All for You Page 4

  Emily had walked the halls of the veteran’s hospital and every word out of her best friend’s mouth had shriveled a piece of Emily’s soul. There was false compassion there. A need to be seen as caring or empathetic. But every word her best friend had uttered had dripped with a disdain, a simpering pity, a desire to be somewhere else.

  For Emily, every patient they’d visited had been a different kind of well. A need to find some way to help. Listening to spoiled sons and daughters of privilege whine about their lives had suddenly seemed so…trivial.

  “I’m sure Bentley and Chloe will be just fine without me.” She didn’t mention that she’d caught her best friend with her mouth on her fiancé’s erection in the pool house earlier that afternoon.

  When she’d been looking for a new start, she’d chosen a place where she could make a difference and put all that East Coast Ivy League education to good use.

  She glanced over as the door to the workout floor swung open.

  Sergeant First Class Iaconelli filled it, his gaze sweeping the room.

  It had only been eight hours since the confrontation in the office but she’d forgotten how big he was.

  He no longer wore his uniform. Instead, his body was on full display in a long-sleeved t-shirt that hugged his arms and accented his broad chest. The outline of his dog tags pressed against the black fabric. It was strange that he wore the long-sleeved shirt in the warmth of the gym and in the heat outside.

  She was amazed by the sheer power of the man. He did not simply fill the doorway. He owned the space.

  She looked away, focusing on the rhythm of her legs, hoping he wouldn’t notice her. His being here completely defeated the reason for her workout. She’d needed a run to escape the harsh slap of his words—that she did not belong. She refused to let him get to her.

  But instead, she’d run right to him. How had she never seen him there before? Gym rats were creatures of habit. Same machine. Same time. Same routine. She stared straight ahead but the specter of Iaconelli moved into her field of vision. He stood behind her, his reflection blocking out a large part of the workout floor.

  She could pretend he wasn’t there and continue her run or she could face him and pray there would not be another confrontation. She might be a novice at Conflict Management 101 but she was getting better at it every day. She refused to be bullied by this man or anyone else. She glanced down at her time. She’d only gone about two miles in fifteen minutes. She’d wanted to go another half hour at least.

  Iaconelli simply stood behind her. Waiting. Solid. Stoic.

  She ignored him and kept running.

  She even reached forward and pushed the speed faster. Her legs pumped, her lungs threatened to explode.

  Still she ran, refusing to let the big man intimidate her.

  She ignored him when he climbed onto the treadmill next to hers. Standing beside her, she felt the heat from him merely standing there. His was an oppressive presence.

  He seemed determined to interrupt her run.

  But she was determined to finish. No matter how much he silently demanded that she stop.

  He was a beautiful man. She wished he wasn’t. Somehow it was easier to get into pissing contests with these testosterone-driven men when she wasn’t thinking about them naked.

  And it was so, so easy to imagine this man naked. The long-sleeved t-shirt hugged his skin, leaving little to the imagination. Was his body as hard as it looked?

  Sweat beaded on her forehead as she ran. She could practically feel the irritation coming from him.

  Of course, Iaconelli would be the first man she’d actually thought about that way in a long, long time. A man who looked like he’d rather throttle her than talk to her.

  That way? Oh Lord. What was she, twelve? She shuddered and shook off her thoughts. She was no longer the girl who couldn’t say the word “penis” without turning fifty shades of red. No, she’d gotten over any inhibitions the day she’d found her fiancé with his dick where it didn’t belong.

  She was a soldier now and soldiers didn’t blush when they said the word “dick” or “penis” or any other creative turns of phrase.

  If she thought Iaconelli was a beautiful man, she wasn’t going to apologize for that.

  She glanced down at the timer. Deciding she’d proven her point, she slowed down to a jog.

  When her breathing had slowed enough that she wasn’t gasping, she hit the emergency stop button and turned to face him.

  * * *

  Her body glistened with sweat. It formed a light sheen against the cream of her skin. Her eyes, pale blue earlier, sparkled now like a far off ocean he remembered from a distant dream. They were darker from her exertion.

  He hadn’t expected that she’d be at the gym. He’d been planning to ask her about Sloban’s packet tomorrow. During duty hours. But seeing her at the gym gave him the opportunity to do something now and now was always better than tomorrow, when a hundred other things would demand his attention.

  Reza looked up at the cute doc who looked so different out of uniform. She wiped the sweat from her forehead then draped the towel over her shoulder. “Can I help you, Sergeant?”

  Reza blew out a hard breath. “Do you have a separation packet on a Specialist Neal Sloban?”

  Her nostrils flared slightly. “I have forty-two packets on my desk on any given day. I’d have to check and get back to you,” she said.

  He nodded gruffly. “And what’s going on with Wisniak?”

  She tipped her chin at him. “Are we really going to have a conversation about a soldier’s private medical issues in the middle of the gym?”

  Reza ground his teeth. “It’s a simple question.”

  “It is,” she agreed. “But it’s not one we should have here.”

  “Where would you like to have it?” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. The reaction on her face was enough to let him know he’d made his point.

  He didn’t really care where they had the conversation but it needed to happen. He wasn’t going to let this doc brush him off. Too many of his peers would let the docs do just that. Soldiers suffered.

  “Give me a sec.” He watched her as she wiped down the treadmill and tried not to stare flagrantly at her ass. It was a really great ass and the way she moved was pure grace. Satin layered over steel. He took a step backward and followed her out of the gym. He walked with her silently, enjoying the relative quiet of the end of day at Fort Hood. Oh, there was traffic and the constant hum of life around them but the crush of soldiers swearing at each other, the constant shouts, were gone. But compared to the constant growl of generators broken up by the helicopters whirring overhead and bursts of machine gun fire from the test fire pit, an afternoon at Fort Hood was relatively quiet.

  He followed her around the Greywolf gym and down a gentle slope toward the parking lot. “I don’t usually see you in here,” he commented. A deliberate attempt to lighten up the hostility between them.

  “I usually run out by the airfield. There’s a trail by Engineer Lake I like.”

  “You’re not afraid to run by yourself?” he asked.

  “I don’t believe the media reports that all of you guys in uniform are closet rapists. I’ll take my chances,” she said dryly.

  Well, how about that. Kitty had claws. He was mildly impressed.

  She folded her arms over her chest. “Look, Wisniak is having a really hard time. Without going into too many details, he had an incredibly hard life growing up. He joined the army to be better than what he came from. And in his mind, he’s failed.”

  He studied her as she spoke. There was no hint of the attitude that drove him batshit crazy about the head docs. No need to protect the poor soldier from the evil chain of command. No desire to save the world.

  Just genuine concern for his trooper. Something Reza should have felt. He searched for a name for the misfit emotion swirling inside him. It was unfamiliar and fleeting. Flittering like a hummingbird against his heart befor
e wrapping a cold wet blanket around him. Then he knew it. An old, long forgotten emotion.

  Shame. It shamed him, deeply, that he could not feel empathy for Wisniak. “He doesn’t need to stay in the army,” Reza said softly.

  “It’s all he’s ever wanted,” Emily countered.

  “He can want it all day long. Some people simply aren’t meant to be soldiers.” She flinched. He hadn’t meant to slap at her but he saw he’d struck home nonetheless. He cleared his throat roughly. “Why is it so hard for you to understand that some people really don’t belong in the army?”

  “And why is it so difficult for you to understand that some people just need a little more help fitting into the life we lead?” She lifted her chin. “The failure of not being a good soldier is killing him.”

  The echo of her words pushed aside any hint of compassion, the shame replaced by the familiar burn of rage beneath his skin.

  “It’s killing him?” Reza said softly. “Like, literally killing him? Stabbing him with a bayonet killing him? Close quarters killing him? Or is he getting shot at three hundred yards?”

  Her mouth opened but no sound came out as horror filled her pale blue eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she whispered.

  “How did you mean it, doc?” Reza swallowed the bitterness in his throat, fighting the urge to shout at her that she had no fucking idea about killing.

  “It’s just a figure of speech.”

  Reza smiled coldly. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. Killing is very much not a figure of speech where I’m from. Killing is a hot, bloody, screaming reality. A reality I’m supposed to be training our boys for. It pisses me off that I’ve had boys on the range that I couldn’t go teach how to shoot because I’ve been running around after this kid.”

  “Then why are you even talking to me?” she asked, lifting her chin.

  “Because I have to. Because Wisniak is in my company and that means I’m responsible for him.”

  “That’s a stunning lack of loyalty,” she said, her voice filling with challenge as she found her courage. “How can you lead someone you feel no loyalty toward?”

  “Loyalty is earned.”

  “See, here’s where you and I differ. You should have loyalty to all your soldiers.”

  Reza shifted and folded his arms over his chest, mirroring her own stance. “There are some who aren’t meant to be soldiers.”

  “This again?”

  “Why is that so hard for you to hear?” he asked suddenly. “What is it about you docs that makes you feel like every broken, battered kid can be the next commanding general?”

  “We have to try. Everyone deserves a chance.”

  “But what’s the cost, doc? Every day I spend running around after this kid who wants to kill himself or that kid who can’t take it because his sergeant yelled at him is a day I don’t spend training soldiers for war. Which, by the way, in case you missed it, isn’t over yet.”

  Her skin blanched, tightening over her cheeks. “I know that,” she whispered.

  He remembered the right shoulder of her uniform. No combat patch. He could have driven his point home then. Could have pressed his advantage, reminding her that he’d seen a side of war that would leave her trembling from the raw terror of it.

  But he didn’t. Something about the fear in her eyes reminded him of something he tried very hard to forget.

  He lowered his arms as an old memory tickled the base of his neck. Fear, primitive and dark, looked back at him. Reminding him that he’d been young once. Young but never innocent. Never that.

  But younger. Before the war had twisted everything up inside him. Before it killed anything good he’d managed to salvage from home.

  He closed his mouth, swallowing roughly. “What are the visiting hours on the fifth floor?” he asked.

  She shifted, brushing her hair out of her face. “He’s not ready for visitors.” A familiar gauntlet thrown between them.

  “When will he be?”

  “The attending physician will make that assessment.”

  Reza bit back a snarl of frustration and turned to go before he laid into her for the second time that day.

  “What would it take for you to realize we can’t all be strong all the time?”

  Her words whispered across his skin, taunting him. If he closed his eyes, he would see their faces. The men who’d died on his watch. The men he’d destroyed because they’d dared to defend their homes. Men who looked like his mother’s family.

  He turned slowly to face her. She didn’t back down, didn’t step away from the rage grinding between his teeth. “I know all about weakness, honey. And that is not a position I will defend.”

  He stalked back into the gym, the need for a drink snapping at his heels. Taunting him.

  Demanding he slake the thirst. Just a little bit. Just one drink.

  What could it hurt?

  He headed for the weights. He could do this. He could walk away from the anger and the rage and the hate.

  It was a long time before he was calm enough to leave.

  Chapter Three

  Reza padded to the front door, the carpet soft beneath his bare feet. Someone was pounding on his door like the damn house was on fire and he felt a strong urge to whip someone’s ass.

  It had been a shit week as shit weeks went. The last thing he felt like doing was socializing.

  He swung the door wide to see Ben Teague standing outside, sporting his Stetson and holding a Heineken in one hand.

  “Get your shit. We’re outside.”

  He hitched the towel around his waist and frowned. “Shit, I forgot.”

  Ben Teague was a captain who specialized in avoiding responsibility. He was one of the more senior guys but as far as Reza knew, he’d never been offered command. Which was a damn shame because Teague was a hell of an ally in a firefight. Teague wasn’t the guy Reza wanted watching his six—he was the guy who wanted to be the first man in the stack, kicking in doors.

  He couldn’t seem to wrap his head around the fact that Reza had quit drinking.

  “How could you forget about mandatory fun night? Grab your Stetson and let’s go.”

  He didn’t make a big deal out of it but nights like this where they were expected to socialize at one of the local bars challenged Reza’s restraint. He was the first sergeant, though, so he had to be seen. The sergeant major would notice if he wasn’t there.

  But he was going, if only to prove that he could handle it.

  “Give me five minutes.”

  “Cool. Hurry up.”

  Reza shut the door in Teague’s face and padded back to the bedroom. He dropped his towel onto the bed and pulled on a pair of jeans and tugged a long-sleeved t-shirt over his head, keeping his back to the mirror. He didn’t need the visual reminder of what he’d done to his body over the years tonight.

  Tonight there were too many memories circling. There was no reason for the ghosts to be haunting him. Some nights were just worse than others.

  Grabbing a bottle of water, he stuffed his wallet into his pocket and palmed his cell phone. He pulled his Stetson out of his truck and climbed into Ben’s passenger seat, hoping tonight would be uneventful. Reza wanted to unwind tonight, if only to prove to himself that he could handle it.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out.

  Leaving for NTC tomorrow. Stay out of trouble. He grinned at his phone. Claire had an uncanny ability to contact him when he was about to tip over the line. But he wasn’t. Not tonight. Not tomorrow night.

  He had this.

  Ever since that mission in Colorado, when she’d laid it on the line and forced him to confront the fact that he had a problem, he’d refused to fail her again.

  He slammed the door shut.

  “What took you so long?” Teague asked.

  “I was doing my makeup,” Reza said with a grin he did not feel.

  “You look pretty, honey. Try to leave some of the girls for us tonight.”


  Reza leaned his head back against the seat as Teague turned up the radio. Marilyn Manson blasted through the cab, the bass from “The Beautiful People” thumping in Reza’s chest. It reminded him of the pulse of a fifty cal. A powerful comfort.

  Abruptly, the music ended.

  “What crawled up your ass?” Teague demanded.

  Reza sighed. “Just first sergeant bullshit. Docs busting my balls at the office. Marshall being a pain in the ass. Same shit, different day.”

  Teague turned off the highway, heading toward Belton Lake. “Sometimes I think it’s easier being deployed.”

  “We’re heading to the MOUT site next week. Ought to break up the monotony.” Reza took a sip from the water bottle, unable to avoid the reaction inside him that wished it was something stronger.

  Excitement burned through him. He couldn’t wait to head out to the Elijah MOUT site, the mock-up city where they practiced urban operations. He loved running the boys through kicking in doors and fighting house to house. He got a charge out of it.

  It was the only place that felt like everything fit. Everything else was just a pause until he could get back to training or better, to war. Training soldiers for war was what he did. It was what he was good at.

  He wasn’t supposed to be some expert at mental health and suicide prevention.

  The damn doc was wrong. Everyone couldn’t be a soldier. He knew that truth down into the marrow of his bones. He had the scars on his body to prove just how wrong she was. The army needed soldiers and no amount of time on the head doc’s couch could turn a spineless weakling into a warrior.

  He’d dealt with far too many so-called leaders of men who’d refused to leave a bunker when the mortars started falling. Far too many grown men who’d frozen the first time their convoy had gotten blown up and refused to ever leave the base again.

  He didn’t blame them for the fear. But he didn’t respect them either.

  Terror was part of combat. A heady marriage of fear and adrenaline and death. It was the most potent of drugs, he thought, twisting the cap on the water bottle. Combat rewired the brain like nothing else. And his blood was now hardwired to needing the fix.