Bad For Me Read online

  He reached out toward her, and she grabbed his hands, holding him back. “I’m okay.”

  Her voice was shaky, but when he looked at her, their gazes crashed hard. Everett couldn’t stop thinking of her warm hands in his, and slowly, he stroked his thumb across her skin. He watched as her lips parted lightly, and she took a soft breath . . .

  “You all right, Callie?” a voice asked in the headphones.

  Callie jerked her hands away and slid her chair back. “I’m fine.”

  Everett realized then that he was on his knees at her feet. He had been so caught up in her that he hadn’t noticed Ratchet sitting next to him, his large jaw open and breathing right down his neck.

  He froze.

  “If I move, is he going to take me out?”

  “It’s okay, Ratchet. Come here,” Callie said, reaching out for the dog, who lumbered a few inches forward to lay his head in her lap. Both of them watched Everett warily as he stood up and walked back over to his seat.

  As he sat, Callie spoke into the mic, her voice strong and steady. “And we’re back with the head of Stateside Support, a nonprofit organization helping our military personnel readjust to civilian living. They offer counseling, job placement, and a multitude of other services. Please join me in welcoming Everett Silverton.”

  The sound of applause went off in his ears, and he looked over at the little box where two men sat at a large soundboard.

  Pay no attention to the men in the sound box.

  Everett chuckled at his silent joke. Callie was watching him suspiciously, like maybe she thought he was laughing at her.

  The applause finally died down, and Everett said, “Thanks, Callie, it’s great to be here with you. I was just trying to get used to the headphones. This is my first radio interview.”

  “Really? Well, I hope you enjoy yourself.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I will.”

  She glared at him warningly, and he suppressed a smile. She really was pretty with her scrunched-up nose and squinty, angry eyes.

  Of course, he was probably treading on thin ice, so he didn’t say anything more.

  “Good. Now, I know you were in the military, but can you tell us a little bit about your service? How old were you when you joined?”

  Everett took a deep breath as memories flashed in his head. He’d spent years in therapy working through them, but they were still gut-wrenchingly painful.

  Especially the ones with Robbie.

  “I joined the United States Marine Corps when I was eighteen and was honorably discharged when I was twenty-six.”

  “And if you hadn’t been injured, would you have remained a marine? It seems like a lot of unnecessary risk to reenlist after you’ve already served your minimum enlistment.”

  Everett felt a pinch of irritation at her casual tone, like he’d just torn a ligament or something. As if serving his country was just an obligation he’d been trying to fulfill and not something he’d planned to make a career doing.

  “You mean if my Humvee hadn’t been hit by a roadside bomb and if I hadn’t received second-degree burns over thirty-nine percent of my body, would I have reenlisted? Then, yes. It was an honor to serve my country. As it was, I did four tours, and although I wasn’t able to retire from the military like I’d planned, we have a saying in the Corps: ‘Once a marine, always a marine.’ ”

  Callie’s face paled, and Everett cursed himself, realizing how much he’d revealed about his pain and bitterness over his scars—and his life. He’d planned for it to be a career, to retire at forty and come home to live out the rest of his life in peace, to be with his family and grow old with his wife. Instead, that plan had been cut short, and now he had nothing except for Stateside. He’d poured everything into it, and although he believed in the organization, it hadn’t been his plan.

  Surprisingly, her hand came across the table and covered his. “I am so sorry.”

  The moment was charged between them, and he was loath to break the connection, but he didn’t want her pity. That was the last thing he wanted from her.

  He pulled his hand away gently. “It’s all right. My experience and the experiences of my friends gave me the idea for Stateside. When we came home, we all suffered, both physically and mentally, but it was hard to admit that we needed help.”

  Callie pulled her hand back, and he noticed the burning red of her cheeks. She probably thought he was rebuffing her, but he wasn’t. He wanted to tell her, but the show was live and she was already moving on with the interview.

  “There are other organizations out there similar to yours, aren’t there? What makes Stateside different?”

  The moment was over, and although it was a fair question, her condescending tone made it seem like a dig.

  “Yes, there are a lot of very good organizations out there, and like them, we’re here to talk, to listen, and to help, but mostly Stateside is for the people on the fence about needing assistance. Military personnel are proud and have been taking care of others for so long that it’s often hard for them to admit they need help.”

  “How do you convince them if they’re on the fence?”

  And she comes out swinging.

  “Wow, you’re really going for the deep stuff, huh?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I am just curious about what sets you apart, Mr. Silverton.”

  “To answer your question, we’re different because even though we’re based in Idaho, we have resources nationwide. We have open dialogue with our vets, and we stay with them from the moment they call our hotline to the moment they get back on their feet. Our counselors are available twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. But more than anything, it’s because most of us have been there. Because we are staffed by veterans, our counselors and job advocates can better understand the struggles our military men and women face coming home. That’s what sets us apart.”

  Callie had recovered, but her expression was so mixed up, he wasn’t sure what she was thinking. But apparently, it wasn’t “I need to get the hell out of here,” because she continued the interview.

  “It sounds like you provide amazing services and dedication. What about military personnel with serious mental health issues, like PTSD?”

  “Grief counseling is a major part of our organization. We are taught to tamp down our emotions so we can stay levelheaded in a hot zone, but many of us lose friends and even family during our service, yet we never really process the loss. We try to help people with this and especially with the guilt associated with making it home when others didn’t.”

  “You sound like you’ve experienced this.” Her voice was soft.

  “Yeah, I came home in pain and with severe PTSD. I’d lost my best friend and more. I know what these guys are going through, and it’s hard, but we’re still here, and we have got to respect that.”

  Everett hadn’t meant to choke on the last sentence, but talking about counseling reminded him of the years he’d sat in his therapist’s office trying to open up about Robbie’s death and how it felt to be a survivor. It had been a long and painful struggle.

  Callie muted her mic, her expression blank, but he saw something lurking in her eyes. Something warm and caring, and he felt a flash of hope that he hadn’t ruined everything. That they could talk after the interview, and everything would be back on track. “Do you want me to wrap it up?”

  Running a hand over his face, he shook his head. Despite the ugly images and memories haunting him, being near Callie made him content—and excited for the first time in years. He had something to look forward to, something to chase the pain away. “I’m fine. Sorry.”

  She nodded and flipped her mic back on, all business now, but he knew better. She could be angry with him if she wanted, but she couldn’t deny the connection between them.

  “What about support for their families?”

  Everett cleared his throat. “We offer marriage counseling, but there are other organizations that focus on the particular stresses military fami
lies endure.”

  “But don’t you think you need to explain to the families the signs they need to look for, in case their loved ones’ mental states take a dangerous turn?”

  Everett paused, studying her face and the hollow look in her eyes. Had someone in her family experienced PTSD?

  “PTSD is often triggered by something out of the veteran’s control. We do educate family members about the signs that may mean their loved ones are struggling, but our main focus is to make the individual feel like he or she has somewhere to call and ask for help from people who know what the vet has been through.”

  Everett noticed the way Callie was squeezing the mic, like she was struggling internally, and he wanted to ask what ghosts haunted her. All his attempts to be funny and even his mild irritation with her coldness melted in the face of her obvious pain. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to comfort her and tell her he would keep her safe.

  As if sensing his mistress’s agitation, Ratchet climbed out from under the table and nudged Callie.

  Callie shook her head and stroked the dog’s head, as if she was coming out of a dream.

  Back in peppy DJ mode, Callie concluded the interview. “Well, thank you so much for coming in and talking to us today, Everett.”

  “No problem, Callie, anytime,” he said, holding her gaze.

  She looked away and listed Stateside’s number and website. Through it all, Everett could tell her hands were shaking and that she was distraught. Something had definitely happened to her. His thoughts kept straying to her concern for the military personnel’s families. She’d seemed so worried that they weren’t protected or informed enough. Was she worried about him and his own PTSD? His antagonizing her probably hadn’t helped. He’d definitely fucked up.

  And he realized that as attracted as he was to her, he first needed to gain her trust, to be her friend, if he ever wanted anything more with her. Which meant some serious groveling was in store.

  Callie stood up with her headset still on. “And for all the men and women who protect our great nation, here’s a little Craig Morgan.”

  Everett stood up too, removing his headset, but before he could say anything, Callie had hers off and was heading for the door, her dog close behind.

  Maybe groveling was an understatement.

  CALLIE STORMED OUT of the studio and caught the surprised looks on Dalton’s, Dave’s, and Henry’s faces.

  “What? I need some air.”

  Heading for the back door with Ratchet close on her heels, she pushed the door open and sucked in the cold air. Inside her head, a battle raged.

  What is it about him that rubs you wrong?

  After she’d impulsively kissed his cheek on Tuesday, she’d wanted to choke herself. For someone who swore she wanted nothing to do with him, she sure was wishy-washy about where she stood, and Callie hated herself for it. When he’d walked through the door today, she’d been so thrown that she’d lashed out and been a bitch. She’d had every intention of apologizing after the interview; then he’d dropped that Rhett bomb, and she’d nearly hurled.

  How had she not recognized his voice? Not known who he was? All her fears that he was following her, that their bumping into each other had been more than a coincidence had been spot on. She suddenly wished that she’d taught Ratchet how to “sick balls.”

  Are you really freaking out about that, or is it because when he called you beautiful, you wanted to melt?

  God, she was a glutton for punishment. When he’d been kneeling by her side, staring up at her with those concerned eyes, she’d stopped breathing, and her heart had crashed into her breast bone. Then he’d gone and stroked her hand with the pad of his thumb, and a jolt of red-hot awareness had shot all the way to her stomach as she imagined those big hands stroking everywhere.

  She could forgive herself that momentary weakness, but the way he’d talked about his organization with so much passion had only stirred the pot, so to speak.

  For the first time in what felt like forever, she wanted a man. Wanted him bad, in the worst way possible.

  And he was the wrong man. If there was ever a man who was totally, crazily wrong for her, it was Everett Silverton.

  Ratchet woofed softly and turned. Callie swung around to find Everett standing behind her, his hands in his jacket pockets.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, willing him to stay where he was and not come any closer.

  “You just rushed out of there and I—”

  “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?”

  “You mean, why didn’t I tell you I was the idiot who had attempted to ask for your number on the air and only succeeded in epically freaking you out? Not exactly a conversation starter.”

  “You deliberately withheld information. Information that was important—”

  “Why? So you could think up a reason for why I’m not right for you? Or why we can’t be friends?”

  “You’re telling me that none of these ‘accidental encounters’ have been planned?” she asked.

  “No, I’m not saying that.” She sucked in a breath, ready to go off, but he continued. “I’m saying that after Tuesday, I felt something that I haven’t felt in so long, I hardly recognized it. I’m saying that I wanted to see you again so badly, I called up one of Stateside’s publicists and asked to take this interview myself so I could be near you. I don’t do interviews, because I can’t stand to have people pity me. I thought you were different, I wanted you to be different, and so, yes, I arranged to see you again today, but that’s it. Every other meeting was just luck. Or fate or whatever you want to call it. It was the universe telling us that there is something here. Can you honestly tell me that you feel nothing?”

  He didn’t give her a chance to answer. “Look, I know I threw you by not telling you right away that I was Rhett, but honestly, I was embarrassed. I’d made an ass out of myself with a woman I had never met but thought was amazing. I’m sorry, and I hope you can see it for what it was. That it’s not a deal-breaker. That I didn’t set out to lie or deceive you. That I was just trying to save my pride, what little I have left.”

  Callie’s throat knotted up. If she had been any other girl, none of this would have happened. She would have flirted back, and after that first meeting, she would have said yes to a date with Everett. Maybe they would have already slept together, had long phone conversations, and when he’d shown up today, maybe she would have teased and touched without any reservations.

  But she was fucked up. Tristan had fucked her up and her life and her family, and she couldn’t just forget that. It clouded every choice she made, and Everett had admitted to having PTSD. He’d said that sometimes there was no telling when an episode could happen. She just couldn’t get involved with someone again who was unstable.

  “But if you want me to leave you alone, I will,” Everett continued. “If I see you around, I won’t approach you, and I won’t bother you again.”

  “I don’t trust you.”

  Everett ran his hands over his head and blew out a deep breath, the air fogging in front of his face. “I get it, believe me. You’ve got baggage. I don’t expect you to just take my word with no evidence to back it up, but can you honestly tell me that I’ve given you any reason not to?”

  She couldn’t, not besides the fact that he hadn’t divulged he was Rhett, and even then, she hadn’t been exactly open and friendly. He hadn’t been wrong in thinking she’d have assumed the worst.

  “I get that you’re scared of taking a chance on me, but I think we could be friends.”

  “Friends?” Callie almost snorted. She doubted that Everett had only friendship on his mind.

  As if reading her thoughts, he grinned. “Fine, I want more, but we gotta start somewhere.”

  Everett started to back away from her. “So if you want to get started sooner rather than later, I head into the South Hills almost every clear Saturday to go hiking. There’s this great hiking trail that takes you to
the top of the mountain. It’s such an amazing view; it can almost make you feel like you’re a step away from heaven.”

  She remained silent, waiting.

  “Anyway, it’s off Sweet Water Road, and it’s called Moose Head Trail. In case you ever need to clear your head.”

  Callie cleared her throat. “Thanks.”

  “Any time.” A wide smile stretched across his lips. “And just so you know, I’m usually there at eight in the morning, if you’re ever nervous about walking alone.”

  Callie bit her lip in amusement. “I’ll remember that.”

  “Good,” he said, before heading back around the corner. “Have a nice day, Callie Jay.”

  Her stomach flipped over with delight, and she hated how mixed up she was.

  Suddenly, “Wild Flower” blared from her pocket, and Callie pulled her phone out with a sigh.

  “Hello, Caroline.”

  “I feel like you’re avoiding me.”

  “No, I’m not avoiding you. I’ve just been tired.”

  “You are full of shit, and you know it! Now, Gabe is working late on a bike with Chase, so I’m coming to get you tonight.”

  “Seriously, I—”

  “Unless you’re going to say, ‘Of course, Caroline, my loving friend,’ I don’t want to hear it. I’m coming by at seven, and you, Miss Thang, had better be rested and in a damn-good mood!”

  The back door to the studio swung open, and Dave poked his head out. “You ready?”

  “Yeah. Caroline, I gotta go,” Callie said, heading toward Dave.

  “Damn. Good. Mood!”

  Callie hung up the phone with a groan.

  Chapter Six

  “YOU KNOW THIS is kidnapping, right?” Callie said as she climbed into Caroline’s Corolla.

  “Please, you know you want to come play with me.” Caroline tossed her long dark hair over her shoulder. Callie caught herself envying her friend’s straight hair as she pushed her own unruly curls off her forehead.

  “What I want to do is sit at home watching side-splitting comedies with a bowl of popcorn drowned in butter.”