroom. He looked hard at the man staring back at him. He stared down at his legs, the pieces that were still held together with metal and borrowed flesh. There were chunks of muscle missing, large scars deeply grooved into the skin on his legs.

Pieces of him had come back from war, wasn’t that what Osterman had said? He held his two hands out in front of him. His reflection moved, responded to the commands issued by his brain, relayed by his muscles. Living flesh.

He would never be the same again. When he looked at the man in the wheelchair, he saw a stranger. Why had he lived when others had died? Why did he have his legs when others didn’t? He would have gladly given his life to save the men he’d lost. His life. His legs. His fucking soul. Anything would be better than sitting here with a second chance when so many of his boys had gone onto the next life far too soon.

The man looking back at him in the mirror covered his face with his hands and
wept.

* * *

Jen watched him cover his face with his hands. Shane’s back was to the door, so he didn’t see her, hadn’t heard her come in. He dragged his hands across his face, and Jen’s heart broke for him.

He jerked when she placed her hand on his shoulder. Wiping his eyes, he looked up at her with such grief that she wondered how many of the men he’d lost he’d blamed himself for. Looking in his eyes now, she came to a painful realization: all of them. She captured his hand in hers and it was damp from his tears. She crouched down next to him, looking up at him, and prayed that what she was about to say was the right thing.

“I’m so sorry for the men you’ve lost.” She swallowed before she spoke, making sure he couldn’t mistake what she said for anything other than what she truly meant. “But I’m so glad it wasn’t you.”

His mouth pressed into a hard line, the red around his eyes darkening as he watched her, a myriad of emotions flashing across his face. He finally pushed out a heavy sigh. “It should have been.”

“No, Shane. It shouldn’t have.”

He shook his head sadly, avoiding her gaze. “I don’t have a family. No kids who are going to grow up without me. I’ve lived a full life. I’d give anything to bring them back.”

“Osterman’s alive. So’s Carponti. So are dozens of other men who you’ve brought home safe. You told me once you wanted to make a difference. You have, Shane. Why can’t you see that? Why isn’t that good enough?”

“Osterman … he’s got to face his whole life with a missing piece.”

“So what?” Jen tucked her hair behind her ear and leaned away from him. Her fingers slid free from his as anger wrestled with fear inside her. “So he’s missing a part of himself. It doesn’t mean he can’t live a full life.”

“Jen. I didn’t mean—”

“Stop.” She reached up and cradled his face with her free hand. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you.” She bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes. “Are you going to throw away the life you have left?”

She wanted to touch him, but she was too wound up with worry that he’d slide right back down the pit he’d already fought his way out of so many times before. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are, Shane. You’re sitting here now, beating yourself up because you’re here. You made it through. Yes, you’ve got to heal, but today you made a difference. Isn’t that what you wanted to do when you begged me to let you deploy? Isn’t that why you needed to go? Maybe this was the way you were supposed to make a difference.” She leaned forward and pressed her lips to the corner of his, hoping he wouldn’t feel her tremble. He opened his mouth a little, but she pulled back before he could deepen the kiss. “Not to an entire platoon. To one guy.”

He dragged her into his lap, his arms holding her tight, his cheek pressed against the top of her head. She felt the deep shudder run through him and she simply sat, her arms wrapped around him.

His words barely made a sound when he finally spoke. “It’s so goddamn hard accepting that I got a second chance.” His lips pressed against her hair.

“What are you going to do with it?” Her thumb stroked the back of his hand, and
she threaded her fingers through his. His fingers were rough and strong. She remembered that first brush of his knuckles against her hand, the strength she’d felt from him even then.

He glanced down at their linked hands and she saw them through his eyes. She saw the black tattoos covering his forearms marked by pink scars and thought about the contrast between the man’s appearance and the man. For all his harsh exterior, he was a good, kind man.

She cupped his cheek and forced him to meet her gaze. She swallowed, still afraid to speak the words burning in her throat. Afraid because she was pushing him back toward the life he loved, and she was sure that life wouldn’t include her when he was finally whole again.

He tucked her head beneath his chin again and Jen nestled against him, this big, powerful man who’d shown her such tenderness. His eyes shimmered and he pulled her close. “What have I done to deserve you, Jen St. James?”

She simply smiled. “You made me laugh when I badly needed to laugh.”