I slump as much as I can into the chair. I’d been right in thinking the weather had been an omen. The universe was well aware of what would be happening. Gray skies and pouring rain matched the way my life was at this very moment. Did the committee choose the weather too? Along with matching me with the one person I’d rather not see again in my life?
I sift through the papers, not really taking in any of the information inside, thinking back instead to the time we’d spent together. Sure, she broke my heart into tiny pieces and stamped on them with her saffron, Converse Chuck Taylor-covered feet. But she’d also been a caring person, especially compassionate to the animals on her family’s ranch. I’d seen her bottle-feed a baby lamb with the tenderness of a mother with a newborn and calm a frightened horse with just the sound of her voice. She’d always had a kind word for everyone, a smile that lit up rooms. If that part of her still existed, I would be able to trust her with Mason, even if I couldn’t trust her with my heart. That I would keep protected with a guarded perimeter she’d have to blast her way through.
And one thing is for sure. My son needs my help. There’s been too many changes and he’s not adjusting well. He’s acting out. With the divorce, moving to two new houses, and going to a new school, I can understand why. So, if I get on board with being assigned to Riley, it could allow Mason to visit more often to hang out in the neighborhood, and bring more stability into my home, which could help with whatever issues he’s having.
Hopefully.
I straighten up in the too-small chair. “Sir, I’m on board. I’ll give it my best shot.”
Chapter Two
Riley
Of all the crap luck. Lucas. Lucas-freakin’-Craiger is who this military committee figured I would best be suited for, the man I should marry and spend my life with. Not that they’re wrong about us being good together. Or at least once upon a time, we’d made a great couple. Before my life took a turn toward the shitter.
Literally.
As Lucas carries the last of the boxes down the narrow hallway of the building where I’d been renting a studio apartment, I stare at the way the gray T-shirt hugs his broad shoulders and muscular back for far too long before averting my eyes. Talk about uncomfortable. Here I am ogling my ex who is now my fiancé, who’s muttered all of two sentences to me.
“Luc, I’ll meet you downstairs. I want to do one last sweep to make sure I have everything.” And take an extra moment for myself. To cleanse my brain of any wayward thoughts and reevaluate my sanity. I should walk out now. I should run. I have my reasons for joining the program. There are compromises I’m willing to make. But this is asking a whole hell of lot.
Lucas pauses midstride, twists his head the slightest bit to gaze at me with brown eyes I swear see right into my mind. I hope he didn’t acquire any telepathic abilities since we dated, because the last thing I need is for him to read my reaction to his post-high school physique. He’d been cute at seventeen. Now he is something else entirely. Strong. Commanding. Chiseled. A man, not a boy.
My cheeks flame at the thought and I cringe. Great. Now I look guilty. But Lucas only nods before continuing on down the steps. Like I said, not talking to me. And here I thought it took couples several years of marriage to get to the no-speaking stage. We’re overachieving already. Go team!
The thud of his boots on the stairs fades, leaving me time to mull over the question that’s been plaguing me ever since he first appeared. If Lucas Craiger has no intention of communicating with me, then why on earth did he agree to be assigned to me in the first place? Or have me assigned to him? Or however this program works. Maybe I should have read a little bit more of the fine print.
I shake my body from my legs to my arms as if I’d walked into the biggest cobweb on the planet. But the motion does little to relieve the nagging anxiety, or the dull abdominal cramps making themselves known. I wince and put my hands on my stomach. “You know, I’d really appreciate if you could let me have at least a couple days of marriage before you start going off,” I whisper to my midsection.
As usual, my GI tract doesn’t reply. Maybe my gut and my groom should get together, seeing how they have that trait in common. Except, my autoimmune disease is one aspect of this whole arranged marriage I wasn’t planning to divulge to my future husband, much less my high school sweetheart. Who, thanks to some twisted trick of the universe, happens to be one and the same. I didn’t tell him about it back then and I’m going to keep it to myself as long as possible now.
After exhaling a long, slow breath, I get back to work. I make my way around the studio apartment, opening every cabinet and drawer, checking around every corner for any stray belongings that escaped the packing boxes. Once I’m satisfied there are no socks hiding in the corner of the closet or toiletries lurking beneath the sink, I head to the door, but turn back one last time to survey the empty space. “Goodbye, safe haven.”
Not really a safe haven. More like my own little lonely cave I could hide away in. Still, it had been mine and no one else’s.
After locking the door, I head down the stairs, drop the keys off in the super’s mailbox, then walk out into the parking lot. Lucas sits in his truck, a gunmetal-gray Dodge Ram that gleams in the sunlight, the bed neatly packed with my boxes and bags. Everything at right angles and secured by bungee cords, tucked in safe and secure.
The sight stops me in my tracks as reality kicks in. Lucas. Me. Cohabitating. Once we unpack my stuff at his place, getting out of this arranged marriage will be much harder. Do I really want to go through with this?
My mind flies to the alternatives—or the distinct lack of them—and I blow out a shaky breath. Yes. I do.
I’ve been over my options a hundred times, and marriage in the new military matching program is my best bet to achieve my goal of independence—as much as one could call it independence, since I don’t exactly have a normal life. Getting paired to my high school sweetheart doesn’t change that.
I glance at the downcast turn to Luc’s mouth and grimace. Even if my soon-to-be husband acts like he’d rather be MIA than married to me.
After straightening my shoulders, I stride over to the passenger door and hop in. “All set.”
Lucas turns the ignition on and the vehicle rumbles to life. “Buckle up.”
My head spins toward him. “Huh?”
“Seat belt. Put it on.”
I snort, remembering all the times we raced down dirt roads as teens, him flooring the gas and me shrieking out the window like I was on a roller coaster. “Since when are you a stickler for seat belt safety? You certainly didn’t seem to care back in high school.”
His jaw ticks. “Long time ago. Was a stupid kid back then. We were lucky we didn’t get hurt. Now, please put on the seat belt so we can get going.”
Careless, maybe, but never stupid. No. Not careless either. Maybe carefree is the word I’m looking for. This man looks like the weight of the world is on his ridiculously broad shoulders. Though, the paperwork the committee sent did say he was a father. Maybe this whole vehicular safety routine stems from parenthood.
Great. Just what I need. Another parent thinking they know what is best for me. Which is exactly why I didn’t mention joining the program to my parents and have no intention of telling them anytime soon. Wonder if I could get away with them ever finding out for the rest of their lives.
I reach over and pull the seat belt across my body, then buckle it into place and give him an “all set” nod. Lucas waits until he hears the metallic click before pulling out onto the road. At least it isn’t raining today like it has been all of last week. This move would’ve sucked even more than it does now if that were the case. I try to be grateful for the small blessing.
I open the window and let the cool breeze whistle into the cabin. Apart from normal street noise, that’s the only sound as Lucas steers us down the road. Uncomfortable with the uneasy silence, I fidget with the seat belt strap until I can’t take it anymore. “Lucky to have such mil
d weather. Can you imagine moving in one hundred-plus degrees?”
“Nope.”
Just one word. Okay. Enough is enough. I turn to face Lucas dead-on. “Look. We’re supposed to get married today. Sure, it’s not in a church surrounded by family or even a little Elvis chapel in Vegas. And I get we have history, but you had every opportunity to reject us being put together. And you didn’t.”
He stares dead-eyed ahead, his chiseled profile void of any emotion. Nothing. Not a twitch. Not a blink. Must be the SEAL training because the Lucas I once knew was full of life and I could read every emotion on his face.
Or someone hurt him badly enough to make him shut down.
There’s an unwelcome twinge in my heart at the thought about what responsibility I might bear in this situation. Maybe the someone who hurt him was me. It’s been more than a decade since we were together, though. We were kids in high school. Plenty could have happened between then and now. For all I know, I’m barely a memory of his childhood.
Our future together, however, is very much my concern. “Lucas, you spent most of the morning loading my belongings into your truck without talking to me. You reached out via text message to discuss the living arrangements. Is this really how it’s going to be?” I cross my arms in front of my chest.
He exhales loudly through his nose. Moments pass without him responding. I readjust myself to face forward and glare out the windshield. I’ve all but resigned myself to a silent car ride when the dumbass finally decides to express his thoughts. “How long you been out this way?”
Ah, darn.
Maybe I should’ve prepared for this conversation. I can imagine how it looks from his perspective. He should know I moved to Virginia from Texas before I signed up for the program, though. Being local to him was a matter of chance. I didn’t know he was here. I mean, I knew he’d joined the Navy, but he could have easily been stationed in San Diego or any of a dozen other states. “Don’t flatter yourself thinking I moved here because I knew you were stationed on this side of the country or anything.”
“Wasn’t. Asked a question.”
Fine, then. “I’ve been here almost a year. I wanted a change.”
He snorts. “Yeah, living in a studio apartment must’ve been some change.”
I whip my head sideways and glare at him, my top lip twitching. “Why, because my parents own a big house? Their own ranch? They worked hard for that place and I worked alongside them. I’m not some spoiled brat. You know that.”
For the first time, his mask of indifference falters, only not in the way I’d hoped. His lips press into a thin line and his nose scrunches, like he smells something sour. “Nice try, Cupcake. Did you selectively forget what you and your parents told me the day we broke up? How I would never be well-off enough to take care of you . . . with my family being from the local trailer park and all. You all said I’d never have anything good enough for you and I might as well face that and get the hell out of your way.”
That’s by far the most words he’s strung together since I set eyes on him today. Now I’m sort of wishing he’d stayed quiet. I fold my hands in my lap while my chest tightens and my heel taps the floor at high speeds. It wasn’t exactly a day I was likely to forget. I’d been standing on the landing of the grand staircase that led from the foyer of my parents’ house to the second floor. Lucas had been standing on the ground level looking up at me, like Romeo looking up at Juliet. Then my dad had said those hateful things and I hadn’t bothered to contradict him. But that was more than ten years ago, and I’d had my reasons. I still do.
In fact, the real reason I broke up with Lucas directly relates to my reasons for agreeing to this arranged marriage. What a crazy, fucking circle this is. Lucas knows none of this. I couldn’t tell him then and I can’t tell him now. If only circumstances were different, but they’re not.
“That was a long time ago. People grow and change. I’m certainly not the same girl.” The words are truer than I care to explain, so I continue. “Can we move on? Or do you intend to use the program as a way to punish me for something I did when I was seventeen?”
A second passes. “No, ma’am. Not looking to rehash the past.”
The conversation ends and we fall back into an uncomfortable silence. Lucas doesn’t even flip on the radio.
I tilt my head away from Lucas, to hide my grimace. The abdominal cramps aren’t so mild anymore and I pray a flare-up isn’t on the horizon. It’s a pipe dream, I know. A flare-up is always on the horizon. My Crohn’s has never been completely under control, which is why I joined the program. Health insurance is expensive. My parents would have kept me covered, but that came with a difference kind of price—my independence.
They want me tucked away in their house under their watchful eyes, like a figurine on a shelf. As if I were some kind of fragile porcelain doll that might break if allowed out into the world. I get it. They love me and they took care of me through so many surgeries and treatments. It had taken a toll on them and on me. There were times I didn’t know if I could go on, but I did. I got through it. They never seemed to be able to let go of it, though. They never stop treating me like I’m sick.
I know part of it is their guilt over my sister, Michelle, who died when she was twelve years old. She’d been out in the barn, mucking out a stall, when she was hit with a sudden onset asthma attack. My mother never forgave herself for not watching her more closely, not being able to get her help in time, and she swore she would keep better watch over me.
That had been fine when I was seven, right after Michelle died, but I’m a grown woman now, and I can’t spend my life under my mother and father’s watchful eyes. I want a chance to enjoy the times when I’m not sick, when pain and fatigue don’t sideline me from everything else women my age get to enjoy.
So, I packed my bags and moved to Virginia Beach. In return, they dropped my insurance coverage since I no longer worked at the ranch. They probably believed that would have me running home. But nope. I was determined to make it on my own.
Turns out, independence is a heck of a lot easier to achieve when you don’t have a serious autoimmune disease that requires routine medical care and expensive drugs. Finding a job while managing constant GI flare-ups has been a mess and the money in my savings account is running out. Now the current medications that had stabilized me over the past few years have stopped working. There are other drugs, other treatments, but not with cut-rate health insurance. No. A person needs the good stuff for those treatments, the kind that comes with being married to someone in the military.
I’d been about to pack it in and head home when I heard about the Issued Partner Program. So yeah, I joined. I needed to. For the medical benefits. And even if it doesn’t last, the program gives me a chance to get a tiny slice of that big pie—a husband and a home—while also buying me some time to obtain the financial and health insurance security I need to become independent. I mean, a job must exist that not only will offer me my own damn insurance but also be flexible when it comes to my disease.
I figured I could do a year with someone. Lieutenant Graham said the level of intimacy would be completely up to me. Being someone’s married roommate sounded a whole lot better than crawling back home with my tail tucked between my legs where my parents would suffocate me to death with their concern.
And I can’t. I just can’t. I’ve missed out on so much of life already because of my disease. Spent years in and out of hospitals. This is a gamble I have to take because I’m not sure living the other way is worth it.
And who knows? It could work. Maybe it wouldn’t be for just a year. Maybe the military really had discovered a scientific way to find love. Only, I was matched with Lucas Craiger. I glance at his stony expression out of the corner of my eye. My chest burns with guilt. I hate the fact I’m essentially using him for the military medical benefits, but if I want a chance to experience all the things I’ve dreamed of since I was a kid, I need Lucas to get access to more expensive treatme
nts, like the biologics Medicaid won’t cover.
Until I can find a more permanent solution that doesn’t rely on my parents.
As if…because that would mean pretty much handing them a reason to be overly intrusive. No way are they just going to hand over money without inserting themselves into my business.
For now, here I am. About to trade vows with an old boyfriend who thinks I’m shallower than a kiddie pool.
Should make for barrels of laughs.
“We’re here.” Lucas pulls into the driveway of a two-story house.
I take a deep breath as my eyes scan the property. From the glass storm door to the colorful landscaping, it’s a far cry from the trailer park where he grew up. The house, with its beige siding and shutters on every window, is inviting. Especially with all the flowers along the front of the house—pink peonies, dahlia bulbs in various colors, and even some marigolds.
Different from my parents’ home too. Smaller. A lot smaller. I grew up on a horse ranch, with an expansive acreage and a huge, gurgling fountain near the circular driveway that led to the ornate front doors. I want none of it. I’d left all of that comfort behind for a reason. I don’t want to live in the past. I want to find joy and meaning in the present.
I glance over at Lucas. There was a time he loved me, maybe too much. And I’d loved him. Might there be a chance he’d be willing to leave the past behind? To live in the moment with me? To make this work for a while? At least, until I could take care of myself? It doesn’t have to be love. Can’t we at least be friends?
Lucas cuts the engine and turns toward me. “Let’s get some of your stuff inside before the officiant shows up.”
I nod and hop out of the car. After grabbing my purse, I head toward the tailgate of the truck and pick up a smaller box, then follow Lucas up the walkway. He balances the box he’s carrying on a knee as he unlocks the front door. I follow him in.
Assigned (Navy Seals of Little Creek Book 3) Page 2