Page 60 of The Games We Play
“That must have been heartbreaking to observe.”
“Heartbreaking, gut-wrenching, frustrating because we couldn’t do more. That morning we were to keep the Abbey Gate secure. Joey and I had beds next to each other. Fucker snored like an accelerating Mack truck and got the best care packages from his mom. Socks every month and a shit ton of Slim Jims. And because he was a good kid, he shared. We’d been winding Draymond up all morning because his missus had sent him her underwear in an envelope, but I was secretly jealous, wishing I had someone sending me shit regularly.”
“No one did?”
I shrug. “I got some shit. My ex wasn’t the most reliable, but she’d pull something together if I needed it. The old ladies of the club would send something out from time to time. My folks did occasionally too. But sometimes weeks would go by without anything from home. Anyway, the three of us were together and then ...” I struggle for the words. I don’t know how to describe what came next. The shock, not being able to see or hear straight. I can’t find the right words. “Then we weren’t. I tried to triage, do CPR and shit until the medics got to us, but it was too late. Joey and Draymond were gone, along with all the others. I was the only military survivor of the immediate blast.”
“I’m so sorry for the loss of your friends.” Iris’s fingers slide over my hip to my back. “The tattoos?”
“One for each of them.”
“Youdoknow it wasn’t your fault, right?”
I let her question hang in the air.
“Tyler,” she says more firmly. “You do know it’s not your fault?”
I kiss her forehead. “Try to get some sleep, little chick.”
“Tyler, you—”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore tonight. Please, sweetheart.”
I feel her sigh. “I’ll respect that. But go to sleep knowing I don’t think you were responsible, and you shouldn’t either.”
“I appreciate your faith in me,” I say, tugging her close, because I don’t have the same faith in myself.
20
SPARK
When I wake, it’s with my arms wrapped around Iris. Her fist is up by her cheek, her leg is threaded between mine, and her tits are pressing against my chest. My first thought after processing all that is I didn’t have another nightmare. Heck, I didn’t even dream.
With the nap and the sleep I got last night, I feel rested for the first time in weeks. In fact, I feel better than I have the past two years. I simply lie there, surrounded by her scent, and look at the long eyelashes that hit her cheeks. I never noticed how dark they were before. And her mouth curves up in a slight smile as she sleeps. I wonder if she’s dreaming about us.
Not that it matters.
I just like the idea that she’s happy here.
She hasn’t complained once about the uneven deck or the old sofa. Instead, she distracted me, made me laugh, and let me look after her.
Her skin is soft as butter and warm to the touch. I stroke my fingers up and down her back gently. I want to wake her, but I don’t. I want this moment to last for the rest of my life.
I’ve woken up with women since my ex left, but it was usually because I was so drunk, I didn’t know which way was up once we were done fucking. I’d kick them out of my room in the clubhouse as soon as I was sober and alert enough to do so. There was no pleasure in it, not like this.
A whisper of guilt blows through me. Whip’s words, the nightmare. I want to explain my feelings to Iris, but I can’t even explain them to myself. Still, I’m trying to be a stronger man than the ghosts who haunt me.
For Iris, I’ll try to exorcise them.
She sighs deeply, then begins to move against me. A roll of her shoulders, a straightening of her legs as she stretches. Her eyelids flutter open, and she smiles softly. “Morning,” she mutters, then closes her eyes again.
I kiss the top of her head. “Morning, little chick.”
“Why do you call me that?” Her words are muffled by my chest.
I shrug. “Don’t know. That first day I met you, I thought about how little you were compared to me. You were wearing that bright yellow raincoat. It’s cute. Suits you.”
Her lips curve against my chest. “Should I have a name for you?”
