Cassidy
DIFFERENT WITH ME
Shestaredupathim. His voice was strained, his nostrils were flaring, and his jaw was tensing. He wasn’t trying to get her below deck to have sex with her; he was sincere. She wanted to cling to her embarrassed anger, but her curiosity, of course, won out.
Mac wasn’t one to share, so when he did, she was going to pay attention. How this had anything to do with his ordering her away from Roman—someone she wasn’t even interested in any way but certainly didn’t like the idea of beingordered away from—she had no idea, but there was only one way to find out. Glancing toward the cabin, she nodded reluctantly, her glare telling him that she wasn’t going easy, and she didn’t trust him.
Mac took another step back to allow her room to precede him down the few steps. She ducked into the space, exciting Fred. He’d decided to lounge on the cushioned bench surrounding the table. Absently petting him, she turned as Mac joined her, moving as far from him as she could to the other side of the small space.
Removing his sunglasses, he looked from the shelf containing the mattress, to her, to Fred, and back to the bed. His expression gave nothing away, but she could read his mind: wasted opportunity.
If she was to be honest with herself, she concurred whole-heartedly. Sex with Mac was always exhilarating; she wasn’t going to lie to herself. But damn, he pissed her off.
He leaned over and opened the refrigerator, taking out two beers. After opening the tops, he handed one to her. Eyeing her as he leaned back against the tiny counter, he tilted the bottle, almost drinking the whole thing down in one go.
Cassidy sipped hers, watching him back, anticipating what he had to say and trying to be receptive, guard still up.
Much like she had earlier, he studied the label on the bottle as though his script was there, a hint of how he should proceed; where to start. His dark eyes shifted to Fred, and he indicated the German shepherd, who was resting with chin on paws, brows raising as his own dark eyes moved from Mac to Cassidy. “My last dog was Kota; a Belgian Malinois. She died in the same explosion that fucked me up.”
“Your back.”
“Nah, Day; fucked all of me up. Not only the scars you see.” His gaze glanced off hers. “You know what I am, who I am—the asshole who hurts you, who can’t give you what you want. I won’t ever be able to give you that. I told you that. You said you didn’t want it. Not from me.”
Cassidy now sought the answers from her beer, cheeks pinking from his brutal honesty, calling her out, reminding her of her words.
“It’s okay, Cassidy, but you gotta go back to where this started for you.”
“Forme,” she repeated, her intonation making it clear she wasn’t the only one in the emotional quagmire.
His looked was pointed. “Nothing’s changed for me.”
Her heart cracked a little bit even though she insisted to herself that her heart wasn’t on the line, but she knew there was more between them than just sex. But because she was feeling vulnerable, she didn’t say anything, didn’t point out he took care of her in ways a disinterested party wouldn’t. And so he wouldn’t see the hurt he’d caused, she kept her gaze down.
But she knew he could see.
“Wasn’t always this guy. The shit in my head…” A look of exaggerated disbelief crossed his features. “This shit isn’t anything I’d wish on anyone. Every morning I wake up… Well, I wake up. They say that’s a good thing. Mostly, they’re fucking happy they don’t have to adjust their statistics for another one.”
Cassidy frowned; his pain wasn’t the same, but she’d been somewhere similar once. She’d also heard his screams. Daring a look upward from beneath lowered lashes, she assured him, not mean enough to withhold something this needed regardless of her own discomfort, “It’s a good thing, Mac.”
He made a face indicating the jury was out, but he went on. “Kota was awesome. We had one mind, that dog and me. She was my best friend. I trusted her with my six more than I trusted Jason or Grady or any of the other guys.” He frowned hard and looked away, toward the opening, toward the sky.
Cassidy watched him fight back the emotion, wanting to go to him, feeling the invisible shield keeping her where she was on the other side of the hull. The space was already tight, but with such overpowering emotions filling it, it seemed even smaller.
“One inch on the road to the left, we wouldn’t have hit it. It’d have been Jason and Grady. How the fuck can you wish your vehicle missed when you know what it’d have meant for your buddies? Knowing what itdiddo to you and your buddies in that vehicle, to Kota; knowing Jason and Grady and the others saw itt? I’d give my fucking life for that dog; it was her job to give her life for us, but… fuck.”
He paused again, staring at the floor—through the floor—staring back years ago. “It was chaos. She’d been on the bench next to me one minute. The next… loud… ear-splitting. Jarring. Too fast to feel fear. Confusion, at first. Then, Jesus, pain. I heard her but couldn’t get to her. Her screams—scared, confused, hurt; smelled her fur burning. That’s most of my memory: her screams. Couldn’t stop them; couldn’t help her.”
Mac half turned, bracing an arm on the small countertop, swallowing hard, sniffing harder. He let out a sound like someone had punched him in the stomach. Fred let out a soft, sharp whine and left the bench to stand in front of him, his soulful eyes reflecting concern. Mac’s hand dropped to his ears; Fred moved in even closer.
Cassidy’s own eyes watered from what she imagined, knowing she couldn’t even begin to put herself in his place. But she had Fred. She didn’t even want to imagine hearing Fred’s screams of pain, smelling burning fur and knowing it was him—alive, burning—and unable to help him.
“What could you have possibly done, Mac?” she asked.
Swallowing a few times, fighting to find his voice, he answered gruffly, his voice breaking as he replied, “Shot her.” The words—the devastation, the regret, the knowing it was a mercy more than she’d been given—all there. He hadn’t had her six when she’d needed it.
Shaking his head again, he said roughly, “It’s all there, all the time. I was sent to a VA hospital to recover, but you don’t fucking recover from that shit. My relationships…” His face screwed up, and he backed away from the subject. “No one—except Jason and Grady—survived the aftermath of who I became; what I’ve done. And I don’t deserve them.”
Glancing askance at her, he explained, “I find ways to numb it. Alcohol, fucking. Alcohol to slow my brain, try to sleep, pass the hell out, and not dream. Fucking to feel alive where it doesn’t suck for a second.”