Looking For Love (Semper Fi, The Forever Faithful Series Book 2)

by Stella Starling

  Sam gave him an odd look, but then Mrs. Lee asked something about Pippin’s care, and the next half hour was spent answering her questions and going over the instructions Micah had typed out—everything from Pipp’s training commands to how she liked her paws held when it was time to clip her nails—and then he and Sam brought in the rest of Pippin’s things from Sam’s car and helped Alicia set up Pippin’s crate and her bed and stuff the Kong with treats. And then Alicia was hugging him and crying a little, and so was Mrs. Lee, and so was Sam… and when they finally left, Micah honestly thought Sam had forgotten about it.

  “Dairy Queen or Taco Bell?”

  “You pick,” Micah said, slumping back in the passenger seat and closing his eyes. Pippin had stayed at the Lees’ a million times, so just leaving her there didn’t make it seem real yet. But picturing going back to his own apartment and having it be all the way empty? At least, empty of all Pippisms?

  That made his stomach hurt a little.

  “I don’t know if I can eat anything right now, Sam.”

  “Dude, you’re eating.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t argue. Your stomach sounds like that scene from Jurassic Park. You’ll feel better after there’s food in it, I promise.”

  Micah nodded. Sam was probably right, so he decided to go with the not arguing plan.

  Shockingly, Sam had no further commentary.

  After a minute, Micah cracked an eye open, looking over at him.

  Sam glanced back, pulling into a Taco Bell drive-thru line. There were four cars ahead of them, and he was drumming his fingers against the steering wheel in the same staccato rhythm he used when he knocked on Micah’s door. He grinned.

  Micah waited.

  Sam looked forward again, arching an eyebrow as he inched the car forward.

  “What?” Micah finally asked.

  “What what?”

  Micah rolled his eyes. “You’re waiting for something. I know you, Sam. What is it?”

  “Really?” Sam asked, sounding utterly disappointed that he’d even have to ask. Sam shook his head, pulling the car up to the speaker to place their orders. “How well do I know you, Micah?”

  Sam proceeded to order for both of them, getting Micah one of the Meximelts he liked and ending the order with “a ton of fire sauce, but throw in a few of the green ones, too, in case anyone in the car wants to pussy out on the heat, mkay?”

  “Fine, you know me,” Micah said, his lips twitching despite himself. “But what do you want me to say? I mean, I am sad about Pippin, but… I’ll be okay.”

  Sam snorted. “I know you will,” he said. “You’re gonna miss her like hell, and so will I, but in the long run, you’ll be happier knowing she’s up there doing her thing with Ali and being all fulfilled and whatnot. Now, you gonna tell me what else is bothering you?”

  Micah shook his head, but Sam did know him—well enough to know that it wasn’t a “no” kind of shake. Answering was just too much at the moment. Sam had mercy, waiting to push him on it until they’d picked up the food and driven out to the empty lot at the community college.

  “A driving lesson?” Micah asked, wondering if Sam was just trying to cheer him up.

  Sam squirted some of the too-hot sauce from one of the red packets onto a taco.

  “Enough stalling, Micah,” he said, talking with his mouth full. Of course. “It’s just somewhere to park. You know I caught that look on your face when I asked about your boyfriend earlier, so spill. What did the fucker do?”

  “No, Sam, he didn’t… um…” Micah’s tongue felt all tangled up as he tried to jump to Zach’s defense. “I mean, Zach’s not—”

  “Micah, for real. Spit it out.”

  “Um, I think Zach broke up with me,” Micah whispered, turning the soda cup in his hands around and around.

  Sam put his taco down, swiveling around in his seat to face Micah. “What the hell?”

  Normally, Micah wouldn’t have shared Zach’s personal business, but he didn’t know how else to explain. And then, once he’d told Sam about Janis being pregnant, he also had to tell him about Zach’s family to make him understand. Which, on top of his own heartache, made him hurt for Zach all over again.

  “So… he has to do the right thing,” Micah finally said, his throat feeling raw from the effort of so much talking-without-crying. “I mean, he wouldn’t not, you know? That’s not who Zach is.”

  “Dude, in what universe are you not the right thing?” Sam asked, which kind of made Micah want to cry anyway. Sam didn’t give him a chance, though. He was on a roll. “I mean, just because I haven’t fallen for anyone the way you have for Zach, doesn’t mean I can’t recognize when it’s the real thing. Hello, you love him. It’s so fucking obvious, plus, I mean, you’re you, so I’m gonna assume he loves you back. Right? Thought so. So please tell me he’s smarter than to give you up just so he can tie himself to some lying, cheating, manipulative bitch who almost let him kill himself and then guilt tripped him about what happened when he was at rock bottom.”

  Micah blinked. He hadn’t really looked at it that way. But…

  “There’s a baby, Sam. He has to—”

  “Micah,” Sam interrupted, sounding a little exasperated. “Your guy can be a dad without dumping you. Are you seriously going to just sit around moping while you wait for him to figure that out? I mean, dude, you know I’ll hang with you anytime, but I’m pretty sure that baby or no baby, being your boyfriend means that Zach should be offering some post-Pippin comfort right now. You need to go get your man.”

  “Right now?” Micah asked, starting to feel a glimmer of something that wasn’t sad and depressed.

  “Uh, yeah. Hello,” Sam said, shoving the rest of his taco back into the bag and starting up the car. “I should totally be the gay whisperer or some shit, Micah. I’m gonna bet your Mr. Future Dad of the Year is just as miserable as you are, so no point dragging it out when you guys could be kissing and making up and fixing your shit tonight, am I right?”

  Butterflies erupted in Micah’s stomach, nerves at war with hope. Nine times out of ten, Sam did end up being right about things. And he’d even stopped eating his taco. No way was he just saying all that to make Micah feel better if he was actually willing to postpone food.

  “But what if Zach says no?” Micah asked, nibbling his lip as he tapped Zach’s address into Sam’s GPS for him.

  “Shit, he lives up in Oceanside? I must fucking love you, Micah. I’m not even gonna make you pay for the gas.”

  “Sam, I’m serious. What if he—”

  “Dude. Chill,” Sam said, cutting him off as he pulled out of the empty parking lot and headed north. “You’ve always said you were blessed by the good-luck fairy, right? But here’s the thing. I’ve known you all your life, and the only reason you’re so damn lucky is because you’re one of those people who goes out and makes your own luck. When shit sucks, you always find a way to make it better, or you twist it into a new shape, or just, like, choose to see it in a different light. Like you do with those pictures you take. I’m just sayin’, don’t start giving up on what you want now, Micah. You got skills. Use ’em.”

  Micah took a deep breath, the tightness inside him easing as hope won out over nerves.

  “So, um, you’re saying if Zach tries to break up with me when we get there, I should just Photoshop him?” he asked Sam after a few minutes, trying to keep a straight face.

  Sam’s lips twitched, then he gave it up and laughed.

  “Whatever works, bro. Hand me a taco, ’kay? And make sure you use the red sauce; don’t try to sneak any of that green shit on it. If I have to drive your ass all the way up to Oceanside, I’m definitely gonna need something with a little kick.”

  Micah grinned, rummaging around in the bag and handing Sam what he’d asked for. And even though it was tempting, he restrained himself from “accidentally” giving Sam the green sauce. Maybe another time, but right now? He was feeling a little too grateful. It
was like his vision had gotten a little messed up—making him see half-empty when the world was really, always, half-full—but Sam’s words had helped him refocus and see things clearly.

  Micah’s heart had started to feel squished and small for a little while, but the closer they got to Zach’s place, the more it unfurled—just like a sail, filling up with wind until it was big and strong and felt like it could take him anywhere.

  Things really would work out with Zach, he just knew it.

  And even if he didn’t really know exactly how, that was okay, right? After all, his whole life was basically proof that knowing where you wanted to go was more important than worrying about how to get there… especially if you weren’t scared of picking up a few bumps and bruises along the way. And loving Zach? That would always be where Micah wanted to go.

  Always.

  23

  Zach

  When the knock sounded at Zach’s front door, Precious—shivering and half-covered in suds—took advantage of his split second of distraction to leap out of the tub. She morphed from a quivering ball of misery into a streak of slippery panic in the blink of an eye, dashing desperately out of the bathroom in a waterlogged bid for freedom. It had taken Zach a good two hours just to get her in the tub, and now—as he headed toward the front door, following the trail of soapy, wet paw prints Precious had left in her wake—he suspected it was going to take twice that long to finish the job.

  It had been a welcome distraction, though, from thinking too hard about his upcoming conversation with Janis.

  With Precious having been so skittish the night before, Zach had figured that food and trust needed to come before hygiene, and by the time he’d made some headway on those two fronts, they’d both been too exhausted for him to even think about trying to coax her into the tub. And that morning? Before he’d managed to get her in the bath, he’d spent half his Saturday trying to convince her just to let him get close enough to examine the scrapes, scabs, and abrasions hidden beneath her matted fur. He was determined to see her clean and cared for, though, no matter what toll it took on his apartment.

  Precious was huddled under the kitchen table, doing her best to look invisible, and Zach murmured a few reassuring words to her as he passed. His own clothes were soaked and the apartment showed some definite signs of wear and tear from his dog care adventures that morning, but it couldn’t be helped. Janis would just have to deal. But when he reached the front door and pulled it open, it was Brody O’Shay.

  “Shit, Chief. What the hell happened to you?” Brody asked, smirking as he eyed Zach’s wet, disheveled appearance. “Shower sex gone wrong?”

  Zach flinched, doing his best to avoid letting the dig open up the part of him that was going crazy without Micah. He forced a smile.

  “Not quite,” he said, stepping aside to let Brody in. “Just some dog washing. And speaking of looking like shit…”

  He eyed Brody, raising an eyebrow. The young Marine had a partially healed split lip and was sporting a couple of butterfly bandages over his left eye. Whatever his face had run into had probably been at least a couple of days prior, but “like shit” was still a pretty apt description for his appearance.

  “Dog washing, huh?” Brody looked around the small apartment, ignoring Zach’s reference to his injuries. “What’s up with that, Chief? You trying to pick up some extra cash on the side? Because no offense, but I can think of about a dozen better ways you could do that. Ones that wouldn’t cause this kind of water damage, you know? You got renters insurance?”

  Zach’s lip quirked up, gesturing at Brody to follow him into the kitchen.

  “The apartment will dry out. Come meet Precious. Try not to spook her, though. She’s a little skittish.”

  “Precious?” Brody repeated, snort-laughing behind him. “For real? I never pictured you as the type to get one of those little purse dogs.”

  Zach laughed despite himself. “She’s not really mine, and skinny as she is, she’s not going to fit in anyone’s purse. I’m pretty sure she’s a stray.”

  She’d had a ragged collar on, but no tag, and while he planned on checking for a microchip later, her appearance made him doubt that anyone was going to lay claim to her. At least, no one who deserved to.

  “I think she’s mostly German Shepherd,” Zach added as they entered the kitchen.

  Brody smirked. “German Shepherd? That’s not a ‘Precious.’ How about you go with something like Diesel or Thor?”

  For a big dog, Precious was pretty good at making herself small, and it took Brody a minute to find her. When he did, he crouched down near the table, peering at her curiously. Precious whimpered, scooting backward on her belly until she bumped into the wall, and then just lay there shivering, looking frantically at Zach with a save-me-from-the-big-bad-Marine look of doggy desperation.

  Brody laughed. “Okay, I get it,” he said, grinning at the quivering ball of wet fur. “She’s definitely no Thor. She looks more like a drowned rat who just lost a bar fight.”

  “Speaking of bar fights,” Zach said with a pointed look at Brody’s face. “Something happen?”

  “Not my fault,” Brody said, the words running together as they flew out of his mouth like some kind of auto-responder. Notmyfault. He straightened up, ambling over to sit at one of the tall stools Zach kept at the kitchen counter and then tracing the grout lines in the tile counter with one finger as he dodged Zach’s eye. “I just got into it a little with some fuckhead on base the other day. No big deal.”

  “Mmm,” Zach said, crouching down to take Brody’s place near the table. He reached out a hand slowly, resting it on top of Precious’s wet head. She whined a little, but didn’t try to pull away, even though she stayed huddled near the wall.

  Zach sat down right on the floor, petting her softly while otherwise pretending to ignore her. Hopefully, she’d calm down enough to remember that she was safe with him. He pretended to ignore Brody, too. Waiting. Whenever Brody popped by unannounced, it was usually because he was wrestling with his demons.

  After a couple minutes of silence, Brody scrubbed a hand through his military-short hair with a frustrated sigh.

  “Seriously, Chief, I’ve been trying to work on all that shit you talk about, getting a hold of negative emotions or whatever, but fuck. You know who Gunny Harrison is? Company C?”

  Zach nodded.

  “’Kay, so you know he’s an asshole. Anyway, that fucker just won’t shut up sometimes,” Brody went on. “Wednesday? He was in front of me in line, grabbing some lunch at Roberto’s, and there were these stupid-ass poolees in front of him, and—”

  “Brody,” Zach said, cutting him off. “You got in a fight on base? Aren’t you already on probation?”

  “Fuck,” Brody said quietly, getting intensely fascinated all over again by the grout lines.

  Zach knew it was only a temporary reprieve from dealing with his own problems, but focusing on Brody’s troubles for a few minutes—especially if there was any way Zach could make a difference—was a welcome distraction. He was more than happy to wait it out and let Brody tell him in his own time.

  “Funny you should mention the probation thing, actually,” Brody finally said, looking up with a cocky smirk that couldn’t quite mask the hint of desperation in his eyes. It was exactly the look Precious had given Zach earlier. “Uh, that’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about, Chief. You know who I got a call from this morning? Saturday fucking morning at oh six hundred? My CO. An unofficial call, but still… fucking Harrison, if that fuckwad fucking fucks up my enlistment I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

  Brody had popped off the stool and started pacing restlessly around the kitchen as he spewed his f-bombs, and Precious whimpered, inching forward to rest her wet head on Zach’s thigh as she kept a wary watch on Brody’s movements.

  “Shhhh,” Zach said, smoothing his hand over her raggedy fur.

  “What? I’m just sayin’—”

  “I was talking to the dog, Brody. Y
ou’re making her nervous.”

  “Oh, right. Sorry,” Brody said in a slightly less aggressive voice, freezing in the middle of the room and shoving his hands into the pockets of his shorts. He eyed Precious for a minute, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders. “Shit, Chief. That mutt is all kinds of fucked up, isn’t she? You really think you’re gonna be able to fix her up? She might be a lost cause.”

  Zach knew Brody well enough to catch what he’d really been asking.

  “No one is a lost cause, Brody, and if your CO is taking the time to talk to you outside of regular channels, I’d say he thinks so, too. You can get a handle on this.”

  “Well, I’m gonna have to, I guess,” Brody said, slumping down onto the stool again. “CO suggested I look into finding some ‘anger management therapy’ or some shit, like that’s gonna be able to change who I am, right? Otherwise, he says he’s about done with me. Apparently Harrison went whining to him about a fucking black eye like it was the end of the fucking world, and now I’m supposed to be grateful it’s not actual assault charges? Seriously, Chief, I barely tapped the shithead, which hello, was some serious fucking self-restraint. He was totally out of line when it came to fucking with those poolees, and I can’t… I don’t… fuck.”

  Brody’s voice had been rising again, but with his last “fuck,” the fight seemed to go out of him, and he scrubbed a hand over his face, looking defeated.

  “CO was actually helping me work toward promotion, but I fucked it up, didn’t I? Why do I always do such stupid shit?”

  Zach’s stomach clenched, and he gave a brittle laugh, Brody’s question hitting a little too close to home.

  “We all do stupid shit sometimes, Brody,” he said. Precious whined softly, and he resumed the petting he hadn’t realized he’d stopped.

  She smelled like wet dog, but Zach still liked having her there.

  Zach had spent the last six days trying and failing to remember what had actually happened at the beach with Janis, but between the amount he’d had to drink and his own gut-roiling emotions whenever he thought back on it, the night had stayed a blank in his memory. A paternity test would be able confirm Janis’s claim, but it wouldn’t answer the question that Zach had been grappling with all week.