Out of the Ashes

by RC Boldt

  “I really hope to hell—”

  “Yes.” Her head whips around, and the iciness in her eyes makes me want to rear back. “I made sure of it. I’d only worked with him a short time before his death, but even in that short time, I’d come to care for him.” Her tone softens slightly before adding, “Like a father.” Her gaze turns steely again, jaw tense. “No way in hell was I going to let them live after causing the death of your father and compromising our entire team.”

  After a brief pause, she continues. “Your father was a good man. And he”—her lips quirk up ever so slightly as if she’s drawing upon a fond memory—“loved trivia and random facts. He left me a clue which ultimately led me to discover this.” She gestures to the binder on the dining room table. “It was hidden beneath the floorboards in his apartment. Turns out that he kept tabs on you over the years and documented much of it there.”

  Eyeing the binder with a mix of wariness and yearning, I turn to her. “Why didn’t he say anything?”

  “You know why.”

  Running my hands over my hair, I let out a grunt of frustration. “I know, but I can’t expect to believe he never tried to get in touch with me.”

  There’s a beat of silence as she studies me. Crossing her arms, she levels me with a look. “Do you remember your first new bike?”

  My eyebrows furrow in confusion, wondering where she’s going with this. “The one I got for Christmas?”

  “The one your mother told you she couldn’t afford.”

  Silence.

  “He got it for you. He knew your mother couldn’t afford it, but he still wanted you to have it. Couldn’t bear the idea that his son was doing without because of the way things had turned out.”

  Staring at the floor, I mumble as I’m bombarded with new revelations. “He’s the one who fixed Mom’s car that year it was on its last leg.”

  She nods. “She refused a new car. Knew it would turn too many heads.” Her lips curve up at the corners. “Cost him more to overhaul the entire car’s engine than it would’ve to buy a new car. But he did it.”

  Waving, she gestures to the binder. “All this is in that binder. While I hadn’t worked with your father long, after reading that, I feel like I know him even more. And one thing stands out—is more evident than anything else.” Her gaze holds a fierce intensity. “He loved you. So much. Regardless of your thoughts about anything else, he loved you and your mother.”

  Moving away from the windows, she crosses the room and stops at the hallway leading to the front door without turning. “Dr. Presley Cole is a lovely woman. Smart and generous. Very competent. You’re lucky to have her in charge of your care.”

  I don’t know how to respond so I remain silent for a beat.

  “You going to stop popping up and watching me like a stalker?” I joke because I’d instantly recognized her from the two times before when I’d felt eyes on me. Then a thought dawns. “How the hell did you get in anyway?” There weren’t any signs of forced entry. None. Nothing out of place.

  Turning her head slightly, I can hear the tinge of a smile in her voice. “I learned from the best, Mr. Hendrixson.” She pauses. “All your weapons and ammo are in your refrigerator. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a job interview to prepare for with a friend of yours.” Her steps are faint across the hardwood floors, nearing the front door.

  “Wait,” I rush out. “I never got your name.”

  She hesitates so long, I don’t think she’s going to answer me. “Sheridan Marx.” The front door opens, and she adds, “And I’d consider Heath’s offer if I were you.”

  The door closes quietly behind her, and I’m left sitting in the chair as if my entire world hasn’t just been rocked from here to kingdom come.

  Leaving me with only a single binder, certain to hold the mother of all mindfucks.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Hendy

  August 1st, Cristiano’s birth:

  I couldn’t stay away. Not for this moment. I know I went against all regulations and protocol by sneaking into the nursery when the distracted lazy-ass nurses were gossiping about some hot doctor they wanted to sleep with.

  He is so perfect. Alert—far more alert than any infant I’ve ever seen. I told him I loved him and that I was going to watch over him the best I could.

  It was so damn hard to leave that nursery.

  I skip a few pages and stop on another entry.

  Ten years old, May:

  I watched him rig a trap to try to catch the squirrel who had been the recurring culprit in chewing away at his tin-can telephone “wires.” I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed a ten-year-old take as much time to sketch out a design and construct it.

  If only he’d put as much effort and time into his social studies homework assignments.

  My lips curve up at this entry. It’s true. That damn squirrel pissed me off. And I really hated those dumb assignments. Pretty sure it irritated the teacher when I continued to ace her tests, my love for factoids already firmly implanted in my DNA.

  I flip through the binder, reading various entries; my eyes feel gritty, burning with the emotion they elicit, but I push on with a desperate need for more. For more evidence that my father loved me even if he wasn’t in my life.

  Fourteen years old, September:

  He’s still growing like a weed. Looks like he’s going to get his height from me and possibly be even taller. He’s got his mother’s smile. That woman’s smile could capture anyone’s attention, so wide and infectious. Unfortunately, it appears the girls have already begun to fall under the spell of that and his charm. I really hope he practices safe sex. Or better yet, abstinence.

  I flip some more pages, skipping ahead a bit. Noting the gaps in entries, I assume he was immersed in a job or mission or…whatever the hell it was he’d been doing.

  Seventeen years old, May: My son needs to be neutered. God help us. He’s too much of a ladies’ man already.

  I grin. Can’t help it. It was the truth back then. And that had only been the beginning. As I turn the pages, he apparently realized that, too.

  Twenty-four years old, September: My son’s SEAL team is stationed in Little Creek, Virginia, and he’s quite popular with the ladies. Still. Known around these parts as a “manwhore,” in fact. Not exactly what a father wants to hear. But he’s been through the wringer quite a few times with the other guys.

  I think his buddy, Foster, is getting close to wanting out. I’d bet in about four years max. That kid has a head on his shoulders, investing more wisely than I’d expected. He’s got his sights set on starting his own private security consulting firm, and I have no doubt he’ll be successful. I’m certain Doc and Miller will follow eventually.

  Rumors among the teams are that Cristiano—or Hendy as he’s been nicknamed—has an uncanny sense of things when they’re on a mission. A sense of impending danger. That he’s saved his guys many times already.

  He has no idea how proud I am of what he’s doing for his country.

  He has no idea how much I love him.

  The ink is slightly smeared across the word “love,” and I wonder if it was from a tear. But I guess it really doesn’t matter. I’ll never know since he’s not around for me to ask.

  With a handful of pages still to go, I’m not sure I can endure more. Scrubbing the heels of my hands against my eyes, I let out a groan. But just as I’m about to close the binder, something in the back catches my eye. Tucked behind the thick clear pocket in the rear of it is something thin, like paper. When I tug it free, I realize it’s a well-worn photograph.

  It’s a photo of me getting pinned with my SEAL Trident. My mom had already passed away, the brain aneurysm taking her from me so fast—without a goodbye. One day, she was there, giving me yet another lecture on not getting any girl pregnant and to keep my head on straight, and the next, she was gone.

  That day, at my Trident pinning ceremony, I recall thinking I could feel her presence.

  Maybe I had
felt my father’s presence that day, too.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Presley

  “Wow,” I breathe out, feeling as though my own world just got knocked off its axis. Shaking my head, I falter in finding the right words. “I don’t even know what to say.”

  Hendy lets out a short, humorless chuckle. “Tell me about it.”

  He’s just finished sharing his newfound knowledge of his father and his involvement in his life. We’ve spent much of this rainy, overcast Saturday sitting on my couch while going through his father’s binder filled with memories, both written and photographs.

  Resting my head on his lap, I kick my legs out on the rest of the couch. Izzy’s snuggled happily on the area rug, napping. She had to inspect every room once they got here to ensure it passed muster, I guess. Once I gave her the baked treat I’d purchased for her, she was in heaven.

  Hendy’s hand goes to my hair, absently combing through the strands as he stares off, appearing lost in thought.

  “I have to say, this Sheridan chick sounds pretty badass,” I’m teasing, trying to pull him from his funk. “Think if I train hard enough and started running on the beach with you instead of the treadmill, I could take her?”

  His gaze meets mine, and I’m relieved to see his eyes are lighter, his lips tilting upward. “Totally.” He winks.

  Which means totally…not.

  I scowl at him. “That wounds me. Deep.”

  His smile widens and turns a shade predatory. “Speaking of deep…”

  “Seriously.” I let out an exasperated sigh, trying to sound put off. “Give the guy some milkshake, and it’s all downhill.”

  “Milkshake?” He looks amused.

  “Yes.” I nod. “Didn’t you know my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard?” Sitting up, I playfully nudge his shoulder, as if I hadn’t quoted the song “Milkshake” by Kelis. “Sheesh. Get with it.”

  All of a sudden, I’m tugged onto his lap. My legs straddle him, and my body presses against his hardened muscles. One hand firmly grips my hip, the other sliding to the nape of my neck.

  “What do you mean”—angling his head, his hot, minty breath washes against my lips—“it brings all the boys? There should only be one, in particular, you’re worried about.”

  My eyes lock with his, the heat blazing within the depths and making my breath hitch as I tease, “Well, you do happen to be the only one who has that special effect on me…”

  His eyes narrow, trying to determine where I’m going with this. “Special effect?”

  I nod. “You’re the only one who causes my hands to be traitors.”

  One dark eyebrow arches in question. “Do tell.”

  “Well, it’s like this.” I glide my palms in a caress over his firm pectorals, maintaining eye contact. “It starts out all innocent and then bam!” I slip a palm between us, cupping him and letting out a sigh full of fake sadness. “And that happens. It’s just…terrible. Damn traitorous hands effect.”

  With heavy-lidded eyes, he murmurs, “Just terrible.”

  He’s hardening beneath my palm, and I can’t resist the urge to trace the outline of his cock. Leaning in, I place my lips over his earlobe, toying with it before I whisper, “So terrible.”

  He lets out a groan before I’m flipped back onto the couch as he holds himself above me. The way he’s lying, pressing right against my core, the thin fabric of my shorts fails to provide much of a barrier, and I can’t resist arching up against him.

  “You want that?” he whispers, his eyes dark with heat. “You want”—he pushes his hardening length against me—“that?”

  “Yes.” My hands move to his ball cap, and as I lift it from his head, he subtly turns his left side away.

  Tossing the hat aside, I take his face in my hands. “Stop that.” My tone is fierce. “Don’t turn away from me.”

  His eyes flicker, and I watch the play of emotions on his face before he dips his head, pressing his lips to mine in a hungry, almost greedy kiss. And while I know he’s partially doing this to distract me away from calling him out further on hiding his face from me, I fall victim to it. Because Hendy’s kiss is unlike anything I’ve experienced; it’s all-consuming. But the moment his hand moves to hold my head in place, angling his mouth to deepen the kiss further, his tongue sweeps inside to taste me, and I fall. Hard.

  All the way.

  My entire body feels like it’s melting into him as if recognizing where it most wants to be.

  As if my heart recognizes where it wants to call home.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Hendy

  I got roped into heading to Shenanigans, the multi-room bar in downtown Fernandina Beach, tonight for an event in the karaoke bar section with Foster and the others. It benefits the local charity foundation supporting wounded combat veterans and their transition to civilian life. A large sign posted next to the karaoke DJ’s station explains how the event will work:

  Have some karaoke fun while supporting our combat veterans!

  Sing your song of choice for $1.00 or five songs for $4.00

  Spotlight someone else to sing your favorite song for $5.00 or have them sing five songs for $15.00

  If you want to sit back and enjoy the night, buy yourself immunity for $25.00

  Foster’s been involved with this foundation, as he’s big on hiring former military for his security consulting firm, and I commend him for doing so. God knows so many of us falter in the transition from military to civilian life.

  Presley didn’t hesitate to join me tonight, especially since tonight’s also serving as Foster and Noelle’s send-off. They are leaving in the morning to get married and honeymoon in Barbados.

  And judging by the way Presley’s dressed, I’m going to have my work cut out for me in thwarting other guys’ advances. She’s wearing this slim-fitting, sleeveless black dress with large buttons down the front that barely hits mid-thigh. Her legs look like they go on for miles, and those simple wedge heels she’s wearing accentuate them further. It’s taking everything I have in me not to make up some excuse to skip out early, take her straight home, and—

  “Wheweee! Is that look for me, darlin’? If so, I do believe you’re burnin’ me slap up.”

  Turning to find Kane watching me with the typical shit-eating grin, I sling an arm around his shoulders as my eyes return to watch Presley on the dance floor with the other guys’ wives as well as Lucia while some girl sings—pretty well, I must admit—Cher’s “Believe.”

  “If you could look that good in a dress like that, I wouldn’t just be your roommate.” I wink at him.

  Kane lets out a long, dramatic sigh. “Well, hot damn. No way can I compete with that.” We stand here, watching the women dance.

  “Glad you made it out tonight.” Kane’s sober tone draws my attention. “It means a lot to us to have you here.” He holds my gaze before turning back to the dance floor. “She’s good for you.”

  My lips quirk up, watching Presley attempt the running man dance with Lucia. Good Lord, the woman isn’t the least bit coordinated or graceful, but it’s easy to see she’s having a blast out there.

  “She’s amazing.”

  “You’re pretty damn amazing, too, you know.”

  I flash him an odd look. “You making a play for me, Windham?” I expect his usual jovial smile and joking response. Instead, his aquamarine eyes pierce mine.

  “Just want you to know only one person is holding you back.” He slaps a hand on my shoulder. “You.” His gaze returns to the dance floor, but I remain frozen, staring at him.

  “But if you keep looking at me like that, I might make a play for you, darlin’.” And there he is. The Kane I’ve come to know.

  Smirking, I let my arm drop from around his shoulders once I recognize the familiar song the karaoke DJ has cued for the next person to sing as Young MC’s “Bust A Move.”

  “I think it’s time to show my lovely lady I can move like Jagger.”

  “I th
ink I’ll join you.” It’s easy to see who’s garnering Kane’s attention with his gaze locked on Lucia.

  Stepping onto the dance floor near Presley, I take her gently by the hips, drawing her to me. She tenses before recognizing my touch, relaxing against me as we move together. Spinning her around, I tug her close.

  Dipping my head close to her ear to ensure she can hear me over the music, I say, “You look gorgeous tonight.” Then I nip at her earlobe, adding, “It’s driving me crazy. Those damn buttons.”

  Backing away, she peers up at me. A smile plays on her lips before she rises to her tiptoes and tilts her head to softly kiss me. My hand goes to the nape of her neck, holding her in place to deepen the kiss as my lips work over hers. I find myself wishing we weren’t surrounded by people in a damn bar.

  Wishing I had her at home, naked and thrusting my hard cock in and out of her tight, slick pussy.

  “Break it up, you two!” Kane’s loud voice has us drawing apart, and I stare down at Presley’s lips, rosy and wet from our kiss. “Y’all just about made a baby right here on the dance floor.”

  Presley laughs, turning to Kane. “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “Oh, but it was.” This is from Lucia who’s fanning herself. “I nearly orgasmed from watching you.”

  “Well, hot damn.” Kane raises his eyebrows, adopting a teasing tone. “I reckon I’d pay to see such a thing.”

  Lucia gives Kane a saccharine-sweet smile. “Dreams are good, gringo.”

  Just then, the karaoke DJ announces a quick break and cues up some songs. When I hear “Cupid Shuffle,” I tug Presley over to where others are already lining up on the dance floor.

  “Wait!” She pulls against the hand I’m holding. “I don’t know how to do this.”

  “Follow my lead. It’s easy, I promise.” Steering her in front of me, I place my lips to her ear. “It’s all of four steps, each time. I’ll guide you.”

  As I lead her through the dance, I realize I’ve missed this. Missed this part of what I used to do—who I used to be.

  And I can’t help but be grateful for the woman who’s helping me find that part of myself again.