Hustle Page 12

  A lot’s changed since those days.

  “It felt so impersonal sitting over there like a stranger,” she continues, placing her hand on my thigh.

  I let it sit there, not sure exactly where’s she going with this.

  “Are you angry at me?” I ask her. “Because you should be. It’s my fault.”

  She shakes her head. “No, baby. I didn’t join the Rangers for the five-star cuisine. I joined to fight and serve my country, just like you. I knew what I was getting myself into and I was glad for it. I know what happened out there isn’t you fault. I take full, fucking responsibility, you hear?”

  I nod once.

  Her hand slides between my legs, the palm of her hand pressing tight against my crotch.

  Her lips brush against my ear. “Now,” she whispers, “how about we get out here and you can fuck me through the wall like old times?” She bites my earlobe to solidify the message, bites harder than she should. “I knew no civvie girl slice of apple pie could take care of your needs like I can. Is that what you want? Your big, hard cock in my mouth? I know I do.”

  There was a time I would have gone for this routine. It wasn’t even that long ago, but miraculous resurrection or not, I think of Shannon and can’t allow myself to head down this road again.

  There’s a certain living-on-the-edge madness civilians simply can’t understand. Triss does. That’s what drew me to her—the fine line between life and death overshadowing everything we did. Shannon can never understand it, couldn’t even begin to comprehend what I, what we, have been through.

  But does it matter?

  I’m fighting with myself for no good reason.

  I peel Triss’s hand away and shift to the side. The space between us may as well be a chasm now. “I understand what you’ve been through, Triss, but I can’t do this.”

  A biting tone enters her voice. “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Look, I’m happy you’re alive, more than you know, but I just need…” I have to take a moment to consider precisely what it is. “Time,” I finish. “I need time to process this.”

  I see Triss’s posture relax. She nods. “Fine,” she states, as much life in the word as the concrete walls around us. “I get it.”

  She’s obviously hurt, no doubt expected a grand reunion. It kills me to disappoint her, to disappoint anyone, but it’s not right leading her on.

  For now, she’s backed off, and maybe it will be alright, I think. Maybe this will work.

  She takes my glass and tilts her head back, downing the whiskey completely. She wipes her mouth, her fire-flecked eyes like a lost djinn. “So, tell me about this Shannon chick.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  SHANNON

  I’m curled up on the couch with a fake mink blanket, a tub of Ben & Jerry’s Jimmy Fallon ‘The Late Night Dough’ ice cream, and the sugar gliders. A documentary on Netflix about a guy walking a tightrope looks interesting, but I’m barely paying it any attention, mindlessly shoveling Jimmy into my mouth.

  I’m cozy, yes, but no amount of warmth or chocolate cookie swirl is going to make me feel better. I’ve lost my job thanks to my pig of a boss, and I’ve probably lost Gabe, too. That’s not to say I ever had him in the first place, but I thought I saw light there for a second, a glimmer of hope I’m not going to die a lonely old lady surrounded by her sixty pets.

  As if on cue, my cell starts to buzz its way across the table. I leap for it, Jimmy tumbling over onto the floor, the sugar gliders scrambling for purchase on my sweater.

  I answer, don’t even check the screen.

  Please don’t be a call center. Please don’t be a call center.

  “Shannon.” It’s Gabe.

  My chest deflates with relief. “Gabe,” I reply. I immediately want to launch in and ask him where he’s been, but I don’t want to come across as overly needy either.

  Impossible as it is, I try to let him do the talking.

  “I’m so sorry,” he starts. “I know you’ve been trying to reach me.”

  Play it cool. I’m angry, I can’t deny it, but I have to temper my tone here. I have to remind myself we aren’t actually together. “It’s no problem.”

  “You sure? Because I had a ton of texts and missed calls here.”

  I slap my hand against my forehead. “Ah, yeah. About that…”

  “No, let me go first.”

  “Okay.”

  A slight pause. “Do you remember when I told you about my ex, Triss?”

  I’ll remember that name until the day I die. Casual now, Shan. “Sure.”

  “Remember I said she died overseas?”

  “Yes.” I know where this is going, my fingernails raking my knees.

  “Well, I was wrong.” Another pause. “She’s alive. She’s here, in town. She went to see my mother.”

  I’m not a jealous person, but a green-eyed monster rises so big, so fast I’m actually a little scared of myself. She went to see Julie?

  I picture this Triss with her cool Army tattoos and buff body, walking away into the sunset with my man.

  He’s not your man, Shan!

  It sounds like a damn sitcom tagline. “Wow,” I offer, knowing I lack the necessary enthusiasm the word dictates, “that’s great.”

  What, you wish she was dead?

  Of course not, but why come here? Why come to Gabe if she doesn’t want him back.

  “It is,” replies Gabe, relief clear.

  “How did she… you know…?”

  “It’s a long story,” he says, “operational stuff.”

  This only makes it worse, makes that green-eyed monster into a towering hulk. “Right.”

  “I was just so blindsided at first. I still don’t entirely understand how this all happened.”

  I swallow a hard lump in my throat down. “Is she going back?”

  “To the Rangers? That’s the thing, the reason she came and found me. She wants me to join a mercenary group, a small band working outside of the regular channels—well-paid work.”

  I can see him slipping away from me already. “That’s… great.”

  “She wanted to catch up too, of course.”

  “And you want to go?” I don’t add ‘with her.’

  “Honestly, I’m not sure I want to be involved with that life again.”

  I dying to, but I specifically avoid asking if they slept together lest my fragile tiny heart shatter completely. Buffy gives an empathetic squeak next to my ear, working her way up onto the top of my head. “I’m just happy your… friend, is alive. It must be such a relief. Look, I was just about to go to bed, so…”

  Sensing something’s up, Gabe adds, “Nothing happened between us, Shannon.”

  “I know.”

  I’m close to tears. God, I have sex for the first time and subsequently turn into a Hallmark movie.

  “You believe me, don’t you?”

  I let the question hang, thinking about how to reply, tossing and turning over the right answer in my head.

  ‘Honesty is the best policy’—my father used to drum that one into me a lot.

  “I do believe you, Gabe, even if I might have doubts.”

  “Shannon…”

  “It’s been a long day. I really just want to rest.”

  “Alright.” He says it so quietly it’s hard to pull meaning from those two syllables, but I sense resignation, disappointment perhaps? All day I’ve been trying to reach him and now he’s here all I’m doing is trying to push him away.

  His voice comes back. “Matt’s busy, so I have to go and see Mom tonight. I guess I’ll see you soon?”

  “Yes,” I reply, unable to summon more than that. “Good night,” I add.

  “Good night.”

  I hang up, cutting his words short.

  Way to ramp up the drama, Shan.

  I slump back onto the couch, notice Jimmy’s sugary concoction leaking into the carpet. I right the tub and pull the gliders close. “At least you guys aren’t going to run out on m
e.”

  But what bothers me the most, what truly has me unhinged, is the fact I’m already preparing myself to let Gabe go.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  GABE

  I can’t shake the conversation as I sit beside Mom’s bed, still can’t get a read on what Shannon was thinking. It was probably a stupid idea to go into so much detail about Triss with her in the first place, but it’s part of who I am. She needs to understand that if this is going to be anything more than casual.

  You know you want more.

  I do, desperately, but maybe it’s a simple case of incompatibility.

  “Gabriel?”

  Mom’s eyes flicker open. She’s so pale now it’s hard to distinguish her from the bedsheet. Machines blip beside her, a drip feeding who knows what into the husk of her body.

  I take her hand. “Yes, Mom. I’m here.”

  A thin smile breaks on her lips. “Did that woman come by again?”

  “Shannon?”

  “No,” she says, “the one with the black hair, kind of scary-looking.”

  “That was Triss, Mom, an old friend.”

  “From the military?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you cheating on that Shannon girl?” Her glassy eyes almost break me, but I hold it together.

  “No, Mom. It’s nothing like that.”

  “The way that other woman spoke about you…”

  I hate to think what Triss said, how deep she went into our relationship. “I promise, Mom.”

  Mom smiles, bright and wide. “Good, good. I like that Shannon. She’ll make a good wife. You take care of her, won’t you? Promise me now.”

  I squeeze her hand. “I will, Mom. Don’t you worry about it.”

  Her eyes close and she lets out a wispy exhale, settling back to sleep.

  The lie’s gone too far and guilt’s eating me dry. I let my mother rest, trying to get comfortable in the chair.

  It’s not until eleven I start to doze off, still thinking about Mom’s words. Have I gone too far?

  Tell her in the morning. Make it right.

  She’ll be heartbroken. I don’t know if I can do it to her.

  You’ve done much worse to strangers.

  I fall asleep, my heavy thoughts dragging me down.

  *

  A high-pitched sound wakes me. I take a moment to compose myself, rubbing my eyes.

  I immediately sense something is wrong, my instincts, sharpened from years in the service, kicking in.

  My eyes open in full. Mom is still there in the bed. It’s still night.

  What’s missing?

  I hear it before I see it—the heart monitor.

  She’s flat-lining.

  Fuck.

  I jump out of the chair so fast it goes kicking back to the wall. “Mom!” I shout, moving to the bed. I check her pulse with two fingers.

  Nothing.

  How long has she been like this while I sitting there fucking dozing?

  I hit the emergency button beside her head. I call “Nurse! Help!” as loud as I can, the volume of my voice scary.

  I force myself to remain calm. You have to be in a situation like this.

  I take down the sheet and fold my hands together, starting CPR.

  I’ve done this enough to know that, even with CPR, only a small percentage of people pull through.

  No. Not on my fucking watch.

  “Come on,” I whisper, her breastbone flexing under the heel of my hand. I use my body weight, pressing straight down onto her chest. I aim for thirty compressions followed by two rescue breaths.

  Her lips are cold when I press against them, the life and color gone.

  “Nurse!” I call again, the alarm sounding.

  A group of nurses and a doctor I don’t recognize walk in. I notice there’s no crash cart. What the fuck are they doing?

  They’re all standing there around the bed. I look at them puzzled. “What are you doing? I ask. “Why aren’t you helping?”

  One of them moves around to me. I think she’s going to take over, but instead her hands fall on my arms, trying to pull me away.

  What the fuck is she doing? I know the chance of bringing Mom back is small, but there is a fucking chance.

  The nurse continues to tug my arms. “Mr. Reed, you have to stop.”

  Stop? Is she insane? “What?” I stammer, breathing harder than I should be.

  “I’m very sorry, Mr. Reed, but your mother signed a do-not-resuscitate order.

  I continue to work. “A DNR? No, not Mom.”

  The nurse nods to another, who comes around and helps attempt pull me away.

  The doctor comes around to join them, trying to speak sense to me. “Your mother was in a great deal of pain, Mr. Reed. This is for the best.”

  “No!” I shout, becoming emotional, pressing so hard I feel one of her ribs snap. “No!”

  The nurses give up.

  “Please, Mr. Reed,” implores the doctor.

  It’s only when security arrives I finally let go, placing my hands up and stepping back, stepping until I hit the wall and slump to the floor exhausted.

  The doctor examines the monitor, checks my mother’s pulse. “Time of death, 1:45am.”

  One of the nurses pulls a sheet over her so she’s nothing more than a cotton outline.

  I let my head fall into my hands.

  My temples are beating. Everything’s happening so far away, like I’m deep underwater, the oxygen thin.

  A hand falls lightly on my shoulder. It’s the doctor. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Reed. Is there anyone we can call?”

  I lift my head, breathe in. “No, I’ll do it.”

  I watch them wheel her away before heading out to the waiting room, empty this time of night save for the intermittent buzz of the vending machine.

  The initial shock has passed, the adrenaline pulling away to leave a vapid numbness in its wake.

  I call Matt, staring at my own, abstract reflection in the window.

  He answers. “What the fuck, Gabe? It’s 2:30am.”

  “Mom’s gone.”

  Three seconds of silence pulse by before he answers. “What?”

  “About an hour ago, in her sleep. I wasn’t even awake.”

  “Jesus. Should I come down?”

  “No, it’s fine,” I tell him, my voice detached.

  Matt starts to cry, his voice breaking. “I can’t believe it. I mean, I knew… eventually, but it’s just so...”

  “Matt, it’s for the best,” I tell him, repeating the doctor’s words. “She’s not in pain anymore.”

  A sniff, correction. “I’m coming, right now.”

  “Matt…”

  “I’ll see you soon,” and he hangs up, my reflection still staring me down.

  I look back to the screen of my cell wondering who to call next. Mom didn’t have any close friends or acquaintances. She was in here so much they’re made up largely of doctors and hospital staff. Apart from distant cousins and uncles, Matt and I were her only family.

  When I go to dial again my fingers move without thought, like automatons.

  It takes four rings for her to answer. “Gabe? Is everything alright?” comes Shannon’s silky voice.

  “My mother, she passed tonight.”

  “Oh, Gabe.”

  “I’m okay. Matt’s coming down.”

  I could have called Triss. She gave me her number. Triss and I have a history. We spoke about my mother and her condition at great length abroad. Why didn’t I call her? It’s not a question I think I can answer right now.

  “I’m coming too,” says Shannon. “The hospital’s not far. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  I try to stop her, tell her I’ll be fine, but she won’t have it, hanging up much in the same way Matt did.

  You should be thankful she cares.

  But the truth is I don’t want her to see me like this, as half a man, as weak.

  Shannon arrives before Matt, dressed in a Clemson Uni
versity sloppy sweatshirt and slacks. She rushes up to me and throws her arms around my neck, pulling me close to her.

  It’s nice—her warmth, the vanilla scent of her neck I’ve come to know so well. But I’m not used to this kind of affection, this tenderness. It’s not something Triss was big on.

  Shannon holds herself away from me. “Why don’t we take a seat?”

  I nod and sit beside her against the wall, another group of nurses rushing past as an alarm sounds down the hall.

  Another cotton blanket. Another empty room.

  I know wetness is welling in my eyes, tears wanting to break free, but I hold them at bay. I’m so deeply ashamed by it, so embarrassed, I can’t bring myself to look Shannon in the eye.

  Instead, she takes my head in her hands and turns it until I’m facing her, her eyes as glassy as my own, the empathy clear. And I know in that moment she is genuine, that the care and concern is real. But the question remains, do I deserve it?

  I exhale hard. “I’m sorry.”

  “No,” she says, her own voice cutting, “you have every right, and you should. It’s a terrible thing, losing a parent.”

  “She’s not going to see me get married. She’s not going to see her grandchildren, a sunrise, the fucking ocean again… She’s gone.” With those words the finality of it sinks in.

  I’ve had countless friends killed in action. Many of them were family, but death never struck me as hard as it does now, a sharp knife driving deep into a part of my chest I didn’t even know existed.

  We stare at each other, Shannon and I, the alarm that was sounding in the background cutting off.

  Shannon kisses me, my face still in her hands, her own salty tears passing between us.

  I return the kiss, lifting my hands to her face, caught by everything she has come to represent to me. I finally realize what it is, what it would mean to be with Shannon.

  Freedom.

  When we break apart, our foreheads remain pressed together, her tears now falling straight onto the vinyl of the seat.

  Shannon pulls back and wipes her face, smiling. “It’s going to be okay, I promise. It’s all going to be okay.”

  I sit back and tuck her into my side with an arm.

  “I’ve got you,” she says, and it’s with shocking clarity I realize she does.