Sol (Love in Translation Book 1)

by Leslie McAdam

  Yum.

  He kept his distance, though, not talking to anyone except his partner, and seeming a bit…off. My memories of Trent were those of a happy-go-lucky guy, cheerful and laidback. Now, he seemed impassioned, like something was consuming him from the inside.

  I wondered what that could be.

  After the first day blur of introductions and activity, in no time at all class ended and the students filed out. Trent lingered in the back, waiting to talk to me.

  Goddammit, that was what I asked for.

  When the room had emptied, he started walking up the aisle. “Dani,” he said in a low, sexy voice. The one I wanted to hear. My throat grew thick, and I could feel my pulse in it. “I got a lot to tell you—”

  “How are you? How’s Degan? It’s been so long! Tell me everything!” My voice came out breathless.

  As he strode up, I leapt from behind my desk, ran up to him, and gave him the welcome hug he deserved. He groaned, reached under my armpits, and lifted me so my arms closed around his neck, my feet off the ground. Cradling me tight in his arms, he held me easily while I clung to him, stroking his hair, his strong shoulders.

  He felt so safe, so secure. Like home.

  Nuzzling his face against my cheek, he gripped me firmly, but his chest shook.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked against his scratchy stubble.

  “It’s so good to see you,” he whispered, trembling, taking a step back and leaning against a desk for support. “You don’t know how many times I Googled you. How long I’ve looked for you.”

  “You have? Just ask Degan, he’d tell you,” I said, as I snuggled into this big, fine, hunk of man, not wanting to let him go.

  He held me closer, burying his nose in my hair. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

  And with the way he said it, I got chills. A sense of trepidation washed over me. I didn’t know what he was going to say, but whatever it was, I knew I wasn’t gonna like it. Intuition made me pull back from him, and he set me back down on the ground in front of him. “Did my loopy brother stay at the hotel to sleep over his jet lag?”

  He shook his head. And I knew, I just knew, that something had happened.

  “Where is he?”

  My phone buzzed with a text from Lulu asking how my first day went. I pulled it out of my skirt pocket and set it upside down on a desk.

  Letting out his breath, he said, “I’d like to talk to you, but not in public. Can we go to your place?” The way he said it, while the words were a question, it was a command. There wasn’t any arguing with him.

  “Sure,” I said warily, drawing out the word, making it have more than one syllable. “Let me pack up my things.”

  Like at the beginning of class, he helped me gather my papers, but this time he was silent. He had his own papers shoved in his back pocket. Once I had my belongings, I said, “This way. I’m only a few blocks from the school.”

  He nodded.

  Oh no. Now he’s gone mute. This can’t be good.

  Following me down the hall of the school and out the door, we exited into the bright, sunny street and continued to my apartment. In the heat of midday, store owners rolled down metal doors to close up their shops for the three hour break the Spanish take for lunch beginning at two o’clock.

  We came to my building. Lulu had secured the place for me to rent for summer—a professor at the school routinely let it out. As we trudged up the four sets of stairs, Trent still said nothing. When we stepped into my room that served as a living room, bedroom, and kitchen, he said nothing. He wasn’t even breathing hard from the walk up.

  This garret studio apartment came with potted plants hung at intervals from the sloping rafters, and I’d strung fairy lights across the room. Afternoon sunshine poured in through the windows. Floor-to-ceiling doors opened to a tiny patio balcony outside where you could see a tower from the cathedral.

  I set my things down, texted Lulu to come over as soon as she was able to chat, and sat down on the sofa. After inspecting every window, almost casing the joint, he sat next to me.

  “Want a drink of water?” I asked.

  He shook his head and gazed at me with a pained expression, making me even more apprehensive about what he was going to say. Finally, I couldn’t wait any more and turned to him.

  “Is Degan hurt? Is he mad at me about the last time we talked, so he didn’t want to see me? Did he, oh no, did he reenlist again? I’d hate that. I have no use for the military. I told him that. Maybe he got transferred somewhere.” Fully aware that I was babbling and not letting Trent get a word in edgewise, nevertheless I couldn’t seem to stop talking. Finally, I just asked, “Please, Trent. Just tell me. Where’s Degan?”

  He opened his mouth to speak, and he made sounds. Those sounds formed words in the English language that I knew had meaning, but as he said them, I found that even though I taught language, I didn’t understand them.

  Time slowed down so much that I could probably have watched the rate of my fingernails grow.

  Holding my hands, and looking straight into my eyes, sitting on my couch in my apartment in Granada, Spain, on Earth, in this Universe, Trent said unflinchingly, “Less than two weeks ago, Degan died while our unit was on patrol in the Korengal Valley in Afghanistan.”

  No, I screamed inside, but Trent continued on, determined and merciless.

  “A roadside bomb detonated as we passed by. He threw himself on me and also saved another soldier in our company by shoving him out of the way. Degan shielded us from the bomb, and received the full force of the trauma. He died almost immediately from his injuries. It was three days before we were due to fly back to the United States to be discharged.”

  “No,” I said out loud, shaking my head. “No. You’re wrong. You’re lying to me. Degan’s not dead. He’s…He’s on his way to Spain to visit, I’m sure. Or maybe he’s going back to California. But he didn’t die by some fucking roadside bomb in the Middle East.”

  “Dani,” Trent said, scooting closer, “he did. The military funeral was days ago.” Agonizing tears pooled in his eyes. Those huge, blue eyes, rimmed with long, curly lashes, seemed twice as big as normal. “I loved him, you know? He was my best friend. For life. And now he’s gone.”

  I threw his hands down, stood up, and paced in front of him.

  “My brother did not disappear from this earth, okay. He’s here.” I pointed to the ground, then around with a swirling motion.

  Wiping his eyes with the back of his well-built hands, Trent murmured, “I wish there was a way of telling you where I could’ve numbed the pain. But there isn’t. You just had to know the truth.”

  I shook my head and wrapped my arms around myself, not saying anything.

  “I’m gonna let you process this, but know I’m gonna give you anything you need. Anything.”

  “I don’t need anything. I’m fine.”

  “You aren’t fine, babe, and neither am I. You’re in shock from the news. So am I, frankly. I’m gonna let you ride it out.”

  “I’m not in shock,” I said. “It’s fine.”

  His eyes first registered disbelief, and then sympathy. “He wanted me to give you this letter.” Trent pulled out a dirty, rumpled envelope from his back pocket.

  Scrawled on the front, in Degan’s recognizable all-caps lettering, was my name. He reached over and tried to hand it to me.

  I recoiled from it.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “When we were in boot camp, we each wrote a letter that we would give people if we died. I carried his letter, and he carried mine. Since he died, I’m giving you his letter that he wrote to you. I don’t know what it says. He never showed me.” He held it out to me again.

  I took the letter and set it down on the table by the T.V. “I can’t open that right now,” I whispered.

  “I know. It’s okay. What do you need? You can see why we needed to leave school to talk.”

  I nodded, distracted, not processing. “Yeah, thanks.” />
  And then it hit me.

  My baby brother. The one who followed me around my entire life. The tan kid with blue eyes and stocky legs and pokey-outie hair. The one who’d call room service and order cold cereal when we went traveling with our parents.

  That guy.

  That kid.

  Was gone.

  No more emails forwarding me articles about things the cat literally dragged in. No more Christmases where we went to the beach and did handstands, then ran so fast into the cold, cold Pacific that our feet almost burned with the frigid salt water. No more hiking in Muir Woods and stopping for pizza afterward. No more sitting together watching The Simpsons.

  No more boxes and boxes of Cocoa Puffs.

  The army had stolen him from me. The kid who wanted everyone to get along. Who was a little shy, but who wouldn’t let new kids eat by themselves at lunchtime.

  That kid.

  Dead.

  I burst into tears. Heaving, sobbing, ugly, wailing, banshee tears. Tears that they could hear next door. Tears that sounded like something was rent from the Universe.

  Something was rent. My heart.

  My tears were the only language I could use to express my sorrow.

  My mother had died. My father had died. And now my brother, my only living family member, had died.

  I had no one. I’d lost everything. Everyone that mattered to me. All gone.

  Without saying a word, Trent stood, picked me up like I was a child, and sat down with me in his lap on the couch, holding me in his broad arms. And I cried.

  I missed him. I missed my baby brother. I missed his jokes and his gentle snark.

  “He promised me he’d come back,” I whispered.

  “That isn’t a promise anyone can keep,” Trent muttered back.

  My tears soaked through Trent’s white T-shirt. He didn’t seem to care. He just held me while I lay limply in his arms as waves of sorrow crashed over me.

  Eventually I fell asleep on the couch.

  Until I was awakened by a knock on the door.

  Trent got up and opened the door. I saw through my crying-jag haze that Louise stood at the door, but I was too spent to get up. My hair covered my eyes, and it took too much effort to move it.

  Her familiar, cozy voice suffused the room. “Is Dani here?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his weight on one leg so his ass leaned to the side. “Yeah.”

  “You’re Trent?”

  “Yes.”

  Who else would it be? Tall, good-looking god taking over my apartment.

  “I’ve heard of you,” she said, her eyes going up and down him, clearly conveying her thoughts—he’s a tall drink of yummy, ain’t he? Resting her gaze on his face, she seemed to size him up.

  He passed.

  She stuck out her hand to shake his. “I’m Louise. Known her since college. I’m a teacher at the college, too.” Tilting her head to the side, she asked, “Should I come back? I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

  “You’re not,” he said. “She’s not doing well.”

  “Why? Is she sick?” Louise peered around him at me, her initial tentativeness at interrupting something turning to concern. “You okay, sugar?”

  “She’s not,” he said. “She may need you. Listen.” And he whispered something.

  I heard Lulu’s sharp intake of breath. “Oh, that poor child.” She ran in and gathered me in her arms, holding me tight. I let out a fresh batch of tears, sobbing yet again.

  “I had to tell her myself,” Trent murmured. “I couldn’t leave it to someone else.”

  “I understand,” she said, patting my hair.

  She sat with me for a while, until I calmed down. Then she turned to Trent. “How can I help?”

  “I’ve got it from here, but she’s gonna need a lot of support.”

  “Right. Do you need me here, Dani?”

  I shook my head, tear-drunk and foggy. I wanted to be alone.

  “I’ll come check on you tomorrow, then,” she said.

  “Thanks,” I whispered, and Lulu left.

  Trent picked me up like a doll, and gently laid me on my unmade bed. A cushion of air brushed my skin when he shook out the bed sheet to straighten it. Light, soft fabric skimmed my skin as it settled over my body like a parachute from a childhood game.

  Then he paused for a moment at the side of the bed, as if debating. I shoved the pillow over my face, my entire body hurting and my head disjointed.

  The clink of his belt. The soft thud of his shoes.

  The dip of the bed.

  His masculine arms covered mine as he settled in behind me, holding me.

  I slipped into a fitful sleep.

  7

  Dani -- Bolt

  I awoke the next morning with the cloudy sense that even though sleep had overtaken me, I hadn’t rested. Groggy, still wearing my clothes from yesterday, my makeup long-since cried off, I was way out of whack, even though I’d checked out for the night.

  Red-eyed, dehydrated, and restless, with rat’s nest hair, I surveyed my room.

  Empty.

  But there was a warm, solid man curled up around me, his pretty head on a spare pillow. The villain himself.

  Heat flushed through my body, the heat of anger. I bit at my cheek.

  I knew one thing.

  There was no way my brother would have joined the army and been killed if it weren’t for Trent Milner.

  Fucker.

  I cracked my knuckles and yanked off the blanket he’d used as a cover.

  “What are you still doing here?”

  He sat up with a bolt and rubbed his eyes. “What?”

  “Get. Out.” I hissed.

  “Dani,” he said sleepily. “It’s not what you think. I’m sorry, I fell asleep. Jet lag. I just didn’t think you should be by yourself.”

  God, he looked sexy with bedhead. God, I didn’t want him to go. I wanted him holding me. But no, he was the cause of all of my problems. “Leave,” I said, and pointed to the door.

  “Dani,” he said, soothingly, standing up and leaning against the edge of the bed. “I know you’re going through a lot right now—”

  “And that’s why I want you gone.”

  Dammit, I always liked you.

  Something behind his eye constricted, and his voice came out calm and patient. “Babe. Wait a minute.”

  Absolutely not.

  I bared my teeth, my nostrils flared, and I curled my lips. “No, Trent Milner, you wait a minute. I saw your name on the roster, and I thought no way. I was so excited to see you. And you come to Spain and have the balls to show up in my classroom on the first day of class and tell me my brother died. How do you think I can take that?”

  He shut his eyes and opened them with a deep breath. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right, but will you listen?”

  The anguish behind them was palpable. I felt it. And I had to push that aside.

  “No. This is my place, and I want you out. I want you out of my classroom, too.” It shot an arrow in my gut to say that, but if he stayed around I wouldn’t survive. One day was enough. I wasn’t doing this for the next two months.

  He’d taken off his belt to sleep, and his jeans slung low on his narrow hips.

  If I just yanked, I could push them down and get to the—

  No.

  I hate you because you killed my brother.

  To be fair, he didn’t really kill Degan, but close enough. Still his fault.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “I’ll let you be for today, but I’m taking your class. I’ll be back in there on Wednesday. And I’m going to check up on you, too. Make sure you’re safe.”

  “Like hell you are!”

  I shouldn’t have said that.

  “Dani,” he said in a seductive voice that made me clench my thighs. I remembered how he felt in the pizza parlor years ago. That wiry body was now big and strong. I could almost feel his breath. In a flash, he turned, went into
the kitchen, and poured a drink of water, bringing it over to me. “Drink this.”

  No. Fuck, no. I wasn’t getting under his spell. I stared at his hand offering the drink, not moving.

  “You need to drink something. You cried out all the water in your body.”

  I really had. I was parched.

  “Fine,” I huffed, and took a grateful sip. There was the man I knew, always watching me. Always taking care of others.

  Standing over me, inches from me, so close that I could reach up, grab the back of his neck, and kiss his pouty lips if I wanted, he launched a counter-attack. “I’m allowed to be in your class. I have the freedom to get my education wherever I want. The G.I. Bill pays for international studies. I want to learn another language.”

  Why had I never noticed how beautiful his mouth was? How his lips were so inviting? How his teeth were perfect?

  With a huff, I got off the bed and grabbed his boots and belt, handing them to him. Damn, fucking hot as hell boots and belt. “Leave. Now.”

  Raising his hands in surrender, he said, “I’ll do as you say. For now. But we need to talk this over.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. The only thing we need to talk about is whether you leave the country, or I do.”

  An involuntary laugh broke out of him, starting from his diaphragm and escaping out as a snort. His T-shirt stuck to the outline of his muscles and the rippling movement made my breath stop, his huge torso utterly mesmerizing. But his red, desperate eyes contradicted his laughter. “The whole fucking country of Spain isn’t big enough for the both of us?”

  My eyes narrowed. “Not when you find your way into my classroom on the first day of school.”

  “Please. Will you listen?” He tugged at his hair and rubbed the back of his neck.

  “No.”

  His brows narrowed, and he stared at the ceiling then returned his eyes to me. “I’m not going anywhere. Deal with it.”

  I set down the glass of water—his gift—and threw up my hands, exasperated. “I have absolutely nothing else to say. Maybe I can’t stop you from being in my classroom, but I sure as hell don’t have to talk to you.”