by Dani Wyatt
I've seen that eyeball logo on security vehicles about every twenty minutes while trying to settle back into civilian life around Cleveland. The city’s looking up, too.
And, I can feel the shift in me. The blonde behind the desk would normally draw my eye, but not today. It’s like a switch got flipped and that single-minded focus is set on ten.
“Mr. Spicer is ready for you now, Sir.” Patricia behind the front desk all but snaps her neck trying to catch my eye, and I do not miss the little lip-bite she adds for my benefit.
“Thanks.” Sorry gorgeous, my brain and other parts are otherwise occupied. Should have caught me a while back. We could have had some fun.
Louis is smiling from behind the glass doors. He thinks he knows what I think as I give Patty-cakes a tip of my head.
“Nice, huh?” He gives me a knowing smirk as I enter his spacious office. “She’s smart, too. I don’t fish in my own pond, but I have no doubt you would make her day with the right offer.” Louis drapes a heavy arm over my shoulders.
“Where do you fish? You’re always fucking working.”
Louis’s eyes go flat for a second, and I realize I not only have I never seen him with a woman, but I've also never heard him talk about women. I think he once told me he was born somewhere outside of Cairo. Went through some of his own nasty shit in his childhood and who knows, maybe he’s sworn off women.
He’d texted me to stop by just as I was leaving Windfield, and I’d headed right over. He’s been important to me for a lot of years. After he had done his job as my court liaison, we forged a kind of friendship. He’s as close as I have to family outside my six SEAL brothers.
I almost miss my next step.
Four SEAL brothers.
Inside his sleek glass-walled office, he lets out a heavy breath, settles his hands behind his head and eyeballs me, shaking his head.
“What?” I settle into a chair across from his desk with my hands in the air. “Man, I’m two days home. I just need to settle in. Don’t give me the fucking look.”
“Yeah? You need to talk. You need to process, man. I’ve been there. I’m not some schmuck trying to sell you rainbows and unicorns. Losing two of your brothers like that, with you driving.” He shakes his head again, staring me down. “You gotta get it out, or it comes out when you’re not ready. You’ve been through enough in your life, you know I’m right.”
“I get it, just not now. Not today. I need some time.”
The fresh face of Gentry flashes in my mind. He was the youngest member of our team. He was getting married in June, three months from now. Instead, he came home in a box.
The last time I saw him, he was screaming for me to find his legs. The legs that weren’t there because of my bad decision.
“So, what are we doing today?” Louis raises his hands from the desk, spreads his arms wide and upturns his hands.
Thank god for the subject change.
“I want to thank you for letting me crash last night and offering me the guesthouse until I go back. But, I need a place. Just for a few months. I’m still not sure what I’m doing.”
I need some space. I need to spread out a bit. Not feel like I’m in his back pocket.
“Funny you should say that. I’ll make you a deal. I’ve got a loft over near the river. Decent area, coming up but a little gritty. It’s empty. I’m planning on turning the building into upscale condo/lofts, but the legal shit is taking longer than I’d hoped. The building got broken into a couple times already. Kids drinking, fucking around in there. I’ll even send over some furniture and set you up. It’s huge. You could have a goddamn rave in there if you wanted. There’s also a separate apartment. Stay in the big space or in the apartment, I don’t care. Just keep it occupied and show a presence. You tend to keep the riffraff away.”
Leave it to Louis to know what I need and help me make it happen. I let out a sigh of relief. Dude has been a godsend in my life.
Before I can thank him yet again for saving my ass and settle on details, my phone rings. It’s Windfield.
An hour later, Dad and I are staring each other down. He’s pretending he has choices, and I’m pretending he’s reasonable.
“At least you’ll be out of here.” I snarl because I’m fucking pissed.
He’s a shadow of the man that used to throw me up in the air and catch me laughing and screaming just before I hit the ground. But, I still see that guy. He’s just broken and as scared as I am.
“I can find my own place.” He sucks on his teeth and looks out the window. The sky is gray, the temperature having dropped since yesterday, and I think about him sleeping on a sidewalk somewhere.
“Okay. Well then, stay with me until you do.”
I’m not going to battle. I’m going to figure out how to get him out of here—with me. I swore I wouldn’t take him in, but what am I going to do? Let him freeze out there? The next phone call I get will be the morgue.
When I got the call at Louis’s office, it all seemed to fall into place. Dad could live in the little side apartment, and I would take the big loft space. Perfect, right?
So, until I get him there, I’m going to play nice. I’ll tell him what he wants to hear if it gets the job done.
Yet, here and now in this little room, the walls seems to be inching in around us. The room is quickly becoming too small for all our memories.
This is not the mood I want to be in right now. It’s pushing three o’clock, and she will be here soon.
The two hundred-dollar bills are still sitting there. I start to wonder if she’ll show, and I hate to admit, but that feels more important than figuring out where my disabled, alcoholic, diabetic, train wreck of a father is going to live.
The phone call from Bruce an hour ago was to inform me that Dad was coming up on the end of his allotment of Medicare days. It’s a bit confusing, but the way it works, he would be required to transfer out of the private room and into a Medicaid bed. Three beds to a room.
Or, I could take him out . . . with me.
This is going to be interesting. We haven’t spent more than a few hours at a time together in at least ten years.
“Three to a room, Dad. Three to a room here or your own apartment attached to my loft space.” I try to keep my voice steady.
“Nope.” He shoots darts at me with his glare. “I’ll figure it out. I have a couple weeks. I’ll make some calls.” He points at me. “You mind your own business and let me tend to mine.”
He’s in rare form for Promise today. I’m trying to even him out before she comes through the door. The last thing I want is her figuring out that my more-than-generous hourly rate is not enough.
I flash back to my life with him before the fire, remembering how Dad was a giant like me. But, everyone gravitated to him. He liked everyone, and the feelings were mutual. In every picture of him from my childhood, he has this huge smile like someone just finished telling him a joke.
Then his smile disappeared, and I haven’t seen it since.
Our silence makes the dark room darker. Neither of us has a magic word to make any of it better.
“Hi. Are you ready for me?” Promise wades in slowly, her voice like a wind chime in the thick, heavy silence.
I shut my eyes and swallow hard. For a moment, I feel like I’m floating. Her damn voice is seeping through my veins and wandering around in parts of me I’ve put away for a long fucking time.
“Are you ready for me?” Yes, I am very fucking ready for you. But, I doubt you are ready for me.
I appreciate beautiful women. And, I don’t just mean Sports Illustrated swimsuit model’s definition of beautiful either. I see more.
I feel drawn to more than physical beauty. Certain traits in women ignite me. But with Promise, it’s different. Stronger, inexplicably intense. It’s a predatory instinct when I sense pain or weakness. Docility. Fear or insecurity. I’m pulled, rapt, and Promise has me in her force field. I want more than anything to be the strength for her every wea
kness.
I want to curl her into me. Secure her next to me and banish all of her bad dreams.
She’s playing eye tag with my Dad, the floor, and the two hundred-dollar bills.
“I’m not ready. I think this is stupid.” Dad snaps.
For once I am thankful for my father’s unbridled rudeness.
Promise stuffs her hands into the square pockets of her scrub top. It hangs loosely down over where my eyes can only imagine my tongue would like to be right now. I think about the soft curves under the fabric, the way she moves like she is gliding instead of walking. I love the fullness of her hips, the swell of her ass.
My dick is already giving me a fucking fist bump imagining freeing her from the soft, faded blue fabric.
She shifts from one foot to the other, and I realize I’m staring. I try to shake the stupid off and step up.
“Yes, we are ready. And,” I turn toward Dad, “it’s not stupid. You loved to read your whole life. Just do it for her. Not for me, okay?”
I know the man my father used to be is in there somewhere. I know he doesn’t really want the world to see him as he is. He’s just lost. He won’t push her away.
Me, yes.
Her, no.
“Fine.” He leans forward in his wheelchair, then straightens back up, puffing out his chest. “But I’ll probably be asleep in two minutes. They gave me those damn pills, and they always put me to sleep.” His grousing is a feeble attempt to seem disinterested, but he’s not kicking us out, so I’ll take that as a win.
I see Promise waiting for some sort of guidance, she blinks twice before she secures me in her gaze, and the way my pulse is racing you would have thought she just pulled out a gun.
“Sit here.” I stand up to give her the only chair in the room. “I’ll just stand out in the hall. Here—” I hold the hundreds out toward her, but she looks like I’m handing her a crack pipe. “What? It’s yours. Take it.”
She is utterly natural and the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen. Her skin is calling for my fingers. She reaches for the cash, and a jolt rushes from my fingertips and up my arm as she brushes my hand.
Her fingers are shaking as she tucks the money into her front pocket.
“So, which book first?” I hear the chime of her voice again, and I have to take a deep breath in order to walk away and give them space.
“Don’t matter—”
I step toward the open door. Glancing behind, I can see she is far more comfortable with my father than with me.
As I hit the door, I glance behind again. The book is open on her lap, but her eyes are on my ass. Straight up.
That’s the best thing that’s happened to me in a long fucking time.
You should have seen her cheeks light up the room when I busted her. You should also have seen my single-minded dick stand up about four inches in a damn half-second.
Luckily, that part of me was already angled away. She might have decided never to come back otherwise.
I’ve never been a bitch for a girl.
I’m honorable, respectful and treat my woman as they deserve, but I also like to be in fucking charge. I don’t play around. You’re either in my bed or not. I don’t wait.
But Promise has me re-thinking my game, and now that she’s tagged my ass with those swimming pool blue eyes, I’ve got to re-think my strategy.
Fate decided to give her to me yesterday, altering my course, and my head has been bombarded with what-ifs ever since.
As if I don't have enough decisions to make, Jesus, now I feel like I’m on a timed run in a fucking corn maze.
I can’t see up, down, sideways or out.
I have thirty days to decide if I’m going to re-enlist, and my head is in no condition to make a clear decision right now.
Three weeks ago, things were bad. Because, well, I’d been sitting in the desert for going on seventeen months and by the time you’ve been there that long, everything is just bad.
The food’s bad. You look bad. Your attitude is bad.
But, we had a job to do. We humped every day to watch each other’s backs and count six of us going out—and six of us coming back. Every day.
Only, one day, the plan got fucked.
Louis is right. My head’s not straight, but I also know myself well enough that now is not the fucking time for me to sit down and hug this out with anyone. I need to keep it in. Hold it tight.
It’s a bomb, and if I even touch it, I honestly have no idea what will happen. It’s too much. I’m leaving it alone for now.
Which brings me back to why I can’t make a fucking decision right now.
Add this girl who’s been haunting my life since that day in the courtroom, and there is not enough talking in the world for me to figure out what I should do next.
I’m just happy Louis gave me the loft. It’s a good open space. He’s got some weight equipment up there and a heavy bag. That’s about all the therapy I can take for now.
I listen to her voice reading the words, James Michener to be precise. But, her voice hits me like a melody. A sad, beautiful song that takes me back to the day I handed her that picture I’d drawn of her in the courtroom.
I fall back against the wall outside Dad’s room and let the sound of her voice wash over me. She could be reading a grocery list. Her voice is damn beautiful; she's beautiful. And inside, all the predator keeps saying is, that’s all mine.
An hour and forty minutes later, I step inside the room again. “Thank you.” I take a deep breath as I look at her. “I think that was good for him.” I look at the wonder of her face as I talk, barely able to think of anything but my lips on hers.
I seem to have found my balls and the ability to have a decent conversation without seizing up like a bitch when I come within three feet of her.
“I’m not sure. He fell asleep twice. But, he did also smile a couple times.” Promise is fidgeting with the money in her pocket as she pulls her lips to one side, then the other.
“Eighth wonder of the world. You’re a miracle worker. So tomorrow, same time?”
She’s looked at the clock on the wall six times since we’ve been standing here.
“You need to go?”
I don’t want her to go. Anywhere. Ever.
“Yeah, sorry. I have another job. I need to get the bus.”
How does she have the energy for another job after taking care of so many people all day? She doesn’t just do a job. I can feel it, hear it, see it. She cares. It has to be exhausting.
“I’m heading out. Let me give you a lift. You stayed longer with Dad than you should have. I don’t want you to be late.”
I see the panic in her eyes. She was mid-inhale, and now she’s not breathing. She sets her teeth into her bottom lip.
Holy fuck, that’s beautiful. I want to see her do that again, only for a very different reason.
“No, I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.” That melodic voice turns hard, and there’s an edge there that’s new.
Her curt reply is joined by a disagreeable sigh as she heads out the door and picks up a soft jog down the hall.
I hate to say it but my eyes focus on her ass as she goes, and that part of me that wants to claw those blue scrubs into shreds, comes roaring back to life.
Promise
Bruce is packing up his messenger bag when I drag my tired butt in the door to his—I mean our—apartment at almost one o’clock in the morning.
“Where are you going?” I ask, but I know the answer already. Poor guy.
“Mr. Fitzgerald is on the warpath. He managed to get out the front doors and halfway to the liquor store before anyone noticed he was gone. Someone called the cops when they saw him wheeling himself down the middle of Leonard Ave. So, now I have to go deal with the state investigation. You know how corporate is. They don’t like our patients eloping, and they sure as shit don’t like the State of Ohio filing a report on our building. So, the buck stops here, babe.”
“Dang, okay. Sorry.�
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“Get some sleep. Oh, by the way, McSexdream Fitzgerald stopped by my office after you left. It seems he was very pleased with your private duty.” Bruce cracks himself up with a snort and a stomp of his foot.
“Shut up. I just read to the guy’s dad—”
“Maybe. When was the last time you had a date? Let alone a little something else.” He bobs one eyebrow up and down and gives me another of his snorting laughs as he tucks in his polo shirt. “Don’t you ever just want some dick? I mean, I can’t help you. I mean, I could but I won’t. But really, just quit thinking so much and get laid.”
“Jesus, what the hell? Why are you all about my business all of the sudden?” I dump my backpack on the floor next to the sofa and then dump myself onto the center cushion.
My exhaustion covers me like a lead blanket. I fight the weight of my eyelids as I listen to Bruce shuffle around the kitchen.
One of the many reasons our little roommate arrangement works so well is we stay far away from the other person’s business. With his schedule of servitude at Windfield, my other night job, and my aversion to conversation of almost any kind, we’ve managed to spend two years together without sharing much of anything significant about our lives.
“Hey, you opened the friend-door the other day, not me.” He gives me a scowl.
“I just told you I wanted more hours! You were the one who started quizzing me about why. I asked for more nights at the club, I told you, but apparently Darla’s E cups and her flogger are pulling in the customers more than my little angel act. They cut me back to two nights. And I need money right now. I’ve got some unexpected expenses.”
I’m pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes, and a thousand little sparks are dancing around behind my closed lids.
“Yeah? Well for you, that’s a lot of talk, so I figured our relationship was moving in a new direction.” His playful sarcasm forces a smile from my down turned lips. “And you can’t tell me you did not have an ovarian twitch looking at Mr. McFertile Fitzgerald today. You barely make eye contact with anything but the floor, and I saw you damn near staring his ass right off. So, don’t tell me you’re not feelin’ it.”