“You’d really feel that way if I got spooked and ran?” he inquires, doubt clouding his eyes.
“How could I not?” I turn my gaze out over the city lights. “I’m sitting in a beautiful romantic place, having one of the most honest conversations I’ve ever had in my life, with a man I respect because he is being honest with me about his feelings.”
Cage’s eyes swim with an emotion I can’t quite name. He swallows hard before nodding.
“This is a risk,” I continue. “I’m well aware of what the pitfalls are—and the potential rewards. I think I’m in a gambling mood.”
Cage laughs, tipping his head back in amusement because we had spent a few hours in Rivers Casino yesterday grumbling about how neither one of us really liked gambling.
“I’m willing to gamble, too,” he says. He puts his arm around me, then pulls me into him. “So, what’s on your agenda this week?”
“I have to spend two nights this week at one of the shelters.” I had previously told Cage I volunteered a few times a month at some of the various shelters I work with. It lets me check in on some of my clients—keeps me grounded and aware of just what these women and children go through to escape. It fulfills me.
“I’ll coordinate the evenings I need to work with your nights,” he replies. “Although I might need to work some other evenings. I’ll find out tomorrow.”
“It’s a plan,” I murmur, but part of me can’t help but wonder if he’s just creating a plausible out with potential work obligations if he gets spooked in some way.
I certainly hope not, because I like this guy enough to know I’m going all in without any reservations.
CHAPTER 8
Cage
I knock on the apartment door, wondering what Jaime’s doing right now. It’s one of her shelter nights, and I used the opportunity to accept a dinner invitation from another woman.
But not just any woman.
When Anna opens the door, I hold up the six-pack of beer in one hand and a pink teddy bear in the other. She smiles, but my attention quickly moves from her over to the bassinet that sits right at the edge of where the living room and kitchen connect.
“There’s my girl,” I coo, eyes sparkling as I shove the beer at Anna and make a beeline toward her daughter, Avery.
Yes, Anna was pregnant when her husband, Jimmy, was killed. She went through a really rough time after, the prospect of being a single mom not the most daunting thing about the experience. The grief she suffered caused complications, and she had to remain on bed rest for the last part of her pregnancy.
It was after little Avery was born that Anna made the bold move to work at Jameson as a means to stay connected to the place her husband loved. She and I became fast friends, mainly through a bond we shared having both been former military. She was Army, but that doesn’t diminish my respect for her service to our country.
I quickly became enamored with Avery, who is just over four months now. It’s weird because I don’t have any experience with babies. For some reason, though, I’m a natural with Anna’s daughter. Maybe it’s because we—the men of Jameson—all feel a little bit like Avery’s daddies given Jimmy died in the line of duty.
Anna asked me to come by to look at a leaky dishwasher. I told her I would only if she’d cook for me. Which is sort of a joke, since Anna and I try to have dinner together at least once a week.
“Whatever you’re making smells amazing.” Without hesitation or the need to ask permission, as honorary uncle to the little niblet, I reach into the bassinet and lift Avery out. She settles easily into the crook of my arm, and I lean over her head to press a kiss there. “Goddamn… she smells amazing, too. Why do babies always smell so good?”
Anna snorts, moving to the oven to peek in at whatever the hell smells so delicious. She then transfers the beer to the fridge, retaining one for each of us.
Anna opens them, then sets mine on the counter. “She just had her bath. Of course she smells good. Why is it you’re never around when she poops her diaper? If you were, you’d realize babies don’t smell good all the time.”
I look down at Avery, and she stares solemnly back at me as if to say, “Don’t believe a word she says. I’m the sweetest-smelling baby, ever.”
Smiling, I croon, “Your mom is making stuff up, isn’t she? I bet your poop smells like lollipops and rainbows, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, Lord. Don’t be feeding her stuff like that,” Anna says on a groan.
“Not like she can understand me,” I retort.
“Yeah, but you’ll develop a habit of lying to her as she gets older, then I’ll spend a fortune in therapy trying to deprogram her from all the crap you’ll tell her.”
I laugh and move over to the kitchen table, sitting carefully so as not to jostle Avery. Anna picks up my beer, moving it from the counter to the table, but I ignore it, content to gaze at the cute baby. I wonder if that’s on my agenda one day. As soon as that thought enters my brain, I immediately think of Jaime. If we had babies, I wonder if they’d inherit her hair and eyes. They’d be so beautiful.
When the oven timer dings, I shake my head to dispel such thoughts. I can’t be thinking of babies with Jaime when chances are this relationship will not go anywhere. I’ll either run because I’ll feel trapped, or it will all be fucked up when she finds out I’ve been lying.
“I saw Malik today,” Anna says.
I glance up to see she has pulled something cheesy from the oven that smells distinctly Mexican. “Yeah… heard he came back today, but I didn’t see him.”
“He’s staying in one of the apartments.”
“He probably debriefed today.” I turn my attention back to Avery, who’s blowing spit bubbles. “I doubt Kynan will put him right back in the field, though. Not after all that guy went through.”
I take a finger, pop a bubble, and marvel at the miracle of this tiny creature.
“Did you kill the men who took Malik?” Anna asks.
My head snaps up, cute little baby completely forgotten for the moment.
I know Anna has been emotionally invested in Malik’s return, so this question isn’t overly surprising. I also know she’s tough and can take the details. “I have no clue about the actual men who took Malik, but yes, we killed the ones who were guarding him. There were others we didn’t get as they rotated out every few days.”
“Good,” she murmurs, expression satisfied. “You think Malik will be all right?”
I shrug because I don’t know for sure. That’s such an individual thing. “I think he’s the type who can deal. I mean, he has a Special Forces background. He’s trained for that type of scenario. Bottom line… we all have to pull deep to overcome stuff like that.”
Anna tilts her head, eyes narrowing slightly. “Have you had to overcome something like that?”
“Yeah. I was on a Jameson mission almost two years ago with Bodie. I got shot—”
“What?” she practically shrieks.
I give her a censuring look, nodding down at Avery to indicate she should keep it down. As her mom, Anna doesn’t need this reminder, and she merely rolls her eyes.
“We both got captured. Luckily, our captors treated our wounds pretty effectively. The government had a joint CIA and SEAL team in place and on the ground quickly. We were rescued in less than twenty-four hours, so nothing like what Malik went through.”
“Don’t diminish—”
“I’m not.” I stand from the chair and place Avery, who is looking distinctly drowsy, back in the bassinet. I move over to Anna, putting my hands on her shoulders. “But this is what we train for. We all know it might happen. And every one of us who Kynan hires to be part of his team, well, we all have something inside that helps us to overcome. Maybe it’s an acceptance that fate will be a bitch if she wants and we can’t control it, or maybe it’s just that we have a little something extra that normal people don’t. I can’t describe it, but, bottom line, I think Malik’s the type who will move past this just fine
.”
Anna absorbs this, giving a tremulous smile as she nods. She then turns toward the stove. “How about we eat and talk about something more pleasant?”
I grab my beer. “I’ll drink to that.”
I help Anna by following her directions to the paper plates and plastic utensils. Even though I’m going to fix her dishwasher, we’re going to reduce clean-up time.
She made enchiladas, and she scoops a cheesy mess onto my plate. I demand another scoop before I move to the table and dig in.
When Anna finally sits down with her plate, I say, “So I have some news.”
Immediately, I regret the words. I hadn’t meant to say them. For some reason, though, they popped out. I bet if I asked our resident psychiatrist, Dr. Ellery, what that means, she’d say I must really need to talk about it.
“Oh yeah?” Anna inquires.
I open my mouth, but no words come out. Saying anything about Jaime makes it even more real. Puts even more responsibility on me to do the right thing.
“What is it?” Anna urges.
“I’m seeing someone,” I blurt before I can chicken out.
“Seeing someone?” She looks at me as if I’ve grown an extra head. Anna knows me well enough to realize I am a decidedly single guy who likes bed-hopping.
My smile feels sheepish. “I mean… it’s sort of new, but we’ve gone out a few times—”
Her eyebrows shoot high. “A few times?”
“Five,” I admit. “We’ve gone out five times, and I’ve met her sister.”
I don’t count our first night hookup. Only our first dinner date, the Pitt game, our evening at the incline, and two other nights I took her out to dinner. I also leave out vital information that outside of these actual “dates,” I’ve spent considerably more time with her at her apartment. It might give Anna an apoplexy.
She doesn’t say a word. Just stares at me as if I’ve done something entirely too weird for her to comprehend.
“What? It’s not outside the realm of possibility that I’d date someone.”
“Uh, it is when you so adamantly decry the practice of monogamy and relationships,” she points out.
“What can I say?” I shrug, taking a huge bite of the enchilada. After I chew and swallow, I say, “She’s different.”
“What’s her name?” There’s definite mistrust in her voice. She thinks I’m joking.
“Jaime.” And just her name brings a smile to my lips.
Anna notices this, and her expression softens. “Tell me about her.”
And all of a sudden, everything seems right and comfortable. Anna’s past her shock, and she’s now in the zone where she’s a bit swoony that a woman has caught my attention. I don’t hesitate to lay it all out for her. “She’s great. You’d really like her. I mean, she’s just really down to earth… not pretentious. Even though she has every right to because she’s so gorgeous.”
“How’d you meet?” Anna asks, leaning forward slightly.
“In a bar,” I admit. “But it wasn’t like a cheesy pickup. I had noticed her, but I didn’t make a move. She’d noticed me, approached me, and we started talking.”
Anna sighs dreamily. “Conversation. You two connected with conversation. I love it.”
“Well,” I drawl hesitantly. “There was alcohol involved, and we hooked up that night, but the next morning… I didn’t want to leave.”
I tell Anna how I asked for her number and she was convinced I wouldn’t call, but I did right from the sidewalk and asked her out to dinner.
“Oh my God,” Anna laughs. “Who knew you could be so spontaneous and romantic with a woman? And you actually took her on a date?”
I nod proudly. “A classy restaurant for dinner. Then to a Pitt game. Then an evening with hot cocoa at the top of the incline.”
Anna shakes her head, laughing. “Who are you, and what have you done with my friend?”
“Honestly,” I admit. “I have no clue who in the fuck I am, but I do really like her. She’s sexy, funny, and sweet. And she works as a domestic violence coordinator to help victimized women escape their abusers. I mean, how fucking cool is that? I love that she loves helping people.”
Anna’s smile is warm. “She sounds amazing.”
My stomach drops, my tone morose because I’m an asshole. “She is. But there’s one problem.”
“What’s that?”
“When we first started seeing each other, I told her I was a used-car salesman, and now she thinks that’s what I do for a living.”
Anna’s jaw drops. It remains hanging open for a good long moment until she finally says, “I don’t even know what to say to that. I mean… why would you do that?”
I try to explain my modus operandi as best I can. “I just… set expectations low with women, you know. When I meet someone I want to hook up with, I make up a story about my career. I tell them the dullest, most uninspiring thing I can think of, so they don’t get too interested in me, and I can walk away without them trying to hang on to the image of a badass security expert.”
Anna’s eyes are wide and disbelieving. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Hey,” I exclaim, trying to act offended, but I really can’t be. She’s right, but I still feel the need to defend myself. “It’s worked well for me in the past, except now I really like Jaime and want to keep seeing her, but I’m afraid she’ll dump my ass when she realizes I’ve been lying to her all this time.”
“You need to tell her the truth.” She points an accusing finger at me, her voice sharp. “If she truly likes you back, she’ll forgive you.”
Because this is my first time genuinely liking a woman, I’m filled with doubt and fear. “I don’t know. And besides… this thing’s probably not destined to last anyway, right? I never stick around for the long haul.”
“Except you’ve pointed out in gory detail how much you do like her,” she reminds me.
“Fuck,” I mutter, pushing out of my seat and heading to the fridge. “I need another beer, and maybe you can convince me of the right thing to do.”
Anna ends up hounding me the entire evening. Even after we finish dinner and I work on her dishwasher, lying in a distinctly uncomfortable position on the floor after having removed the door and attempting to remove a leaky seal, she continues to snipe at me for keeping the truth from Jaime.
And berating me for not promising to tell the truth. The most I give Anna is a sincere statement that I will give it a lot of thought.
Jaime and I agreed Sunday night at the top of the incline. What we have is easy and effortless. Talking to Anna is making me feel like it’s too much work, and I don’t want that dragging me down.
Yes, I need to tell Jaime the truth. It’s absolutely the right thing to do, but I’m just not sure when is the appropriate time to do it. My gut says now isn’t because we’re not in deep enough for her to forgive me.
Maybe after some more time passes and we get closer—and I am sure these feelings are going to last and she cares enough about me to forgive the lies—then I can admit my stupidity.
Until then, despite Anna’s misgivings, I’m fine keeping things just the way they are.
CHAPTER 9
Jaime
My parents live in the Hazlewood neighborhood on the east side of Pittsburgh, which is only about fifteen minutes from the plant in Braddock where my dad works. I grew up in this small three-bedroom split level composed of red brick and yellowed siding. It’s built into a slight hill, because Pittsburgh is nothing but hills, and there’s a small basement where my brother currently lives.
While we don’t necessarily do it every weekend, we do try to get together on most Sundays for a late lunch or early dinner after my parents get back from Mass, depending on which service they go to. Growing up, my siblings and I were always expected to go to Mass, but when we turned eighteen, it became our choice. Brian was the first to give it up. My parents, who are pretty devout Catholics, were distressed. By the time I
left the house for college at Penn State, and decided to use my Sundays for either schoolwork or socialization, my parents’ heartbreak wasn’t as keen. I think they figured it was coming.
Same with Laney, although she actually tries to periodically go with them, which makes her the apple of their eyes. The one thing we always do though, is attend midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. It’s a tradition none of us kids mind keeping.
After I park out on the street, I climb the concrete steps built into the hill that leads to the house. I balance a lemon bundt cake in one arm and a bouquet of flowers for my mom in the other. Her birthday is in three days, and I won’t be able to see her then as it’s almost impossible to get extra time during the workweek.
Especially since I spend some of that time with Cage, I think guiltily.
I bang my elbow on the front door. Within moments, my dad is opening it with a big grin. He’s a bear of a man, carrying more of his size in his belly these days, but still strong as an ox. Had I not had my arms loaded—most importantly with his favorite lemon cake—he’d be picking me up and swinging me around.
“There’s my little girl.” He beams.
“Not so little anymore, Dad.” I laugh.
“You and Laney will always be my little girls.” He bends to kiss me on the cheek.
We move from the living room, still with the same wood-paneled walls, but at least the carpet has been updated from shag to Berber. The furniture is also newer in the last ten years, but it’s still an old house with sagging parts and popcorn ceilings.
I smell pot roast, potatoes, and carrots. I’ll be partaking of the vegetables, and Mom will have made a salad for me as well. Laney is already here, standing beside our mom. She looks over her shoulder and winks as I set the cake on the counter.
Moving beside Mom, who is stirring gravy, I bump my hip against hers and wave the flowers in front of her face.
It fills with delight. “Oh, Jaime… those are gorgeous.”
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