Then I have Ramirez, all the way in fucking Texas, falling completely apart, calling me talking about shit I’d locked out of my mind months ago.
I’ve been home less than a week and already the nightmares have started up again. Only this time, instead of my team, I hear a baby crying and then there’s Holly standing in the middle of the road, the road where half our guys had been blown up, and now I’m awake, covered in sweat, and tangled in the sheets. I rub my hands over my face and swing my legs off the side of the bed. 3:00 am, perfect time for a run.
This time, I head straight for the beach, needing the extra resistance the sand will give me. I want to be dead fucking tired when I get back to my bed. I run hard until I’m out of breath and my legs are burning and I realize I’ve run back to the spot where Holly and I had been earlier. I walk in circles for a minute, resting my hands on my hips, and work to slow my breathing, before thinking, fuck it, and head up the little path to Holly’s back door. I’m not going to knock or anything, just check things out. It’s a nice house and I wonder how she can afford to live here on her own because if I had to guess, I’d say high school librarians don’t make all that much money and houses around here weren’t exactly cheap.
That got me thinking about Holly the librarian and how fucking cute she looked standing in front of that Christmas tree earlier today. I’d hung back and watched a minute because I wanted to make sure I wasn’t interrupting, but got caught up watching her interact with those kids. They buzzed around her like she was the queen bee and their only desire was to serve her. The dress she was wearing made her growing stomach obvious and, combined with her pajamas from last night, had the same effect on me as sticking your tongue on one of those electric fly swatters-don’t ask me how I know how that feels.
Now this, sneaking around in the dark, I was a master at. In fact, I could probably gain entry into her house, into her room, without her even knowing-I would never do that, to be clear. But that is the stuff I am trained for, not navigating personal relationships. Her house is secure, which is comforting; not that there’s a high crime rate in the Cove, necessarily, but it’s good to know she’s safe. Why I feel the need to confirm that, I didn’t feel like exploring, so I head out the front yard and onto the street, where the only sound is my feet hitting pavement. I try not to think about Holly O’Brian, warm and snug in her bed, wearing those goofy pajamas, her wild hair all spread out, that soft, open look on her face that I’d seen aimed at those kids in her library. I have several fond, fond memories of our night together and one of them was when she looked at me like that: like she couldn’t believe her luck, when it was so obvious it was the opposite that was true.
Chapter 12
Holly
My baby bump is the cutest baby bump in all the land.
I was standing (mostly naked) in front of a fitting room mirror and basically feeling extra mushy-gushy today. Maya had pulled me out of the library at 4:00 this afternoon to take me shopping. Well, really, she just wanted an excuse to not go home yet-her kids were making her a little crazy (see, what did I tell you?) and her husband had offered to do pick-ups and homework so here we were, standing in a department store fitting room trying on maternity clothes. Well, I was trying on maternity clothes, she was trying on sexy dresses (just for fun, she said).
“Come on, Maya, you can’t tell me this isn’t the best?” She swore up and down that she hated being pregnant but, seeing as how she did it three times, on purpose, I didn’t believe that she thought it all bad.
“You, my darling, look adorable.” (An aristocratic vocabulary and vocal tone were apparently a side effect of the sexy dresses).
“I do. I like my body with curves, I’ve never had curves before.”
“You wanna borrow some of mine?” She asks, doing a little shimmy.
“Maya, please, you have the body of a pinup model and I don’t want to borrow any, I want to take them all.”
She rolls her eyes and reaches back to unzip her dress.
“In the fifth grade, Timothy Yates said I was a carpenter’s dream.”
She pauses mid-zip and looked at me quizzically. “I don’t get it.”
“Flat as a board,” I explain, gesturing to my (no longer flat) chest.
“What a little shit.”
“And in high school, the drama teacher asked if I was interested in playing Peter Pan in their spring production.”
“That part has been played famously by women over the years, honey.”
“Yes, but when you’re fifteen and silently crushing on Captain Hook, a.k.a. Brian Thomas, you don’t appreciate being compared to a little boy.”
I watch her swallow hard, trying not to laugh.
“And I wasn’t even in drama!” I finish, giggling myself, and giving license to Maya and her laughter.
“Oh my god, girl,” she’s clutching her stomach, working to bring herself down. “I’ll just say,” she goes on once she’s caught her breath, “and I think you know this, that in high school-hell, in life-it doesn’t make a difference if you’re flat or well-endowed,” she slides a hand down her body, “there’s always gonna be haters.” She punctuates her wisdom with another shimmy and head bobble move. “And there’s always gonna be lovers.”
My giggles stop and I stare at her and shake my head.
“Don’t ever do that again.”
“What? God, you’re looking at me the way Estrella does,” she says, all offended. Her oldest child, Estrella, is eleven and entering that my-mom-is-so-lame stage and Maya is not taking it well. “I’m cool, Holly.”
“Okay, Maya.”
“Oh, shut it, Peter, and put some clothes on.”
I leave the store with a few new outfits and a plan to hit Target that weekend because maternity clothes were kinda fun, in a weird way. Most of them weren’t my usual style, so maybe it was the novelty. Either way, I needed to get me a pair of those jeans with the wide elastic bands, stat.
We head to a burger place in a corner of the mall where I order a burger as big as my head with a side of onion rings and ranch to dip them in.
“I want to talk about your man.”
“Mr. Bubberchop?” I ask, thrown by her conversation boomerang. “Why would you want to talk about my cat?” I retort, not liking where this is headed.
“I think it’s time to face the facts, Holly: you have a man.”
I decide to give up the act. “I really don’t, Maya.”
“And I think you’re feeling things about him that you don’t want to accept,” she continues.
“I’m really not, Maya.”
“I thought you said you were going to talk last night.” She is not to be deterred.
“Well, something came up and it didn’t really go as planned.” It was not news to me that Dean and I had not even broached the subject of the baby.
Maya studies me from across the table. “Well, what do you want, honey?”
“Right now, I want a giant cheeseburger.”
She shoots me the Mom look and I crumble.
“I don’t know,” I respond testily, feeling irritated that she’s making me think about this.
“Do you want to be with him?”
Honestly, I hadn’t even let my mind go there, not during our one night together, not after I found out I was pregnant.
“Even if I did, and even if Dean did, which I’m pretty sure he does not,” I hold up a hand to stop her argument, “it’s just not a good idea. It would be one thing if he and I wanted to explore the idea of dating, but to do that with a baby on the way would just be way too messy. If we tried to be together and it didn’t work out, our already awkward situation and tentative relationship would become a million times more challenging.”
“That’s very responsible of you and you’re probably right,” she says after a moment of soaking up my words. “But, uh, I thought you said you didn’t think about Dean like that.”
“Oh, I think about him,” I mumble, remembering how his arms looked
in that t-shirt last night and how they held me up, pressed against the wall.
“I bet you do.” She’s doing her shoulder shimmy-eyebrow thing again and it serves to lighten the mood.
“I mean, I’m sure it’s just the hormones, because that’s a thing, right? I mean, I read about that being a thing.”
“Yes, Holly, your raging libido is perfectly normal.”
“I didn’t say it was raging,” I lean forward to whisper, glancing around to make sure nobody heard her. “Sheesh.”
“Yes, Marco was a very happy man during that time period. And, you too, could be a very happy lady if you decide to go there with your man.”
“Maya, he’s not my man and did you not hear anything I just said?” I can feel my face heating.
“I didn’t say propose to the man, I’m merely suggesting a little tension release. It’s his duty, as the man responsible for putting you in this position, to take care of your needs, all of your needs.”
That is a ridiculous thought. Dean and me? Flashes of his bare chest play in my mind.
“Okay, well, so…how’s work these days? I mean, we haven’t talked much about that lately,” I mumble, arranging the silverware next to me, desperate to get off the Dean topic.
“Think about it, he’s just come from some war-torn place, surrounded by sweaty men, he’s probably just as horny as you, if not more.”
“Women serve in the military too, Maya,” I interrupt.
“Oh, hush.”
“Ahh, lalalalala,” I cover my ears. “I cannot believe you’re romanticizing the whole thing!”
“Look, you’re both obviously attracted to each other,” she says, gesturing to my belly. “And it’s not like you can get knocked up again. Maybe a hearty romp will shake something loose in the both of you.”
“You are a horrible advice-giver. Shake something loose?”
“Yeah. I don’t know about him, but you are wound tight, girlfriend.”
We both go silent as the server delivers our food and asks if there’s anything else we need (yes, please, a muzzle for my friend here).
“I am not wound tight,” I insist. I’m flexible, I roll with the punches, I go with the flow.
“It’s okay, Holls, you’re kind of in a wound-tight type of situation, and you two will figure it out. I know with absolute certainty that you, no matter where Dean decides to land, will be okay.”
I dip an onion ring in ranch and listen. Dean had said the same thing. We’re gonna be okay.
“But…you’d be even better after some orgasms,” she quips, popping a fry into her mouth and wiggling her eyebrows.
It’s not going to happen, but that doesn’t mean my brain isn’t going to think about naked times with Dean Slade forever and always now.
When we met that night back in June, I was immediately attracted to him. I’d been sitting at the bar for a while when he and his group arrived. I covertly watched him through the opening band and well into The Hooligans set-this was the band Maya’s brother was in. And while Maya may have been successful in dragging me there that night, she was not going to win at getting me off that barstool. I knew her intentions were positive, but I could be stubborn, too. It wasn’t until I watched Dean point right at me from across the entire bar that I began to even consider Maya’s words: find a guy, take him home, and have some fun. You deserve it.
I had deserved it, on that day, especially.
However, after thirty minutes of no contact, I had decided to call it a night. So I texted Maya I was leaving and headed out, right smack into the big oaf himself. I apologized, he smiled and walked me home, and then…
It was as though, at first contact with him, my brain completely shut down and my body did all the decision making. My brain would not have invited him in, but my hands sure pulled; my brain would not have stripped the clothes from his body, but my fingers were expert unbuttoners; my brain would have definitely investigated the whole thing further, but my body, well, my body could no longer be trusted; it had lost its driving privileges.
The next morning, he was gone, though he’d left a note saying he’d had a good time but had to report in that day (and, obviously, I’d saved the note because I’m that kind of idiot). I wasn’t upset he was gone, I figured I’d had my fun, gained a few yummy memories, and finally had a titillating one-night-stand story to tell (not that I’d told anyone, well, except Maya because when the pregnancy test came up positive, I kind of had to explain).
I could not and would not allow myself to even consider the possibility of hooking up with Dean again. Obviously, as stated earlier, my body had lost its driving privileges, and my brain knew better than to hope for anything more. Being pregnant meant my needs, wants, and desires no longer came first, even if my hormones and, therefore, body was begging me to do something about said needs, wants, and desires. My brain would overpower my body and that was that.
Except when it came to bread.
I was currently standing in line this fine Friday afternoon at Persimmon’s Deli, my eye on a round loaf of asiago cheese bread. It looked so soft and I bet it smelled so good.
“Funny how we always meet at places with food, Lil’ Red. It’s looking like we got more in common than just fabulous hair.”
I turned to Red with a smile and happy greeting. I’d had to excuse myself from our Taco Tuesday night this week to meet up with Maya, but wouldn’t miss our next one.
“I’m not usually this much of a glutton,” I tell him, gesturing to my ever-expanding belly.
“Well, that my dear, definitely runs in the family. Whatcha getting?”
Red and I step up to the counter together and I order my loaf of bread, adding on a big ol’ cinnamon roll at the last minute-for breakfast tomorrow (of course, sheesh) and Red orders a sandwich.
“Missed you on Tuesday,” Red says as we wait for our food.
“Yeah, sorry. I’ll be there next Tuesday, though, for sure,” I assure him.
“Your friend okay?”
I’d told him my friend needed me that night…which was true.
“Oh, yeah, she’s good. Minor crisis is all.”
“Good, good. Hey, we’re doing a thing at the shop this Saturday, you should come by.”
“Um, a thing?” Yeah, I was going to need more clarification.
“Yeah, Gracie organized some big thing with those jumping houses and a skate ramp and prizes and stuff…I don’t know…a thing.”
Not exactly the clarification I was looking for, but that’s okay.
“For kids, you know, the community and shit.”
His explanation had me giggling.
“Sounds fun,” I admit, while still hesitant to ensure my attendance.
“Well, it’s going on all day, there’s food and stuff, I’ll give you the family discount,” he shares with a wink. “Yeah, and you know, you need a t-shirt, everyone in the family gets one.”
Everyone in the family. My giggles stop short while I attempt to swallow a big lump.
“That sounds nice. Thanks, Red.” And I mean it. He is such a nice man.
“Eh, I’m surprised Dean didn’t mention it,” he says off-handedly, ignoring my gratitude.
“Oh…well…it must have slipped his mind,” I say, darting my eyes away.
“Mmhmm,” he grumbles, looking away.
“Um…”
“Nevermind.” He steps up to the counter to retrieve his sandwich, handing me my bag of bread. “Don’t worry about nothing, Lil’ Red, see you Saturday.”
And then he walks out, leaving me standing slightly stunned in the middle of the deli.
“Well, okay then,” I say to myself. On the way to my car, I see Jasmine from school. She’s across the street walking with a boy her age, and I wonder if it’s the elusive Keagan. She hadn’t been into the library in a while, not even for our book club lunches. Jasmine turns her head just enough to see me, and I wave, but instead of waving back, she quickly averts her gaze. Huh. Maybe she didn’t see me, after
all.
I return to walking down the sidewalk, escorting my bread to my car. I had a movie all lined up for tonight, I had my bread, I get to sleep in tomorrow…yeah, I was feeling good.
And I kept that feeling all night long…until about 10:30, that is.
Chapter 13
Holly
I lied. I actually had two movies queued up for tonight, and I was about halfway through the second one when thunder strikes my doorstep (okay, it wasn’t actual thunder, but for the record, a drunk Marine very closely resembles thunder).
“Holly!”
Oh.My.Lanta.
I quick pause the movie and scurry to the door, peeling back the flimsy curtain (yes, I’d installed a curtain in an attempt to shield myself from visitors) and see Dean leaned up on a forearm against my doorframe.
“Holly!” He shouts again.
I’m conflicted. I’d texted him earlier in the day (after days of deliberation on the subject) to let him know I was having an ultrasound in a couple of weeks and did he want to come, so maybe he’s here to talk about that? He’s quite obviously drunk, though…and he does seem in a rather unpredictable state and that makes me nervous (cuz, libido).
The door rattles with his harsh knock and, before he can shout my name again, I flip the locks.
“Okay, okay, quiet down,” I boss him.
“Holly,” he mutters, his voice soft and relieved, like he’s just had a drink after days of thirst.
“What is going on?”
“Can I come in?” Which sounds more like cicumn? He’s still propped up by his arm and dips his head down to catch my eyes.
“Holy smokes, you are seriously drunk,” I say, but open the door to allow him room to pass. He trips over the threshold and I grab his arm in an attempt to help him balance.
“Holly O’Brian…”
“Dean Slade…”
He stands in front of me, his balance regained, places both of his big hands at my jaw, and rubs his thumbs against my cheekbones.
“So pretty,” he mumbles and holy moly, I cannot breathe. “I’m really fucking drunk and I just want you to know that I do not drink anymore.”
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