by A. S. Green
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do. And after this week, I really do.” Does she not remember my own mother set me up for a beating, possibly worse?
“Your platoon,” she says. “They were family.”
Her words sting like a slap across the face. “Because what we had was mutual. We took, but we also gave. Equally. I’ve never had that from my parents. What have yours done for you? Because I’ve been listening to you talk to them for a few weeks now, and it all sounds pretty one-sided to me.”
Her shoulders rise and tense as her face reddens. “I should have never gotten in your car with you. I should have kicked you to the curb while I had the chance.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m pretty sure I would have landed on my feet.”
She sucks in her breath. I raise my eyebrows at her. Two can play at this game. If she can’t take it, she should have never started.
“I can’t believe I thought we could…” She turns her face away from me and closes her eyes.
“Could what?” I ask.
“Never mind,” she says. “I’ll just consider us to have dodged a bullet.”
Us? I haven’t dodged a bullet with her. I’ve taken one straight to the heart. “Speak for yourself, sunshine.”
“Ugh.” She throws her hands up in the air. “Enjoy your dinner, Mr. Sparke.” Then she slings her purse over her shoulder and marches out. I turn to watch her go. She isn’t seriously leaving, is she? It’s just a stupid fight.
She picks up speed as she hits the door at a run. It flies open, and she takes off down the sidewalk. Well, at least she’s going in the direction of home. The hostess swivels her neck around to look at me, and I make a gesture that says, No worries. Everything will be fine.
Natalie just needs some time to cool off and get over her shock. Then we can talk about this like two rational adults.
…
I get a box for the rest of our pizza, then head home. Hopefully Natalie’s had enough time to cool down by now. When I hit command, Denny is standing there, arms crossed, like he’s been waiting for me.
“What are you still doing here?” I ask.
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Apparently I have a new assignment.”
“Assignment?” I haven’t given him anything new. He’s been busy enough with a fucked-up skip from Mount Ivy. Have I been so concentrated on Natalie lately that I’ve let something important slip? “What assignment?”
Denny blows air out his nose like a bull. “Making sure my partner doesn’t turn into the biggest idiot known to mankind.”
I narrow my eyes. If Natalie blew through here still mad, this is none of his business. “What did she tell you?”
“Nothing.”
“So why do you think I’m the idiot?”
“Because I know both of you, and there’s only one option in that equation.”
Just then Natalie comes around the corner, dragging her suitcase, with her smaller bag slung over her shoulder.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
Apparently that’s the wrong question. Right now, if someone put money on her spontaneously combusting, I would say that was a safe bet.
“Home. It might have been easy for an eighteen-year-old to fall in love with a hot guy in a leather jacket, but I’m not a kid anymore, and it’s going to take a hell of a lot more than that to keep me around.”
“You’re really going home?”
“Did you hear nothing I said to you at dinner?”
“Uh…did you not hear me?”
“Oh, yeah. I did. I heard every word you said and every word you didn’t. I, for one, listen. Don’t worry. No regrets. Thanks for the adventure. Not a bad run for a girl who never thought she’d get off Little Bear Island, huh?”
“Natalie, you can’t leave.”
“Watch me.”
And then, fuck me, she leaves. She walks right past without a backward glance. The door between command and reception closes. I can imagine her standing on the other side. Waiting for the elevator. Or, more likely, waiting for me to chase after her. That is not going to happen. She has to know from our history that I won’t play it like that.
I hear the faint ding of the elevator and then the swoosh of the door closing, or maybe I just imagine hearing that part.
Denny and I both stand in silence staring at the door. A part of me believes she’s still standing out there in reception. Waiting. The command center has never been so quiet.
Denny is the first to speak. “I was wrong.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re not the biggest idiot. You’ve soared exponentially past that. I don’t think they’ve invented the word for you.”
“You don’t think she’s still out there, then?” I don’t know why I ask him. He can’t see through the door any better than I can.
I feel his eyes slide sideways, giving me a look that says he thinks I’ve lost my mind. “No. I don’t think she’s still out there.”
“She wouldn’t really leave,” I say. More to convince myself than him.
“What did you do to get her that upset?”
“I didn’t do anything.” I turn away from the door and storm off for the break room.
“You sure about that?” Denny is on my heels.
I put the pizza in the fridge, then turn to face him. “Okay. Let me put it this way. I didn’t do anything more than say something that needed to be said.”
“What happened?” he asks, and it looks like he’s holding his breath.
“Her dad had a stroke.”
Denny’s head jerks around to look back toward command and the door Natalie exited through, then he exhales. “Ah, hell.”
“She thinks she needs to go running to his bedside.”
“Well, of course she—” He turns back to me, and his eyes are wide. “Don’t tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“You told her not to go, didn’t you?” He rakes his hand through his hair like he can’t believe it.
“I didn’t tell her not to go.”
“Then what?” he asks.
I lace my hands behind my head and look at the wall. “I told her there was no reason to go.”
Denny drags both hands over his face. “I can’t believe you let that beautiful girl walk out of here without apologizing.”
“Me? Apologize?” I throw my arms out. “For being practical?”
“For being an insensitive asshole.”
I give him a quelling look, then push past him and out into the hallway. “There isn’t anything she can do for him.”
“She can be there for her mother.”
Fuck. That’s what she said. “I’m not in the wrong here.”
“Are you sure about that? You’re the one going back to an empty apartment.”
“She’ll come around.”
“A girl like that…a girl who’d rush into a dark alley to save the man she loves, never mind the fucker’s a former SEAL…a girl who’d get in your car in the first place and trek down to New Orleans…she’d bend over backward if someone she cared about needed her help.”
“And that’s what’s always gotten her in trouble.”
“Are you saying she never should have gotten in your car?”
“I’m saying we could have avoided this whole situation if she’d given it a second’s thought.”
“Uh-huh. And that’s what you wish had happened?”
I throw up my hands in exasperation and let them fall against my thighs with a slap. “That’s what should have happened.”
“Suit yourself, Sparke, but that girl’s got a lot of love to give, and while you might be the least deserving of it, she didn’t seem to think so. You’ve been alone too long. Every man needs a family of his own, and before you start, don’t give me any crap about your employees being your so-called family.”
“This company and everyone in it is my life.”
Denny folds his arms. “Okay. What’re Leslie’s kids’ names?”
&n
bsp; “What?”
“Ms. Pritchard. The receptionist. She’s got twin boys. What are their names?”
“I’ve got some files to go through.” I start down the hallway for my apartment, but Denny’s right on my heels.
“Sparke, you’re backtracking. I thought… Since Natalie arrived…I hoped you were making some progress, but you’re slipping. You’ve got to get back into therapy.”
“I’m fine,” I say, picking up my pace.
“If you were fine, you wouldn’t be heading to your apartment alone. Think it over. You need that girl in your life, and for some reason she wants you. Of all people. Or…at least, she did.”
I shake my head and say good-night. When I get inside my apartment, I let the door slide shut behind me and look around the brightly lit room for someone who isn’t there. The only sign that she ever was is a fresh bouquet on the kitchen windowsill. The returning sense of cold, dark water slowly consumes me again.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Jackson
One Long Month Later
I stare up at the exposed ductwork over my bed and wonder if I should put in a drop-down ceiling. Then I try to remember if I ever ate the leftover kung pao chicken from two nights ago. I glance at the clock. Nine bells. Command should be busy by now. I have something I’m supposed to do. What was it?
Oh, yeah. Denny wanted to meet this morning to go over some invoices. I check my phone. He’s texted twice. My eyes focus on the small tree outside my window. The leaves have mostly fallen.
It’s been like this every morning for a month. After Natalie moved in, we were able to enjoy only two nights together before I hit the road—and then came back and let it all go to hell. Still, her absence is jarring. Every time I roll over I expect to feel her there. Instead, it’s just cool sheets. It’s enough to wake me out of a dead sleep.
In the beginning, right after she left, I called every day. Twice a day. But the calls never went through, and I couldn’t tell if it was her bad cell service or if she was purposely hanging up on me. Even so, she should have seen the record of my calls and known I was trying to reach her.
My own phone never rang. Damn. It’s all my fault.
Yeah, it is.
“Stay out of this, Charlie.”
When I first got discharged, I heard his voice incessantly. The VA had me in therapy—not that I told them about Charlie—just standard PTSD follow-up. Denny made me go see someone again a year ago. It helped a little. Charlie got quieter.
And maybe I would have stayed quiet if you weren’t such a colossal idiot.
“I told you to stay out of it.”
You know what I’d give to be with Kailey? Who throws away the chance to come home to a good woman, a woman who adores you, who wants to create a future with you?
“Natalie doesn’t know what she wants with me. She’s just a kid.”
She used to be a kid. Now you’re the one who’s acting like a child.
My phone pings again. It’s Denny, and all his idle curiosity about whether I’m awake or not is gone: Get your ass out here.
He sounds like he’s forgotten who’s the minority shareholder and whose name is on the door.
Or maybe you’ve been so absent he’s had no choice but to step in?
“That’s enough.” I get up and pull on black pants and a gray shirt. The same clothes I wore yesterday.
As I leave the bedroom and pass through the living room, the landline rings in the kitchen. It goes immediately to voicemail, and then it beeps as if someone’s leaving a message. Strange. I barely ever give the number out, and I can’t remember the last time someone left a message there instead of on my cell.
Curiosity gets the best of me. Denny can wait another minute. I hit play.
“Good afternoon, Ms. O’Brien. This is Dr. Hunt’s office. We’ve been unsuccessful in reaching you at the cell phone number you gave, so we’re calling your alternate number. We wanted to let you know that Dr. Hunt had to schedule a C-section for tomorrow morning, so we need to reschedule your first-trimester checkup. Please call back at—”
I hit stop, rewind, and play it again. Then again.
Feet pounding, I run down the hall and skid around the corner into command. Several people look up at my entrance. I glance around, searching frantically for Denny.
I don’t see him anywhere.
Nisi narrows her eyes at me. “Mr. Sparke?”
Those are some of the first words she’s said to me since Natalie left, and by the look on her face she’s known about Natalie’s secret for a while. Oh my God. Natalie was pregnant when she ran into that alleyway thinking she was going to save me. Shit! “Where’s Denny?”
“Conference room B,” she says.
I run off in the opposite direction and yank open the door. Denny looks up from a pile of rumpled receipts and invoices that Spanos dumped on us two days ago. “There you are, I— Shit. What’s wrong?”
“I need to talk to you.” My blood runs icy.
“Talk.”
“Come with me.” I lead him to my apartment, this time walking, but my heart is pounding just as fast.
I push the play button on the answering machine and watch Denny’s face as he processes. When it’s over, he looks at me with eyebrows raised. “What are you going to do?”
That’s the question. That’s why I made him listen. “What can I do?”
His eyebrows pull together as he folds his arms. “You can do what Jackson Sparke does, or you can do what Natalie would do.”
“And what’s that?”
Now he cocks his head to the side like he doesn’t quite believe me. “You really need me to tell you?”
I inhale and shake my head. “No. I don’t.”
…
Begging the girl I love for forgiveness is not something I do every day. The idea of being somebody’s father is not an idea that has ever entered the realm of my conscious possibilities. Making things right between Natalie and me is going to take a bit of planning, so it’s not until the next morning that I’ve got everything I need and everything I want to say written out.
I’ve practiced my speech twice. I’m not leaving anything to chance. I won’t risk saying the wrong thing again. This time, once I can talk to her in person, I hope she’ll hear everything I have to say:
I’ve been an ass. I hope your dad is doing well. I know about the baby.
If I don’t sleep, and if I time the ferry right, I can be there in under twenty-four hours. Maybe less if I don’t stop for food.
Please forgive me. I have something important to ask you.
I hope she doesn’t think this is just a knee-jerk reaction. It doesn’t feel that way to me. Somewhere deep in my core I’ve known for six years that this is where we’d end up. Together. Forever.
Maybe.
I’ve mapped out my route. It’s practically a straight shot across Pennsylvania, then Ohio, skirting the south shore of Lake Erie, then through Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, then into Minnesota, and north for New Porte and Lake Superior.
My duffel is laid out on my bed. So far there’s only the gift bag inside, stuffed with pink and blue tissue paper and something else. I wish I knew how she was going to respond.
I take a deep breath, sit down on the edge of the mattress, and make one more effort at getting a call to go through to her cell. All the air rushes out of me when she answers through a crackling sound. “Hello? Natalie’s phone.”
“Natalie?”
More crackling.
“Oh… Um… Is this Jax? Your name came up on—crackle—screen. I don’t know if you remem—crackle—me. Katherine? Party planner? Natalie—crackle, crackle—talk to you right now.”
“She still won’t talk to me?” This is what I was afraid of, except I thought I’d have the chance to beg and convince her. It’s going to be a million times harder with a middleman.
“No. Not won’t.” Katherine’s talking loudly, as if she’s trying to get past the bad connection. “Sh
e can’t. Jax, I’m so sorry—crackle—but Natalie’s at the hospital.”
I nod to myself. That makes sense. “She told me about her dad. Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. Recovering. But—crackle, crackle—that’s not it.”
Even through the static I can tell that Katherine is nervous, and it makes me stand up and pace to the opposite side of my room.
“Natalie’s been admitted. She’s not able to talk right now.”
The familiar prickling burn of ice water wicks up my body, tingling in my bloodstream. I can’t move. I hear Charlie saying, Breathe, buddy.
“Natalie’s in the hospital? What’s wrong? Is it the baby?”
“You know?” Katherine asks, sounding surprised.
“Are they both okay?” I brace myself with my palm against the wall.
“I don’t know.” It sounds like Katherine has turned her head away from the phone, then I hear the rhythmic beat of her feet walking down a hallway, maybe looking for a more private place to talk.
“They haven’t released information—crackle, crackle. We’re all in the waiting room. New Porte Hospital. Jax, her mom found her unconscious on the bathroom floor this morning. She doesn’t know how long she was like that before she found her, and then it took some time to get her to the hospital on the mainland… She lost a lot of blood.”
Oh, Jesus. No. “I’ll be there. Fast as I can.”
I think I hear Katherine saying, “Wait,” but I’m already hanging up and calling Denny. Before he has a chance to say hello, I’m blurting out a question: “Does your friend Royce still owe you a favor?”
“More than one,” he answers, sounding intrigued.
“Call it due. I need a ride.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Jackson
Two hours later, Denny pulls his SUV into Teterboro, a small private airport north of Newark, and parks near a hangar marked with an orange crest and a large letter R, painted in red. I look down at the small duffel by my feet.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says. “You can still drive yourself.”
“She’s in the hospital,” I say, my voice weak. I fucking hate to sound so weak.
“Proud of you,” he says, and my head jerks up.
Proud? I’ve fucked this thing up in every conceivable way. Denny’s eyes leave my face and look out my side window. I turn toward the row of hangars. The door on the one with the orange crest is nearly open now. Denny’s friend Royce has exited and is approaching us. Behind him, inside the hangar, is a two-engine plane. I can’t fucking believe I’m doing this.