Chapter Thirty-two
I LAY IN bed that night, taking comfort in Brandon’s arms. My cheeks flushed off and on and I tried not to think about everything we’d done that night. What an orgasm that had been—unable to clench against anything like a cock, my muscles spasmed and undulated along with my brain until I’d felt like I was going to lose my mind. And then it was over.
Was it shame that kept me awake long after he’d fallen asleep…or was it instead his admission of love for me that had me unable to drift off?
Lying there, I knew I loved him too. Not like a mother or a friend but as his lover. As a mate. Our ages didn’t matter, nor did our paths in life. Yes, part of me was now deeply suspicious of him and a little afraid…but I loved him. Part of me had grown to need him. And I didn’t know if my feelings for him were healthy. Did the way I care for him jeopardize me or my children?
And who, exactly, was this man?
I rolled over so I could see his face, but it was too dark in the room. My motions, though, caused him to stir. “You okay?”
I muttered, “Yes.” But after a few seconds, I instead said, “No. Not at all.”
His voice sounded a little more alert when he answered. “What’s going on?”
I didn’t even know where to start. He’d asked me to trust him, so I had to find a way. And I had to also assume it went both ways. “I…When you started seeing Dr. Cartwright, I wanted to help you.”
“You’vebeenhelping me.”
“I know, but I felt like I could do more.” I didn’t want to tell him that part of my search was due to a lack of trust, but I otherwise had to confess what I’d been up to. “So I was hoping to find information about you, things you either couldn’t remember or didn’t tell me about…and I…” This was getting hard, because I was about to reveal just how suspicious I’d been—but if this relationship was going to work, I needed to tell him. “I came across some discharge papers, and they—”
“From the hospital?”
“Yes. They…they said your name wasMichaelAbbott, notBrandon.”
He was quiet for a few moments. “They called all of us that—Michael.” He let out a breath and moved. I could tell he was shifting so he could sit up from his prone position. “All of the guys in my platoon were calledMichael, including Gabe. There were other guys calledAllen; some calledJohn; and someRoberts. It was one of those things they did once we were in the program.” He took a breath. “It was taking the idea of bonding to the extreme.”
He’d said something like that before and I wondered if I should believe anything he had to say. I could listen—that didn’t mean I had to take his words at face value. In fact, I probably shouldn’t. So I decided to dig deeper than we had before. I needed answers. “Theprogram?”
“Yeah. We—” He sighed and sat up all the way, reaching for the lamp next to the bed and turning it on. “I don’t think I’ve told you much about it, because I don’t even remember a lot of it. It’s all fuzzy…but some of my memories have been coming back. Anyway, we—the guys in my platoon and others too—we were offered a chance to be part of a study, a project to create the perfect soldier. And what Marine wouldn’t want to be part of that? We looked at it as an honor. They made no promises but they hyped it up big. Gabe and me…we knew we wanted it. We weren’t interested in the day-to-day bullshit. We wanted to make a difference. No more working in the kitchen five days a week? Hell, yeah. And the idea behind the super soldier project? The perfect soldier wasn’t necessarily one who killed but one who could get into enemy territory undetected. Get in; get what you need; get out—all before anyone even knew you were there. Make your way over enemy lines and take out their general; the soldiers stop fighting—stuff like that. It was all very ninja-like in presentation. And me and Gabe and a couple other guys in our platoon were totally on board.
“So after we all signed up, we had to take tests, both mental and physical, to determine our suitability for the program. Once we were accepted, we were shipped to an undisclosed location—first by plane, and there we met a lot of guys also signed up.” He paused, looking at the patterns on the comforter covering his legs, before continuing. “They stuck us all in the trailer of a diesel and hauled us off somewhere. We couldn’t see shit during that trip, because they only had vents in the top of the trailer, but by then we had nothing but the uniforms on our back. Our footlockers, carefully inspected so as not to send anything that we could record with, were following us. We left during the day and arrived at hell sometime that night.
“Yeah,hell.” I hadn’t said a word, had only sat up in bed so I could give him my full attention. “But it’s there that my memory gets fuzzy. I remember stuff that happened, but I don’t remember all the details—and I don’t want to. Later, when I was released, I was treated at the hospital before they discharged me. And they didn’t even say I was better. They just needed room for new guys.” He let out a long breath. “So they just let me go.”
I pondered his words and prepared a question, but before I could ask, he said, “It was the program that caused my PTSD.” He said it again, and the ominous overtones in his voice were impossible to ignore. “The program.” I believed him.
Or, rather, Iwantedto believe him. It was in moments like these, when he seemed vulnerable and alone, that his soul spoke to mine. He seemed sincere, genuine…but something was telling me to stop falling for it. I needed to question, to dig, to be a skeptic—for my safety and the well-being of my children. I needed to know the truth. He’d managed to give me an answer to one of my questions, but what about all of them? And, if he gave me satisfactory answers, did that mean I could take him at his word?
“This hospital…where was it?”
“I don’t remember, Kimberly. My whole stay there is a blur in my mind. I can hardly remember anything about the program or my time in the hospital. I know the psychiatrist there said my memory loss was probably due to trauma. I don’t remember much until I was out and wandering around, trying to figure out my life outside the military. And I was lost. I’d always planned to be a career military guy, but I fucked that up somehow. By volunteering for that damned program, I screwed up everything.”
“It wasn’t part of the Marines?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know anymore. I barely remember signing up for it. Just that Gabe and I were excited to be part of something so new and revolutionary. They didn’t tell us what a shit show it was gonna be. They didn’t warn us that it was going to ruin our lives.” He clenched his jaw then, and I could see he was fighting against something internal, something unseen.
But I had to press on. “What’s the name of the hospital?”
“Um…it was a veteran’s hospital.” I remembered that much. I nodded, glad that—so far, at least—he wasn’t lying to me. “The Grant Veterans’ Hospital, I think. Ulysses S. Grant Hospital. Some famous general. But I might be misremembering. And I think it was in South Carolina somewhere. Maybe North Carolina. I don’t know for sure. It’s been too long and it’s in that foggy part of my brain that I don’t think I’ll ever get back.” He sighed and looked up at me. “I don’t know that Iwantto get it back. I know I’m blocking a lot of shit out for a reason.”