Page 47 of Inseverable (Carolina Beach)

Now doesn’t feel like the right time to tell him I’ll be leaving in September. In fact, it feels very wrong. I trust my instincts, hoping they won’t steer me someplace neither of us wants to be.

“Just thinking about you,” I answer him truthfully.

“All right,” he says, taking my hand and leading us down the beach.

He quiets, growing almost tight-lipped. I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t believe me, or because he’s having reservations about being with me. But as we reach the steps leading up to Your Mother’s, I realize now isn’t the time to ask, even when his hand slips away and he steps aside.

“After you,” he says.

I tell myself there’s no need to get upset?that he’s not snubbing me and his reaction is only related to his need to return to work. But like I said, insecurity is a real bitch. I slide my discarded flip-flops back on and walk ahead toward the inside bar, not at all ready to leave him.

Poor Mason is beside himself, standing with his hands out as he tries to talk down a crowd of irate women demanding he make them some Hurricanes.

“Beer!” he says. “I can only pour beer. Doesn’t anyone want beer?”

The women are screaming at him, making it clear that no, they don’t drink Bud, Heineken, or anything in between. Mason’s hefty shoulders slump when he sees Callahan.

“Thank God,” he mumbles.

Callahan inches in front of me, appearing more than ready to put some space between us. I think I should say something clever—something to lure his grin before he leaves me. And maybe if it wasn’t for Hunter and Blakeney showing up earlier, I could come up with something decent to say. Instead, I remain quiet, doubting everything he could feel about me, despite what happened at his place.

Callahan on the contrary has plenty to say, except he doesn’t exactly use words. He hauls me to him, graciously and very vigorously reintroducing his tongue to my tonsils.

My spine bends backward with how hard his body and mouth press against all my right parts, and my foot is doing this jerky-twitchy thingy. I’d like to say I wrap my arms oh-so gracefully around his broad and manly shoulders, but they’re too busy flailing like I’m falling from the sky becauseyes, it’sthatkind of kiss.

He pulls away and grins. “I have to get back to work, baby,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “If you stick around until closing, I’ll take you home.”

I try to be all smooth-like and mature because that’s the kind of gal I pretend to be. But there’s no pretending. Nope. Not after that deep and very necessary exploration of his tongue.

Instead of “yes” or “sure”, something like “yush” comes out of my mouth. He chuckles and releases me slowly, but not before shooting me a wink that no one misses.

I may or may not have Beyoncé strutted back to my cheering andwoot-woot-woot-ingfriends. But I do refrain from high-fiving them. After all, I am a lady.

Like Callahan promised, he drove me back to my place following closing and clean up. He pulls into my driveway, but doesn’t punch in the security code when I offer it. “You don’t want to come in?” I ask.

He runs his fingers along his steering wheel. “I better not. It’s late and I haven’t slept much these past couple of days.”

I didn’t say we were going to sleep. In fact, I’d planned to do anything but. I want him with me, and while he’s been a gentleman?especially after recognizing how scared I was earlier?I’m hoping he’ll change his mind and make love to me all night.

Yet as I watch his eyes grow distant, I’m reminded how rough these last few days have been for him. He does look tired, and more than a little sad.

I click out of my seatbelt and turn to rest my head against the seat. “How do you sleep?” I ask.

He swivels to face me, the change in his expression alerting me that he understands what I’m really asking. “Not well,” he admits.

“Has it been like that since you’ve been back from war?”

“No, longer. I haven’t had a good night sleep in years,” he says. “When I first joined, the excitement and thrill of being part of the U. S. military kept me up. They reel you in, those recruiters, emphasizing all the lifetime benefits, building up the honor of serving and protecting your country, and making like you’ll be a hero and someone who’ll always be respected. ‘You’ll be a part of history, son,’ one of them told me.”

He leans back a little, as if wondering if I’m listening. It’s only when he sees that I’m hanging on his every word that he continues. “That excitement turns to fear real quick when you realize you could actually die. And that respect? It may come good and strong from those people who appreciate your sacrifice. But it doesn’t erase all those haters calling you a murderer to your face?or those screaming mobs yelling at you in a language you can’t understand, and in a country that’s not your own.”

My eyes widen, but I’m quick to control my shock and anger. Callahan’s expression remains neutral, and though the pain is evident by the rigidness in his posture, he keeps his voice low and steady. “You wonder if you’ll be good enough. And when you are, you’re given more opportunities to kill, put in situations that seem more suicidal than strategic, and sent on special assignments that the last team didn’t come back from. So then you stop wondering, because you know you’re good, and wonder instead when your luck will finally run out and whether you’ll be the next one sent back home in a box.”

He looks in the direction of the house. “Trin, given what I’ve seen and done, sometimes I don’t know how I’m still here in one piece.”

But he’s not. For all he looks whole, his soul is busted up something awful.

“I don’t know either,” I tell him. “I’m just glad you’re here with me.” My eyes sting, but I manage a smile. “I can’t imagine ever not meeting you.”

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