by RC Boldt
Not a good decision. At all. It had been an unspoken agreement between them to not bring anything up regarding their past. He knew everyone was chomping at the bit, wanting to know what their deal was, but—as far as he knew—neither he nor Tate had divulged anything.
Her insinuation about his penis had gotten the best of him and he hadn’t thought before speaking. He’d instantly recalled how responsive Tate had been when they’d made love back then.
Made love? What a joke. She had clearly been pretending since she’d dropped him immediately after he had gone from boot camp onto BUD/S training. That was where he had met Foster Kavanaugh. They’d become tight during that crazy ass time, remembered when they’d locked arms, sitting in the surf with the waves crashing over them as the instructors made them endure ‘surf torture’.
Miller had nearly made it to the end of BUD/S before he fell and broke his leg on a tall, climbing wall during a training exercise. He’d been forced to let his leg heal and get rolled over into the next class. It had sucked—big time—but it had been necessary. Luckily, he’d sailed through the remainder of his training. Getting his Trident had been a beacon of light during a time in his life that had been so utterly bleak. His attempts at trying to move on, after Tate had abandoned him, had been half-hearted at best. But, getting pinned with his Trident had shown him that if he could survive some of the toughest shit—basically mental and physical torture—then he could move past her betrayal.
He’d had to.
He had experienced some missions that had scared the ever-loving shit out of him. And each time they prepped to head into the dangerous unknown, he’d secretly pulled out an old, marred photo he had placed in one of the inside pockets of his vest.
Miller had hated being so weak, unable to get rid of the photo. Hated giving in to the weakness of taking the photo out and running his thumb over it, gaining comfort from the girl in the photograph. Which was crazy, considering how things had turned out. Even so, he’d always looked down at it, touched her face, her smile, and had felt added comfort and security before he and his guys were set to head into enemy territory.
That photo had held the face of the girl who hadn’t had the guts to tell him that she was through with him and had, promptly, broken his heart. The same one who had dropped off the face of the earth only to turn up, over ten years later, at a dinner held at his boss’ mother’s home. The woman who was best friends with Laney Kavanaugh, his boss’ sister.
Tate. Fucking. Donnelly.
He could recall with vivid clarity how shell-shocked he had been to walk into Momma K.’s house that particular evening. He’d had a feeling Laney, Foster’s sister, had been intent on fixing him up with her friend. Having nothing better to do, he figured, What the hell? Of course, once he had been introduced to the cute, dark-haired Raine, all of his internal signals had gone off as if to say, “She doesn’t have blonde hair. She doesn’t have blue eyes. Abort! Abort!”
Yeah, it was pathetic. He fully recognized it. Hell, he’d been called out plenty of times by the guys over it. “Hey, Vaughn. What’s the deal with all your women basically looking the same? And not even giving a second look to the hot chick at the end of the bar last night? All because she had dark hair?”
Yeah. That night Tate had officially reentered his life was embedded in his memory.
Laney introduced the rest of their friends to him.
Tate gave him a cool look. “It’s so nice to meet you, Miles.”
“Miller,” he corrected her, his tone icy.
He noticed everyone’s eyes seemed to volley back and forth from them, trying to figure out what the heck was going on. And why there was sudden animosity between them when they had only just met.
“Oh, yes. My bad. Nice to meet you, Milo.” Tate’s frosty eyes contradicted her remark as she forked some pasta into her mouth.
“It’s Miller,” he reminded her, his jaw clenched.
“Maybe you two could meet up for drinks or something later on this week?” Laney suggested, changing the subject as if she knew it was headed for trouble.
Miller gave a small laugh and looked over at Raine. “That’s up to you. I certainly don’t want to force you into anything.”
“We sure wouldn’t want anyone to be forced to spend time with you,” Tate muttered.
Laney shot her friend a warning glare to which Tate merely gave a saccharine sweet smile.
“How about I just let Laney give you my number and if you feel like hanging out sometime, let me know. I’d love to get together with you,” he offered, ignoring Tate’s acerbic comment.
It had been a shitty thing to do, to offer to hang out with Raine when he had absolutely zero attraction toward her, but he had wanted to get a rise out of Tate. He’d wanted to show her that he had moved on.
Even if, sometimes, a tiny voice in the back of his mind argued otherwise.
Dear Miller,
I haven’t heard back from you in a while. I know you’re super busy and probably exhausted from training. God, I really miss you.
I thought of you today when one of our new roommates, who’s a Bio major, was talking about dissecting a cat. Remember how much fun we had in AP Bio? I never told you this, but I started falling in love with you a little then. You were always quick to help others who needed it.
Remember when that one girl who sat behind us freaked out because her lab partner didn’t show up when we were supposed to have a practical exam worth a ton of points? And the teacher was super strict about all partners being there that day or your grade would suffer? You convinced the teacher to let you be my partner and hers that day so that her grade wouldn’t be effected. You did two times the work and never once complained. You even brushed off the compliments. That’s when I knew you were one of the good ones.
Well, I have to get going and head to class. I know I already said it but I really miss you, Miller.
Remember, you’re it for me, too. Always.
I love you.
Tate
CHAPTER TWO
“HEY, TATE. YOU THINK YOU could dial down the animosity next time we’re all at Momma K.’s for dinner?” Zach Mayson, her friend and coworker, asked the following Monday at school. He had just entered her classroom with Laney.
It was the first Monday back to school for teachers to make preparations for the new school year. There was a faculty meeting planned for that morning for their usual new school year meet and greet with any new staff members. They’d had a few teachers retire last year and were looking forward to meeting the new replacements.
“Um, yeah. That was super awkward, sweetie.” Laney winced. “My mom was talking about making a seating chart from now on.”
“What’s this about a seating chart?” Lawson had entered the room, the door falling closed behind him. “I like seating charts. But if I get stuck between you and Vaughn, I’m pretty sure I’ll end up hypothermic from the deep freeze.” He shivered dramatically.
“Have you seen Mac and Raine? I wanted to ask her if I could have one of her laminated wipe-off charts since she has, like, ten of them,” Tate changed the subject.
Laney promptly made a derisive noise.
“Mac and Raine? Where do you think they are?” Lawson gave her a look. “Probably running behind because they were having some sexy time. Just wait.”
As if on cue, her classroom door opened and Raine entered. Immediately, noticing all of them staring at her, she slowed, walking into the classroom with her husband, Mac, right behind her, the door falling closed after them.
“Um, is this a private conversation?” she asked with hesitation.
Tate eyed her friend speculatively. Mmm, yep. Raine’s attire was perfect … except for the tiny section of her dress collar which was tucked inside, and part of her long, wavy black hair that was looking decidedly mussed. Tate walked over to her best friend, corrected the collar, and smoothed down her hair.
“Thanks,” her friend mumbled, cheeks reddening slightly.
“Ew, no. Just, no.” Laney held up her hands, protesting. “Please stop. It’s too early for the whole ‘babe’ endearment thing.”
Tate pointed toward her door. “Out of my room if you’re planning on talking like that. Especially this early in the morning.”
“What if Miller talked to you like that, though?” Lawson asked, eyes wide with innocence. “Like, ‘Oh, Tatey-poo!’” He held his arms out, embracing an imaginary partner, making loud kissing noises.
They all stared at him in dead silence. Mac was the first to speak.
“Um, man. I’ve got to say. That was seriously disturbing.”
Lawson shrugged, unfazed. “I speak only the truth.”
“Actually, I have to agree with the latter part of his statement,” Laney remarked, giving Tate a pointed look. “We’re all waiting on the story we know is there.”
“I can’t believe you’re agreeing to anything that comes out of a person’s mouth who wears a shirt like that.” Tate gestured to the shirt beneath the blazer Lawson was currently wearing along with a pair of khaki pants. The shirt had ‘OMG, Becky!’ written on it.
Lawson frowned. “Hey, hey, now. Don’t criticize this masterpiece just because you can’t muster any appreciation for Sir Mix-a-Lot’s hit song.”
“Muster. Good word, man.” Zach reached out to fist bump Lawson.
A knock on Tate’s door directed everyone’s attention to the small window of the classroom door where they saw an unfamiliar male, roughly around their age, standing there. Tate waved her hand, gesturing for the man to enter.
Upon stepping into her classroom and seeing the others, the dark-haired man smiled. “Sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to introduce myself since I’ll be your new neighbor. I’m across the hall in Mrs. Patterson’s old room. I’m Pearce Hadley,” he stated, smiling.
“Hey, man.” Mac reached to shake the new teacher’s hand. “Welcome. I’m Mac and this is my wife, Raine.”
“Lawson Briggs. I teach fifth grade reading.” Lawson walked over to shake Pearce’s hand before introducing the rest of them in short order. Lawson, over six feet tall with a slim, muscular build, had blond hair, short on the sides with just enough length on the top to show off his curls. He stood in contrast with the new teacher who had dark black hair, soft brown eyes, and stood barely an inch shorter.
“Mac teaches fourth grade math and Raine is the Science Lab teacher.” Gesturing to the others, he continued. “Laney, fifth grade social studies, and Zach, fifth grade writing and English. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Fi-na-lly.” He shook his head and cupped his hand on one side of his mouth as if telling Pearce a secret. “Long story there, but it took forever for those two to get their acts together.” Straightening, Lawson pointed to Tate. “That’s Tate, fourth grade social studies, who will eat every morsel of food in sight if you let her. Don’t let her minute size fool you.”
Tate flashed a friendly smile at the new teacher. “Great to meet you, Pearce.”
Wow. He was actually really cute; tall with short, close-cropped hair and what she would have to classify as a Superman build. Pearce had broad shoulders, clothed in a nice dark gray polo shirt, which tapered to a narrow waist. The guy was definitely in great shape.
“You Cross-Fit?” Lawson asked Pearce.
“Um, not really,” he answered slowly. “Usually just run and work with some weights.”
“You should try it out, man. I do the one in downtown Fernandina.”
“I just moved to a place a few blocks from the beach. I’d love to check it out sometime.”
“Groovy.” Turning to the others, Lawson preened. “I officially call dibs on Pearce.”
Pearce’s face held a mixture of amusement and apprehension. “Uh …”
Mac laid a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about Laws. He’s harmless. Mostly.”
Lawson held out his hands in explanation. “I could totally use a new friend. Especially since these yahoos keep falling ill to the nasty love bug.” He made a sour face before sobering and adding, “But, really, let’s be honest. I’m pretty much the coolest guy in this school. So if you hang with me, you’ll be in good hands.”
Just then, an announcement came over the school’s loudspeaker system. “Attention faculty and staff. Please come down to the Media Center, ready to meet and greet promptly at nine o’clock. This will be followed by a brief faculty meeting.”
They all scattered, moving to head out the door to get their pens and notepads, ready to make their way to the meeting.
“You’re welcome to head down with us,” Tate offered to Pearce, who flashed a grateful smile.
“Thanks, Tate. I appreciate it.” And she didn’t miss the appraisal in his eyes. As they all headed to the door, she and Laney the last to exit her classroom, Tate turned the lights off.
“Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook about you-know-who,” came Laney’s quiet taunt.
And just like that, without her friend even mentioning his name, Tate’s mind wandered, filling with memories she’d managed to ignore, managed to push to the far recesses of her mind all these years. That had been undone, by his sudden presence in her life and her friends’ persistence at finding out the details of their past.
She’d moved just shy of a thousand miles to get away from her past—from her heartache, from Miller—last time. This time, however, she wasn’t allowing him to run her out of town; she refused to be the one forced to leave.
* * *
“I should probably let you know that my mother is ready to set up a seating chart.” Foster looked at Miller under his brows. “Just so she won’t feel like she can cut the tension with a knife at our next dinner night.”
Miller winced. “Sorry, man. Really, I am. It’s just that … that woman pisses me off like no other.” His jaw clenched tight.
“Really. I hadn’t noticed,” Foster responded drily.
Miller glanced at the paperwork beside his computer. He was working on their proposal for training employees at the Jacksonville International Airport on potential security threats pertaining to terrorism.
He was grateful for Foster hiring him when he had started up his security consulting firm. It had started small, with them getting contracts with Mayport Naval Station, Kings Bay Naval Base just over the state line in Georgia, and Naval Air Station down in Jacksonville. He was able to still have the camaraderie with the guys and continue to do what he loved: helping to make the world safer for others.
“What I’m basically saying is, do what you need to do to make things … less awkward when we’re all together.” Foster studied him for a long moment, making him uneasy. Finally, his boss leaned in on his elbows. “I’m not asking for the details, man. It’s pretty clear that you two have a history. But when it spills over into making it uncomfortable for others to be around you both? That’s when something needs to change.”
Miller looked away, blowing out a long breath before returning his gaze to the man who was not only his boss, but also his friend. “Yeah, I get it. Sorry, man.” He ran his hands over his face wearily. “I’ll work on getting my shit together.”
Foster’s lips rolled inward, appearing to ponder something. “Employing some of our techniques we used to get our minds under wraps before a mission would help. But,” his brown eyes seemed like lasers, “I always wondered about that minuscule script inside the frog tattoo you’ve got on your chest …”
Fuck. He should have known someone would eventually figure it out. Foster was more astute than he let on. Way too much drinking and celebrating stateside with his then-roommate, Hendy, after a mission that almost went into clusterfuck mode morphed into him getting a small tattoo of a frog with the Navy SEAL Trident directly over his heart. That, itself, wasn’t anything to write home about. However, on the frog’s chest were three letters—initials—in small, fancy script: T.E.D.
Tate Elaine Donnelly.
It had been a rare, weak mom
ent. Okay, a really weak moment.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He held Foster’s gaze, doing his best to keep his face blank.
The corners of his friend’s lips curved upward. “So that’s the way you’re gonna play it, huh?” He shrugged. “Okay, then. No worries.” He returned his attention to the paperwork lying on the desk in front of him and picked up his pen. “I’ll just be sure to let Kane and Doc know you’ve finally decided to come clean about your feelings for that ‘Ted’ guy.”
Miller scoffed, turning back to his computer. “Whatever, dude.”
Foster had a shit-eating grin on his face. “Just don’t plan on trying to make out with me anytime soon. Even though my sister graduated from UF, I don’t have a thing for Tebow.”
That fucker. He should be used to the Tim Tebow references by now. He couldn’t help it if he resembled the former University of Florida quarterback. And, of course, in typical military brotherhood fashion, he got shit about it. And about ‘Ted’. Because that’s what you could always rely on your brothers-in-arms for—shit talking. Serious shit talking.
“Who’s not making out?” A female voice drew their attention toward the door of their office. “You two ladies aren’t going to make out? Well, damn if that doesn’t just ruin my whole Monday.” The sarcasm was dripping from Noelle’s words.
Miller whipped his head back to Foster in time to see his friend’s lips curl up into a sneer. “You want to see me and pretty boy here make out, do you? You realize by saying that, it can be considered sexual harassment, Miss Davis?”
Anyone else would have probably stuttered or faltered in their response, but not this woman. Nope. Foster’s office manager didn’t appear to be fazed by his hard glare and intimidating words. This little blonde gave as good as she got.
Noelle scoffed. “You wish I would sexually harass you, Kavanaugh.” Walking over to place a file folder on his desk, she laid a hand on one curvy hip, clad in a dark blue, ankle-length dress. “I just got these three—yes, three, because I rock—contracts signed by the necessary individuals. You’re welcome. Now, I’m going to go and get some real coffee since you’re too cheap to have a decent coffee maker in this joint.”