Gifts of Honor: Starting from Scratch\Hero's Homecoming (11 page)

“You mean you really don’t know?”

He stared at her warily. “Oh, hell. Did I miss some weird friend-related anniversary that women make a big deal of, but men couldn’t give a shit about?”

“Sex,” she hissed so that the rest of The Dirty Duck patrons didn’t hear. “I had sex with Sullivan last night. I thought you saw him leave my place early this morning, around the time I left to put together Her Majesty’s stupid gingerbread house from hell.”

She had to give it to him—Coe could pull one spectacular surprise face when he wanted to. “What. The actual. Fuck.”

“That phrase has occurred to me as well.”

“He’s recovering from a closed-head injury. What’s your excuse?”

“I knew it would be hard to live in Bitterthorn once Sullivan returned home,” she muttered without answering. Basically because she had none. “But I thought I was prepared, you know? Even before his brain hit the delete button when it came to me, I wasn’t sure where our relationship was headed after he’d re-upped. I talked myself into believing I could live in this town when he came back and not...not...”

“Have sex.”

She sighed and set the menu aside. “Yeah.”

“Sometimes I wish you were a guy. This conversation would be way easier if you were a guy.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you, Luce. I know how you view sex, and I know how the male gender looks at it.” He waited until she gave her order to the waitress before continuing. “This’ll probably come as a shock to you, but guys look at sex differently than you hearts-and-flowers women.”

“Wow, you’re right. I’m shocked beyond words. What a freaking news bulletin, Captain Obvious.”

“Guys are simple creatures,” he said, ignoring her. “They just want to get laid. It feels good, so they do it. But you women are hardwired to think for the long-term—could this guy be a good provider, a good breeder? If he is, I want to be with him for the long haul, so I’d better get all romantic and lovey-dovey so I can stomach his ass for fifty years. That’s when it gets messy.”

Lucy tilted her head, considering. “I don’t think I’ve ever consciously thought of the word
breeder
in my life. Oh, wait. I just did.”

“The point is that if you thought more like a guy, you’d be happy with what you had and move on from there.”

“Last night I thought I could do that. I really did. But then morning came and reality came with it.”

“Oh, that sucks. I hate it when it does that.”

“It was so perfect, waking up with Sully.” She dragged a hand through her hair, trying to find the right words. “But then it hit me. While last night had been fun for the both of us, I was the only one thinking how wonderful it would be to wake up with him
every
morning.”

“Like it was in the past?”

“Exactly.”

Coe shook his head. “The past is dead and buried, Luce, and if you keep trying to hold on to it, it’s only going to kill what you’ve got in the present. You can’t keep sinking yourself into misery every time Sully looks your way.”

She arched a haughty brow as her lunch arrived. “I don’t sink myself into misery.”

“You love Sully, even though he not only doesn’t love you back, he doesn’t even
remember
you, right? Sounds like misery to me, and that’s sad to watch, because you’re the only one who can pull yourself out of this.” He gave the meager cup of soup she ordered a dirty look. “That’s all you’re having?”

“I have to hurry back to the gingerbread house of horrors and finish decorating it with Pauline,” she muttered, grabbing up a spoon. “What do you mean, I’m the only one who can pull myself out? What am I supposed to do, wave a magic wand and bring all of Sullivan’s memories back?”

“This isn’t about
Sully
. It’s about
you
. You could try being happy with what you have, live in the moment and move on once it’s done. That’s so much better than living in the past and lamenting how much you’ve lost, isn’t it?”

Part of her knew Coe had a point—she should be happy with the time she’d had with Sully when he’d come so close to dying. And maybe it was selfish to wish for him to remember her, when he’d gotten so much back. But Coe made it sound like cutting off her emotions was as easy as turning off a light switch. It
wasn’t
easy and dammit, she
was
selfish—selfish enough to hold out the stupid hope that somehow, some way, a miracle would happen and she’d be important to Sully once more.

Chapter Ten

Not even his physical therapists had put him through this much torture, was all Sully could think. Sandwiched in between an empty-headed beauty queen and the mayor, there was no way to escape the horrific rendition of “Sleigh Ride” played by the town’s high school band. With a chubby-cheeked kid clacking two pieces of wood together whenever the spirit moved him rather than at the end to emulate a whip cracking, Sully thought of faking a headache to get the hell out of there.

From what he could see as he checked out the other attendees of the Christmas Ball, he wasn’t the only one hoping to make an exit, discreet or otherwise. Though the turnout for the mayor’s Christmas Ball was good, no one seemed happy to be there. Most were dressed in Christmas finery, with dresses that sparkled like ornaments and tailored suits with appropriately festive ties no self-respecting guy would have picked out himself. Somehow he’d gotten talked into his medal-bedecked ASU—Army service uniform—along with several former members of the military now residing in Bitterthorn, but the uptight formality made him want to break out in hives. Worse, the mayor’s mausoleum-like manor only added to the pretentious atmosphere. Every available inch of mahogany-paneled wall space in the great room was covered in gilt-edged family portraits. Most of the people in the paintings looked as disapproving as the current Mayor Weems, with her helmet of brown hair and pinched face that hadn’t changed from the time she’d first been elected mayor when he was a boy.

If Lucy had been there, they could have built a great hypothesis on whether or not the good mayor’s own portrait was actually hidden upstairs with Dorian Gray’s.

His sigh was covered by the orchestra’s abysmal transition from “Sleigh Ride” to “My Country, ’tis Of Thee”—two pieces that, until now, had never been put together in the history of music.
Lucy
. No matter where his thoughts began, they always wound up on her doorstep. He would have loved it if they could have spent the day together, but apparently even on Christmas Eve there was work to be done. When he’d stopped by Pauline’s, she’d been nowhere to be found, with the kid behind the counter assuring him that Lucy was busy putting the finishing touches on the Christmas Ball catering so that it would be the best ever.

He didn’t give a damn about it being the best ever. All he wanted was Lucy.

At last the interminable concert was over. Before Mayor Weems could make yet another speech over how proud the town was to welcome him home and how she personally appreciated his service to the country, he pretended he saw someone he needed to speak to. Without looking back he headed determinedly out to the foyer and wondered if enduring that opening concert—no doubt the longest ten minutes of his life—was all that was required of him. Hadn’t his father said everyone would understand if he blew out of there early? Ten minutes was definitely early, but was it
too
early?

Lucy would know. If she’d been with him, they probably would’ve already been planning their escape.

Ah
,
Lucy.
I
can’t even figure out how to gracefully bail out of a party without you.

The grand foyer was like a mini-rotunda with fluted columns around the room and there was a dizzying pattern in the inlaid green-and-white marble flooring that made him feel ill. A thin spire of a Christmas tree stood at the center, encased in white decorations, ribbon and white lights. It was about as warm as an icicle but at least the whimsical gingerbread castle set before it to greet the guests softened the soulless holiday decor. The table on which the castle sat was also part of the scene, covered in white and surrounded by a forest of upside down ice-cream cone “trees” that were decorated as lavishly as the candy-button and gumdrop-festooned castle. A small army of gingerbread men and women covered the grounds as well—some skating on a pond of aluminum foil, while others seemed to be decorating trees, while still others were in caroling groups. The scent of creamy rich sweetness perfumed the air, bringing back memories of the night before. His body tightened with the rampant desire to get the hell out of there and just...find her. Seduce her. Make himself as necessary to her as air. There was no reason why he should be made to stand there without Lucy in his arms. It was a goddamn travesty.

“Do you like it?”

For a moment Sully believed he was hallucinating. His heart paused as his eyes opened, braced to find himself alone with his lover’s voice proving to be nothing more than a phantom concocted by his scrambled mind. But there Lucy stood, in simple black pants and a white top, looking tired but pleased with the gingerbread display.

“Pauline and I worked on this candy-coated nightmare all freaking day but it turned out great. Just don’t touch any of the icing until Weems lets the guests dig into it. It’s still wet.”

“Is it?” A giddy thrill at having her there sent his spirits soaring, and without a qualm he swiped his finger at a gooey drift of white icing.

An angry-cat hiss escaped her. “Do you want a spanking?”

“Hell, yes please, if you’re offering one.”

“
Sullivan
...”

“I’ve been craving you, sweetheart.” With his blood doing a slow burn in his veins, he smeared the icing onto her unpainted lips before pushing his fingertip into her mouth. He groaned, helpless, when she automatically sucked his flesh clean, her tongue lapping at him while her teeth held him still. Hot damn, he had to do this with his dick when they were alone tonight. “I smell anything sweet and I go insane with needing you.”

He heard her breath tremble as he leaned in to lick the icing off her lips. It was the most arousing sound in his universe. Ravenous for more, he took her mouth under his and savored the sweetness of sugar and the flavor that was uniquely Lucy. His thoughts went into a tailspin as her kiss filled his senses, and he could only marvel at her staggering effect. Every time. Every damn time she brought him to his knees. And God help him, he couldn’t be happier about it. All the training he went through to be unyielding, all the missions he went on that had made him as hard and cold as steel—all of it was nothing in the face of Lucy. She unmanned him simply by breathing.

A bright laugh sounded in the direction of the great room, a rude reminder that they weren’t the only people on the planet. Sullivan lifted his head, still lost in the lush fog of need, but that fog quickly cleared when she stepped out of his reach, wiping a violent hand over her mouth as if...

As if she wanted to erase his kiss.

“This isn’t going to work.” She said it as if she were remonstrating herself for being a bad girl, and alarm jolted through him when she lifted eyes full of raw anguish. “I thought maybe I could be like a man and enjoy a purely physical relationship, no strings attached. But...I can’t. I’m one huge massive ball of fail at separating my feelings. Physical and emotional...it all gets confused in my head, and now I’ve set myself up for yet another doomed relationship with you. If I stop now, before we get too involved, maybe it won’t hurt so much the second time around.”

This didn’t sound good. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about facts, and the fact is you don’t love me, Sullivan. You never did.”

He almost flinched as something icy plunged into his chest. “Why do say that? We were married.”

“Your being married to me doesn’t mean you loved me. At least, not the way I loved you. I’ve grown enough over this past year to admit that I need more. But deep down I know I’ll
never
get that from you, so as much as I love being with you, there’s no point in prolonging this.”

The words hit him like a slap in the face, and that gnawing, frustrated sense of failure that always came with the blank spots in his memory exploded in his head. “So...what? You’re just going to give up on me because I wasn’t perfect back then? Because I don’t even remember not being perfect? Do you want me to apologize for whatever happened in the past? Do you want me to apologize for not being able to remember it?”

“No, of course not. If anything, I wish
I
had retrograde amnesia too. That way we’d be even, and I could forget all about you and not feel anything.”

If her earlier words were a slap, her genuine longing to forget him was a bare-knuckled punch. No matter how unfair it probably was, it hurt like hell that she didn’t want to have even a memory of him in her mind. “Maybe that’s what I did,” he growled, his teeth bared as he let the anger swallow up the hurt inside. “Think about it. I’ve come to remember nearly everyone in town, but not
you
. So maybe you’re right—maybe I didn’t love you and I wanted to forget you. Maybe I couldn’t wait to forget you.”

As soon as the poison-edged words hit the air he wanted to pull them back. But there was no way to retract the devastation that rounded her eyes.

Oh
,
shit.

“Wait...no. Lucy—”

“I’m done. I’ve tried everything to get around our past, your forgetting me...but I’m done now. I deserve better than this. Do us both a favor and forget about me. Again.” With that, she turned and vanished through a narrow hallway.

* * *

Lucy didn’t remember the drive home, or even how she got into the loft. She was just suddenly there, dry-eyed, turning on the lights—with the pointed exception of the Christmas tree—and dragging her battered suitcases out of the closet. She didn’t have much. Life as a military wife was such that it made sure you knew how to pack light and not let material possessions weigh you down.

Which was a good thing, because at long last the truth had reared its ugly head. And it was a simple one, as truths go—there was no way she and Sully could live in Bitterthorn and have any amount of peace. She’d been out of her mind to have even tried.

Dragging her clothes, hangers and all, out of the closet, she threw them into a case, then caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the inside of the door. What she saw shocked her in a dim sort of way. There was no knife in her heart. No gory chunks torn out of her. No pallor of death. She was pale, yes, and there was no life in the dull, dry eyes staring back at her. But the wounds bleeding in the tattered remains of her soul were strangely invisible.

Sully had broken her. By saying aloud the secret suspicion that had burned inside her heart like acid, he finally broke that last precious thread of hope holding her together. How strange it was that there were no visible signs that she was now in pieces.

There was no medical proof Sully wanted to forget her, of course. She didn’t need it. Hell, it was so obvious it was a wonder Sully had just now recognized it. He’d volunteered for a second tour to get away from her. After waking from his coma he’d screamed whenever he saw her. He’d been eager to see the end of a marriage that he’d wanted to be free of. And he’d regained so much of his memory—from some random promise to mail off Christmas presents to an old army buddy’s family, to the moths that had flown out of the tree the year before—while his brain refused to acknowledge her existence.

At each turn, Sully had rejected her in every way a human can reject another. Why it had taken her so long to realize this was a goddamn mystery.

A wave of grief hit, and for only a moment she closed her eyes. The hurt was beyond anguish and so deep she couldn’t even cry. She could barely breathe. Forcing herself to move before she imploded, Lucy operated on autopilot, dragging the still-partially packed box of shoes at the bottom of the closet to the middle of the floor and began clearing the nightstand. If she was efficient about it, she’d be packed up and ready to go in no time. The worst part would be writing a letter of resignation to Pauline and Willard and saying goodbye to Coe. But something told her they’d understand. In all probability, she was the last one to realize her time in Bitterthorn had been destined to come to this exact end.

* * *

You don’t love me
,
Sullivan.
You never did.

Trudging up the outside steps to his apartment, Sully’s eyes pounded with the headache he’d only thought about faking earlier. Served him right, he couldn’t help but think as he fished for his keys. The moment Lucy left him, the headache slammed him along with that panicky feeling he now knew was tied to her, though he wasn’t sure why.

There were so many things he wasn’t sure about when it came to Lucy. Only one thing was clear—he’d hurt her tonight, and it was a hurt he needed to undo.

It just drove him to the point of frustrated insanity, how she kept trying to push him away when it was obvious their chemistry was so hot the Department of Defense should study them for nuclear capabilities. Try as he might, he couldn’t fathom why she chose to bury herself in ice, distancing herself from something so amazing and rare it had to be a once-in-a-lifetime kind of miracle.

Only...

It wasn’t her first time around for this particular miracle. Sully frowned as he tried to find the right key. If they’d shared this sort of chemistry before he lost his memories, she should be happy it was back in action, shouldn’t she? It didn’t make any damn sense that she wanted to keep her distance.

Unless that was all wrong. Maybe they hadn’t been that hot before. Or maybe...maybe he’d done something to make her want to keep her distance in spite of their chemistry.

You keep leaving me.

You don’t love me
,
Sullivan.

He winced as pain stabbed like a knife in the middle of his forehead. In an effort to distract himself, Sully tried to imagine what it must have been like to be Lucy’s husband. Had they been this hot before he got his brain rearranged? When he’d been recovering in the hospital and was finally able to grasp that the woman who kept coming to visit was his wife, that’s when the strange panic had coalesced. Eventually he’d rationalized it was because he was tied to a woman he didn’t know and was supposed to feel something for. He hadn’t wanted to pretend though. He’d had too much respect for the woman who seemed so determined to stay by his side to lie to her. It was out of that respect, and that strange, frantic feeling he’d assumed stemmed from being trapped, that he had cut her loose.