“Then tell me?”
“I always carry a six pack of beer with me when I go out on these trips,” he began. “I get nightmares, the PTSD type. And when I do, if I’m at my apartment, I get up and drink two or three beers. It allows me to relax and go back to sleep. We arrived at that village, and on the second night, I had a helluva flashback. I woke up screaming. I knew I probably woke up half the village. I got up and went out to my bird. I sat in the pilot’s seat and drank three beers. As soon as I started to relax, I walked back to my hut. I woke up late the next morning and instead of brushing my teeth, I hurried over to the medical tent. I knew I’d be needed as a translator, and so that’s what I did. The doctor must have smelled it on my breath is all I can surmise.”
“So, you drank three beers?”
“Yes.”
“Did you drink any other alcohol while you were there?”
Shaking his head, he growled, “No. In fact, I was well within FAA rules, because it was seventy-two hours between me drinking those beers and flying that group back to Port Sudan.” He saw something akin to relief come to her eyes.
“Since being stationed at Port Sudan, have you ever drank out at one of those villages before or after that?”
“No, it was just the luck of the draw. I usually get a bad nightmare once a month, always when the moon was full. I can count on it like rain rolling through Virginia every five to seven days. That time, it just happened to be when I was ferrying that team to a village.”
“Your father’s an alcoholic.”
“Yes, he is,” Dan said tightly.
“How old were you when you found that out?”
Dan gave her a hard look. “For as long as I can remember, he drank. My mother was always unhappy about it. They got into a lot of screaming fights over it, but he never quit or slowed down his binges.
“If you drink, do you need more?”
“You mean to ask if I’m an alcoholic like my old man is, don’t you?”
Sloan closed her eyes, rubbing them. “Neither Tal nor I thought that. But in the report I have to fill out on my investigation of you, I have to ask this question and record your answer. I felt strongly you were not an alcoholic. In fact, I never saw you with alcohol while I was there at Port Sudan. At Bagram, you’d have a few beers with me sometimes at a canteen. But even there, it wasn’t often.”
“And you’re going to put all of this in a report to Tal?”
“I will. I’ve heard your side of the story, Dan, and I believe she’ll drop the issue and get you back on the roster to be a full-time employee. She’s not your enemy. But what she will do after I compile my report is talk with this physician and tell her the rest of the story. Everyone understands PTSD nowadays, and you were well within the FAA rules for alcohol consumption before you flew the team back to Port Sudan.”
He sat there digesting her explanation. “Look, we can heat up that food, then you can go home and sleep off that jet lag.” What he wanted to ask was whether she would stay with him. Let him care for her because right now, she needed some TLC. Regardless of what her decision was about him, he was going to continue to change and try to make up for what he’d been to her before. It wasn’t his right to ask her to stay tonight with him.
She rubbed her brow and stood. “I’m so tired,” she admitted, “and I’m not really hungry, but thanks.” She picked up her knapsack and pulled it across her shoulder. “Thanks for not shooting the messenger, Dan.”
“None of this has been easy for you. I’m sorry you had to do it.”
“I’m not,” she whispered, reaching out, and touching his arm briefly. “I wanted to do it.”
Dan studied her in the growing silence strung between them. He wanted to ask why. Was it Sloan’s love for him that made her put herself out on a limb with him once again even after he’d walked away from her? His heart ached. Looking at her, he could see the yearning in her eyes. Dan walked with her to the door and opened it for her. “Tell you what,” he said, “if you happen to want a Christmas omelet tomorrow morning, come on down, and I’ll make you breakfast.” He had no right to say anything like that to her, but he couldn’t fight what his heart wanted. “After my mom left us, we never celebrated Christmas again. I know what it’s like to be alone and feeling bad during this holiday. I’d like to share Christmas with you in some small way if you want?” He saw her expression suddenly become sympathetic as she stared up at him. Dan rarely discussed his growing up years, the loneliness, and missing his mother.
“That sounds nice, Dan. I don’t know when I’ll wake up, though.”
Shrugging, he smiled faintly and stepped aside, allowing her to leave. “Hey, didn’t you know? Breakfast is a twenty-four-hours-a-day thing. If you feel like it after you wake up, come over. I’ll be here.” Dan never wanted anything as bad as this. It struck him that like his mother, she was going to walk out of his life forever, too. And like the beggar he was, he wanted one last hour, one last day with her before she told him that she couldn’t give him that second chance. There was too much water under the bridge between them to make it work. Dan knew he didn’t deserve Sloan. No one could handle the kind of ongoing hurt, the major mistakes he’d made with her, and want to come back to him. No one.
CHAPTER 19
At first, Dan thought he heard things as he stood out in the kitchen, frying bacon in a skillet. The second knock on the door proved to him he wasn’t. It was nine a.m., and outside his kitchen window, the snow was falling thickly, covering the quaint town of Alexandria. He pulled the skillet off the burner and turned off the stove, hoping against hope that it was Sloan knocking on his door.
His heart skipped a beat when he saw her standing outside. She looked drowsy, but her gray eyes were clear, and her skin was no longer stretched across her cheekbones. Her hair was loose, somewhat tousled, and she looked delicious in black velour track pants that flowed loosely around those long legs of hers. She wore a lime green long-sleeved tee and a black velour hoodie over it. In her hands, she held a wrapped gift. He pushed the door aside.
“I’m here for that omelet you promised me last night,” she said, smiling tentatively.
“Come on in.” Her smile sizzled through him, and he stepped aside, allowing her into the condo.
“I got up an hour and a half ago,” she apologized. “I slept the sleep of the dead.”
Closing the door, Dan said, “I don’t doubt it. You look good this morning, though. Do you feel better?” He could smell the shampoo she’d used to wash her recently dried hair, probably coconut, which he knew she loved. There were so many things he knew about Sloan, and he’d replayed all of them last night as he lay alone in his king-sized bed.
“I feel like I’m going to live,” she admitted. She held out the gift toward him. “It’s not much, but I wanted to bring this back with me from Ethiopia for you. Merry Christmas.”
He took the brightly wrapped package, their fingers grazing one another. “You didn’t have to do this, Sloan.”
“I wanted to.”
Dan placed it on the coffee table. “How about I open it after we have that omelet I promised you?”
“I’d like that.”
“Come on in,” he invited, wanting to touch her, kiss her, take her into his arms and never, ever let her go. He resisted. Barely. “Would you like some coffee?”
Groaning, she followed him into the kitchen. “I’d love some, thanks.”
Dan knew how she liked her coffee. “Have a seat at the kitchen table. You can watch me make our omelet while you drink.”
“You’re spoiling me.”