Twenty minutes after leaving work, she stood on the front step of her parents’ house, knocking on the glass storm door, delivering yet another of her mother’s prescriptions. Her current plan was to get in and out as quickly as possible and then drop by Lucky’s house to check in on him.
A stiff breeze blew from the northwest, sending a shiver down her spine and signaling winter was on its way. She knocked a second time, the action stinging her knuckles because of the cold. Rachel wrapped her arms around herself trying to stay warm, and as she stood there freezing her butt off, she couldn’t help but wonder if her brothers would bother to knock on the door of their parents’ home or if they would have just walked right on inside.
She’d lifted her hand, ready to knock a third time, when the wooden door opened up, bringing her face-to-face with her father. “Hi, Dad.”
Still, he made no motion to open the door or invite her inside.
“What are you doing here?” he asked through the cracked glass.
She held up the small pharmacy bag. “Mom needed a prescription refilled so I stopped and picked it up this morning.”
His frown deepened as his eyes shifted to the paper bag, then back to her. “She’s not here.”
Finally, he pushed the storm door open just wide enough to reach through the gap and take the bag from her hand. Then he promptly turned his back and shut the door in her face.
“Great to see you, too, Dad,” she said to the closed door before turning on her heel and going back to her truck.
For as long as she could remember he’d treated her this way. Not anyone else in the family, only her. At least with her mother Rachel could look to a specific moment in time and know exactly why her mother quit speaking to her. But her dad? She didn’t have a concrete reason as to why. In the past, whenever she broached the subject with one of her siblings, the answer was always the same. They didn’t know why he treated her differently. Or worse, they changed the subject and pretend like she never asked the question to begin with.
What angered her most was the fact his actions still had a way of burrowing beneath her skin after all of these years. No matter how much she tried to brush it off.
Then it was like déjà vu a few minutes later, when she found herself knocking on another front door waiting for someone to answer. Any other time she would have walked right into Lucky’s place, but after what happened the other night and not knowing what he was thinking about things, well, it was probably for the best she didn’t just barge right in.
She knocked a second time and a third since his Jeep was in the driveway. Finally, she saw shadowed movement through the door’s pane of leaded glass just before it flung open. He looked like hell, his eyes red and swollen, and despite the cold front moving in, he wore only a pair of basketball shorts.
“I’ve tried getting ahold of you all night. Dottie said you called in sick. Are you okay?” she asked through the screen door. And then she spotted the bottle of Jack Daniel’s dangling from his fingertips.
He stood there dazed for a moment before stumbling back to the couch, but at least he didn’t shut the door in her face. She yanked open the screen door and invited herself in. Then, as she closed the front door behind her, took a better look at him. And what she saw scared her.
Lucky was a man who was always in control. She’d never seen him drink more than the occasional beer and now he was drinking whiskey straight from the bottle like it was water.
“Why don’t I make you something to eat?” Rachel dropped her purse on the coffee table and was on her way to the kitchen when he finally spoke.
“Always the caretaker,” he said, his words cold and hardened.
What he said was true about her, but his tone implied it was some sort of character flaw.
She was halfway tempted to pick up her purse and go, leave him there to wallow in his misery all alone. She’d spent enough of her life being one guy or another’s verbal punching bag and she wasn’t really in the mood for his crap. But she couldn’t shake the idea that something had happened, something terrible.
“You know what, to hell with the food.” Rachel took a seat on the coffee table, putting herself directly in front of him. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
Instead of answering her, he tipped the bottle of Jack to his lips, staring blearily at her as he took another long drink of whiskey.
“Is it your dad or Brenda? Are they okay?” If she hadn’t just come off shift, she would’ve thought it a possibility. By the way he squeezed his eyes shut when he shook his head, the pained look on his face, all of it led her to believe she was on the right track.
“Your mom? Half brothers?”
Again, another shake. It was as if that was the only movement he could muster.
She took the bottle from his hand and placed it on the table next to her. “Lucky, you’re scaring me. Please tell me what’s going on.”
He pointed to the open laptop next to her and she ran her finger across the mousepad to wake up the computer. After a brief flash or two, a news article appeared on the screen.
The Department of Defense announced today the deaths of four soldiers who were supporting Operation Enduring Freedom. All four were assigned to the 1st Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment at Hunter Army Airfield in Savannah, Georgia.
The names listed weren’t ones she recalled hearing him talk about, but with all the nicknames he used, they could have been. But whether or not it was guys he spoke often about hardly mattered since he’d always said his military unit was like family to him.
“Are these guys you served with? Your friends?”
He nodded. “Three others are hanging on by a thread.”
She moved to sit next to him, turning sideways so she could cradle his face in both of her hands. At first he tried to refuse her comfort, to push her away, but she only clung tighter to him. “I’m so sorry, Lucky. So sorry.”
His chest heaved while he stared at the names on the computer screen. “I should’ve been there with them. If I’d been there, maybe I could’ve . . .”
Rachel covered his mouth with her fingers. “Don’t do this. Don’t. It’s not your fault. I promise it’s not.”
Lucky squeezed his eyes shut and grasped her wrist in his hand, trying to pull her hand away as if her touch physically pained him. But she refused to move away, to give him space. When Ethan died, she would have given anything to have someone comfort her, to just hold her hand. Instead, she was left to suffer through her grief all alone and she’d be damned if she let him do the same.
Even though he tried to push her away, she fought him tooth and nail. He finally gave up the fight, first leaning into her, crying against her shoulder, his arms loosely draped around her waist. But in time, he tightened his hold, banding his arms tight around her middle, even dragging her into his lap as he buried his face in the curve of her neck and cried.
They remained that way for what seemed an eternity, until his breathing evened out and he lifted his head to look at her through bleary eyes and dark, damp lashes. She caressed his cheeks with her thumbs, wiped away the lingering wetness from his tears, before leaning forward and placing a kiss to one cheek and then the other. Then, as she stroked his jaw with her fingertips, she pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth.
His body went tense beneath her, and when she drew back, those dark brown eyes stared at her with an unreadable expression.
Her first thought was that just like Halloween night she’d gone too far.
Rachel whispered an apology as she attempted to climb off his lap; instead, his hands tightened around her waist.
“Don’t leave me.” He lifted one hand to push the hair back from her face, tangling his fingers in the long strands and twisting it around his fist. “I need you, Rachel. Please.” Tugging on her hair, he drew her closer until her forehead rested upon his. “Please.”
She knew what he was asking. Knew he wanted more, needed more from her than a hand to hold or a shoulder to cry on. A little voice in the back of her mind said she shouldn’t do this. That he’d drank far too much, was far too vulnerable and upset. That she was only taking advantage of the situation.
But Lucky didn’t wait for her to respond with an answer. Instead, he initiated their second kiss, with a series of gentle nips to her lips, the heavy scruff on his upper lip tickling her as he drew his mouth to hers. And without any regard to her heart, she dove in headfirst.
He might have been the one asking please, but really, she needed him just as much. Needed someone to drown out the sound of her father’s voice on repeat in her head. Needed someone to make her feel needed for even the shortest amount of time. To hell with her parents, her family. To hell with everything. She only needed this one thing. She needed him.
Rachel took hold of her scrub top and lifted it up and off her body. As she pressed her body against his, she was surprised by the chill of his skin. He pulled her closer, soaking up her warmth as he kissed her mouth with unbelievable tenderness. His lips and tongue tasted of whiskey, his hands felt rough and callused as they moved against her skin. She thought it might be all he needed, to be connected to someone, to steal the heat from her body.
But his kisses turned frantic, desperate. His fingers pulled at the few clothes she still wore while his mouth moved over her face and body in unpredictable movements. In one second he was kissing her lips, the next, he was pulling the lace cups of her bra downward, his mouth latching on to one breast, sucking and biting her nipple until he moved to the other and repeated his actions. All the while he blindly tugged at the drawstring of her pants, then hooked both of his thumbs into the waistband and shoved them down, along with her panties, as far as he could.
Rachel raised up on her knees, finishing what he started and pulling the pants free from her legs. Meanwhile, he’d freed himself from his shorts and in an instant was thrusting upward at the same time he pulled her down onto his erection, a harsh cry escaping his lips as he buried himself deep within her. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, holding her to him as if his very life depended upon it.
“It’s okay,” she whispered as her own tears now fell upon his skin. Her fingers skimmed the length of his spine, stroked his nape, raked through his disheveled hair. “I’ve got you. I promise.”
They remained that way for several moments, until the tension reached a point she had to move. She raised up on her knees, only to slowly sink back down upon him, the motion eliciting a sound from him that was more pain than ecstasy. She continued to move slowly over him, giving him her care, her love. She would give him whatever he needed so he knew he was not alone.
Then, without any warning, he flipped them so she was now flat on her back, his arms and shoulders pressing her legs higher and further apart as he drove deeper, harder, into her body. She grasped hold of his shoulders, dug her fingernails deep into his flesh. The tension built and coiled low in her belly, bringing her to the very edge as he cried out his release. When he finished, he collapsed on top of her, his body limp from both the physical and emotional exhaustion.
She pressed kisses to his temple, smoothed her hands over the muscular planes of his back and arms, lightly dragging her nails against his skin. He relaxed further and further into her until her hips ached from the weight of him.
“Lucky . . . my hip. I need to get up.”
He withdrew from her body and sat back on his heels, swearing under his breath as he tucked himself back into his shorts. At first she’d thought she’d heard wrong as he stared down at her partially clothed body. Then he swore again, this time as he scrubbed a hand over his face.
His regret came far sooner than she expected.
And while she’d been thinking her first time with Lucky hadn’t been exactly what she’d imagined all these months, she didn’t regret having sex with him. At least, not until this very moment.
Her stomach roiled as she sat up and tried to put herself to rights. With trembling fingers she repositioned her bra and pulled on her shirt, then rolled off the couch and hurriedly stepped into her pants.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his words thick and liquor-laden.
She shook her head, a heavy lock of hair falling free from her clip. “No big deal.” She couldn’t look at him. If she did she’d completely fall apart and she couldn’t let him see that. Wouldn’t let him see that. “I gotta go.”
“Wait. What?”
She scrambled around the front room to gather her things. She needed to get out of there before she was sick.
“Rach. Rach. Don’t leave.”
“No, I really have to go. I forgot I have to be somewhere.”
Inside her heart was breaking with such force she wondered if he could hear it.
Lucky was still calling after her as she raced out the front door for her truck. She hurriedly backed out of the driveway and headed home with four little words on repeat in her head.
What had she done? What had she done?
SINCE HE’D SPENT the past twenty-four hours swimming in a bottle of Jack, he couldn’t do much more than stare out the front window and watch her drive away. Getting in his Jeep and chasing after her could only make a bad situation worse. As if it wasn’t bad enough already.
He’d wanted her from the moment their paths had crossed months ago. He’d dreamed of being with her when he was asleep. He fantasized about her when he was awake. But not even his worst nightmares could have predicted it would happen like this. That he would use her that way. Hurt her so badly that she couldn’t get away fast enough.
He stumbled to the couch, collapsing into the cushions.
The almost-empty bottle of Jack sat on the coffee table in front of him, mocking him for losing his control in such spectacular fashion. Lucky grabbed it by the neck and slung it at the fireplace mantel, at the pictures of the man he used to be. The bottle exploded on impact, raining shards of glass and liquor down upon the room.
How did this happen. This couldn’t be his life. It just couldn’t.
Lucky fell back onto the couch and closed his eyes, hoping that when he woke up this all would be nothing more than a bad dream.
HE FINALLY WOKE around three the following morning, having slept off most of his hangover. And most of his work shift as well. He rolled off the couch and stepped into a blazing hot shower where he decided the first order of business was to apologize to Rachel.
He was waiting on her front steps when she arrived home from work, and from the look on her face, he was thankful to be sitting about five feet off the ground. Otherwise, she might have been tempted to take another run at him with her truck. Finish the job this time.
She threw the vehicle into park, climbed out, and slammed the driver’s side door with such force the truck rocked from side to side. “You forgot to call in sick,” she said as she stomped past him on the stairs. “Don’t worry. I covered for you.”
“Thank you for that.” He gathered the various bags he’d brought and rose to his feet, trailing along behind her. “I brought you breakfast.”
“I don’t like breakfast food after a night shift.”
Rachel jammed her key into the lock and turned the bolt as she continued grumbling about him under her breath. The only word he caught for certain was “asshole.” And if that didn’t make him feel like shit, because he’d now been successfully lumped in with all the jerks from her past and he had only himself to blame.
After she shouldered the door open, Rachel did as she always did and dropped her purse and keys onto a small table near the entry. Since she didn’t tell him to get lost or slam the door in his face, he took the open door as an invitation. As she disappeared into the bedroom, he made his way into the kitchen and settled the grocery bags on the counter.
They’d gone through these same moti
ons so many other times after work, but it sure didn’t feel the same. If anything, it reminded him of that first weekend they worked together where they spent all their time dancing on eggshells. When he finally put Bull’s advice to good use the following weekend, everything worked out just as he hoped.
Unfortunately, Lucky wasn’t so optimistic this time.
“Still here?”
She was all piss and vinegar this morning, not that he could blame her.
“Did you expect me to drop the food and leave?”
Rachel climbed onto one of the bar stools as if waiting for him to serve her. “A girl can only hope, right?”
Do not engage, he told himself. Do. Not. Engage.
“So what did you bring me?”
Lucky held up a white and orange bag in each hand. “In this hand,” he said, shaking the bag, “is a Whataburger with cheese, extra pickles, no onions, and French fries.” He set the first bag down in front of her and watched closely for her reaction. Her right eye twitched just the faintest bit, which he took as a good sign. “And I know you don’t like breakfast food when you get off work, but there’s always that one exception.” Her eyes widened ever so slightly and he let the anticipation build as he set the second bag down in front of her. “Biscuits and gravy with an extra biscuit.”
And just as he suspected, she went for the biscuits and gravy, wasting no time opening the Styrofoam container and digging in.
He picked up the other bag, and since her mouth was already full, she shot him a look that said without words, Get your hands off my food.
“I’ll put this in the refrigerator so you can have it later.”
That must have been an acceptable solution since she went back to eating instead of vaulting over the breakfast bar at him. Now came the tricky part.
“I realize it’s a little late to ask this, but are you on the pill? IUD? Anything?”
She paused midbite and just from the expression on her face he knew what the answer was going to be before she even spoke.
Here And Now (American Valor 2) Page 12