Fall to Pieces (28 page)

Even though their lives were moving in
different directions, he wasn't ready to let her go.

Dylan would have thought that his years of
combat experience would have taught him how life could change in
the matter of seconds.

The day the bomb sent shrapnel tearing into
his body and killing his friend would have prepared him for facing
his worst fears.

Yet nothing he'd confronted in the past could
have prepared him for today. For having his entire future ripped
away in the time it took the Medical Officer to say a meager five
words.

Not fit for worldwide deployment.

His SO tried to soften the blow, reminding
him of how many INOCONUS opportunities there were.

Dylan sat there, feeling gutted, as the words
bounced meaninglessly through his head. It took all his strength to
keep a lid on his rage, to not start smashing things, to not scream
at McWilliams that the wasn't about to spend the rest of his
military career pushing papers behind a fucking desk.

It was over. Everything he'd worked for,
everything he'd trained for had ended.

And the utterly fucked up thing was that it
had nothing to do with his Goddamn leg. It was his Goddamn heart.
In the course of his physical, Dylan had had one of his mini panic
attacks, his heart racing out of control in a way that no amount of
deep breathing would slow.

He'd tried to explain to the doctor it was
just nerves—this was a big day for him and he had good reason to be
anxious. But the doctor had immediately called in the specialists,
and after a gamut of tests that had included everything from an EKG
to extra blood work, they'd come back with their diagnosis.

Atrial Fibrillation.

The doctor's words came at him in fits and
starts, like a staticky radio station.
Requires ongoing
treatment and monitoring. Not life threatening if treated
properly.

Not life threatening, but it meant he would
never again be in the kind of physical shape required of his role.
He couldn't risk getting light headed and dizzy—or God forbid
something more serious—when he was in the middle of an op. He could
live a normal, healthy,
civilian
life. But he could no
longer be deployed with his team.

He was barely conscious of getting into his
car, starting the drive home. An aimless, unmoored feeling came
over him, like nothing he'd ever experienced. Like there was
nothing holding him to the ground, like he could float off into
space at any moment.

What if the doctor's say you're not able
to do... whatever it is you do?
Sadie''s question rang in his
head, acid eating at his stomach as he remembered his response.

I can't even consider the possibility.

He guessed he would have to consider it
now.

Now his future opened up like the endless
stretch of highway in front of him, with nothing on the horizon to
offer guidance.

He was vaguely aware of an insistent,
electronic buzz. It took him several minutes to realize it was his
phone, buzzing with phone calls and texts from his parents, his
brothers, and Sadie. Everyone knew the evaluation would be over by
now.

He turned it off. The thought of revealing
his failure to anyone made him want to throw up.

Hours later, he pulled into Big Timber's town
limits. He bypassed his parents house, where he knew they would be
waiting eagerly to celebrate the good news. Instead he drove out to
the ranch, relieved that Sadie's car was nowhere in sight, and went
directly to his cabin.

Maybe Jim and Pete would keep him on as a
ranch hand, he thought bitterly as he made a beeline for the liquor
cabinet.

He reached all the way in the back to
retrieve the bottle of Macallan 18, which he'd been saving to share
with Damon and his father when he finally got cleared.

Fuck sharing.

He tipped the bottle directly to his lips.
The first swallow burned all the way down. The second less so. By
the third the scotch was going down like water.

###

Sadie waited for hours at the Decker's house,
waiting to hear from Dylan. The mood went from celebratory, to
concern, to outright worry when hours passed with no word from
Dylan.

With the hope that his exam had been delayed
or was taking longer than expected, Sadie finally headed back home
to get started on her packing.

She pulled into the driveway, breathing a
sigh of relief when she saw Dylan's truck parked in front of his
cabin. The relief was quickly swallowed by a wave of unease. If he
was back, why hadn't he stopped by the house? Why hadn't he
returned any of the increasingly urgent phone calls and texts from
his parents, his brother, or herself.

She started for the cabin and pulled out her
phone to call Dylan's mother.

"That's a relief," Vivian breathed when Sadie
told her Dylan's truck was there in one piece. "But why didn't he
come over? Why didn't he return our calls?"

Sadie pushed open the door to the cabin and
recoiled at the gasoline-like smell of liquor. "I'm not sure," she
said, her stomach sinking as she spotted Dylan sitting on the
couch, staring at the dark TV screen. "But I'll call you back as
soon as I find out."

She called his name. He didn't so much as
flinch to acknowledge he'd heard her. She walked over to the couch.
His gaze remained fixed forward as he tilted a half empty bottle of
scotch to his lips.

"What happened?" She sank down next to
him.

"I didn't pass."

Sadie's stomach fell somewhere around her
feet. "I thought that wasn't a possibility."

He barked out a laugh. "Yeah, well, I guess I
was a little too glass half-full on this one, because according to
the doctors my heart problem makes me unfit for duty."

Her stomach dropped to the floor. "Heart
problem?" Right now her own felt like it was going to beat out of
her chest.

"Don't worry—it's just atrial fibrillation—an
abnormal heart rate. Nothing that can't be treated," he said and
brought the bottle to his lips again. "Nothing that will keep me
from a healthy
civilian
life," he sneered.

A wave of relief washed through her. While
she'd be lying if she tried to deny there was a big part of her
that was happy he wouldn't be facing death in combat on a regular
basis, her heart ached at what she knew had to be a crushing
disappointment.

"I know how hard this must be for you." She
laid her hand on his arm.

He snatched it away, turning to her with a
face so full of rage she recoiled. "Do you? Do you have any fucking
clue how it feels to have your entire future ripped away from
you?"

"I'm sure it feels that way now but you're
smart, you're capable, you'll find something else—"

"Like what? Like take over my father's
fucking garage? Or go to work for my brother in his mini empire?"
He took another swig of scotch.

Part of her knew it was a bad idea to even
engage with him right now. But she didn't know this Dylan, this
person fueled by a toxic mixture of rage and scotch. Somehow she
felt if she just kept talking, she could get through to the Dylan
she knew and loved. "Not if you don't want to. This could be an
opportunity to pursue something else. Go somewhere new."

He slammed the bottle down and erupted from
the couch. "I've been a soldier for the past ten years. What the
fuck else am I supposed to do? Where the fuck should I go?"

She threw her hands up. "You could go
anywhere—you could come with me to San Francisco and work on your
writing, maybe take some classes—"

"Come with you to San Francisco? Yeah, that's
exactly what you need, some loser mooching off of you."

"It wouldn't be like that. We would be
together. We talked about seeing each other—now this way neither of
us would have to fly."

If the undertone of desperation in her voice
wasn't enough to make her wish for a hole to open in the floor and
swallow her up, the way his shook his head, an almost pitying look
in his eyes, would have done it.

"Come on, Sadie. You know girls like you
aren't supposed to end up with guys like me."

Pain wrenched at her chest so hard she was
surprised there wasn't an audible crack. Her vision wavered, and
just like that she was seventeen again, mooning over Dylan, as
Jennifer Kramer set her straight.

She could tell herself all the lies she
wanted, hang on to the false hope he'd given her by saying he
didn't want to end things yet.

But the truth had been staring her in the
face all along. She might have outgrown the skinniness, and the
awkwardness to become what many people considered beautiful. But in
the end, Dylan Decker was as unattainable now as he'd been in high
school.

"Fuck, Sadie," he started towards her, hand
held out, and she took an instinctive step back. Certain that if he
so much as brushed her with his fingers, she would shatter into a
million pieces. "That didn't come out the way I meant it—"

"Don't—don't explain," she said, marveling at
how steady she sounded. "I always knew, going into this. I always
knew."

She fled for the door, ignoring him when he
called after her, determined to salvage what little pride she had
left.

###

Sadie managed to avoid Dylan for the next two
days as she packed her belongings and said her goodbyes.

"But you're not supposed to leave until next
week!" Molly protested frantically when Sadie stopped by the
restaurant between lunch time and the dinner rush, when she knew
her friend would have a break. "We were going to throw you a
party!"

"Some things came up, and they wanted me to
start sooner." It was only a partial lie. In truth, Sadie had
called Cynthia and asked for an earlier start date, even though she
knew Molly wanted to plan a big send off.

She wasn't in any mood for any kind of
celebration, and she saw no reason to linger in Big Timber longer
than necessary.

Not when the two men she cared most about
made it clear that there was nothing to keep her here.

Just yesterday she'd gotten her period,
confirming their indiscretion in the barn hadn't resulted in any
lasting consequences.

Though she was nowhere near ready to be a
mom, and would never use a baby to tie Dylan to her, her heart
pinched a little just the same.

She left Molly with a tearful hug and a
promise to visit at Christmas, if not before.

The next morning, her car packed, she was
ready to say goodbye.

"You drive safe," her father said in a hoarse
voice as she returned his uncharacteristically fierce hug.

"I will."

"Promise to call me as soon as you get into
your hotel tonight," he said as he released her.

"Promise."

Next came Pete, who gave her a quick squeeze
and assured her that no matter how things had changed, she'd always
be welcome home.

She barely squeezed her thanks around the
lump in her throat. "I know the ranch is in the best of hands."

Sadie started for her car as the two men
ambled off.

"Sadie."

Every nerve electrified at the deep, too
familiar voice. Fighting the urge to run to her car and drive away
like a coward, she turned to face Dylan.

His face was somber as he walked toward her,
his thumbs hitched in the waistband of his faded jeans. Like a
dying woman in the desert, she drank in the sight of him, as though
committing him to memory.

Not that she needed to. Every last detail of
him, their time together, the way he made her feel, was seared into
her soul.

"So this is it, you're taking off," he said
as he stopped a few feet away from her.

She pressed her lips together and nodded.

He took a hesitant step forward, then
stopped. He was silent for several seconds, his eyes running over
her face, her body, as though he too were trying to imprint her
into his memory.

His mouth moved, as though he was searching
for words.

She could think of several things she would
die to hear.

I made a mistake.

I want us to be with you.

I love you.

"I never meant to hurt you."

Something inside her collapsed into itself,
and she blinked against the sting of tears. Her mouth pulled into a
tight, mirthless smile. "I never meant to get hurt. But we've both
learned the hard way things don't always go the way we want them
to."

###

It was for the best, Dylan told himself as he
stood rooted in place as Sadie's car disappeared down the
drive.

Never mind that he had been haunted by the
memory of her face the exact moment that he broke her heart.

Never mind that he had spent the last two
days resisting the urge to go to her and explain himself. Tell her
that he didn't mean he didn't want to be with her.

But that a smart, beautiful, successful woman
like her shouldn't tie herself to a man like him.

A man who was adrift. Rootless. Completely
clueless as to what his future held.

A man who could only drag her down.

So even though he knew she was hurting, he
resisted the urge to soften the blow. Now she could move to San
Francisco free and clear, get back to the life she was supposed to
lead.

Leaving him to stagger around until he found
his own path.

It was for the best.

Yet, no matter how many times he repeated it
to himself, it didn't do a damn thing to help heal the giant
sinkhole that had opened up where his heart used to be.

###

The next few days passed in the same grinding
pattern. Dylan spent the daylight hours doing whatever mindnumbing,
physically exhausting task Pete would throw at him. As soon as the
sun went down he worked his way through a bottle of scotch, trying
to drown out the memories of Sadie that lived in every corner of
the tiny cabin.