And Jesus. Didn’t that just explain a boatload of issues? He let his head bang back against the metal a few times. He didn’t have to watch Dr. Phil to call this one.
The only question was… did his reasons for wanting to please his father matter, if he felt the compulsion all the same? And did they matter more than the fact that he’d clearly put his own happiness second?
***
Skye dropped her bag on their entry table and kicked her shoes off. “Hey, babe, are you home?” she called out.
“In the kitchen,” Tim replied from deeper in the house. “And don’t leave your shoes there,” he added, as if he’d seen her with his own magical neat-freak X-ray vision.
“Mr. OCD strikes again,” she mumbled with a smile and scooted them off to the side, out of the way. As she drifted through the townhouse, the most delicious smells permeated her sluggish mind. “Oh my Goddess, what is that? Are you cooking?” Rounding the corner, she reached the kitchen and found the answer for herself.
Tim stood at the stove, wooden spoon in hand, making a stir-fry. He shot her a smile over his shoulder. “Hey, baby. Hungry?”
“Starving.” She walked over to him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pressed one cheek to his warm back. “Working around food all day long when you don’t have time to eat any of it is akin to torture.”
“Tell that to the boys in SERE school. They’ll give you the real definition of the word torture.” He pointed to the side counter and a pile of veggies left on a cutting board. “Leftovers that I didn’t need, if you want a snack to keep you from dying.”
“Thanks.” She really was hungry, but she stayed in position a moment longer. He was so warm, and she was so tired…
“Hey. Sleeping Beauty.” Tim’s shoulder blade shifted beneath her cheek and she snapped out of it. “Can you pass me two clean plates?” He waved a hand in the direction of the cabinet where she had stocked nice, reusable plates rather than the paper and plastic crap he’d been using until she moved in.
“Sure.” Moving slowly, she reached up and grabbed one, passing it over her shoulder, repeating the process after he’d piled the first with food. “So when did you learn to make this? And why haven’t we been putting this hidden talent to good use before now?”
“I figured you’d want something good after working so long today. Talked to Mom today; she walked me through it. Said it was one of the easier recipes, and a good meal to make both meat lovers and veggie lovers happy. I cook mine in a separate pan but use the same ingredients, just adding the strips of steak. Voila. Everyone happy, minus the fact that there’s one extra pan to wash.”
“I’ll do it.” She breathed in and made an appreciative sound at the spicy smell. Carrying their plates to the table along with a bottle of wine, she sank down and immediately propped her feet in her husband’s lap. She watched his hands as he poured wine into two glasses. Damn sexy, watching strong hands like that cradle something as delicate as a wine glass. “So have you seen Madison this week?”
Tim grimaced and took a big bite of steak, which he took his sweet time chewing. Skye wasn’t fooled. Stalling tactics were a manager’s bread and butter. She’d seen every trick in the book, and used plenty of them herself. Waiting with a patience she didn’t often tap into, she eyed him while he chewed, swallowed, and took a sip of water. When her eyes didn’t leave his, he rolled his own.
“Come on, honey. We’re eating. Do I really have to think about my sister and Jeremy and their… issues?” He gave her a comical—if a little pathetic—sad face.
“You’re not worried about it? About her? Or them? I haven’t seen Jeremy either, but I’m thinking he’s not doing so hot either.”
Tim’s face sobered. “He’s been moody at work, more so than usual. Which is saying something, if you ask me. But I think he’s trying to get with the ‘everything’s all right’ program. They’ve got their story and they’re sticking to it.” He shrugged. “They’re convinced they can return back to normal, just friends, hanging out with the crew, and life will resume as before.”
Skye blew out a breath, shifting the hairs that abandoned ship from her ponytail and drooped around her face. “And so we’re all just going to play the game of pretend? Act like they weren’t an item? That’s stupid.”
“That’s their choice,” Tim said, more forcefully. “Don’t even think about it.”
Skye picked up her fork and studied her plate of food. Spearing a slice of bell pepper, she raised it to her lips before glancing his way. “Think about what?”
“Don’t even think about it,” he repeated.
“I’m not getting involved, I just—”
“Good.” Stabbing at a piece of steak, he used it to point at her, as if trying to intimidate her with it. “Not our business. She’s my sister. Your sister-in-law. But we need to stay out of it.”
“Like you did when you punched Jeremy?”
“That was reactionary. And completely different.” Obviously smug that he had an immediate answer for her, he took another bite of dinner.
“Different, my ass,” she muttered around a mouth full of noodles.
“And what a nice ass it is,” he said, grinning wolfishly at her.
“Cute, really cute. Let’s stay on track.”
“Let’s not and say we did.”
“More cuteness. You’re full of it tonight.” She pushed her plate forward a few inches. “I just want them to be happy. And if they could use a little help…” She shrugged. “Isn’t that what friends are for?”
“No. Friends are for buying you a beer when you’ve had a shitty day, taking you shooting, hiding the body—”
“Not mine, I hope.”
“Goes without saying.” Tim picked up her hand and kissed her palm, thumb caressing the spot where his lips had touched for a moment. “Friends are not for managing your life. They’re for standing out of the way and letting you make your own decisions, and making sure you don’t hang yourself with them.”
Skye sighed and settled back in her chair, the soothing feeling of his caress lulling her closer to exhaustion. “So we do nothing. Watch them both suffer.”
“They’re not suffering, drama queen. They’re… reevaluating. It’s what we in the military do after a blow. We step back, reassess, and find a new plan of attack.”
“And if their plan doesn’t include each other?”
“Then that’s their call to make.”
“Damn.” Skye rolled her shoulders and stared at the empty plates and then toward the messy kitchen. “I promised to clean, didn’t I?”
“You did.”
She slowly smiled. “How about I use my powers of persuasion to distract you from that fact and let me leave it until morning?”
Tim raised a brow but stood and tugged her into his arms. “As your husband, I have the utmost confidence in your persuasive abilities. Let’s go give it a shot.”
***
Jeremy thumbed over the top of his pen, clicking the tip on and off repeatedly until even the noise bothered him. He set the pen down and watched it roll over the unsigned commitment papers. His time was up. Even he knew that. They couldn’t wait forever for his answer. Time to man up and make a decision. He placed the tip of the pen on the signature line, then set it down.
Nah. Not right now. He rolled his chair back. Time to get out for some fresh air. He could man up after lunch.
Just as he was about to stand, Tim appeared in his doorway. “You’ve got a call.”
Jeremy looked to his desk phone. No lines were lit. And why would Tim know that before him anyway? “Who?”
“Dwayne.” Walking in without invitation—not that he needed one… the general rule between them was mi oficina es su oficina—Tim walked around the desk and used one booted foot to push his chair out of the way. Jeremy
rolled for a good three seconds before he hit the back wall, clanging into the furnace with a jolt.
“Dude. Whiskey tango foxtrot?”
“You pulled this same shit on me when I was being a total jackass about Skye and our relationship.”
“Marriage.”
“Whatever. Turnabout’s fair play and all that.” A few keystrokes later and Dwayne’s ugly mug popped up on screen. “We’re here.”
“I thought you said you were going to his office, but I don’t hear him. Where’s the little shit?” Dwayne drawled.
Rooted to the spot with confusion, Jeremy didn’t budge. “What’s going on?”
Tim rolled his eyes and grabbed the arm of his chair, yanking hard until he rammed against the desk with enough force to rattle the drawers. And a few teeth. “Hey!”
“Jesus, stop being a woman and get over here.”
“Damn, dude. Stop jerking me around.” Jeremy pushed back a little, childish as it might have been.
“There he is. Now I hear that idiot.” Dwayne leaned back, hissed out a breath, and settled a little more comfortably in his chair. “Now. Tell Uncle Dwayne all your problems.”
Jeremy flipped off the computer screen.
“He can’t see that; you don’t have a webcam,” Tim reminded him.
“Flipped me off, didn’t he?” Dwayne asked, eyes lit with amusement.
“Yup.”
Dwayne chuckled, completely unphased. “Amateur stuff, bro. Now, do you wanna tell me what’s the deal with Madison?”
Jeremy glanced at Tim’s deceptively lazy posture, leaning back against his desk like the answer didn’t matter at all to him. “Not really.”
“Let me rephrase the question. Tell me about Madison.”
“That’s not a question.”
“You city boys and all your fancy English grammar,” Dwayne drawled harder, sounding like a caricature of an old-fashioned Southern gentleman. Though he’d be the first to admit… he was no gentleman.
“Bite me.” Jeremy breathed deeply. “There’s nothing to tell. And how do you know any of this crap anyway?”
“I’ve got eyes, dude.”
“Not in Cali you don’t. In case you missed the landscape, you’re in the sandbox.”
Dwayne was quiet for a moment, then shrugged. “Veronica told me bits and pieces. Skye avoided telling me anything. And Madison should never play poker. ’Cause when I asked her about it, the face said it all, even though she kept mum too.”
“You talked to Madison? When? Recently? How did she sound?”
“Nothing to tell, hmm?” Tim murmured.
“Yeah. He’s lying like a cheap rug, O’Shay.”
Jeremy watched as Dwayne shifted in his seat, a grimace crossing his face. He struggled to check it, though, the lines across his brow and bracketing his mouth easing quickly into that familiar smirk once again. “What’s wrong with you? I know the furniture over there blows, but that’s the second time you’ve made that stupid face.”
He shook his head. “Still sore from the IED hit. I’m fine, just not taking it as easy as I probably should.”
Just the mention of an IED had ice sliding into Jeremy’s gut. He did a quick once-over of his friend, heart surging fast before he could calm it down with a silent pep talk. He was fine. Talking, joking. A little sore. But fine. Damn, these were the parts he really hated about this life.
“You’re punishing yourself is more like it,” Tim put in, arms crossed over his chest. “You’re supposed to be resting. You would have healed fully a week ago if you weren’t dragging your ass around the FOB like a madman trying to make up for something that wasn’t your fault.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes you don’t have that choice. I was in charge, so the blame falls to me. That’s how it works.”
“Not with shit like this. You know that.” Tim shook his head, despite the fact that Dwayne couldn’t see. “You can’t take the blame if the route clearance missed the IED. It happened. You all came back. Let it go.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t—wait. Why are we arguing about this? We’re supposed to be kicking his ass, not mine.” Dwayne pointed directly at Jeremy, though how he could have known which direction to point toward, Jeremy had no clue.
“I’m not supposed to kick anyone’s ass. I’m supposed to stay out of it,” Tim said mildly.
Jeremy gave him an are you shitting me? look. “This? This is what you call staying out of it?”
Tim raised his hands, palms out. “On this I am merely a messenger. The vessel, if you will. Dwayne wanted to talk to you, so I had to do his dirty work.”
“Uh-huh.” He turned back to the screen. “So talk, big guy.”
Dwayne folded and unfolded his arms, clearly trying to find the most comfortable position possible, each new possibility met with a scowl. After a moment, he gave up. “Madison’s as good as my sister.”
“Oh boy, another brother,” Jeremy muttered.
“Shut it. I can’t see you, but I can hear you, dipstick. I get that you tried to avoid her. Hell, I think we all saw how the two of you were doing your best to avoid each other.”
“I didn’t.” Tim shifted against the desk.
“You had blood relation blinders on,” Dwayne said with a wave of dismissal. To Jeremy, he continued, “I know you wouldn’t use her for a quick fling. You respect her too much. Not to mention, Tim would kill you. And after he was done killing you, I’d kick you. So that’s why I can deduce that when you did eventually get involved with her, you couldn’t say no. Quick flings are easy to get into, but they’re also easy to walk away from. This was Madison. And you couldn’t start something easy with her. Because walking away would suck donkey balls.”
Jeremy grimaced. “Your southern fried colloquialisms are astounding.”
Dwayne grinned. “Thanks. So clearly, you feel more for her than you wanted to admit. Am I right?”
Jeremy glanced between the screen and Tim, debating his options. Declaring himself to a computer monitor was not really how he saw this whole thing ending in his mind. But hey, roll with the punches. “Yeah.”
“Good.” Dwayne looked smug. “So what’s the holdup?”
“The holdup is he’s got to make the choice himself,” Tim chimed in. “So don’t pressure him. Nobody wants to be with someone who doesn’t want them back.”
“I never said I didn’t want to be with Madison,” Jeremy bit off, then regretted it. Dwayne suddenly wasn’t the only smug-looking bastard. “I hate you both right now.”
“We’re your favorites and you know it.” Dwayne’s smile only grew.
Jeremy did the only thing he could think of. Deflect. Turning to Tim, he asked, “Does this not seem a little familiar to you?”
“Hmm?” Tim picked up the pen he’d been playing with before and started clicking it.
“The whole meeting in the office bit, outflanking someone with Skype? International ass-kicking? We did this a few months ago. With you. About Skye.”
Tim mocked thinking hard. “Oh. Right, right. You did, didn’t you? And, oddly enough… it worked. Didn’t it?”
Well, he just painted his own ass into a corner. Tim chuckled, knowing that hadn’t worked out quite like he’d wanted it to.
Dwayne leaned in, the squeaky chair’s metallic whine grating on Jer’s eardrums even through the speakers. “Get what you need to get in your life together. Don’t leave this thread hanging. There are important things in life… and then there’s this. Too important to rank. Don’t blow it.”
Don’t blow it. Always easier said than done. Jeremy nodded silently, but he realized it really could be that easy. That simple.
“Sorry, D. I hate to do this, but I’ve got stuff to do.”
Far from looking annoyed or offended, Dwayne just grinned an
d waved. Jeremy took that as a sign and clicked to end the call.
“Uh, dude. I wasn’t done talking to him,” Tim said.
“You’re done now. Out. I’ve got shit to do.”
“What could be more important than… oh. Oh. Right.” Tim smiled a little as he looked Jeremy in the eye. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”
“Thanks.”
***
Two hours later, Jeremy let himself into his apartment. He’d busted his ass to get his work done for the day, delegating a few things he normally did himself and deciding what could be put off until the next day. He wanted to be home for the next part of his plan. Needed to be home.
Checking the clock, he knew that thanks to the time difference, his father would be getting home soon. It was a little early, but his nerves were on the edge of frayed and he needed to shore this up. Now. Taking a chance, he dialed his father’s home number.
“Hello?”
Fate. It had to be. Maybe Skye was onto something with all her Fate talk. “Hey, Dad.”
“Jeremy. What’s wrong?”
“Wrong?” He sank down on the couch and rubbed his forehead between his thumb and finger. “Why would you say that?”
“You usually call on the weekend. It’s a Thursday.”
“Maybe I just wanted to hear your voice.”
Silence.
So his dad’s bullshit meter was up and running. Fine. “Okay then. I called to give you the news.”
His dad grunted. “Finally signed the damn papers. Took you long enough. So, did your monitor give you an idea where you’re headed next?”
“No. Dad, you mis—”
“Well, that’ll come soon enough. You’ve been there three years now. I’m sure you don’t want to leave your buddies, since they got there after you did but—”
“Dad.”
“I’m trying to give you some good advice here, son. Pipe down and take it.”
“Dad.”
His father humphed. “What?”
Jeremy breathed in and out. “I didn’t sign the papers.”
A beat of silence passed. Then, “What?”
Officer Breaks the Rules (Semper Fidelis. Always Faithful.) Page 26