No Strings Attached Ch. 17

Jon watched the girls run and climb in the park. As if the world could be that perfect. As if nothing mattered. Oh, for the world to be so simple.

But his wasn't. Oh, sure, since that night, they had not only been sharing the same bed but burning up the sheets of it, too. Hell, his sex life had never been better. Almost every night, he waited up for Alicia to come home. He often ran her a bubble bath, or they shared a shower. Whether it was her massaging the creams into the scar tissue or him rubbing the knots from her tight shoulders or tired feet, it almost always got around to sex.

He had kept his promise to her - a couple of times, actually. His head buried between her soft thighs, like that apple pie, made him wish for his sense of taste.

He half-smiled, of course, she had returned the favor a few times herself. Damn, the woman was talented with her mouth and hands. But he knew the truth, the reason why the sex was so fucking fantastic was the fact that Alicia put her heart and soul into it.

Honestly, he did too. Trying to show her with kisses, caresses, and his body what he could not bring himself to reveal with words. But there was still a tension between them, as if both were walking on eggshells or a field of landmines.

He knew he needed to do something about the situation. This was his fault, after all. She had put herself out there, taken a risk, and he had blown it to hell just like that IED had the SUV that day.

"So, what the docs say about your arm, dude?"

Chris's question brought him back to the present. He shrugged; that was the other thing that was bothering him. He had been back to the VA twice. The doctors were adamant. Not only was his bad left arm not improving, but it also seemed that the circulation to his remaining fingers was deteriorating. That, of course, decreased the feeling in them, increased the chance of injury to them, and even infection. That arm needed to be amputated. Soon.

But he had been delaying that decision too. Trying to come to some closure, but he wasn't sure what with.

Was it some epiphany with the survivors' guilt that seemed to plague him even more? What right did he have to love and happiness when it was his decision that had cost other good men their lives that day? Some of them had wives and children too. Why should he be granted the opportunity to watch his Hope grow up when they never would? And why should he receive mind-blowing blow jobs when they would never hold their wives or love them again?

Fate was such a suck ass excuse for being happy at the expense of others. Or that was what he had been telling himself for five years. Or was it that he was wasting the opportunity that Fate had given him?

That he was half living. Going through the motions while playing it safe. Perhaps enjoying all the benefits without any of the responsibilities? Those three little words hung over his head like a guillotine.

It had been weeks, and he needed to do something. 'Shit or get off the pot,' was the expression that his first Gunnery Sergeant had used. Chad Wilson had always said that there came a moment when you just had to make a decision, because not making one was usually worse.

Maybe that had been his problem that day? Perhaps he should have decided to turn around? But they had their orders, and no matter the feeling in his gut, he and his man had all been trained to follow orders.

But he could not go back to that day, no matter how much he might want to. He could, though, make the decisions that faced him now.

"They want to amputate."

"So, what's new with that? The question is: are you gonna let them?" his friend pressed.

He nodded his head slowly, finally coming to the only logical decision there was. "Yeah, I guess so."

"You guess? Come on, man. What's wrong with you? You have a beautiful little girl and a woman who loves your sorry ass. Why do you still have your head up your ass?"

Jon sighed heavily, then turned to look at his friend, "That's the problem. Alicia does love me."

"And you're still being an ass? So caught up in the past and guilt that you can't accept her love and just be fucking grateful?"

Jon chuckled and shook his head, "Stacy must make a killing off that swear jar."

His friend slapped him on his shoulder and laughed, the sound rang across the park with joy, "Let's just say she's planning a trip to Disney World in Florida before the baby is born."

"But that's not the point. This isn't about me and my potty mouth. What's up with you?"

He shrugged and looked at the ground. The grass under their bench was wearing thin, just like he knew Alicia's patience would one day. "She told me she loved me. That night after the wedding. Commitment ceremony, whatever the fuck."

"You better watch it, Alicia will be getting rich off your sorry ass too if she starts one of those damned jars." His friend watched their little girls playing for a long moment. The silence just hung like the heat of mid-day over the desert.

"I was on the other end of that one, friend," Chris kept his eyes firmly ahead on the girls as he spoke. "I might have spent a lucky thirteen years in the Marines, but before that, I'm the product of a couple of tree-hugging, free love hippies."

Jon's brow furrowed as he tried to manage how someone made that transition. "I was ever bit as idealistic as my parents. I spent a whole year bumming around the world, helping in places most people never even heard of. Then another four years at college. But none of it seemed right."

"I wanted to make a difference. Do something important. I got caught in one of those recruiting stings on campus just before I graduated. I signed away eight years of my life without consulting my parents."

He chuckled, "Yeah, that went over like a fart in church. Not that I ever been in many of those."

"But after getting over the initial shock of my decision, my parents have always supported my choice."

He hit the wheels of the chair, "Even when I ended up like this in a chair and no working dick. They never once said I told you so."

"But trust me, the thought went through my head lots - that I got what I deserved. That I should have never been over there, defending some rich fuckers' rights to rob other people of their oil." He shook his head and looked Jon directly in the eye, "But I'm getting off the point."

"Those words were ones I heard a lot growing up. My parents said them to us kids all the time. At least two or three times a day. And they weren't shy about saying them or showing them to one another either."

"So, when I came to realize how I felt about Stacy and even Noah, it was the most natural thing in the world just to blurt it out." He began laughing and shaking his head, even their daughters looked up from the swings, just to make sure everything was alright. Chris just waved at them, and they went back to playing.

"That one took some serious explaining. I was worried for a few minutes that Noah would have the guts to throat punch the cripple. But like I told him, I might not swing both ways, but love comes in all kinda forms. So, hell, yeah, that man probably saved my sorry life, gave me something to fight for, and brought my girls into my life, fuck, yeah, I love him."

He shook his head, and those grey-blond curls that hung to his shoulders danced about them, "But what surprised me was that those words made Stacy just as uncomfortable."

He paused for a long moment, once more, lost in his thoughts and memories. He finally met Jon's gaze, "It ain't just us guys that have a corner on survivors' guilt."

Chris sighed, "She's afraid that she's betraying Thomas's memory by caring for Noah and me. It was a rough patch, pretty touch, and go there for a while. And trust me, I was beating myself up pretty good over being such a loudmouth."

"So, what happened?"

Chris waved for the girls to join them, "Nothing happened, dude. I learned to pour my love in that little girl. Noah's come around. A bit, at least. You know those half hugs that guys give one another. And our friendship seems stronger than ever."

"But Stacy?"

His friend shook his head and stared off into the clouds. Jon would have sworn he saw tears there, "What do words matter anyhow? She's with us. We're a family. And the baby will cement that. Isn't that what's really important? Actions, not words?"

It was the same argument that Jon had been having with himself for weeks. What did it matter whether he said those words? Or even if she ever did again. What mattered was that they were there for one another and their daughter?

So, why did watching his friend laugh while he wrapped the sweater about the little girl make his chest so damned tight? That argument hadn't held much weight before, but after this latest conversation, it seemed even more hallow—just another thing to add to his growing pile of things to regret.