Man of Honor (Battle Scars)

by Diana Gardin

  She’s a fucking temptress in tight black jeans and a pair of black, scuffed-up cowboy boots. Her top, flowing around her like it contains currents of its own energy, hangs off of one shoulder. It exposes creamy mocha skin, and my feet carry me toward her before I realize I’m moving. Her eyes lock in on me, drinking me up the same way I’m swallowing mouthfuls of her vision like a man dying of thirst.

  “Hey, you,” she murmurs as I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her soft curves right up against me. She sighs as the fingers of my other hand trace tiny pictures on her bare shoulder.

  “Hey, sweetheart. Miss me?” My voice feels like its buried somewhere under stacks of sandpaper.

  My dick twitches when she stretches up on her tiptoes to whisper in my ear. Her lips touch my skin, and I’m a live wire. Ready to burst into flames with a mere touch.

  “I don’t do clingy, remember?” Her husky voice is everything.

  I want to pull her to a dark place in the back of this bar and let her tornado suck me up.

  “I remember.” Then my mouth catches hers, and the sexy slide of her plump bottom lip against mine makes me groan.

  Too soon, we have to pull away. Both of our tour guides have chosen that moment to gather our group and tell a ghost story.

  “The ghost that haunts this bar is affectionately known as Lonely Joe. He fell in love with the bar owner’s daughter, who lived in the apartment upstairs with her family. She worked in the bar, helping her father with the bartending and other bar duties. They had a torrid affair, but when the bar owner found out, he put the kibosh on the whole thing. The daughter was heartbroken. She jumped off the balcony at the top of the bar. After she died, Joe disappeared. No one ever saw him again. But ever since, customers and workers here have claimed to hear and see his ghost, still waiting for the woman he loves to come downstairs again.”

  Beside me, Mea shivers. I pull her closer into my side.

  “That’s a horrible story,” she says aloud. “Way too sad.”

  Greta peeks out from under Grisham’s arm and agrees. “I want to cry.”

  “Well,” says the tour guide with a knowing smile on his face. “Spirits are the best way to remedy that. Everyone head on over to the bar to grab a drink.”

  The group settles around the bar, ordering drinks. Mea’s phone vibrates from where my hand rests on her hip. There’s a stubborn set to her jaw and a determined gleam in her eyes as she ignores it.

  “What’s up?” Are you going to check your phone?” I keep my voice low, so that only she can hear my question. I’m more than a little curious at her reaction and the tension rolling off of her right now.

  Shaking her head, she avoids my eyes. “Not now. I’ll check it later.”

  I spin her around so that she’s facing me, searching her eyes. “Is everything okay? Remember what we did in my bed this afternoon? Me and you aren’t limited to spending time in the bedroom together. If something’s wrong, I want to know about it.”

  Pulling the corner of her lip into her mouth, a war rages in her eyes as she debates whether or not to tell me something that’s clearly tearing her apart.

  “Mea?”

  Shaking her head quickly, her curls fly in a wild frenzy around her head. “Not here,” she whispers. “But…I do want to tell you, Drake. I want to tell you everything.”

  The way she says “everything” feels like the word weighs a hundred pounds leaving her lips. She’s hefting the weight of it; I can almost see the heaviness of it on her shoulders as the toes of her boots scrape against the wooden planks of the bar floor.

  I smooth my hands up from her shoulders to her face, cupping it between them like something precious. “I’m right here. We can talk later. You gonna be okay the rest of the party tonight?”

  Blinking up at me, I can see the steel she uses to cover up whatever’s creating a storm of turmoil inside her. It’s like a coat of armor she wears to protect her heart; she’s so used to hiding behind it that it takes almost nothing for her to shutter herself in.

  We turn to join the group, and I take her hand in mine as we walk toward them. I squeeze it just to remind her that I’m here and she’s safe with me, and she glances up at me with a small smile. It’s only a fraction of the normal Mea grin, but it tells me what I need to know. She’s strong, and she won’t let anything get in the way of her best friend’s happiness.

  Even if it means she has to bury what makes her heart beat fast with fear. What makes her body heavy with sadness. What makes her expressive, chocolaty eyes glaze over with pain.

  Fuck. How long has she been dealing with whatever this is on her own? She carries it on her shoulders, and from the looks of her, she’s close to breaking.

  I make a vow to myself right then and there. Whatever her secret is, it’s going to be deep and dark. It terrifies her; it chases her in her dreams at night.

  I’ll fight it for her. I’ll be the light in that darkness if it takes every last breath I have in order to do it.

  18

  Mea

  I wait until I’m back at the rental house, alone in my bedroom with Drake, before I check my phone. Drake watches me while I pace the room like a wild animal trapped in a cage. My phone is caught between my hands, but I haven’t looked at it yet. I’m counting my steps, gathering every ounce of courage I have before I finally flip the phone over in my hands and read the screen.

  Drake watches me, silent pleading in his eyes. But I haven’t told him about my father yet. I don’t know the right words to say or how to launch into a story that grotesque.

  I have Daddy issues. You know, the first man who’s supposed to love you and protect you? The one who is supposed to fight the monsters away? Well, mine was the monster. And I’m the one who had to put him away.

  It’s no conversation starter, that’s for sure.

  There are six missed calls from my brother. And three texts.

  I open the first text message.

  Call me.

  The second text message is a bit longer.

  I don’t want to text this, Mea. Call me.

  My stomach plummets toward the floor. My fingers tremble along the warm metal of my phone as I open the third text. I read the two words there and can’t control the strangled cry that leaves my throat.

  He’s out.

  Drake is off the bed and across the room in a second, pulling the phone from my hand and pulling me into his arms. Over my shoulders, he reads the text. I can hear the confusion in his voice as he grinds out his question. “Who’s ‘he’? Out of where?”

  I try to take a breath, but no air flows into my lungs. I realize I must be having a panic attack at the same time that Drake does. He lifts me into his arms and places me on the bed before he crawls in beside me. Pulling me to him, he strokes my hair as my entire body convulses with terror. Cold, hard terror that steals your breath and your words.

  “Shhh, baby girl. I’m here. No one will hurt you, I swear to you. I’m right here.” He murmurs the words and ones just like them over and over again. I have no idea how long it takes for the attack to subside, but when it does my body is empty and cold. My limbs are weak and heavy. But at least I can breathe again.

  “It’s my…it’s my father.”

  Drake stiffens, but he doesn’t stop his comforting stroking. He waits for me to tell him more.

  I run my hands along his bare chest. As soon as we came into my room, he stripped off his shirt, dropping it on the floor before sitting on my bed. I’m so glad for the bare skin contact now. It’s as soothing as his voice and the cloak of his arms around me.

  “He’s been in prison since I was fifteen years old. When I was thirteen and a half, I told a teacher that he had been…assaulting me…for the previous two years.”

  Drake takes a deep breath beneath me. I hold mine, waiting for his reaction.

  I’ve never told anyone this. Especially not a man. It’s humiliating, and it makes me feel dirty just speaking the words. Thinking about them is diffi
cult enough, but thanks to the therapy my aunt and uncle made me endure for two years when I arrived at their home, I had developed skills to cope. The nightmares stopped, or at least became extremely rare.

  “Mea.” I’ve never heard his voice sound this way. It’s as if he’s been swallowing broken glass. It sounds like it hurts him just to speak. “Did he hit you?”

  I shake my head. A tear leaks out of my eye and lands on Drake’s chest. And then another. And another. “He was always kind of a control freak, you know? My mom…I remember her being so wonderful and normal when I was younger. But she developed mental illness when I was around seven or eight. And she just kept retreating into herself more and more until she was barely there at all. She would still move around the house, but I never heard her voice. She never looked at anyone. Now, I wonder if her illness wasn’t spurred on by a desire to escape him.” I sniff, trying hard to stem the flow of tears that are so freely falling now.

  Drake’s hand rubs small circles on my back. He doesn’t speak, just listens.

  “He wasn’t violent. Not like you’re thinking. But he would drink…and then his temper was worse. I would always shelter Mikah from it as best I could. But when my mom disappeared…he had appetites that weren’t being satisfied anymore. One night he came into my room and told me it was my job to take her place.”

  “Fuck.” His body jerks like he’s been punched. Gently, he slides me off of his chest and stands. Pacing the room much like I had just moments ago, I watch with every single muscle inside of me tightening into painful coils. He reaches the small rolltop desk and leans over it, pressing the wood with his big, strong hands.

  Shaking his head back and forth, back and forth. “No, baby. No.”

  I just watch him. I can’t tell him it isn’t true. As much as I want to. And watching the way it’s killing him…it’s killing me.

  Then, he pounds both fists against it, making me startle. “Fuck!”

  Standing up straight again, he runs both hands over his head a couple of times before turning to face me. He strides back toward the bed and climbs on it, situating me against his chest again.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice broken. He turns his head and rubs his nose along my jaw, inhaling me deeply. “I can’t stand the thought of him hurting you. Your father…the man you were supposed to be able to trust above all others.”

  Nodding, I wipe the tears away from my eyes. Drake reaches up, helping me to clear my face of the wetness. “Every fucked-up thing about me today is because of him.”

  There’s a ferociousness in Drake’s voice when he answers me. “There’s nothing fucked-up about you. I’ve known for a while that there was something beneath the surface that made you who you are. But you are amazing in spite of him. Believe me when I say that.”

  His words bring a tiny ray of light to my heart where before it was lost in darkness. “Thank you.”

  “Why did your brother’s message say that he’s out, sweetheart? I need to know the answer to that.”

  The question brings my terror screaming back to the surface. It wraps around my throat, threatening to squeeze the life out of me. “He was up for parole. I thought there was no way in hell he would get it, Drake. Especially not without his family there to support him. But he did. And now he’s out on parole.”

  Drake sucks in a sharp breath. “Are you afraid he’ll come after you?”

  “Just the thought of him makes me scared. My nightmares of him are nothing compared to the real, live man. He stole something from me back then that I can never get back. And I can only imagine that years in prison haven’t helped him get better. He was probably thinking about ways to hurt me worse.”

  “Baby, it’s okay. I’m right here. He can’t hurt you. He’d have to go through me, and that’s not gonna happen. Why do you think he’d want revenge?”

  The word revenge makes me shudder. Is it too much to hope for that my father will get out of prison and start his life over again somewhere new? That he won’t ever try to find Mikah and me? That he’ll just walk away and leave us alone?

  “The last time that it happened…” My voice trembles and I hate it. I’ve spent years turning myself into someone strong, someone confident. Someone who couldn’t be hurt because no one would ever get close enough to cause me pain again. And here I am, falling apart at the very thought of my father. “Mikah was only eleven. But he was always this scrappy kid who wasn’t afraid to take on the world. He walked into my bedroom. He knew right away that what he was seeing wasn’t right, and he started yelling at our father to get off of me.”

  Drake hisses, the sound slipping through his teeth. “I can imagine his fury.”

  “I was so afraid for Mikah after that. Our father was too unpredictable. Our mother couldn’t save us. So I went to school the next day and told a guidance counselor what was happening. We were taken out of our home and sent to live with our aunt and uncle in North Carolina.”

  I feel it when Drake drops a kiss on my mess of curls. His hands are so steady on my skin while he comforts me. I never imagined that I could feel this protected while talking about my father and what he did to me.

  “Mikah and I both testified in his trial a little over a year later. It sealed his conviction.”

  “You changed your name when you moved.” It’s not a question. My mind flashes back to the Emily girl I knew back in Kentucky all those years ago, and who I’d run into again last night.

  I nod against his chest. “Yes.” My voice cracks on the word, and Drake’s arms tighten around me.

  “Baby girl,” he murmurs so quietly against my hair. “I’m so sorry. I won’t let him hurt you anymore. I promise you that.”

  With every heartbeat I hear thrumming in Drake’s chest, I feel the earnestness he experiences when he tells me he’ll keep me safe.

  “I know you will. I just have to calm down and keep living my life. Just because he’s out doesn’t mean he’s a threat to me. I just have to keep living.”

  It’s a mantra I remind myself of over and over again as I drift off to sleep in Drake’s arms.

  Just keep living.

  19

  Drake

  I’d call the Bachelor/Bachelorette Party Weekend a success. Both Dare and Berkeley seemed happy with the events we’d thrown together and to have the opportunity to spend time with our tight-knit group and each other in one fell swoop. As February runs into March, it takes all of the winter air with it and brings about a change in the world I should be used to seeing by now.

  In Lone Sands, a true spring or fall is a rare find. When winter ends with a string of mild weather, it rolls out the red carpet for summer. And as soon as the weather begins to warm, the tourists start their weekend trips to the perfect seaside retreat.

  Something about that weekend—I’m not sure if it’s the fact that I messed up and realized I never wanted to do it again, or the fact that she shared something so intimate with me that brought us closer together. I don’t go a day without seeing her now, and most nights are spent together in my bed. It feels right. Having her beside me, where I can keep an eye on her and keep her nightmares away, is a new purpose for me.

  It’s always busier at the garage at this time of the year, and that’s something I’ll never complain about. It gives me a lot less time to finish up my Yamaha, but it puts extra change in my pocket, and that’s never a bad thing. The motorcycle will wait, and I don’t have much left to do on it before it’s done, anyway.

  Now that it’s warm enough, we keep all the garage bay doors wide open so that the warm air can flow in around us while we’re working, and we’ve turned off the space heaters for the last time this year. One morning when I’m hard at work on a stool beside a Buick, Mea strolls into the garage through one of those open doors.

  Someone’s tool clatters to the floor as she walks in, and I can’t blame whatever fucker dropped it because, damn. She’s got her hair piled up on top of her head in the style I think borders on erotic, letting t
he stray spirals flutter around her flawless face. She’s wearing tight yoga pants that call far too much attention to her sexy curves. Her tight little waist is barely covered with a workout top, and I know she’s just finished teaching yoga for the day. There’s a big brown bag in one hand and an electrifying smile on her lips.

  Hoover clears his throat and stands up from his bench, and I shoot him a look that I want to send a message. He’s not looking at me, though. He’s staring at my girl, and I can’t fucking blame him.

  “Hey, you.” It’s her standard greeting for me, and her chocolate gaze leveled at me tips Hoover off that this isn’t just a customer. He turns his shocked gaze on me.

  “Hey, sweetheart.” I approach her, pull her to me gently. I brush my lips quickly against hers, then pull back and glance down at the bag.

  “What are you doing here, baby?”

  Without pulling her body away from mine, she looks up at me, and her smile alone is almost enough to do me in. Every time. I can’t resist the wild wind that sucks me in every time I’m with her, and I don’t want to try. I’m a willing sacrifice to her cyclonic power, and as usual, it’s wild, wild, wild.

  She indicates the brown bag. “Brought you lunch, you big lug. I seriously don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve never brought my man lunch before. Guess I’ve never been able to call any man ‘mine’ so I’m all excited about it.”

  The inside of me melts. Fucking melts. “You callin’ me your man?”

  Pulling back all the way this time, she mock punches me in my arm. “Who else?”

  Javier, coming up beside me, leans an arm on my shoulder as he stares between the two of us. “Day-um, boss. I swear if I weren’t taken, I’d steal your girl.”

  Rolling my eyes, I jerk a thumb toward Sosa. “Mea, Javier. Javier, Mea. Don’t worry baby, he’s not stupid enough to touch you.”

  Javier grins, pushing off my arm so that I have to brace myself not to lose my balance. “Shawn wouldn’t like it if I tried to add a third, anyway. He’s fucking selfish that way.” With a laugh, he goes back to his station.