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Chapter 18
Hannah looked at the worksheet in front of her. A therapist explained the assignment. The simple assignment.
She kept her head down. The words blurred in front of her eyes. Around her she could hear pages rustling as the other residents pulled their worksheets towards themselves. Pens scratching answers on the paper.
"Hannah?"
Hannah forced herself to look up. The therapist looked at the pen on the table. The worksheet without a mark on it. "Do you need some help?"
Hannah looked back down at the worksheet. She shook her head slightly.
"Ok. Let me know if you have any questions."
Hannah at least picked up the pen as the therapist walked away.
She read the first question. What are the previous goals I have set?
She rolled the pen between her fingers. Around her, the others in the group were busy answering the questions. Learning from the past. Planning for the future.
Hannah pressed her lips together and gripped her pen.
Go to college.
Work in my dad's church.
Maintain the family standards.
Don't mess up.
Don't let anyone know about the pain.
Feel pain. Cut to feel something.
Hide the scars.
Hannah swallowed hard, looking at what she had written. She shouldn't have written that. She quickly scribbled over the words, covering the truth with dark ink.
She looked at the next blank she was supposed to fill in. Were goals achieved?
That was easy.
No.
She had messed up. Her dad had seen the scars. And she had been locked up here ever since. Which answered the next question. List the reasons the goals were achieved or not. Be specific.
She couldn't do this. She stood abruptly.
"I don't feel well," she said to the therapist. The therapist didn't look surprised.
"Do you think you can stay here? We can talk about the questions you're stuck on."
Hannah shook her head quickly. Reliving the past wasn't something she wanted to do. Not when it was supposed to help her plan for the future. All she could see of her future was exactly what she had already done. She kept her eyes down on her shoes.
"Alright. I hope you feel better. I'll have a nurse check on you."
Hannah grabbed the paper off the table, crumpling it in her hand as she retreated.
That was what she was best at. Retreating. Hiding.
Those were goals she could meet.
The worksheet was supposed to be a lead-in to leaving the facility. Finishing treatment and moving on with life.
The thought of going back home was an even worse option than staying locked up.
She bypassed her room. The facility wasn't entirely a locked environment. Not for her anymore. She had been supervised, whether in person or by camera, her first few weeks there. Sharp objects kept away. Twice daily meetings with a therapist and daily meetings with a psychiatrist. Medications started. Medications adjusted.
Hannah breathed a sigh of relief when she pushed open the front door of the sprawling facility. She had only recently earned the privilege of unsupervised time outside.
It was cold outside, but this front porch was at least protected from the snowfall. Hannah took a seat in one of the rocking chairs, wrapping her arms around herself.
She relished the slight bit of privacy the porch gave her. And quiet. Nowhere in the facility was quiet. There was a constant hum of activity and people everywhere.
Hannah drew in a deep breath. She hadn't heard from Josiah in two weeks. She had no idea if he was really looking for a place for her to be able to stay with him in Denver when she was released. But none of that would matter if his deployment was extended again.
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and worried it. She turned the questions on the group therapy worksheet over in her mind. She hadn't managed to make a life for herself in Tucson. Not really. She had spent every day walking on eggshells, more concerned about keeping her father appeased than any sort of thought for herself.
Maybe…
Even thinking of the possibility made her stomach twist in knots. But she pushed ahead.
Maybe she could find a place in Denver. Even if Josiah wasn't there yet.
She quickly ducked her head as if someone may see the rebellious direction her thoughts had taken.
But she didn't tamp down the idea. She let it slowly unfurl its roots and take hold.
#
Chris dragged a hand over his face. The alarm that had pulled them away from the video call with Ellie had been a drill, nothing serious. But then they had been sent out on patrol, a considerable distance from the base and there hadn't been any more calls with Ellie. For two weeks they had been away from any means of communication.
Chris scanned the barren countryside from just outside the fence, no life to be seen anywhere near his post.
The time at the outpost base left him replaying the last abbreviated call. That man on the couch with her. Ellie saying she was staying the night at his place.
Chris heard something behind him and turned. No one was there. Patrols never used to make him jumpy. Not until Stephen was killed in the joint mission.
He told himself to get his head on straight. It wasn't like he expected Ellie to never have a man in her life. Hell, he didn't want Ellie waiting around for the likes of him. And he knew there had been boyfriends before. He just didn't remember ever hearing of her spending the night with one of them.
He thought he saw movement and snapped to attention, narrowing his eyes. Again, nothing.
He shifted his position slightly, tightening his hold on his rifle. He had already walked the perimeter, made sure nothing was out there. No threats.
Other than a pretty blonde back home who he had no business thinking about.
"Everything quiet?"
Chris started at the voice. He quickly reined in his reaction before turning.
Vin's eyes darkened slightly with concern, but he didn't comment.
Chris should have heard him coming. He turned his back on Vin, looking out over the terrain. "All quiet."
Vin had been patrolling the other side of the small base. He rested his rifle in the crook of his arm and stood silently beside Chris.
Chris tried to focus on the distant hills in front of them, instead of memories of hazel eyes that could look right at him and see what he hid even from himself.
"Been a rough deployment," Vin said, his voice mellow in spite of the heaviness of his words.
Chris remembered what it had felt like to have Ellie with him. Knowing it couldn't last.
"Chris?" Vin asked.
Chris managed a grunt in response. He thought he had responded to Vin's comment. He needed to get his head on straight. Get Ellie out of his thoughts.
"It looks good out here. We can head back in," Vin said.
Chris scanned the horizon one more time before nodding. He went with Vin back into the compound.
They stowed their rifles without comment, though Chris felt Vin looking his way more than once.
"You going to eat now?" Vin asked.
Chris shook his head. When he didn't offer anything more, Vin gave him one last look and headed toward the small mess tent himself.
Chris went to their barracks. It was nowhere near as comfortable as the main base, not that there was any luxury back on base. But at least it was quieter, with fewer soldiers and SEALs in the makeshift housing.
Chris made his way to his bunk, but he was too restless to read the book he had brought with. He pulled his duffel out from under his cot.
Down at the bottom, underneath his meticulously folded uniforms and few personal effects, was a notebook. He pulled it out.
He settled onto his bunk and flipped the notebook open. There were two letters in it. Letters he would never let anyone see.
The first was written the day they had landed in Syria. He quickly turned past it. He ignored the next one as well.
His handwriting was barely legible in the best of times, and hastily scrawling another letter into the notebook didn't improve it, but he started scribbling out the words anyway.
Telling Ellie all the reasons she shouldn't have been with him had been addressed in the second letter. But now he was making sure she knew the reasons she still shouldn't be with him.
It took all of one side of paper and most of the next, but Chris got the reasons listed out.
The tangled mess of thoughts were clearer when he could look at the black and white writing, reasoning why Ellie should forget about him. He was doing the right thing, making sure he didn't encourage her.
His pen hesitated over the paper. He brought it back to the paper. One sentence. That was all. One sentence stating the stark truth.
It's not safe around me.
He wasn't sure if he meant the constant threat of insurgents, or his inability to protect his men. Or if it would be just as dangerous around him if he was back in Denver.
#
Ellie curled farther into the faux fur blanket Ezra kept on his couch. She dug her spoon into the pint of peanut butter ice cream and took a big scoop, the familiar flavor a comfort in the unfamiliar apartment. She stirred the melting ice cream to better mix the jalapeños she had sliced into the carton.
She had worked from…well, not from home. But from Ezra's apartment the last week. The combination of lingering morning sickness, stress over the fire at her apartment complex, and a lack of clothes besides one pair of jeans and whatever sweats she was borrowing from Ezra made working from Ezra's couch the easier choice.
But now she had finished entering the receipts for the week, she had spent the better part of the morning on the phone with Ezra's distributors placing orders, and she had thrown up twice. It was late, dark in the apartment, and Dancing With the Stars reruns were on cable.
Ellie took another bite of ice cream. Watching a professional football player learn to do the foxtrot was decidedly better than worrying about the phone call she had gotten earlier saying she should finally be able to get into her apartment tomorrow to see what was salvageable.
The spice of jalapeño peppers mixed with the ice cream and had her closing her eyes and savoring the two am snack instead of thinking about how much may be lost in her apartment.
The wood floor creaked lightly and she turned, the blanket she had pulled over her head like a hood falling over one eye.
"Did I wake you up?" Ellie asked, already setting her ice cream aside and starting to rise.
Ezra shook his head, glancing from her to the ice cream to the television. "I was still awake."
Ellie felt like the worst houseguest ever. The slight raspiness to his voice exposed his lie. He had clearly been sleeping. She should have stayed in her room. But the desperation for a distraction from the worries she was trying not to think about had driven her out to the living room. And then the craving for something sweet—and something spicy—had taken hold.
"Dancing With the Stars?" Ezra asked.
Ellie got up, glancing over her shoulder at the television. "Yeah. Sorry, I didn't mean to have it on so loud." She started to fold the blanket, but Ezra came over to the couch.
"It wasn't loud," he said. "What celebrities are showing their Dancing prowess this episode?" Ezra asked.
Ellie hesitated. "That defensive lineman for the Jets," she said. "And a basketball player."
Ezra sat in an armchair, the leather creaking comfortably. "Do either of them have any hope of winning?"
Ellie looked at Ezra. He was in flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt with his bar's name on it, his hair mussed. He didn't look like he had been planning on anything but sleep. But now he was comfortably settled in the armchair, attention on the show she had been watching.
Ellie sat back down on the couch, unfolding the blanket back over her. "The football player's not too bad," she said.
Ezra nodded and watched the rehearsal with the man who easily weighed over 300 pounds.
Ellie picked her ice cream back up.
"The foxtrot is showy, but I prefer the quickstep," Ezra commented idly.
Ellie's spoon stopped between the carton and her mouth. She looked at him. "You know the difference?" she asked.
Ezra kept watching the screen. "I used to teach ballroom dance."
"What?" Ellie asked. She turned so she was facing him directly, looking for any sign he was joking. "You taught ballroom dancing?"
Ezra slid a glance toward her. "You don't need to sound like it's such a ludicrous idea." He turned his attention back to the television. "One of my many stepfathers owned a ballroom and event center."
Ellie saw the way he grimaced at the mention of an apparent string of step fathers. She wasn't going to prod what was clearly a wound. "So you know how to foxtrot? And waltz?"
"Among other things," Ezra answered.
"You seriously taught dance lessons?" Ellie asked.
Ezra looked at her again. A slight challenge glinted in his eye. He stood and held out a hand to her.
Ellie looked at his hand blankly. Then she realized he intended to prove his skill. She set her ice cream aside again, not missing the way Ezra looked at the jalapeño peppers floating in the melting ice cream with a grimace. She stood and took his hand, thinking of all the times she had danced with Vin, Nathan, sometimes Josiah if he had a few drinks first. She had missed having fun.
She stood and Ezra clasped her hand and pulled her into a perfect waltz position.
Ellie met his position, but it was awkward, not like with her brother's friends. She hadn't had a growing baby to account for. She grimaced slightly. "I'm not really in shape for dancing," she said, feeling a slight flush heat her cheeks. She started to pull away, aware of her abdomen, the weight she had gained.
"There is currently a linebacker who ways half a ton dancing on the screen. I don't think a slight pregnancy disqualifies you."
Ellie looked at him doubtfully, but Ezra only waited for her to face him again.
Ellie hesitated. Ezra waited. "Alright," she said, clapping her hand onto his shoulder and taking hold of his hand with her other. "Show me what you've got."
Ezra flashed her a brief smile, then stepped back, pulling her lightly with him.
Ezra stepped forward with easy grace, lightly moving her along in the pattern of steps. He was easy to follow, leading her through a simple waltz.
"You do know how to dance," Ellie exclaimed with a laugh. She followed his lead, the waltz carrying them around his living room. He deftly guided her around the furniture, one hand light on her low back and keeping her from any wrong steps.
Ezra spun her lightly, brought her back toward him and lightly dipped her just the slightest distance.
He lifted her back to face him and cocked an eyebrow.
Ellie laughed again. "Ok, I stand corrected," she said breathlessly. "You know how to waltz." Ezra released her with a grin and she stepped back, one hand on her chest while she tried to catch her breath. "I feel like a fish out of breath."
Ezra tilted his head quizzically. "Out of water."
"What?" Ellie asked.
"The saying is a fish out of…Nothing," he brushed off whatever he had been going to say. He motioned toward the couch. "Should we see how the football player fares?"
Ellie sat back on the couch, the blanket around her. But this time the haunting loneliness and worry was replaced with a warm glow. She glanced over at Ezra. He put his feet up on the footstool, resting his head against the back of the chair. It was nearly three o'clock in the morning and the exhaustion started to finally hit Ellie.
They watched the show in silence until Ellie heard Ezra's breathing change to a slow steady rhythm. She curled up on the couch, letting the noise of the show and Ezra's breathing lull her to sleep.
#
