Last First Kiss

by Sidney Halston

  He thought she had been done talking but she continued. He couldn’t see her face from this angle, but she spoke as if she was lost in that moment those years back, reliving it as she told it. He wondered how many people had she said this to. “When I came to, we were trapped, buried under the rubble.” She paused. “I can still remember the smell of acrid smoke, the dull silence around me. I was in and out of consciousness for almost three days, or so they tell me. I tried to dig us out. Yagana survived the initial blast. She was still alive, her little tiny body bleeding. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t get us out; I couldn’t save her. I held her for almost three days until they dug me out of the rubble.”

  He wanted to ask but at the same time he was terrified, already knowing what the answer was going to be. “And Derek?”

  “He died instantly from the first explosion. I don’t remember how I made it back to the base. Apparently I was in some sort of catatonic state of shock. My eardrums popped and I couldn’t hear anything. Eventually, I snapped out of it. My entire team, including Derek, died. I was the only survivor. And since to the world we were nothing more than friends, colleagues, I wasn’t informed about much. His remains were sent back to Kentucky where his family lived and that was that.”

  “That was that?” His mouth hung open and he pushed her back a little to look at her face. Her eyes were wet. “Don’t you miss him? You said you were in love with him.”

  “It’s weird. I had a lot of therapy after that, and I somehow learned to compartmentalize Derek’s death. It feels as if it was another lifetime ago instead of six years. I feel oddly disconnected from it. It hurt a lot when it happened, and I was deeply depressed. The doctors said it was PTSD, but I knew it was the loss of Derek that was killing me.”

  “But you didn’t tell your therapist about Derek?”

  “No. For the first time today, I told Joey. He doesn’t know it was a commanding officer, just that I was in love and he died. Before that, I had never told anyone. It felt wrong to defile his legacy in that way. He was a revered high-ranking commander of the US Army. If it had come out that he was dating me, it would have tainted his memory.”

  “Wow. I don’t even know what to say.”

  She sat up on the bed, crossed her legs, and faced him. She looked comfortable and so very young sitting there in a T-shirt without any makeup, just chatting. How he wished they would have been talking about anything else but this. “You know, when my father died, I didn’t think my mom would be able to go on. She’d see something that reminded her of him, a commercial, his favorite mug, whatever, and she’d cry for hours. They’d made so many memories. I never had that with Derek. We snuck around. Our relationship consisted of stolen kisses and late night conversations in his bunk. But that routine you miss when the person’s gone, the familiar things that remind you of a good time, I didn’t really have that with him. Maybe I wasn’t even in love with him. Don’t get me wrong, it still hurts when I talk about him or when I think about him, and I do miss him. We talked a lot and I really think he was my best friend. But I think I’m okay. Maybe that sounds callous, but . . .”

  “I’m in awe of you, Annabelle.” He rolled onto his back and clasped his fingers behind his neck. “I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re stronger than anyone I know. I knew that before, but I’m sure of it now.”

  She turned off the bedside lamp and got into bed, tucking her head on his shoulder like they’d done this a million times. “Strong? Did you hear what I just said? I had a lot of therapy. And I have horrible nightmares.”

  “You’re strong. And beautiful.”

  “And a little crazy and a lot intense.”

  “Turns out I’m a big fan of crazy and intense.”

  “Starting up something with you. . . . it would be my second time dating someone off-limits, and the first time—well, it didn’t work out well for me or him.”

  “It’ll work out. Just trust me,” he whispered. His eyes were drooping and her voice was trailing off. The events of the day were starting to take their toll. He didn’t want to leave. It felt nice having her close this way. She must’ve read his mind, because she whispered, almost dreamily, “Don’t go.”

  He smiled to himself, so happy to hear her say that. He kissed the top of her head and pulled her in even closer. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He didn’t know how much time had passed. He’d been drifting off to sleep but there was so much swirling around in his mind. Her breathing was even and soft and he wasn’t sure if she was still awake. “You scare me,” he whispered.

  He felt her tense up. “Me? I’ve never slept with a man before. With Derek he always snuck out at some point. This is all new to me. But you, you’re the heartthrob playboy with all the experience.” Her voice was groggy with sleep.

  “What am I supposed to do with you now?” he said softly, feeling for her hand under the blanket and lacing it with his. “I want you so much I can’t stand it, but you deserve more than this. More than four months. For your first time, you deserve . . . someone else.”

  “You’ve put up with my temper, my bossing you around, my brother being an ass, my drugged-up confessions . . . Rocco, if anything, you deserve better.” She kissed his chest, and then went back to the little nook under his shoulder. “Sleep well, Rocco.”

  “Goodnight, little Tiger.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Many South Americans are disgusted that an American will play the role of Gabriel Mendoza. Demonstrations have been in full force all over Hollywood today. Recent American immigration reforms have exacerbated the anti-American sentiments brewing with our neighbors down south.

  It was a quiet morning. No sounds of blenders anywhere. Instead, Rocco woke up to hair splayed across his chest, his face, and in his mouth. Annie felt small and warm against his body and he didn’t want to let go. The story she told him last night was heavy and more than he bargained for when he’d originally hoped for a little four-month fling.

  He gently moved her arm aside and rolled out of bed. The woman had had a hell of a day yesterday and deserved to sleep. After finishing his morning routine, he decided to go to his home gym and work out to clear his mind.

  Sweat dripped down his face an hour later. He’d made a decision. He didn’t give a shit how complicated things would be. He wanted—needed—her. It was so new and fragile, their relationship, if that was even the proper word for it—but it felt important. She made him feel like he’d lost something at some point in his life and now he’d found it. It was an odd feeling and something he couldn’t shake off. Walking away from her just was not an option.

  It was ten in the morning by the time he went back up the stairs. He was surprised to see she was still asleep—her body balled up in the middle of the bed, her hands tucked under her cheek, her hair all over his pillows. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He took a quick shower, and once he was done and dressed, he softly sat on the edge of the bed. “Annabelle?”

  She didn’t even stir.

  “Wake up, Tiger.” He leaned closer, stirring her gently. With a yawn she lifted her arms over her head and stretched her legs with a loud moan. “What time is it?”

  “Almost eleven.”

  She sat up abruptly, almost clonking him on the head. “Eleven! What?”

  She looked around, confused. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Relax. It’s fine. You slept in. But we have to leave soon for the Boy and Girls Club, unless you want to stay.”

  She jumped out of bed frantically, and ran to the bathroom. “No. No. Give me five minutes.” He heard the shower turn on. “I don’t think I’ve slept past six for ten years. I can’t believe I overslept,” she hollered from the shower.

  “It’s fine. You needed a rest.”

  “No. It’s not fine. What if there had been an emergency? I’m supposed to be protecting you, not sleeping in.”

  He walked into the bathroom and leaned against the vanity. “You’re here for more than that, I hope. Af
ter the conversation from last night, I hope I’m not alone in that feeling.”

  She pushed back the curtain and stuck her head out. “Yes. Fine. But still. I have to do both. Work is still important. You’re still in danger.”

  “Multitask,” he said, opening the curtain a little and giving her a loud wet kiss right on the lips causing her to yelp and . . . was that a giggle? “We leave in ten.”

  * * *

  He downshifted when he got to the traffic light, Annabelle immersed in her phone. “Do you ever not work?” he asked.

  “Actually, this isn’t work this time. It’s my mom and brothers. They’re giving me a hard time about missing another Sunday dinner.”

  “You guys do Sunday dinners?”

  “My mom tries, but it’s hard for us all to be there. My brothers are dispersed all over the place. But it just so happens they’re all actually in town this Sunday.”

  “This is only a couple of hours—we can make it to your mom’s if you want to go.”

  She looked up from her phone and her eyes shone as if he’d just offered her the sun and moon. “Really? You wouldn’t mind? I can have someone else from ICS stay with you while I’m gone.”

  “No, I’ll come with you. I mean, if that’s okay.”

  “Yeah, of course. Oh God, my mother will love that. She’s a huge fan.” Annie typed on the phone as she spoke. “I should warn you. We’re a loud and overwhelming bunch.”

  “I look forward to meeting everyone.” He parked the car. “I’ve been wondering something since I saw you pull up at my house on Monday.”

  “What’s that?”

  “What car do you drive? I picture you in a sleek red corvette or something equally sexy but badass.”

  She snorted out a laugh. “You couldn’t be more wrong. I think I’m going to let you keep guessing.”

  “Seriously? Why?”

  “I have a love affair with my vehicle, which is why I never drive it. I don’t want to mess it up.”

  “Is that why I’m giving you rides left and right instead of the other way around? I always pictured a bodyguard would be doing the driving.”

  She held out her palm. “Give me the keys and I’ll drive from now on.”

  “Are you crazy? I’m not letting you drive this baby.”

  “That’s what I thought. I feel the same way about Bob.”

  “Bob?”

  “My car. I named it Bob.” She shrugged.

  “Bob? What a generic name.”

  She shrugged as they parked in front of the club. “So what exactly happens here?”

  “Depends. Today I promised we’d play a game of kickball. By the way, Paul should be here too.”

  “Really? That’s cool.”

  “Yeah. He loves being here too.”

  “So kickball, huh? Oh, I can’t wait. I’m good at kickball.”

  He snorted. “Relax yourself there, crazy. These are kids. I can picture you getting competitive.”

  “I’ll be good. I promise.” She jumped out of the car and practically skipped to the entrance. He had on a hat and casual clothes, he felt safe here. No one knew he came to the club and it was in a bad part of town. The paps would never linger around. As soon as he walked in, twenty kids from five years old to fifteen, came barreling toward Rocco as Paul stood behind the mob watching.

  She walked toward him and watched how excited the kids were to see him there.

  “I’ve been making sock puppets for the last hour and no one even knows my name.” Paul laughed.

  She snorted and gave him a smile. “How’ve you been?”

  “Good. Can’t complain. And you?”

  Pretty good, thanks. So you guys come here every Sunday?”

  “Pretty much. He only misses when he’s on location shooting. But I could stop coming and no one would notice. Rocco, on the other hand . . .”

  “I doubt that’s true,” she said, and he shrugged. He was being humble; the kids surely loved him too. “And anyway, he does have a Ken doll made after him and you don’t. Makes him more noticeable.”

  “Oh, he hates that, you should totally bring that up to him,” Paul teased as they stood on the sidelines watching Rocco greet all the kids. Her heart melted at how sweet he was with them. “He’s good with them.”

  “He is. Always has been,” Paul said.

  “How long have you guys been coming here?”

  “Seven, eight years?”

  “Wow. This would be great publicity for him.”

  “Tell me about it. But he refuses. That’s not why he does it.”

  One of the employees of the center stood on a chair and clapped her hands. “Okay, kids. Let Mr. Monroe go. Kids! Outside. The field’s ready.”

  A chorus of happy cheers roared.

  “Ready to get your kickball game on, crazy?”

  “Ready to get your ass kicked, Monroe?”

  “Always.” He winked, took her hand, and led them outside where they played on opposing teams for the next two hours. Girls versus boys.

  “This is BS, Mr. Monroe. The boys won!” A little boy whined.

  “It was a tie,” Paul said.

  “It wasn’t a tie!” It really wasn’t a tie; the girls were terrible, mostly because they were for the most part younger than the boys.

  Rocco kneeled down in front of the little boy. “I’ll tell you a secret, Jake. Your life will be a lot better if you let the girls win. Make them happy.”

  “What? Why?” he asked, dirt all over his face and his hair falling over his eyes.

  “Because if they’re happy, you’ll be happy. Trust me.”

  The boy pouted and rolled his eyes as he stomped off. Paul and Annabelle snorted.

  “I gotta run. I’ll swing by the set this week. Later guys.”

  “Bye, Paul.”

  “Bye, brother.”

  “This was fun,” Annabelle said.

  “I love it here. These kids don’t have much. They do their homework, eat hot meals, and play games. I used to love coming here when I was a kid.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought his lips to hers for a simple kiss. “You’re a good man, Mr. Monroe.”

  He smiled coyly. “Well, thank you, Ms. Clad. Come on, we have a Sunday dinner to get to.”

  “A white Tesla!” he said abruptly as they got into the car.

  “What?”

  “Your car. It’s a Tesla.”

  She threw her head back and laughed. “Not even a little close.”

  “Come on, give me a hint.”

  “If you show me where you keep your Rocco Monroe Ken dolls, I’ll tell you what car I drive.”

  He groaned and narrowed his eyes. “It’s an action figure. A badass action figure, not a Barbie. And I will never show you. Not ever.”

  She threw her head back and laughed all the way to her mother’s house.

  CHAPTER TEN

  El Traficante received a five-million-dollar cash injection from the Century Investors group after delays in filming as well as added expenses from location changes caused yet another investor to back out.

  “Did Paul tell you that Century was brought on board?” Rocco asked as he drove.

  “No. What’s Century?”

  “A big investing firm. Apparently all the publicity made them change their minds about putting their money behind it. They originally said no to the project, but now they’re in.”

  “So two investors have pulled out because of the risk, but another one thinks the risk is a good thing?”

  “Pretty much. Hollywood is weird that way. But Century is huge, so this will bring wider distribution. It’s a good thing,” he said.

  “Great.” She looked over at him. “Why are you so bouncy?”

  “I’m not bouncy,” he said, then asked, “Maserati?” He’d been naming cars at random in between conversations and she just laughed, but she couldn’t help but notice he was acting weird.

  Was he nervous?

  * * *

 
; He parked his car in front of an older house in an older, but nice, Ft. Lauderdale neighborhood. He’d been naming random kinds of cars most of the way, just to hear the infectious laugh that came out of her mouth and to distract himself from the nervousness he was feeling.

  She was so beautiful, especially looking relaxed and rested for once. It had been such a good afternoon, but now, meeting her family—it was new and unnerving.

  Now they were at her childhood home and he felt unsettled, unsure why he had a lump in his throat or why he was so nervous. Was it because he’d never met the parents of a woman he was dating? Were they even dating?

  It wasn’t that. It wasn’t about her. There was something that made him feel disconcerted and he couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

  He stepped out of the car and looked around. All the homes in the neighborhood were different, not like the cookie-cutter communities that were popping up all over the place. The lawns were all manicured and had one or two sensible cars parked up front. No BMWs or Mercedes, but nothing run-down either. At her house there was a new model Honda Accord and a Toyota Camry. There was also a flagpole attached to the house, and on the light blue flag there was a sun with the word “summer” on it. He wondered if her mother changed the flag with every season.

  Growing up in foster care, he’d always thought these kinds of homes and communities did not exist. But here he was, standing in front of one.

  A small hand on his shoulder shook him out of his thoughts. “Rock? You okay?”

  “Yes. Yes, sorry, I’m good,” he said as he finally began to walk. “Wait!” He rushed over to the small garden with two palm trees and a big terra cotta pot with some colorful flowers and kneeled down. “Is that a garden gnome?”

  “Uh . . . yeah, why?” She hunched down next to him. “You’ve never seen a garden gnome? I’m sure there’s another one around here, maybe even a tacky pinwheel too.”

  Wow. He was having some sort of out-of-body epiphany.

  This was the house of his dreams and he’d yet to step foot inside of it. Loneliness, the real kind. That was what he was feeling. The kind that grabs hold of you and sucks deep at your marrow. Ironic, that a man who was always around people—crowds of people—could feel lonely.