Masters at Arms (Rescue Me Saga, #0.5)(51)
“You did everything right. You couldn’t save everyone. No one could.”
“Why? Why’d he have to die? Why not me?”
Adam continued to just hold him, but Damián noticed that his former Top’s heart was pounding hard against his chest. When he spoke, Adam’s voice had become raspy. “That’s above my pay grade—and a question I’ve asked myself a million times, too. But you have to quit blaming yourself.”
Easier said than done.
“I will, if you will.” But Damián knew they’d both probably go to their graves asking themselves the same question.
Adam cleared his throat. “What you have to do is find something or someone that will make your surviving worthwhile. Find a cause that moves you. Find a woman who needs you. Just f*cking find something you can do to make the world a better place for at least one other person.”
Damián held on tighter. He knew tears were falling onto Adam’s chest, but didn’t want to ease away and reveal the evidence. The man had been like a father to him the past six months, taking care of him day and night. Making sure he did his PT exercises. Forcing him to wear the god-damned prosthesis until finally it stopped rubbing his stump raw.
The man had had no f*cking life as a result. Adam should have been enjoying retirement, not babysitting him. Why hadn’t he just left Damián in San Diego to finish off what the grenade had started? How could Damián ever repay him for the sacrifices he’d made?
Puckered skin? Damián’s hands rested against what felt like puckered skin on Adam’s back. What the f*ck? He pulled back and felt Adam’s body go stiff.
Damián looked him in the eye. “Turn around.”
“You don’t give me orders, son.”
“What happened?”
“It was a long time ago. Kandahar. Ambush. I took some shrapnel to the back.”
While he rattled off the cold, hard facts in a non-emotional way, Damián knew from the pain reflected in Adam’s eyes that the man must have battled his own demons. From where Damián’s hands explored, half the man’s back must be riddled with shrapnel wounds. The master sergeant had been through just as much as Damián had.
How had he stayed so strong, so normal, so sane?
Was Damián his cause, to help him handle his own survivor guilt?
Maybe there was hope for Damián yet. He needed to quit feeling sorry for himself and find some worthwhile cause to dedicate himself to.
But what?
Section Five
The Masters at Arms Club
Three months ago
Adam would be glad to get this meeting over. Damián wanted to add live music to the club. They’d finally opened in 2008 and were doing well, so they could afford it. Adam just didn’t go in for most of that heavy-metal stuff Damián liked.
“Edgy?” Damián asked.
He looked at Damián and Marc as they searched for just the right word for the classified ad. Well, Marc seemed about as much into the conversation as Adam was. What the hell ailed that boy lately?
“I like it.” As long as it doesn’t put me over the edge. Adam watched as the younger man he thought of like a son scribbled that addition onto the notepad on the desk between them. “Read me what we have so far.”
“‘Private club. Friday & Saturday performances only. Eclectic, edgy music—heavy metal and Goth welcome. Auditions start at 3 PM Wednesday. For location and additional info…’ Then the phone number and e-mail.”
“Sounds good to me,” Marc said. He seemed distracted this afternoon. Actually, he’d been that way for well over a year, but refused to tell Adam what was eating at him. Probably still hadn’t gotten over that woman who had dumped him last year. What was her name? Pamela? He’d only brought her to the club a couple times. She seemed nice, but there wasn’t much chemistry between the two other than the Dom/sub thing.
Marc hadn’t talked with him about the relationship, and Adam didn’t go looking to butt in. Still, he thought the younger man could benefit from some advice, if he ever asked for it. Sometimes he came across as too arrogant and manipulative to suit most women. He seemed to have some kind of wall up that always kept them in their place, but that place was never quite as close as women wanted to get.
Marc stood. “I’m sorry, but I’m pulling a night shift to help out a friend, so I’m going to have to hit the road. I trust whatever you both decide to do.”
They said their goodbyes and Adam watched him leave. Maybe he’d try to have a word with him before the club opened up Friday night. With Marc’s SAR work schedule, he didn’t see much of him, though.
Damián, on the other hand, practically lived here and helped run the club.
“Son, you’re in charge of hiring the entertainment.” Adam wouldn’t know what young people wanted to hear if it hit him over the head. Besides, he needed to keep Damián busy so he wouldn’t dwell on things outside his control. He said the nightmares were rare now, but Adam could tell when he showed up with circles under his eyes that he’d been visited by his demons.
Being a Dom helped Damián regain some of the control he’d lost over his life, but Adam worried that he sometimes went a little too deep into SM. He knew it wasn’t the boy’s nature to inflict pain and he thought maybe he was just using SM to release his anger, rather than as an expression of his sexual nature.