Page 87 of The Bright Side of Brooding
Chapter Thirty-Six
Summer
Ididn’t need time. I’d already decided I wanted to try with Nick, and that meant facing my revulsion of needing someone else head-on. I didn’t need more therapy to help me with asking friends for help, but I would need someone wiser than me to help wade through the relationship kind of trust. Because that was what it boiled down to—trust. He’d nailed it when he said that, and it struck mehard. I had to trust that Nick wouldn’t use my need for him against me.
My love for him.
’Cause, yep, I loved him. Seeing him speak so clearly and gently yesterday, when he had every right to push me away, confirmed it, as though I hadn’t already known.
As though that, underneath all of this, wasn’t the real reason his help, care, and concern made me panicky. When love was synonymous with debt in your childhood, it was hard to shake that correlation, even decades later. Until Nick, I’d never cared enough to get past this point—the point when my boyfriend recognized how messed up I was.
And his response to seeing the MPs—as panicked as I could imagine him. He didn’t get ruffled, but the man had been shaken, finding me there with two cops. I’d felt guilty for not letting him know. I sensed maybe he thought my not calling him was significant. But in truth, I’d been so upset and thrown by the idiot showing up on my doorstep again, then bungled the actual call itself, I hadn’t had much space to think of anything but observing everything Dennin said and did so I could give a clear report. I hoped it’d be enough to make sure he wouldn’t think he could do it again.
My insistence on not being in debt had hurt me in a real way this time. When I’d reported the first incident, I should’ve listed Nick and Rob as witnesses. I hadn’t, and apparently, that meant it was Dennin’s word against mine, so in the end, he was given a counseling and nothing more. Had I given the full picture of what happened and named Rob and Nick, who would’ve corroborated the events, they might’ve given him a no-contact order. It could have made a difference, though somehow, I doubted it.
And I didn’t want to think about Dennin. Any thoughts about that were wasted—I’d done what I could, and I’d meet with Major Hall tomorrow. I didn’t want to be stupid, but—
I shook my head at myself while scrubbing the last pot left from the dinner party. Calling myself names, putting myself down, that wasn’t going to help. I knew that. The real issue here was Nick, not Dennin, in that going forward, I did have to do something about Nick. I hoped the case was closed with Dennin.
The men I’d dated in the past hadn’t been ready to face this trust stuff down with me, but it seemed like Nick might be. I hoped so. And that didn’t even touch the fact that he’d be retiring soon and might not even live in Germany long enough to matter.
Every second with him matters.
Ugh, the cheesy little echo in my mind was right. I wanted every possible second. It’d push me,he’dpush me to go beyond the surface, beyond the knee-jerk reaction of shutting down and rejecting help, need, even real emotions like sadness and love. He’d want all of me, and I wanted all of him.
His brooding soul still mulling through grief and loss. That quiet part of him he’d already shown me. The demanding coach. The ridiculously tender cat dad. The awkward party guest and stubborn friend. I wanted all of him.
But I’d need to show him. I considered texting him tonight and asking him to come help me clean up—a small sign of the changes I’d been slowly working on for weeks. Or years, depending on how you looked at it.
I needed him to know I’d thought carefully about it, and I had to make him certain of me. But I didn’t want to make him wait, nor could I stand to. The surety had hit right as the MPs drove up, as my adrenaline started crashing. And truly, the only reason I didn’t let him hug me was exactly as I said—I would’ve broken down. And I wasn’t ready to say what I needed to say. I’d only just registered the truth and how much I wanted it.
But this was my chance to truly show him. So I would get ahold of him and make a plan, so he’d know I wasn’t keeping him hanging. The problem? He started a rotation today, and genius me didn’t think through the realities of that. We hadn’t really been in the full swing of dating during the last few rotations—I wouldn’t have expected to text him and get a response. But the whole bad reception out in the training area thingreallycramped my plans.
I sent a text anyway, hoping maybe it’d get through. I kept it simple, tried not to be cryptic.
Me: “I am ready to talk when you are. I know the rotation lasts until next week. Let me know when you can talk. Stay safe.”
I had the strongest, craziest impulse to sayI love youright there at the end. Of a text message. As mentioned,like a crazy person. But I didn’t.
A twinge of worry picked at me all week, though. Spring rains had made driving out in the training area, known as the box, a bit treacherous. The dirt roads could slide out and cause real problems for the military vehicles. My first year here, a tank rolled over and very nearly killed several people during one of the spring training exercises.
The reality of this—feeling worry for Nick—struck deep. Though Kugelfels was a training base, that didn’t mean safety. It didn’t guarantee security. Sometimes, I fooled myself into believing that all these men and women were simply playing war games, practicing for days I hoped would never come. But small things like flood warnings could change the dynamics for them and could mean real-world injuries. Exhibit A—Nick’s, Thatcher’s, and the other soldiers’ injuries from the accident in January.
Since there was nothing I could do for him by worrying, I threw myself into work, delivering meals to a few families with new babies and organizing the event I hoped would make an impact.
I’d shifted mindsets—finally. I didn’t want to be so focused on the job that I couldn’t see anything else around me. I’d let that happen already, and it couldn’t continue. That drive to achieve, to gain more financial security and rub my parents’ nose in my success though they’d never know about it… time to move on from that blinders-on, nothing-else-matters approach. So when I gathered my friends on the Friday, the first day of my event and the last of the most intense days of the rotation, they all beamed at me.
“This is going to be great.” Katie grinned as she surveyed the tables piled with donations.
“I can’t believe we don’t do this more often,” Emily said, folding a pile of baby onesies.
“I can’t believe I forgot about it.”
We called the event a swap for the community, but it was primarily geared toward lower enlisted soldiers who might be in need, and even more so, soldiers participating in the rotation who might be in need. Quite a few countries sent contingencies of soldiers who had families back home struggling. We’d rounded up donations of used clothing, toys, and other items, sorted them, arranged them, and now eagerly awaited people arriving.
The timing hit perfectly, if a bit suddenly. I cursed myself for not thinking of it sooner and giving people more time, but the prospect of having a place to give away all their too-small clothes and outgrown toys proved alluring for the women of Kugelfels. The entire multipurpose room in one of the community buildings was filled with tables brimming with used goods for anyone to come and take. Just take.
And the best part? Sharing the victory with my friends. Because it was a kind of victory—seeing what felt like miles of things lined up, waiting to find the right person who might need them. We’d spent hours and hours this week setting up, and I’d taken the day off so I could prep. I looked at my watch and saw the minute hand slide into place right then. Noon. The swap was officially open.
