Twins Under His Tree Part 18

"Mitch," she cried, a.s.suring him she did.

His rhythm became faster. She took him deeper. The explosion that rocked them both should have blown the roof off the house.

But it didn't. It simply left them both breathless and gasping and exhausted from a union that had been months in the making.

Lily lowered her legs, loving the feel of Mitch's body on hers. She wanted to postpone the "where do we go from here" moment for as long as she could.

At first, Lily didn't know what had awakened her. A shout. Groans.

Mitch wasn't in bed with her.

Another shout and she finally was alert enough to know what was happening.

She grabbed Mitch's flannel shirt from a chair and slipped it on as she ran from his bedroom to the guest bedroom next door. Mitch was thrashing in the bed, calling a name-Larry. He was drenched in sweat, breathing hard, eyes open but unseeing.

Lily had learned about post-traumatic stress disorder but didn't know whether to awaken him, or whether to get too close. She'd read about the cut with reality that occurred when flashbacks became more real than life itself. What had triggered this? Being with fellow servicemen who knew what war was about? Sitting around the fire? Talking about surface life yet never going too deep?

Grabbing the metal waste can, she banged it against a tall, wrought-iron floor lamp. The noise was loud and seemed to penetrate Mitch's nightmare. He sat up, eyes open with awareness now, and stared at her still holding the waste can.

When he pa.s.sed his hands down his face, rubbed his eyes and forehead as if to try to erase everything he'd just seen, she slid into the bed beside him and attempted to fold her arms around him.

He prevented her from doing that and pushed away.

"Everything's fine now, Mitch. I'm here."

"Your being here doesn't change what happened over there." His voice was gravelly with regret, sadness and too many memories.

"Maybe it's time you tell me about it."

"You don't want to hear this, Lily."

When she clasped his shoulder, he flinched, but she didn't remove her hand. "I might not want to hear it, but you need to say it out loud. You need to talk to somebody about it, and right now I think I'm the best person. Just stop fighting your subconscious, Mitch, and let it out."

"Do you think talking about it is going to take away the nightmares? Get real, Lily."

"I don't know if talking about your experience will take away anything. I suppose it could make memories worse for a while. But suffering in silence isn't the answer, either."

In that silence Lily could hear Mitch's breathing, still not quite as regular as usual. She could feel his doubt, as if revealing anything could make his nightmares worse. But she sat there steadfastly, her hand on his shoulder.

His voice was detached when he said, "I got used to the scud alerts, the bunkers, the MREs. It's amazing what can become normal. I not only cared for our soldiers, but for Iraqis too, many of them children with shrapnel injuries. The sound of artillery shots and mortars coming back at us became a backdrop."

Stopping, he seemed to prepare himself for remembering. Sending her a look that said he didn't want to do this and he was going to get it over with quickly, he continued, "We had spent a couple of days cross-training with ambulance teams, going over procedures. We slept when we could catch minutes, sometimes an hour."

After a quiet so prolonged she didn't know if he'd continue, he did. The nerve in his jaw worked and she could hear the strain in his voice when he said, "I was traveling in a convoy when RPGs came at us. The next thing I knew we'd hit an IED."

Lily was familiar with the military speaking in acronyms. RPG stood for rocket propelled grenade...IED, improvised explosive device.

Mitch's face took on a gray pallor as he forced himself to go on. "Blood was everywhere." His voice lowered. "The man beside me was...gone. At that point I didn't realize the extent of my injuries, because adrenaline raced so fast I didn't think about anything except helping anybody who was hurt. My ears rang, though. And rounds were still bouncing off the Humvee even though it was burning. I helped two men from the vehicle, but I saw others who'd been tossed out by the explosion. There was fire all around. I spotted Larry and somehow reached him. He had a hole in his thigh-the femoral vein-" Mitch closed his eyes. "Tony covered me with an M16. All I could think of was that I had to stop the bleeding. I had to stop it. What seemed like wild shots zinged over my head. Everything was on fire," he said again. "So I threw my body over his. I heard a m.u.f.fled yell. I finally saw part of the Humvee had been blown away from the fire. I dragged Larry behind it. Someone handed me a piece of a shirt. I tried to staunch the blood. Then I...must have blacked out."

Mitch took a deep breath...stared away from her...into the past. "I had recollections of the medevac, but other than that, the next thing I knew I was waking up in a hospital in Germany, my spleen gone, internal injuries repaired, a pin in my shoulder and another in my leg."

By the time Mitch finished, tears ran down Lily's cheeks. She hurt for him and with him and couldn't even fathom living with his memories. She wrapped her arms around him, and he was rigid with resistance. Yet she kept holding on and wouldn't let go.

"Larry died," he said, his voice rough. "Larry died."

Leaning her head against his, she didn't even breathe. After what seemed like an eon, she murmured, "Don't send me away. Let me sleep here with you."

Whether Mitch was too exhausted to protest, too awash in the past to care, he slid down under the covers, letting her hold on.

She didn't fall asleep again until she heard the deep, even rhythm of his breathing. Then she let herself slumber with him, knowing morning would come sooner than they both wanted.

Chapter Twelve.

In the morning everything always looked different.

That's what Lily thought as she awakened, reached across the guest room bed and found that Mitch was gone.

He'd slept in the bed with her most of the night. She'd awakened a couple of times and cuddled close to him with her head on his shoulder. He'd been asleep then...she could tell. But something had made him leave now and she had to admit to herself that that was her biggest fear-that he would leave. If not physically, then emotionally.

Their physical reunion last night had been spectacular. What he'd shared with her about Iraq had been wrenching. Did he have regrets about that now? Was that why he'd left the bed?

She glanced at the clock and saw that it was 7:00 a.m. She knew he was meeting his friends at the bed-and-breakfast for brunch, but that wasn't until ten o'clock. She caught up the flannel shirt she'd discarded last night and slipped it on. She'd shower and dress after she found out where Mitch had gone.

After she b.u.t.toned his shirt from neckline to hem, she realized how silly that was. She certainly hadn't been so modest last night. She'd never felt so wanton or so free...so hungry or so s.e.xual.

Sunlight poured in the hall skylight, a new, bright December day with Christmas right around the corner. What gift could she get Mitch?

She hated feeling uncertain like this. She hated not knowing how deep his feelings ran. Were they just having an affair?

That possibility made her heartsick.

She smelled the aroma of coffee and heard Mitch's voice before she saw him. He was pacing the kitchen, talking on his cell phone. He went to the French doors and looked out as he listened.

Spotting his jacket around the kitchen chair, a mug of coffee half gone, she wondered if he'd sat outside this morning in the cold before he'd come in to make his phone call. Who was he talking to? Jimmy? Matt?

Then she heard him say, "Dr. Dolman, I appreciate what you're saying. I searched your articles online this morning." There was a pause. "Yes, that too. I trust Matt. But I wanted to check out your credentials for myself."

Dr. Dolman. The surgeon who could possibly repair Mitch's hand. If Mitch was going to talk to him, why hadn't he discussed it with her? Why had he disappeared from the bed without a "good morning" or a kiss? Last night had meant the world to her. Decisions they each made would affect the other's life. Unless they weren't really "together." Unless last night hadn't meant what she thought it did.

She felt hurt and knew she shouldn't. This was his life. This was his decision. But she did feel let down. She'd thought last night they'd gotten closer than any two people could get.

Mitch sensed her presence and turned, finding her in the doorway. For a moment their gazes met, but then his mind was on the conversation again and he looked away, shutting her out.

At least that's the way it felt. She wouldn't eavesdrop if he didn't want her there.

She returned to the master bedroom and bath, catching the scent of Mitch's soap still lingering in the shower. She'd thought maybe they could shower together this morning. She'd thought- Stop it, she chastised herself. Disappointment pressed against her heart as she showered quickly, found a blow dryer under Mitch's sink and blew most of the wetness from her hair. She'd dressed and was picking up her own phone to call the Victorian when she heard Mitch coming down the hall.

She closed her phone and waited.

He saw her standing there with it in her hand. "How are the twins?"

"I don't know. I haven't called yet."

The intimacy they'd shared last night seemed to have been lost. The electric buzz between them was still there, but there was nothing comfortable about it. She kept quiet to let him choose the first topic for discussion.

He asked, "You overheard some of my conversation?"

"Not much. Just the name of the doctor Matt told you about last night."

"Dr. Dolman."

She nodded.

"I was up early, went outside and did a ton of thinking."

She wanted to ask, About us? But that obviously wasn't what was on his mind.

"I thought about everything Matt said. He thinks I have survivor guilt."

"Do you?" she asked.

"h.e.l.l, I don't know. But I did think about why I wouldn't want to get my hand fixed. Yes, there could be more damage. But it also has to do with the life change I made."

"In other words, why rock the boat?" she inquired.

"Exactly. Yet I've never been a half-measure person. Why in this?"

There were only about three feet between them but it seemed like so much more.

He went on. "Dr. Dolman's success rate is outstanding. I made an appointment with him for Tuesday afternoon."

Tuesday was Mitch's day off. He could reserve an early flight and be in Houston before noon.

"I see," she said.

Tilting his head, he studied her. "I thought you'd be happy about it." She was terrifically pleased he'd made the decision. "I am. But why didn't you wake me up to talk about it? Why did you leave and cut off the closeness we'd shared? Why didn't you think I'd want to be part of whatever you decided?"

His back became straighter, his stance a little wider, as if he had a position to defend. "Why do you think?"

"I'm not at all sure."

"You're insightful, Lily. Take a guess."

"Mitch..."

"No woman has ever touched my scars. You did. No woman has ever seen me in the throes of one of my nightmares. You did. I never told a civilian back here what happened over there. But I told you. If I had stayed in that bed this morning and you'd opened your eyes and I'd seen pity or worse yet, dismay, that even after all these years I still haven't gotten a handle on my own subconscious-" He stopped abruptly. "I just didn't want to have to deal with that."

She didn't know what to say. There were so many levels to his statement. She didn't know how to separate it into all the aspects they needed to examine.

So she stated what was obvious to her. "Why would I feel pity? Mitch, you're a decorated hero. You were awarded a Silver Star, a Purple-"

"I'm not a hero. I didn't save Larry's life."

"No, but you tried. You risked your life."

"Results matter...in surgery, in helping couples conceive, in life."

Shaking her head, she sank down onto the corner of the bed, hoping he'd do the same. "You expect too much of yourself. And maybe you don't expect enough of me."

"Maybe that's because I think in your mind you're still married."

His words struck her hard and stole her breath. "Did I act like I was still married last night?"

"Did you feel guilt afterwards?"

"No, I didn't," she said almost angrily.

Then he looked down at her hand in her lap. "Then why are you still wearing your wedding ring?"

"This is about my ring? You're jealous because I can't forget my husband?"

"I'm not jealous," Mitch protested with a vehemence she almost believed. "It's not about that," he concluded. "It's about your ability to let go of Troy so you have something with me."

The thought of letting go of Troy absolutely panicked her! If she let go, didn't that mean their love hadn't been very strong? If she let go, didn't that mean Sophie and Grace would never know their real dad? If she let go, and Mitch left, what would she have then?

He must have seen the color drain from her face. He must have seen how shaken she was, because he covered the few feet between them and clasped her shoulder.

But his touch, which still sent scalding heat through her body, activated her. She stood and pulled away from him. "I have to go home to Sophie and Grace."

"I know you do." His voice had lost its edge and was gentler than she expected. "But this is something we've needed to discuss and haven't."

"I thought we were discussing your surgery." Her feelings for Mitch had been simpler when the focus was on him.

"If I have surgery, I'm doing it to move on. You say you want to move on, but I don't know if that's really true."

She was stymied for a response and didn't know what he wanted from her.

"Why don't you go home, get the twins and meet me at the bed-and-breakfast for brunch?"

"I don't think that's a good idea." The words reflexively spilled from her. "Why not?"

"Because...because I don't know what kind of night they had. I don't know if they're fussy or content. I should have called first thing and I didn't."