Between Here and the Horizon(80)
“Well, maybe, if Sully comes back again another day, you can ask him then.” She’d spoken loud enough that he heard what she said anyway, and he winked at me. He seemed light. Carefree. Less like the world was weighing down on him from all angles. He’d changed so much over the past couple of weeks that it was almost hard to believe.
“Why don’t you go and relax for a little while, too?” Rose said, as I went to see Sully out. “I’ve got things handled here. If this is what happens to Sully Fletcher when he falls in love, then you two should definitely spend as much time together as possible.”
I nearly died. No one mentioned being in love. I hadn’t. Sully sure as hell hadn’t. Why would she say something like that? It felt like the ground was yawning open and about to swallow me up whole. I glowered at Rose over Sully’s shoulder, subtly trying to let her know how mad I was, when I saw Sully’s reflection in the mirror on the wall right next to us, along with my own, and realized that he’d seen every single frown and glower I’d sent her way. Perfect.
“I always knew a woman could speak volumes with one look. That was a whole new level, though, Lang.”
Embarrassment nearly drowned me. I must have been red. No, scratch that. I must have been purple with horror. “Forget the last three minutes,” I said, grabbing my purse. “Thanks, Rose. I’ll be back later, okay? Goodbye, guys.”
Connor and Amie got up from the table and gave me a hug, one at a time. Connor seemed to be growing more and more tactile by the day, so I wasn’t all that surprised when he wrapped his arms around my waist and gave me a very brief, tight squeeze. I was shocked when he shyly held out his hand for Sully to shake, though. “It was very nice to meet you,” he said in a quiet voice.
Sully swallowed, looking down at the little boy. He seemed a little lost for words. “You too, little man. Any time you want to hang out, you just let me know, okay?”
Connor considered this for a moment, and then nodded. “Okay.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Lamest
Over the following weeks, Sully came to the house more and more. At first it had to be by formal invitation. Would he like to come for dinner? Would he like to come with me to take the children down to the beach? Was he free to come build forts in the library? But then as the days and the weeks passed, he just started showing up. He would come by the house at around ten in the morning, have lunch, come with me to pick Connor up from school, and he would be the one to help him with his homework while I cooked dinner with Rose. He would be the one to take Amie to bed at seven. He would be the one to sit through endless episodes of Peppa Pig, and Marvel Action Hour re-runs.
The change in him was spectacular. And in amongst the quality time he spent with the children, he was constantly pulling me aside, hands all over me, mouth rough on mine, touching me, caressing and kissing me. Never in front of the children. But when they weren’t looking? Boy, that was a different story altogether.
“I just can’t believe it,” Rose told me, one day toward the end of January. “I swear, I’ve never seen him like this before. This is…well, it’s kind of shocking. I never thought I’d see him smile like that again.”
Sully was lying on his back on the living room floor, and Amie was straddling his chest, sitting on his stomach. Her tiny hands were pulling at his cheeks and his forehead, mushing his face into strange expressions. She giggled at the top of her lungs every time he growled or poked his tongue out. Her laughter was infectious. Connor might not have taken to Sully so quickly, but the little boy loved having him around. He sat Indian style on the floor a couple of feet from them, watching, smiling, not saying anything but clearly happy.
I leaned my head against Rose’s shoulder, sighing. “I know. I’m scared.”
She glanced out me out of the corner of her eye. “I get that. I can see why you might be worried. But I’m not anymore. I don’t think this is a flash in the pan, O. He didn’t have PTSD when he came back from Afghanistan, thank god. He was just...angry. He might still be angry, but look at him. He’s happy now, too. He’s found some sort of balance. That’s pretty damn special.”
She was right about him still being angry. There were days when he was so prickly and unapproachable that I wanted to kick him in the balls. Days when I came so close to doing exactly that. But all it took was calling him out on his crap and he pulled his shit together. It was remarkable that he was able to flip the switch so easily. When I asked him about it, he simply said, “War puts things into perspective, Lang. Sometimes you lose sight of things. Sometimes it takes a riled up SoCal girl to kick you into touch, but nothing is ever as bad as it seems. Feel free to remind me what an ass I am as many times as you like. If I’m too unbearable, then toss my ass out of the house.” I hadn’t had to do that just yet, but he knew I was prepared and willing. Perhaps that’s why he was clearly trying so hard to make this work. Weeks passed. A month. Valentines day arrived, and with it single pink rose and a simple handwritten card on my pillow.
Lang.
You’re not as smart as you think you are. I’m impervious to your wicked ways. I am not in love with you. When you leave this island, I won’t care.
The world won’t stop turning.