On His Six : A Summit Seduction SEAL Novel (The Summit Seduction SEAL Duet Book 2)

by Rachel Robinson

  “Sure thing,” I say.

  “Okay, bye.”

  “Hey,” I add quickly before she hangs up.

  “Yeah?”

  “Ditto, Maeve.”

  The line is silent for several seconds. Then I hear her take a long breath and then she whispers, “Ditto.” The line goes dead immediately after. Isaac’s words are haunting me. I need to communicate with her better. I didn’t tell her how I’m feeling. If I’m feeling it then she is, too. We’re in tune. It’s always been part of our connection. I see Turner run out of the building, tearing down the sidewalk to my truck. His eyes light when he sees me driving. I lean over and open the door for him to hop in.

  “Daddy! You’re here!” He scoots over on the bench seat and leans into a side hug. I kiss the top of his head.

  “I’m here. How was your day, buddy?”

  “This is my favorite part of the day,” he exclaims. “Going home to see you and Maevey and Chonk.”

  My heart plummets. This is too complicated to explain to the boy.

  “I can’t wait to show her the picture I drew in art.”

  “Ah, I’m about to rain on your parade, but Maeve has to help Ramona with her art tonight. She booked an art show,” I explain. “That means her paintings will be shown in a space that sort of looks like a museum. Some might even sell. Maeve has to help her get ready so we won’t see her until tomorrow.”

  His face falls. I see it from my peripheral. “Oh. Now that your arm is better and my leg is better, she’s not going to be ours anymore?”

  Intuitive kid. Smarter than I give him credit for sometimes.

  “She’s still ours.” I don’t have the heart to tell him the sleepover is off this weekend, so I keep my mouth shut. I know Tasha will take him even if I’m sitting at the house all by my fucking self. “But she needs to help Ramona. Don’t worry, buddy. Why don’t you show me the picture you drew?”

  He digs it out of his backpack and hands over a crumpled piece of white paper. I look at it while I wait for the pick-up line to move. It’s a family photo. Chonk even has one ear smaller than the other. Maeve is in between Turner and me. Everyone is smiling and happy. There are two rainbows and a bright sun in the corner. There’s a pink flower in Maeve’s hair, and I’m wearing my uniform. The sight gives me a pang of regret. It also makes me ache with longing. For the piece of heaven I never thought would be granted to me.

  “Remember when I told you my birthday wish came true?” His tiny voice shrinks.

  “I remember. You didn’t tell me what it was though.”

  His brows furrow together. “Sometimes people say if you speak a wish out loud, it doesn’t come true. I thought maybe that might ruin it, but…” He lets his sentence hang and he shrugs one shoulder. “Guess it might already be ruined. I wished that you could have a wife again.”

  Not a mother for himself. A wife for me.

  I snuff once to control my emotions. “Again? I never had a wife.”

  “Yeah, the lady you were with to have me.”

  An odd way to explain who his mother is, but it’s obvious he gets it, at least a little. Rena isn’t his mother in any sense of the word other than birthing him.

  “I wished for a good wife for you. Like Maeve.”

  Emotion clogs my throat. “You picked Maeve for me, huh? Well, thank you. You did a fantastic job!” I lock gazes with him and he beams like he alone, forced Maeve into our lives. He sort of did, if you reason it was the broken leg that led me to her.

  “She’s the best.”

  She is. This has to work. I know it. Maeve knows it. Things have taken on a sharp, real turn, and there’s no coming back from this. The heartbreak is going to be significant if I don’t give this my all.

  I take my phone off the car holder and I snap a photo of Turner’s picture and text it to Maeve. I tap out, He made this for you and can’t wait to give it to you in person tomorrow. I miss you, Maeve.

  She texts back right away. The crying face emoji and a heart, then, I’ll be there. Tell him we’ll make an appetizer before dinner. Then a second message. Do you want to come to the art show with me? I know Turner with be with Tasha that night.

  Ah, nothing like using the kid to get my own way. It wasn’t intentional, but now I know. I hit a thumbs up on the invitation.

  I breathe out an enormous sigh and tell him the good news. He claps his hands together and bounces up and down in his seat. Finally, I turn onto the main road and make our way home. Turner talks animatedly about some game he played at recess and all I feel is grateful that the things he saw and heard seem not to bog him down. There are more nightmares now, but for the most part, he seems unaffected. He’s had daily sessions with his guidance counselor who assures me his apparent resiliency is real, and not just a figment of my imagination. I didn’t buy it at first. There’s no way a child can see what he saw and be perfectly fine with it. It was explained that children process trauma differently than adults do. It’s why sometimes children who come from awful circumstances grow to fight the stigma they feel someone has placed on them. Other times, when the trauma ends up being too much, it’s displayed in very obvious ways. We haven’t seen any of them in Turner.

  I’ll never forgive Rena for a lot of things, but this is the solid, first place winner. Doing what she did in front of my boy—stacking more odds against him. When I think of it like this, I realize why Maeve’s lineage gives her such grief. It’s not misplaced at all. It’s a part of Turner’s lineage. I pull into the garage instead of parking on the street like I normally do and turn off the engine.

  To think I was completely satisfied coming home with Turner to cook dinner and do homework. When Maeve opened my world up, she made it so her presence is perpetually felt and missed. I’m annoyed, but can’t say I didn’t see it coming. Lincoln Wilds doesn’t date. Look what happens when he does.

  Turner opens the door and runs into the house, leaving the garage door open. I grab my duffel bag and slam the truck door. The neighbor from across the street waves from his porch as he unstrings Christmas lights from his bushes. I throw up my hand in a wave as I make my way to the mailbox. Another neighbor drives by. She puts her sunglasses down before she waves. I’m still in uniform and had forgotten until this moment. Cringing, I wave back and then sort through my mail. There’s a red envelope that immediately grabs my attention. No return address, and it is postmarked from Tijuana. I become uncomfortable as the alarm bells ring in my mind. I should give this to the detectives. I shouldn’t touch it, and I definitely shouldn’t open it. Then again, fuck it, I’m breaking all the rules. Using my house key, I slide it under the envelope flap to rip it open. I unfold a piece of paper and as expected, Rena’s handwriting covers the page. It’s shaky and scraggly because I’m sure she was drugged up when she wrote it but I’d recognize the loopy scrawl anywhere.

  Dearest Lincoln,

  I can’t sleep. Or eat. Or move from this spot in a dark room. I’m having a hard time functioning knowing I hurt you. Not only that, but in front of our son. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. I was never supposed to be the person I’ve become. I never wanted to go down this path, but I felt like there wasn’t another way for me. Some people have shiny destinies, mine has always been tarnished, dirty, a foregone conclusion. Nothing is easy. Life always seemed so difficult for me. Others always seemed to have an ease in which they went through life while I would always drag my feet to keep up. When I saw you with the baby, I knew I’d never live up to the expectations you’d expect from me. I can’t be a mother when I can’t even take care of myself. I didn’t deserve you or Turner. The life I live isn’t something I can escape from now. There isn’t going back, or pretending the things I’ve done didn’t happen. I’m a murderer. I’m a liar. I’m wrapped up so tight in an underground world, I’ll never be able to touch light again. Writing this is hard, and it’s only because I want you to know I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Abraham Lincoln. When we made that promise as children, it was the one
thing I held on to, like maybe if I did that right, the rest of my sins would wash clean. You were supposed to be enough, Lincoln. You were supposed to be enough. I made you my savior, and I had no right to when the only god I pray to is the needle seconds before it goes into my arm. I would have done it all differently if I had a redo. I never would have looked into Maeve. I’d have let you have whatever happiness you could manage after I left you. I’m not asking for forgiveness because what I’ve done can never be forgiven, I’m apologizing for not knowing the difference between loving you and losing you. I’m admitting defeat and assuring you I won’t bring you into any more drama from my world. This is goodbye. The forever kind of goodbye. I promise. Once more, for old time’s sake.

  -R

  Why does this make me feel? The same reason I couldn’t pull the trigger at Maeve’s house. It’s the reason Stavros is dead, and I have a healed bullet hole in my shoulder. Rena holds power over me. Even her written words stop me in my tracks. Standing in my driveway, I stare at the paper flapping in the cold winter breeze. What does this goodbye mean? I should feel relieved and happy. It should be a cause for celebration. Instead, it feels like another death. My stomach roils. Someone honks behind me and I startle. A neighbor waves, driving by slowly. I manage to get a hand in the air before slinking back into the garage and then the house.

  Turner is humming a familiar song in his bedroom. Leaning around the corner of his doorframe, I watch him playing with his toys. He laughs, and that eases the pain a little. I wanted to be free of Rena, and I absolutely need Maeve to be safe. I got what I wanted, I think. Swallowing hard, I head back to my bedroom and change into a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. I tuck the note in a dresser drawer and catch sight of myself in the mirror. I tousle my hair and give myself a mental lashing for letting Rena affect me… still. Mindlessly staring into the fridge, a memory of Rena pops up.

  “You cooked for me last weekend so that makes it my turn,” Rena says, shuffling things around in the refrigerator. “That chem test today sucked. How did you do?”

  “You didn’t let me study much last night,” I reply, grinning at her backside. “But I think I aced it anyway.”

  Rena turns and smiles so wide it makes her eyes crinkle. “Think I can tackle shepherd’s pie?” She holds up a bag of potatoes and a package of ground beef.

  I nod, admiring the way her top falls off one shoulder, exposing her slender collarbone. “You can do anything you set your mind to.”

  Rena’s face lights up. “You have so much confidence in me.” She leans over the counter to peck me on the lips. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. Promise you’ll love me forever.”

  This is where the egregious lie began unraveling. Why I’ll never make a promise. Why I know Rena will never make a promise she can’t keep.

  “Promise,” I say.

  I shake the memory away and ask Turner what he wants for dinner.

  “Breakfast for dinner!” he calls down the hallway. Sighing, I’m relieved. Something that takes no bandwidth. He runs into the kitchen and climbs a barstool to sit in front of me. “Will you let me help like Maeve does?”

  Forcing a smile, I slide the large measuring cup and the pancake mix in front of him.

  Turner’s eyes go wide. “You’re letting me pour? I don’t know, Daddy, do you think I can do it?”

  My stomach sinks, and I lose my breath. “Of course you can. Even if you spill, it’s not the end of the world.”

  His smile is all the reassurance I need in the moment. I can’t be Rena’s savior—she’s right. I can save my son, though.

  Chapter 7

  Maeve

  “I’ve gained weight, but my God, I didn’t think I gained this much,” I say, spinning so Aspen can finish zipping up the dress.

  “Stress eating. It’s what I do bi-yearly for no real reason other than it’s the holidays and my family sucks,” she says. “Suck it in more, Maeve. Once we get it on, you’re going to look like Giselle during fashion week.”

  “What happens when I take it off? That’s if I can even get it off!”

  We’re in my large closet and Aspen is helping me get ready for the art show. Lincoln should be on his way here to pick me up. This is supposed to be fun. I’m going to have a good time. Nothing bad is going to happen. This is my new mantra, except I don’t know if I’m going to be okay. I might get hijacked while I’m in the bathroom, never to be seen or heard from again. Talk about being on edge.

  “I knew I was going to wear this gown as soon as I found out about the show. I didn’t really think much about it after that. I should have tried it on. Ugh.” The inch is zipped and I spin.

  Aspen looks at her handiwork. “You’re going to unfurl like a sausage out of casing when you take it off. I’d actually pay good money to see it. It’s probably pretty aesthetically pleasing.”

  I perch my hands on my hips and level her with a look. “You’re not helping.”

  She nods, pursing her lips. “You look hot though. No one will know you’re wearing a two when you need a four. Unless, you know, Lincoln takes the dress off at the end of the night and gets to see the… unfurling in person. You really can’t tell it’s tight.”

  “That is a horrifying way to put it, and no, we won’t be doing anything naked tonight. He’s not fully healed yet.” I lie.

  Am I supposed to tell her, ‘Oh, well, I might disappear into the cartel soon and don’t want to make my absence that much harder, so I’m distancing myself from him as much as I can?’ It’s hard enough handling Lincoln when I’m over there so much. I can’t break away from them, no matter how hard I try and even knowing they will be better off without me. A clean break is most practical, but my damn heart is too far gone. I want them in any capacity that I can have them while still keeping an arm’s length.

  “How is he driving if he isn’t healed enough to grease you up like a pig and get you out of this dress?”

  I grab a clutch from a shelf behind her. “You’ve been with the rancher long enough to speak like a farmer, Aspen. I’ll assume everything is going well, and no pigs are being greased tonight. It’s, ah, well, it’s complicated, I guess. Driving isn’t the same thing as having a sex life.” A sex life with Lincoln is more aggressive than any kind of driving during rush hour. “The dress doesn’t feel that tight anymore. Maybe it was made to fit like this.” I shift my arms around.

  It’s a one-shouldered, black, mermaid gown covered in dark sequins. I put on the pumps before I got into the dress so I wouldn’t have to bend over, and the second I catch a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror, I know Lincoln isn’t going to let this night end without the dress unfurling. It’s not a vain assumption, when I know, in fact, it’s truth.

  Sighing, I fix a bobby pin holding my hair into structured waves and exit into the living room. Chonk stays right beside me and then starts barking his head off. The doorbell echoes, a shrill noise. I pull out my phone to check the camera footage and see Lincoln standing at my door in a tux, holding a huge bouquet of flowers. He flashes a cheesy grin into the camera, and my heart skips a beat. I want to be the pig being greased. That’s what happens when I see him. The draw is immediate, effortless, and potent. My heart hammers as he uses his key to let himself in. He only rings the bell to announce his presence so as not to scare me… and Chonk.

  I wait in the living room for Lincoln to ascend the stairs, trying to catch my breath, preparing myself for the sight of him in the flesh. He turns to seek me out when the staircase opens and he makes a full stop when his gaze lands on mine. His eyes bug out of his head.

  “Maeve. Maeve,” he stammers. “You look stunning.”

  Not like a stuffed sausage, Aspen, see.

  “Beautiful, really.” Lincoln clears his throat loudly as he walks up to stand in front of me. “Jesus, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to concentrate on anything other than you all night long.”

  I grin. “Thank you,” I say, swallowing hard. “You look spect
acular yourself. Seeing you in a tux, is, well, it’s pretty… wow.” I trip over my words when he’s this close. His scent is intoxicating on a normal day, but now it mixes with cologne, and he resembles James Bond or a muscular GQ model, and he only has eyes for me. It’s a lethal combination.

  Lincoln extends the flowers, an afterthought. “I brought these for you.”

  I take the enormous bouquet and thank him as Aspen lets out a loud whistle behind us.

  “You guys look like a million bucks!” she exclaims, sauntering into the room from the dimly lit hallway. I’m certain she watched the whole exchange.

  I give her a look as she eyes my dress. “Here, can you put these in water for me?”

  “What else am I here for other than to do your bidding, Madam Ahern,” she replies, grinning friendly. “I’m happy to help. Of course I’m joking.” She takes the flowers, smells them, then searches for a vase in one of the living room cabinets.

  “Do you have any plans tonight?” Lincoln asks, calling out loud enough for her to hear.

  She starts talking about a television show, but switches to the rancher, Jason, and then back to television, and I realize Lincoln is flummoxing her. Great. It’s going to be a long night. Everyone is affected by the man in a tux. My thought is that he’s mine. He’s going home with me, but the aching hole in my heart reminds me otherwise. He can’t be mine fully and forever, because I put him in too much danger.

  “We should get going. Ramona will be finished with the show prep soon, and I don’t want her to be alone for long.”

  He nods, gaze like a fiery promise. “Your chariot awaits, my lady.” His demeanor changes, and he cracks his knuckles in fists by his sides. “Hey, I wanted to ask you something. I didn’t cancel the reservation for this weekend, just in case. After the uh, show, did you want to head up to the cabin just for the night?”