No way would she be talked to like she was lying on a leather couch clutching a box of tissues. Chloe stalked to the front door. Flung it wide open. “This is me not being hesitant. Get out.”
“That’s it?”
“For now, yes.”
He jammed his feet into his shoes. “You’re throwing me out because I want you to risk facing your fears, once and for all?”
“No, Lieutenant. I want you gone because you’re being a supercilious asshole. This relationship should be based on love, understanding, and respect. You’re showing me zero respect. It’s obvious you don’t understand me. So I think you should leave and mull over just what love means to you. Because it doesn’t come with a list of prerequisites. Take me as I am, or don’t take me at all.”
—
Chloe drained her mojito. Her second mojito, to be precise, since she planned on following it with several more. She waved her curly green straw at Summer’s barely touched glass. “Drink it or donate it to a thirsty tablemate.”
“Keep your straw to yourself. I’m nursing this. I don’t usually mainline mojitos on a Monday night, you know. Neither do you. Want to tell me why you insisted I rush down here?” Summer raised her arm to indicate the palm-bedecked corner of Cuba Libre.
Being a Monday, it wasn’t SRO like weekends, but there was still a good crowd at the bar, looking to hook up. Whereas Chloe’s usual Monday night habitat was the couch. Her well-honed routine involved pj’s and rapt attention to the newest episode of The Bachelor. But wasn’t Summer always telling her to break out of her routine? This shouldn’t be an interrogation. Her best friend should be throwing her a ticker-tape parade.
“I wanted mojitos.” Plural. Definitely. “Coconut crab fritters. And loud music with people being festive.” She dragged a plantain chip through the salsa and popped it into her mouth.
“Is there a reason behind this sudden need for festivity?”
“You pushed me to leave my apartment. To upgrade my wardrobe. To throw habit out the window and caution to the wind.” Chloe plucked at the collar of her dress. “Well, I did it. So guzzle your drink and reap the fruits of your nagging labors. But order your own appetizers.”
Chloe pulled the salsa closer. She was in no mood for Summer to tell her that she would’ve chosen the black bean hummus instead. Or ordered empanadas instead of fritters. There should be zero questioning of her decision making. It was why she’d come out to the restaurant. You told a waiter what you wanted, and without any third degree, he came back with exactly what you’d chosen. Why couldn’t that happen in relationships?
“You’re in a bitchy mood.”
Chloe shrugged. “Wait five minutes for the second mojito to kick in—then I’ll be good.”
“I don’t think so. Are you actually mad at me? Or yourself?” Summer squinted and leaned in closer. “Or the yummy Coast Guard officer, by any chance?”
“Does it matter? I’m out.” She slurped at the watery remains of her drink and gestured with her glass at the elaborate, two-story pastel façade meant to evoke an Old Havana street. “We’re having a fabulous time. I’m sure that if you check out the bartenders—especially the one with the soul patch—you’ll discover the next random stranger that’ll end up in your bed.”
Summer’s lips tightened into a thin, white line. “Chloe Elizabeth Widmore, you just stop it. You’re crossing a line. There’s no reason to be mean to me.”
“Just calling it like I see it.” Chloe tapped her temple as though thinking. “Isn’t that your excuse whenever you point out how sad and pathetic and small my life is?”
“I’ve never called you pathetic. And even if I had, that doesn’t excuse you calling me a slut.”
All she did was hold up a mirror to her friend’s questionable behavior. Summer was the one who slapped the ugly label on it. “Okay, what if I tell you that I only said it because I care about you and I’m worried about you? That my criticism comes from a place of love and concern?”
“I’d still be within about a minute of tossing this drink in your face.”
Chloe stabbed another plantain into the salsa. Finally she was getting through to her. “Exactly. That’s exactly how I feel whenever you call me out for something that you don’t approve of, or agree with. Every single time. Except for the times when it just plain hurts.”
The rhythmic thump of drums and rattle of gourds from the live band filled the empty space while Summer just stared at her. As did the clatter of dishes from the bus stand around the corner. And the surprisingly—or not so surprisingly, for D.C.—serious discussion at the next table of a bill to adjust welfare requirements being hung up in committee.
Had she gone too far? Pushed too hard to get her point across? Maybe. Still wound up and furious from her fight with Griff, Chloe knew she wasn’t operating from a wholly rational place. Making Griff see reason had proved impossible. But Summer was her best friend. The only way to fix the night was to at least make her understand that this poking and undermining and discounting of Chloe’s choices, of Chloe’s opinions, had to stop.
The waiter deposited her plate of fritters. Took one look at Summer’s face and didn’t stick around to ask if they wanted anything else. Smart guy. Clearly too smart to end up as a notch on Summer’s bedpost.
“Do you really think I’m a slut?” Summer asked in a voice smaller than the salt grains on the chips.
Uh-oh. Were those tears in her eyes? Had Chloe gotten her point across but hurt Summer, instead of just pissing her off into a spot-on self-realization? No wonder therapists had a string of letters after their names. This psycho stuff was tricky.
Chloe wiped her hands on her napkin then reached across to Summer. “Don’t cry. Please. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not crying. Yet. Will you lose that core of bitchiness and answer honestly? Am I a slut?”
“If I answer that, you’ll miss the whole point of my rant.”
Leaning back in her rattan chair, Summer rolled her eyes. “Okay, what the heck was your point?”
“That it doesn’t matter if I approve of your, um, zest for men or not. The only thing that matters is that you’re happy with the choices you make.”
“That was the point behind picking a fight with me?”
“More or less.” It had all started with Chloe just aiming her foul temper at the closest target. But then she’d figured out that it was also a great way to get Summer to understand why she was so pissed off. “I mean, it was the point, but I also was in a craptastic mood and might’ve taken it out on you a little too much. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize yet. Wait till the end to see just how verbosely you need to apologize. You opened this up, so let’s see it through. Do I really make you feel bad about yourself?”
“That’s a loaded question.” And a weird thing to be discussing in a room ringing with rumba music and laughter.
“I want to know. Truly.”
“If I admit that? It invalidates my rant. Summer, the only way you could make me feel bad was that if, deep down, I agreed with you. At least a little bit. And I don’t want to admit that. Not tonight.”
“That’s a yes, in other words.”
“Couldn’t you wait until my third mojito comes to make me feel as bad as you do right now?”
“Nope. We’re besties. We do things together.” They both gave choked, watery laughs. “So you and Griffin had a fight?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s not happy with your homebody lifestyle?”
“He says I’m not brave,” she burst out. “That’s just not true, Summer. I saved your life. I saved the lives of everyone in that classroom with us.”
“You used to be brave,” Summer corrected with a slow shake of her head that sent her long brown locks tumbling around her shoulders. “Not just that day either. You were brave in lots of little ways. You were always the first one out on the lake, before we checked to be sure it was frozen enough for skating. You took Statistics, even though it
wasn’t required for your major. You ate that ghost chili salsa on a dare. You were amazingly brave in how you started your own business.”
“See? Griff’s delusional.”
“I said you used to be brave. But Chloe,” Summer planted her elbows and leaned forward, “what have you done lately?”
“Not every day comes with built-in challenges.”
“Or you ignore them when they do come along. You could talk to your mom, you know. About cutting back on the constant phone calls. Make your brother pick up more of the slack.”
“That would just hurt Mom,” Chloe said reflexively, like she had dozens of times over the years. It didn’t have anything to do with how her stomach fluttered with…something…at the thought of leaving her cozy routine behind. At the thought of jumping into the unknown—including all the unknown dangers. Had she been using her mother’s fear as an excuse to ignore that she still had some of her own? “There’s no reason to make her worry more.”
“There’s every reason. You just did this whole song and dance about making choices. What if you let your mom make her own, instead of you assuming you’re doing what’s best for her?”
Summer’s words made the rum in Chloe’s stomach bubble uncomfortably. “Are you accusing me of doing to her what you and Griff have been trying to do to me?”
“From a place of love and concern, yes.”
“I fell in love with Griff, you know. That was a big risk.”
“Nope. That was inevitable. Falling in love’s the easy part. Figuring out how to get through the hard times and stick with him? That’s the risk. That’s what takes bravery.”
What happened to the good old days when Summer simply agreed with her, instead of being a mature adult? Chloe jammed the tip of her chip through the salsa. It wasn’t really enough of a gesture for her jammed-up emotions. Not really an option to run outside and dig up some grass with her toe just for effect, though.
“He’s the hero pilot. Why can’t he be the brave one for both of us?”
“I’ll bet that’s pretty much the worst thing he could do for the two of you.” Summer propped her chin on her fists. “What if he’s the one who needs to be rescued, and you’re the one who needs to do it? Save Griff from himself, from his one-sided approach to life. He puts everyone else first, from what you said. Bet he’d feel pretty special if you were brave enough to do that for him, no matter what.”
“Isn’t there something I could do? Something easier? Work my way up to full-on bravery?”
“Sure.” Summer twirled Chloe’s phone around on the table and pushed it almost off the edge, into her lap. “Start by calling your mother.”
For once, Chloe’s addiction to verbal specificity had let her down. Easier? Maybe by an iota. Maybe by the single grain of salt still clinging to her now soggy chip.
“How about I simply face my inevitable hangover tomorrow without any aspirin? That’d be brave, right?”
“That’d be stupid. Because you know the outcome will suck. You choose to be brave because at least a part of you believes there’s a chance the outcome will be positive.”
The potential of a future with Griffin was certainly positive. Chloe just wasn’t at all sure if he felt the same way about a future with her. Without knowing that, was it truly worth the risk?
Chapter 21
Griff ran past the arched stone of the Freer Gallery, dodging around tired tourists and drooping cherry trees. With the festival over, his town would have a few weeks of normalcy before the influx of summer hordes began at the end of May. That’s what he needed. Normalcy.
Back to his normal job. Back to saving people who truly needed his help. People who appreciated his efforts. Back to his normal routine, and his normal casual approach to dating leggy blondes. Women who wanted a fun dinner date and who’d screw him senseless when they had the itch, then walk away. No complications. Yeah. That sounded right. He’d kick it all off with a totally normal soccer game with his friends. He’d even spring for the beer afterward, to celebrate.
“Montgomery, you’re late. You think we have time to waste waiting on you?”
Griffin dropped the bag holding his uniform on the grass of the National Mall. Bent in half to catch his breath. Didn’t they see that he’d busted his hump to get here? “I think an extra ten minutes of stretching still won’t give you the sprint endurance to keep up with me on the pitch, Hardwick.”
“Trash talk already?” Josh dribbled the ball around him in a tight circle using fancy footwork that had barely diminished in its speed and agility since high school. “If that’s how you want it to go, bring it on. I’ll take you down faster than you lost that grand in Atlantic City on New Year’s Eve.”
Knox and Riley hooted. Griff let the insult bounce off of him. It’d been more than a month since Josh hassled him about losing his shirt at the poker table. But damn it, he’d held an ace-high flush. It didn’t feel like a risk to bet big with that hand. ’Course, he’d thought Chloe was a sure bet, too. Look where that got him.
“Look, I’m sorry I’m late. This temporary assignment doesn’t give me the chance to slip out very early.” Much as Griff didn’t want the job, he never considered giving the position anything less than his all. Luckily, this should be the last time it held him up.
Knox whipped off his Nats cap to bend the bill. “They give you your very own padded chair yet? A mug for the coffee station with your name on it?”
“This isn’t one of your cushy dot-com companies. This is the United States Coast Guard.” Griff’s annoyance rose. Did they think he was a sellout? Sitting back and calling plays to his squadron over a headset with his feet up on the desk? It was still life and death out there. More so, because he had to worry about all the rescues going on at once. Juggling danger wasn’t an easy trick.
“I recommend some sort of a personalized mug.” When all the guys laughed, Riley held up a hand to stop them. “Come cold and flu season, you don’t want to have other people using your stuff.”
They’d accidentally swapped toothbrushes on a camping trip once. You’d think they all carried cholera the way Riley ripped them a new one for “hygienic carelessness.” “Ry, I swear to God, if you could bathe in sanitizer, you would.”
Riley cocked his head and looked at him like he’d shaken loose a few marbles during his run from the subway. “I do. It’s called soap, buddy.”
He’d been distracted for the last two days, ever since Chloe pushed him away with the strength of a monster truck. But now he couldn’t even joke with his friends? “Right.” Griff was done. Done licking his wounds. Done thinking about a woman who cared more about keeping the status quo than having a relationship. Done with letting her twist him up inside.
As he pulled off his windbreaker, Knox asked, “What’s with your job, anyway? You staying at HQ or heading back up in the air?”
Josh popped the ball off the top of his foot and into his hands. “That’s a dumb question. Obviously he’s turning down the promotion.”
Funny how that question had kept him tossing and turning for weeks, but the answer came to Josh in a split second. Was he right? Was it a go-with-your-gut type thing? Because Griffin couldn’t tell. He’d been so immersed in falling in love with Chloe that he hadn’t given his career the attention it deserved. One more reason it was good that they were over.
“Can you do that? I thought with the military, you did what you were told.” Knox gave a half-assed salute. “Clean toilets. Get stationed on Guam. No discussion, no choices.”
No choices. What kind of a life was that? Griff’s annoyance surged again, like acid reflux in his brain. “Of course I have choices. I can turn it down. I should turn it down. I probably will.”
“Probably?”
“I don’t want the fucking promotion,” he snapped.
“Okay.” Knox shrugged. “So fucking turn it down.”
Riley tipped up his shades and parked them on top of his dark hair to stare at Griffin for a second. Then he pull
ed out a water bottle and tossed it over. “Think he’s got more to say.”
This guy had a bad habit of sitting back and assessing instead of just letting a conversation happen. It’d be nice to blame it on Ry’s job at the NTSB, but truth was he’d been coming at things from every possible angle since before those scary days and nights on the Italian mountain.
Problem was, when he did finally speak up, it was usually for a good reason. In this case? Griffin just knew that reason—no matter how good—would piss him off. “Is that supposed to be a damn hint?”
“Did you ever consider what this promotion really means?”
“Yeah.” His hand tightened on the ridged plastic until it squeaked. “Means I’m grounded.”
“That’s just one part of it. You’re an exceptional pilot, Griff.” Riley jabbed a finger up at the cloudless blue above them, just starting to darken toward twilight. “Why would they take you out of the sky? If it was just punishment, they wouldn’t bother promoting you. What else is at stake here?”
After taking a slug, Griffin dropped the bottle onto his bag. Turned to face the gleaming dome of the Capitol—or what he could see of it through the scaffolding from the endless repairs. The Capitol, where all the legislators strategized to do what was best for their whole constituency, not just themselves. Where they looked at the big picture to be at their most effective.
Shit. Was he thinking too small? Worrying about just himself and how much he liked flying? Griff had joined the Coast Guard to save lives. To make a difference. Instead of saving two or three people at a time, he could be responsible for so much more than that per shift. Why hadn’t he ever thought of that before?
Because it was hard giving up being behind the controls. Because it could potentially suck. Could he risk giving up what he loved so much? Yeah, you could make a choice, but the Coast Guard frowned on backtracking. His career would be over if he decided after a few months that he hated being out of the action and asked to go back to flying. Then what?
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