After the War Read online

  But Wilson was right. She had been fired. She’d never command again. At this point, she’d be lucky if she got promoted to major. It was a far off dream, out of reach.

  “Sarah, the Army isn’t meant for officers who are single mothers. You simply cannot give the same as an officer who has no children or who has a wife at home to take care of these things.”

  Sarah forced herself to speak. To retain some shred of dignity and not just sit there, mute and powerless.

  “Ma’am, I’ve done everything the Army has ever asked of me. Willingly and with everything I am.” Sarah choked out the words. Her throat was tight and her lungs burned from not getting enough air.

  She would not cry in front of this woman.

  “Then maybe you should readjust your priorities. Clearly if you’ve been devoting everything to the Army, your child is suffering.”

  Sarah pressed her lips together to keep her mouth from falling open. She expected this kind of attitude from a male. Her previous boss had been looking for an excuse to fire her for exactly those reasons. But to hear this from another woman? She’d always had such support from other women, especially since she’d commissioned.

  “Mommy?”

  They both looked toward the door at the tiny source of the little voice.

  Sarah’s heart skipped a beat at the little voice that slipped into the office. Anna peeked around the doorframe, a look of urgent distress twisting her adorable features. “What’s wrong, honey?”

  “I have to go potty.”

  Any other time, the urgent plea would have been no big deal. “Didn’t you just go?”

  “Mommy, I have to poop.”

  Sarah’s face flamed red and she was half out of her chair before she realized she hadn’t been dismissed. The Army was the only place in the world where she would ever have to ask permission to take her daughter to the bathroom. She turned back to see a smug look on the major’s face.

  “You’re dismissed. I expect you at work as soon as your daughter is well enough to return to daycare.”

  Sarah stepped from the office, slipping her hand into Anna’s as she led her daughter down the hall. The anger was sudden and violent and rose up from a primitive place deep inside her.

  She didn’t even know how to respond to Wilson’s comments. What could she do? No one would believe her. It was too surreal. Hell, Sarah didn’t even believe what she’d just sat through.

  Wilson’s implication that she wasn’t a good mother burned over her skin. Every single minute of her time with Anna was precious to her. She waited for Anna to wash her hands then led her daughter out to the car.

  She would be angry later. After Anna was in bed. And the dishes were done. And lunch made.

  Maybe by the time she had time to be angry, she’d have forgotten why she was furious to begin with.

  * * *

  Sleep and Sean hadn’t been friends in a long, long time. Since before the war, he figured. He lay in bed staring at the overhead fan, wishing there was something he could take, something he could do that would banish the insomnia and finally let him sleep. There was no storm tonight, but that didn’t matter because his thoughts were plenty to torment him all on their own.

  How the hell had he not known that Sarah had married Jack Anders? Maybe because he’d been busy fighting a war? Not a whole hell of a lot of time to play “show me pictures of your kids” with his fellow lieutenants.

  He glanced toward his closet. He knew what was in there. Where the memories lurked. Buried beneath old uniforms no longer authorized for wear was an old shoebox. He didn’t actually want to go hopping down memory lane tonight. Not by a long shot.

  But since it was approaching midnight, and he clearly wasn’t going to be heading to sleep any time soon, what the hell else was he going to do?

  And tonight was not a night for ignoring memories.

  The shoebox was easy enough to find.

  He sat, just looking at the tattered brown lid. It was from the first pair of boots he’d bought as an officer candidate at Benning after his first foot march had nearly crippled him. He flipped open the top and was greeted by a stack of postcards maybe an inch thick. The sum of all of his communication with his parents since he’d joined the Army.

  He should be honest with himself. The postcards were since he’d left home. His folks had died on his second tour in Iraq, and because Sean had already had mid-tour leave, he hadn’t been allowed to come home for the funeral. Not when they’d been neck deep in the shit in Najaf.

  Another one of those choices that his civilian sister just didn’t understand. No one believed military folks when they told them they missed funerals and other serious life events because they’d been stuck in Iraq. He could still hear Cynthia calling him a goddamned liar. Yet another reason why they tolerated each other but had rarely spoken since Mom and Dad had died.

  He moved the postcards to one side and pulled out a tiny, pocket-sized photo album. He ran his thumb over the dusty cover.

  Fear and something else squeezed his throat.

  It was a long time before he lifted the cover.

  He swallowed hard at the first photo.

  Sarah beamed up at him, her arm around a younger Sean’s waist. Her face had been rounder then, her smile a little more carefree. God, but he’d been skinny back then.

  He turned the page. A picture of them tubing down a river, a cooler of beer between them. Sarah smiling up at him when they’d gone to the field together. They’d been in the same unit once upon a time. She’d been a smart-ass private, and he’d been drawn to her even then.

  They’d had a good life together. And then he’d come down on orders for Korea. He’d wanted to marry her. Wanted to take her with him.

  And she’d said no.

  “I’m not going to be that girl, Sean. The one who runs off and marries the first guy who gets her all hot and bothered.”

  “Do you realize how fucked up that sounds?” The anger had hidden the hurt that night.

  “I don’t want kids, Sean,” she’d said softly. “I don’t want the white picket fence or the golden retriever. I’m not good at any of those things.”

  There were no more pictures in the lonely album. Their life together had ended when she’d said no. He sat for what felt like forever, hand over his mouth.

  She’d gotten married within two years of leaving him. He had no idea how old the little girl was that he’d seen her with today, but if he had to guess, he’d say five, maybe.

  She hadn’t wanted kids. Hadn’t wanted to get married. Sean had wanted all of those things. If she hadn’t gotten married so soon after telling him no, maybe it wouldn’t feel like such a betrayal. Like maybe she’d held on to a small memory of when things had actually been good between them.

  They hadn’t broken up immediately after she’d said no. They’d tried to keep things going, but the closer he’d gotten to Korea, the worse things got for them. He started going out without her.

  And one morning, he’d come home after a particularly bad weekend in Austin, and Sarah had been gone. She’d packed up her stuff—a fact that made him think she’d already been planning on leaving him—and been gone before he’d dragged his ass home.

  He’d gone to Korea and tried to forget about her. Then the war started, and he got too busy to wonder what might have been. He’d lost himself in the adrenaline rush of combat and training, then more training and more combat.

  He dragged his hand over his face and rolled over, one arm wrapped around the spare pillow. His eyes drifted closed but all he could see were the images of him and Sarah. Memories blended with the present and reminded him of everything that he’d lost.

  Five

  Sarah walked out of the morning staff sync meeting unsure if the dread in her stomach was from the realization that she was going to have to see Sean today or from Major Wilson’s soul-withering gaze during the meeting.

  Today’s glare had come because a lieutenant in the ops cell had missed a deadlin
e—a deadline that Sarah had not been aware of, nor had she been aware that the damn lieutenant even worked for her.

  Awesome.

  And then there’d been a final little jab at the end of the three-hour marathon staff meeting about not having the investigation completed.

  This job was going to be just as fun as her last job, working for people who hated their subordinates. By regulation, she had thirty days to conduct the investigation. But no time like the present to get things done. Last night, thanks to field grade officer–induced insomnia and because her leg had been throbbing like a toothache, Sarah had stayed up and gone through the limited paperwork she had on the case, avoiding the obvious reason why she was delaying dealing with Sean and his company as much as possible.

  She didn’t want to see Sean again but she needed to just bite the pillow and get it over with. Get in, get done, and get as far away from Sean Nichols as she could. She’d moved on once. It was time to do it again. Permanently.

  So she braced herself, put on her headgear, and headed toward his company ops. She needed to speak to Kearney and Smith, and then she could close this investigation up, send it to the lawyer for legal review, and be done with everything pertaining to Sean Nichols or his company.

  She stepped into his company ops, though, and found the lights off in the front office. Empty but not silent. There was a crowd in the back—doing what, she had no idea.

  She debated walking toward the noise, not really wanting to step foot in the middle of whatever chaos was going on.

  Thankfully, she didn’t have to. Sean stepped into the front of the ops. He paused near the door, his gaze colliding with hers.

  Her eyes flicked down his body and wow was that a mistake. He wasn’t wearing his uniform jacket. Sweat marked his thin brown T-shirt where it clung to his body, outlining broad shoulders and narrow stomach. His chest rose and fell quickly as he struggled to catch his breath but he stood there, still and silent. She wished she had something smart and witty to say, but her brain was stuck on sweat and heat and a whole lot of thoughts she should not be having about Sean Nichols.

  Jesus, the man was sex on a stick. He’d grown into his height and filled out. She remembered the first time she’d seen his chest and the narrow trail of hair that had disappeared down his belly into his pants and her entire body tightened, wondering what he’d look like now beneath that Army T-shirt.

  And wow, talk about a mental detour. Nothing like mentally undressing your ex in the office.

  “Sounds like you need to call the MPs.” Her voice sounded gritty even to her own ears. Damn it. She was going to be professional around this man if it killed her. Which it might, to be honest.

  He narrowed his dark eyes, not bothering to hide his suspicion at the carefully neutral statement. She could practically see him calculating his own response.

  He hooked his thumbs into his belt loops. “Combatives. Blowing off steam.”

  Sarah raised her eyebrows. “On cement?” So far so good. They could be civil. They were both adults.

  “We put down mats.”

  “Safety first, right?” She took a deep breath, intensely aware of the weight of his gaze on her. “Look, Sean, about yesterday…”

  “I was out of line.” He took a few steps closer, stopping just at the edge of her personal space. That he didn’t approach spoke volumes about the man he’d become. The boy he’d been would have come too close, come on too strong. She’d loved that about him back then, until she realized that his intensity wasn’t limited by anything close to resembling rational thought.

  The apology stood between them, sucking the familiar animosity out of the space that separated them. He’d completely disarmed her with that single sentence. She finally looked up, meeting his gaze. There was an unexpected warmth there that threw her off balance.

  “So was I,” she said simply, when she was certain her voice wouldn’t break. “I guess I wasn’t prepared to see you again. After…everything.”

  “Yeah. I get that.” A shadow flickered in his eyes, and he looked away, fiddling with a pen that was chained to the counter. He cleared his throat. “So you need to talk to Kearney and Smith, right?”

  “That should really take care of it.” She set the folder down on the counter and opened it. “I can’t honestly figure out why they want a formal investigation here, anyway. It seems like it’s a pretty straightforward incident.”

  Sean nodded and tucked his hands beneath his arms. “I have Smith in the back. We’ve got to pick Kearney up from his group therapy session in twenty minutes.”

  She didn’t miss how he ignored her comment about the investigation. “Group therapy?” Sarah made a quick note on the yellow legal pad inside her folder.

  Sean sighed heavily. “He’s in alcohol abuse counseling, among other things.”

  “Command referred or self?”

  “Command.” Sean swallowed, his gaze flicking away briefly. “Kearney’s got a lot of…issues.” There was something off in his expression, a more personal worry than anything she’d ever thought possible. She’d seen that look before.

  On Claire when she was acting as Sarn’t Iaconelli’s shield. Sarah studied the man in front of her, worried that this might be the exact same situation.

  “This bothers you.”

  He met her gaze then. “I’ve known him a long time. He’s a hell of a soldier downrange. It’s just his personal life that’s a disaster.”

  She almost smiled. “I know a lot of soldiers like that.”

  “Don’t we all?”

  It felt strange talking to him like this. Like they were old friends. He studied her then, and she didn’t look away. Not from the past that stood between them. Not from the present that wrapped around them. She simply stood, taking in the changes half a lifetime and war had left on this man. A man she’d loved once upon a time.

  He shifted and before her brain could register what he was about to do, he lifted his hand and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “It’s really good to see you again, Sarah.” Soft, hesitant words.

  His fingers were warm and rough against her cheek, a shocking sensation. A touch that took her back, way back to when he used to touch her the exact same way. The memory collided with the present.

  She stepped back out of pure reflex. Out of his space. Out of range.

  “Please don’t do that again.” Pain and surprise laced those words.

  Sean’s hand closed where it had still hung in the air, and he dropped it. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “It’s okay.” But her voice wavered, just a little. “I’m…just not…I can’t rehash the past with you, Sean.”

  “I get that.” He slipped his hands into his pockets, the muscles in his neck tense. “I’ll get Smith for you.” But he didn’t move, not for a breath, maybe longer. Silence stretched between them. For once, it was not uncomfortable or filled with unsaid things.

  It simply was.

  She’d wanted to grow old with him. She remembered that now. She missed the comfort she’d had with him. The complete ease and security she’d felt, just knowing he loved her.

  Just not enough for her to be a soldier and his wife.

  She cleared her throat, needing to focus on her mission.

  Needing to put Sean Nichols out of her mind. Because she’d loved him once upon a time and he’d let her down. There was no happily ever after, not in this life.

  Not for soldiers like Sarah.

  * * *

  He couldn’t say what had possessed him to reach out and touch her. He wanted to blame his lack of sleep, but even that felt like stretching the truth for his momentary insanity.

  The truth was he’d simply wanted to see if she still reacted the same way to his touch. Because they’d been good together, once. And though he’d dated and even been marginally serious with a nurse back at Benning, he’d never settled down.

  He cleared his throat. “You can, ah, use my first sergeant’s office to talk to Smith.�
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  “Your first sergeant won’t mind?”

  “Nah, he’s heading to the motorpool after this so he’ll be out of the office for a while.” The front door of his orderly room swung open, letting in the bright Texas sun and heat.

  In that moment, his total focus on Sarah diverted to the young soldier who walked through that door. The soldier who was only a shadow of the man Sean had once known. Gone was the quick grin and biting intelligence. His civilian T-shirt hung loosely on his thin shoulders. His pants were at least ten sizes too big and a chain ran from his belt loop to his back pocket.

  But it was his eyes that shocked Sean the most. There were shadows there, dark and deep and filled with old ghosts and fresh torments.

  People always wondered if the kids who came back fucked up from the war had gone downrange fucked up to begin with. Sean knew better.

  But that didn’t make the shock at Haverson’s appearance any easier to mask. Sean tried to play off his surprise but his voice sounded hollow. Empty. “Hasselhoff!”

  “Damn it, sir, I told you to stop calling me that. Haverson. Hav. Er. Son.” The smile didn’t even come close to reaching his eyes. Sean couldn’t remember the last time it really had. It had been months since Haverson had been transferred out of their unit and into the Warrior Transition Unit. Guilt wrapped around his throat and squeezed tight. He should have tried harder to get him transferred back to Sean’s unit. He’d ask the boss again. He had to try, right?

  He threw one arm around Haverson’s shoulders and pulled him into a quick one-armed man hug. He felt frail. Far too thin.

  “You reenlist yet?” Sean asked, stepping back.

  “Nah. I told you, sir, I’m going home.” Haverson shook his head, the shadow creeping over his features. “The Warrior Transition Unit is putting my chapter packet on the expressway.”