Masters at Arms (Rescue Me Saga, #0.5)(53)

But the Marines had turned Damián into a fine young man. One anyone would be proud to call son. Adam certainly would continue to think of him as his son until the day he died. Even if Damián wasn’t looking for a replacement dad.

*

Would the ache ever go away?

Karla plucked a tissue from the box in her lap and stared at Ian’s photo lying beside her on the burgundy-velvet antique settee. Every day for the past two months, she’d fought to accept and understand Ian’s death. Fail. She’d lost the ability to function on a day-to-day basis. Last night, she’d been fired from the club.

Escape. She looked around her Soho loft, the place where she’d lived since college. Five of her college roommate’s oil paintings dominated one wall; their vibrant colors usually able to cheer her up. Not tonight.

She should be singing at the club. Ian had come to hear her perform whenever he was in the city. With the bright lights blinding her up on stage these past two months, she’d often imagined him sitting there in the front row, smiling up at her. But when the show was over, she realized he hadn’t been there. Would never be there again. Then last night, she hadn’t even been able to walk onto the stage as she was hit with a full-blown panic attack.

She’d never frozen like that.

Last week, her contract with the record label had fallen through. She just couldn’t concentrate long enough to write anything new. With her career sufficiently down the tubes, she needed to get away from the city and regroup. But where could she go?

Her parents kept trying to talk her into moving back home. She knew they needed her, but being in the house where she’d grown up with Ian was too painful. Every time she passed his room or stared at the empty chair at the table, she’d think of him. Her chest tightened as tears welled in her eyes. No, she couldn’t move back there.

Maybe a visit to her college roommate’s mountain cabin would help. She usually showed up at Cassie’s in the fall when the aspens were so beautiful. Her gaze moved to the painting of a stand of the trees with their yellow-gold leaves nearly quaking against the off-white bark. Karla remembered being with Cassie last year as she created the painting.

The artwork complemented Karla’s mix-and-match style furniture. The wooden dining table with funky chairs of aspen yellow, azure blue, and crimson. The bar with its vinyl-covered red, green, and blue lunch counter stools. No one could accuse Karla of being dull when it came to colors. Well, except for her wardrobe.

And yet, the joy she usually felt here was gone. Even the few walls of the loft were closing in on her. She looked at the bookshelf where Adam’s framed photo in his dress blues had been displayed proudly beside Ian’s portrait ever since she’d moved into the loft.

Adam, I need you.

Few days passed since that Thanksgiving weekend without some thought of Adam. Her heart still ached with images of his kneeling down before her in the bus station’s ladies room as she cleaned up the wounds he’d received trying to protect her from harm. Memories of his arms around her had infused her with the strength and courage to return home and face her parents.

The sight of him half naked in her parents’ kitchen in the wee hours of that Thanksgiving Day had made an indelible mark on an impressionable, young girl’s mind. The corner of her mouth lifted in a half smile. No man had ever measured up to Adam; not that she’d really seen many men without their shirts. She’d focused solely on building her career.

And now that was gone. Tears welled in her eyes.

The few letters he’d managed to write while deployed also were among her most prized possessions, along with the printouts of Ian’s e-mails. Neither was a prolific correspondent, but she understood how busy they were. But after Adam retired from the Marines, he’d kept in touch with a letter every month. In recent years, he’d even e-mailed her. But she preferred the letters. More personal.

Adam had surprised her when he told her how much he loved listening to the music she’d sent him while he was in Fallujah. She’d hoped to send him a copy of the professionally mastered CD of her Gothic rock love songs. But that wasn’t going to happen now.

Adam had always sent her a bouquet of roses dyed neon pink for her birthday, reminding her of that awful hair color she’d had when she met him. She smiled. He always seemed to have a genuine interest in what she was doing and wanted to make sure she was okay. He’d check to see if she needed anything. Offer advice whenever she’d asked on matters small or large.

Mostly small matters, she realized now. She hadn’t been able to tell him about Ian.

Guilt plagued her for not responding to his last two letters. Karla couldn’t find the words to tell him about Ian’s accident. Tears stung her eyes again. She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose.

Go to Adam. He can help.

Karla needed Adam more than she’d ever needed anyone before. With nothing left to hold here her in New York, she picked up the phone and booked a red-eye flight to Denver. She’d find some small club where she could sing that wouldn’t be as demanding as the one in Soho. Just enough to help pay the bills while she licked her wounds and healed.

Karla pulled out her suitcases and started packing. She’d keep the loft for now, until she knew what she’d do. Maybe she could sublet it to a friend. Only a few possessions would go with her, though. The two bundles of letters. Her performance costumes. Copies of the CD she recorded last year. Everyday clothes.