True to You (A Love Happens Novel Book 3)

by Jodi Watters

  “I never stopped wanting you, and I’m not selling. Or burning it to the ground, though at one time, I did map out an arson strategy. I was ten.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” she said, not really hearing him. “This isn’t gonna be between us any longer.” She motioned around the garden, her eyes skipping over their daughter’s headstone. “I’m giving it all up. I’ll have her moved to another resting place. I’ll plant new rose bushes, and it’ll be somewhere closer to us. I love you that much. More than anything. More than her.”

  The reality of a backhoe breaking the earth, digging into pristine, sacred ground, was almost too much to bear. But the reality of losing Ash forever was far worse.

  “More than myself and, apparently, food and shelter, too, because I’m hitting the unemployment line in the morning,” she added, wiping her eyes with a smile. “These are happy tears, in case you’re wondering.”

  “So, the only flaw is whether I get my head out of my ass or not?”

  She laughed, then sniffled. “Considering it’s shoved up there pretty far, it could prove to be the fatal flaw, mission man.”

  “You won’t leave again? You’ll really walk away from this”—he circled the air—“for us? Just like that?”

  “Just like that.” Feeling lighter than she had in days, if not four years, she reached for his hand as powerful three-word sentences flew from her mouth. “I won’t leave. I love you. All the way.”

  “I’m not selling.”

  “I don’t care.” When grief lessened, and hate faded, clarity came. “You’re the only thing I want with a Coleson label on it.”

  He tugged her close, only a thin space separating their bodies. “Two questions.”

  “Shoot.” Her smile turned quirky and she held up her free hand. “Don’t take that literally. Don’t do me like you did Beck.”

  He jostled her against him, swatting her ass playfully. “You’ll pay for that comment later, darlin’.”

  “Can’t wait.” So far, this was going her way. “What are your questions?”

  When he dropped to a knee, her stomach dropped along with him. Touching her wedding ring, he stared at her with eyes more brilliant than the sky above.

  “I love you, Olivia. Always have, always will.” Then he said three wonderful words. “Wanna stay married?”

  “Head in your ass or out?”

  “Out. Most of the time,” he admitted. “I can’t guarantee all of the time.”

  “Then yes. I’ll absolutely stay married to y—” Rising up, Ash’s impatient mouth covered hers, sealing the deal.

  Deeper than physical connection, stronger than sexual attraction, his kiss was a promise. Rooted in history and forged from destiny, it was a vow to get it right this time.

  Whimpering when he released her, she licked her lips, tasting her future.

  “If your other question is if I’ll have sex with you, the answer is the same. Absolutely yes.”

  His cocky grin said he knew that already. Then that grin turned sheepish. “I was gonna ask if you’d teach me how to make wine.”

  She barked out a laugh, appreciating his sense of humor, but he wasn’t laughing with her.

  “Oh. Oh, you’re serious.”

  “Or we could compromise. You keep making the wine you love so much, and I keep acting like I hate this place, and we live happily ever after as long as my head stays out of my ass.”

  “Mmm, I don’t know. It all depends.”

  “On what?” he growled, not used to groveling.

  “Are we gonna live in that messy house in the suburbs someday?”

  He motioned over his shoulder. “As long as it’s not this house.”

  “You gonna complain if I put a dozen pillows on the bed?”

  “Hell, why stop at a dozen?” He tugged on her hand. “Let’s go for fifteen. As many pillows as the woman I love wants.”

  “What about pink and blue toys?” she asked, as they left the rose garden, making their way down the cobblestone path. “Can we have some of those underfoot?”

  “So far I’m not hearing a downside. It’s all good from my end, darlin’.”

  Smiling, they walked arm in arm toward his Jeep parked in the driveway, the sweet melody of chimes ringing out across the bountiful vineyard.

  Whoever said Disneyland was the happiest place on earth never spent an evening in Asher Coleson’s bed. He was one thrill ride Olivia could strap herself onto, hold her hands in the air, and take a spin on with glee. Talk about a magic kingdom. And don’t even get her started on the poor suckers who claimed married sex was vanilla. They could take a page out of her husband’s playbook.

  His number one move for a satisfied wife? Pushing her back against the front door without warning, then lifting her skirt and yanking her panties to the side, growling, “I’m gonna turn you around, and you’re gonna take it.”

  She did. And it was explosive.

  Dinner was forgotten in their frenzied rush to crawl inside each other, though Olivia had a heaping serving of meat anyway.

  Body languid and fulfilled, they snuggled in bed, staring at the moonlit shadows playing across the ceiling. Darkness had fallen sometime between the rough quickie from behind against the front door and the leisurely exploration of bodies on luxury bedding.

  She’d been fucked hard and loved slow in the course of a short evening, so yeah, Disneyland could suck it.

  “You know I didn’t come back to you because Marshall asked me to, right?” Even if it spoiled the afterglow, she needed to say it.

  He tensed. “I know nobody can make you do something you don’t want to.”

  “And I didn’t want a divorce, either. What I wanted was to see you again. Talk to you. And then, the nursery in Sam’s house made it all come rushing back. The hurt. The hate. Along with a heavy dose of what was missing in my life. What I knew I wanted, but was too scared to hope for. And I was too angry to realize I didn’t want it with any other man.” She tilted her head to look at him. “I wasn’t motivated by Marshall’s suggestion, nor did I act upon any directive. He twisted the facts.”

  “Which were?” he prompted, when she didn’t elaborate.

  Sliding her hand over his belly, she cuddled closer. “He’d been grumbling about your lack of interest in the business and wanted you on board. I thought he was feeling remorse about the rift. Nostalgic, maybe, because his health was declining. Talked a lot about duty and family. And grandchildren. Didn’t seem to care who their mother might be, as long as your DNA was mixed in and y’all lived at the vineyard. It felt cruel at the time, but I made excuses for him. An old man righting his wrongs any way he could.” Stopping to lay a kiss on his chest, she sighed. “But when the will was read, I knew he’d done it on purpose. Used me to get to you.”

  He stared at the ceiling, absorbing her words. “I was jealous of him, of his relationship with you.” He made a rough sound of disgust, the confession surprising. “From the moment we met, I was jealous. I wanted you all to myself. Didn’t wanna share you with somebody I knew was gunning for me. Someone who would turn you against me just for shits and giggles, and could offer you something I never could. To be home for dinner every night.”

  “Ash, I never—”

  “I know,” he interrupted, as if unable to hear the notion spoken aloud. “I know you didn’t do anything wrong. But if you had, nobody would’ve blamed you. I wasn’t around. After my time in The Unit was up, you were pretty well embedded there. I couldn’t swallow my pride and come get you. So much of our lives passed us by because of it. We should’ve been together. Repairing. Rebuilding.”

  A hush fell over the room as they reflected on the void of a four-year divide.

  “But having you back again this summer was…” He shook his head, at a loss. “Amazing. Amazing and agonizing because the clock was ticking and Marshall was looking over my shoulder.”

  “I love the vineyard, Ash. Don’t get me wrong, but it was, and is, just a job. From day one, I made
a mistake putting too much value on it. I let Marshall interfere in matters I shouldn’t have. But I came from nothing, and because of him—because of the job he gave me—I found something I was good at. It paid my bills. It made me feel important. It introduced me to you. It blinded me.”

  “You don’t have to defend yourself. It was warfare between us, and you were caught in the crossfire. It’s ancient history now.”

  “Is it? Is this all behind us? No more running or ultimatums when things get tough?”

  “All in our rearview.” He rubbed her back in slow circles. “I’ll tie you to this bed if I have to.”

  “And I’ll shove a gag into your mouth if I have to.”

  Minutes ticked by as his breathing evened, Olivia’s imagination running wild.

  “Ash? What if I want you to tie me to this bed?”

  “Just say when.” His voice was husky with impending sleep. “And remember our safe word. Pancakes.”

  Seeing clear blue skies and hot married sex ahead, she let contentment wash over her, drifting into a light sleep.

  His hesitant voice woke her.

  “Did he ever cry? Did he ever show any emotion at all?” She felt him swallow, the random questions dry and hollow. “When the baby died?”

  She propped herself up on an elbow, running a finger down the ridge bisecting his six-pack abs.

  “I don’t remember much about the days right after. Honestly, I don’t remember much about the months after.” She didn’t elaborate. This wasn’t about her. “But the first day I went back to work, almost six months after her birth, I had to search the house to find him. He was standing in the middle of your childhood bedroom, holding a grass-stained little league jersey. He wouldn’t look me in the eye, but he said something that was so odd, so out of character, I’ll never forget it. He said…” Olivia took a deep breath, fighting the emotion that came whenever she spoke of her. “He said, ‘My son’s child is dead. His child is lost to him forever. My child is living, but he is lost to me just the same. What kind of God would give us so much in common?’ Then he hugged me and told me to have the profit and loss reports for the last two quarters on his desk by noon.”

  He laid his lips against her temple, regret in his voice. “I’m sorry I brought that memory back for you. I shouldn’t have.”

  Olivia choked on a laugh. “It’s okay. It’s okay to feel things, even when they’re sad. Holding negative emotions inside is a recipe for disaster. We should know this by now.” Her hand traced his body, from shoulder down to his navel. “This masterpiece is not meant to hold negativity; it’s meant only for good. And to give me endless pleasure.”

  “I know,” he replied absently. “I’m getting there. This new age, feel-your-feelings and tell-everyone-and-their-brother-about-them shit is hard to get used to.”

  Her heart contracted with love. “The answer to your question is yes,” she said, cupping his bristled cheek and kissing him. “He cried. He was crying when he said that to me. But I believe his tears were less about the loss of our baby and more about the loss of his.”

  He grunted. It was the only response he gave.

  The question of whether or not Ash himself had ever cried hung in the air.

  It went unanswered.

  “I miss him,” she whispered, almost ashamed, “even though I’m mad as a hornet. I’m so used to seeing him every day that it just feels… I don’t know… wrong, I guess, to work next to his empty office. The staff is devastated. Rosa’s beside herself. And I’m still surprised he’s gone. I want to sit down with him, give him a piece of my mind, then brainstorm a new marketing plan over a bottle of his latest Cabernet.”

  “I get it,” he finally murmured. “Believe me. I get it.”

  “I’m sorry you never reconciled. I’m sorry he was such a shitty dad.”

  “Don’t be. He’s burning in hell right now, and that’s all the consolation I need.” His arms tightened. “I feel like a new man. I have you, and that’s all I care about.”

  “That’s all I care about, too.” Rubbing her fingers along his forearm, she traced the subtle lines of his tattoo as her eyelids grew heavy.

  And that’s when she saw it. The significance of his tattoo. The design within the design.

  The name in permanent ink—hidden in plain sight.

  Gracie.

  The tattoo on the inside of Ash’s thick forearm, spanning from wrist to crook, spelled Gracie, and Olivia wondered how she’d overlooked it until now.

  A patriotic pattern consisting mostly of subdued reds and blues, she’d taken it at face value—a softly shaded American flag, rippling in a strong breeze, with a cluster of ornate braided tassels running along the pole side. Long and twisted, the golden ropes flowed randomly across the face of the flag in an innocuous manner.

  But if you looked closely, if you followed the intertwining tassels without the stars and stripes distracting the eye, you could see that those ropes created another pattern altogether. They overlapped and intersected in a decorative cursive script that, when viewed at a certain angle, formed a single, precious word.

  Gracie.

  “Go to sleep, darlin’.” Kissing the top of her head, Ash cuddled her closer, his strong arms secure. “I can hear you thinking.”

  Swallowing, she tried to summon sleep. It was futile.

  “I was thinking about, well, you know,” she said a few minutes later, hesitating. “This tattoo on your arm.”

  He snorted, fully aware of her thoughts. Loosening his grip only slightly, he threw a muscled arm over his head, a telltale sign he was near sleep.

  And not taking the bait.

  “When did you get it?” she whispered, knowing he heard her. The sudden rigidity in his body told her so.

  When he didn’t answer, Olivia didn’t push. She understood his need for distance. A child’s death was painful, no matter the passage of time.

  “I got it a few months after she died.” Voice low and gritty, he squeezed her hand. The gesture reassuring, yet needy. “After our fight on the patio at the vineyard, when you called me a selfish bastard and told me I cared more about other people’s families than my own. The day I knew you’d left me for good.”

  When she opened her mouth to beg forgiveness, regretting the ugly stain of her words, he stopped her. “You were right. I was selfish. I’d spent years searching for the acceptance and approval I couldn’t get from Marshall. I went everywhere The Unit sent me, and I did everything they told me to do, because in return, they gave me what I craved. Hell, they put me on a pedestal and cheered my abilities. Rewarded my efforts with rank and money. I couldn’t let go of that spotlight. Even once you got pregnant and I decided to retire, I still lived for the danger. Thrived on the adrenaline. I couldn’t make the personal sacrifice. I couldn’t get out in time to save you and our baby—” His voice broke, the heartbreaking sound loud in the dark of night. “I couldn’t see beyond my own hype. I couldn’t see it was really you I’d been searching for. You and our daughter. My own family. The one I failed to protect.”

  “Shh,” she whispered. “Don’t talk. You don’t have to say anymore. I know, Ash. I know.”

  “But you don’t.” He lifted his arm, indicating the tattoo. “Marking my body with the flag seemed symbolic, somehow. Of my purpose as a defender of freedom, of the American dream. As justification for breaking my promise to you. The reason I never held my own baby in my arms.”

  Olivia felt remorse for asking the painful question and wished she could take it back.

  When he rolled to face her, her breath caught at the look in his eyes. Normally flashing and bright, they were dull and distant. Mouth tight, the lines on his face were more pronounced, and she no longer saw Ash staring back at her.

  Instead, she saw a soldier.

  “Can I tell you something?” This monotone voice didn’t belong to Ash, either.

  It belonged to a highly decorated operator in the 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta.

&nbs
p; “You can tell me anything.” She ran the pad of her finger across his brow, half expecting this strange man to bat it away.

  “I saved the lives of thirty-two children that day, the day my daughter died. My team and I raided a Nigerian village and rescued thirty-two girls from captivity, from a life of brutality and slavery.”

  Stunned by the admission considering his duties were strictly classified, she remembered the story dominating the news weeks before her due date.

  A radical jihadist group kidnapping dozens of girls after storming a school, their convoy of trucks, buses, and weapons no match for insufficient security guards. She’d been in her eighth month of pregnancy and greatly disturbed by the reports.

  “Had I known,” the stranger continued, “I would’ve traded those thirty-two girls for my girl. If given the choice of leaving them there to endure gang rape, hard labor, and a life of unspeakable cruelty, just so I’d be home to save my baby, I would’ve done it in a heartbeat. Aborted the mission and walked away with a clear conscience, never thinking twice about those thirty-two girls.”

  Cupping his cheek, she frowned. “Of course, you would’ve. Any parent would choose their own child over someone else’s. There’s no sin in that, only biology. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re a good man.”

  “No, you don’t get it. I was paid to be an operator first and foremost. A husband, a father, those roles came last. They would’ve yanked me from the team, reprimanded me to the fullest extent had I shown any reluctance for a mission. I wasn’t a good man. I was a good operator. I did bad things to be a good operator. I was no less violent than the targets we pursued. At times, I was more violent. More ruthless. And now, when I think about those thirty-two girls, I’m bitter. I’m pissed off. I’m fucking angry to the core that those fathers got their daughters back, but my daughter died. I didn’t protect her, Liv. I couldn’t save her. How could I save them and not her? What kind of man does that? What kind of father?”