Jim goes silent, leaving Dr. Owens to coax him. “How so, Jim? What did Taya say that you disagree with? Remember, this is a safe place to share whatever you’re feeling. Why don’t you face Taya and speak directly to her?”
Jim swivels on the couch to face me. “Things started out that way. With me counting down the days.” He pauses to clear his throat. “But then, I started to get to know you and it stopped feeling like a punishment. I still have reservations, especially given what happened to my last marriage, but I like you, Taya. You’re not at all what I expected. In a good way.”
Warmth blossoms in my chest. Not exactly a declaration of undying devotion, but it’s a start. Baby steps. We have time. Maybe this could work after all. And because it feels natural in that moment, I reach out and take Jim’s hand in mine and squeeze. “I like you too. And I’m glad it doesn’t feel like a prison sentence anymore.”
“Really good communicating, right there. Remember, the key to any successful partnership or marriage is openness and honesty. Those two things are the only way for true intimacy to grow,” Dr. Owens says.
Openness and honesty.
His words ring through my head like an accusation and my stomach twists. I slip my hand out of Jim’s and shove it in my lap.
“But don’t worry if you’re not ready to fully open up yet. Trust takes time to build between two people. Just remember to keep talking and spending time together. That’s the very best way for a relationship to grow.”
While Dr. Owens guides us through some communication exercise, I make a pact with myself. Once I figure out what’s in that cloud drive and get confirmation that my secret won’t freak Jim out and get us both kicked out of the program, I’ll tell him all about my past.
Until then, I’ll work on everything else.
Chapter Seventeen
Jim
If any preschooler has the potential to break the sound barrier, it’s Bear’s youngest daughter, Leslie. Two weeks after our counseling session, I’m glaring down at the little girl, but as usual, she remains unimpressed. If a trainee hadn’t burst into tears two days before, thanks to this exact glower, I would have worried I was losing my touch. In all fairness, though, with Bear as a father, there’s probably not much that scares the kid. In that respect, she’s a lot like her older sister.
“Piggyback!” Leslie doesn’t ask questions. She demands results. Taya snickers as I crouch dutifully and allow the child to clamber up my back. Her grip is strong as hell. Like an adorable spider money in a pink tutu. The back of my shirt clings to my skin as she smears me with icing, but before I can complain, her small hands wrap around my throat and hook into my windpipe.
Bouncing in excitement, Leslie slams her heels into my sides. If she were three pounds heavier, it would hurt. As it is, her pink slippers do little more than drive home how slow their owner feels I am on the uptake.
“Piggyback, Uncle Jim,” Leslie cries, already impatient after 3.2 seconds of stillness. “It’s my birthday. Piggyback, please.” Only a four-year-old can make “please” sound like an expletive.
God. Dammit.
There’s a choking noise beside me, and I glare at Taya. I love the sound of her laughter, but her current lack of loyalty is disconcerting since she’s going rogue and teaming up with Leslie.
“Not a word,” I warn, trying out the glare again on an equally unimpressed audience. Taya simply lifts an eyebrow in blatant challenge.
She rises up on her toes and plants a soft kiss on my cheek. “My lips are sealed.”
“Good.”
Leslie’s tiny girl talons dig into my trapezius, and I bite back what Marge has dubbed a four-letter no-no.
“Alright, alright, I get it. Piggyback.” For a moment, I glance at the broken spine of the piñata and envy its freedom. I’m sure as soon as the kids have tired me out, I’ll be tossed to the side with as much disregard. When Leslie tenses in preparation to spur me on once more, I place a kiss against Taya’s temple, then take off. Leslie squeals, and the rest of the children give chase. It always amazes me how easily impressed children are. I’m not even running full speed, and Leslie is howling as if I’ve strapped her to the front of a roller coaster. I dip beneath the candy bleeding carcass of the piñata long enough to scoop up a hanging piece of taffy. Backtracking around the tree loses several pursuers, and I leapfrog a homemade seesaw. Shabby workmanship. Bear may not look it, but the man can’t tell the difference between a hacksaw and a hammer. I’ll come by in a few days and fix some of those shady screws. Maybe then, the stupid thing will be level.
Jesus.
I sidestep another little girl easily and wonder if the boy currently wrapped around my leg honestly thinks that he can slow me down, or if he’s just looking for a place to sit while he catches his breath. Kids are so weird, there’s no telling.
When I’m ready to claw my way back into adulthood, Bear has to help me pry Leslie from my back. Luckily, the clown decides to show up at that moment; otherwise, we may not have been able to shake her. As the guest of honor, Leslie has a front-row seat for the performance, though, for a frightening moment, she seems more inclined to lord it over the other kids from the safety of her six-foot-four perch.
“You’re getting old.” Bear slaps me on the shoulder as we trek back to the grownups.
“Oh yeah?” I swivel my head around the yard in search of Taya, but she’s nowhere to be seen. She must’ve gone inside to help Marge.
“You’re slow and breathing hard, Jim.”
I toss my head back in exasperation. “You try running with a bowling ball around your ankle, and then get back to me.”
Bear exhales, his lips twitching with amusement. “Last year, you could cart at least three of them across the yard and back. I invited you over for one reason, and that was to tucker out my kid. At this rate, I’ll need a tranquilizer to put her down for the night.”
I arch an eyebrow. “I’m not the fuckwad who thought cupcakes for breakfast and lunch was the way to go.”
“Those were more for me than her.”
I pat Bear’s gut. “Tell me something I don’t know. I might be getting old, but you’re getting soft.”
“Married life will do that to you.” Bear purses his lips, and I roll my eyes at the less-than-smooth sequitur. “Speaking of married life,” he continues predictably, “how are things going with the missus?”
I shrug. “Fine.”
“That’s it?” Bear sounds faintly amused. “Just ‘fine’?”
Though I had no idea what to expect, our counseling session had gone well. We practiced some communication skills, spoke about the progress we were making, and got to know one another a bit better through some exercises. The marriage counselor appeared quite happy with our progress and I can see why they felt Taya would be a good match for me.
And that scares me shitless.
Taya tensed up at my comment about returning to the field. And while I wanted to bring that up—along with what really happened to her arm—in our session, I didn’t want the committee to doubt our success.
Then there was the sad, faraway look on her face when New York was mentioned during one of the exercises. She could be homesick. And that only adds to my concern about her ability to be my wife.
The part at the beginning, though? When she compared herself to a prison sentence, in that uncharacteristically soft voice? That was a stab right to the heart. I hated that I’d made her feel that way. I want to do better.
Even though I’m frustrated at the same time, because, beyond all of my other concerns, I know she’s still keeping things from me.
“She’s hiding something.” Admitting it feels like a betrayal, but I can’t shake the suspicion.
Bear pulls off his hat and scratches his head. “Any idea what it might be?”
“I have no idea. She clams up when I ask about anything to do with her life back in New York. It’s weird as hell.” I rub my fingers against my temple like I’m trying to will some magical
answer to appear. “She got really sad when it was brought up in counseling session, like she might cry.”
“You know, she came up to me earlier, and after some chitchat, asked me if I thought that people could get booted from the IPP for various reasons, like not filling out their form accurately. Sounded like she was just making conversation, but could be more.” He shrugs his broad shoulders.
I run a frustrated hand through my hair. “Do you remember the news articles in that scrapbook?”
Bear nods then puts back on his hat. “What about them?”
“Do you remember if any of them mentioned the name ‘Maverick’?”
“Not really. I didn’t really read them, so I can’t say for sure one way or another.” As always, Bear is quick on the uptake. “Think one of those articles might have been about her old man?”
“Not sure.”
The oaf nudges me with his beefy arm, nearly knocking me over. “So, what you’re saying is she doesn’t trust you enough to open up.”
I sigh. “Basically.”
Our therapist had talked about the need to be patient, and I’m trying. Patience has never been my strong suit when it comes to someone getting hurt or being in danger. I hated sitting idle when my men were in harm’s way. Or when we had to wait for a MEDEVAC helo when someone was wounded. I wanted results right away. And Taya being hurt is the same situation. I want to know what happened so I know if there is something I need to worry about. Some way I need to protect my wife.
Bear whistles in sympathy. “Well, at least you’re getting laid again,” he says, tone overtly bright.
This has become more than sex, more than duty. Taya is family. My heart gallops while my gaze shifts around the yard, refusing to land on my best friend.
Bear groans beneath his breath and shakes his head. “What the hell are you two doing, then? Holding hands in a circle and singing ‘Kumbaya’? You plan on buying her a fucking promise ring next?”
“Shut up.” My best friend would have a field day if he found out how often I’ve been rubbing one out. Between playing imaginary hide the sausage and dreaming about Taya at night, my dick is sore, my balls are blue, and I finished off an entire bottle of lube.
Again.
Bear crosses his arms over his chest. “Maybe it’s a good thing. You dodged the baby bullet. You may not be so lucky if you forget to pull out next time.”
We’re almost to the picnic table set up in the yard. Everyone was asked to bring a dish, so the table is weighed down by foil-wrapped pots and pans. The grill lets loose a steady stream of smoke and sizzling meat weaves its magic around my appetite. Bear isn’t done grilling me yet, so instead of heading straight for the food, I pause to allow him the opportunity to get it all out of his system in relative privacy.
Bear places both hands on his hips and surveys the yard. “Has she told you how she broke her arm yet?”
I cock my head in his direction. “You mean you don’t believe the gym story, either?”
Bear smirks. “In my professional opinion, it sounds like bullshit.”
“Well, when she decides to tell me the truth, you’ll be the first to know.” I shove my thumbs into the pockets of my jeans, watching as Leslie sneaks off toward the clown’s bag of tricks.
Bear’s fingers tap against his biceps, eyes focused on the soon-to-be-punished birthday girl. “What did her doctor say?”
“He gives it about five more weeks before she can get the cast off.” Five more weeks. It’s astounding that so much time has passed already.
“She must be happy to return to waitressing. Swear I don’t know whose resting bitch face is worse, yours or Taya’s, since she’s been stuck being hostess. And you won’t need to drive her to work anymore,” Bear says, trying to point out a silver lining.
Disappointment briefly darkens my mood. With Taya out of commission, I’ve been taking on more responsibility to accommodate us both. The extra effort is exhausting, but I chafe at the idea of giving it up. And she’s been bringing home food from the restaurant that the cook staff has given to help us out. Wonder if they know she can’t cook for shit.
Bear throws his head back, shaking with unbridled laughter, then looks at me, deadpan. “The lucky girl just had to sign some papers to marry you. Imagine if she had to march down the aisle to meet your grumpy ass.”
Once when I was younger, I played hide-and-seek with Lux. I dozed off while hiding in a tree in the neighbor’s yard and fell to the ground, landing on my back. The impact knocked the air from my lungs, and I laid on the grass struggling to inhale, to exhale, to do anything.
That’s how I feel right now, frozen from being stunned and trying to force my body to remember to breathe as Bear’s words bounce around inside my skull. All this time, I’d never thought about a wedding. Was Taya the kind of person who’d dreamed of her wedding day since she was little? Did she want to get married in a church? The program robbed her of that. I groan, rubbing the knot of tension in my stomach.
Bear quirks an eyebrow, tilting his chin in my direction, his eyes studying my face. “You wanna know what I think?”
“Not really.” I turn and make my way over to the table, avoiding Bear’s scrutiny and scanning the partygoers for signs of Marge. If I’m lucky, I can stack up a plate of burgers and hot dogs and scarf them down on the side of the house in shame before she realizes I’ve gotten into the food.
“I think you’re—”
A scream echoes from the kitchen, drowning out Bear’s final words. The sound of broken glass follows soon after, but I’m already on the move. Bear has a hard time keeping pace. Growing old, my ass. I smirk as I slide into the house, with him a split second behind. He stumbles into me, knocking me aside, but I’m too flummoxed by the sight before me to mind.
Taya is crouched near the stove, arms over her head and wild eyes glued to something on the ceiling. Marge is red faced and ranting, slapping a dishrag on each countertop as she stalks back and forth. I follow Taya’s gaze to the ceiling and drive my elbow into Bear’s side once my brain figures out what it is I’m looking at. “Isn’t that the pressure cooker I gave you at your wedding?”
“It’s the lid,” Bear says, calmly enough.
“I’m so sorry.” Taya straightens, color flushing her cheeks.
Marge slaps the counter again, red streaks covering every available surface. It’s plastered all over the ceiling as well, dripping onto the hardwood like rain. “It’s barbecue sauce. It was premade. All you had to do was defrost it and add the meat. How do you fuck up barbecue sauce?”
“I thought you wanted me to put it in the water,” Taya explains weakly. “You know, to thaw it?”
Marge props a hand on her hip. “I’m assuming, by water, you mean the pot of oil I set up for the fries?”
Taya blinks rapidly. “Yes?”
Marge looks like she’s about to join her pressure cooker in the ceiling, but a large chunk of still-frozen sauce falls. It lands in Taya’s hair, sloughing down the side of her head and leaving a bright red streak along one half of her face. Marge is just as quick to forgive as she is to get angry, and the sight sets her off in a peal of laughter.
“You dolt.” Marge grabs Taya and pulls her toward the door. “You’re lucky nobody was in here or we’d have burns to deal with. Bear, get the lid out of the ceiling. You and Jim can fix the hole in the morning.”
“Why drag me into it?” I mutter, and Bear throws me a dirty look.
Marge waves a dismissive hand in the air. “Probably because your wife is the one who managed to flash-burn cold food.”
I haven’t seen much of Taya’s cooking, but the one time she’d given it a shot, she filled the house with smoke. I’m beginning to think for a badass biker chick, she wouldn’t be able to cook her way out of a wet paper bag without setting off a few smoke detectors. “Defrosting can be hard and Taya’s not the most experienced cook. Tell Marge to buy the bottled stuff next time. It’s easier than homemade, and it’s impossible to fuck up.
”
Bear snorts. “Marge has been on some Martha Stewart bullshit lately. She even made homemade potpourri. Can you smell it?”
I sniff the air and answer honestly. “All I smell is burnt sauce and plaster.”
“I can’t tell the difference either.” Some of the annoyance fades from Bear’s face. “Have you told her yet?”
“Told who what?”
Marge strides back into the kitchen, already rolling her eyes. “Taya. That you love her. Duh.”
Love. I snort. “What are you two going on about? And where is Taya?”
“I gave her an extra top and pointed her in the direction of the bathroom.” She tosses a grin in Bear’s direction. “I told you, he hasn’t told her. You owe me twenty bucks.”
“And I told you, he probably hasn’t even realized it yet. So, technically, you owe me.”
“How could he not know?” Marge slaps Bear’s hands away when he tries to grab her sauce-covered wallet.
“He’s always been more street-smart than emotionally intelligent,” Bear says. “It’s not his strong suit. In fact, you can’t really quantify it as a suit at all.”
“I’m not in love with Taya,” I snap, bringing the couple’s attention back to me.
Marge is decidedly less friendly, now that money is on the line, and briefly, I regret reminding them that I’m standing here. “Don’t mess this up for me, Jim. I have money riding on you not being completely obtuse.”
I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
My best friend, Dr. Fucking Phil, strokes his red beard and winces sympathetically. “Look man, if you’re not in love yet, you’re headed in that direction.”
I’d be lying if I said he was wrong. Not when my damn heart wants nothing more than for the universe to give me a definitive answer that this woman won’t leave me because I’m losing this damn battle to keep my feelings in check when it comes to my wife, especially when my feelings are growing stronger for her each day.
But her reaction to the idea of me returning to the field worries me. She might not be able to handle staying married to me. The deployments might be too much, along with the worry about what could happen. Taya may not be strong enough to handle all that.
Issued (Navy Seals of Little Creek Book 1) Page 15