Laws of Attraction

by RC Boldt

  Breaking off to gesture to the letter she still held, he continued. “She missed out on getting to know the most incredible woman on this earth. Someone who has a ton of impressive accomplishments. Maybe that letter was because she’d finally realized it, but we’ll never really know.

  “What I do know, Lee, is that wherever she is now, she’s regretting and kicking her own ass for missing out on watching you become who you are today.”

  She met his gaze again, throat tight, eyes feeling the burn of unshed tears. “You really think so?” Her voice sounded frail to her own ears.

  Nodding, his tone was subdued but sure, firm when he answered, “I know so.”

  She held his gaze for a moment longer before looking away with a faint sigh. Setting down her beer beside her chair, she folded the letter up and ripped it in half, sliding the pieces beneath her beer bottle so they wouldn’t get carried out by the wind, littering the beach.

  Turning back to face him, her eyes locked on his. “I don’t want or need anything from her. I’m done.”

  When she rose from her seat, she could see that he was unsure of her intentions as he slowly set his own beer off the side, leaning back in his chair, watching as she stepped toward him. Once she settled herself upon his lap, curled up with her long legs draped over one arm of the chair, his arms wrapped around her. Even though it had to still be in the mid-seventies with possibly eighty percent humidity, she felt chilled to the bone.

  Smoothing back her long, dark hair before pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he held her as the two of them sat in silence with nothing but the faint sounds of their breathing and the nearby ocean waves crashing onto shore.

  And for the first time, Lee was allowing herself to do something she’d never done before.

  She was allowing someone to hold her.

  C

  HAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Comin’s law: If you say that Benjamin Franklin said it first, people will always be more accepting of your ideas.

  Lawson’s take: So maybe I should replace Yoda with Benjamin Franklin? And then people will start taking my ideas more seriously? Huh. Well, that just sounds all sorts of boring, if you ask me. Ben never trained anyone to resist the Dark Side and use the ‘force’ so you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t jump on Mr. Comin’s bandwagon on this one. I must defer to Master Yoda.

  ~

  “LEE?” LAWSON’S VOICE CALLED OUT to her as she was trying to get dressed in preparation for the evening’s event.

  “Laws,” she answered back playfully.

  “Need help?” His voice sounded closer, and within seconds, her eyes met his in the reflection of the bathroom mirror in his house. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him.

  God, he was so handsome. That blond goatee, his dark blond hair short on the sides and long enough to show off the small curls atop his head. Curls she recalled sliding her fingers through, tugging on when they’d—

  “Lee.” His voice sounded low, like a growl of warning. “You keep looking at me like that and we’ll be late for the wedding. And I can’t do that since I’m the best man.”

  Meeting his eyes in the mirror, she studied him. He was wearing a plain pair of black dress pants and a gray button-down shirt, the long sleeves rolled up to display his strong forearms sprinkled with blond hair.

  “You’re looking pretty handsome there, Briggs.” She winked at him in the mirror.

  Sliding to stand behind her, she watched him move her long hair over her shoulder before pressing a soft kiss to the column of her neck. “And you look breathtaking,” he whispered against her skin, eliciting shivers before he pressed his soft lips against her, again.

  “I’m not even fully dressed yet, don’t have my hair done or makeup finished,” she protested.

  “Like I said,” he raised his head, eyes meeting hers in the reflection of the mirror, “breathtaking.”

  Her entire body softened at his words because she could plainly see that he was being honest. That he truly deemed her to be breathtaking.

  “You’re pretty awesome. You know that, right?”

  “Of course.” He grinned at her reflection. “I knew you’d fall for me the first time we met.”

  “Really now,” she remarked drily.

  “Yep.” That one word was dripping in cocky confidence and it was just so … Lawson that she had to laugh.

  “Are you good at applying women’s makeup?” she teased.

  “Aaaaaactually,” he drew out the word, wide grin forming on his lips.

  Rolling her eyes at him, she moved aside, then looked down at the small array of cosmetics, trying to figure out what she should do with her makeup. God, she was so ridiculously uncomfortable with this crap.

  “Lee.” His tone was gentle and she looked up. “I can help. Really.” Hands on her shoulder, he gently steered her to sit on the closed lid of the toilet. “Sit. And allow me.”

  “You’re going to do my makeup?” She looked at him skeptically.

  Lawson was now holding a brush of some sort that the other women insisted she purchase the last time Laney had made them stop at Target. It was there that Laney had informed them they needed to find simple dresses to serve not only as bridesmaids’ dresses but dresses they’d “be able to wear on other occasions”. Shockingly enough, they’d not only been able to find dresses to fit each of them but the dresses she’d chosen for them were actually quite pretty.

  “Yes, I’m doing your makeup. Now, relax. Close your eyes and allow me to further beautify you.”

  Letting out a small sigh, she did so, and sat there while she heard him moving some of the makeup containers around, felt a brush against her face as he worked in silence. When he did speak, it certainly wasn’t the topic she’d expected.

  “So,” he started in, “you had a bad dream last night.” He didn’t pose it as a question but as a statement. And she heard the concern in his voice.

  Shit. That was the worst part about spending the night with him. She could never predict when the dreams—nightmares—would occur. And they always left her feeling raw afterward. Vulnerable.

  Earlier that morning, finally rousing enough to truly awaken, to pull herself from the dangerous, painful memories of her past, she’d promptly found herself being tugged into Lawson’s embrace, her back to his front. Initially, she assumed that, judging by the hardness prodding her from behind, he was interested in sex. But, as they had continued to lie there in his bed, not speaking, his muscular arm securely wrapped around her, she realized she had made an incorrect assumption.

  Lawson had merely held her. Saying nothing—without any probing questions whatsoever—he just held her. As if he knew, in that moment, it was what she had needed more than anything else. To simply feel the security of his embrace.

  They had laid there in the quiet of the house with nothing but the sounds of the air conditioning kicking on every so often, his softly whispered words resonating with her on so many levels.

  “We’ve all got baggage, Lee. It’s just a matter of finding that person you love—who loves you back—to help you unpack.” He’d pressed a light kiss to her bare shoulder. “I hope you know that I’m always here, ready to finish unpacking with you.”

  She hadn’t spoken, hadn’t replied because she didn’t have the words, she was so overcome with emotion. Instead, she had shifted to face him, reaching up to place her hand against his cheek, feeling the beginnings of his scruff. Looking into his eyes, the blueness seemed so clear and crisp, with such affection, love shining the depths. She lowered her gaze, tracing her thumb over his full lower lip, and he pressed a kiss to it.

  “Lee.” Eyes darting up to his, his expression was intent as he appeared to swallow hard. “I don’t think you realize just how much I love you.” Reaching up, he’d fingered the strands of her hair, smoothing it back from her face, and tucking it behind her ear.

  “From the start, I can’t even explain it.” His tone had been low, subdued. “I knew you were me
ant to be mine, and I was meant to be yours.” With a soft chuckle, the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Sounds hokey as shit, I know. But I just knew. Something told me right in here.” He tapped a finger to the center of his chest over his heart.

  “And I knew, regardless of the fact that I wouldn’t be your first, I knew that I wanted to be your last.” He pressed a kiss to her lips before moving back with a small, but slightly wary smile. “You about to dry heave, now, from all my sappy talk?”

  Placing her palm flat against his chest, she’d pushed him to lie back on the bed, then straddled him. They were both still naked, having not bothered with dressing after their lovemaking throughout the night. She watched his eyes darken as he took in the sight of her long legs on either side of him, her small breasts bare, nipples puckering now that they were uncovered, due to the air conditioning. He had scanned her form before meeting her eyes, hands reaching up to cup her face, bringing her down for a kiss.

  But it hadn’t been just a kiss. It had been the sweetest kiss she’d ever had, his lips working over hers in such a delicate manner, not deepening it—no tongues, but merely sipping at her lips. When her lips parted on a silent gasp at the emotion threatening to overwhelm her, he took her lower lip between his own, tugging ever so slightly.

  Breaking their contact, he looked deeply into her eyes, and it was as if he understood that she’d never felt that depth of emotion before. That she still wasn’t sure she could voice it, wasn’t sure she knew how to love. Not the way he deserved to be loved.

  Suddenly embarrassed, and feeling awkward, she’d tucked her face into his neck before whispering, “Will you love me forever?”

  He had been silent long enough to make her tense, muscles tightening. Fingers threaded through her hair, tugging it slightly, and he guided her face to raise her eyes, meeting his own. Reluctantly, she did so, attempting to brace herself for whatever he might say. Because she should have known better. The person who was supposed to love her—Regina—hadn’t. Brent surely hadn’t loved her.

  Maybe she was just unlovable, maybe she was—

  “Lee.” He’d fixed his gaze on her. “I’m in love with you. Permanently.” His lips had curved into a slight grin. “You’ll have to work hard to get rid of me … and even then it won’t work. I’ll be like the grease stain on your clothes that you forgot to stain treat.”

  Raising an eyebrow, she replied, “Really now?”

  “My love will be like the annoying conversation about sex my Gran brings up.” His grin had been wide, infectious. “It’ll never end.”

  Letting out a laugh, she shook her head. “You’re the only person who professes their love and compares it to their grandmother’s sex talk.”

  “It gets the point across.”

  “That it does.” With a sigh, she laid her head back down on his chest. His hand smoothed over her hair, sliding down to caress her back. Closing her eyes, her lips had formed a blissful smile. Because in that moment, she knew she could stay like that forever.

  Coming back the present, she swallowed thickly. “Yes?”

  “You know I’m always here if you want to talk.”

  Lips curving upward slightly, she spoke quietly, “I know, Laws. I know.” Pursing her lips, she blew out a quick breath. “It’s nothing that I haven’t already told you. It’s just that, sometimes …” She trailed off, not knowing how to explain.

  “Sometimes painful memories rear their ugly head.” Her eyes flew open. It was in moments like this that she was amazed at how attuned this man was to everything about her. He actually paid attention to her, listened—truly listened—when she spoke.

  Giving a brief nod, she closed her eyes again, allowing him to apply whatever makeup he was currently using.

  “Did I ever tell you about the time I had to help Raine out with her makeup and hair?”

  “Really?”

  She heard him give a little laugh. “Laney was stuck in traffic in downtown Jacksonville on her way home from a teachers’ workshop, Tate had been under the weather with a terrible cold, and Raine called me because she had a date but hadn’t realized that she was still pretty sore and had lingering tenderness from her surgery.” His voice changed slightly and she heard affection in his tone as he continued. “She was so frustrated, embarrassed, and probably nervous, too. She’d just managed to kick cancer’s ass but couldn’t seem to manage her own hair and makeup—those were her words.

  “So I went over there and she guided me with her typical OCD type of step-by-step instructions on what to do with her hair and makeup.” She heard him snicker. “I don’t know which one of us was more surprised by the end of it. Because I did a pretty kick ass job, if I do say so myself. So that was my introduction into hair and makeup one-oh-one.”

  He cleared his throat, and when he spoke next, his words sounded rough, hoarse with emotion. “When she turned to see her reflection in that bathroom mirror, I’ll never forget her expression … or her words. Her eyes met mine and she asked, ‘Do you think I look normal, Laws? Like someone who didn’t have part of her chest removed? Do you think he’ll … think I’m still pretty?’ She’d tried to play it off with a laugh, but I heard it—heard the question she was really asking.

  “I looked right at her in that moment and said, ‘Of course, he will, Raine. He’ll be knocked off his feet by your beauty first, personality second, and afterwards, you know what he’ll be thinking?’ She was obviously curious and said, ‘What?’ That’s when I leaned in closer and whispered, ‘He’ll think, damn, whoever did this woman’s makeup and hair is clearly one bad mamajama’.”

  Unable to resist laughing, she murmured, “Laws.”

  “Yeah, she said the same thing,” he told her as he continued, moving on to her hair, now, by the feel of it. “But it made her smile, helped to push aside the self-doubt, at least for a moment. And that had been my mission.” He hesitated. “Well, that and doing her hair and makeup. I also had to help her with her bra which was super awkward because do you know how difficult it is to adjust your friend’s bra straps with your eyes closed? I mean, I may come off as a ladies man and super fly and all, but seriously. How you all deal with all those tiny little things and everything all the time is beyond—”

  “Laws,” she interrupted, opening her eyes to peer up at him, studying him intently. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

  He didn’t immediately respond, holding her gaze before he finally nodded seriously. “Yeah, I know.”

  “Laws,” she warned with a laugh. “Your modesty needs an upgrade.”

  “You know I’m kidding,” he told her with a grin. “I’m pretty ordinary, Lee. But as long as you keep thinking that I’m amazing, it works in my favor. That way, you’ll stick around.” He winked at her.

  What he didn’t realize was that she’d stick around—that she wanted to stick around.

  Possibly forever.

  C

  HAPTER FORTY

  Langley

  Eighth Deployment

  Kandahar, Afghanistan

  We’d been having severe storms in Kandahar, which meant high winds and low visibility, the winds kicking up all the dust. And that? Yeah, that fucking sucked because it aided the enemy in cover and concealment. Which meant enemy activity was always higher during this time.

  Reduced visibility was less than a mile and our lead helo pilot had warned us that conditions were shitty. That, if—when—we got called out for a mission, we were all to use our “Spidey Senses” because if something felt off, we were getting the hell out of there.

  “Scramble, scramble, scramble!” came over the loudspeaker at the base. We all made haste in getting to the chopper with our gear in tow, strapping in securely. There was no intel to go on which sucked ass since that meant we’d get it on the way and would have little to no time to prep to better treat our patient or patients. Finally, in flight, we got word.

  “IED strike. Left leg above knee, amputee. SF. LZ will be marked by purple smoke.” The intel
was stated over our headsets.

  “Fuuuck.” This came from Lucas, seated across from me. Silently, I agreed with him. SF meant that the wounded individual was Special Forces; one of our own. Since we were flying out to a more deserted area outside of Kandahar City, that could only mean one thing.

  A Green Beret had been hit.

  Please let it not be the medic, I mentally chanted to myself. Please let it not be the—

  “Condition critical. SF medic. Over,” came the additional intel over our radios.

  My teammates’ expressions said it all, grim faced and intense. The medic was the ultimate last person anyone wanted to get wounded. For obvious reasons, of course. For me and the rest of my team, this was one of those missions that cut both ways. These were the guys we wanted to pick up; we wanted to help out our own. By the same token, they were the guys we didn’t want to have to rescue, didn’t want to see get hit or injured by some asshole terrorist’s rig.

  As we neared the LZ—landing zone—finding out that it had already been swept with a metal detector for IEDs and deemed safe to land, our pilot set the chopper down while the trail helicopter stayed in flight, hovering above us, providing cover and watching out for any threats.

  Lucas, Brent, and I exited the helicopter, carrying the litter, which we would strap the injured Green Beret to in order to secure him and treat him in-flight. We were greeted instantly by one of the wounded Green Beret’s teammates, informing us to not veer off the path, indicating that it was where his “brother” had been wounded. Leading us up to where the wounded man lay, I instantly assessed that his teammates had treated him to the best of their ability, wrapping him in thermal blankets, tourniquet in place. Judging by the puddle of blood which had gathered beneath the stump that was now the man’s leg, however, it was not doing the greatest job.

  Carefully, we all helped to place the injured man on the litter, keeping his thermal blankets in place, hurriedly carrying him to the awaiting helo. As we slid the patient inside, each of the man’s teammates approached to kiss him in Green Beret fashion, signifying their respect … and fear that the man might not survive his injury.