I roll my eyes. “I’d forgotten all about you,” I reply in the same language. You can’t miss what you never had, I think.
“Liar,” he retorts.
I look away.
He continues reading a beat later and I have to focus on my breathing. Friendship. That’s what is between Leo and me. There’s no reason to think it’s inappropriate or anything more. We’ve always only been friends. Even if I’m attracted to him. Even if he looks at me like I’m more. Or could be.
I reply in Spanish. “I’ve missed having friends, yes. I haven’t met very many people here and I don’t have anyone to talk to besides Adam and my therapist. Margaret is the closest thing I have to a female friend, and only because I talk to her several times a day via email. All my friends are in Bronze Bay. Or spread across the country. It’s hard to be an adult and make friends. You,” I say, pausing. “You’re kind of given them by proxy in your profession. I envy that.”
He nods his head and I wonder how much he understood. He clicks around on the tablet and types something in to translate it, no doubt, and replies, “I’m lucky with friends. It’s the reason I stayed here after Natalia died. Why I’ll probably never leave.” He clears his throat and speaks of the SEAL brotherhood with reverence, then pauses. “What about Juliet?”
Her name alone brings me joy. She was my best friend in Bronze Bay. Juliet was so similar to me that we were like the same person. When I would sneak out to meet Leo at the beach, she would come with me. “She’s in school in Los Angeles, busy with a whole new life these days. We do talk every once in a while, but I try to keep it light.” I didn’t let her know how much the loss of Noel affected me. I couldn’t bring myself to feed her the dirty truth. I brushed over it like it was no big deal and that everything happens for a reason and all that. It wasn’t that she couldn’t handle the truth of my depression, I lied merely because I didn’t want to drag anyone else down to my level.
I switch to Spanish to see if he can follow along. “Juliet is going to try to get back to the East Coast for the rest of med school and her residency. She’s trying for pediatrics and may even end up at Boston Children’s Hospital.” Leo’s face falls at the reminder of the hospital, and I regret saying it.
“Sorry.” Internally I scold myself, and fall back into English.
He shakes his head. “Don’t be.”
“You kind of fall away from your high school friends, you know? But when you get back together it’s as if no time has passed at all. Or, at least that’s the way it is for most people.” An email pings from Margaret reminding me of our lunch plans. The ones that involve me making a run to her favorite place. I tap a quick confirmation. “At least I hope it’s like that the next time I see Juliet. I might be a lost cause.” I scratch my head.
“Why do you do that?” Leo asks.
For a moment, I’m not even sure what he means. It was an automatic reply because I was focused on a couple things at the same time. Then I replay my last sentence. Self-deprecation. “It comes naturally these days. Something else I’m working on.” Palming my desk, I stand up. “In Spanish now,” I say. “Let’s review the quiz from yesterday.”
He asks the question again, in Spanish this time.
Sighing, I stand and walk to my desk and perch against it, crossing my legs at my ankles. “Self-esteem. My self-esteem is,” I say, trailing off because I wanted to say shit, but need to be professional. “Not good. It happened after. When I blamed myself for the stillbirth. I honed in on every single thing I ever did while I was pregnant that could have caused it.” The clock seems to slow as I delve into the black place I try not to think about. “The sip of champagne when Adam got a promotion. The sushi roll I ate because they told me it was cooked, but it was the wrong order. The golf cart ride along the beach that was bumpier than it should have been. Or the time I fell off a step stool hanging a picture on the wall when we moved into our house. There’s more. I could go on.”
I meet Leo’s astonished gaze. “You’re fucking joking, right? You can’t possibly be that weak.”
Shaking my head, I look away. “Embarrassing, isn’t it? That I can’t control my thoughts? Trust me, I’m just as disappointed in myself as you are.”
He puffs out a long breath. “That’s not what I meant.”
“But you’re right, so it doesn’t matter if you meant it.”
“That wasn’t who you were. You’re creating this fucktangular situation in your head. The reason our friendship worked was because you were mature and pragmatic. You knew the way of things. The world and those around you. You knew who you were and what you wanted.”
I sniff out a sarcastic breath. “Did I?”
“You did,” he says, emphatically nodding his head. “This isn’t who you are. None of those bullshit reasons you listed are why you…lost the baby.”
Pain sears. “I know,” I reply.
“Why, then? What’s the point in feeling sorry for yourself?” Leo says, arms held wide, challenging. Everyone else has used kid gloves with me. Even my own mother would never dream of asking the hard questions—the ones that might fix me.
“It’s the only way to rationalize everything I’ve destroyed in the wake. If I don’t blame myself, the alternative is to blame Adam or the circumstances.”
“How about no one is to blame, then?”
I sink a bit lower. “They did an autopsy,” I whisper. “When a baby dies full term and none of the prior tests showed anything, it’s protocol. To make sure the mother wasn’t using drugs or some bullshit like that.” It’s the dirty truth that makes everything that much worse.
“There was something wrong with her. She wouldn’t have lived if she had been born alive instead of dead. Incompatible with life.”
“And?” Leo says, cocking his head.
“And it wasn’t my fault. Or Adam’s. It’s hard to wrap my brain around. That’s all. I know how confusing it sounds. The fact is, I know the truth and still chose to blame myself.”
“It’s not confusing at all,” Leo barks. I slide away from the desk and sit in a chair at the table once again. “It’s pretty fucking straightforward, actually,” he deadpans.
“Since you’re an expert in psychology and medicine, tell me how straightforward it is.” I quirk one brow.
Leo presses his lips together, eyes dancing over my face and chest. “I don’t know the woman you are now. I know the woman you were years ago, and that woman would pick herself up and move the fuck on. You almost died in a fire. Remember that?”
I could never forget it. I was a mere minute away from death when Aidan rescued me, leaving my mother in the burning antique store. I run a hand over my forehead. The memory is foggy, but the aftermath is vividly clear. The sacrifice. The shift of priorities on every single front in my life. “Aidan didn’t save you so you could live a half fucking life. He didn’t pull you out of a burning building while the woman he loved laid on the floor so you could waste your happiness. You need a little perspective, that’s all. Horrible things happen to all of us. Those things don’t define us. How we move on after defines us. You know the loss of Noel wasn’t your fault. You’ve grieved, have you not? You said you were over the loss of her. What is holding you up?”
“Yes, but you can’t put a timeline on the grieving process, Leo.”
He shrugs. “You do when it affects you like this.” Leo runs a hand through his hair and looks pained. “I’ve lost brothers. So many that if you asked me how many, I’d have to pause to count. Every single time it hurts a little worse—cuts a little deeper, wears me down to the bone. My little sister died. Look at me.”
I don’t want to, but I do.
“She died. I know what grieving feels like. I know the dark places it takes you. The words that the heavy black whispers when the only thing you want is a fucking shard of light—no matter how small it may be. The heavy black lies. Trust me. You have to trust me.”
All of the hours spent talking to the therapist and to Adam hav
e never embalmed this reprieve on my soul. Never once have I felt as if someone understood the heavy black I live inside of. Tears prick my eyes as I keep my gaze locked on Leo.
Blinking to keep composure, I reply, “How do you chase it away?” I whisper “The heavy black.” The pragmatic direction of his sentiment hits me square in the chest. No one is straightforward like this anymore. Everyone dances around the obvious, never thinking the simple form of recovery could blossom from truth.
Leo clears his throat, suddenly uncomfortable with how personal we’ve gotten. “You chase it away with life. Life. Living. Not letting it have another second.”
If only it were that easy. If depression were a switch, everyone would be happy, and it would never exist. No one voluntarily exists in the heavy black prison. “I hope to do that one day.” This morning I felt on top of the world, but I now realize I can’t heal with false actions.
He leans back and props one foot on his knee. “What makes you happy?”
I laugh a short burst of hysteria. “I don’t know.”
“What used to make you happy?” Leo asks.
It takes a second to switch gears and recall actual happiness. “Animals?”
“Is that a question?” Leo quirks a brow.
I bite my lip. “Adam and I wanted to get a cat, but I was pregnant and the whole toxoplasmosis fear with the litter box halted that plan.”
“Okay, so why don’t you have a cat now?” Leo asks, tugging at the collar of his uniform.
Margaret’s voice startles both of us from the doorway and I jump. Leo merely turns his head. “Lunchtime,” she says.
“How’s it going?” Margaret is wearing a drab wool dress and bright yellow pumps. It’s confusing, but I support it. Someone knows how to insert cheer into her world.
I straighten my back, feeling caught in a moment of less-than-professional behavior. “It’s going very well, Madam,” Leo says in Spanish.
Margaret cackles. Leo even had good pronunciation, too. “Very well. Break time.”
I nod at my boss, and try my best to avoid Leo’s piercing gaze.
“I’ll grab the usual,” I say, walking back to my desk. “Anything for you, Callaway?”
He stands, grabbing his tablet. “No thanks. I have an errand to run, actually. I might not be back in time. Don’t start without me.” He winks slyly and slips past Margaret and disappears into the hallway.
Margaret tells me to grab extra hot sauce, like she does every day, and then tells me the other SEAL who is supposed to be in my class will be back in a few days. Medical cleared him to return because he’s no longer contagious, but he’s still feeling crummy. The flu this year has been brutal. I guess it’s been ripping through the state. The personal conversations between Leo and myself will come to a bleeding halt when he returns. It’s a relief, but it’s also tinged with a bit of disappointment.
I drive off base and don’t really recall the drive to the restaurant because I was thinking about cats. It’s nice. I feel happier.
CHAPTER FIVE
KENDALL
SO MUCH PAPERWORK. THE one thing that wasn’t listed on the job description that should have been. A million pages of paperwork filled out on a computer system and a slow operating system that processes it. They keep track of every move everyone makes. Because of my position, I’m able to see information on individuals. I click on Leo’s name and everything comes up—his address, phone number, next of kin, and medical history. Oh, a hospital stay. I click that and read more. Knife wound. What? I click to read more. The data entered gives the date of hospitalization and a few of the pertinent updates by the medical staff but there’s nothing saying how he was injured. Last year. He wasn’t deployed, I know that much. It had to have been a training exercise. An accident.
From the little I do know from listening to my stepdad, the hand-to-hand combat training is rigorous. Maybe a slip of a hand caused an injury. I make a mental note to ask Leo about it as I click over to the other SEALs profile to input attendance data, trying to push my curiosity aside. It’s not like he would tell me something like that unless I asked. We haven’t been friends in years. How do I go about asking him without letting him know I’ve been snooping in his record? He’ll make some witty joke about me wanting him. My stomach squeezes, and I turn that into a steadfast focus, working the rest of the afternoon making lessons and putting together tests that probably won’t ever see the light of day at the rate we’re going. As he mentioned, Leo never shows back up after his lunch break.
I emailed Margaret at two asking if she had back-up plans for me when stuff like flighty, spoiled, military men arise. She didn’t and offered no suggestions other than the solitaire game that comes standard on all PCs. Nice. Evidently if I’m not scheduled to sit in the Intel office, I’m not allowed in there, so that’s off limits. It’s a shame. I’d love to learn something new and observe how operations and Intel works. In due time, I’ll have my chance. In the meantime, I’ll deal with the intermittent work pace, I suppose.
I’m locking up my office at five on the dot because our department meeting was cancelled when Leo jogs up to me, wretched cap in hand. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I got held up. I was making a joke about taking a late lunch earlier. Not that you believe that now,” he says, raising both brows. “I’m sorry.”
Perching a hand on my hip, I reply, “It’s not as if I don’t have other things to busy myself with. Don’t apologize. I’m at your disposal, right? That’s the way of things around this place. You guys are gods and the mere mortals are only here to serve you. You don’t have to say you’re sorry. I will confess it was unprofessional, though.” I straighten my back, trying to hold my proud stance even though I feel like I could melt into the carpet. I slip my key ring into my handbag, swallowing hard.
“What was unprofessional?” Leo asks, tapping the brim of his camo cap against his leg. “Pouring your heart out to me in English instead of Spanish, or my long lunch?”
My face heats. “Long lunch? You’re joking.” One second he’s warm and caring, and the next he’s this alpha-male caricature of cool indifference.
“We’re still on for the cranberry bog,” he says, not asks. I bite my tongue on the string of swear words that want to break free. When I meet his eyes, it’s a mistake. Lust. Unfettered, unchecked desire reflects back at me. Pools of chocolate brown sear into my gaze.
I feel a stirring, an awakening, that foreign pull I haven’t entertained in so long. Did my heart pound this rapidly when I kissed Adam this morning? What about when his hand slid across my thigh while we were in bed? Was my body this responsive? I don’t know and now I feel as if my ribcage is shaking from the rapid hammering of my heart. Leo licks his lips. A quick movement, I’m sure he doesn’t think about, but I do. Electricity fires through my body. “I have to go,” I deadpan.
“I understand,” Leo says, backing off, schooling his face into something innocent. “I’ll be there until nine or until it gets too cold to be outside. They have lights out there now so it’s not pitch black.”
I smile a pinched grin, nod, and brush past him while saying something about cranberries. I don’t recall my drive home, but it’s not because I’m lost in thought about cats. Well, not the type of cats who meow. More about the cat attached to my body who is thoroughly confusing me. When I pull into the driveway and put my car into park, I’m formulating a plan to test my feelings on my husband. I need a comparison. I also probably need to see my shrink right now. The whole thing is unbelievable. Leo is my friend. Adam is my husband.
Adam jumps when I close the door. He’s in the kitchen washing dishes at the sink. “You’re home,” he says.
“Meeting was cancelled. I should have called to let you know.” I didn’t even think to call him. Not even for a second. Only the guilt that came after I locked eyes with Leo Callaway in that fluorescent lit hallway. “What did you have for dinner?” I ask.
“Just a quick salad with steak on top. There’s some left for you
in the Tupperware there. If you’re hungry.” His mood is jubilant and I hate that my kiss hours ago is why. I hate that I know that. I hate everything. I drop my stuff, thank Adam, give him a quick peck on the cheek and grab the container. Pulling the lettuce out of the fridge, I casually speak about my day. The parts I’m comfortable telling him about, that is.
“It sounds like he’s learning quickly,” Adam remarks, sitting next to me on the barstool as I settle in to eat.
I nod. “And the other student will be back shortly. I’ll have more to do then.”
“The other SEAL,” Adam corrects.
I narrow my eyes. “Yeah. You know that. We both know that.”
He clears his throat. “You’re a beautiful woman, Kendall. Don’t be fooled into thinking I’m the only one who notices that. You know I’m not the jealous type, but you’re in a delicate state.” Oh, God, is he right? Is that what this is with Leo? Am I so fucked up that all a man has to do is flutter his eyes and bite his lip and I’m instantly fatally attracted? It can’t be. It can’t.
“I know I told you Leo was an old friend, but it’s been nice speaking to him. About life now and stuff from the past. We’re sort of starting up our old friendship.” I try out the truth. Adam deserves it. “I’m not delicate. This is a good sign that I’m able to hold my own with these guys and perhaps begin a friendship.”
Adam grunts. “Are any women there? What about that woman who hired you? Couldn’t you be friends with her?” He’s not being rude or mean, he’s self-conscious and I can’t be angry about it because he has every reason to be wary with how twisted I feel.
“She’s my boss and she eats too much hot sauce,” I say, smirking to the side. “I get it, Adam. I was friends with him in Bronze Bay. We have stuff in common. It’s helping, I think.”
“Helping how?” he says, and I don’t have to see his face to know the face he’s pulling. I hate that, too.
I shrug. “Someone who understands. He doesn’t look at me like everyone else looks at me.” Slippery slope. Slippery slope. “He’s just a friend. Like Juliet.”
Lust in Translation (Harbour Point SEAL Series Book 1) Page 5