Page 53 of Proof Of Life
His face hardens. “You’re a fucking asshole.”
“I guess that’s my answer, then. You wouldn’t dream of saying that because it isn’t true. You’re not responsible for their deaths.” He tries to look away, but I grasp his chin, keeping his face front and center. “I was in the building with you, and I’m not responsible either.”
He pulls his face from my grip. “I was in charge!”
“You didn’t receive any intel that would have made you act differently in hindsight. What you’re doing is stealing their lives.”
“They’re dead! What fucking lives?” Tears stream down his cheeks, and I hate myself for doing this to him, but it had to be said. “He had a little girl. And Tommy had a wife. I didn’t just take her husband, I took their families and their futures away.”
His words hang heavy in the air. It’s the truth, and it’s tragic, but it’s not the end of the story. “You’re right, they’re dead. But we lived. We have the chance to live the life they dreamed of, to do all the things they wanted to do. A chance to fulfill their bucket lists, to honor the ones they loved, and to realize their dreams. By squandering the life you were spared, fucking gifted really, you’re stealing their futures and burying them next to our brothers and sister in the ground. It’s like you’re walking on their graves. Fall in love for Rosie. Plan a future for Tommy. Be happy for Micah’s sake.”
He swipes his tears with the hem of his shirt. “Fuck you,” he says without heat. “You don’t have the right to say that to me.”
“Why? Because I wasn’t in charge? Because I didn’t have as many stars on my chest as you? What’s the fucking difference? Do you think I don’t feel the same guilt you do? The same responsibility for my team, no matter what my rank was? We all felt a responsibility for each other. The stars don’t make you fucking special.” I’m so desperate to get my point across to him, for it to sink in this time, that I feel tears rush to my eyes and fall down my cheeks. “You’re all I’ve got left.” My voice cracks on a sob and his tears fall harder. “There’s no one else for me. You’re it, Wes, and you’re stealing what life I have left.”
“You’re not stuck with me,” he counters petulantly.
“I am! Don’t you get it? We’re absolutely fucking ruined, like you said. I don’t think there’s one person in the world we could have a successful relationship with. We’re not healthy people.”
“So it’s me or it’s no one? You’re a real hearts and flowers kind of guy, aren’t you?”
If he’s cracking jokes, my point must have sunk in. I hope to God he’s having a change of heart. “Is that what you want? Hearts and flowers?”
“Fuck you,” he laughs and wipes his nose on the sleeve of his shirt.
“I’m not saying I can’t do better than you because I’m not good enough, or that you aren’t good enough. I'm saying I can’t do better than you because there is no one better.” Sliding my hands under his arms, I pull him against my chest and he doesn’t fight me. With his head cradled between my pecs, I wrap my arms around his back and lay my cheek against his head. “It’s you, only you, Wes. You’re my best friend, and now, you’re… something more. We were given another chance at life, and somehow, we were given the added gift of wanting each other like this; of being attracted to each other. I want you in ways I’ve never thought of before, and that gives us a one in a million chance to build something together. To make a life worth living.”
He sniffles against my bare chest, and I don’t even care about the snot at this point. I'm just so grateful he’s listening. “It’s not gonna be the healthiest relationship. It’s not always gonna be good, I get that. But you’re the only person I want to do this with.” West raises his head and pins his teary gaze on me. “Please, I'm asking you for more. Build a life with me that our team would have wanted to live. It’s the only way we can honor them. And it’s what we deserve.”
West takes my hands in his. “More, huh?” He laughs and shakes his head. “I still think you’re going to regret asking for this, but yeah, I’ll give you more.”
It’s hard to swallow past the constriction of my throat. “Don’t tell me pretty lies.” Don’t break my heart.
“I can try, okay? All I can do is try.” He brushes his lips across my knuckles and my heart tugs painfully. It’s probably the most intimate, softest gesture I’ve seen from him, ever. “It’s not that I don’t want this, Reaper. I do. But my heart might not always be in it. Not because of you, though.”
Because of the guilt. Because of the bad days—the darkness, and the sometimes debilitating side effects of his amputation and TBI. “I know, I get that. It’s enough for me if you just promise to try.”
“Now slowly slide your shaft through the hole. You’re doing so good,” she purrs in a soft, encouraging voice. “Careful now; we don’t want to ram our sticks. Just a gentle glide. Not too tight, and not too loose. When you get it just right, doesn’t it feel so good?”
With my attention on the screen, I don’t see Brandt sneak into the room. He pounces on the mattress, and I scramble to shut the laptop.
“Are you watching porn?”
“What? No!”
His arched eyebrow implies he doesn’t believe me. “Then what are you watching?”
“Nothing. Why are you in here?”
“I live here. This is my room. What are you hiding under there?” he asks, tugging the covers down from my lap.
“Nothing.” I’m only making it seem more suspicious by fighting with him in an all out tug-of-war over the blanket.
Through the bedding, his hand falls on the bamboo stick, and his face becomes serious. “Are you hiding a weapon?”
Fuck. “Really? Would I be googling how to commit suicide?”
In one swift move, he yanks the blanket from my lap. His expression is almost comical when he sees the ball of bright pink yarn he bought me stretched around my knitting needles.