Black and White Flowers (The Real SEAL Series Book 1)

by Rachel Robinson

  Jasmine has me wrapped in her arms in the next second. While her gesture is tender her words are sharp and cruel. “I deserve this. It was a stupid decision to come here,” I reply, nodding my head into her chest.

  After confirming Smith doesn’t need help, Sean stoops down next to us. “I would have come with you. That was the plan. First and foremost I’m your friend. How could you do this? Come here?”

  I shrug. Blood trickles down my face and falls onto the shoulder of my blouse. “I needed the legal file. He came over a few weeks ago to apologize. He seemed different. As dimwitted as it sounds I thought he would give me the file and I’d be on my way,” I explain. “What’s he doing here?” I whisper, nodding toward the living breathing caricature of anger and jagged, life-altering beauty. He’s restraining Roarke with plastic zip ties even though he’s knocked out and looks to me like he’ll stay that way for quite some time.

  Jasmine closes her eyes and takes in a deep, long breath. “I’ve been in contact with him. Just quick calls so he can check in on you. He happened to be over my house when you texted. It must be fucking fate, Carina, because you’d be dead if he wasn’t.” This wasn’t part of the plan. He wanted me to move on so he could be with Megan without guilt. I was a piece of his past he was moving on from, not checking in on.

  Fate is a bitter, lying bitch. I shake my head. Not only am I in physical pain, but my best friend went behind my back. It stings. “You act like I wouldn’t have stopped it,” Sean says, pride wounded.

  Jasmine sighs. “They took away your guns, remember? There’s no way you could have gotten in here as quickly as Smith did.”

  Sean sits back. “Whatever, Jaz. Fuck you,” he snarls. “I’ll be in the car. You need anything, bulldozer?” he tosses Smith’s way.

  “I need to talk to Carina. Alone.” I take my sweater off to press it to the cut on my cheek and hobble to my feet. Not taking my eyes off his, I walk past him, over the bloody glass and into the house. He’s following me, his gaze boring a hole in the back of my head. I feel hot and cold at the same time. The blood is rushing to my head and not to my heart. It’s the oddest of sensations. This hasn’t been my house in a long, long time, and I feel at home as I open the freezer and grab a bag of peas to press against the side of my head.

  When I turn around I find Smith inches from me, seething mad, his teeth clenched together and his arms coiled. “How could you be so stupid? How could you do this?” he asks. Smith is controlling his breaths, and I realize I’ve never seen him angry. Not like this. Not like Roarke.

  I swallow down the sweet emotions I feel at seeing him and focus on hurt. “Seems to me you gave up the right to worry about my actions and my stupidity. I don’t understand why you’re even here.”

  He shakes his head and takes another step toward me, his presence more sinister than ever before. “I don’t understand how you could be so fucking stupid!”

  I take in a sharp breath. “What? Are you going to bounce me off the walls? I’m out of practice. Just so you know.” The metallic taste of blood makes my stomach heave and the headache I knew was coming arrives. Closing my eyes for a moment, I try to make sense of all of this.

  He backs away immediately. “How dare you say that? How fucking dare you, Care! I’m angry, yes. I’m so angry that I can’t see anything but red, but you came here knowing what he’s capable of. If you recall the only thing I’m bouncing is your fiancé’s head off the fucking ground. Don’t you ever insinuate I would harm you again. That’s not fair. Why did you come here?” His tone takes on a desperate plea. “Look what he did to your face. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.”

  I lick a drop of blood off my lip and smile. “Tell me how it was supposed to be then? This is always how it’s been for me, Smith. Tell me! You enacted this master plan without consulting me. How is that fair? You go behind my back to talk to my best friend. You crush my heart by way of a written letter. You don’t call me. Or text me. Or email me. You proclaim to love me so much that you have to honor your word to Megan. Tell me, Smith. How was it supposed to be?”

  He leans back on the island behind him, his muscles causing his dirty shirt to pull across his wide chest. This side of him, this avenging angel dipped in dirty charcoal is breathtaking.

  With his face aimed at the floor he says, “You were supposed to find a nice guy, fall in love, and stay the fuck away from your past. The past being me, but mostly that asshole outside. Nothing was worth coming here for. You know that. I know that.”

  “If I want to play Russian roulette with my life it’s mine to gamble. Pardon me if I can’t find my Prince Charming and settle down with my two point five kids after having everything I thought I knew about love turned on its head.” I cough and then wince at the pounding heartbeat in my head. “And I write romance, so that’s saying something. There aren’t nice guys anymore, Smith. There are men like Roarke and men like you—the type that pretend to be nice, but then use superhero, fake rules to crush anything good in their lives. At least Roarke knows who he is and what he wants.”

  Narrowing his eyes, he shakes his head. “You’re cruel.” Biting his bottom lip, he looks at me from under his lashes. “I’m sorry if you think I didn’t handle the break-up properly.”

  I hold up one finger. “Correction. It was a letter not a break-up. I thought it would take more than a piece of paper to tear us apart.” I was so, so wrong.

  He throws his arms wide out to his sides. “This is war, Carina. You can’t even imagine the things I’ve seen happening on American soil, how much blood is on my hands. It’s a different kind of combat without rules or plans. It’s enough to mess with anyone’s head. It’s not fair,” he says. The urge to ask him to elaborate rises, but I squash it quickly. My heart is about to leap out of my chest.

  “Nothing is fair in love and war,” I reply. A profound sadness washes over me as I realize the truth in my own words. “Whoever said the opposite was acutely wrong. I think we can both agree.”

  Smith inhales deeply and closes his eyes. “Seeing you. Merely seeing you standing here makes me whole. I’m so angry I could spit nails and that anger is directed at you and still, I want nothing more than to hold you, to touch the skin on your face with my palm.” He reaches out his hand, then fists it back to his side as if he’s lost control of his own reactions. “To touch all of you.”

  His expression is earnest, and my heart is thudding in agreement. I shake my head and remember his letter of words. I studied them for hours and days trying to decipher a hidden message. “The worst strain of heartbreak is when both parties are unwilling participants, when life forces your hand,” I say. My voice catches. “War forced your hand, and I went along with it because you didn’t give me a choice. I was the one left behind without a choice.” The days of black, dark depression gut me. The memory leaves me feeling weary and unprepared for the conversation.

  Carefully, I peel the bag of peas off my face. Smith winces when he sees the cut. “I have to know something,” he says, approaching me slowly. He closes the space between us in seconds. Just when I think he’s going to take me into his arms, when he’s close enough to kiss me, he stops.

  “We’ve gone from verbally abusing one another to this in no time at all, so by all means, ask away,” I say, studying his beautiful features up close. It takes me back to a happier time. I’m transported to Balboa Park. My head nestled on his shoulder, the red and black blanket spread beneath us. I’m gazing off at the trees swaying in the breeze and Smith is telling me a story about his friend Henry. I play with his blue T-shirt and tap my fingers on his chest to the rhythm of his pulse. The war never happened and his memories and promises to Megan stay buried. Like broken glass in a landfill no one ever sees again.

  A sob escapes as my vision turns to dust and cracks to a million pieces on the floor next to the olive laced vodka. “What, Smith?”

  “I need to know the honest to God truth. Had tonight gone differently, had Roarke really shown you a changed
version of himself, would I have walked in on a different scene? Would you, I mean, could you, really have taken him back?” Pain resonates in his tone and a grimace transforms his face as he envisions a totally different scenario.

  I could lie. That’s always easiest when given a question of this magnitude, but I want to give him an answer he can believe. I turn around, grab a glass from the cabinet above the sink, and fill it with water. I drink a full cup and set it down next to the sink. With my back turned to him, I find it easier to coerce my thoughts. Seeing him makes everything foggy. I want him so badly. More than anything else. I spin on my toe to face him. “There’s one man I want and I can’t have him. That’s the truth, Smith.”

  He sighs a long drawn out noise. “She may be the gun aimed at my chest, but you’re the only one who can pull the trigger,” Smith replies, his eyes tilting down in the corner. His proximity is too near and I’m not sure how much longer I can avoid touching him. The last time he was this close I wasn’t able to see him, or understand what happened. “I want you,” he says, swallowing so hard his neck works.

  When he lays his hand on the side of my face, I sigh. He clears his throat. “I don’t feel anything,” he whispers. He drags a thumb down to rest of my bottom lip. I watch in awe as he looks at me, truly taking in my every detail. “That’s what remembering got me. I’m devoid of everything.” I have to close my eyes. His pain is so blatant and strong it’s taking us both down. He continues, “I found myself and lost everything. Loving you made me myself. Without you I’m this,” Smith growls, palming his chest with his free hand. “Empty and alone. How easy it would be to pretend I still had amnesia. A joy—it would be freedom. Blissful ignorance. I’d have you. I wouldn’t have to look at you and feel this pain deep in my gut.” One solid tear runs down his face. “A longing so profound I know I’ll never escape it. It’s unbearable.”

  I sob and it hurts my chest when I try to control it.

  “That’s why I spoke with Jasmine. Knowing the tiniest things about you and your life ease my pain and heartbreak. Going cold turkey wasn’t an option. I’ll never stop caring about you.”

  I fall back against Roarke’s counter because I can’t hold myself up any longer. Dizziness hits me in a wave and stars cloud my vision. “Why fight this, then? Why escape it? Why not embrace it? The honorable thing to do is to honor your heart, Smith.” Henry would respect a decision made out of love. I don’t dare bring his name into this already emotion fueled conversation.

  I wipe a tear from my cheek and the stinging burn of my own salty tears reminds me of the deep gash. Smith lets his hand fall from my face and steps away from me. His chest moves deeply, up and down. It takes more effort than I realize for him to distance himself.

  He shakes his head. “You don’t understand. My feelings mean nothing in this equation.”

  His decision is solid. I’d bet a wedding date is set. I sniffle. “You should have let natural selection play out tonight. The reason for your pain and angst would be gone. You can’t love me for the rest of your life, Smith. How honorable is it to marry Megan and have feelings for me?”

  He turns to the side. It’s the profile of the uninjured side of his face. From this angle I can imagine what he looked like before. What he looked like as Megan’s Smith. “Natural selection my ass. You made a bad decision. I will never let anything bad happen to you!”

  “People like me always make bad decisions. You won’t be able to stop me from living life and making decisions. This is it. Right here and right now. It may be the poorest decision I’ve ever made, but you need to stop this. You can’t profess this tragic love for me and be with her. I love you. I’ll always love you and want you. But I won’t be the other woman. Megan deserves more from you. And me.” More guilt rises to the surface.

  “Go to her. The memory of me will fade away until I’m merely a black and white snapshot in your new memory. Or kiss me. Embrace your feelings. Don’t stalk me or talk to my friends to keep tabs on me. A clean break or a sharp love. Your choice.” They’re strong words, but I feel anything but. My voice is hoarse and my face is throbbing. My stomach is coiled with anxiety and my ribs sear with a sharp pain anytime I sob.

  “One last kiss then,” Smith says. He’s asking permission.

  I nod, the finality of our situation hitting me hard. Smith closes the distance between our bodies and when I think he’s going to take me completely, mouth, heart and soul he leans his head to the side and kisses my cheek, right next to my wound. His hot breath sends shockwaves to my core and I hear him moan as he breaths me in. His warm hands run down my arms as he separates from me. On a second thought he kisses me on the other cheek, down by my jaw.

  “It will never be enough,” I say, tilting my head to the side to give him better access.

  “It has to be,” he replies. His lips press in a firm line. He shakes his head and runs both of his hands through his hair in frustration. Looking at the ceiling for some divine intervention telling him to make the other decision, I’m sure. “It has to be the right choice or nothing in this fucking world makes sense.”

  I could convince him otherwise, but this isn’t my decision to make. I just have to live with it. “You should check on him,” I whisper.

  He nods, looking around the kitchen—any place except at me. He walks out of the room with more confidence than he should have at this moment. I slide down to sit on the floor. Leaning over, I open the freezer and grab another bag of frozen vegetables out and hold it against my face. I let a few tears fall, but ration them. I know tonight the flood will break. I’ll be alone with the new, horrible words he’s given me.

  “Poppet,” I exclaim. When I throw the front door open I see Jasmine inside the cab of my car with the white cat on her lap. She rolls the window down and asks how my conversation went. I shrug and grimace when the tears begin. I hold my hands out and she puts the cat into my arms. Jaz talks to me for a few more moments, tells me to call her when I can, and she leaves with Sean. Smith’s truck is parked next to mine. After a longing glance and a tearful thank you to my friends I return to the house of horrors.

  The kitchen is silent when I breeze in, so I make my way into the back porch. With one hand on his head, Smith squats next to Roarke, two fingers pressed against his neck. Cocking his head to the side when he hears me, he raises his brows. “One less person I have to worry about,” he says. Standing, he looks at me cautiously, pausing to give me room to take in his words.

  My eyes widen as I realize what he’s insinuating. He nods several times as I try to catch my breath, clutching my scared cat to my chest. Smith’s gaze darts down to the cat and I catch a hint of a smile on his full lips. It seems twisted as hell, but also sweet. “Go in the house. I’ll take care of this.” He slides a cell phone out of his pocket and dials quickly. I look down at Roarke. It’s the most helpless I’ve ever seen him. I wish I could take a photo. I’d develop it in black and white. “It was in self-defense. No one is going to doubt that when they see your face, or when you tell the story.” It was a single punch that did him in. It’s been that simple all along.

  Sean returns with a few of his co-workers. They all look tired and they aren’t wearing their police uniforms. They’re here to help off duty. Next, several large hulking men enter the house. I stay glued to the white sofa in the living room. The men have names that match their muscles and sheer size. Smith peeks in every so often and assures me that everything will be okay, that neither of us did anything wrong. Sean is here on the law side, and the SEALs on the government side. Under Martial Law the government side runs everything anyway. Roarke’s mother. His family. I think of all of the personal attachments of a person who is gone. That’s what I mourn in this moment. I don’t mourn him. How could I possibly?

  “We’re almost finished. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Smith reiterates, his head behind me over my shoulder. Lost in thought, I didn’t hear him approach. The men have been cleaning up and taking care of whatever loose ends nee
d to be tied up legally, and I assume removal of the body.

  I don’t say it, but I think it. We did everything wrong. We fell in love when we had no right and the resulting chain of reactions lead to this moment. The goddamn love didn’t do anything for either of us except cause pain. For the first time I’m completely free, but my deepest desire has been taken away. Loneliness smells like flowers—gardenias. Now devastation has a scent. I inhale deeply and let it tear the rest of my heart to shreds.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Smith

  THE SUN IS SETTING. We’re out past curfew and even though Sean and his officers assured us we’d be fine driving to Carina’s house in separate vehicles, I want her to ride in mine. The appropriate badges and paperwork will be with me in my truck. Seeing my unease, Sean offers to drive Carina’s car home so he can make sure she gets home without hassle. I’m mollified when she accepts and even more sick when she hugs him, the white cat meowing between their bodies.

  “I want to check one thing before we leave,” Carina tells Sean.

  He nods and says he’ll wait for her in the car.

  Swallowing down stabbing jealousy, I follow her down a hallway. The dim light from the wall sconces project creepy shadows on the opposite side of the hallway. This house is large. It gives me chills because I know what these walls have seen. They’ll see nothing more. Not where Carina is concerned. I’ll always protect her. Silently, from a distance—or even close if the need arises. She turns into a room, and I follow her in, closing the door behind us. The glow from a bedside lamp shines against her back when she turns to face me. Her features are masked by shadow.