Lust in Translation (Harbour Point SEAL Series Book 1)

by Rachel Robinson

  He looks like he’s about to tell me he doesn’t want to talk about it, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times. Then he turns to meet my gaze. He grins. “Your nose is the same color hers was the last time we were here.”

  I smile to urge him on. “She was so beautiful. Remember that photo you showed me when we were at the beach that night? Her hair was wild in the wind and she was holding up a pencil like a sword?”

  Leo’s face transforms. “Yeah, she was pretending to joust the wind. It was so windy that day.” He swallows hard and his hands grip the steering wheel tighter. “That photo is at home.” The wistful smile slides over his whole face. “We were here. Parked in this very same spot, actually. She was really sick that day.” His eyes shine and I have to look away. “She had her notebook. This old ratty thing that she’d write down her poems and draw pictures in when she was feeling up to it. I offered to buy her a new one a thousand times, our parents, too, but she liked that it was worn. Said it gave it character. Every single line is filled with her words, and all the white space has drawings. It’s all that’s left of her.” He coughs again and shakes his head—I see the action through my peripheral. “She had me write a poem that day. Her hands were too tired—they were shaking.” He turns down the heat now that the cabin is blazing hot.

  When he doesn’t say anything else, and I hear him sniffle, I slide my hand to the center seat of the truck—keeping my eyes forward. His hand skims over and covers mine. “She’s here now. I feel it,” I say.

  “That’s why we’re here,” Leo says, voice low. “I have the notebook. I stole it out of her bedroom after she passed away. My parents didn’t even realize it was missing. The thing that brought Natalia so much joy wasn’t remembered in their grief and marital disaster.” His throat works as he swallows. “That poem she had me write.” He nods a few times. “It was about this bog. About flying above it and seeing the berries.”

  “Can I read it sometime?” I ask.

  He squeezes my hand. “Yeah, maybe. When I read it again. She died two weeks later. It was the last thing she created.”

  “She was so young,” I remark, shaking my head. “Leo,” I say. He meets my gaze. His brown eyes are soulful and full of sadness. “I’m sorry. You were a good brother.” The shit sentiment that everything happens for a reason doesn’t apply here. It doesn’t apply to any tragedy. Sometimes bad things happen for no good reason.

  “I know,” he says.

  I chuckle. “I’m glad I came tonight. Even though I nearly froze to death.”

  “Thanks for showing up. Natalia would have loved you. I told her about you. She loved to hear stories about my time in Florida. About our random beach talks.”

  A piece of me is with her. “Well, that just makes me blush,” I say.

  Tilting his chin down, he looks at me. “Just your nose.”

  “Just my nose.”

  “Should we get back home? I’m feeling tired.”

  “Too much emotional stimulation for the night?”

  Leo looks down at our joined hands and pulls his back to the steering wheel. “I’m dragging today for some reason.”

  I want to ask him about his hospitalization. Talking about Natalia forced it to the forefront of my mind, but I think there’s a question I need to ask more. Right now, before this moment slips away.

  “One more question for bog night,” I say.

  “Shoot, Kid.”

  I roll my eyes. “Kendall. It’s Kendall on bog night.”

  “Fine. Ask your question, Kendall.”

  “How many?”

  The solitude of the silence takes on a new meaning when he sorts what question I’m asking. Leo closes his eyes and hangs his head. His breaths come a little more rapidly. “How many?” I repeat again.

  “Twenty-one. Counting Natalia.”

  I put a hand on his shoulder, but his head remains down—mind remembering happy times with people he loved. His eyes are closed. A smile plays on his lips.

  I love that.

  CHAPTER SIX

  KENDALL

  “HE’S BEEN OUT FOR four days with the flu. There’s no way he’s contagious anymore. He said the doctor gave him the medicine that helps kill it quick.” Adam is looking at me like I’m crazy. Leo is the latest victim in the flu epidemic. It’s been convenient as I catch my new student up on the Spanish lessons, but the last time I talked on the phone with Callaway he sounded like crap. “I’ll just drop off this soup and ginger ale and leave. I promise. A quick drop off. I won’t catch any flu germs and bring them inside our home.” I hold up my palms and grin.

  “It’s a bad idea.” I’ve had sex with Adam once more since the first time. I even participated a little more, let the foreplay last a little longer, kept my eyes open longer. Needless to say, our therapy session this week was much shorter and ended on a mountain peak high. We’re finally making the strides that will clinically help our marriage succeed. Mentally? I’m confused. Still trying to sort through the things I feel when I’m with Adam. The difference now is when I talk to him about those things, he doesn’t get mad and frustrated. I’m meeting all of his physical needs, so he’s more receptive to my emotional turmoil. “Just leave it on the doorstep. Ding and dash. The flu this year is no joke.” Adam folds his arms across his chest.

  “I need to make sure he’s doing okay. He’s a man. He’ll tell me he doesn’t need anything from the store, and when I look for myself, the cupboards will be bare. Don’t deny the masculine-fueled blindness. It’s a thing.” I sling a hand on my hip and dare him to challenge my stance.

  Leo spoke with Adam on the phone the day after our cranberry bog night, and since then Adam’s whole opinion of Leo has changed. He no longer feels threatened, outwardly anyway. It’s like Leo said, he is a man, so there will be jealousy, but he seems happy I have a friend. Deep down I think he’s just happy he’s getting laid and my mood has improved. Adam is willing to overlook a lot of other things with this new occurrence in our healing process. Neither man would tell me what they spoke about.

  “After you take the soup, can you swing by Mom and Pop’s for some paper towels? We’re out.”

  I package up the soup in an insulated bag and ask if we need anything else from the store. There is a pep in my step that wasn’t there moments before. Does Adam sense it? The joy I feel in knowing I’m going to see Leo. Is that because I miss my friend or something more? I wince, shaking my head as I envelop myself into a huge puffer jacket and don my gloves and hat. “See if there’s any new movies to stream for when I get back?” I offer. Give.

  “I won’t be long.”

  “Sure thing. I do have some work to finish up in the meantime.”

  Right before I shut the front door, I see the smile slip from Adam’s face. Looks like we’re both playing the game. My cell rings almost as soon as I get in the car, and I answer on my Bluetooth.

  “Hey, Mom,” I say, keeping my tone chipper. She is so clued in to my habits and demeanor, she’ll be able to diagnose a mood over the phone.

  “You have a good day, sweetheart?” she asks.

  My heart squeezes. I miss her. “I did. A lot of the same stuff different day. The new student is more adept at Spanish than Callaway,” I tease.

  My mom groans. “Aidan says he called him the other day.”

  Well, that makes my womanly intuition crawl. “What about?”

  Mom makes a noise. “Work, I think. I couldn’t hear them well. Your brother was playing his little drum sticks. I’m going to throw those in the trash as soon as the batteries die, by the way. Who buys a toddler a toy like that? Anyway, I think they talked about you, too, because Aidan got angry.” Mom laughs and it makes me chuckle.

  “He’s not so bad. I’ve been telling you that for a long time now. I’m bringing him soup right now. He caught the flu. Figured he might need a few things. You know guys.” The extent of Mom’s knowledge is that I’m teaching Leo Callaway. She is unaware of the friendship. Again. A secret from her. Li
ke it was five years ago when I was a senior in high school and Aidan was a nineteen-year-old SEAL fresh out of BUD/S.

  There’s a long, awkward silence. “Adam doesn’t mind that you’re friends with a man? With that man?” She clears her throat. “Kendall.”

  “What, Mom? I hear the accusation in your voice.” So much for her not knowing about the friendship.

  “You’ve been happier the past few weeks. Is that why?”

  “Or could it be that I’m finally moving on and getting better? Getting over losing the baby? Why does everyone always assume the worst when it comes to me? I’m friends with Leo Callaway. That’s all.”

  “I never accused you of anything. You took it there all by yourself. Think about that for a second, sweetie. Are you feeling guilty?”

  I blow out three huge breaths to contain the urge and try to answer the question rationally. She has a point. “Only because I think male and female relationships are frowned upon because everyone assumes the worst. Can’t it just be that he understands me and I understand him?”

  Mom swallows. “It can be that. Of course it can. Answer me one thing, though, without any prejudice and no one else will ever know the answer…except me. Okay?”

  The chicken noodle soup has stunk up my car, and what is it about moms and their all-knowing wisdom that makes your nerves ratchet up? “Okay,” I agree.

  “Are you attracted to Leo physically?”

  “My God, Mom.”

  “Answer me.”

  “Everyone is attracted to Leo. I’d imagine you would argue everyone is attracted to Dad.” Even though Aidan isn’t my real dad, I will casually call him that as he’s been the best role model in the dad department. Mom will know who I’m talking about.

  “The difference being, I’m married to Dad. You’re not married to Leo and you’re attracted to him. Do you think that’s going to go away? That the longer you’re friends the attraction will fade? Or do you think it will intensify as a friendship grows? There’s a reason people say men and women can’t be friends, and it usually has to do with attraction.”

  “It doesn’t matter. He’s not attracted to me. He’s always only ever looked at me like a friend. He calls me kid, for crying out loud. Wouldn’t both sides have to be attracted? Why does this have to be so complicated?”

  “It doesn’t have to be complicated. I’m just worried for you. You’ve been through a lot already.”

  “And you think I don’t know how to honor my marriage?”

  “I think you don’t want to be in your marriage.”

  My heart stops as my breath lodges in my throat. “Since when?”

  “Since Noel died.”

  “Why are you just bringing this up now?”

  “Honey, I don’t want to upset you. I’ve never wanted to say or do anything to prohibit you from doing what’s best for you. I don’t know what you’ve been through. I haven’t gone through it. I can sympathize with you. But marriage. Being trapped in something when love isn’t there? I know all about that and can empathize with you. You say Leo is a friend, and I believe that, but what I see and feel Leo is, is proof. If you were happy with Adam it wouldn’t take another man to cheer you up. Is there any truth in what I’m saying? Anything at all? I would never judge you. I love you so much. I want your marriage to be successful and full. But not at the expense of your happiness.”

  The story of Leo’s parents rings out like a damn warning bell. “I’m still figuring things out with Adam. Was marrying him a mistake? I don’t know. He finally admitted he wouldn’t have married me if I wasn’t pregnant. That’s something. Not something good, unfortunately. I wish there was a magic pill I could take to see the future.” I turn down Leo’s road. Although, I’ve never been here, I’m familiar with this area because of where a coffee shop is. When I looked at his address in the system this afternoon, I knew exactly what neighborhood he lived in.

  “Kendall, you have to create your future. You don’t need a pill to tell you what to do. You have to follow your heart. That’s hard because your heart has been broken in the most devastating way.” Mom tears up. Like she does anytime Noel is spoken of. “I’m sorry. One day I won’t get this upset. As a mom, I just want to take away your pain.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I’m getting closer and closer to being ready.” I clear my throat. Noel’s ashes. The last step. Spreading them at a place of our choice. One day. My ultimate pipe dream. “To let her go. Move all the way on.” I watch the numbers on the houses count up as I get closer to his house and finally arrive at his driveway. His truck must be parked in the garage. “Listen. Don’t worry about me or my marriage. I’ll figure it out. We will.”

  She sighs on the other end of the line. Long and drawn out. My brother screams. “Don’t waste too much time figuring it out, honey. That’s my advice.”

  My heart pounds and I don’t know if it’s because she’s forcing me into a decision I’m not ready to make, or because I’m parked in front of Leo Callaway’s house. “Love you. I’ll call you tomorrow. Kiss the rugrat for me. I’m going to send him something soon. Something loud and pestering.”

  “Ha. Ha. Love you, baby. Tell Leo that Aidan says to stay away from what’s his.”

  We both chuckle and then I end the call with fond memories and more trepidation than any friend would have bringing soup to a sick friend. I grab the bag and the bottle of soda and approach the house. It has two dormers on top and the shakes are a worn light gray. The decorative shutters are bright red. It’s absolutely traditional and adorable. Nothing at all that fits the beast of a man who resides inside. I grin as I press the lit doorbell button.

  I don’t hear anything, so I ring it again and wait another minute. I try the knob, but it’s locked. I press my ear against the door to see if I hear any movement. I fumble through my gloves for my phone in my jacket pocket. Using my teeth, I remove one glove so I can use the damn smart phone, while balancing the bag and bottle of soda in the crook of my arm. The door opens and Leo is wearing a white tee shirt and a pair of boxer briefs. His hair is sticking up in a million different directions and his eyes are puffy.

  “I woke you up. I’m so, so sorry!” I exclaim, trying to keep my gaze focused on his face. His grin is sleepy as he backs into the house so I can enter. I shut the door, zapping the cold draft. “Why don’t you have clothes on?”

  His voice croaks. “It’s not like I’m going to get sick from the cold or something.”

  “You’re so funny. Seriously, though. You can get sicker.” I widen my eyes at the compete tornado that is his house. “Why didn’t you tell me you needed help? I brought you soup.”

  I hold up the bag and turn left into the kitchen. He meanders behind me, and with a deep breath, throws himself into a dining room chair. “I don’t need help,” he says. “I’m feeling better today.”

  “Wow you could have fooled me. You look like absolute shit, Callaway.”

  Leaning his head on one hand, he shoots a smug look. “You’re just used to seeing me in my sexy uniform.”

  “Are you really starting with that right now?” I scoff, but can’t hide my smirk. I want this. What is wrong with me? “Where are your bowls?” I say, opening and closing cabinets like a woman on a mission. “You hungry?”

  “I’ll eat,” he says. Glancing over my shoulder, I see his gaze focused on my ass.

  Shut up, heart. Shut up. Calm down. Friendship.

  Dumping some soup into the bowl, I reach for the microwave handle and am surprised to see the inside is clean. “Do you have a house cleaner?”

  He’s laying his head down on both hands now. “Yeah. Sort of,” he replies, words muffled. “You shouldn’t be here. What if I get you sick?”

  “Don’t worry about me. You sound just like Adam. Annoying.”

  He lifts his head. The microwave beeps. “Fuck. I am not Adam.”

  My stomach flips. Butterflies. The look. He’s miserably sick and he’s capable of turning me to putty with just a look. Sighing, I grab th
e soup, walk it over carefully, and slide it to him. I keep a safe distance away. Not because I’m afraid of the flu. “It’s good. I had some earlier,” I say.

  He takes a bite, keeping his eyes on mine. It’s sensual and utterly deprecating that he can eat soup and make it look like a sexual act. “Stop looking at me like that,” I say, finally speaking the feelings I’ve had since the second he walked back into my life. “It’s not fair or appropriate or a bunch of other things I can’t remember right now.”

  He smiles around the spoon. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, in Spanish, voice a little smoother now. “I’m just a man eating soup in his underwear while a beautiful woman watches.” I blow hair out of my face.

  Ignoring his perfect pronunciation, I pour him a glass of the ginger ale and put the bottle in the fridge. It’s also clean. Stocked with several things I didn’t expect him to have. I sit down at the chair opposite him and fold my hands. “I’ll keep you company for a little while. Do you have laundry you need me to start? Dry? Fold?” That was the mess I saw when I first walked in. Glancing over his shoulder, I eye the offending disaster.

  “That’s okay. I’d rather have you here so I can see you. I’ve missed you.”

  “You’ve missed our Spanish lessons,” I correct.

  “Yeah,” he says, pressing his lips together. “That’s it.”

  “Leo. The flu is fucking with your mind.” I shift in my seat.

  He eats another big bite and watches me while he chews. “Or it made me speak the truth. Pick your poison. Which will it be, ladies and gentlemen?”

  My face heats. “Thanks for talking to Adam. He didn’t even bat an eyelash when I told him I was coming to visit you. You must have told him what an upstanding man you were. That he had nothing to fear with regards to me?”

  “Touché. You’re hard as nails tonight.”

  I sigh. “I talked to my mom on the way over. She always puts life into perspective for me. It sucks.”

  “Don’t let the authority get you down.”