SEAL'D In Deep Page 14

  The first time she said ‘I love you’ she wanted them to mean something more than that.

  And she wanted neither of them to be on the brink of death.

  *****

  Carter was released from the hospital two days after his surgery and he was given a cane to help him walk through the unimaginable pain of having part of one of his organs missing from his body. He popped ibuprofen like candy, but it did very little to dull the ache.

  Liz played nurse to him for the first couple of days, forgoing her daily routine in order to bring him food and check his vitals like Dr. Hartmann had taught her to do. She also was tasked with taking Carter for walks up and down the hall outside her apartment each and every day, for at least twenty minutes at a time.

  Carter wanted to curse; not because it hurt like a bitch, but because he’d once been able to run a mile in under five minutes with a heavy pack on his back, but walking a hundred feet up and down a hallway suddenly felt like crossing the entire Sahara barefoot in two hundred-degree weather. He almost didn’t make it the first time.

  It got even worse when his physical trainer showed up and set up a treadmill in Liz’s living room for him to exercise on. They started simple, with Level One, which was only a half mile per hour. Once he had gotten used to that, they moved up to a mile per hour, then two, then four. It doubled every time Carter got better at handling it, until he was full-on sprinting on the treadmill, his legs and lungs aching. When he was finally allowed to rest, he called the PT all sorts of horrible names and Liz hid her face.

  Mostly to keep the poor man from seeing her laughter.

  Carter had to admit, though; the physical training worked. In no time, he was back on his feet and walking around like he used to. He still couldn’t ride his bike until he was fully healed, but that wouldn’t be long now.

  They were sitting on Liz’s couch, watching TV (with a pillow between them, so as not to get any funny ideas; Carter hadn’t been cleared to resume all physical activities yet) when his cell phone rang. He barely winced when he reached for it and placed it up to his ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Lieutenant McIntyre,” a familiar voice greeted. “This is Dr. Hartmann from the hospital.”

  “Good evening, Dr. Hartmann,” he greeted. “Do you have news for me?”

  “Yes. Miss Morgan requested a call when I felt I could give you the green light for a certain activity.” She cleared her throat and Carter was suddenly very aware of Liz’s gaze on the side of his face. “I just read the notes from your latest checkup and you seem to be healing more quickly than we thought, so there should be no problem with you and Miss Morgan continuing your sexual activity now, so long as you’re cautious of your scar and take it slow, at first. And—”

  Before she could finish her thought, Liz had grabbed the phone from Carter’s hand, hung up on the doctor, and tossed it over the back of the couch as she launched herself at him, pressing feverish kisses to his lips and neck and chest, which was just barely covered by an open-dress shirt. The new scars were almost indistinguishable from the old ones. They looked just slight pinker than the rest and almost completely blended in. Liz kissed all of them as she lay Carter down and removed his pants and her own, climbing atop him in no time and sinking down onto his shaft, which was already standing at attention.

  Carter groaned and gripped Liz’s hips as she began to rock atop him, gyrating and undulating her body and gripping the arm of the couch behind Carter’s head. Neither of them lasted very long, the anticipation that had been building for the last couple of weeks bringing them to that edge faster than ever before. Liz came first, with a cry of his name on her lips. Carter followed seconds later, his teeth biting into his lower lip as he felt three small words threatening to burst from his tongue at a moment’s notice.

  It was too soon for that, he decided. And too much.

  Liz collapsed over his body, her chest pressing against his as her lips caressed his bad ear. Still, he could have sworn that those three words slipped out against his skin.

  He began to drift off to sleep, however, before either one of them could mention it.

  *****

  Over the next few days, Carter stayed longer at Liz’s apartment, and the two had sex whenever (and wherever) they could manage. It had become like a drug to them; more intense than before and certainly much better. It may have been that unspoken thing between them or something else entirely, but the two couldn’t keep their hands off one another.

  Carter took her against her bookshelves, her counters, her dresser, her shower wall, her kitchen sink, and every wall they could lean themselves up against. It got to a point where they were getting constant noise complaints and the landlord had to show up, begging for them to keep the volume down. He knew that he had no leverage over Liz, considering she owned the apartment she was living in, but she took pity on him.

  The next few times they had sex, Carter put a gag on her and it made their lovemaking that much more exciting.

  When they were finally spent, Liz and Carter found themselves laying in her bed, limbs entwined under a thin white sheet. She was playing with his wide, callused fingers, tracing her nails over the scars and patterns of his tattoos. Each of them had a story that he was too tired to tell, so she made up her own.

  “A hibiscus,” she murmured, looking down at the flower on his inner wrist. “The national flower of Haiti.” She looked up at him and squinted. “You don’t look Haitian.”

  “Partly right,” he laughed. “My mother’s stepmother was Haitian. She practically raised my mother as her own, so she was my grandmother. She died when I was sixteen and I got this after I helped out in Haiti after that earthquake a couple of years ago.”

  “How noble of you,” Liz teased gentled, reaching up to stroke his jaw. “I’m sure she’d be proud of you. What was her name?”

  “Euralie. My mother and I called her Lee Lee. She hated it, but she never told us to stop.”

  Liz chuckled at that. “I didn’t have any grandmothers,” she informed him. “They both died when Zach was a baby, within weeks of each other.”

  “That sucks.”

  She nodded in agreement. “My parents must have been a wreck,” she said. “I know my father was close with his mother. There were a lot of pictures of her in our house. Only one of my grandfather, in his uniform.” She smiled. “My dad was proud of it, though, as much as he disliked the reasons behind his father’s death.”

  “What about your other grandfather?”

  “I didn’t have one,” Liz admitted. “He was never a part of my mother’s life. She once told me that my grandmother didn’t even know who he was.” Her eyes widened. “Oh gosh, that sounds horrible. I meant that they had a one-night stand and she never got his last name. He might still be out there, but he has no way of knowing that he has a child and grandchildren and even great-grandchildren by now.”

  “I’m sure he’s proud, still,” Carter said. “Even if he doesn’t know why.”

  Liz laughed at that, cuddling closer to his body. “Just a confused old man, proud for no reason at all.”

  “It happens.” She laughed harder, hiding her face in the crook of his neck.

  When she emerged, she took a deep breath and looked up, studying him for a long moment. Carter could feel her eyes burning a hole in the side of his face. Finally, he had to ask:

  “What?”

  “What do you think of San Francisco?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t think I’ve ever been there before. Why?”

  “Because there’s a gallery happening over there. I think I already told you about it, right? With the photo of you in bed as the centerpiece?”

  “Oh, right.” Carter nodded. “Yeah, that sounds cool. Are all the photos going to be there?”

  “Yes,” she confirmed. “The whole collection. And they’ll be selling prints, too.”

  “Well, that sounds…weird.” He looked down at her. “A bunch of strangers are going
to have photos of me hanging in their homes?”

  “I only used the ones that obscure your face,” she assured him.

  “Still. It’s weird, isn’t it?”

  “I never considered that, but yeah,” Liz laughed. “I guess so. But the man who owns the gallery, Mr. Sagawa, is a great guy and it would really help keep the place afloat.”

  “I bet he pays really well, too, doesn’t he?”

  “It doesn’t hurt that he’s wealthy, no,” Liz laughed. “I also have to take photos of his grandson, Mako.”

  “Uh, why?”

  “Because he’s a newborn and that’s the thing you do with newborns; you take photos to commemorate the start of their life.”

  “Is that what you’ll do with your newborns?” Carter asked, feeling his own heart begin to race at the simple, yet very much loaded, question.

  “I’m a photographer,” Liz pointed out, “so yeah, probably. You?”

  “I’d rather have oil paintings done of each stage of their life, you know?” Liz began to laugh. “The day they’re born. Their first steps. First word. Every single big moment; oil painting.” She laughed even louder. “I’m serious. That kid is going to be late to prom because I’m going to make them stand for an oil painting with their date before they leave. They will spend half of their life standing.” There were tears running down Liz’s cheeks and Carter grinned, looking down at her and rubbing her back to help her breathe. “Too far?” he asked.

  “A little,” she snorted. “But I wouldn’t put it past you, honestly. Poor kid has no idea what’s coming to them.”

  “They still haven’t even been conceived yet,” he huffed. “They’ve got time.”

  There was a long moment of silence in which neither of them admitted to the other what they were thinking of: a small blonde-haired child with his nose and her eyes and his smile standing perfectly and exaggeratedly still for an oil painting. Liz bit her lip at the image and took a deep breath.

  “Do you want to come with me?”

  “I thought I already—”

  Liz covered his mouth with her hand and glared up at him. “No more crude jokes, please,” she sighed. “This is serious, Carter.” Her gaze turned solemn. “Do you want to come to San Francisco with me?”

  “To see your exhibition?” he asked. She nodded. “I guess so. As long as you’re footing the bill. I think I just lost my only source of income until I get back to Afghanistan.”

  Liz wanted to ask him what he meant by that, but Carter had been pretty cryptic about his “mugging” and had done everything he could to avoid talking about it. Instead, she focused on the fact that he had said yes.

  “You really want to come with me to San Francisco?” she asked.

  “Why not?” Carter said. “It’s only for a day or two, right? So long as it doesn’t interfere with my therapy session—which they’re being really serious about now, for whatever reason—I don’t see what the big deal is.”

  “Well,” Liz said, biting her lip. “That’s the thing, Carter. I don’t know if I’m actually coming back.”

  Carter’s eyes widened at that and he almost fell off the bed.

  “What?”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Where are you going?” Liz huffed as she followed an irate Carter out of the bedroom, slipping into her robe.

  “Back to my own place,” he retorted, refusing to look at her. “Seems like whatever we have here is over.”

  “Carter, come on,” Liz sighed, running her hand through her hair. “It’s not over just because I’m going to San Francisco. I mean, you could come, too.”

  “And then what?” Carter snapped, turning back to her and wincing slightly as the stitches in his side pulled slightly. “Be your little boy toy as you go out and take overpriced photos for art snobs? No thanks.”

  “I don’t know why you’re so angry,” Liz retorted. “It’s not like you weren’t planning on going back to Afghanistan in a few months, anyway. At least, if you came with me, we could spend a few more months together before…” She bit her lip, unsure of what to say.

  “Before what?” Carter asked. “Before I go back to a desert where I’ll probably die in gunfire or from a bomb or exposure or…what the fuck ever? Well, unfortunately for you, it doesn’t look like I’ll be going back.”

  Liz’s eyebrows furrowed at that. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” Carter huffed, slipping on his boots and leaving them untied as he made his way to the door. He hadn’t been in his apartment in weeks, but Liz had assured him that it had been cleaned and set back to the way it was before. Still, he was hesitant to go back.

  But, right now he was even more hesitant to stay here.

  “Carter,” Liz said and he felt her grip around his wrist, pulling him back. “Talk to me. Please.”

  “My new therapist told me the other day that he’s recommending I not go back to Afghanistan.” He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. “Said I’m too badly damaged from the bombing that sent me back here to even think about going back into that kind of action. Either I’ll be stationed here, in the U.S. or I’ll be dishonorably discharged.” He shook his head. “Either way, I might as well just…” He trailed off.

  “Just what?” Liz tugged on his wrist again, but Carter shook her off.

  “I need some space,” he said, walking out into the hallway.

  “Of course you do!” Liz yelled after him, following him out of her apartment, her silk robe tied tightly around her body. “You always need space. Anytime things get to be too much to handle, you run away instead of trying to deal with them. No wonder your therapist doesn’t think you should go back; you’re too emotionally unstable.”

  Carter paused at that and turned back around, anger in his eyes that sent a thrill of fear down her spine. “What the fuck did you just say to me?” he asked.

  “You heard me,” Liz said, her voice low and gravelly from yelling. “You can’t deal with your emotions, so you bottle them all up. Sooner or later, though, Carter, those emotions will have to come out and you’ll end up putting everybody within a ten-mile radius in danger. Myself, included.”

  “So, it’s a good thing that I’m ending this then, huh?” Carter growled. “And you’re going to San Francisco, so you’ll be out of range. There; problem solved.” He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Goodbye, Morgan.”

  Then he turned and walked away, leaving Liz devastated.

  *****

  “So, Lieutenant McIntyre,” Carter’s new therapist, Dr. Daniels, said as he sat down across from Carter in his office. “How was your week?”

  “Lousy,” Carter grunted. He was slouched in his seat, his uniform slightly wrinkled. He no longer made the effort to look clean and pressed for his sessions with the doctor; it wasn’t like he had any chance of going back, anyway.

  “How is that?” Dr. Daniels asked. Unlike Dr. Maxwell, he had no accommodations or medals clipped to his sweater. He had never even served in the military. Carter wondered why he had been sent to this quack, who probably had no idea what being under gunfire in the middle of the scorching hot desert was like, let alone who deserved the chance to be out there, fighting for their country. Though, he considered, the man was old enough to have been drafted during Vietnam. Maybe he knew a little something.

  Carter shrugged. “Dunno,” he said. “It’s just been a bad week.”

  “But why was it a bad week, Lieutenant?” Daniels asked, sounding almost exasperated. Dr. Maxwell had never even gotten close to sounding exasperated with him; he’d always been monotonously calm. “What happened?”

  “I told my g—lady friend that I’m probably not going back to Afghanistan,” he said, not caring what this guy knew at this point. “And she told me that she’s moving to San Francisco.”

  “Oh,” Dr. Daniels replied, writing something down on his notepad, “well I’m sorry to hear about that. But, perhaps you could move with her.”

  “No,” Carte
r said, shortly.

  “Why not?” asked the doctor.

  “Because we’re not…that’s not the kind of relationship we have.”

  “Well, what kind of relationship do you have, then?”

  Carter opened his mouth to answer with the first thing that came to mind: One of convenience. But that wasn’t entirely honest. Or at all, really. His and Liz’s relationship had never really been all that convenient. They constantly fought each other every step of the way, but they always somehow came back together. And she had cared for him after the whole ordeal with the Hell’s Seven. He hadn’t even yet explained to her what exactly happened that night…

  *****

  No matter how hard he scrubbed his hands, the blood just wouldn’t come off. The water in the dirty sink continued to run red and Carter wondered if it was just stained that way, or if the water was always red with the blood of those that they had beaten so bad that it was unsure if they would live through this.

  Tonight, he had unleashed every bit of frustration onto his target, beating the man until he was prone on the floor. When he was finished, Carter leaned his sagging, exhausted body against the wall and took a few deep breaths, trying to compose himself. He dropped the bat that he had used as a weapon on the floor and slid down to the floor, his eyes locked on his own handiwork.

  The man had been breathing raggedly all throughout, attempting to stand up and defend himself, but every time he began to rise, Carter dealt another blow and he was back on the ground. It got to the point where Carter was mentally begging him to just stay down. He didn’t want to hurt the guy as much as he was, but his instructions were to make sure that the man would forget his face, but to never forget the hurt that had been imposed on him.

  Carter may have gone a little overboard.

  By the time he was getting up to leave, he noticed that all noise coming from the man had stopped. There were no more ragged breaths or painful murmurs or even groans. He was just…lying there. Despite his clear instructions on the contrary, Carter leaned down and pressed his middle and forefinger down against the man’s pulse point, but he barely felt anything. He pressed harder and still there was nothing. Becoming panicked, he pressed even harder and his body nearly sagged with the relief of a faint pulse against his fingers.