Cross My Heart

by K. D. Friedrich

  It didn’t take long before he found himself on John’s back porch. Sunlight pierced through the kitchen windows, yet much of John’s house remained dark. Pete banged his knuckles against the wood panel door. No answer. Damn, his eyelids were heavy. Summoning his strength, he banged his fist again, harder. After five more attempts, the kitchen light clicked on and the door swung open.

  “Who the hell…” John answered the door in his boxers. His hair stuck up in all different directions.

  Pete held up his hand. “Don’t ask.”

  John scratched his head. His mouth fell into a tight line. “What the fuck did you do now?”

  Pete pushed past John without further explanation. He went right to the fridge, threw it open and grabbed a beer.

  “A little early, don’t you think?” John tipped his head toward the bottle gripped in Pete’s hand.

  “Never too early.” He popped off the cap and took a slug.

  “Cara would never throw you out like this unless…” John narrowed his eyes. “Did you fucking hit on my sister?” Pete took another swig, swallowing the entire can. “Your silence better not be my answer.” John started to crowd him. “My sister deserves better than some drunken piece of shit groping her.”

  Hearing the truth from his best friend hurt like hell. Pete narrowed his gaze. “Back off, John. I’ve had a shitty night and so far my morning’s not looking too bright, either. I didn’t hit on her.” More like devoured her. I’m such a worthless fuck. “We had a fight, okay.”

  John’s eyes widened. “Must have been pretty bad. What, did you say something about pretty boy Stan? You know she’s got a soft spot for him.”

  The name alone was enough to make him growl. “Stan.” He uttered the name with distaste. “So fucking sick of hearing his name.”

  “Don’t worry, brother. She’ll get over it.”

  Not this time.

  “Give her a day to calm down. Maybe you should stop by her work Monday,” John suggested. “Take her out to lunch at that awesome French restaurant by the library. They have awesome cheesecake there. You know she’s a sucker for anything sweet, chocolate, and fattening.”

  “Maybe, I’ll stop by her office.” He doubted even a fat slice of cheesecake could repair the damage he’d caused.

  Chapter 11

  “I hate Mondays.” Especially, when I don’t get more than three hours sleep the night before. Cara slammed her desk drawer shut. She started to enter some new orders into the library database, fumbling more with each tap. Frustrated, she banged her fist on the keyboard before cupping her face. She rubbed her temples. No use trying to concentrate with a brain stuck in the past.

  Three hours at work, and she had accomplished nothing. Pete’s last words latched themselves to her brain and refused to release. “Take off your damn clothes and spread your legs,” she mumbled.

  “The best idea I’ve heard all day,” a warm voice from behind her said.

  Cara jumped. “Stan…you scared the heck out of me. I’m going to staple a bell to your tailbone.” She shuffled a set of papers on her desk.

  “Here I am, expecting lunch, and walk in on a much better proposition.” Stan grinned. He walked around her desk and sat on the corner closest to her. “What do you say, lunch at the café down the street? I heard they make a killer panini.”

  Sudden tears broke over her lashes.

  “Hey, sunshine, what’s wrong?”

  “I can’t believe this. He‘s turned me into some sappy girl.”

  Stan frowned. “This has to do with Pete, doesn’t it? What did he do now?” His voice sounded dangerous.

  Cara told Stan about what happened Saturday morning.

  “Granted the guy has some issues, but that gives him no right to treat you like that. Listen, my parents are letting me use their cabin for the weekend. They’re putting it on the market and this will be my last chance to get a weekend in. We can relax in the hot tub. Sit by a roaring fire. Eat lots of junk food. Watch cheesy horror flicks or a couple of raunchy comedies.” Her tears didn’t stop. Stan leaned closer. “Come here, Cara.” He pulled her against his warm chest. She stayed there with his arms wrapped around her for a few minutes before she pulled back. She sniffed. He grabbed a tissue from her desk. “You’re killing me.” He dabbed her cheeks with the tissue.

  Why didn’t she lose her heart to Stan? Why did she have to fall in love with a man who would never love her back?

  “You’re a good friend.” She cupped his cheek. “Thank you.”

  They stared at each other a few moments. She was about to release him from her hold when he did what she never expected. He kissed her.

  Stan’s hands drifted up her back, his touch gentle and patient, not at all like the possessive claiming she experienced in Pete’s arms. She didn’t move. Pure shock held her in place. He must have mistaken her lack of withdrawal as an invitation because he plunged his tongue in her mouth, deepening his kiss. He tasted of mint, coffee, and unrequited desire.

  Though pleasant, she experienced none of the desperate, unending fire Pete ignited with his lips. He deserved a woman who cared for him in every way, not just as a friend, but with the same crazed lust every couple in love cherished. He deserved absolute passion and nothing less.

  “Stan, stop.” She pushed at his chest. His hold tightened.

  “Don’t make me stop, Cara.” He tried to kiss her again.

  “Please,” she begged. “I can’t do this.”

  She started to pull away, but someone yanked Stan off her. He went crashing into a file cabinet on the other side of the room. Papers flew in every direction.

  She glanced up to find Pete standing over Stan with fury in his eyes. His chest rose and fell at a hurried pace. His fists remained clenched at his sides. This was her warrior, a man who thought of nothing but protecting those who needed protection.

  “Pete, what the heck are you doing?” Cara yelled.

  A few of her coworkers rushed over, but hovered outside her door, terrified to enter the room.

  Pete advanced on Stan. “Like déjà vu, isn’t it, Morrison? Again, I find you taking what you want.”

  Stan wiped a drop of blood from his mouth. “Yeah, you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “Keep your fucking hands off her. Next time I’ll kill you.”

  Stan stood. He looked at her. “You deserve way better than…this. When you figure that out, give me a call.” Stan brushed his clothes, walked over to her, kissed her on the cheek, and left.

  One of the library aids peered in the office. “Are you okay, Cara?”

  “I’m fine,” Cara assured her.

  The aid nodded and walked back to her desk. Cara dropped her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. Thank God her boss Connie went out to lunch today. No doubt, she’ll hear the news flash when she gets back. She glared at Pete. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to apologize for the other night, but as I can see, you’re dealing with it just fine.”

  “He kissed me. I…” She threw her hands up. “Forget this crap. I don’t have to explain anything to you. Stan has been nothing but a friend to me.”

  “Friend? He was just groping you at your damn workplace. Another second and he’d be fucking you on your desk.”

  “Enough! A kiss doesn’t constitute a grope or sex. If anyone knows the difference, it’s you.”

  He stepped closer. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “You know what I mean. Besides, he’s not the one throwing people around. I’ll be lucky if they don’t fire me after the junk you pulled today. I’m through, Pete. Done. I don’t know what your problem is, but you’d better figure it out.”

  “I don’t have a problem.”

  “You’re right, you don’t have a problem, you’ve got a whole freaking bunch of them.” She burst out a delirious chuckle.

  He smacked the remaining files off her desk. “Keep fucking laughing.” For a second, she thought she caught a hint o
f a grin forming on Pete’s face. The slight lift disappeared.

  “Or what…you gonna make me? Come on, Pete. Wipe the smile off my face. I dare you.” She played with fire. She knew it, but at this point, a heated attitude beat a cold shoulder.

  “Coming here was a mistake.”

  She smiled. “Wouldn’t you know it, but you got something right.”

  He shoved the chair out of his way, sending it crashing into a corner file cabinet, and marched out the door. Cara dropped to her seat, buried her face in her hands, and cried.

  *

  Pete strode past rows of books and Formica tables, fighting to regain control. Cara’s colleagues and library patrons stared at him with tense frowns as he passed, while others shook their heads in obvious displeasure. Screw them all. He refused to regret his outburst. If anything, Cara and each witness should thank God Stan walked out on his own and praise Pete’s years of military discipline. Without it, no one would have been able to stop him from pulling Stan’s balls out through his throat. He stood in front of the closed elevator, his entire body shaking, his heart pounding in his chest. A burning ache centered behind his kneecap. He wanted to punch something…no, not something, someone.

  When the elevator doors open, Pete rushed in. He bashed the button marked lobby hard enough to bruise his knuckles. Visions of Stan groping Cara’s soft curves sliced through his brain, a torment guaranteed to drive him insane. Once again, jealous fury erupted like an atom bomb. The bastard touched her. Spread his fingers along the same damn path Pete’s hands traveled days earlier. Stan had tarnished a prized memory of Cara and Pete’s passion, and the offense was unforgivable, punishable by a bloody beating.

  He marched out of the building on a mission. Drink until he forgot her beautiful eyes, how perfect she felt in his arms, and the sight of Stan mauling her on her desk. A hundred dollars in his pocket should do the job. He no longer cared how he spent his savings. He’d earned every damned penny of it with his blood and sweat. He had started the bank account years ago, before his second deployment. Stowing away money for some ridicules dream of having a business someday. He hadn’t known what kind of company, just something he could be proud of, something outdoors, where he was able to enjoy the sunshine and fresh air. Those were the imaginings of a fool.

  He stalked through the parking lot and glanced up to find Stan leaning on John’s truck. With fists clenched, he stomped toward Stan.

  Stan stood tall, his legs set apart about a foot. His fists lifted, like a boxer waiting for the bell to ring. Seeing the bastard did nothing to improve Pete’s mood. If anything, it made him shift into a defensive mode. He reached to the side, grabbing for his weapon, and then cursed when he realized he wasn’t hiking in the middle of damn desert. He was in a parking lot, back home, about to face a new kind of enemy.

  “We need to talk, Cross.”

  Without warning, Pete slammed Stan into the driver’s door. Images of Stan’s hands feeling up Cara flooded his brain. He dug his forearm into Stan’s throat. “I should kill you for touching her. I’ve killed men for less.”

  Stan laughed. Pete pressed harder.

  “Cara,” Stan gasped.

  The one word set Pete on a sharp dangerous edge, yet caught his attention. He loosened his hold.

  “What about her?”

  Stan locked gazes with Pete. “You’re hurting her…I don’t…like it,” he stuttered between breaths.

  Pete hated to admit it, but Stan made a valid point. He’d noticed Cara’s red, tear-stained eyes and knew the cause. With a growl, he released Stan.

  “As much as you hate the idea…Cara and I…are friends.” Stan rubbed his throat, while Pete rolled his eyes. “Would I like there to be more? Hell yes, and I’d be damn lucky.” Pete cringed. For once, he agreed with Morrison. “Cara will never want me the way she wants you. Why? I have no clue. The way you treat her…” Stan shook his head and took a step closer to Pete. “I’ve never seen her shed a tear. She’s the strongest woman I’ve ever met. When I walked into her office today and witnessed her crying a river, I wanted to hunt you down and beat the hell out of you.”

  “So instead of kicking my ass, you decide to take her in a moment of weakness and shove your tongue down her throat. You’re a real fucking prince.”

  Stan slammed him into the side of John’s truck, quicker than expected. “I love her, Pete. I have ever since I bumped into her in the halls of Heart Falls High. If I had my way, she’d be wearing my ring and in my arms every night.”

  Pete’s eyes widened. Not much shocked him. This, however, hit with the same power as lightning bolt. He knew Stan wanted her. He didn’t realize how much.

  “But no,” Stan continued. “I have to watch her pine after a fool who has no idea what’s standing right in front of him.”

  He pushed against Stan’s hold, but Pete’s resistance lacked real effort. As much as he hated it, Stan was right. “Get to the point, Stanley, or leave me the hell alone, because I’m seconds away from jamming my foot up your sorry ass.”

  Stan stepped back with a frown. “You can hide it from John, from her, from her father. You can even hide the fact from yourself, but not me. You’re in love with her. Have been since first sight, I gather.”

  “I look out for her. It’s never—”

  “Enough of the bullshit! You love her, Cross. How long can you deny it?”

  “You don’t know shit.”

  Stan breathed a heavy sigh. “Either you start treating her the way she deserves or let her go, man. Let her move on and have a life with someone who will be there for her.”

  “Someone like you…right?” Guys like Stan always had an agenda.

  Stan wiped his hand over his face. “I want her to be happy and so should you, whether it’s with me or some other lucky guy. I can’t stand to see her cry anymore. Think about what you want before you break her.”

  Stan moved past him without a word. Pete turned, watching Stan disappear around the corner.

  * * * *

  Cara climbed up the narrow ladder leading to the cramped loft in her father’s house. “Hey, Dad, you up here?”

  After a week of sleepless nights and despair, she needed to hear her father’s friendly voice.

  “Still cleaning out this mess,” he called out.

  No more than five feet high, the low ceiling forced Cara to duck under several thick wood beams. Unfinished planks slanted on both sides making up the roof, while rusty nails held everything together. She glanced around, coughing on waves of dust circulating all around her. Forgotten treasures and tucked-away memories were piled on top of one another everywhere she looked. Three sneezes later, and she wished she’d popped an allergy pill as she had planned to earlier.

  Crouched over, she maneuvered herself around a pile of old clothes, following an extension cord running along the floor. Hidden behind stacks of boxes and stuffed garbage bags, she found her father.

  Several oscillating fans ran in unison, yet they did little to cool her, him, or anything else. Sweat trickled down her spine. As far as she knew, no one had ventured up here for some time. Not since her father put up the last few boxes of her mother’s things after her death. The smell of age and neglect tickled her nasal passages and added to her gloomy mood. Cobwebs clung to every corner. She shivered, wondering how many of the eight-legged demons crawled around her. She may prefer to run with the boys, but throw a spider at her and she’d screech like any other girl.

  “There you are,” said Cara.

  Her father lifted his gaze, his eyes bloodshot. Whether from dust or tears, she didn’t know. “Lots of memories to rummage through. Hey, pass me the bag next to you.” He sat on the floor surrounded by photo albums. Why he’d decided to go through everything, now, after all this time, Cara didn’t know. The sad, tired eyes let her know his trip down memory lane had taken a grave toll. She lifted the stuffed bag beside her and handed it to him.

  Cara kneeled beside him. She selected a leather-bound book and ski
mmed through pictures of her mother. She dragged her finger over the photo’s yellowing edge. She barely remembered her. Her one clear memory was her mom’s charismatic smile.

  “She looks so young here.”

  “That was taken before we got married. You and John weren’t even a thought back then.” Her dad chuckled. “You’re her spitting image. You’re both fueled by the same fire.”

  Cara picked up another album. She continued to flip the pages. Like her father, nostalgia made her solemn until she turned the next page. “Oh my God.” A grin burst over her features. She laughed at a picture of a young boy lying in a mud puddle. Next to him sat a little girl with crooked pigtails, her clothes muddy and wet. “John always did like the mud. Serves him right, he probably pushed me in and then fell in himself.”

  “That’s not John.”

  She narrowed her eyes and then opened them wide. “Pete,” she whispered.

  “From what I remember, Pete went to help you out of the puddle, but ended up right next to you.” Her dad shook his head. “Pete followed you around like a Papa Bear. I never saw a boy more smitten.”

  “Followed me?” she said. From her recollection, she did the following.

  “The boy clung to you like a shadow. Your mother saw it. God rest her soul. The very first day Pete walked through the door, she said, ‘Carl, we need to keep an eye on that boy. He has the look of a love-struck pup.’ She joked that once adolescence hit, we’d have to hose Pete off to keep him away from you.” Her dad chuckled. “No one dared do or say anything to you. One tear and he’d take them out. You thought it was John doing all the protecting. Nah, Pete got John going when it came to you.”

  She dragged her finger over the old photograph. Times do change. Now, instead of a guardian, he’d morphed into an antagonist. She missed Pete, missed him to the point of agony. A tear escaped the corner of her eye and traveled down her cheek.

  “What’s wrong, baby girl? You look like you lost your best friend.”

  “I feel like I did.”

  Her father sighed. “This is about Pete, isn’t it?” He moved closer and wrapped an arm around her waist. Needing her daddy’s comfort, she burrowed against his side and nodded.