Hard to Hold on To (13 page)
Jenna hated to lose his weight and warmth and touch, but everything in her gut told her what’d just happened was their happy beginning.
And there was absolutely nothing she could regret about that.
E
ASY LOOKED AT
himself in the bathroom mirror as he washed his hands.
You will beat this fucking thing. For you. For her. For everything you could be together
.
Because he’d never experienced anything as intense and emotional as what he’d just shared with Jenna.
Part of it was that she’d been a virgin, and he’d felt the honor of that gift in his very soul. Part of it was the conversation they’d had just before, and the fact that he’d come to her in fear and despair and found only acceptance. And part of it was that he had feelings for this girl unlike anything he’d felt in a long, long time. Maybe ever.
Would he say it was love?
Maybe. Or maybe it made him feel so much better than he had in ages that it just felt like it could be that deep.
But he’d definitely be willing to say it was heading in that direction.
He dried his hands and darted back down the hall.
He didn’t want to rush anything with Jenna, though, because she was right. Neither of them were in the best headspace right now. Both of them needed time to heal and regroup from the shit hands they’d been dealt. But they could make those journeys side by side. And whatever grew along the way? Easy would be ready for and open to it.
Back in bed, he loved that Jenna rolled right in against him, filling the space alongside his body like it was made for her and her alone.
He stroked the hair back from her face, careful to avoid the bruises, and looked into her blue eyes. “You okay, babe?”
Her eyes went glassy on a quick nod. “Yeah. More than,” she said.
Easy caught a tear with his thumb, a rock taking up form in his gut. “What are these for, then?”
Her breath caught and shuddered, and her struggle to fight against whatever this was threatened to break his heart. “It’s just that . . . I could’ve missed this, with you. If you hadn’t gotten me—”
“Aw, no. I got you then. I have you now.” He squeezed her in tight.
“I know. I know you do,” she said, sniffling. “I really care about you, Easy. I can’t imagine never having found you. I just want you to know that you are
so
important to me.”
“I feel the same way. I’m gonna get myself well and you’re gonna heal and my guys are gonna figure out all this other bullshit, and then it’ll be you and me.”
“Best plan ever,” she said, snuggling in against his neck.
Easy chuckled. “I’ll fucking second that.”
E
ASY WOKE UP
as if slowly surfacing from underwater. He’d been down so deep, he was foggy-headed and heavy-limbed, and a quick bleary-eyed scan of him and Jenna said neither of them had moved an inch since they’d fallen asleep. However long ago that was.
His internal alarm clock said it’d been a long time, and it was late now, but he couldn’t remember exactly where his phone had landed, and he wasn’t about to wake Jenna to look.
That thought led him to another—the soul-deep comfort of waking with another person in his arms. So much of what had hurt the past twelve months was the total isolation, the constant aloneness with his thoughts, the feeling that no one would notice if he were gone. But between Jenna and the guys and the new friends he’d made here, it was like they’d each reached into his chest, picked up a broken shard of his heart, and put it back into place.
It was a first step.
Jenna stretched against him, all that soft skin dragging along his. His dick took immediate notice and wanted to say good morning, but he didn’t want her to think that sex was what he thought they were all about. Plus, she was probably sore.
“Hi,” she whispered, as her hand landed on his chest. Her fingers drew patterns over his skin that were as sweet as they were arousing.
“Hi, sleepyhead.”
“Yeah,” she said, a smile in her voice. She stretched again, her hips rubbing against his. Easy had to bite back a groan. “How are you?” she asked in that same half-awake tone.
“Feeling pretty good.” And it was true. He was even smiling.
“Me, too.” She yawned. “I was thinking maybe I should rejoin the world today. Meet everybody and stuff.”
“We can definitely make that happen,” he said. “But let me ask how you want to deal with us around everyone else. No pressure at all. It’ll be hard as hell to keep my hands off you all day, but I’ll gladly do it for you.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead.
She smiled. “I don’t mind people knowing, Easy. Besides, these people are all your friends, right?”
“My best friends,” he said. “My chosen family.” He knew that was true down deep. “And you’re part of that too, now.”
Jenna kissed to his chest. “You’re a sweet, sweet man, Easy. Don’t worry, though. I won’t tell.”
He chuckled. “Good. Let’s just keep that between you and me.” As they lay in each other’s arms, an idea came to mind, one that had been rolling around in his head since he’d arrived here, but Easy hadn’t known what exactly to do before. Now he knew. “After we meet everyone and eat, will you do something with me?”
“Anything,” Jenna said without a moment’s hesitation.
Her agreement made him eager to get a move on.
They took a shower filled with slow kisses and hot caresses, and apparently showering with a man was a first for her, too. He couldn’t deny the masculine satisfaction he felt from being her first, but a part of him said it would be even more significant to be her last.
Afterward, Jenna picked out another of his shirts. Really, that would never get old. Downstairs, Easy made the rounds, reintroducing the guys she’d met under pressure at Confessions days before, and introducing others who hadn’t been there for the first time.
Jenna ate enough for breakfast to get back on her medicine, and that was a load off everyone’s mind. Shane informed Easy that he’d solved the antidepressants problem by calling his longtime family doc from back home, explaining that he was on business travel, and pretending that Easy’s symptoms were his own. The prescription would be ready to pick up later today. It sucked that was the way they had to do it, but lying was the lesser of two evils in this particular situation. And it just proved again what good friends he had.
Finally, hand in hand, Easy took Jenna down the steps to Hard Ink and found Jeremy at a table sketching. “Got a second?” Easy asked.
“Yeah, man, always,” he said, closing his book.
Jenna started laughing, and Easy tracked her gaze to where it settled on Jer’s shirt, which read in all caps, “I LIKE TO SNATCH KISSES. AND VICE VERSA.”
Easy snickered. “Better get used to it. He has an unending supply of them.”
“Good to know,” Jenna said, grinning.
Jeremy winked at her. “So whatcha need?”
“Some ink.”
The guy rubbed his hands together, and his face lit up like it was Christmas. “Finally, I get my hands on one of you.” And then he did an approximation of an evil laugh. Waggling his eyebrows, Jeremy said, “I can totally do you now, or at least get you started. How big?”
“Not very,” Easy said. “It’s words.”
“Wait here, then.” He returned a moment later with a few sheets of laminated paper. “Tell me if there’s a font here you want to work from or if you want me to make something totally else up.”
Within fifteen minutes, he was in a chair in Jeremy’s tattoo room, shirt off, skin prepared, and Jenna by his side. Easy felt good. He needed the reminder. He needed the affirmation. And he wanted to make a commitment so strong it was written in his very skin.
“Ready?” Jeremy asked.
“Can’t believe I’m letting a Rixey take a gun to me,” Easy muttered. “But, yeah, I guess so.”
“Ha,” Jeremy said, smiling. “You’re in good hands here.”
“Then let’s do it.”
Jenna kept a hand on Easy’s knee while she watched Jeremy go to work. “Does it hurt?” she asked.
“Not really,” he said, even though, truth be told, the needles did bite into his rib cage. But it was a small price to pay. And a helluva lot less painful than what he’d been carrying around.
The three of them chatted while Jeremy worked,
especially
Jeremy. And that was okay because he made Jenna laugh until she cried so many times that the skin around her eyes was red. And it was also good because it distracted her from a little something extra he’d asked Jeremy to do.
About an hour later, it was all done. “Take a look,” Jeremy said.
“Oh, it’s gorgeous,” Jenna said, voice full of pride and awe.
Easy held up the mirror and got a good look at the words along the right side of his rib cage in dark, crisp black. Words he remembered from a large plaque hanging in his church back home. He didn’t attend much anymore, but the words had always stuck with him. Now it was almost like they were
for
him.
YOU WERE NEVER
CREATED TO LIVE
DEPRESSED,
DEFEATED, GUILTY,
CONDEMNED, ASHAMED
OR UNWORTHY.
YOU WERE CREATED
TO BE
VICTORIOUS.
The knot in Easy’s throat only got tighter when he read the line of initials in much smaller lettering that ran beneath:
M.R. E.Z. J.H. W.A. C.E. C.K.
The initials of his six fallen teammates. Below that line, a piece of gauze was taped to his side, hiding something special he’d thrown in, something he didn’t want Jenna to see just yet.
The first tattoo was for himself. The second so that his friends would know he’d never forgotten, and never could.
“It’s fucking perfect, Jeremy,” he said, unable to keep how moved he was out of his voice at actually seeing those words and those initials a permanent part of his skin.
Jeremy clapped him on the back. “So glad to hear it, man. Happy to do more anytime.”
After Easy got all his instructions and settled up, he pulled Jenna into the hallway outside Hard Ink, shirt in hand.
“What you did is beautiful, Easy. I’m really proud of you,” Jenna said, looking up at him with more of that adoration that made him feel like he could do anything. Beat anything.
“There’s something else, too,” he said, turning his bare side to her. Now that they were alone, he needed her to see. “Take off the gauze.”
“What?” she asked, her gaze flashing between his face and his ink. “I’ll hurt you.”
“You won’t. Please?”
“Okay,” she said, and she slowly peeled the tape from his skin.
Easy’s chest filled with a restless anticipation of her reaction.
She gasped. “Oh, Easy.”
He knew what she’d find there. A third tattoo, this time in red ink. It had just two words:
I believe.
From what she’d said last night, and made him say, too.
I believe that Jenna believes in the good in me and always will.
Easy wanted Jenna to know, no matter what became of them, she would never stop being important to him for the belief she’d given him with her words, her heart, and her body.
Together, the three pieces seemed to snap another piece of the puzzle of his heart back into place. Just like building a wall. Brick by brick.
He could work with that.
“What do you think?” he finally asked as he turned to her.
She tackle hugged him so hard that he stumbled back a step before he caught her in his arms and lifted her until she wrapped her legs around his hips.
“It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t believe you put my words on your body with that beautiful saying and your friends’ names.” She gave him the sweetest kiss and leaned her forehead against his. “But why is it in red?”
He met her questioning gaze with a smile. “For you, and all this beautiful red hair.”
“Oh,” she said, voice tight. “Oh, my God. How do you expect me not to tell people how sweet you are when you do this?”
He chuckled, then he got serious again. “I believe, Jenna,” he said, referring to her affirming words, but feeling a whole lot more. For her. “Or, at least, I’ll keep saying it until it’s true.”
“Oh, Easy,” she whispered against his lips. “I’ll be right there with you, because I believe, too.”
Writing about a suicidal character is one of the most challenging things I’ve ever done, but also one of the most important. Suicide is always tragic, but it has become an epidemic among American active-duty service members and veterans alike. The statistics are staggering and heart-wrenching. In the U.S. Army, which has the highest suicide rate among the branches (48.7 percent of all military suicides in 2012), the suicide rate in 2012 was thirty per hundred thousand, compared with fourteen per hundred thousand among civilians and eighteen per hundred thousand in 2008. In 2012, 841 active-duty service members attempted or committed suicide. Among veterans, as of November 2013, twenty-two committed suicide every day. Every. Day. A frightening 30 percent of veterans say they’ve considered suicide, and 45 percent say they know an Iraq or Afghanistan veteran who has attempted or committed suicide.
In a study of veterans, combat-related guilt was the most significant predictor of suicide attempts and of preoccupation with suicide after discharge. Veterans’ suicidal thoughts are also related to feelings that one does not belong with other people or has become a burden. Couple these sad realities with the fact that veterans are less likely to seek care than active-duty military or civilians, and you begin to understand why statistics like these exist.
Suicide is a process that begins with ideas and thoughts, followed by planning, and finally followed by a suicidal act. If you or someone you love is experiencing these thoughts, please seek immediate medical help or call the Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255 (TALK). This service works with civilians of all ages, active-duty military, and veterans.
I hope Easy’s story raises awareness of the problems these brave men and women—and our country as a whole—face. But awareness is not enough. Therefore, I will be donating all of my proceeds from the first two weeks’ sales of this book (8/19/14 – 9/1/14) to a national non-profit that assists wounded veterans. Because I don’t want anyone else’s Edward “Easy” Cantrell to be one of the twenty-two, either.
