Before I can respond, the call disconnects. Of all the things I am grateful for, my best friend is one of them. We’ve been through a lot together, survived missions by the skin of our teeth together. So, if there’s anyone who might be able to guide me through this minefield, maybe Martinez can.
I beat Martinez to the whiskey bar and restaurant by five minutes. I nod to the hostess as I walk past the wall of polished whiskey barrels at the entrance and through the tables. Neither Taya nor Inara is working. They’re home with their husbands, the husbands that they’d been matched with, husbands that they loved for who they were, not for health insurance. I feel a stab of guilt about pulling Martinez away from Inara, but I know she’ll understand.
I find a place at the polished mahogany bar and already have two beers sitting in front of me by the time my best friend sits down next to me. He picks up one of them. “Thanks, man. I could use a drink.”
“Who said it was for you?” I say, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. Just seeing him makes my heart hurt a little less.
He punches my shoulder. “You sound a little better. You had me worried there on the phone. What’s going on?”
I tell him everything. All of it. For once, Anthony Martinez is speechless. Like literally gape-mouthed, staring at me like a calf that has been hit between the eyes with a bolt.
“Just like that?” he finally says. “Admitted it out in the open? She married you for the health insurance?”
I nod and finish off my beer. “Just like that.” I signal to the bartender for a refill.
“Dude, I had no idea. Hand to God, I thought the chick was crazy about you and about Mason. Inara thought so too.” He shakes his head. “Didn’t know I could be so wrong about a person.”
I should have known I could be that wrong. I’d thought she was the real deal back when I was in high school. Thought she was as crazy about me as I was about her. Then she’d left me. Turned her back. Sent me away. And I’d fallen for her hook, line, and sinker again. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Wrong, wrong, wrong. What was that old saying? “When someone shows you who they are, you should believe them.”
“What are you going to do?” Martinez turns his glass in slow circles on the bar.
“What else is there to do? Go home. Tell her to get out. Pick up the pieces.” I put my head down on my pillowed arms on the bar. The thought of sending Riley away stabs at me. Even though I know she’s just using me. Even though I know she doesn’t love me, I still love her with every inch of my being. Still want to help. And if it was just me, maybe I’d shrug it off and stay married so she could receive health insurance to get better. It’s something I could offer, something that would improve her life. And if she stayed for a few months, I’d try to enjoy those few months as much as I could.
But it’s not only me in the world anymore. I have to think about Mason. He’s already attached to Riley. She’s his guardian angel. I can’t let him get any more attached when she’s going to leave us once she gets into the trial. Or gets better. Or even finds someone else who can take care of her better . . . like a doctor. How do you explain to a little boy that the nice lady who stuck up for him with his teacher doesn’t really give two shits about him? That it was all an act?
“Well, if you need a place to stay, we’ve got a guest room. Inara wouldn’t mind. Some days I think she actually prefers your company to mine, being she thinks you are more mature. Even though you were also responsible for instigating the pillow fight that lead to the broken vase incident. No way Mason throws that hard.”
I snort. Never in a million years would I guess someone thought I was actually more mature than my teammate. Least of all his wife.
Martinez scrubs his face with his hand. The exhaustion is creeping back up on him. It’s creeping back up on me too. I need some rest. “Thanks. But I’m good.”
I’ll sleep in the back of the truck before I do that. The idea of watching Tony and Inara spark and glow at each other while my heart still lays in the wreckage left by Hurricane Riley is too much. I’m happy for my friend, but I don’t want my nose rubbed in it right now.
I finish my beer and pay our tab, then head out. Tony pulls up to the side of my truck with his Durango and lowers his passenger-side window. “Call if we can do anything. Anything. Really.”
And I know he means it. He’d lay down his life for me. He’s already done it more than once. “I will.”
I drive home, rehearsing in my head what I’ll say to her, what I want to say to her. My feelings, my heart, and my son’s feelings were not something for her to play with. Granted, she wasn’t the only one with ulterior motives for agreeing to the match. While I’d signed up hoping to find someone, the benefit of having a person there for Mason to make his life better was the reason I’d agreed to be assigned to Riley specifically in the first place.
So, maybe we both came into this with the wrong agenda. But things changed for me. She was so great with Mason. She really tried to fit in and get involved with not just our family, but the community. Helping those families who’d lost someone in war is important to us all. I admire all those things about her.
It just doesn’t make sense why she’d get so involved, especially with my son, if she intended to leave. Why she’d allow him to be collateral damage?
But it ends up not mattering, though. I come home to a dark house and a note on the table. Riley is gone.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Riley
I let a wave wash over my feet, and it rises until my calves are underwater. The water recedes and sand loosens under my feet as it’s swept back to sea. Like the hope I had just days ago. As if my life could work out. My relationship too. But like a sudden squall, the news Dr. Patel delivered violently tore it from my grasp.
“The scar tissue has formed a stricture. Surgery is highly recommended, especially to prevent intestinal blockage.”
Every muscle in my body freezes except my heart, which is hammering so brutally against my chest it might crack a rib. My lungs refuse to expand, and my nails dig into my five-foot shortboard.
I figured surfing would clear my head, help me make sense of things, help me get out of my mind a bit. It’s also the reason I grabbed as much of my stuff as I could the other night and went to a hotel. Thought the time away, the solitude of my own room without Lucas, might bring my options into focus. But it didn’t, so here I am.
I close my eyes and listen to the waves crashing on the shore, beckoning me. I imagine them beneath me, lifting me, pushing me forward like wind behind a sail. Calm begins to wash over me.
When my muscles relax, I open my eyes and look out. The ocean ripples with shades of blue and fringes of white foam. A salty breeze brushes my cheeks and pushes my hair off my shoulders.
I dive in with my surfboard, paddling hard before pulling under the breaking waves. There’s a heaviness in my belly that has nothing to do with water pressure. Each time I resurface, I force this morning’s conversation deeper into the back part of my mind.
As another set of waves approach, I study them, looking for the peak. I lie on my board and paddle to position myself where the wave will be fullest.
The first one is weak, so I wait for the next. As the second wave approaches, it grows more powerful and I turn the tip of my board toward shore. When the water starts to swell, I paddle hard, then spring to my feet in one swift movement.
In that moment I am a bird, gliding over the sapphire sea, free from life’s problems. I feel alive. I reach out and drag my fingers through the water as if trying to touch heaven itself. I launch over the crest, then plunge into the water.
After resurfacing, I climb back on my board and straddle it, sitting up. I dip my hand into the ocean, letting the crisp water run through my fingers and secretly hoping it had the answers to all my problems. I feel the pulse of the sea beneath me, a repetitious and soothing rhythm.
Being out here always makes me feel strong. Powerful. I am fragile against the force the sea ca
n dig up and hit me with. But every time I get knocked off my board, I climb back on and stand back up.
I breathe in deep and hold my breath before exhaling. My throat tightens. Lucas has no idea what I went through during the last surgery. The pain. The mess. The despair. While Dr. Patel said this one wouldn’t be so bad, there’s no guarantee. Hell. I went in for a simple appendectomy and it turned into a medical emergency that has upended my life for years.
None of this, however, is Lucas’s problem. He has plenty of his own already. The big one—Mason—should be where his focus is. I thought I could help him. I thought I could be there for Lucas and for Mason, yet all I’ve done is make it all worse. I could be the reason Lucas loses custody of his son. Me and my stupid Crohn’s disease.
Surfing, unfortunately, isn’t life. The surge and power I feel while I’m on my board are fleeting, ephemeral. The truth is that I’m not powerful and strong. I’m Riley the Sick Girl. I’m the girl with Crohn’s.
Which is why I know what I have to do, what the right thing is. I came into the program under false pretenses. I needed the medical insurance. Then life delivered Lucas back into my life and I fell in love with him all over again.
Actually, I don’t think I ever fell out of love with him. I’d just pushed those feelings down as far as I could and left them behind.
He should have stayed in the past. It was best for him then, and it’s best for him now. Especially with Mason. I won’t make him give up his job, not when it’s his calling. Nor will I add more stress to his life. Lucas and Mason need someone who can be there for them at full strength. Someone who can do after-school pickup and overnights and show up at soccer games. Someone who can be reliable and pull their own weight.
Someone who isn’t me.
I head back into shore. I sit down on my towel and grab my phone. Time to do the right thing. Once the screen is unlocked, I punch in the number to Lieutenant Graham, my point of contact for the Issued Partner Program.
The phone rings. And rings. I’m about to hang up when he finally answers.
“Lieutenant Graham speaking.”
“Um, hello, Lieutenant. This is Riley Thompson. I mean, Riley Craiger.” My voice is shaky, the pitch a little higher than normal. Not that I’m second-guessing my decision. Just nervous about the fallout.
“What can I do for you, Mrs. Craiger?”
Mrs. The twist of the knife. “I want to drop out of the program, end the marriage.”
Nothing but silence.
After a few seconds, he responds. “Are you in danger? Were you harmed?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“Then may I ask why you’re looking to leave the program?”
My fingers tighten around the phone. No sense in beating around the bush. I suck in a deep breath and try to center myself. This is for the best of everyone, not just me. “Lieutenant Graham, the marriage is not working. There’s too much history there, too much with the family Lucas already has. The stress is affecting my health and impeding my ability to control my illness. I’m sorry, but I do think it’s in everybody’s best interest for the marriage to end.”
He grunts.
I clear my throat. “I’m sure you got the therapy notes from our session. There is a custody hearing going on as well. Lucas’s ex-wife hasn’t taken to me. I don’t want to bring more harm to a young child if I can help it. I volunteer with a program that helps Gold Star families. I’ve seen how much kids in military families deal with.”
He sighs. “I understand. We do need you to come by and sign the paperwork.”
“Of course.” I listen as he goes into detail about how my benefits will cease immediately, along with some other legal stuff, almost as if he’s trying to find any source of hope I might reconsider. Not that he knows Lucas or me or what our love means to me. He just wants to make sure the program succeeds.
I disconnect the call and toss the phone aside, allowing the tears welling up in my eyes to finally fall. My shoulders shake and I rest my head against my knees, curling into a tight ball.
This will hurt Lucas. I hate that. But if I stay, I’ll be hurting Mason, too, and hurting that little boy means hurting Lucas even more. There’s not much I can do about it. Lisa hates my guts and has from the second she laid eyes on me. Nothing is going to change that, and as long as I’m in the picture, she’s going to push to keep Mason away from Lucas. I’ve seen the way that little boy looks at his father and the way Lucas looks at him. I would never ever intentionally do anything to take that away from either of them, not even for the true love that I think I’ve found. Not when it means risking a little boy’s happiness.
I force myself up onto shaky legs. Once I’ve packed everything up, I grab my board and head back to my car. After brushing off the sand sticking to my calves, I swap my sandals for sneakers and jump into the driver’s seat.
Time to leave what I’ve built here behind. There’s one more call I have to make. The one I’d fought so hard not to need to do, but one thing I’ve learned is that sometimes we all need a little help, someone to guide us through choppy waters. Someone grounded to focus on as we maneuver toward shore.
When the click of the call connecting cuts through the speakers, I suck in a sharp breath and say, “Hi, Mom. I’m coming home.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Riley
Through my bedroom window comes the brightness of the sun. I soak in the warmth and my spirits lift as I do. I roll to my side, dangle my legs off the side of the bed above the off-white carpet on the floor. I use my arms to push myself into a seated position. My surgery was successful, but I need to be careful with my abdominal muscles for a few more weeks. I rub my knuckles in my eyes, stretch my arms above my head, and yawn. Grabbing on to the post of my bed closest to me, I hoist myself up. It gets easier every day. I take a moment to be grateful for how well everything has gone.
After wrapping a robe around myself, I head downstairs into the kitchen where my parents are sitting and having breakfast, crossing my fingers today won’t be the day they decide to finally chastise me for marrying Lucas. Sure, I waited until the day before surgery to tell them exactly what had gone on in my life. And while they had a moment of venting their disapproval, their focus was on my upcoming procedure. They still haven’t really brought up the subject again, to me, but who knows what has been said behind closed doors. Today may finally be the day. Crossing my fingers it isn’t, though, because my emotions are still too raw.
The morning light filters through, making the threads of silver in my mother’s blond hair glint. How long have they been there? And those lines around her eyes. Have they always been there? Dad’s changed too. It’s not just the gray in his hair. His forehead is more creased than I remember it. He’s still a big man. Nearly as big as Lucas and certainly as bullheaded, but his shoulders slope in a bit more than I remember. He looks up from the newspaper he’s reading and immediately slaps it down on the table. “Why are you out of bed, Riley? You should have used the intercom. It’s why we had it in installed, for Pete’s sake. Mom would’ve taken food up to you.”
Here we go again. From the moment I stepped off the airplane, they’ve done nothing but hover. And try to control as much of the situation as possible. While Tara’s mom hovered that day on the beach and informed me of what her daughter’s limitations were, she didn’t jump in the water and try to take control of the situation. If only my parents would give me some breathing room.
I lock eyes with my father. “Dad, I can walk. Doctor DeSilva told me to make sure I move around. Walking downstairs on my own is going to help my recovery, not hurt it. Are you really trying to interfere with the doctor’s orders?”
He grumbles, then looks pointedly at my mother, who stands immediately. “Riley, darling. Go sit down and let me make you something to eat. If you want, we can go for a walk outside later.”
I wave her off, then open the fridge and begin to pull out the ingredients I need to make pancakes. “Pleas
e, I really don’t want to fight about this. It’s just a little breakfast. It’s not like I’m out in the barn lifting a heavy bale of hay.”
“Why do you have to be so stubborn?” My mother comes up behind me and takes the eggs and milk out of my hands. “Let me help before you hurt yourself.”
I grit my teeth and force air out through my nose. My hand shoves the refrigerator door a little too hard and it slams closed. My father’s chair scrapes against the tile and I whip my head sideways. He’s glaring at me, arms crossed and brows furrowed.
I throw both hands into the air. “What?”
“Watch the attitude, Riley.” My father’s tone is low, a warning. I’m pushing him too hard.
Well, that’s just too damn bad because he’s pushed me even further. I jut my chin out. “Why? You going to kick me out?”
Good Lord, I sound like a teenager. I feel like a teenager. Tears gather in the corners of my eyes. I’m a grown woman and they won’t even let me make myself a stack of stupid fucking pancakes. All the reasons I left here in the first place are playing out right here and now.
He stands from his chair and takes a step closer. “Don’t be ridiculous. You are my daughter, and you will always have a place here, but you will not be disrespectful to your mother.”
“Then how about you respect that I’m an adult who can take care of herself? I’m not Michelle.” We almost never speak of Michelle, yet her presence is everywhere. Her death cast a pall over us that has never lifted. My parents had become overprotective after she died, and then when I got sick, that overprotectiveness went into hyperdrive.
The sound of glass shattering fills the air and both my father and I turn. What once was an embellished butter dish lies in pieces across the floor. My mother stands over it, hands over her face, shaking. I scurry over, careful to avoid the mess. Should have put slippers on. Damn it. “Mom, I’m sorry.” I take her arm and move her backward, away from the jagged pieces of glass as my father grabs the broom.
Assigned (Navy Seals of Little Creek Book 3) Page 18