by Liz Johnson
“I didn’t see where the shot came from, and I wasn’t going to wander the neighborhood without making sure you’re protected.”
“Thank you.” Something flickered in her eyes, but she closed them too fast for him to identify it. She leaned toward him, seemingly about to press a kiss onto his cheek. Except she caught the corner of his mouth instead.
Danger. Pull back. Pull back.
The order rang in his head, but clearly he had his own issue with weakness, because when she started to lean back, there wasn’t a thing he could do to stop himself from turning his head and pressing his lips to hers.
She melted into his arms, warm and comforting. Her kiss wiped away every fear that sprang to mind.
Maybe it could always be like this. Maybe this is what he’d been holding out for. Maybe he’d just been waiting for the right girl.
Sirens belted into the quiet street, and he jerked back to a perfect view of her bright red lips.
Or maybe he should get on his knees and beg forgiveness for betraying his best friend.
* * *
Ashley pulled the knitted afghan up to her chin and blinked hard, fighting the sleep that threatened to take over the rest of her day. Matt slipped into the living room, carrying her laptop, and closed the door most of the way. If someone needed something, they’d be able to hear through the crack, but they’d also have privacy.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable in bed?”
“If I fall asleep now, my sleep schedule will be thrown completely off. Besides, I don’t want to be alone right now. Please.” Fighting the need to reach for his hand, she gripped the blanket until her knuckles were white. “Will you sit with me for a while?”
He glanced back toward the door, but finally nodded, settling onto the floor. With his back against the couch and legs stretched out, he set the computer on his knees and flipped it open.
“What else did the chief say?” She’d lost all her energy as soon as the police arrived, and he’d insisted on taking her to lie down once they’d confirmed that the shooter had vanished.
“Not much. He got kind of twitchy when I mentioned Miranda, and he said he hasn’t found out anything about her disappearance. But it’s pretty clear that he’s worried about her.”
“Did he have any idea who might have taken her?” A yawn caught her off guard, and she covered her mouth with a pale hand.
“No.” He bent over the keyboard, using two fingers to tap out an email. “And he said he’d send the squad car around an extra three or four times a day.”
She bit her lip to hold back a sarcastic comment. The chief was doing everything he could with the resources he had.
“Who are you writing?”
“My buddy Vince. He retired from navy intelligence a few years ago, but he’s a wiz at finding out stuff online. Just asking him to look into Ithyka Inc. to find out who owns it, and what they might be doing with the bar.”
He punched the keys like the keyboard had been behind the shooting, the sound echoing in the empty room.
“Where are the kids?”
“Playing in the kitchen.”
She pushed an elbow under her and rolled to sit up. “I can go into the kitchen or my office so they can play in here.”
Without looking up from the screen, he hooked her arm out from under her, sending her flat against the pillows stacked along the armrest. “They’re fine. Lil is watching them. You’ve had a rough morning, so just relax for a few hours.”
He went back to his typing, and she stared at the white popcorn ceiling, finding animals in the unusual shapes. When he finally hit Send, he set the computer aside and turned his whole body so he could look at her.
“Why do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
His eyes narrowed and he leaned toward her. “Try to be strong for everyone else but never let yourself off the hook for more than a minute.”
Flames licked up her neck until her face burned all the way to her hairline. This was not a conversation she wanted to have with the man she’d just broken down in front of. But his gaze didn’t waver.
How much of her soul could he see when he looked at her like that?
Only when she focused back on the cow chatting with the cat near the far corner of the ceiling could she respond. “I’m sorry about earlier. I don’t usually do that.”
His hand wrapped all the way around her forearm, prodding her to look back at him. “That’s what I mean. Why are you so worried about not being strong in front of me?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Help me, then.”
With a wrinkled nose, she flopped onto her side. “I’m not sure I can. You’ve never been... No one has ever taken advantage of your trust.”
Something akin to pain flickered in his eyes and was gone as fast as it came. “Go on.”
She’d only ever told one man about this part of her life, and then she’d had to. Tristan wouldn’t have taken another excuse about a car accident when her car was in perfect shape.
“I was twenty, and I thought he was perfect. His name was Paul, and he said he loved me. He didn’t.”
In that moment his jaw could have cut granite as he ground his molars together. If he knew what was coming, why was he making her rehash that horrible time?
“You know the rest.”
“No. I don’t.” He tipped his chin to rest on his chest, his fists on his outstretched legs. “I mean, I can fill in what Paul did, but I don’t know how you got out of that relationship or why that makes you think that you have to be strong all the time.”
“I tried to end it a few times.” Her voice wobbled on her last word, and she cleared her throat to steady it. “Right after he hit me the first time, I told him it was over—told him never to call me again.”
“And he begged for your forgiveness.”
Her mouth suddenly turned into Death Valley, and she swallowed several times to no end. “The first time. After that, he quit apologizing. I tried to get a new apartment off campus, but he tracked me down. I got a dog, and Paul just beat him into submission.”
By this point Matt’s hands shook as he pressed a gentle palm to her arm. “I’m so sorry. No one should ever have to live through that. How long were you with him?”
“After the abuse started? Almost six months.” His eyes asked the question that he really wanted to know, and she steeled herself to admit the truth. “It was Tristan who ended it. When I told him what Paul had done, he grabbed Zach and flew up to school—probably from somewhere overseas—so they could have a ‘talk’ with Paul.” She accentuated the word talk with air quotes, even though Matt obviously knew what had happened.
“Did you ever see Paul again?”
“Across campus later that semester. He saw me, too, but then he turned and ran.”
All of his features pinched tightly just before he scrubbed his hands over his face, and she could make out only part of what he said. It sounded like “And why Tristan didn’t bring me along for this talk, I’d like to know....”
“He transferred after that. I never saw him again.”
He let his hands drop to his lap and studied them as he asked, “Were you already working on your degree in social work by that point?”
“Yes. I had been planning to go to work for the Department of Child Services, but after Paul... Well, after that, I realized there were a lot of adult victims, too, and maybe I could help them.” The stinging started in the back of her eyes, and she had to bury her face in one of the pillows to keep her tears at bay.
“Is that when you decided that you had to be strong for everyone else?”
Wasn’t it clear? Couldn’t he see what had happened?
Apparently not. He was going to make her say the whole terrible
truth aloud. What she’d never admitted to anyone in the world.
She’d never told a soul for fear that they’d take this and use it against her. But Matt would keep it safe. He knew how to protect her—and her secrets.
The words tumbled out with a slow sigh. “If I’d been strong back then, maybe I could have gotten myself out of the relationship on my own. Instead, I had to be rescued by my big brother. I was so weak that I couldn’t stand up for myself. Someone else had to fight my battle.”
“But that’s what big brothers are for. You know that Tristan would do it again in a heartbeat. So would I. If you’d asked me, I’d have come running.”
“That’s just it. He would do it again. But he shouldn’t have had to. It was my problem, and I should have been able to take care of it. Besides, what if Paul hadn’t been a coward? What if a few choice words from Tristan hadn’t made him run with his tail between his legs? What if the confrontation had ended with Tristan hurt, instead of Paul? Every time I let someone else fight my battles, I put them in danger.”
“But Tristan is trained to defend himself. He can handle anyone.”
“That’s not the point. I need to be able to stand up for myself on my own.” He opened his mouth to argue the point, but she held up her hand. “It’s okay if you don’t understand, but this is all I have. I refuse to be the woman I was. Please don’t try to take that away from me.”
His eyes turned sad, the corners of his mouth drooping. “I am sorry, Ashley. I wish that I could take that pain, those memories away from you.”
“And then what? You’d have terrible memories of your own?”
“I’ve already got plenty of those.”
She snapped her head in his direction, pushing herself up. With crossed legs pulled under her, she hugged a pillow to her chest and leaned forward. “What do you mean?”
He pursed his lips and looked up at the ceiling as he let out a slow breath. “Nothing really.”
“I’m not letting you off the hook that easily, Waterstone.” She leaned over the edge of the couch until her face was just inches from his. “What do you mean you have bad memories?”
The muscles in his forearm twitched as he leaned back on his hand, pulling his T-shirt tight across his chest and shoulders. The defined muscles couldn’t hide under the jersey fabric, and she had to lift her gaze several times before she could hold eye contact.
He was trying to distract her, and it was working.
Fighting the urge, she stared hard at him. After several seconds of silence, his gaze flicked away and he nodded in defeat. “I’ve never told this to a soul.”
Ashley leaned forward, dangerously close to falling off the couch as her hair fell in front of her face.
So they had something in common. “Not even Tristan?”
“No. There was never time for it to come up during BUD/S, and after that it felt like it was too late to talk about that kind of stuff.” He pressed his thumb to his chin, still not meeting her gaze.
“What kind of stuff?”
“You know. Being hit by the person who is supposed to take care of you. Showing up to school with black eyes and having to lie to your teachers and social worker about being clumsy when they actually ask what happened. Telling yourself someday you’d be strong enough that you’d never let anyone else hit you, but knowing that for now, you’ve got nothing to look forward to other than leaving one abusive foster father behind and finding a bigger, meaner man at the next home.”
He took a breath, and she wanted to say something, but couldn’t choke anything but the narrowest stream of air past the lump in her throat.
“Man, I hated all three of those guys. Paid to take in strays, but they just spent the money on booze, which made them meaner. When I was fourteen, I was the oldest and biggest kid in the house, and Lord knows I wasn’t going to let that man beat on one of the littler ones.
“Funny how in the moment, you swear to yourself that you’ll do anything to make sure that belt never hits you again. But the first time he swings a fist at the towheaded six-year-old, you find yourself in his way, ready to stand there until the kid can fight for himself.”
His voice never wavered during the story; his eyes never left the seashore painting on the far wall.
She reached for his shoulder and then pulled her hand back, leaned in and then retreated, not knowing what response he’d appreciate. She’d thought her situation was bad, but this was nearly unbelievable.
When it was clear he wasn’t going to speak again, she said, “How did you ever become a SEAL?”
He blinked at her as though he’d forgotten she was even there, the corner of his mouth raising. “I got a new caseworker just before I turned fifteen. Good thing, too, because I was planning to run away on my birthday. Mr. Crawford pulled me out and put me in a home that he said had had some success with ‘trouble’ cases like mine. I didn’t know I was the problem, but I guess after a lifetime of foster dads who hit before talking, every time, I had some attitude issues.
“Mr. and Mrs. Belkin owned a farm in Iowa, and as soon as I got to their place, they put me to work. They only had two rules. Go to church every Sunday, and don’t talk back while doing your chores.”
The smile that split his face could have blinded an astronaut. “Doing your chores wasn’t even a rule. It was just expected.
“Mr. Belkin was in the navy during Korea, and he was the one that first suggested a kid with my particular skill set might be able to make a career of the teams.”
“And what skill set was that exactly?”
His shoulders shook in silent laughter. “I guess someone who had been in a few fights and wasn’t afraid to face down a bully. I could swim a fair bit, too.”
She rubbed the corner of her eye, surprised to find it damp. “Where are the Belkins now? Still helping troubled teens?”
His smile dimmed. “They passed away right after I joined the navy. Never got to see me get my trident pin when I made the teams, but I think they’d be proud of the man I’ve become.”
“I’m sure of it.” She didn’t hold back when the urge to touch him swept her again, and his shoulder muscles twitched several times beneath her fingers.
“You know, it was Mrs. Belkin who first made me memorize that verse that we read yesterday morning—that God’s strength is made perfect in our weakness. She said weakness wasn’t a sin—in fact, it could be used in my favor. But it wasn’t until I was on a rescue mission in Africa a few years ago that I got what she meant.”
When had this conversation turned back to her strength and weakness? Because she was sure that was what he was getting at. There was no mistaking his meaning.
His gaze returned to the painting, and he was lost in memory before she could steer their conversation to safer ground.
“Tristan, Zach and I were supposed to extract an American being held hostage. A simple snatch and run. But when we got inside the hotel where she was being kept, everything went wrong. By the time we got to her, there was a tango using her as a human shield.”
She assumed that a tango was a terrorist, but couldn’t interrupt his story to confirm. With baited breath, she waited for the woman’s fate.
“We’d trained for a scenario like that for years, and Zach is a dead-on marksman, but there wasn’t a clear shot from any angle. Just when we thought we’d have to let the tango leave with her, she fainted. Out cold.” He closed his eyes, his head falling to his shoulder. “Her dead weight caught the tango off guard, and he dropped her, giving us three clean shots.”
“So when someone’s weak there will always be three SEALs ready to take out the bad guy?”
He shrugged, pushing himself to a standing position. “I was thinking more along the lines that if she’d insisted on being strong all the time, we’d never have been able to rescue her.” He leaned forwar
d to press a kiss on her forehead, then walked away.
TWELVE
Matt fell into the only empty chair around the kitchen table, his heart still pounding and head spinning. He’d never talked so much in his entire life, especially not about his own life.
“Do you want the rest of my pie, Mr. Matt?” Greta, seated next to him, pushed her half-eaten piece of pie at him. “Sorry. I ate all the ice cream.” She hissed through the gap where one of her front teeth had fallen out.
The little girl kept her fingers curled around the edge of her plate, waiting for him to turn down her offer. So when he shook his head, she snatched it back and ate the last bit in three quick bites. “You eat like my friends.” He chuckled and ruffled her hair.
“Why’s that?”
“Quit bothering Mr. Matt, Greta. It’s time to brush your teeth and get ready for bed.” The little girl batted her blue eyes—so like Ashley’s—at her mom.
“But I’m not bothering him.” She turned to him, a crumb still stuck to her chin. “Am I?”
“Never. But you should do what your mom says.”
She shrugged, and even through the thick sweatshirt, her shoulders poked out. “Good night, Mr. Matt.” Leaning over to him, she pressed a kiss to cheek, her arms wrapping around her neck. “Thanks for not eating my pie.”
He patted her back and swallowed the lump in his throat as she scurried after her mom and the other three kids.
First Julio’s midnight juice run and now a curly-headed five-year-old with a thing for pie. He’d never felt so needed and so helpless at the same time.
The letter-writing lunatic wasn’t just threatening Ashley, who he hoped was finally sleeping on the couch. He put all of these kids—and the kids that would someday come into the house—in jeopardy.
Matt raked his hands down his face and stared toward the refrigerator without really seeing it. The calluses on his hands scratched his chin, an instant reminder of the difference between his life and Ashley’s. She belonged here, caring for innocents. He didn’t—not once he’d taken measures to make certain they were safe.