by Claire Adams
“I know you’re busy, but everyone’s got to eat sometimes. I was hoping you’d let me take you to dinner.”
“Tonight?” I blurted out. I shook my head, even though I knew he couldn’t see it. “I’m working. I have this article—I just finished up an interview this afternoon, and I have to get the thing submitted. I’m just going to throw something together at home tonight.”
“Okay, but maybe another night?” Ace asked.
“Maybe,” I said vaguely. “You know, I’m not really sure what my schedule is going to be like this week. I’m pretty busy all the time.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but I still felt bad for saying it. I tried to think about what I would do if Ava weren’t there. If I’d never gotten pregnant and if I was still single and alone. If I had run into Ace under those circumstances, would I go to dinner with him?
Probably, I had to admit. I liked him, both his personality and his body. I remembered running into him earlier. I had been so shocked to see him that I hadn’t really looked at him, but I could tell that he was just as fit as ever.
It would still be the same problem between us, though. I had always pictured myself with a husband and kids. A family. I wanted that. And if Ace didn’t want any of that, it was better that I not go to dinner with him. Better that I not picture a future that I knew I could never have.
“All right, I guess I’ll call back another day,” Ace said, sounding disappointed.
I wanted to tell him not to, that he was wasting his time. But he hung up before I could. I wasn’t sure if I was glad about that or not.
I went back to the porch to finish my lunch. Ava was nearly done with her ice cream. Thankfully, she didn’t ask who had called. I could tell that she was tired, that it must be nap time. Suddenly, a nap sounded like a great idea.
“You want to nap with Mama today?” I asked as I finished my sandwich. I grabbed the plates and carried them into the kitchen.
Ava nodded when I came back outside, and I smiled. “All right, come here.” I hoisted her up into my arms. “Let’s go wash off those sticky fingers first!”
We did that, and then I brought her into my room, laying her down on the bed and then curling up next to her. Slowly, I let go of the fact that Ace was back, that he not only was in the country but was actually there in Boston. Nothing bad existed in my world, as far as I was concerned, when I got to cuddle my adorable daughter.
I fell asleep with a smile on my face.
6
Ace
I stared down at my phone, tapping my fingers on the table. I’d initially resolved to forget about Harper, but then I’d changed my mind. She hadn’t seemed thrilled to see me, but maybe that was just because she was afraid she was going to lose me again. I hadn’t seen her in years, and suddenly I felt bad that I hadn’t found some way to keep in touch with her. Not that I’d had her address or anything. But I could have found some way if I’d wanted to. I knew the company that she worked for, after all.
She hadn’t stayed in contact with me either. There was no reason that I should feel guilty about it.
But for some reason, I did.
So I’d called her, and she’d blown me off. Maybe there really was something more to it. Maybe she was married, or at least engaged. I should have looked at her hand when I’d seen her earlier. But I’d been so surprised to see her that it hadn’t even occurred to me to look.
Anyway, if she was married or in a relationship, you’d think she would just tell me that. I didn’t know why she was being so vague about whatever she was thinking.
Even though I knew I probably shouldn’t do it, I opened my phone’s browser and typed her name into the search engine. I scrolled through page after page of results, byline after byline. But there was nothing really personal on there. I couldn’t find anything about a husband, but I also couldn’t find any other details about her life. And it wasn’t as though she wrote op-eds or anything that might give her some clue about what she was thinking about in her day-to-day life.
I sighed with frustration and closed out of the window. I didn’t know why she wouldn’t talk to me, and I didn’t know why it bothered me so much that she didn’t want to. I hadn’t really thought about her in years, but now it was like, after seeing her once, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. There was nothing between us, though; she made that very clear.
I was disgusted with myself, and I decided I had to get out of the house. Being cooped up really didn’t suit me, not since foster care. And especially not after so many long, hard years in the military, where even when things hadn’t been busy, I’d had a routine, things to do at any given point. And even when there was nothing happening, I was generally around other people.
I hated the silence. Even though it was never really silent there, on the busy street where our apartment was.
I grabbed my bike and headed out into the city. Riding through the streets, dodging traffic, gave me enough of a thrill that I was able to calm my thoughts again. Same as with the punching bag, there was a rhythm to it, pedals going around, legs up and down. I headed out along the Charles River, really getting into the rhythm of it as I meandered along the long, flat bike path toward Cambridge.
When I’d been out for nearly an hour, I stopped at a café to grab a bite to eat. The place was small, a little neighborhood place. I was still delighted to find places like that in Boston. I’d expected the city to be overwhelmed by chain restaurants, but there were still a surprising number of little hipster places like this. It felt comfortable. Personal.
I ordered a hot turkey sandwich and a coffee and sat at a counter by the window, people-watching as I slowly ate my meal. After all those years in the military, I couldn’t turn off my instincts. I was watching for a threat, which was ridiculous; this was Cambridge in the middle of the day, just down the road from some of the country’s top universities. Most of the people I was watching were clearly students, on their way to or from class or work.
Suddenly I saw one guy who triggered my instincts. I tried to puzzle out just what I found so alarming about him. He was wearing a hoodie with the hood flipped up, but he could just be any other student. The way he was lurking across the street, his hands shoved in his pockets, seemed strange, though, as was the way his eyes darted back and forth. It didn’t look like he was waiting for someone; it looked more like he was scanning the area.
Not only that, but I realized I had seen him walk by the place twice already.
I frowned, watching as he finally made up his mind, darting across the street toward the café. I shook my head. Maybe the guy just hadn’t been able to decide what he wanted to eat for a late lunch. But I swiveled around in my seat, keeping my eyes on him as he waited impatiently in line.
He was fidgeting with something in the pocket of his hoodie, rocking back and forth from his heels to his toes and back again. When he got to the front of the line, he suddenly pulled his hands out—and brandished a gun on the startled cashier.
“Come on, give me all your money,” he said in a low voice.
I stared at the gun, trying to figure out if it was real, if this was really happening. Why would the guy try to rob a café, of all places? The cashier probably didn’t have that much money in the register. Maybe the would-be robber thought it would go unnoticed if he didn’t take that much money or something? Whatever he was thinking, I thought he was an idiot.
And idiots can be dangerous and unpredictable.
Fortunately, the guy really seemed clueless about what he was doing. He had his whole focus turned to the cashier and wasn’t paying attention to anyone else. Maybe he felt invincible with that gun in his hands. Maybe he just didn’t expect anyone to want to intervene when he had a gun and they probably didn’t.
It made it easy to jump the guy from behind, twisting his arm so that it was pointed away from anyone. Then, I pinched his nerve point hard until the gun slipped from his fingers. A kick to the back of his knees and he dropped to the floor, with my weight pinning him there. Jus
t for good measure, I nudged the gun a little farther from us.
When I glanced up, everyone was just staring at us. “Call 911,” I snapped at the cashier. The poor guy was pale and terrified-looking. My instincts were to calm him down, but first, I needed to know that the police were on the way. Short, simple commands. “Get the police over here.”
The kid jolted, grabbing the phone and doing just that.
The cops were there quickly. I continued to pin the guy to the floor, staring him down as he struggled against me. He was no match for me. He needed that gun to be a challenge for anyone.
“All right, we’ll take it from here,” one of the policemen said, putting a hand on my shoulder. I flinched and scowled up at her before my mind caught up, and I realized she wasn’t another attacker. I wordlessly rolled away from the guy and got to my feet, giving myself a little mental shake.
“You know, that could have been very dangerous, what you did,” one of the police officers said disapprovingly. Sergeant Matthews, according to his nametag and insignia.
I rolled my eyes. “Trust me, I have plenty of experience dealing with dudes with guns,” I told him, trying to keep the disdain out of my voice. I dug into my pocket for my wallet and flipped out my military ID.
It looked like the guy’s eyebrows were going to crawl right off into his receding hairline. He saluted me. “Guess you probably do have a little experience,” he said.
“Just a little,” I said. I looked at the kid as they dragged him, handcuffed, out to their police car. I shrugged. “He wasn’t a particularly difficult target. Didn’t really know what he was doing. I think he was just as scared as the cashier. And he’d been acting pretty shifty even before he came in here.”
I explained how I’d picked the kid out before he’d even walked in, plus everything that had happened in the café. It was just another routine debriefing.
Only I wasn’t in Kuwait anymore. I had to keep reminding myself of that.
Finally, they let me go, and I pedaled home, trying to quiet my brain again. But I couldn’t seem to fall into the rhythm of it this time. When I got home, I was breathless, my heart pounding. My legs felt like jelly by the time I made it up the stairs, and I knew that I had pushed a little too hard on the way back.
I kept thinking of that gun, lying there on the ground. About what might have happened if the man had been really nasty, really smart, experienced. I might not have gotten him down as easy as I had. Someone might have gotten hurt.
And I was a civilian now. I wasn’t supposed to be disarming people anymore. I had to remember that.
I chugged half a bottle of water. Just then, my phone started ringing. I eyed it for a moment and then grabbed it. “Hello?”
“Ace Bradley, this is Tina Fenworth with the Boston Globe.”
That was the paper that Harper worked for. For a second, I wondered if she was hurt. But she wouldn’t have given them my number to contact if she was hurt, I didn’t think. Especially not since she had just gotten my number from calling her earlier. No, that didn’t make any sense.
I tuned back into what Tina was saying. “We heard about your heroism in Cambridge, and we were hoping to run a story on you. I just wanted to know if it was possible to set up an interview with one of our reporters.”
Suddenly, an idea struck me. “Is Harper Dawson still working there?” I asked.
“Um, yeah, she is,” Tina said, sounding surprised. “Or rather, she’s freelance, but she works with us regularly."
“She’s the only person I’m willing to talk to,” I said. “You guys can have exclusive rights to the story and whatever else, but I’m not going to talk to just any reporter. I want to talk to Harper.”
7
Harper
I got ready for the interview, trying to pretend that it was just another interview. But it felt like the address was burning a hole through the pocket of my dark trousers, and I kept checking my reflection in the mirror even though I knew I looked fine. Just as professional as ever. Maybe a little flustered.
I still couldn’t believe I was going to do this. Tina, my editor, called me the previous day, sounding panicky. Apparently Ace the retired SEAL had performed some heroic act there in Boston, and the paper wanted the story. And apparently, the bastard had said that he’d only talk to me.
First of all, Tina had wanted to know why he would only talk to me. I’d given her a vague explanation about how I’d met him a few years ago when I was over in Kuwait for six months. She wanted to know if any of the articles that I’d already written had been about him, and I’d told her that I couldn’t tell her that. It had been awkward trying to give Tina enough information without blurting out the fact that I couldn’t do this article, not when Ace’s daughter, a daughter that he didn’t know about, was sitting there in front of me, giggling at something funny on TV.
I tried to decline the interview, but Tina was sure he wouldn’t talk unless it was to me, and she really wanted the story. Plus, she promised me more front-page work if I covered this one. I hadn’t been getting much important stuff since I’d gone freelance, and she knew I was dying to do some of the more important pieces. Everything had just seemed so trivial since I had come back from Kuwait. She knew that.
And she used that.
I sighed. I had begrudgingly agreed to head over to his place to interview him this afternoon. When she’d sent me the address that morning, I’d practically choked on my coffee. Didn’t that just figure? He only lived a few blocks from me.
I had to wonder if he was stalking me. Maybe he was there on some top-secret military business. Maybe they had taken exception, all these years later, to one of the stories I’d written. But I didn’t think Ace would have agreed to come out here and kill me. He didn’t seem like that type of guy.
I shook my head, trying to clear out all these wild fantasies. It had to be just another coincidence.
I drove over to his place, hoping he wouldn’t realize how close I lived. I pulled up in front of his house and knocked on the door. Then, I waited for a moment, bouncing lightly on my toes. I was surprisingly nervous, more than I should have been. I just had to keep this strictly professional. I didn’t have to talk about my life at all, and I definitely didn’t have to tell him about Ava.
Ava was staying with Maisie for the afternoon, thankfully. There was no way I could take her with me to this interview. She looked too much like her dad, and the last thing I needed was for him to figure things out, right there, with her sitting in front of him.
Ace answered the door wearing slacks and a tight Navy T-shirt, and I was reminded just how damned good-looking he was. I swallowed hard and tried to push those thoughts aside, but seriously, it was practically criminal. “Hey,” he said warmly, pulling me into a hug like we were old friends.
I stood stiffly against him, even though every fiber of my being was yelling at me to lean into him, to put my arms around him, to revel in the warmth of his body against mine. It had been a long time since I’d touched a man. Four years, in fact.
Ace pulled back, smiling as though he hadn’t noticed my reluctant acceptance of the hug. “Come on, come in,” he said, waving me in and shutting the door behind him. He led the way into the house, steering me toward the kitchen. “Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? Tea, coffee, water?”
“Coffee would be good,” I said. I didn’t need more jitters, but the routine of coffee might be nice. It might settle me a little.
While he made the coffee, I pulled out my recorder, a notebook, and a pen. Most people worked on tablets or laptops at this point, but I preferred to go old-school still. There was something about having everything written down in front of me, in my handwriting, that just made the story come together easier.
I hoped this story came together easily. I didn’t want to dwell on this one any more than I had to.
I pressed the record button as Ace sat across from me, signaling that we were on the record and couldn’t chat about whatever we’
d had in the past. Instead, I dove right into why we were there. “Can you tell me what happened yesterday at the café?”
Ace rubbed the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. “I was just in the right place at the right time. I went out biking, and I stopped for a late lunch. While I was eating, I was looking out the window, and I just noticed this guy. He was acting strangely. Looking around like he was trying to figure out who was watching him. Fidgeting with something in his pocket. So I watched him come into the café, and he decided to rob the place.”
“What did you do when you saw that he had a gun?” I asked.
“As you know, I’m former military, so my first instinct was to analyze the guy. He wasn’t really paying attention to his surroundings, and he didn’t look too comfortable with the gun. So I was pretty sure I could sneak up behind him and disarm him without anyone getting hurt.” He shrugged. “I’m not a hero, though. I was just in the right place at the right time.”
I nodded. I asked him a few more questions about the incident. At least the angle was pretty obvious on this one. Everyone liked a feel-good story about military servicemen. Especially about men like Ace who had served in the military for as long as he had.
I knew I should ask him what he was doing in Boston. It certainly seemed like he was living here, not just staying with a friend. Did that mean he was out of the military for good? What had happened?
But I didn’t want to start asking those sorts of questions. I wanted to stay focused on now. I wanted to stay focused on the previous day’s events and not think about what his moving to Boston long-term could mean for me.
It was enough that as he talked nonchalantly about disarming the would-be thief; I just couldn’t help thinking about how brave he was. How strong he was. How even though he’d retired from the SEALs, apparently, he still wanted to help other people and keep them safe.