A/N: Tissue warning.
Ranger's POV
Stephanie was silent as we entered the building. I growled upon finding someone had wedged the back door open to allow others to enter without a key. "Some of the residents get impatient and don't close the door fully," Stephanie explained.
"Babe, someone intentionally left it open," I argued. She didn't understand the breach in security. How would I keep Stephanie safe if her neighbours neglected basic security measures? What was the point of having keyed entry when nobody shut the door?
"I'm not disagreeing with you. Has anyone entered our apartment?" Stephanie challenged. Her eyebrows rose when I removed the phone from my pocket. She doesn't try to read over my shoulder, but she does cross her arms on her chest and patiently waits for me to find the answer.
I texted Tank, asking if they received activity from the cameras. He replied with, "No. I would have informed you."
"Who are you messaging?" Stephanie questioned. She rolled her eyes when I didn't answer. We took the elevator to the second floor. It was missing the typical self-appointed operator. "Mrs. Bestler must be in bed."
"Is that her name?" I asked, taking advantage of Babe not insisting on an answer about who I was texting. Eventually, I would have to tell her. Perhaps I could delay it until Tuesday when the men arrived in Trenton. My business partners would love my wife, not in the same way I do, but she would have more honorary brothers than she anticipated.
Stephanie giggled, "Yes. She's eighty-three and usually walks the hallways whenever she can't sleep. Maybe she's walking the second-floor hallway." We don't find Mrs. Bestler on our floor. She must have gone to bed, as Stephanie indicated. "You never answered my question," Stephanie said. Damn! I should have known my wife wouldn't let it go. I raised a finger to my mouth, indicating she should remain silent as I unlocked our door. Stephanie rolled her eyes. It was both endearing and annoying. I could trust her to stay quiet while I ensured our home was safe.
Despite knowing our apartment was clear, I searched every room because the building's back door was ajar. Stephanie watched my back after closing and locking the door. She refused to wait by the door and put herself in danger from someone in the outer hallway. After securing the door locks and chain, Stephanie followed me with her weapon drawn. It had me smiling as I checked every nook and cranny.
I walked to the kitchen to grab two bottles of water. Stephanie smiled as I twisted the lid off one and passed it to her. She took a small sip before wiping away the condensation outside the bottle, drying her hands on her pants. "Babe?" I asked when she picked at the label, peeling the damp paper from the plastic.
"Let's sit on the couch," she sadly replied. Stephanie doesn't want to talk about her past. She had to talk it out to move past the event and heal. I understand the merit of keeping unpleasant memories buried, but whatever she remembered at the morgue must be shared before it negatively affects her. Civilians are susceptible to PTSD like soldiers. I suspected Stephanie never saw a grief counsellor, or if she had, it wasn't nearly long enough to help her move past the trauma. The trauma would be worse if she witnessed or was involved in the fatal accident she mentioned in the morgue. Who was the dead person Stephanie had to identify? I know it had to be Jeanne Ellen's sister, but until Babe specifically mentioned the sister, I didn't want to jump to conclusions.
We sat on the couch after kicking off our shoes. Stephanie rested her head on my left shoulder, tightly tucked at my side, holding the water in her right hand. She occasionally lifted it to her lips to take a small sip. Since my bottle was empty, I placed it on the side table to my right, wrapped my left arm around her shoulders and silently gave Babe the support she needed to begin the conversation. "Start at the beginning," I said when Babe seemed lost for words. She sighed, knowing I wasn't going to let it go. I could be stubborn, too.
"Okay," Stephanie replied. "It was New Year's Eve," she started, "Sydney and I attended a fraternity party. Her fiancé went home for the holidays. Sydney stayed behind to work on an assignment that was due when school recommenced. It was only one of the reasons. I had harsh words with my mom on Christmas Day, and I returned to the dorm to escape her nagging. Sydney also couldn't afford to accompany Eric. Her grandfather would have paid for the trip but was already covering her tuition and residency in the dorm. She was unwilling to ask for more help."
Stephanie took a few shuddering breaths. I rubbed her arm, encouraging her to continue. "I started dating James McIntyre, a Delta Kappa Epsilon fraternity member, a week before the party," she said. I growled, interrupting her story. "Carlos, I have only had sex with three men. You are one of them, and you already know about my ex-husband and rapist. Your jealousy doesn't help while I'm trying to tell you a traumatic story," Stephanie said, stopping me from getting angry about a man who wasn't in Stephanie's life anymore.
"What happened to James?" I asked.
"I'm getting there," she whispered. "The fraternity house was halfway between Douglass and Rutgers' campuses. Anyway, Sydney and I attended the New Year's Eve party with my boyfriend, James, and his gay older brother, Patrick. I had too much to drink. James was our designated driver since he was allergic to alcohol. He was too straight-laced to use recreational drugs, so he was clean and sober. Patrick and Sydney had a few drinks but weren't nearly as drunk as me. Everything is kind of a blur, but I still remember what happened."
I pulled Stephanie onto my lap when she wiped the tears from her eyes. She waited a few minutes to gather her emotions. It was hard for Stephanie to tell me the story. Rubbing comforting circles on her back, I patiently waited until she could speak. "Babe, please continue," I soothingly encouraged after a few more minutes of silence.
"Sorry," she whispered. "After watching the ball drop on television, James and I kissed. Then, I kissed Sydney's cheek, quickly followed by one to Patrick's cheek. The room was spinning, so James suggested we go home. Sydney, Patrick and I agreed. We wanted to crawl into our warm beds and sleep the rest of the night away. One of Sydney's quirks was to sit behind the driver. It was silly, but she said it allowed her to talk to the front passenger. She had to look into your face while talking, something her parents drilled into her head. It was probably from her dad's military background. I let Patrick take the front passenger seat since he was too tall for the back. A block away from our dorms, a drunk driver sped through the red light and t-boned the car. The doctor said James and Sydney died upon impact. Patrick, being so tall, suffered from irreversible brain trauma. His parents removed him from life support after the hospital removed viable organs."
Stephanie burst into tears. Her body shook as she sobbed, soaking my shirt with tears and snot. I didn't care. Stephanie needed my silent support. But I had to know if Stephanie had sustained injuries, which would only add to her emotional state being the only survivor. "Babe, did you get hurt?" I asked when her tears subsided enough for her to talk coherently.
"Other than breaking my left leg, I only had bruises. I was the sole survivor of the accident. It was a miracle that I made it out with a few injuries. My beautiful blond-haired friend with dancing blue eyes died in a fatal accident. The car rolled a few times, crushing more with every flip. The firefighters had to pry it open with the jaws of life to rescue Patrick and me. They took their time with Sydney and James since they were already dead. Why did I live when the best person on earth died?" Stephanie cried with words disjointed as grief overwhelmed her.
"I understand the emotions behind survivor's guilt. Have you talked to a grief counsellor?" I questioned.
"Yes, a few days after the accident, I identified Sydney's body. Seeing her silky blond hair matted and tinted with blood was horrible. I pointed out the birthmark in the shape of a popcorn kernel on her right hip. When I saw her sister, Janelle, on the morgue's slab, it brought those images to the surface," Stephanie confessed. She slipped off my lap.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"To the bathroom. I'll grab the photo albums from the closet," Stephanie replied. She returned several minutes later with two books. Stephanie hugged one to her chest before opening it. Whatever the album contained meant a lot to my wife. "This is Sydney."
The woman standing beside Stephanie resembled Jeanne Ellen, except she had blue eyes. Stephanie flipped through the pages, showing me pictures of Stephanie with Sydney. It was evident they were close. The last photo in the album was of Stephanie, Sydney, and an unknown male sitting on the beach with their backs to the photographer while watching the gorgeous sunset. Sydney was seated between Stephanie and the man. "Who is the man beside Sydney?" I asked.
Sniffling, Stephanie replied, "Eric Ramsey. He was Sydney's fiancé. We visited the beach at Point Pleasant that weekend, which was Labour Day weekend before our third year. Eric proposed to Sydney a few hours before another friend took this photo." I recognized the man's name. He could be the same Eric Ramsey currently under my employment, but I've known Ram since basic training, and I never had to conduct a complete background check on his past. I could ask Rodriguez to run one. However, without provocation, there wasn't a need.
"Babe," I said. She turned her head, looking into my eyes. Hers were red-rimmed from crying. Stephanie's cheeks were puffy from wiping her eyes. I reached to the side table to pluck a few tissues from the box, passing them to her. She talked incoherently while wiping her nose, the tissues muffling her words.
"Sorry for crying so much. I miss her so much," Stephanie whispered.
"Stephanie," I interrupted. "Did that accident affect your education?"
"Second semester was practically a write-off. I barely passed the courses. Because my marks were high enough during the previous two and a half years, I acquired enough credits to receive my diploma. However, the dean of business administration declined my application for my graduate degree," Stephanie explained. "It was boring to attend classes without Sydney. Navigating the campus on crutches was challenging. I wished I had died in the accident instead of my best friend."
"When did you meet Dickie?" I asked, ignoring her comment about wishing she had died. My world was a brighter place with her in it. The thought of Dickie capitalizing on Stephanie's vulnerability angered me. I prayed that wasn't the case.
"Not too long after school resumed. Dickie was friends with Patrick and James. We met for coffee a few times to share stories about our friends. Before I knew it, we were getting married. I never should have dated him while I was that vulnerable," Stephanie explained. "My mom only cared that he was a lawyer from the Burg. I went along with her plans, too numb from losing Sydney to participate in the wedding arrangements." Stephanie shook her head at her mother's shallowness.
When Stephanie and I discussed her previous marriage, she glossed over how they met. After hearing the story about Sydney, everything made sense. Talking about meeting Dickie was a reminder of what happened to her friend. I understood the value of hiding unpleasant memories from the past. Unfortunately, those memories had a way of floating to the surface, manifesting into a larger problem than you could manage without professional help. It was one of the reasons I insisted the Rangeman employees speak to a therapist before returning to the field. Most of my employees were still active in the military.
"I'm sorry for your loss, Stephanie. Losing a close friend is never easy. Hiding from the pain of the past is unhealthy," I said, brushing a lock of hair off her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. Stephanie leaned into my touch. I loved whenever she did that. She craved my touch as I craved hers. Dios! When did I turn into a woman? I hoped the guys would revoke my badass Ranger card when they met Stephanie.
Huffing, Stephanie replied, "I know. It was easier hiding in denial land. Talking about it hurts in here." She touched the spot over her heart. "Nobody understood why it devastated me. Except for you. Mom told me to get over it as if it was that easy."
"Except me," I whispered. Stephanie cuddled into my arms. She buried her face in my neck and fell asleep.
My beautiful wife didn't wake up as I changed her clothes, slipping one of my shirts for her to wear as a nightshirt. I removed Stephanie's pants, groaning when I saw the sexy panties she wore after our shower earlier that day. Since I wanted my wife to be responsive, I let her sleep. I stripped and crawled into the bed, spooning behind her.
"Carlos," Stephanie mumbled.
"Yes, Babe?" I asked, wondering if she was awake or dreaming.
"One day, you'll have to tell why you need loads of cash," she replied. "I'm too exhausted to force you to talk."
"Are you too tired for sex?" I joked.
"Never, but you'll have to do all the work," Stephanie said, rolling onto her back.