by Serena Bell
He was pretty pleased with himself. He knew he’d given her a first time to remember.
The only problem was, it had been equally memorable for him. Hence his wrist fatigue.
“—next thing I knew I woke up and they were telling me they’d had to take the limb.”
Jake was telling the story of what he’d lost to that IED that day—his buddy, his leg. He’d told the story tens of times, but everyone listened like it was new. Maybe because of the way Jake told it, like he was still looking for meaning in it himself.
They went around the circle. Everyone talked, at least a little. When it was CJ’s turn, he haltingly told a story Griff could tell he hadn’t revealed to many people. He’d been trapped three hours in a wrecked armored carrier. The two other men with him had been killed. He’d been badly injured, hallucinating that the dead men were trying to kill him.
CJ closed his mouth then, and then his eyes, tight.
No wonder the kid was a little jumpy.
“You did good,” Griff said, without thinking. “You did good, telling us.”
That was Jake’s job, usually, but Griff jumped in from time to time. He knew Jake’s lines as well as Jake did, and Jake was glad to share the mentorship role with anyone who felt compelled to step up to the plate. It was a brotherhood, after all.
Now Griff looked across the circle to Jake, who nodded. Go for it. Griff nodded back. “You have nightmares?” he asked CJ.
CJ’s eyes found Griff’s. “Yeah.”
Griff nodded. “Anyone else here have nightmares?”
Hands shot up around the circle.
They talked about how it felt to wake gasping for air, your lungs flattened by an explosion that was years or decades old. How it felt to realize you’d struck at or throttled the person in the bed next to you, or even just flailed badly enough to hurt them. How dark it was in the middle of the night, and how long the hours were between one a.m. and sunrise, even on the shortest nights of the year.
Well, the others talked. Griff just listened.
Griff had each of them say one thing that helped him get through the dark hours. Deep breathing. Meditation. Food. Texting a friend. Counting down from a thousand. Jerking off.
“Whiskey,” someone said, and Griff let it go, because, truth.
“Nothing,” a guy named Reggie said, and they all laughed and then sighed.
If anyone noticed that Griff asked the questions but didn’t give answers, no one said anything.
As the other guys were filing out, CJ stopped. “Thanks,” he said to Griff.
“You’re welcome, dude.”
“No, I mean it. Thanks.”
He took a step toward the door, then turned back. “And, um, I thought you might want to know. That girl, Becca—”
“Woman,” Griff said reflexively.
“She said she wasn’t interested in going out with me. But I appreciate the help.”
Griff knew he should feel bad, but he didn’t. Not at all. In fact, he mainly was thinking about the way Becca had raked her hands through his hair as he’d licked her clit, and feeling pure male triumph.
“You win some, you lose some,” he told CJ. “Back in the saddle, right?”
“A bunch of us are going out tonight, if you want to come along. Play wingman. Or get some pus—action yourself.”
Yeah, CJ wouldn’t waste any time, and Griff wouldn’t waste any guilt. “Thanks. Not tonight—but I appreciate the invitation. You going to drive the Shelby there?”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew. Like his brain had been slowly cobbling the pieces together, and it had just needed one more push to click this last one into place.
“You don’t drive,” Griff said. It wasn’t a question.
CJ’s face had gone pale.
“You haven’t driven since—”
“Look, man, I gotta run,” CJ said, and he did. Like, literally.
Griff watched him go, musing.
Jake came over. “Hey. That was great.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re good with them.”
Griff shrugged. Too much praise made him squirmy, and he knew he didn’t deserve any in this case. He’d just put his foot in it with CJ, in a big way. And how could he take credit for helping anyone else when he wasn’t brave enough to admit to his own bullshit? Those men who wore it on their sleeve; they were the real heroes.
“How’d you like to lead the group, from time to time?”
Griff shook his head. “Nah. No thanks.”
“Why not? You listen. You know what to say. It’s because of you that CJ even showed up today. They trust you, Griff.”
Griff shrugged. “I’m just imitating stuff I’ve heard you say. I’m the last one who should be giving anyone advice.” Not to mention, I’m the world’s biggest hypocrite when it comes to this support group. Trying to get everyone else to spill their guts while I stay clammed up. “I’m just here because I couldn’t hack it in the real world.” He said it lightly.
“That’s not the whole story, and you know it. You lost buddies. You lost your wife.”
“I didn’t lose her.” He’d always hated that fucking phrase. “She left.”
“There are lots of ways to get the shit kicked out of you, Griff.” Jake’s eyes were knowing.
For a moment he let himself drift back there. To what it had felt like, flying in and looking around for Marina at the airfield. Scanning faces for the dark curtain of her hair, waiting for the flash of recognition and affection to light up a face turned toward him. All the other guys had people there, with signs and flowers and flags and gifts. Kids running up and throwing their arms around their waists or their legs. Women kissing them like they were starved for it.
He’d told himself something had delayed Marina. Traffic. He texted her but didn’t get an answer. In the end, he hitched a ride home with a guy, his wife, and their kids, and the whole way, it was one big huge love fest with Griff on the outside, feeling more and more awkward.
And then they’d dropped him in front of his big house—new construction, like Marina’d wanted—and he could feel it. The deadness, the emptiness, of the house. Even before he opened the door.
Inside it was just hollow. His stuff was still there, but nothing of hers. And no her.
Just the note.
“Griff.”
He shook his head. “I’m nobody’s role model. I’ve been here two years and I still don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to be doing with my life.”
Jake raised his eyebrows. “It takes time. You know that.”
“Yeah, well. I don’t feel like I’m making much progress.”
“If you’re beating yourself up about the job at Harbor Grill, you can quit that crap. You left because they treated you like dirt. That’s not washing out.”
Jake was referring to one of the two times Griff had tried to leave R&R and find a civilian job. But Griff hadn’t been thinking about Harbor Grill. He’d been thinking about the other job that hadn’t worked out, at the new hotel. The one he’d gotten fired from. He hadn’t told anyone how that gig had ended. Not even Jake, who he’d trust with his life.
“I can’t keep depending on you to create work for me forever.”
Jake shrugged. “There’s always work here for a good man.”
Griff’s impulse was to push the compliment away, but he just said, “Thanks.”
“Speaking of work,” Jake said. “We’re going to need to hire again soon. I can’t keep making Sibby do double duty on the reception desk and event planning. She did the Memorial Day picnic planning, and now she’s jumping into the Fourth of July picnic and Fun Run. I either need to hire someone who can do event planning, or I need to just let Sibby run wild with the events and put someone else on the desk.”
“I can help with whatever you need,” Griff said.
“Thanks,” Jake said. “Might take you up on that, until I can find a permanent solution. I know you don’t love the desk
stuff, though.”
“I’ll do whatever you need.”
Jake gave him a look. “I need you to think about what I said earlier. About leading the group sometimes. Just sleep on it, okay, man?”
Griff nodded, but he was full of shit. He had no intention of sleeping on it. That would presume he was capable of sleeping at all, but between war nightmares and memories of a certain hot blonde moaning his name, he’d given up on the notion completely.
20
Becca strolled into Julia’s Day Spa and Salon with her big handbag slung over her shoulder and her lunch in hand, set both down on the floor behind the front desk, and sat down to listen to the voicemails that had come in since the previous afternoon.
Hi there? This is Mary Rombard? I’m going to need to cancel my appointment today because my personal trainer can only meet with me between nine and ten and as much as I love my massages, I have to put my exercise first. . . .
She copied down the number and the message, verbatim, because she knew Julia would get a kick out of it. As much as I love my massages, I have to put my exercise first.
Julia’s favorite of all time was when someone had canceled to take her dog to acupuncture. That had made Julia howl.
It was unfortunate that Becca had to find a new job in the next few weeks. She could probably land another salon gig, but the chances that her boss would be as sane and personable as Julia were slim. Plus, like she’d told Griff, the money and hours were about as good as things got in this industry.
Griff.
Since Saturday night when he’d driven her home, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. What he’d done to her, yes, but also what had happened afterward. She couldn’t quite figure out how to make sense of both things. For that brief time in the hotel room, with his attention fully on her, she’d felt like the center of the universe, but—well, she wasn’t. Marina was the center of Griff’s universe. And she hated to admit how much of a slap in the face that had been.
It wasn’t that she’d thought there was anything special between her and Griff—
It just stung that it was so unspecial.
It was frustrating, in light of those mixed-up feelings, to still not be able to stop thinking about the sex. She’d be minding her own business, and then, whoosh, memories would wash through her mind and heat would flood her body. Depending on what she was doing and where she was, she’d either have to take a break and catch her breath, or . . .
Yeah, she could admit it. She’d retreated to her room twice on Sunday to rub one out. The second time she’d—
She blushed, thinking about it.
She’d put on the bodysuit. Remembered him down on his knees in front of her with his face against her pussy, licking her through the flimsy red lace.
Recalling it, she’d come so hard she’d bitten her tongue.
For a moment, she thought about texting him. Telling him. I’m at work and all I can think about is you on your knees with your face—
But that would obviously be the worst idea in the world, given the Marina thing.
Damn, she’d completely missed that last message. She hit 4 to repeat it.
A shadow fell across the desk. It was Julia. She was a remarkably well-preserved fifty-something blond whose hair and skin shone with the light of a thousand suns and several hundred beauty products.
“Hey, lady,” Julia said.
“Hey back atcha.” She passed her boss the sheet of notes, and watched, with amusement, as Julia’s face cracked into a broad smile. “Like that one, do you?”
“That’s a good one.”
“How’s the Bainbridge plan going?”
Bainbridge Island was a short ferry ride from downtown Seattle. For several years, Julia had been living there with her husband and kids and commuting back and forth, and she’d been in the process of opening a branch of the salon there when she got the news about losing the Seattle space. So, she’d decided to throw everything behind the Bainbridge location. Becca might have considered following her, but she couldn’t afford to wait for Julia’s multi-month grand opening timeline to play out.
“Well, as much as this wasn’t how I’d planned for things to go, it’ll sure as heck make the commute easier. And maybe if that opening goes well, I’ll do one in Poulsbo, too.”
Julia was putting a good face on the situation—it was her way, after all—but Becca knew it wasn’t that easy. Julia had been at the Seattle location for years. She’d expanded the spa from a single storefront into two, and bumped out the back of the building to make more space for a relaxation room. Starting over again in another town—no matter how much she’d benefit from an easier commute—would be exhausting, risky, and difficult.
“Becca,” Julia said quietly. “Let’s talk about you.”
“What about me?”
“You need to figure out what you’re doing next.”
“I’m fine,” Becca insisted.
Julia shook her head. “I’m going to pay you for the next two weeks, but my daughter will cover the desk during that time so you can concentrate on finding something new. It’s the least I can do. You’ve taken almost no time off, and I don’t pay vacation, so this my way of making it up to you.”
Julia’s generosity made her stomach hurt. “You don’t have to—I can—”
But the truth was, she’d be crazy to turn down the offer. Two weeks of freedom, paid. She could get a jump on her job search. And—she got excited thinking of it—she could be with Nate, Alia, and Robbie. Alia was always trying to get her to spend more time with Robbie while he was little—they change so fast at this age, something new every week. And she knew Nate and Alia could use the help. They’d been so grateful for everything she’d done to pitch in last weekend.
It would be fun to get more time with her family. And Griff, a little voice said.
Not Griff, her practical self shot back. Two and through. No need to set yourself up for another slap in the face—or worse.
“Thank you,” Becca said. She squeezed Julia’s hand.
“You’re welcome. And kiddo, it’s been great. You’ve been great. If you ever want a job on Bainbridge, it’s yours. Although I hope you’ll have found something amazing with someone else who appreciates you by then.”
“Thank you,” Becca said, knowing there was no way she could afford to be out of work for that long, especially if she hoped to get a place of her own someday.
No, she’d start the job search as soon as she walked out the door today.
From her temporary home base in Tierney Bay.
Where she would do her very best to stay out of the way of one Griff Ambrose.
And if their paths crossed, she would make very sure their compatible body parts stayed well separated.
She would.
21
Griff was helping JoJo Evans with her math homework in the big tutoring room at KidsUp. JoJo was a seventh grader with an absentee father, an alcoholic mother, and a shitload of unrealized promise. She was brilliant at math, but the instant anything got hard for her, she bailed. Griff’s toughest job was getting her to stay seated at the table long enough to finish a whole problem set.
A couple of other kids were working quietly in adjacent booths. Griff was the only tutor today—Fridays were usually slow because only the most determined kids started their homework before the weekend.
Which didn’t explain why Jed was here, slouched in a corner, earbuds in, swiping madly at some video game on his phone. But Jed was often here for no reason Griff could figure out. He never asked for help, and when it was offered, he flatly refused it. Griff figured things sucked at home and a quiet booth where no one gave him shit about screen time was probably bliss.
JoJo was on problem twenty out of thirty when a tall, beautiful blond woman pushed Robbie’s stroller through the door.
Griff’s dick figured it out first. It grew heavy before his brain made sense of what he was seeing. Or tried to, anyway.
It was Becc
a.
What the hell was she doing here?
“Excuse me a sec,” he told JoJo, easing himself up from his seat.
He and Nate stepped into the lobby at the same moment.
“Bex!” Nate said jovially. He’d obviously known she was here, but he hadn’t mentioned anything to Griff. And that was actually good news, because it signaled that Nate hadn’t suspected Griff would want to know, which meant he didn’t know anything about their shenanigans. Which in turn meant that Griff would live another day.
Although Nate was looking at him a little funny right now. Right. Because he was standing in the lobby instead of sitting in the conference room with his student.
“Hi,” Griff said, belatedly, to Becca. “Did you come down for Friday Night Dinner?”
She hadn’t mentioned to him that she was coming into town, and she usually put several weeks between visits.
Becca looked from one of them to the other, and blushed. “I didn’t think you’d be here,” she said to Griff. “I mean, at KidsUp.”
“I’m here most Friday afternoons. But that doesn’t explain why you’re here. Pushing Robbie.”
He stepped around the other side of the stroller, crouched, and greeted the baby, who stuck his tongue out and kicked his feet.
“You know how I told you the salon’s closing? My boss decided to give me my last two weeks as paid leave, which is super nice, right? So . . . I figured I’d come do some babysitting for Nate and Alia . . .”
She bit her lip, and he realized she was worried that he’d be pissed that she’d shown up. Because of their agreement. And he probably should be pissed, but the truth was . . . well, his dick had said it first. He was glad to see her. Very glad.
Griff watched appreciatively as Becca leaned down and dug under the stroller for something. “Here’s the folder.”
“Thanks,” Nate said. “I really appreciate it. Left the fundraising notes I needed at home,” he explained to Griff.
“And Alia needed me to get out of the house with Robbie, so it made sense for me to walk him down here,” Becca said.
Griff nodded. “I should, um, get back to JoJo,” he said apologetically to Becca. “You want to come see how it works in there?”