The admission was kind of a shock to me, but he couldn't have been responsible. "What do you mean, it was your fault?"
He looked up at me, his blue eyes cold. "I had to choose between the mission and my friend. I chose the mission."
I swirled the last few drops in my glass. Dean looked up at me, as though asking forgiveness.
"We were supposed to guard a Kuwaiti VIP. Shit went down. I had to decide between protecting the VIP and completing the mission or saving Frontera... I completed the mission." Dean's voice cracked, and he took the glass from my hand and finished my drink. I let him.
I now understood why he was here, in this bar and drinking like a fish. Today he had to choose between his client and someone else. He chose the client. This time it had cost him nothing, but last time it had cost him his friend. This bar was where he and Frontera had been happiest before Frontera's death. That it happened to be a place signific
ant to me as well was just an unlucky item of misery to add to his guilt.
I got out of my seat and slid into his. He didn't fight as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, pulling him to me. His body shook with silent sobs. It was twenty years, but he hadn't forgiven himself yet.
I remembered Tony's shy smile. I remembered the way he and Kimberly whispered in the corners, wrapped up in a serendipitous love. It broke my heart.
Dean quieted, his body no longer shaking. "I was shot during that mission. So was Grinswald. I told them it hurt to hold a rifle because of the wound, and they let me out. Truth was, I couldn't stand to be in the military anymore. I lost one of my best friends, and another one nearly died for nothing."
We sat there, silent. He was broken in a way that I would never understand, a way I never wanted to understand, but I didn't want him to be alone.
He glanced over at me, and I recognized the look well. Those eyes were undressing me, and I couldn't say that I didn't like it. "You know, I kinda want to check out that hotel where Frontera's place used to be. Do you want to come with me?"
I knew exactly what we'd be doing if we went to check out that hotel, and even with just the couple of drinks that I had, I was sorely tempted. I looked down at his muscular arms, wondering how well he had kept in shape...
I shook my head. "No, Dean. There's a flight that leaves the airport near here in an hour. We should be on that flight."
He turned to face me. "Come on, I just want to have a peek."
A peek at the rooms, or a peek at me? "Dean, I'll close out your tab, and we can go."
He sighed, then staggered over to the bar. I blew out a whole lungful of air. It had been close, but I had resisted. I knew that if we did something, we would both regret it in the morning and we both had enough regrets to last a lifetime. We didn't need any more.
I walked Dean out to the car. On the way to the airport, we passed the spot where the old surf shop had been. It was a Sunglasses Hut now. Dean groaned loudly.
"Everything's changed, hasn't it?" he asked, sounding heartbroken through his drunken slur.
"Yes, it has," I said.
"This town will never be the same, will it? We'll never be the same, will we?" I heard a drunken sob leave his body.
I put my hand on his shoulder. I wanted to comfort him, but I had to keep my distance. "Maybe it's for the best." He didn't have an answer to that, but I felt him sob a few more times.
Dean managed to act sober long enough for us to get on the plane. Before the plane even took off, his head was on my shoulder. He was snoring softly, just as he had been when I first woke up next to him. I felt like sobbing myself.
Chapter 18
June 16th, 1990
I stumbled into my apartment, dropping the stack of bills on my kitchen table. They merged seamlessly with the other bills and junk mail, all waiting for me to be responsible and look at them. Nothing I was hoping for had come in the mail. I closed the door and kicked off my shoes, letting my toes stretch out and relax. I had been home for a week and was missing the beach terribly. No, I didn't miss the beach. I missed Dean. Six days, eight hours, and thirty-seven minutes since I had seen him last. And I had no idea how to fill the hole that was growing in my heart.
I leaned back against the door, closing my eyes and remembering his face. Maybe a letter would come tomorrow. I had sent one off two days ago, carefully checking and then double-checking the address. It had been hard to write, not knowing where to start and then not knowing where to curb my words. I wanted to tell him that he was all I could think about, that I would wait for him to come back if he wanted. But I had no idea how to put that in a letter without sounding overenthusiastic or sappy. What if he didn't feel the same way? What if he had just been using me to have a good time before he disappeared back to war? For all I knew, he actually had a boring sales job and the whole going off to Saudi Arabia was just a really good cover story.
No, I told myself, he really was into me. There was no way he could have faked all of it. No one was that good. Besides, he didn't have to give me the letter; he only would have done that if our time together had meant something to him too. I wasn't sure if that made my heart ache more or less. I wished for the umpteenth time that he was here and not far away. I completely ignored the fact that he was probably in mortal danger at that moment because that was just one straw too many. I knew I would break if I tried to carry that knowledge too.
I jumped as a knock sounded on the door behind me. The peephole showed a well-dressed man in a business suit, the sun shining warmly around him. I opened the door, cautiously peeking around the heavy wood to see what he wanted.
"Ms. Weber? Ms. Rachel Weber?" the man asked in a thin, nasal voice. His suit was nicer than I had expected. It was definitely a designer label from this year. Maybe he was one of the designers I had applied for an internship with!
"That's me. How can I help you?" I hoped I didn't sound too eager. His shoes were also from this season.