Tuff Enough

by Samantha A. Cole

  It looked like his pity party was over, though, and he was surprised Chase had let it go on as long as it had. It was time for Tuff to pull his ass out of the liquor bottle and rejoin the land of the living. He’d been on the other side of many an intervention after a teammate had been killed in action, but this was the first time he was on the receiving end. He was about to be put through an emotional and physical wringer, so he could get back to where he could be a functioning operative again. This is what his teammates did for each other. They kicked each other’s asses when it was needed. And right now, Tuff knew he needed it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Shit!” Tuff pressed an ice pack against his sore lip as he sat in the shade in Ian’s Oasis. The man’s wife, Angie, had surprised him about two years ago with the grass-covered area, complete with trees, shrubs, a koi pond, a kitchen, a commercial-sized barbecue, comfortable seating areas, a weather-proof TV, and a fire pit. It also had a misting system attached to the eaves of the two warehouses that the yard sat between, to keep it cool during the sweltering summer months. The area next to the building, which now housed four huge apartments for the three Sawyer brothers and their spouses, and Ian’s goddaughter, Jenn Mullins, used to be just another paved section of the compound’s lot. Ian was a lucky man, and Tuff liked Angie’s style. She’d planned out the entire space and hadn’t overlooked a thing. It was almost like a man cave, but outdoors. Of course, the Trident women used it all the time too.

  Tuff and Doug “Bullseye” Henderson sat by the fire pit, the last of the operatives hanging around after getting their asses kicked for a few hours. Nearby, Ian’s trained, protection dog, Beau, was lying on the grass, gnawing on a Kong toy. He had full access to the entire compound, and a small device on the lab/pit mix’s collar opened doggie-doors located in all the buildings and in the fence separating The Covenant’s building from the rest of the compound. Now that Kat had trained four new dogs—Bravo, Delta, Sierra, and Mike, collectively known as BDSM—Beau was easing into retirement. With Devon and Kristen’s baby, JD, and Angie being pregnant with her and Ian’s first child, the dog now spent most of his time guarding his mistresses and the tiny human instead of the compound. The Sawyers had hired a new batch of armed security guards who used BDSM to protect the fenced-in property consisting of close to twenty acres. After several past missions had come back and bite them in the ass, the brothers had bought up more of the wooded acreage surrounding the industrial park that had once been the base for a drug-trafficking cartel. Ian had purchased the original compound from the government after it’d been seized during an ATF raid.

  “I’m getting too old for this shit,” Henderson groaned as he lifted the hem of his T-shirt and inspected his bruised ribs. After Tuff had showered and had some coffee—he hadn’t been stupid enough to eat anything—Ian and Chase had driven him to Trident’s headquarters where they’d put him and a bunch of employees from both companies through their paces. North of the yard, parallel to a helipad, was an obstacle course, designed after the Navy SEAL’s famous O-course, although this one wasn’t as large. Once everyone had completed the track filled with things to climb, swing, or crawl over or under, they’d taken a five-mile run, with loaded ruck-packs on their backs, in the woods to the west of the compound. Tuff had puked up his coffee and some water along the way, which hadn’t earned him any sympathy—not that he’d expected any.

  Then, after all that, the fun had started, according to Ian, the sarcastic bastard. The operatives had been paired up for hand-to-hand combat drills, and if the two bosses thought anyone was taking it easy on their assigned partner, then they had to go up in the air with Babs. Tempest Van Buren was a retired Army chopper pilot who’d honorably earned her nickname which was short for badass bitch. She’d saved a lot of US lives over in Afghanistan and Iraq with her talented flying skills. The only reason she wasn’t still serving in the military was because her leg had ended up being amputated below the knee after an RPG hit the bird she’d been flying. Despite her injury, she’d been able to do a hard landing, far enough away from enemy insurgents, saving the lives of the several Marines who’d been on board, as well as her own. After recovering and learning how to use her new prostheses, Babs had accepted a position with Trident. She now piloted the company’s stealth Blackhawk and was the head mechanic for their fleet of vehicles. She also had a bit of a sadistic streak. Tuff had ended up pounding the shit out of Henderson, since the alternative was to go on a roller-coaster ride with Babs. She loved doing all sorts of dives and loops in the chopper, and Tuff would’ve puked up his entire digestive system if he’d gone airborne with her.

  “Sorry, dude,” Tuff replied as he gently leaned back in his Adirondack chair. Everything hurt now—Henderson had given as much as he’d gotten. Tuff’s hangover headache was the least of his complaints. “And you’re a few years younger than me, so don’t give me crap.”

  “Oh, my God! What happened to you two?”

  The men winced at Jenn’s high-pitched question, both for different reasons. Tuff’s was because it stabbed his already hurting brain, but Henderson’s reaction was due to something different altogether. Tuff had realized a while back that the twenty-two-year-old woman was interested in being more than just friends with Bullseye. The man was the head of Trident’s Personal Protection Division, having left BHS to take the position when it’d been offered to him. The retired Marine sharpshooter had been on Jenn’s security detail twice in the past when her life had been in danger and had even taken a bullet in the chest, collapsing his lung, while protecting her, hence his nickname. But being eight years older than the pretty blonde, Henderson thought she was too young and simply had a hero complex toward him. But Tuff suspected the man was denying his own attraction to Jenn, mainly because of the age difference and because she was the boss’s goddaughter. She also considered the rest of Trident’s original, six-man Alpha team to be her uncles, as they’d all served with her father. The men had dubbed her “Baby-girl” when she was born, and the affectionate moniker remained today. Henderson probably used it as a constant reminder to keep his distance from her, though Tuff wondered if the man was fighting a losing battle.

  She sat on the edge of the fire pit, looking over their injuries—they probably appeared worse than they really were considering nothing was broken or required stitches. Her gaze lingered on Henderson’s exposed abs until the man dropped his shirt again.

  “Your Uncle Ian’s a sadistic slave-driver, Jenn. You should know that by now,” Tuff said with a harrumph.

  The young woman rolled her eyes. “Which one of you needed your butt kicked?”

  Henderson threw Tuff under the bus by silently pointing at him, his eyes on the bruised knuckles of his other hand so he didn’t have to look directly at Jenn.

  “Thanks, buddy.” Tuff shook his head, then shrugged. “Yeah, it was me, but your uncle and Chase called it a training drill.”

  “Of course they did.” She paused then added, “I’m sorry about Kyle—he was a nice guy.” Her tone had softened as her gaze met Tuff’s in understanding. She certainly had the personality and sympathetic ear that would help with her chosen career. She was going into clinical social work and only had a few more months before she graduated with her bachelor’s degree in sociology, then she’d start on her master’s degree in social work. “I know you were there when it happened. I’m sorry you had to go through that—I hope you’re doing okay.”

  He gave her a sad but gracious smile. She really was a sweet young woman. “Thanks, Jenn. I was messed up for the past few weeks, but thanks to Ian and Chase dragging me out of bed and making sure I got my head screwed on straight again, I think I’ll be okay.” He’d told her the truth. It wasn’t the first time he’d lost a teammate, but he hoped to God it was the last. He had to pull himself out of the gutter and get back to work, though, and do what he did best. He’d do it for Kyle and everyone else he’d known who’d lost their lives while protecting others. It was the best way to honor th
eir memories. “I’ve been ordered to spill my guts to the company shrink too, which is better than doing it in Bab’s bird.”

  She grinned at him. “I’m glad to hear that. I only wish it hadn’t taken this . . .” She gestured to his fat lip and Henderson’s black eye. “. . . for you to get your ass back in the game.”

  “Stop cursing, Jenn,” Henderson said with a growl, startling both her and Tuff.

  Her eyes narrowed at him, her scowl matching his. “All I said was ass, Doug, and since it’s another name for donkey, it’s technically not a curse. Besides, you’re not my dad, my godfather, or even my boyfriend, so you have no right to tell me what I can and can’t do. I’ll say whatever I damn well please.” Before he could respond, she stood quickly, her back ramrod straight in defiance. “Goodbye, Tuff. I hope you feel better soon. If you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.”

  Turning, she strode toward the parking lot without a backward glance or a goodbye to Henderson, who glared at her retreating form. If Tuff wasn’t mistaken, the man’s gaze was on the blonde’s ass, while his jaw tightened and a tick started at his temple. Yup, Henderson had it bad. The question was, what was he going to do about it? Tuff wasn’t going to ask him, though, he had his own woman problems, but it looked like Jenn was done with being ignored or treated like a child.

  Shit. He owed Chet an apology and lots of groveling for being a drunken asshole the past couple of weeks. Hell, he hadn’t even known she’d tried to put Meat in another foster home. Chase had been the one to tell him that and to read him the riot act for letting his guard down when Chet might be in danger. Yup, he’d fucked up. Now, he just had to figure out how to make it up to her without dragging her into his bed like a caveman. He’d just proven he wasn’t good enough for her by putting his own grief before her safety. She deserved someone a lot better than him. The problem was he didn’t want to think of her in anyone else’s arms. He clenched his aching fists. Damn it, Henderson wasn’t the only one who had it bad.

  Chapter Twenty

  Chet threw a ball across the yard for Meat and watched the big lug race after it. Once he’d figured out how fetch was played, he loved the game. He never missed an opportunity to coax Chet into throwing the beat-up rubber ball for him.

  “Hey.”

  Startled by the softly-spoken word, she turned to see Tuff standing on his back porch with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. His hair was wet, as if he’d just taken a shower, and even though he had a slight five o’clock shadow, it was clear he’d shaved earlier in the day. He had a sheepish expression on his battered face. Chet’s eyes widened in alarm when she noticed his injuries, and she rushed over to the divider separating her half of the porch from his. “Oh, my God, Tuff! What happened?”

  Besides a fat, split lip, his cheek was bruised and there was a one-inch laceration above his right eye which was being held together by a small butterfly bandage. Pulling his hands out, he held them up. His knuckles were also split and bruised. “Relax, it’s okay. We had some intensive training today. You should see the other guys.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Your boss and that other guy did this? It’s not exactly how I expected them to help you when I saw them this morning.”

  “Nah, they sat on the sidelines and watched, after they woke my ass up with a few buckets of water. I hope my bed is dried out by now.”

  “What?” Despite her worry about him, a giggle started in her chest until it turned into a full-blown laugh. “Oh, my God! I can’t believe they did that!”

  Tuff snorted. “I can—and believe me, I got off easy.” He stepped closer and scratched Meat’s head after the dog jumped up and put his paws on the railing. “Hey, Meatball, how’s my buddy? Did you miss me?”

  Meat groaned loudly as he leaned into Tuff’s hand, letting him know he’d definitely missed him.

  Letting out a heavy sigh, Tuff’s apologetic gaze met her concerned one. “Chet . . . look, I’m really sorry. I was an ass—a giant one. I’d like a chance to explain and make it up to you, if you’ll let me. Can we go for a ride? I thought maybe we could head to the beach. I packed a cooler with food and drinks for dinner. Meat can come with us—I’ve got a bone for him too.”

  Chet knew she shouldn’t sound so eager, but she couldn’t stop the yes! We’d love to! from bursting from her mouth. She’d missed him something fierce and wanted nothing more than to get back on an even keel with him. She still wasn’t sure where they stood—were they going back to being FWBs or just friends? Neither way was what she really wanted from him—a real relationship—but if he couldn’t give her that, then, for now, she’d settle for whatever she could get, because not having him in her life at all these past few weeks had really sucked.

  He grinned at her. “Great. Meet you out front.”

  Twenty minutes later, they were walking onto the dog-friendly beach they’d frequented. Off to the right, in the sand, were several picnic tables, and one was currently empty. While Chet let Meat sniff around—she still wasn’t comfortable letting him off-leash yet—Tuff placed the large cooler and a wicker basket he’d brought with them on one of the table’s benches. She watched in awe as he pulled a red gingham tablecloth from the basket and spread it out before placing ceramic plates, silver flatware, wine glasses, and cloth napkins on top of it. From the cooler, he retrieved two bottles of Stewart’s root beer, her favorite, and several containers she knew he’d gotten from a little gourmet shop in their neighborhood. They always had a hot and cold buffet out, and customers could pick and choose what they wanted, putting it all into takeout containers which were weighed at the register. Chet often grabbed dinner there when she was late getting home from work and didn’t feel like cooking or defrosting any of her frozen meals.

  After the table was set, Tuff pulled out a second tablecloth and laid it on the sand in the shade of the table. “Hey, Meatball. Look what ol’ Tuff’s got for you, dude.”

  The dog stopped his inspection of a nearby dune and jogged over to where Tuff held a meaty bone in his hand. Pointing at the middle of the red and white tablecloth, he gave the German command for the dog to sit. Once Meat was in position, Tuff gave him several more commands—down, stand, speak, and quiet—in the foreign language Chet had taught him to help train the pit bull. “Braver Hund. Good dog. Here ya go, enjoy it. You earned it.”

  While Meat settled down on the makeshift blanket to munch on his treat, Tuff gestured for Chet to have a seat at the table, then sat down across from her. “I wasn’t sure what you were in the mood for, so I got a little bit of everything.”

  He opened containers filled with pasta primavera, barbecue spare ribs, chicken marsala over rice, shrimp cocktail, steamed asparagus, and Caesar salad. Chet’s eyes widened at the small feast. “Holy cow!”

  “Nope, sorry, Meat got the only thing that came from a cow.”

  Rolling her eyes, she groaned as she reached for the salad container. “That was a lousy pun.”

  “Yeah, forgive me. I haven’t been too witty lately.” He pushed out a heavy breath. “Hell, I haven’t been much of anything lately. I’m sorry, Chet. The last few weeks have been really hard on me, and because I didn’t want to take it out on you, I pushed you away without much of an explanation.”

  “Tuff, it’s okay, I—”

  “No, it’s not okay.” He ran a hand down his bruised face, sadness filling his eyes. “Yeah, I was hurting. It’s not the first time I’ve had a teammate shot in front of me and die in my arms, and it never gets any easier. But that’s no excuse for pushing you away.”

  Chet had gasped before he finished speaking and put down her fork. Reaching across the table, she placed her hand on his tattooed, muscular forearm. “Oh, my God. Tuff, I’m so sorry. I—I didn’t know the details.” All she’d known was what he’d told her that night when he cancelled their plans before disappearing into his half of the house, refusing to let her console him—a teammate had died during their out-of-town mission. She hadn’t even known where they’d been or wha
t they’d been doing.

  Tuff had told her a little more about what he did during a meal in her kitchen one night. His company employed mostly ex-military operatives, and some of their cases or missions were classified—as in they did some work for Uncle Sam.

  She wouldn’t press him for more information about the mission gone wrong, no matter how curious she was. Being in a division of law enforcement, she understood that certain things couldn’t be discussed with people not involved with specific cases. If Tuff could only tell her this much, she’d accept it and do what she could to comfort him.