Page 48 of Driving Whiskey Wild
“Daniel.” Kiss. “Gunner.” Kiss. “Chip. Buzz.” Kiss. Kiss. “M. Martinez.” Kiss.
Her hand stilled on his skin, and a chill rushed down his spine. The air around them, the very atmosphere, turned colder. His eyes flew open, and he grabbed her hand, unsure of what she’d sparked and afraid he’d tumble into a flashback. But when his eyes met hers, the fear in them revealed the chill he’d felt. Her hands trembled within his, and he bolted upright. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I. A. Rush…?” Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Wails burst from her lungs, and she turned away, sobbing into her hands. He knew. He just fucking knew that was her guy. The man she’d lost in the war. He scooped her into his lap, holding her as she cried. “Baby, I’m so sorry. Aw, Christ, Finlay. That’s the man I was carrying when I got hit. I tried to save him.”
His mind reeled back to the battlefield, and he fought against the mounting fear, the uncontainable anger that consumed him when he thought of that last battle. And then like he’d stepped in front of a moving vehicle, the realization crashed into him. Jesus, he’d fucking killed Finlay’s guy.
“Ian Aaron Rush, that was his name,” she said through her tears. “He went by Aaron.”
She buried her face in his neck, her tears soaking his skin, her heartache drowning him. He felt sick, needed air. His head fell back, and he gulped long, painful inhalations. He was vaguely aware of her stilling against him, of her hands on his cheeks.
“Bullet. Bullet? It’s okay. You were with him. I always thought he died alone. But you were there.”
Her words flew at him like darts. How could he tell her the truth?
She climbed off his lap with panic in her teary eyes. He sat up on his knees, dragging air into his lungs.
“Bullet, breathe, honey. Breathe. You’re okay. You’re here with me, not back there.”
She put her shaky arms around him, but he broke free and pushed to his feet, the spiky grass poking into his skin. He didn’t care. He deserved the pain. Fuuuck. “It’s not a flashback. It’s the fucking truth of it all.”
Confusion rose in her eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“I killed him, Finlay. If I hadn’t been carrying him, he wouldn’t have been hit in the chest, and you’d be with your guy right now, not here with the one who killed him.”
Her jaw hung open, her entire body shaking. “No. No, no, no. No, Bullet.”
She pushed to her feet, lifting them in quick succession as she stepped on the prickly grass, and hopped back onto his shirt. Fresh tears tumbled down her cheeks. “Don’t do this. You didn’t kill him. Aaron died of the wound in his leg. It severed his femoral artery. They told his family he had other wounds, but it was the one in his leg that killed him.”
He tried to process what she said, but his head was spinning. “I was there. I looked into his eyes.”
“Yes, which is why I’m so relieved. That’s why I’m crying. His family—I—always thought he died alone on the battlefield. But he didn’t, Bullet. You were with him. You held his hand. You comforted him in the end.” She went to him, but he took a step back in disbelief. “Bullet…why are you doing this?”
He turned away, grabbed his head, and pitched back on his heels, eyes clenched tight against the blazing sun. “Aw, fuck, Finlay.” Could she be right? All these years he’d been sure he’d killed the man. He shook his throbbing head as her hands came around him from behind.
“You didn’t kill him, Bullet. Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t do this to us.”
He folded his arms over hers, the weight of her words crashing over him like shattered glass, and he sank to his knees.
“You didn’t kill him,” she said into his ear. “Don’t let his death kill you.”
Tears burned in his eyes as she rested her head on the back of his shoulder, whispering, “I love you. You didn’t do it, Bullet. I promise it’s true. It’s not your fault.”
Struggling against the emotions clawing for release, he inhaled deeply, unwilling to fall completely apart in front of Finlay. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could have saved him.”
She came around and climbed into his lap, her arms around his neck, her head on his shoulder, and she held him tight. “Nobody could have saved him out there. But you consoled him. And now you’ve healed the piece of me that was still broken, the one holding on to the image of him alone as he took his last breath. Don’t you see, Bullet? No one could save Aaron, but now that we know this, maybe Aaron can save you.”
“I don’t need saving.”
“Not saving. That’s the wrong word,” she said quickly. “You can give his family the closure they’ve never had, and it might help you move forward and finally leave the guilt of that awful time behind. Ed and Helen Rush live right outside Pleasant Hill, on Mercer Street.”
He closed his eyes, doubting anything would ever ease the guilt that had strangled him since that fateful day. “I don’t know if I can do that.”
“Of course you can. You’re the strongest man I know.”
Anger erupted inside him like a volcano, abrupt and unstoppable. “Stop it, Finlay. You know what’s at risk for me. I don’t know if seeing his family and relaying what happened out there will slam me back into another flashback, or worse, into full-on PTSD. And if it does, I don’t know who I’ll be if, or when, I come out on the other side.” He tried to lift her off his lap, but she refused to let go.
“I’ll go with you. I’ll help you,” she offered. “You’ve been okay talking to me. Talking seems to help.”
“Goddamn it, Finlay. I just found you! I’m not risking everything for a family I don’t even know.”
Tears brimmed in her eyes, and she swallowed hard. “Bullshit,” she said softly.
The curse hit him like a shotgun round.
“You risk yourself for strangers all the time, and I believe with my whole heart that this will help you as much as it will help his family. As much as it’s helping me. They’re not strangers to me, Bullet, and I wouldn’t ask this of you if I thought I’d lose you because of it. But you’ve obviously been harboring tremendous guilt over what happened out there, and it’s not yours to hang on to anymore. Not now that you know the truth.”
“Finlay…” He’d do anything for her, but this?
“Please think about it for me? For us? I honestly believe it’ll help you let go of that part of your past.”
She climbed off his lap, and they dressed in painful silence. For the first time since he’d been with Finlay, he needed space away from her. He needed to clear his head. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a ravine with Finlay rooted on the opposite cliff and a world of fucked-up nightmares between them.
The drive back to his place was long and cold, and when Finlay climbed off his bike, he took her in his arms and said, “I gotta go ride, baby. Gotta clear my head.”
“I know,” she whispered, and he gathered her in his arms.
“I’m sorry. I want to be the man you need, but I just don’t know who I am right now.”
Several tortured hours later, long after darkness chased away the light of day, Bullet sat in front of the dark house, struggling to make sense of all that he’d learned, needing an anchor to settle him in the dizzying sea of worries.
He pulled out his phone and called Bones, who answered on the first ring.
“What’s up, B?”
“I don’t know, bro. Some shit went down. That guy I was carrying when I got shot was Fin’s boyfriend, man.” His chest constricted.
Bones cursed. Several long moments later, he said, “Where are you?”
“If I fuck this up, if I lose her…” Tears burned in his eyes, and he gripped the phone tighter.
“Bullet, where’s Finlay?”
He glanced up at the house again, pain slicing through him anew. “Keep your phone on.”
Chapter Nineteen
“ARE YOU SURE I can’t come over?” Penny asked for the millionth time since she’d called an hour ago.
“I really need to be alone,” Finlay answered. She lay on the couch bundled up in Bullet’s flannel shirt, needing to feel closer to him, with Tinkerbell curled up beside her. Tinkerbell seemed to sense that something was wrong and had been by her side since she’d arrived several hours ago. She’d made the mistake of answering Penny’s call earlier, and now Penny and Isabel, who Penny had patched through on a three-way call, didn’t want to let her get off the phone. They’d called to hear about Finlay’s first motorcycle ride, and she’d been too distraught to pretend like nothing had happened, so she’d told them everything. From the amazing ride, to the devastation of realizing that for all these years Bullet had believed he’d killed Aaron. As thankful for their company as she was, she didn’t want to talk to anyone but Bullet.
“Should I go to my place?” Tears stung her eyes again at the thought of not being there when Bullet got home. “Do you think he’ll want to be alone when he finally comes back?”
