Since school has started back up again I've struggled to find time to write. It's a new job in a new district with a little longer commute. I love it, but it's taken a little longer to get into a good routine. My brain is too fried at night, so I've started going to work an hour early to give myself time to write. We'll see how it goes. Thank you so much for the reviews and messages, they help with not only motivation, but hearing your impressions of a character's actions help me look at my writing through a different lens. I know what I intended, but hearing your reactions makes me reexamine how I'm portraying them. You also make me laugh, lots of you have way more faith in Steph's self preservation instincts than I do. She's a mess. Ranger's a mess. If they weren't, the story would be boring. There's a lot of story left. We're probably not even half way through. I appreciate you sticking with me.
The last paragraph contains the lyrics from the song that initially inspired this story and while those words are the end to the song, they are not the end of our story.
This chapter inspired by lyrics from the songs 'tis the damn season, this is me trying, and how did it end, by Taylor Swift.
The bed shifted, rousing me from sleep. I didn't roll over, but I heard footsteps behind me, and then the click of a door, followed by the purr of an exhaust fan. Bathroom, the thought drifted through my mind. Things were foggy as I tried to take inventory, my head was clanging like a church bell, my stomach was rolling and it felt like my brain was beating in time with my heart. I wondered if I'd snacked on cotton balls as a late-night treat. I was too warm and kicked at the sheet, pulling it from the bottom of the mattress and moving my legs out from under it, shifting so it was only covering me from my ass to just under my armpit. Much better. I opened my eyes, causing the room to tilt wildly, so I quickly snapped them shut. Distantly, I heard the flush of the toilet and the water in the shower start.
I must have fallen back to sleep because I woke again when the bed dipped, and a body flopped down next to me with a groan. I was lying on my side, facing the edge of the bed, my back to whoever occupied the other half. When the mattress stopped moving from the impact of their landing, I tried again to join the land of the living. I opened one eye slowly and when the room appeared stable and not topsy-turvy, I carefully opened the other. I didn't recognize the wall that came into focus, not the color, or the nondescript artwork that hung on it. I tilted my head slowly to the left and found a generic leather couch with matching armchairs. Hotel room, I concluded.
When I was sure my body would allow it without too much protest, I rolled slowly onto my left side to confirm what I knew to be true. Due to the low-level hum in my blood that even a monster hangover couldn't disguise, I was sure the other occupant in the bed was Ranger. I was right. He was lying on his stomach, face buried in the pillow. He hadn't bothered to cover up when he'd returned from the bathroom, so all his perfectly defined muscles and warm, wet brown skin were on display. The light streaming through the window caused the water droplets to dance on his skin. A sigh escaped me, due in equal parts to the pleasurable scenery and exasperation at the fact that I once again managed to end up naked, in bed, with Ranger. Unable to fight the temptation to touch him, I watched with detached fascination as my right hand reached out, my fingers slowly trailing down his back, coming to rest on his hip, just above his luscious ass. I would've given it a squeeze, but I couldn't quite reach it and would've had to shift position. Having come to some sort of tentative agreement with the angry, aching parts of my brain I didn't want to risk it.
At my touch, Ranger rotated his head towards me. His hair was sticking up at odd angles, his eyes were bloodshot, and his gorgeous face, normally a beautiful brown, held a hint of green. He smelled of generic hotel soap, not the sensuous shower gel I normally associated with him. For a long moment, we just stared at each other. I think I was in a bit of shock, not at finding us in bed together once again, but in all my years of knowing him, I'd never seen Hungover Ranger. Until last night, I'd never seen Drunk Ranger either and it was a bit unnerving. Realizing I was still touching him, I slowly pulled my hand back. Ranger seemed to be studying me. Even in his altered state, I could see his eyes roaming over me, cataloging every nuance. His gaze traveled down to my toes and then reversed their path, returning to my face. He scrutinized me, his look somewhat wary, as if waiting for me to detonate. I hated to disappoint him, but I wasn't feeling quite up to it this morning.
When he deemed it safe to do so he rolled himself onto his side, facing me.
I asked him a question I was pretty sure I already knew the answer to, "So did we...?" My voice trailed off, I figured the rest was obvious. He just raised an eyebrow in response. I grasped at the last bit of denial I had left, hoping to avoid facing reality for a little longer, "I mean, we had a lot to drink." Then I emphasized, "You had a lot to drink. Maybe you couldn't…" I felt the rest of that sentence was obvious as well. Now both eyebrows shot up and he looked incredulous. I wanted to roll my eyes but knew my brain would protest. Instead, I snarked, "Okay fine. That's absurd. Your little soldier would never fail to follow orders." I was the only one who dared disobey the Mighty Manoso and lived to tell the tale.
At my comment, his eyes narrowed. Apparently, referring to his soldier as little was even more offensive than implying he couldn't get it up. I was afraid if I kept looking at him I might burst out laughing, which would not only succeed in pissing him off further, but would also hurt my head. So I rolled back to my right and sat up gingerly before sliding my legs over the side of the bed. I pulled the sheet with me, wrapping myself in it like an oversized towel as I stood, tucking the end between my breasts to secure it. I made my way to the bathroom, acutely aware of the familiar aches and tenderness in certain parts of my body that proved Ranger's First Lieutenant, Sergeant Major, or Brigadier General had, in fact, answered the call of duty. I was moving slowly, the sensitive parts of me affecting my gait. The low chuckle from the direction of the bed had me turning to find Ranger watching me, the green pallor gone, a smug look on his face, pleased to have been vindicated from my slanderous accusations. I glared at him, and his face changed as he tried to look innocent, but failed miserably.
Stepping into the bathroom, I turned on the lights and squinted, the harsh glare making the throbbing in my head worse. Quickly, I flipped the switch to shut them off, but not before I caught sight of my scary hair and face, traces of last night's makeup still evident. I closed the door, took care of Mother Nature, and cleaned up the sticky mess between my legs. I decided to shower while I was in here. In the brief moment, the lights were on I saw clothes piled on the floor. It wouldn't be ideal, but I could wear last night's clothes to do the morning-after, walk of shame. I'd have to go commando, but there were worse things. I carefully used my foot to search the floor and encountered a puddle and cold, wet cloth. Leaning down carefully and exploring with my hands, I found the whole pile soaking wet. Not wanting to turn the light on again, I moved to open the door, using the light from the window to get a better look. Yup. It appeared that all of my clothes, as well as Ranger's, were in a giant wet, soggy heap. Confused, I called out to him, "Did we shower in our clothes?" I tried to remember, but details from later in the evening were fuzzy at best. I remembered the bar, the guys, Ranger and I sitting, talking, kissing. I wanted to thunk myself in the forehead but instantly thought better of it. The way it was throbbing, the blow might cause it to fly clean off. I remember him texting Rangeman for a ride and that's it. Did they drive us to a hotel? Why were our clothes wet? When Ranger didn't answer me I decided to bite the bullet, turn on the lights, and take a shower.
The hot water did wonders for my brain fog and achy body, but nothing to restore my memory. I dried off, finger-combed my hair, and put on the white robe from the back of the door. Picking up each item of clothing, I wrung out as much water as I could, then hung them on the shower curtain rod, over the edge of the tub, towel racks, anywhere I could find. I figured I'd go find my purse, take some Tylenol, come back, and start in with the hair dryer.
Finished for now, I opened the door, the sights and smells I was met with made me wonder how much I drank last night. Was I hallucinating? Was I still drunk? Before I had the door fully opened, my stomach stopped rolling and growled instead as I was hit with the most fabulous smell in the world: McDonald's french fries - the cure-all for anything that ails you. Smelling them here and now was a bit unexpected, but not as shocking as the sight of Ranger sitting up against the headboard, a carton of fries in his lap, one hand shoveling them into his mouth, the other holding a large soda. On the nightstand next to him was the wrapper from an egg McMuffin. I stopped dead in my tracks. His eyes met mine, his look daring me to say something, but I was too stunned to do so. He tipped his head towards the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed, where a McDonald's bag and another large soda sat in a halo of angelic light thrown off by the table lamp.
Wordlessly, I floated across the room, climbed into the bed, propped myself up, and followed his lead. I moaned as the first taste of salty fried potato hit my tongue. Working my way through the carton, I only stopped when it was empty, and followed it up with my own yummy McMuffin. Feeling human for the first time since I woke up, I took a deep breath and leaned my head back against the headboard, allowing myself a few minutes of bliss. The pain in my head, which had reduced itself to a low level throbbing, reminded me of my original mission. I set down my Coke and stood, looking around the room for my purse. It was on the floor, next to one of the armchairs along with my and Ranger's boots. They were a little wet, but not drenched like our clothes. At least we'd taken them off before the shower. I was still confused as to why we'd showered completely dressed. Was it in an effort to keep our hands off each other? Modesty? Avoid temptation? Keep us from having sex? I snorted at the thought, wincing when my body protested. A fat lot of good it did us. Digging the pain reliever out of my bag, I shook out 3 for myself, swallowing them with a big gulp of soda. Turning to Ranger, I offered him the bottle.
I did a doubletake. When I'd come out of the bathroom I was too preoccupied with the McDonald's to pay him any attention. I now took in his bare-chested form, wearing a pair of black cargo pants that were half zipped, as he lounged on the bed, legs crossed at the ankle, feet bare. I was confused because I'd just hung up an identical pair in the bathroom to dry. I stood next to the bed and studied him, thoroughly confused, "Where did you get pants? How did you get McDonald's?" Then I remembered my manners, "Thank you by the way. I already feel better." I smiled at him. It was very thoughtful, and a zing of pleasure ran through me that he remembered The Cure.
His voice was still rough from sleep and sexy as hell, "The pants were in my car. I keep a change of clothes in the back." Ranger the Boy Scout, always prepared, I almost snorted at the idea, but stopped myself in time to avoid more pain.
Then my brows knitted together and I frowned. "Your car? Please tell me you didn't drive us here last night."
He shook his head. "No, I think we walked. The bar is in the parking lot. You can see it from the window." He nodded his head in that direction. I was relieved. Driving drunk was stupid. Ranger always said he didn't do stupid things, but when we were in each other's vicinity, we both made poor decisions, as evidenced by our current circumstances.
"So the pants?" I asked again, "And breakfast?" I still couldn't believe he ate french fries, an egg McMuffin, and drank a Coke!
He chuckled at my persistent questions. "I called downstairs and bribed the front desk attendant to bring up my bag. The McDonald's was DoorDash." My eyebrows shot up. Ranger DoorDashed? That shocked me, but I was even more surprised he trusted the hotel employee to access his car. Reading my mind he told me, "It was either that, go out naked or call Rangeman. I didn't really want to have one of the guys come over." He looked sheepish. My eyes went wide at the thought. I knew I was a grown woman, but I didn't particularly want to publicize Ranger and I hooking up in a drunken haze at a hotel.
"Good Idea," I told him. Then I added, "Thank you." Again, he was being thoughtful, knowing I wouldn't want anyone to know, he was a private person too, and he probably didn't want them to know any more than I did. I was feeling extremely grateful towards him when a memory from last night flashed through my mind and I realized he wasn't keeping our hook-up a secret for me. It was for his own benefit. Bastard.
Disgusted with him, I let him know, "I never took you for a cheater." Ranger was many things, and while his moral compass contained more gray areas than most, I'd never thought he'd be unfaithful.
The bastard didn't even pretend to look sorry, there wasn't a trace of guilt on his face. Instead, he looked confused and insulted. "Excuse me?" His voice was steady and calm but his eyes were narrowed, his jaw tight.
I may hate Jeanne Ellen, but that doesn't mean I thought it was okay he cheated on her. My thoughts flickered back to the night of the Whitehouse take down. I was angry and insinuated he was involved with her back then. He hadn't confirmed or denied it and I'd forgotten all about it. In my mind, we were still sort of together at the time, no matter how fucked up it was. Our agreement had included exclusivity, but by that time I'd blown the whole thing to hell, having the nerve to utter those three little words he didn't want to hear, so I didn't know what the rules actually were.
So was this the first or the second time I was the one he cheated on her with? What about when we were together last Christmas before I left? Oh my god! I was the other woman! I was Jeanne Ellen's Joyce Barnhardt! I visibly shuddered at the thought. And what was she going to do to me when she found out? When I found Joyce and Dickie I didn't physically attack them because they were both buck-ass naked. Eww, skank cooties. That doesn't mean I haven't enjoyed every bit of payback I'd given both of them over the years. But Jeanne Ellen and I aren't the same. She has skills I could never hope to possess. She was like the female Ranger. Although, I didn't think she was the type to pack you up in a crate and ship you off to the middle of fucking nowhere. She'd want to hurt me.
While I could feel Ranger's anger rising, I was more concerned with hers at the moment. Was she going to murder me? Or just inflict some serious pain? Was she into torture? She didn't seem like the forgive-and-forget type. Hell, I wasn't the forgive-and-forget type. Just the thought of what she could do to me made me dizzy and I sat down hard on the edge of the bed and put my head between my knees. Fuck, how do I get myself into these situations? I was going to get my ass kicked for something I couldn't even remember. My head was spinning and I sucked in air, trying to regulate my breathing and heart rate.
The next thing I knew, Ranger was on his knees in front of me, rubbing my back, and making soothing noises to calm me. I was furious at him for putting me in this position, but my body reacted to him in the way it always did when he comforted me. As his whispered Spanish words washed over me, I found my pulse slowing, along with my breathing. When I was sure I wasn't going to pass out, I sat up. Ranger continued to run his hands up and down my arms as he studied me, his face a mixture of concern and confusion.
He looked at me, apprehension written all over his face. "God, I hate this, knowing it was apparently something I did that caused it makes it worse." Wearily he added,"At the risk of pissing you off, can you tell me what you're talking about?" If I wasn't so terrified, I might have laughed at how clueless he was.
When I was finally able to answer, my voice was just a whisper, my fear evident. "She's going to kill me." He looked equal parts baffled and seriously concerned I was having a psychotic break.
"Who?" He asked, his voice tentative, something I'd never heard before, and it just increased my worry.
"Your girlfriend. She's going to murder me. You cheated on her with me!" My voice rose as the realization hit me that it was his weakness that put me in danger and my fear was instantly replaced with anger.
He had the nerve to play dumb. "What are you talking about? Who are you talking about? I don't have a girlfriend."
I glared at him, grabbed his wrists, and pulled his hands off me. I spit out, "I may have been drunk enough to let you fuck me last night, but I was still sober when I saw you with her, she was all over you when you came into the bar." The memory brought back all the hurt and anger I'd felt at seeing them together.
Realization dawned on him, but instead of looking guilty, relief washed over his face. "Steph, she's not my girlfriend." The bastard had the nerve to smile at me. Like it was supposed to make me feel better that they were just fuck buddies? Figures. So they had their own agreement? Hell, the cold-hearted bitch probably preferred it. And it appeared being able to fuck other people was okay?
While I was relieved that I wasn't going to be gruesomely murdered, I
I was still pissed at him. When I cleaned up this morning it was obvious that he hadn't used a condom, not that it was unusual for us. We'd never used them. I'd been on birth control ever since the Tasty Pastry incident, but I'd always made my partner wear one, Joe, hell, even Dickie. But with Ranger, it had never even entered my mind. I'd always trusted him implicitly, to keep me safe in every way. My anger flared again, "So you're just fucking. Great. Fine, you have an agreement." I sneered at him. "You could've at least worn a condom. Who knows what sort of skank diseases she has that you could have passed onto me?" My voice was rising again, along with my panic. Deep down, I knew I was being irrational, but I couldn't stop myself. Ranger calmly took my face in his hands forcing me to look at him. I struggled, but he refused to let me go. When I tried to kick him in the balls, he used his lower body to pin my legs to the side of the bed. He held me as I thrashed against him, until I finally relented, knowing he wasn't going to release me until I listened to what he had to say.
When my body stilled and he was sure I wasn't going to bolt, he finally spoke. "Look at me." his voice was commanding. When my eyes met his I was surprised to see softness, rather than the hard, angry look I'd expected. "Stephanie, I'm not currently, nor have I ever been in a romantic or sexual relationship with Jeanne Ellen."
I snorted and gave him a look of disbelief. He sighed, "I've never been with her. I have no interest in fucking her. I know that's what she wants, but I'd rather stick my dick in a hole drilled through a solid block of ice. It would be more enjoyable." He grimaced, obviously imagining the sensation.
The relief that flooded me was ridiculous. While I'd briefly been concerned about how his involvement with her would affect me physically, the bigger hit had been emotional. Which was ludicrous, I had no claim to him. He'd always been completely transparent in telling me with absolute certainty that no one ever would. I'd been gone from his life for an entire year. It had been my choice I'd begged him to let me go. But as irrational as it was, it had broken my heart all over again to see him with someone else, especially her. And I had seen them. With my own eyes. If they weren't together, then what the hell was that?
"Steph?" The sound of his voice brought me out of my thoughts. I gave him a nod, indicating I'd understood and wasn't going to attack him. His movements were slow, almost reluctant as he released me and put some space between us. I resisted the urge to stop him, instantly missing the contact. Jesus, I was messed up.
My brain was still whirring. "So what was that last night? She was all over you."
He sighed, then got to his feet, running his hands up into his hair and flexing his fingers, rhythmically pulling at the roots. When he released his grip he gave me a resigned look. "I can't tell you. I can't tell you because I haven't figured it out yet. She's up to something and while I could use your brain and Spidey Sense to help solve it, I don't want to spend the only time I have with you talking about her." He walked around to his side of the bed, settling himself against the headboard again. His head dropped back and he took a deep breath, putting an end to the conversation. I decided I wasn't going to push it, technically it was none of my business. It went against my nosey nature but I was too exhausted to press him on it in my current state. So I dropped the subject. I was feeling exposed by my reaction to the idea that he and Jeanne Ellen were dating, plus I was still only wearing a bathrobe. The pounding in my head had lessened considerably but was still there. Spotting his duffle bag sitting open on the couch, I went over and rooted around, coming up with a black Rangeman t-shirt and a pair of black boxer briefs. "Can I borrow these?" I asked. I wanted to put some clothes on but didn't feel up to trying to dry my own enough to wear them. When I turned to gauge his response, I found he was once again watching, studying me. He just gave me a subtle nod.
Once in the bathroom, I shed the robe and slipped into the boxers before sliding his t-shirt over my head. The scent I associated with Ranger, the one that permeated the air around him and saturated the clothes I'd pilfered from his wardrobe over the years was missing. The t-shirt was brand new, its soft cotton had never been stretched across the wide expanse of his muscled chest, the stitching in the sleeves had never been tested by his massive biceps. I squashed the disappointment that bubbled up, forcing myself to not examine the feeling too closely. I turned my attention to our still wet clothes, hanging from every available surface. What the hell had we been doing last night? My face pinked. From the familiar soreness in certain parts of my body, I had a pretty good idea of what we'd been up to for at least part of the night. The wet clothes though were still a mystery. Stepping out of the bathroom, I walked back to the bed and settled in on my side, asking him on my way, "Why are our clothes wet?" Maybe he remembered more than I did? I offered my theory, "Did we shower with them on?"
He shook his head before grinning at me, "No."
When it didn't seem like he was going to add anymore l pressed, "Do you remember? My mind is blank after we walked out of the bar to wait for our ride." Stumbled out was probably more accurate.
His smile melted away. "I don't remember, I hope you don't think I…" The guilty look from last night reappeared. He tried again, "I mean I didn't..." Then he paused like he was searching his memory, trying to find a hint to what had actually happened last night, anything to avoid having to finish that thought. Even so, I got the gist of what he was getting at.
Putting my hand on his arm, I reassured him. "Ranger, I don't think you took advantage of me." He didn't answer. From what little I did remember from last night, combined with what he looked like when we woke this morning and the seeming lack of control he had over his face and emotions told me he'd been just as inebriated as I'd been, if not more. He didn't look like he believed me. Our history of him being the one to inflict the emotional pain on me, however unintentional, obviously colored his view of the situation.
"Maybe I took advantage of you." I challenged, trying to lighten the mood. He laughed a little and I tried to reassure him, "I'm pretty sure this is on both of us. We don't always make the best decisions when we're together. Add in alcohol and I think this," I gestured between the two of us, "was inevitable."
He gave a slight nod of agreement. "Why are you not freaking out?" He finally asked the question I knew he'd been thinking about all morning, looking at me like I might start freaking out now that he brought it up.
Why wasn't I freaking out? I asked myself. While I wanted to claim it was my sudden growth in maturity due to the realizations I'd made about my life in the last few days, I knew that didn't happen overnight. So why wasn't I freaking out? Should I be freaking out? Was I just in such deep denial that it had happened yet again? I looked inward, searching for the ball of anxiety and regret that nearly consumed me every morning after I'd given in to our need for each other in the past. Not finding it, I just shrugged, "I don't know." And I didn't. And for now, I was okay with it.
He looked like he didn't believe me. I didn't quite believe it myself. Maybe it was because I didn't remember it. Did it count if I didn't remember? Maybe it was because it was the first social orgasm I'd had in a year. I mean, I assume I had an orgasm. I gave Ranger a long look, figuring that my mere suggestion of alcohol-induced impotence had gone over like a lead balloon, questioning his other sexual skills sounded like a bad idea. Besides, not once in all the times we'd been together, had he not managed to get the job done, usually more than once. Hell, just the thought of him had gotten the job done on several occasions, when I was working solo. With the year-long drought, my body had been like a pressure cooker, ready to blow.
Maybe I was just relieved that it happened with Ranger and not some random guy. Maybe it was because I knew, in the end, it didn't matter. This wouldn't change anything. Ranger and I still didn't have a future. I was still going back to California and moving on with my life. I wasn't beating myself up, because I didn't feel like I'd necessarily taken a step backward. After all, as I'd discovered in the cold night air of the playground, I'd never actually taken a step forward in an attempt to move on. Or maybe it was just like I said, it was inevitable. Look at our track record. Since the night Joe and I'd broken up, there hadn't been a single time Ranger and I had been alone together for any length of time that we hadn't ended up in bed. Well it wasn't always a bed, but that's not important, I reminded myself.
I shrugged, "Maybe that's just the way it is with us. You know, like you have different friends for different things. There are friends that you know when you're with them you'll drink too much or spend too much money." I rambled on, "When I was in college I only smoked cigarettes when I hung out with my friend Emily, only smoked weed with Anthony, and only did keg stands when I was with Alison. Maybe this is that kind of friendship?" The more I talked, the more I thought my theory had some merit. But then I started to see some holes in my thinking. I mean, I'm sure everyone smoked weed with Anthony, that was pretty much the only thing Anthony did. Alison never failed to get not only me, but a bunch of us to do keg stands whenever there was a frat party. A sick feeling started to grow in the pit of my stomach. What if this was just Ranger? Did he have other friends, other women in other cities like this, like me?
I was sure the anxiety was written all over my face because he seemed to read it plain as day. I turned away, embarrassed, and reminded myself what he did and who he did it with was none of my business. Not anymore, if it ever had been. In a heartbeat, he'd closed the distance between us, cupping my jaw in his hand, and turning me to face him. The look in his eyes blew me away, there was no blank mask, no teasing twinkle or flirtatious sparkle, for once he allowed me to see the love, the tenderness in his eyes. His voice was soft, "There's no one else. Babe." He leaned towards me slowly, his eyes locked on mine, giving me plenty of time to retreat, but I didn't, I couldn't, I didn't want to. Touching his lips softly to mine, the kiss was tender and full of all the emotion he couldn't permit himself to give voice to. He pulled back from the kiss and released me, but didn't move away, instead, he settled in next to me. After so much time away, and so much turmoil in the months before I left, the closeness of his body, his silent support brought tears to my eyes.
Needing to change the subject, I asked him for what seemed the millionth time, "So the wet clothes?" He chuckled, knowing what I was doing, but he was willing to play along.
Leaning over towards the nightstand he grabbed his phone. "What's the last thing you remember?" he asked me as he typed in his passcode.
I searched my brain, the fog had cleared as had most of the pain, but I still didn't remember anything new. "Um, Bobby and Tank left, we stayed, um... just us." I remembered quite clearly what happened when it was 'just us' at the bar but didn't think saying anything was necessary. "At closing, you texted Rangeman for someone to pick us up." I paused, searching for something more, "The very last thing I remember was the two of us walking outside to wait for our ride. Well, we stumbled really. It was still snowing." I smiled at the hazy memory, "It was so pretty." I didn't mention that the stumbling was due equally to us being drunk and also unable to keep our hands off each other.
He gave me a wolf grin, obviously remembering that part too. Opening his text messages he pulled up what I assume was the contact for the control room. "I texted for a ride at 1:45 am when the bartender announced last call. 2 minutes later they indicated Rico was on his way." He laughed, it was such a rare and beautiful sight. I didn't know what caused it, I just enjoyed the vibrations that rumbled through him and into me. He closed out of that message and opened another. The contact info said RS. Before I could ask who that was, he continued. "Rico texted at 1:55 a.m. He'd tried to take a corner too fast and ended up in a snowbank." He didn't laugh again, but he was smiling broadly. My look told him I didn't get the joke, so he explained, "Rico is my second cousin. He worked in the Miami office for 2 years, then moved up to Trenton a year and a half ago. He's a great employee in every aspect, except for his driving, well he's fine except for winter. This is his fifth accident since he's been here." I recalled the incident from last Christmas and wondered, but he answered before I could ask, "Yeah, he was the guy that caused us to work the monitors together last Christmas." I couldn't put a name to the look that crossed his face at that point, but it was somewhere between sad and wistful. Moving on he added, "I can't fire him, my Abuela would kill me. So for the most part he doesn't get to drive in the winter, but they must have been short-staffed or he wouldn't have been sent in the first place." He gave me a big grin, "Besides, with you gone, someone had to destroy my cars." I elbowed him for that remark, it didn't even register with him, but my elbow smarted. He looked back at his phone, switching text chains again, "At 2:05 a.m. the control room messaged to say there was a break-in and it would be 30 minutes until anyone could get to us. I replied, telling them it wasn't necessary."
I started to ask why he hadn't asked them to send someone else, but before I could, I saw what he was doing on his phone. He closed the messages app and opened his photos. "I found these." He leaned in close to me, so we could both see. The first photo was a selfie, the two of us grinning up at the camera, heads together as we lay in the snow. The next photo showed me standing in the snow, arms outstretched, proudly showcasing the snow angel on the ground next to me, a big goofy grin on my face. The next photo showed a nearly identical image, but featuring Ranger instead. I laughed at the absurdity of it. Ranger scrolled through more photos of us playing in the snow, half of them blurry, nearly two dozen of them in all. Next was a video. When he hit play, I was on the screen, soaking wet, standing in the snow, grinning and giggling. "The key to making the per... per... perfect snow angel," I slurred, acting like a TV personality on a DIY video. "You just have to drop..." At that I toppled over backwards, arms flailing. The camera moved closer to hover over me as I continued my drunken tutorial, "Then you flap your arms, like a bird!" my voice rose, "I'm flying!" I giggled again before my eyebrows knitted together, and my voice became wobbly, "I want to fly like Wonder Woman, not a bird. I don't want to be a bird. Mary Alice was a horse, but now she's a big girl." My face fell, and my bottom lip trembled. "I guess I should be a big girl too, but I don't know how."
"Babe," Ranger's deep rumbly voice was heard before the video stopped. Jesus, how embarrassing. He quickly swiped to the next video, this one in selfie mode, Ranger lying next to me in the snow, my head on his shoulder, his arm around me. He was looking at the camera, but my head was down. I watched us on the screen as he gave me a squeeze before speaking, his words deliberate, his brain fighting the alcohol, "Look Babe, you're not a bird."
I watched myself look up at him, my eyes bright with unshed tears. "I'm not a bird?" I asked, sounding bewildered and drunk as my head turned again to look at the camera, studying my image, as if I might find some feathers or a beak somewhere. "I'm a big girl?" I asked, a little unsure.
Rangers' eyes met mine on the screen and he smiled. "Yeah, you're a big girl." Then looking down at me, pride evident, the words I missed so much tumbled from his lips, "Proud of you Babe." He kissed the top of my hair, and I watched myself turn towards him, tipping my head up to kiss him. He groaned and his hand slipped down to my ass and squeezed it before shifting my body on top of his. The video shifted in a jerky motion and then all you could see was the night sky, dimly lit by the exterior lights of the building as big, beautiful flakes of snow fell, some of them landing on the screen and melting, blurring the view. Heavy breathing and the occasional moan were heard in the background.
I started to get uncomfortable and warm in certain places watching this with him sitting so close. I raised my hand to stop the video when I heard my voice come through his phone, all breathy and sexy. "Ranger, I'm wet." I was mortified. Drunk me is so embarrassing.
"Babe," groaned out Ranger's voice and there was a rustling of fabric. Oh god, tell me we didn't have sex out in the snow. I heard my voice, once again punctuated with a drunk giggle, "No silly, I'm all wet, you're all wet." My words were slow, and deliberate, like someone really drunk trying to sound serious. "And I'm cold," I stammered.
Ranger's voice changed, instantly concerned, "Come on, let's get you warmed up." All hints of sexiness were gone, the problem identified, plan of action made. Ranger the protector, the strategist was back and in charge. The video was jerky again accompanied by more rustling noises. The image shifted from the sky to the skin of Ranger's palm, then darkness before it ended. I shook off the embarrassment.
"So I'm guessing we checked in here to warm up?" I didn't look at him. The amazement at seeing Drunk Ranger, and the ease of our onscreen interactions only further the feeling I'd had last night like the hands of time had turned backward to the way things used to be. It was something I wanted to remember. You'd think I'd be too embarrassed, but the joy of seeing Ranger like that won out. I reached for his phone and he released it to me. "I'm sending these to myself. Drunk Ranger is something I need to preserve." I clicked the back button to show all of his photos, quickly selecting everything from last night, not wanting to give him a chance to stop me. Pressing the button to share them, I was surprised to see my Babe pop up in the bar of frequent contacts. That was weird. Ranger hadn't sent me a message in close to 18 months. I sent the pictures, then unable to help myself I clicked on messages and to the text chain with my contact.
I could feel his eyes on me, watching what I was doing, but he made no attempt to stop me or take his phone back. My eyes went wide as I scrolled up. There were an endless number of messages, nearly one every day with no returned texts, no answer. I hadn't answered, because I'd never received them. But that didn't make any sense. I hadn't blocked his number, I'd tried a few times, but couldn't bring myself to do it, hoping against hope he would reach out, tell me he'd changed his mind, that he wanted me, needed me. Realizing the contact name was Babe, not Steph gave me a brief moment of panic. What if the messages weren't for me? What if he had another Babe? I quickly dismissed the thought. He'd just told me, there was no one else, and I'd read some of the messages, they were clearly intended for me.
I turned towards him and saw he was studying me, looking unsure of himself. "What are these?" I asked, confused. "And why didn't I get them?" He took a deep breath, removed the phone from my hand, and set it on the nightstand before turning back to me. He slid his arm around me and pulled me to him, bringing his other arm up, wrapping his body around mine, and taking both of my hands in his. I understood what he was doing, we'd both done it before. It was easier to talk without being face-to-face.
"Is this okay?" He sounded uncertain, squeezing me into him so I knew what he was talking about. For the first time in more than a year, I felt more than okay. In response, I snuggled into him, laid my head on his shoulder, and squeezed his hands. "God it feels good to hold you," his words came out with a sigh. Ranger had always initiated physical contact between us and seemed to need to be touching me anytime we were together. It had quickly become a habit, one I'd missed desperately in the last few months before I left. I let out a murmur of agreement, knowing full well this wasn't reality. Last night, today, the time we were choosing to spend together would change nothing. While the easy interaction we'd rediscovered last night had continued into today, it was fleeting. We were just living for the moment, in this little bubble, free from the outside world; from the choices we'd made, the hurt, the misery, and the loneliness. I wasn't going to fight it, I was just going to enjoy it while it lasted.
Finally, he spoke, starting and stopping a few times before he was able to get out what he wanted to say, "Do you remember the other night when we were at the playground?" I nodded against him. Did he not know that with him, I remembered everything? Every look, every touch, every word. He continued, "I told you I missed you." I nodded again. "I'm not great with words. Even when I tried to tell you that the other night, I fucked it up, tripped over my words, and managed to piss you off." He muttered, "I seem to be good at that." He paused for a minute, then let out a low chuckle, "Then again, no one can make me lose my shit like you."
I snorted out a laugh in response, "It's a gift," I told him. I didn't tell him how much I enjoyed the fact that I was the only one who could shatter his calm cool exterior.
He went on, serious once again as he confessed, "I told you I missed you every day, and I did. When you left, I didn't handle it well. I know by that time I'd fucked up badly enough that we weren't talking, or texting, but you were still here. There was a chance I might run into you, catch a glimpse of you, even if I didn't have any clue about how to act, what to say or how fix things when I did see you." I felt him shrug, "If nothing else, I could pull up your trackers, see where you were, and know you were safe." I'd always struggled with how I felt about him tracking me, anger and frustration at his need to know everything, but a warm fuzzy feeling knowing I was important enough to him that he needed to know I was okay. It was just one of the ways he showed me he loved me.
He sighed, "But when you got on that plane a year ago I had nothing." I tried to interrupt. "I know it's my fault, I know you had to do it. I was proud of you for doing it." Hearing those words twice from him in the last few minutes after craving them for so long made my throat tight. "I was angry with myself, not only because I'd lost you, but because I'd wasted that time, to talk to you, to try and fix things, to salvage our friendship." When he brought up being friends again the other night, I was crushed, but now I understood, this was him trying. He was making an effort to repair the damage. He couldn't offer me what I wanted, but he wanted to offer me what he could, knowing at one time it had been enough. It was up to me to decide if it could be once again.
He sounded disgusted with himself, "I was a miserable prick, biting off everyone's head, getting too rough with skips, taking out my anger on the heavy bag in the gym or anyone willing to spar with me. When I couldn't stand it anymore, I knew I needed to do something." He sounded so vulnerable and my heart ached once again for him, for both of us. "I wanted to reach out, call you, text you, hell, show up on your doorstep." I could feel him shake his head, "But that would make me an even bigger asshole. I told myself since I'd been unable to give you what you needed when you were here, I'd be damned if I was going to go against your wishes now. But the thoughts crept into my head every day, things I wanted to say, needed to say to you."
He was quiet for so long that I wasn't sure he was going to offer any further explanation, but after gathering himself, he continued. "At different times in my life, after missions mainly, I had difficulty processing, dealing with what I'd done, how to return to my everyday life, especially knowing I'd end up doing it all over again." I felt him swallow, "One of the therapists helped me deal with the racing thoughts, the panic attacks, and the nightmares. He had me write in a journal at night. It helped." I knew what it cost him to tell me this, to admit he had weaknesses, that he was just a man, not a superhero or super soldier. "So I decided to give it a try. I bought a journal and wrote in it before bed, but it had the opposite effect. It just intensified my need. Every night I dreamed of you. I relived every moment of us together. I was reminded of how easy it was to talk with you, how you made me smile and laugh, and how I could be myself with you in a way I could never be with anyone else. I was haunted by the memories of how it felt to touch you, kiss you, be inside you."
He paused as if he was once again consumed with those memories. "It was during the day that I wanted to reach out, send you a message, tell you something funny, ask your opinion, or hear about your day. I was collecting my guns from the safe one morning and I saw my backup phone in there and decided to try a different tactic. I added that number to my phone under the contact 'Babe' and started sending the messages."
I knew for the past year there were times I heard Ranger's voice in my head, wondered what he would do, what he would think, and countless times I wanted to call him, just to hear his voice, so I understood. As much as I had longed for him to reach out, a part of me was pleased he respected my wishes. I knew deep down it was for the best, even if my heart didn't believe it. "Did it work?" I asked him.
I felt him shrug, "Some. It took the edge off. It wasn't the same, but I could send you a text and imagine your response, or if you'd send a bitmoji or gif that would make me laugh." Texting with Ranger had always been an experience, just like talking with him. It started as short clipped, statements, orders, directions, not even bothering with complete sentences or punctuation. But then I'd respond in my chaotic way, poking fun at him, and through the back and forth his sharp edges were smoothed out, his demeanor softened and for a brief moment I would get a glimpse of the man behind the mask.
He breathed out a heavy sigh, "I know it's my fault, it's a misery of my own making. I'm not asking you to feel sorry for me. I'm sorry, sorry I hurt you. I don't expect you to just be able to forgive me, I just wanted to tell you, so you knew. I'm trying to do better, be better. I've always been selfish, and an opportunist, and never had to worry about respecting anyone else'selse's boundaries, their wishes. Not until you. I'm not a good guy, but I'm trying." I can't imagine what it cost him to admit all of this to me. I never thought he'd recognize or acknowledge his toxic behavior, much less attempt to correct it. I knew it was something I was terrible at, and I mentally added it to my list of things to work on in the new year.
Needing to see his face, I turned to him. "It means a lot, you admitting those things to me. I know it's not easy for you." I took a deep breath, now it was my turn. "It's not all your fault, what went down between us. I asked things of you and pushed you for things you told me you couldn't or wouldn't give me. We both inflicted plenty of damage on the other. I've spent a lot of time this year thinking about it, pouring over it, examining what happened like it was a crime scene or autopsy report. There's plenty of blame to go around." I didn't add that while I'd thoroughly analyzed what happened, I hadn't been able to let go and move on. But after this, I told myself I could. We'd had our post-mortem and it was time. That said, I wasn't quite ready to return to the real world yet. The ease we'd found with each other once again was too sweet to let go of, and I wanted to linger here a little longer.
He didn't speak, just gave me a nod. It was so Ranger-like. After him acting so out of character last night and today, it was a welcome sight. He looked a little bashful, "I need to apologize for earlier. I called you Babe. I'm sorry, you asked me not to. When I think of you, that's who you are to me and in the moment it just slipped out."
His admission hit me hard. Being his Babe had meant everything to me. During our last epic fight before last December, I told him, screamed at him that he didn't get to call me that, that's not who I was to him anymore and it truly broke me. It changed everything and was the catalyst for my running away to California. I had to leave. Here in Trenton, I was Ranger's Woman, Babe. Being his Babe had been what got me through my disastrous career as the infamous Bombshell Bounty Hunter, the shit show of my relationship with Joe and what gave me the strength to leave a year ago. Now it would give me the strength to walk away once again. In a few days I'd go back to L.A. to make new friends and still wonder about him, the only one who knew me, understood me, saw through the brave face I put on, the only soul who could tell which smiles I'm faking. But before that, I'd give myself a gift, this time with him, here in this room, and then I'd leave the warmest bed I'd ever known. I got up on my knees and moved closer to him, closing that last bit of distance between us. I positioned myself on his lap, one leg on either side of his, straddling him. I reached up and slid my hands up onto his shoulders. My voice was low "If it's okay with you, it's okay with me. We can call it even, you can call me Babe for the weekend."