“Wait–” he cuts himself off mid-thought in his own head, that part managing to leak out loud. “Did you say her birthday is coming? Is she having a party? Are we invited? Does she have any hot friends?”
“Or what Glove really wants to know is does she have any easy friends? Friends with low self-respect and lower self-esteem?”
“Is that not what I said?” Glove looks almost actually confused.
I start toward my car again, “Yes, she's having a party.”
Lordy stops next to my car. “And are we invited?”
“If you two can manage to behave yourselves tomorrow night, then yes.”
“Tomorrow night?” Lordy looks intrigued.
“We'll meet you at Maddox around ten.” Glove's face brightens up like a child who just got his Christmas wish. God help me. I close my trunk with the gun inside. “If either of you (a) upset my girlfriend, (b) hurt my girlfriend, or (c) cause her any irritation or discomfort in the slightest, I will break your kneecaps, and you won't be able to attend her party. Clear?” The look on my face is stern. Unmoving. No bullshit.
“Affirmative,” Lordy nods in understanding.
“I think Grim in love is scarier than robot Grim,” Glove pretends to shiver.
“Get your ass in your car, drama queen,” I point to his vehicle, chuckling under my breath.
He's right. Me without a girlfriend is scary enough. Me with the one person I love in life more than myself, and I think that might be an entirely new level of danger. A level that, if ever heightened too intensely, could cost someone his life. Hopefully, my friends are smarter than that.
Getting the tattoo takes a little longer than predicted, and as a thank-you to the guys for coming with me, I grab a beer like I said, keeping my word. Unfortunately, this puts me home a little later than I planned. Even though I texted Haven to let her know, I still feel bad. She's home alone, well, probably not alone, alone. Whenever that girl is reading, you would think the characters were all her friends.
I open the front door, doing my best not to move my arm around too much. The tribal sun with her name in one of the rays is sorer than I predicted. Bobby, the same guy who did the wings with my mother’s name on my back, does phenomenal work even if I think he digs the needle in a little harder than necessary because he enjoys putting others in pain. You'd be surprised what a tattoo artist will reveal to you in confidence after hours of work.
As soon as I pull the key out of the door, I look and say, “Haven I'm–”
“Home!” Her arms fly around my neck, grazing the sore area.
I grit my teeth. Do. Not. Show. Pain. The sudden smell of her vanilla and chocolate mix of fragrances creep up my senses and soothe the pain on my arm along with that I was feeling from being gone so long away from her. My arms wrap around her waist, and I enjoy the feeling of her body beside me, gun case dangling from my hand.
She pulls back and plants her lips on top of mine anxiously. I've missed those too. How one person possesses so much power in her lips, I'll never understand. The moment our tongues touch, she lets out a light moan, and I feel myself stand at attention in my jeans. Yup. Every time.
Knowing I can't last like this for long unnoticed, I pull away and smile. “I love coming home to you.”
“I love when you come home to me,” she coos, running her hands down the front of my dark-brown shirt. “Especially when you smell like sweat and gunpowder.”
Chuckling, I shut the door behind me. “You enjoy that smell?”
“Yeah. It's your smell—manly, sexy.” Her eyebrows wiggle.
God, she's killing me. I shake my head and kiss her forehead, “You're incredible. You know that?”
“So you keep saying,” she snickers, following me as I head to the garage to put my gun away. “How were you friends?”
It’s the only thing she can call them since I've never so much as mentioned their names. Wow. They don't know her name, and she doesn't know theirs. It's almost like the last of the shattered pieces needing to collide. I'm not sure that I'm ready for it, but at this point, I know it doesn't matter.
“Loud. Obnoxious. Childish as ever,” I call the words out to her as I lock up my gun. She leans against the door to the garage and smiles at me. The moment I'm done, I face her. “Do you wanna meet them?”
Her face lights up. The expression is one of privilege. Astonishment. If only she knew that they weren't worth that much of a reaction. She stutters over herself, “If you—I mean, if you—I mean, I don't have to if you don't want me to.”
Approaching her in the doorway, I say, “Why wouldn't I want to introduce the woman I love to the men I don't?”
She giggles and shakes her head, popping me on the chest. “Stop it, Clint. They're like your brothers. They're your best friends. You love them.”
“Yeah, like a pain in my ass.”
“Clint Thomas Walker,” my whole name flies out of her mouth between giggles. That sound, it's so relieving. I’d do anything to keep it going. With a serious voice, she runs her hands up my shoulder, “I would love to meet your friends.”
Staring down at her, I smile on, content. I never thought that I would be content, let alone happy, and here I am both. I don't care what they think about her as much as I care about what she thinks of them. If they terrify her, then part of me terrifies her. If they disgust her, then part of me disgusts her. We're cut from the same cloth. And while she accepts Grim at face value, accepting Grim next to Glove and Lordy, his Marine buddies, his brothers in arms, his best friends and backup on the field, is something completely different. I hope she can handle it. I hope I can handle it. Wait—hope? Isn't that just liquid poison for a situation that you know is going to end poorly? Shit.
34 Days Till Deployment
I know Mindy has plans with Haven later today. It's one of their pamper themselves days or something. My guess is she's going to ask Mindy to take her through the very process I'm enduring. Though, I'm sure it'll be easier for her. It's hell for me.
“No, Slugger, not that one,” Mindy hisses, popping my hand that's on a gray, plaid, button-down shirt.
“Why not, it's–”
“It's ugly. Stiff. Itchy. And cheap.” She shames the fabric, nose in the air. “Now keep walking.”
Following Mindy through the department store, she heads in a direction that makes me uneasy. Price tags aren't under $200, and some of the clothes don't even carry prices at all. I don't belong here.
Slowly strolling down the aisles, I stay on her heels like a lost puppy, which is how I always feel in places like this. I only come with her. And when I do, I feel like the son who has no idea of the difference between an Armani and a Gucci. A nice-looking shirt and an actual nice shirt. This is not my domain.
Clearly enjoying herself, I watch as she touches each fabric, studying them, contemplating, being very careful not to pick quickly or harshly.
She can sense my restlessness stirring, “Relax, Slugger, everything is going to be fine.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Her face, which is gorgeous even when she's not completely made up tilts down at me, the motherly look on the prowl. “Because you only ask me to take you shopping like this when you're afraid something major is gonna happen and you want to talk about it but don't want to talk about it.”
“That's not true.”
“Oh?” She adjusts the small purse dangling from her arm, her form-fitting skirt looking pasted on her as she cocks her hip to the side. “So, there was nothing going on when we went shopping for new workout clothes freshman year right after you got jumped?”
I inhale deeply and frown.
“And when you wanted a new polo because of your first date with Marissa Applelong?”
My body tightens, each memory stocked in the box of things not to go through in my brain. I've relived enough memories. Is there really a need to relive those too?
“Or when you wanted to buy new dress pants to talk about whether or not college w
as for you?” The words aren't left alone for long as she follows with, “Or the day we bought you a nice suit jacket because you were conflicted about leaving for the Marines as soon as you graduated?”
I glance away and shut my eyes tightly. Mindy's all I had. She was the only person I could somewhat talk to when I had a problem. She's always been there, careful not to push and not to let me sink to the bottom and drown. I never thought that playing the sometimes mom to me was something that maybe she relished in or wish she’d had more of. I never thought that maybe she needed those talks as much as I did. Never thought she treasured them while I trashed them like all the other memories post-Mom. How could I be so cruel to the first woman after my mom to be so kind to me? God, I really am a monster.
“So, Slugger, talk,” she starts, walking us toward a sweater section.
Following carefully behind, in a lower voice, I say, “My orders got moved up.”
Mindy glances in my direction, admires another sweater, and ponders, “Usually, you're ecstatic.”
“I know. Before . . . before I was.”
“Before Haven?” I nod. “Hm. And now?”
“It's like a steady storm cloud rolling out, covering my entire world. There's nothing I can do to stop it. Nothing I can do to shelter her from the fact that I'm leaving her for months. No umbrella of hope. What if she forgets about me? What if she stops loving me just like that?” The confession falls out of my mouth before I've even had time to process it completely. Fuck, the flood gate Haven opened doesn't stop with just her, I see.
“You and Haven are more adorable than Prince William and Princess Kate.” She giggles. “But I need you to understand something. The chemistry, the romance, the unity the two of you have created is intoxicating but very perilous. It can be lovely like the aroma of an unknown dessert in the oven, the smell invigorating, exciting, instilling emotions, magic in the unseen and the unknown. Are you two a chocolate cake? Cherry pie? Cupcake? Does it matter? It's going to be satisfying and delicious. Or it can be like a hurricane, heavy, overaggressive, flooding, wreaking havoc on lives as it tries to stay together.” Pulling a black sweater off the rack, she looks up at me. “There's no stopping something like the two of you, just like that, no matter the situation. You have to stop being concerned with if she'll stop loving you and start being concerned with what loving each other is doing to the two of you. Stop looking at this very moment, Slugger, and start looking at your lives together as a whole.”
My head nods, and she comes over, gives my arm a quick squeeze, and places a kiss on my cheek, “Love is a completely different battlefield, Slugger. Twice as dangerous, twice as invigorating, but no less deadly.”
With a deep swallow, I look at the shirt in her hands, “Want me to try it on?”
She smiles softly and gives my face an even softer touch, “I don't know if a sweater is the right way to go tonight. After all, she is meeting your friends. Maybe something more casual?”
I lick my lips and, for the first time, do something Mindy has been wanting me to do in a way that I haven't. She deserves to know that, even though she's not my mother, and she could never replace her, she holds that right in a way no other woman ever will. “Whatever you think, Mindy. You know what's best for me. I trust you.”
Hearing those words causes a sharp gasp from her as her hand folds over her heart. Fighting back the elation of hearing me act not only like the son she wanted but the man she's helping raise, she says, “Well then, why don't we take a look at the Prada then?”
I check the time on my phone again, impatient. Angst creeping through my veins toward my hands. They scratch the back of my neck. Adjust the collar of my new black Tom Ford shirt. Fidget with my new designer jeans. Both bought by Mindy along with my dress shoes and a couple more shirts. Never fails that I always come back with at least two shopping bags when I go out with her. My hands busy themselves again, fiddling with the buttons. Undoing another so the top two expose my chest. Re-buttoning one. Unbuttoning it again. Re-buttoning. Since when I do move so constantly? I strain to be still, even if it's just for a second.
“Clint,” Sir's voice breaks over the sound of the football game on the TV. “Something wrong?”
“No, Sir,” I adjust the collar of my shirt again, swearing that it's trying to close in around my neck.
“Where are you taking Haven for dinner?”
“Marbella.”
I watch three different emotions cycle across his face before he settles on one. “It's uh . . . it's uh . . .it's been a long time since we've been there.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The two of us continue staring at one another. The last time we had Marbella was his last deployment before Mom died. He presented her with a string of pearls and me a new set of cleats for the season. Mom used to say how he loved to give treasures to his treasures to remember him while he was away.
“Clint–”
“Look, Sir–”
“Let me finish.” The demand shuts my mouth. “You've always respected my judgments and advice as far as your career has gone, right?”
Trust is a strong word, but respect, yes. While Sir managed to default on the rest of my life, my military career he's almost always been right about. “Yes, Sir.”
“Then try to have the same trust and respect for what I'm about to say. Clear?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I'm not going to tell you not to love Haven. I'm not going to tell you not to be in love with her. I'm not going to sit here and tell you you're taking things way too fast and way too seriously. Hell, I'm not even going to tell you not to marry her. I'm just going to advise you not to marry her right now.”
The words make caution rise in my body. I already don't enjoy where this conversation is headed.
“Clint, Haven spent almost four years of her life, four important years when most young individuals get a chance to grow, develop, and experience different aspects of life, held hostage. She's been out on her own less than a month. She's still scared. She still has so many questions that need answers. She has no idea who she really is completely or who it is she wants to be. This is the first real chance at life she's been given, and I know you want to rescue her. I know you want save her, shelter her from the harms and dangers coming. And I'm not saying don't. I'm just saying don't become her new captor. Don't have her become so dependent on you that she never gets to live, Clint. You're going to be deployed in a month. Let her explore in that time. See what fits. What doesn't. And when you return, then think about marriage . . . is my strong suggestion to you.”
I never gave the rest of Haven's world much thought. He's right. She's still learning so much, so much that often I take for granted. I've been so enthralled by her and what she does to me that I let it blindside my number one mission, which was to take care of her. And my job's far from over. I don't want Haven thinking she needs me in a way that scares her, but I want her to need me like I do her—filling parts that no other soul on this planet can. As much as I hate when Sir offers advice like this, I can't help but agree.
The sound of Haven's heels cut through and stomp out my other thoughts, and she marches into sight instead. She looks even more gorgeous than I thought she would in her shoulder-baring dress with her hair pulled back to show her glowing face. I can't take her out like this. I'll kill Glove. I just know I will. As if reading my thoughts, she smiles at me. I smile back.
“Now, Haven, remember your background.” Sir stands alongside me. “It's important not to mention anything–”
I offer my hand for her to take. She finishes Sir’s sentence for him, “From my actual past. I know.”
My lips plant a kiss on her cheek and whisper in her ear, “You look beautiful.”
“Have fun,” he declares, walking us to the door. “Be careful.”
His eyes lock with mine. He's telling me to be careful with whatever choices I decide to make tonight, whether or not I ask her to be my wife. Any ideas of marriage I may have had were
n't coming to fruition tonight, but there's no need to tell him that. With a nod, I respond, “We will, Sir.”
The drive is short and filled with the sound of her precious laughter. She's giggling over stories of her and Mindy from earlier, things she saw while they were shopping, things people said to her. It's like the whole world makes her smile. I can't imagine what that's like.
After arriving at the restaurant, the valet parks us, and I quickly grab her hand again, hating to be so far away from her.
“This place looks fancy,” she says insecurely, scooting closer to me, her face pushing down like she can't compete with what's inside. If only she knew she was so much better than them.
“You look perfect,” I reassure her, putting a kiss on the side of her forehead as we reach the hostess. “Walker.”
After a couple of clicks, she politely says, “This way.”
We're led to a table, one away from the window, and immediately I recognize my surroundings. A flush of heat washes over my body. We always sat here. Sir said he loved the lighting of my mom in it. He used to rave to her about it when we came. I assume, since our last names are the same, it's still in the system that this is our table even though it hasn't been for years.
I pull out Haven's seat, trying to shake the memory. She sits, places her hands in her lap, and looks intrigued as the menu is placed in front of her.
I sit down across from her as I look at the cover of the menu, remembering how I didn't understand growing up how it couldn't have numbers next to the words.
“This is really nice,” she says again. “Are you sure you don't wanna go somewhere else? Burger maybe?”
“No burgers, babe.”
“We could do hot dogs.”
“Haven.” My eyes meet hers. “It's OK. I know it's expensive, but you're worth every penny. Feel free to get whatever you want, angel.”
She looks overwhelmed. I give her space and admire while she nibbles her bottom lip, unsure of what to get. Once she chooses and we order, our hands meet again on the table, mine cradling hers softly. It makes her smile largely.
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