Finally, she nodded, rocked forward and pressed a long, close-mouthed but no less intense kiss to his mouth before settling to rest against his chest, arms still looped around his neck. "That's what I figured, but thank you for saying it for me anyway."
"Thank you." His arms slid around her and he stole a deeper kiss, needing to feel her warm alive body and banish the image of her wrapped in shrouds and a sail in a watery grave.
Her face tucked in his neck, she continued to tease his ear with feathery strokes that distracted. "Isn't Al-Anon a support group for family members?"
What had she just said and what did that have to do with her other hand scratching through his flight suit along his pec? He replayed her words and—oh, uh, Al-Anon. Talk about a cold splash. "I help out there. The support group is open to helping families of people with other addictions. I feel like I have something to offer family members, as well, since my parents were addicts."
"So you belong to Al-Anon and A.A.?"
"Yes." Searching for words, he captured her hands in his, kissed her knuckles and kept them from distracting him into speaking without thinking, no doubt her intention. "Until I found A.A., nothing worked. It's still been tough. I truly believe that for alcoholics the booze affects them more or differently than other people. And through that extra effect it soothes something inside them, a pain or an emptiness or need. For a while you convince yourself the alcohol makes your life better. It's your friend because you live and cope at a higher level. Then the friend turns on you."
She linked her fingers with his so tightly he could imagine she might hold on forever.
"Those first few months without, there's this emptiness inside that begs to be filled. You also lose something in your way of life—the bar, the camaraderie of a beer and game of pool."
"I would imagine that's especially tough to give up in the flyer world."
"A.A. helps teach you how to fill that space, and of course there are over two million members."
'Two million?" Her eyes widened in surprise.
"And counting." He stroked the inside of her wrists with his thumbs. "I'm able to attend functions now that include alcohol without racing to phone my sponsor afterward— What are you thinking?"
She untangled her hand from his to tap his leather name tag. "How you said call signs come from a defining moment."
"I carry a heavy issue with me that's never going away." He rested his palm over hers tracing the word 'Scorch'. "This will always be there, and I know too well that it doesn't just affect the adults. While I appreciate that you're trying to be understanding, you need to comprehend how big a deal this is."
"I won't claim to know anything about the genetics involved in addictions running in families. Actually, I don't know much of anything about alcoholism. So maybe you're right. Maybe this is something I'm not equipped to handle."
His gut clenched. "I didn't say this is your—"
"Shhh. Listen. I'm saying I don't have enough information to make a decision, and it seems to me this affects both of us. So I should have a say in deciding something so huge."
He searched for a rebuttal...except what she said made sense, damn good sense. "What did you have in mind?"
"Let's go to an Al-Anon meeting together, let me see for myself what I'm in for. I'll go as a friend if the idea of thinking about forever totally freaks you out."
He fell even more in love with this amazing woman, wise beyond her years and deserving of the absolute best. "We've been n**ed together. I think we've gone past friendship."
"Can't we be both?"
At a crossroads, they would have to be both—or nothing at all. But then he'd pretty much already figured that one out for himself.
"There's a support meeting tomorrow night." Make or break time. He'd seen plenty of families and marriages saved by Al-Anon, but most of those people had a foundation before the troubles hit. He and Nikki were starting out with the baggage. He couldn't dodge the dark-cloud feeling that the night would only accomplish one thing. Helping her walk away for good.
As a trio of C-17s roared overhead for a night takeoff, Nikki stepped from Carson's truck into the parking lot outside the base chapel housing tonight's support group meeting. She hadn't expected the gathering to take place on base, and a smaller group promised less anonymity. Apparently Carson was cool with that.
They weaved around cars and other stragglers making their way toward the entrance, faces shadowy in the dim glow of the overhead halogen lamps. There was so much riding on this night and her nerves were wobblier than the funky heels she'd bought with the intent purpose of making Carson swallow his tongue.
Mission accomplished in that arena, at least.
He slid an arm around her waist as if he expected her to sprint before they reached the looming double doors of the social hall. "If you want to leave at any time, just say the word and we're out of here."
"You've said that twice already. Once when you picked me up, and again at dinner."
And dinner had been so sweet, a back corner table with candlelight and hand holding. He was trying so hard.
Or saying goodbye with a last supper.