by Selena Blake
“Looks terrific. I love watermelon.”
Reya carried the tray into the living room and set it on the old coffee table. Joe and Dylan sat in the two recliners in front of the window talking shop.
Once again she got that feeling of domestic bliss, like this was where she was supposed to be, who she was supposed to be with. But she’d been with a controlling monster before. It’d ended badly but she’d survived. If behind the nice man she’d known and loved all these years was a control freak, it’d destroy her.
She’d think about that later. Taking a deep breath, she sat down and tried to enjoy her time with new friends. Baby and Joe were the type of friends she wanted, punctual, friendly and they talked about things other than computers, hot men and comic books.
After they’d left, she set about cleaning up and doing dishes.
“Are you going to tell me what's wrong?” Dylan's voice startled her.
“Are you going to tell me about your meeting earlier?”
There was a long pause and she didn't turn to look at him.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything. Start at the beginning. Who was he?”
“A friend of mine, Carlos.”
Really? That's all he could say? Her temper grew.
“And?” She turned to him then, saw the defensive set of his shoulders.
“The rest doesn't matter.”
She cursed under her breath and turned back to the stack of plates she was drying. What did she say to that? It mattered to her. He mattered to her. But she wasn't going to beg him for information.
In the scheme of things, she’d gotten what she was after, right? She’d checked in with him, she’d succeeded in her plan to make him see her as a woman instead of Teo’s little sister and she’d seduced him. Good sex wasn’t worth the pain of a bad relationship.
She should go before she got in too deep.
Heart aching for what could have been, she headed to her bedroom. After pulling her suitcase from the closet, she tossed her computer in the front pocket.
“What are you doing?”
“Staying at a hotel.”
“Why?”
“For starters, I don't want to sleep in a room full of paint fumes.” Her throat was sore from breathing in God knew what all night last night.
“My room's aired out.”
She laughed. “That assumes I want to sleep with you, which I don't.” Which was a lie, but her libido wasn’t winning this round. “I don't get it Dylan. I've known you half my life, loved you almost as long and now I find out you have some other life. And you won’t share that part with me.”
“If you listened to the whole conversation earlier, you heard me say that that part of my life is over.”
“I heard that.”
“Then what's the problem?”
“The problem is you kept it from me.”
“That's it?”
“I'd like to know what it means. What you are. What you do.”
Sighing, he ran a hand down the back of his neck. “Why?”
“Because when I hear the word Dom, I think of a controlling asshole who likes to tie women up and beat them. But I don't think that you're like that. I can't reconcile that in my brain. I’m confused.” And scared.
“I want normal, Reya. I want what you have. I want to go to work without putting together an escape route; I want a house and a yard to cut.”
“You've lost me. What does having an escape route have to do with being a Dom?”
“Nothing. I'm out of the SEALs. I'm out of the lifestyle. I want a regular life.”
“Good for you.”
“I want that with you.”
She stared at him head on, saw the sincerity in his face. Now that he’d spoken those words, she realized that she’d been lying to herself for a long time. It wasn’t that she’d sworn off relationships, she’d sworn off men who weren’t Dylan. Deep down, she’d been waiting for him.
It was just like she’d said yesterday in the heat of the moment. It’d always been him.
“Then let me in. Educate me.”
She felt a desperate need clawing at her. He said he wanted a life with her and yet he hadn't shared a fundamental part of himself.
He stared at her, hands on his hips and she wanted to reach for him, tell him everything was okay. They could work it out. She wanted to be with him but a voice shouted from the back of her mind.
Never again.
She'd promised herself that she'd never again fall for the charming, charismatic control freak. This was her life and if she wanted ice cream at nine pm, she would eat the ice cream. She would get to control the TV occasionally, she wouldn't be made to feel lacking because of her weight, and she sure as hell was going to enjoy sex.
Lies hurt and she deserved better than that. She deserved respect and a relationship based on truth with open communication. A prickle of unease stole over her skin and panic crept in. She’d been so close. So damn close to everything she’d always secretly wanted but had been terrified to put a name to.
After that catastrophe of a relationship, she'd enjoyed her freedom and her day dreams. One of her top fantasies was staring at her now and she felt the distance widening between them.
He remained mute and she realized maybe that was his answer. No answer. After putting the rolling suitcase on the floor, she reached for her purse. The paint fumes were getting to her and she really needed out of the room. Low odor, my ass.
“I'll see you, Dylan.”
“Reya, wait.”
“I've done nothing but wait for you, Dylan,” she said, heart breaking. As much as she hated it, tears wet her eyes and she felt a sob building in her. This was it. The end of a dream. The end of hope. The end of a love that should have been lifelong. “Here I am. But I'm not going to be seduced by you and find out you have a dark side I can't live with. I want you, all of you, but I can't be with you if I don't know you.”
A second voice asked if you ever really knew someone. But she wanted to believe that she did, she could, she wouldn't settle for less. And while she dreamed of spending her life with a man who would love and cherish her, who she could grow with, she couldn't risk herself like that again. She didn't need the heart ache.
9
Dylan met Joe at Jill’s Java Hut around ten on Monday morning. Reya had left less than twenty four hours ago and he'd missed her every waking moment.
Her presence, or lack thereof, was a constant awareness in his mind. How did he get her back? How did he confront the demons that plagued him in order to tell her what she needed to know?
Joe settled into the chair across from him, all lean muscle and grace. Dylan felt bulky and bullish in comparison and the small tables and little white coffee cups didn't help.
“You sleeping all right?” Joe's glance was thorough, well trained.
“If you have to ask, I'm guessing the answer is no,” Dylan said.
“Women trouble?”
“Woman trouble.” Singular. The only woman he'd ever truly wanted and she was gone because he'd kept his life as a Dom private. That’s what he’d been afraid of, that his past would come back to bite him somehow. He’d expected her to balk because of what he’d done, not because he couldn’t share that aspect of his life with her. At least, not without spilling his guts.
“I like her. She's good for you. Sort of reminds me of Jessica.”
Dylan still thought it odd that Joe called Baby by her first name when everyone else called her Baby but whatever worked for them.
“She's staying at a hotel.” He wasn't sure why he'd blabbed that little piece of information but he was momentarily saved when Jill came to take their order.
She recognized him and asked after Reya. They made a bit of small talk before he ordered his coffee and a bear claw. Joe ordered the same.
Of course, the second she was gone, Joe leaned forward and braced his forearms on the table.
“I'm not going to ask why. I'll just
tell you what Jessica told me. You only get one chance at this life so when you see something you want, you should move mountains to get it. If Reya's what you want, then what are you doing here?”
“You asked me to meet you,” Dylan said.
Joe nodded.
“I've got a job offer for you.”
“I thought I was already working for you.” Occasional security jobs, nothing big. But it got him away from paint samples and atrociously mauve, thirty year old carpet.
“Ethan wants an east coast branch and he wants me to run it. It'd take me out of the line of fire, so to speak and Jessica's thrilled with that.”
“Of course she is.”
This past week had driven home just how much a soldier’s family and friends worried and suffered during their loved one’s deployment.
“I'm seriously considering taking him up on it, and I get to pick my team.”
“Sounds like a good gig.”
Ethan ran a solid company with a flawless reputation. His team was well trained and seemed to enjoy the job. Expanding to Atlanta made sense. There was a large population of CEOs and celebrities, a huge airport, and it wasn't overrun with competitors like New York, DC or Boston.
“The question is, is it a good gig for you and are you staying in Atlanta? There’d be travel, I’m sure; you could put some of your skills to good use without having to dodge land mines.”
Dylan had to admit that he’d liked making sure JJ and Trevor’s big day had gone off without a hitch last month. And paparazzi weren’t nearly as dangerous as terrorists. But did he want to keep looking over his shoulder day in and day out?
“Think about it and let me know. Talk to Reya.”
That seemed to be the theme of the week. “How much time do I have?”
“As long as you need.”
Their coffee arrived and the discussion moved to safer topics: Falcons football, traffic, and the summer heat. Dylan kept an eye on the door, watching Joe's back the whole time. Because that's how they were built, it's how they'd been trained; it's how they'd stayed alive.
It would take longer than a few months, hell, a few years, to change that watchfulness. But he had to admit he'd rather be sitting in Roseville drinking coffee, watching the door than in a jungle or a desert waiting to be ambushed.
Dylan knew he was fucked up in the head. He wanted to go to Reya, needed to, but first there were things he needed to sort out in his own mind. Which is how he'd arrived at the gun range.
The range wasn’t anything like he was used to but there were targets to shoot and that’s what he needed. The long trusted routine would sharpen his focus and center his mind.
There was something about looking down the sites of a gun that put him back on an even keel. Perhaps it was because shooting a target was a lot like math. There was right and wrong. You either hit your opponent or you missed. Sure, you could hit a leg versus a torso or chest versus head, but a bullet was a bullet. Unlike feelings and life where things were murky and the past often came back to haunt him.
Unlike relationships where he wasn’t sure where to step.
Perhaps it'd been silly to think he could just come out of an intense and often violent career and rejoin the life he'd left behind. Just because he didn't have nightmares or flashbacks didn't mean he was whole.
Indecision ate at him like a flesh eating bacteria. He was used to making split second, life-or-death decisions. The SEALs had trained him thoroughly, almost to the point where he felt like a machine. But none of the schools had taught him how to live life after the SEALs, how to move on or fall in love.
Grandma Mabel’s voice flitted through his mind. Tighten your shoelaces and get moving.
Was it really that simple? What about his demons? What about his fears?
You’ve got two options. Fear or love. You’ve gotta pick one, son.
Mabel was right of course. She’d always been right. But then, she’d had more courage and conviction than most of the men he’d worked with.
Half an hour and countless bullets later, he felt marginally focused. But he missed the camaraderie of the Team around him. There was no one to rag on for missing a target, no one to pat him on the back for hitting a 10.
His Team would always be his family, no matter how far or wide they were spread. Joe had managed to find himself a new family with Baby and Trevor. Along with that came Baby’s friends and the rest of the Fairchilds and Wyatts.
Dylan could do the same: rebuild, develop new friendships. It was time to stop moping over what he’d lost and concentrate on what he had.
After cleaning and putting away his gear, he went to the club. Carlos seemed surprised to see Dylan on the doorstep. After their discussion a few days ago, Dylan couldn’t blame him. Although he’d said all he really needed to the other day, he and Carlos had been friends for a long time. And he’d already lost too many friends.
“Come on in.” It was nice that even though he’d turned down Carlos’s request, he didn’t hesitate to welcome Dylan. Nor did he pressure him with any expectations about why Dylan was there.
He followed Carlos down the back hallway into the main room and slid across a bench seat in one of the corner booths. The place was currently quiet, save for the bartender who was getting ready for the night.
“So what's up?” Carlos asked in that cool, debonair way of his. Even as kids, he'd been more sophisticated than the other kids on the block. His inky black hair was swept back with some product and perfectly groomed. The spotless black, leather shoes would have made any drill sergeant proud.
“I wanted to make sure you know I value our friendship—”
“I do—”
“And that my leaving the club has nothing to do with you.”
“I know.” Carlos studied him for several moments. “It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that you enjoyed your time here, you liked the control, but you didn't need it.”
His friends' observation surprised him. He'd never thought much of anyone else watching him that closely, seeing that deeply. But Carlos was a good five years older, a self-made business man from an early age. He was no slouch in the observation department and years as a Dom had made him extremely detail oriented.
“I needed it...” He left the sentence dangling. Becoming a SEAL had been beyond tough. Every single day he'd been tested to his limits and more often than not, the instructors made him feel like shit beneath their shoes. He'd needed to control something during his off time, even if the only thing he had power over was his sex life.
“A long time ago, maybe. Back when you were in boot camp. But you're a different man now.”
Carlos was so spot on; it was chilling, so Dylan nodded.
“So tell me about your new girl,” Carlos said, leaning back, stretching an arm along the back of the booth as if he hadn't a care in the world.
For a moment Dylan wondered how Carlos knew about Reya, but then, Carlos made it his business to know things.
“She's my best friend's little sister. I've known her for fifteen years.”
Carlos stared at him a minute before he leaned back in, bracing his forearms against the table. He shot a glance toward the bartender.
“Hey, Jesse. Can we get a couple of cold ones?” he asked, then turned his attention back to Dylan. “So what's the problem?”
Dylan didn't want to talk about his problems much less his feelings. He’d already done enough of that today. But Carlos was one of his oldest friends; he'd taught Dylan so much about life. Teo had never been in a committed relationship. Joe had recently found Baby. And while Carlos didn't know all the shit Dylan had been through, he knew enough. If anyone would understand, it'd be him.
So what exactly was the problem? Why was his tongue tied when it came to telling Reya about the past?
“Everything.” His lack of direction for the first time in twenty years, the pain in his leg that still haunted him on occasion, the fact that Reya was...Reya.
“I'm gonna need more than
that,” he said as Jesse slid two bottles of an Atlanta brew across the gleaming tabletop. “Thanks.”
“Appreciate it,” Dylan added. “Indecision sucks. And she overheard us talking the other day... She didn't know about my life as a Dom.”
He'd been trying to put himself in her shoes to figure out why that had upset her. Surely she had some secrets he didn't know about. That was okay with him. Wasn't that what a relationship was about, getting to know each other? Continuing to know each other?
“Start with the indecision.”
Dylan took a long sip of his beer and relished the icy cold sliding down his throat. “It's a weird place to be. No path. No direction.”
“You always liked having a road map.”
Dylan nodded. Going with the flow had been hard for him before he'd learned to improvise with the SEALs. There were best laid plans, usually guaranteed to go to shit.
Dylan's thoughts drifted and then refocused. “I just feel like I'm trying to diffuse a land mine. She's not a girl I met at the club. I've known her half her life. My hands are shaky and I feel sweaty and keep thinking 'don't fuck this up.'“
“You won't.”
Dylan glanced into Carlos's dark eyes and saw unwavering faith and support. “How do you know?”
“You're a Navy SEAL. You guys don't fuck up. You train and train until you breathe your mission.”
“But there's no training for this.”
“Sure there is. You took care of your grandmother from halfway around the world in a war zone. You understand friendship and love. You were smart enough to tell me to go for it with Shoshanna. She said yes by the way. You know exactly how to be all in, Dylan. And that's what marriage is. Your one hundred percent, you show up every day and do your best. You learn, you evolve, and you love. You know how to do all of that.”
Dylan swallowed a lump of emotion. Carlos was right and Dylan had never seen it like that. The thought, Carlos's confidence in him, went a long way toward soothing his nerves.
“You're right. Half of what's needling me is not making a decision about where I go from here. But hell, I never had time or energy to think about what I’d do when I got out of the SEALs. I hate not having a plan.”