Disarm Page 2

  The last time I’d had sex was more than a year ago, when my relationship with a guy from work fell apart a few months after Jason’s death. I hadn’t been able to cope with the grief and Brian had been inept at offering comfort, so the relationship ended. Still, even though Brian hadn’t been the best lover, he’d been a step up from the Rabbit.

  That was around the time my friendship with Henry was tested and cemented, when we fought and made up in cycles due to our grief. But at the end of it, Henry and I emerged with an unshakable bond forged out of loss. He and I became family.

  “What are you up to today?” he asked, scratching at the dark hair on his chest.

  “Just going to run at Earlywine,” I said, finishing my eggs. “Why, did you want to do something?”

  “Nah,” he said, holding his head in his hands. “I’m just going back to bed. Sleep off this hangover.”

  “You’re hungover?” I asked. We had left Tapwerks soon after that charged moment on the dance floor. He had only had the shot and one beer.

  He gathered the empty dishes and placed them in the sink. “I had a few more beers after you went to bed last night.”

  I raised my eyebrows. This was the third time in so many weeks he’d been drinking alone. Something was definitely bothering him. “Henry,” I began, leaning against the sink. “Do you want to talk?”

  He scratched the scruff on his face, considering me for a moment. “Maybe some other time,” he said and walked back to his bedroom.

  * * *

  I threw some laundry in the washer and tidied my room, giving Henry plenty of time to come find me and spill his guts. At around three o’clock, I finally admitted that he was really not going to talk, so I put on my workout clothes and drove to the park to run my worries away.

  Earlywine is a large grassy area that spans three blocks with a waterpark in the center as well as a YMCA building. A two-lane running track borders the park and, as usual, was busy on a warm Sunday afternoon. Everywhere I looked, families were grilling, kids were playing soccer, and people were running or power walking. As I watched the activity, I was struck with a sudden bout of homesickness. I hadn’t made it back home to California since Christmas and I was starting to miss my parents, but going back home meant going back to the place I knew Jason best, and it still hurt, even after all this time.

  I eyed the cute guys as I ran to take my mind off things, and God help me, I couldn’t help but imagine each good-looking guy running naked. It was all Henry’s fault, rousing my sex drive with that little stunt he pulled last night. I’d suppressed my appetite for so long that I’d become comfortable with it, but it had awakened and boy, was I ravenous.

  A guy ran past me, wearing shoes, shorts, and little else. As he zipped by, I was able to give his backside a nice inspection. He had nice, sweaty muscles on his back, and his calves were well defined as he ran. He must have sensed my ogling because he looked over his shoulder and flashed a toothy grin, urging me to catch up.

  I geared up to run faster when I heard someone calling my name. I stopped when I saw Danielle, the girlfriend of one of Henry’s buddies, coming my way.

  “Hey!” I greeted, casting one last glance at the guy, hoping he’d do another lap of the park. I turned my attention back to Danielle, noting her running outfit. “You look great.”

  She smiled widely. “Thanks. I reached my goal weight last week, so I bought a new outfit to celebrate.”

  I gave her a thumbs-up. Danielle had been overweight when we met at a party several months ago, but now she was wearing capri pants and a tank top and looking healthier than ever. I suddenly felt frumpy in my running shorts that bunched in the middle and old UCLA T-shirt with a hole in one of the armpits.

  “So, are you ready for the deployment?” Danielle asked as she began her leg stretches.

  I froze. “What deployment?”

  “Didn’t Henry tell you?” she asked, a look of trepidation crossing her face. “The squadron is leaving in two weeks.”

  “What?” My heart, which was already trying to recover from running too fast, was now thundering again. “How long have they known?”

  “Mike knew two months ago,” she said with an apologetic shrug.

  I tried to rack my brain for reasons why Henry wouldn’t tell me about the deployment and only one thing came to mind. “They’re headed to Afghanistan, aren’t they?” I asked through the lump in my throat.

  Danielle’s shoulders slumped. “Why wouldn’t he tell you? Aren’t you roommates?”

  My nose was flaring unattractively, I was so mad. “Yes, we are.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stir up trouble.”

  I gave her the feeblest smile I could manage under the circumstances. “It’s not your fault.” I said my good-byes and headed to my car. Henry wasn’t going to have the chance to die in Afghanistan like my brother because I was going to kill him first.

  2

  LOCK AND LOAD

  I wasn’t overreacting to the news of the deployment. At least, I didn’t think so. It’s just that, when it comes to secrets, Henry and I haven’t had the best track record. First there was the Bobby Santos incident in high school. Bobby was a sweet—if a little too shy—guy who had solicited Henry’s help to ask me to the senior prom, knowing that Jason would have likely said no. Somehow, Henry had managed to forget to tell me, and I’d only found out about it after the event, when Bobby’s cousin confronted me in the hallway for standing him up. Henry had apologized, saying he simply forgot, that he had other things on his mind. Forgot, my ass.

  Then there was the secret to end all secrets, the one that almost prompted me to move out. Henry had known about Jason’s death pretty much the same day it happened, but he didn’t tell me until much later, when the official word came out and family and friends were notified. He told me he was trying to protect me, that he wanted to delay the moment when my life changed. Now I’m able see it for the thoughtful gesture it was, but back then, I had been so livid I had left without a word and hadn’t come back from California for an entire week. Jason’s funeral wasn’t held until a month later, when his body was finally returned, but at the time, I’d just needed to get away.

  To this day, I still wondered how he managed to act normally and not give away the secret that his best friend had been killed in action. Henry, it appeared, was a very convincing actor.

  So really, I wasn’t overreacting when, on the way home from the park, I ran a red light, nearly rammed into the slow-moving apartment-complex gate, and parked my Prius like a drunk driver. I tore up the concrete stairs of the building and entered our apartment, slamming the door behind me. “Henry!” I shouted, stalking over to his bedroom and pounding my fist on his door, relishing the idea of aggravating his hangover. “Henry Mason Logan, you get your ass out here right now!”

  His door opened a crack and he peered out, his face a scruffy, rumpled mess. “What the hell?” he croaked.

  “Are you deploying to Afghanistan in two weeks?”

  The sleep slid off his face immediately. “Yeah.”

  “Were you planning on ever telling me?”

  “Yeah. Eventually.”

  “When? On your way onto the plane?” I willed the tears back. “Why didn’t you tell me? I thought we were friends!”

  He threw open the door, looking weary. “I didn’t know how to tell you.” He took a step closer, but I stepped back.

  “I think a ‘Hey, I’m going to the place where your brother died’ would have sufficed.”

  “That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you. I knew you’d freak out.” He ran a hand through his short, dark hair.

  “How can I not freak out? Jason went there and never came back!” My entire body was shaking from the effort of trying not to cry. Henry had seen me cry plenty of times before, but somehow it seemed important that I kept my cool now.

  “W
hat happened to Jason won’t happen to me.” He approached me with outstretched arms. “Elsie . . .”

  “I don’t care,” I said, evading his touch. I was being unfair; I knew this, and yet I couldn’t stop the hysteria from taking over. My control evaporated and the tears rushed down my cheeks in rivulets. Jason’s death was a mark on my heart that would stay with me forever. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what losing Henry would do to me too. “Is there any way you can get out of it?” I whispered. “Please?”

  I felt like a selfish moron for asking, but I couldn’t help it; I was nearing desperation. If Henry went to Afghanistan, he would never come back—I felt the certainty lodged deep in my gut.

  Henry’s dark eyebrows drew together as he shook his head. His jaw was stiff when he said in an irritated tone, “You know I can’t.”

  “But—”

  He took hold of my arms. “Listen to me, Elsie. I can’t. It’s not possible,” he said firmly, then added in a softer tone, “but I would if I could.”

  I couldn’t say anything, didn’t even know what I’d say if my vocal cords weren’t tied up in knots, so I walked away and hid from the truth in my bedroom.

  * * *

  I didn’t talk to Henry for the next twenty-three hours. I needed a little time to cool down, to think through my anger to keep from saying things I would really regret.

  I couldn’t decide which hurt more: the fact that he was headed to the place that claimed my brother or the fact that he didn’t tell me.

  Anger and fear—mostly fear, if I was being completely honest—roiled inside me in waves. If I saw Henry, I didn’t know if I’d want to plant a fist in his stomach or if I’d want to grab hold of him and never let go.

  He was up before me the next morning, waiting in the kitchen with an olive branch in the form of a perfectly made cup of coffee. But I brushed past him and made my own in a to-go cup, not bothering to say good-bye before I walked out the front door.

  I stayed at work until seven thirty and ate dinner with a coworker before I finally decided to go home. Henry had fallen asleep on the couch, a book lying open on his stomach.

  I crept closer out of curiosity and saw the book’s title: The Art of War by Sun Tzu. How apt, since we were in the middle of a battle of our own.

  I meant to leave but something about the way he slept compelled me to stay, how his eyebrows were drawn together even in sleep, his mouth pursed in a thin line. For a minute, I set aside my anger and remembered the very first time we met. We had just moved to Monterey after Dad retired from the Air Force, so Jason was the new kid at the high school. Henry had introduced himself at the lunch line and invited Jason to sit with his friends. Not too long after that, Henry came over for dinner.

  I was still in junior high then, all sass and gangly limbs, with curls that always frizzed by the end of the school day, so I was not prepared at all when the boy of my dreams walked through the front door after my brother. Henry sported dark, unruly long hair and a quiet intensity to match. He didn’t smile much because of his braces, which gave him a sullen mien, but he was good-looking even then. To my teenage eyes, he was hotter than anything Tiger Beat had to offer, hotter even than Jonathan Taylor Thomas.

  “Your hair is out of control,” he told me as we shook hands.

  “Yours is worse,” I said without hesitation.

  He smiled then, all braces and crinkly eyes, completely transforming his entire face. Just like that, I was a goner.

  His long hair and best friend were both gone now, and whatever Henry and I had left in common was fast dwindling. And the one thing we had for sure—the trust—was being put to the test.

  I wasn’t a complete unreasonable dumbass though. I knew that families said good-bye to their loved ones every day, that I wasn’t the only person in the world in this situation. Plenty of service members were gone for a year at a time—missing birthdays, anniversaries, even the birth of a child—and I certainly wasn’t the only person in the world to lose a loved one to the war.

  I knew this, and yet my heart would not stop aching anyway. Henry was leaving in two weeks. I’d be alone in this apartment with only my fears and bad dreams to keep me company.

  Henry made a little sound in the back of his throat, a cross between a moan and a growl, but he remained asleep. I felt the last of my anger melt away when the crotch of his jeans started to stir, but before I could even see where that would lead I nudged him awake. “Henry.”

  He opened his eyes and his sleepy smile just about melted my panties. Did he look like that right after sex? Why was I suddenly so intent on finding out?

  “Hey,” he said huskily. His hand shot out and grabbed mine to keep me from leaving again. “Talk to me, Els.”

  I searched his face and found regret. “I wish you’d told me.”

  His eyes held mine. “Believe me, so do I,” he said. “I hated having to keep it from you, but I really couldn’t find the right way to tell you.”

  I gave a short nod. “I know. But I need to know I can trust you—”

  “Of course you can trust me.”

  “—to treat me like an adult.”

  He sighed, his wide chest rising and falling. “I can’t help it. I’ve always felt protective of you.” I felt him squeeze my hand. “And I know you’re an adult. You’ve grown up into a beautiful, wonderful woman.”

  Even though my face felt warm, I said, “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

  “Sometimes it gets me out of trouble,” he said with a grin. “So we have this weekend to do something fun. What should we do?”

  I raised my eyebrow. “You want to spend your last weekend with me? You’re not going to go see your parents?”

  “No.” He said nothing else about the complicated relationship with his parents. He never did. “And most of my predeployment ducks are in a row. So I’m all yours this weekend.”

  I thought of something we hadn’t done in a while, something we’d loved doing when Jason was still around. “How about we go hiking and camping at Red Rock Canyon?”

  “And some rappelling?” he asked, his eyes bright with excitement.

  “Definitely.”

  He sat up and threw the book aside. He squeezed my hand, a silent promise that he would never do me wrong again. “This will be fun.”

  3

  CLASSIFIED INFORMATION

  Sometime after Jason’s death, I started having nightmares. They were violent at first, causing me to thrash and scream, but Henry had been there to wake me from them each time, to hold my head as I cried. Sometimes I climbed into bed with him in the middle of the night, a preemptive strike against the night terrors. Just the act of sleeping beside him, without even touching, gave me the comfort I needed to stay asleep.

  I hadn’t had any nightmares in a while. Until tonight.

  I dreamt that Jason was walking around a run-down, deserted neighborhood of cement buildings without his weapons or any form of communication. He passed a mangy dog and stopped to pet it, and in that small moment of distraction, a sniper on the rooftop was able to take him out. This dream was different, however, because Henry ran out into the street without body armor and crouched beside my fallen brother. He was shot in the back of the head.

  I woke up, shaking and covered in sweat, suddenly filled with an overwhelming need to see Henry and make sure he was okay. So even though it was after midnight, I tiptoed past the living room and peered into his room.

  I was relieved to find him very much alive, lying on the bed in nothing but a pair of sweat pants, watching TV with his hands folded behind his head. “Hey,” he said. “You okay?”

  “I . . .”

  He sat up. “Bad dreams?”

  “You were in it this time.”

  He patted the space beside him. “Wanna bunk?”

  I stopped at the foot of his bed, suddenly unsure of myself. We�
�d spent many hours here, talking and crying and cementing our friendship. He’d never tried anything, had never expressed any sort of sexuality with me until the other night. So why was I so nervous all of a sudden?

  “Would you just come here already?” he asked, breaking through my uncertainty.

  Without another word, I climbed on the bed and lay beside him, staring up at the ceiling.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  I shook my head and we remained unspeaking for a long time.

  He finally broke the silence. “I really am sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, Elsie.”

  I looked at him. “I’m sorry for reacting exactly as you thought.”

  “I just couldn’t find the right time or place to tell you. Believe me, I thought about it day and night.”

  “You don’t always have to protect me, you know. I can handle it. I’m not a little girl anymore, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  His blue eyes blazed on my face with a look that made my ears burn. “I have.”

  I was sure he could hear my heart pounding through my shirt. “So no more personal secrets, okay? You’ll always have your classified information, I know that, but you hiding something like this from me . . . well, it hurts.”

  He held out his pinky and we sealed the deal. “Promise.”

  We looked at each other for a long time, not saying anything.

  “So what now?” I finally asked.

  “We deal with it, I guess. Not much else we can do.” He let out a slow breath through his nose. “The chance of that happening to me is pretty slim, you know. My job is to guard the base, not mingle with the natives.”

  “Can I get that in writing?” I asked with a smile. “I want a written guarantee, notarized even, that you will be okay.”

  He gave a short chuckle. “I can’t do that. But I can make you a promise that I will try my hardest to come back home in one piece.”