Chapter 29

As I drive through Bragg, I feel Brian's ghost haunt me at every turn. Every building I pass brings back a memory of him, good or bad. The DFAC reminds me of Brian and Warren shoving footlongs down their throats in a hotdog eating contest. I pass the PX where we did our grocery shopping together. The field where we did PT every morning, no matter if it was raining, snowing, or sweltering. The softball field where we played on the weekends.

I pull up to the airfield and park. There's only a handful of cars with people waiting to greet their loved ones. This is the field where we took off and landed after jump training, the field where I landed when they brought me home from the desert—with Brian's dead body.

I did the right thing by moving away from the base. I can't keep living in his shadow, bitter that the memories I have of him can't breathe life back into his body. I needed to get away, to walk in the sun and start fresh in a town that isn't trying to suck me back into the past.

About forty-five minutes pass while I sit in my car, listening to the radio, waiting for Riggs to return home. I pass the time browsing the catalog Mandy gave me from the funeral home, trying to choose the best urn to bury my mama in. Most of them look so plain and boring, and I know for a fact my mama would hate them. I need something colorful and pretty like she was. I need something that screams Retta.

The giant 47 Chinook touches down in a thunderous roar, and I shut the car off and make my way to the gate. Riggs is one of the last soldiers off the bird, and my heart flip-flops at the sight of him.

Damn, he looks good. A sight for sore eyes.

I haven't seen him in uniform since the first night we met, and now I'm getting all nostalgic and sappy, remembering the way he cared for me. The spark of heat I felt then has now grown into a raging inferno. Riggs looks so proud and broad and… ungh … like a delicious fucking snack, and I'm starving for a taste of him. I should have fucked him before he left, but I'm damn sure gonna do it as soon as we get home.

He texted last night to tell me the details of his return, and I told him about my mama. He's probably going to treat me with kid gloves for the next few weeks, but fuck that… no matter how heartbroken I am, I still want sex.

He spots me and his face lights up, making my stomach swirl. I love that reaction from him. Riggs picks me up off my feet and swings me in an arc, crushing me in his embrace. I feel high from the thrill of being seen by his entire unit. He doesn't give a fuck if we look gay. Well, we are gay… okay, bi/gay, but still, Riggs couldn't care less.

I wish Brian and I had his courage when we were enlisted.

Riggs sets me on my feet. "Damn, I missed you." I breathe the words into his neck, rubbing my lips over his stubble.

"I'm so sorry about Retta, babe." He squeezes me tighter, and I close my eyes and breathe him in.

He smells the same as I remember, if slightly sweatier, and everything settles inside me. The turmoil, anger, and grief settle to a low simmer, taking a backseat to my excitement over seeing him again.

He presses a kiss on my lips. "You're the best thing I've seen in weeks."

With a snort, I tease, "I believe it. I've been to Polk." He grabs his rucksack and we head to the car. "Take me home and fuck me."

Riggs chuckles. "Definitely on my to-do list, but first, we eat. I've been existing on MREs for fourteen days, and I want something greasy.

"Can you believe West eats that shit for fun?"

Riggs smirks. "I can believe anything when it comes to the Bitches. They're… unique."

"Smooth," I laugh. "They really stepped up for me these past weeks. I don't know what I'd have done without them." Shit, I'm getting choked up just thinking about it. Those guys made a home for me here. They welcomed me with open arms and open hearts.

He slides his arm around my shoulder, giving me a squeeze. When we reach the car, Riggs stows his ruck in the backseat and pushes me up against the side of the car. He grabs my shirt and pulls me in for a kiss. His lips crush mine with bruising force, and hummingbirds take flight in my stomach. He rubs his tongue along mine, and it goes on and on. When he finally backs off, I'm breathless and dizzy—and hard as a fucking rock.

"Let's get drive-thru," I suggest, rearranging my junk.

He grins wickedly. "That's a great idea."

We eat as we drive so that our hands are empty when we pull up in his driveway. Riggs kicks the door shut behind us, dropping his ruck on the floor, and backs me up against the wall. My back hits hard, but I barely feel it. The center of my focus is the feel of his mouth claiming mine. He suckles on my tongue, lapping at my mouth in the most seductive, cock-hardening way. His teeth nip my bottom lip, his fingers dig into my scalp. Riggs works his knee between my thighs, widening them, and I can't stop myself from grinding against his thigh.

I can barely pull my mouth away for a second. "We gonna do this on the floor again?"

He grins against my lips. "I want you in my bed this time."

" Our bed," I breathe into his mouth.

Riggs pauses and stares into my eyes. " Our bed," he agrees.

We strip as we make our way to the bedroom, kissing and handsy the whole way. We fall onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs, laughing. I touch him everywhere, my hands mapping his body, relearning the feel of his skin.

His hot gaze rakes down my body, pausing to take in my hard cock. Riggs's eyes grow wider, and he licks his lips. "You can't imagine the filthy things I dreamed of while I was gone."

"Oh, yeah?" I stroke myself, giving him a show. "What did you do about it?"

"Not much," he laughs. "I shared a tent with five other guys."

"Kinky."

"I'm not that kinky," he grins, bending his head down to my lap. His mouth hovers over the head of my cock, breathing warm, moist air over my sensitive skin. A shudder licks down my spine, making my balls draw up tight.

"You gonna suck it, or just think about it?"

His eyes glint with mischief and his tongue snakes out to lick my slit. It tickles, but more than that, it's the sight of it that turns me on. He slathers my cockhead with spit before taking me inside his mouth, using his lips to spread the saliva down my shaft. The easy glide feels like heaven. If he would just touch my…

He swipes the dripping saliva with his finger and rubs over my hole. Oh yeah, that's it. Touch my ass.

The tip of his finger breaches my rim, and I bear down, forcing more of it inside of me.

"Christ, you're tight."

The feeling of his finger sliding in and out of my ass, brushing my inner walls, and tickling my gland makes white-hot sparks of desire unfurl in my stomach. I find myself bucking my hips to set a faster pace.

"You want it that bad?" His grin is wicked.

"Dying for it. But not your fingers; I want your cock."

"Let me open you up first," he murmurs, sliding a second finger inside of me.

"Ungh, fuck." He's killing me, bringing me to the edge with each stroke. "Just give me your cock. Don't care if it hurts at first."

He laughs a little, sliding his fingers from my hole. "Gonna make you regret that, soldier." I toss him the bottle of lube from the nightstand, and he drizzles it over his cock, smearing it with his fist. "Lay on your side," he orders, bending my right leg slightly so it doesn't cramp. He grasps my left ankle, spreading my legs wide, and kneels between them. Riggs positions his cock at my entrance, rubbing the slick head back and forth over my hole. He stretches me slowly, taking his time, and the slow burn is the sweetest torture. "Tight and hot," he hisses.

He sinks another inch of his length, and I clench my muscles around his shaft, making him gasp, his eyes going wide. I love watching his hips snap back and forth as he fucks into me, love watching his pleasure play across his face. Riggs doesn't hide a thing from me, and he doesn't hold back, not that I want him to.

His eyes zero in on where our bodies are joined, watching his cock plunge into my ass. I wish I could see it. I'd probably come if I could see it. His face and chest flush with sweat, his breath becoming labored as he picks up the pace, slamming into me. Every nerve ending in my body comes to life, registering pleasure and sensation. I reach for my cock, and he watches as I stroke it for him, my eyes burning with hunger.

"Fuck me harder," I beg, chasing my orgasm.

He drops my ankle, grabbing my thighs instead, so he can thrust harder, deeper. "Come on, soldier, show me how you scream. Let me hear you."

"Riggs, fuck!" He takes me over the edge with him, pulling out of my ass to shoot his load over my stomach. It mixes with my seed, pooling on my skin in a thick white puddle.

Riggs drops my legs and hovers over my body, laughing and breathless. He pops a kiss onto my lips, but I hold him there, deepening the kiss. My tongue swipes inside his mouth, and he opens for me.

"That was…"

I cut him off, supplying the right word he's looking for. "Incredible? Epic? Unforgettable? The best sex you ever had?"

Riggs chuckles. "All of that and more. Let me get you cleaned up, and then you're mine."

"You wanna go another round?" I ask, smacking my ass to entice him.

"Not yet," he grins. "I just want to climb under the covers and cuddle with you all night long."

That sounds even better.

When we're settled under the covers, still naked, wrapped up in each other, Riggs strokes his fingers through my hair. His lips touch my neck, my shoulder.

"I'm so sorry about your mama. I'll never forgive myself for not being here."

"It wasn't your fault. It wasn't like you wanted to leave." His foot rubs up and down my calf. I love the feel of his warm body pressed against mine, his now-soft cock resting against the crease of my sore ass. "Did you mean it when you said you're done with the reserves?"

"My contract expires in three months. I may have one more weekend away, but that would be it. I'm done. No more war. No more fighting. I want to focus on helping and healing the aftermath of destruction instead of contributing to it."

"Is that all you want to focus on?"

He hums against my ear, tickling the shell with the vibration of his voice. "I want to focus on us, on building a life with you."

"I want that too. I missed you so badly when you were gone," I admit, tears threatening to burn my eyes. The grief hits me at the oddest times; when I least expect it. It's like a roller coaster of emotion, hitting me with highs and lows that completely drain me.

He wraps me in his arms tighter. "I wish I could give them back to you—your mama, Brian."

"That's okay. If I had to choose anyone in the world, I would still pick you. As long as I have you, I have everythin' I need."

This is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Harder than jump school or basic training, harder than kissing my mama goodbye when I left for boot camp. Brewer's door is open, but I knock on it, anyway.

He looks up with a smile on his face. "Come on in, Rhett." He takes off his glasses and sets them on his desk, coming to his feet. "Did you need to talk?"

"Only if you have time." I almost hope he doesn't.

"I have all the time in the world for you. Why don't you sit down and get comfortable?" He gestures toward his couch, taking the seat across from it. "You look like you have something on your mind, so I'm just going to sit and listen."

"I don't really know where to begin." I can already feel my emotions welling up inside of me, threatening to spill through my eyes.

"Begin wherever you want; we'll circle back around, eventually."

My stomach churns with anxiety. "I was angry when I lost my best friend. So angry, and it was just so unfair. He was young, he was a good man, and he was just doing his job, tryin' to help, fightin' for his country." My voice breaks on the last word, and I swipe my tears. "I thought I'd never get over that, and maybe, maybe I won't. But losin' my mama? I'm not even angry, I'm just… I'm heartbroken. I'm so lonely and sad and lost that I can't even pick myself up off the floor and put the pieces back together long enough to be angry."

I can't see clearly through my waterfall of grief. Brewer hands me a box of tissues, and I blow my nose. "I miss her so much—her stupid movie quotes, the smell of her cookin', the sound of her slippers shufflin' as she moves around the house, tidying up. I thought, you know because I can't jump no more, that she would see me as a failure." I swallow hard, my throat feeling dry and sore. "Like I didn't amount to nothin', but when I realized I could fly and started workin' toward my pilot's license, I dreamed of taking her up in the air someday and showin' her the world from the angle I love best, above the clouds. I thought maybe she could see what I see when I jump, she could feel that rush, and maybe finally understand why I love it so much. I thought she'd be proud of me and how I amounted to somethin'. I'm never gonna get to show her that now." My sobbing and sniffling are out of control as I go through tissue after tissue, making a dirty pile of them in my lap.

He props one leg over his knee, resting his hands together. Brewer always looks relaxed, like he's never in any rush. He makes you feel as if you're the most important thing he has going on. I guess it's a good quality in a therapist.

"Do you really believe that?"

"No. Maybe. Rationally, no, but if she can't see it, then it's all for nothin', it don't even matter."

"Of course it matters. And I'm not convinced she can't see it, either. What do you think?"

This is what therapists do; they turn shit around on you so that you have to answer your own questions. It's fucking infuriating. If I had all the answers, I wouldn't fucking be here.

"I think… I think she always knew I was capable of doin' my best, and she always believed in me." I'm losing my grip again, and a fresh round of tears rushes forth. My face feels hot and I'm a little dizzy from the pressure in my head. "I think she can see me and she knows."

"I think you're right," Brewer agrees. "I think your mama and your Brian, my Eric, Riggs's Mark, and Nash's Victor, I think they all see us very clearly. I think they're watching over us, and I think we're going to be alright."

All I can do is nod as I blow my nose again. Brewer reaches for the wastebasket beside his chair and hands it to me. I chuck my snotty pile of tissues into it and reach for another.

"Is this normal? Am I supposed to fall apart like this over the littlest thing?"

"Your grief isn't little, nor is your love for your mother. Grief is fluid, and it's immeasurable. One person's grief isn't the same as another's. Whatever you're feeling is completely normal and you have to give yourself time and space to feel your feelings." He gets up and crosses the room to the small fridge next to his desk, grabbing a bottle of water. Brewer hands it to me and I gulp it down gratefully. "The more you talk about it, the more manageable it will feel. Grief is a heavy burden to carry, and it helps to lighten the load by sharing it with others."

He's right. I know he's right. But every time I talk about her, I cry again, and I'm fucking sick to death of crying. Sick of it.

"My door is open to you anytime, or we could schedule a regular visit. Twice a week, maybe?"

Oh, he's good. Real good. "Sounds good, Brewer."