Hart Attack

by Cristin Harber

  He decided to ignore anything more that Beth said. All he could do was focus on methodically binding his fists.

  She stepped in front of him.

  “Move aside, Beth.”

  Her mouth was moving, but he didn’t want to listen. Or couldn’t listen. Hell, he didn’t hear a damn word because of the blood pounding in his ears. They rang, dulling the surrounding world, reigniting the injuries from that accident in Mexico where Montana had saved his ass. Saved his motherfucking life, and Roman hadn’t been able to repay the favor. Shit, he hadn’t even—

  Beth put her hands on his chest. “Stop it!”

  That, he heard. The woman had bellied up a primal growl, stopping Roman dead in his tracks and bringing him back to the present.

  He stepped around her. “Out of my way. I’m working out.”

  “No. You’re—”

  He worked his jaw, hoping to break through the echoing roar burning in his ears. “Doesn’t matter what I’m doing, does it? He’s dead. That sucks. Life goes on.”

  She scowled at him, stepping back into his line of fire. “You don’t mean that.”

  No shit. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Can you please say something?”

  “I already did.”

  “Can you please say something that makes me think you’re not going to explode?”

  He narrowed his eyes on her. “No,” he said then picked her up and set her to the side.

  “Roman!” Beth wrapped her arms around his chest.

  “What?” He spun, backing them the few feet to the wall. “What the hell do you want me to say?”

  Her lips were flat, her eyes sad. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m okay because I don’t care.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  “No, this—him, you, Nicola, everyone—is the reason I don’t have a place in me for anything other than Titan. Other than being an operative. I’m cold. Heartless. It makes me good at my job. It lets me survive. So no, Beth, it’s not a lie. It’s a way of life.”

  “Liar.” She ducked from under his arms. “Call me when you get your act together. Or if you want help. Either way, get it done.”

  Long after she was gone, Roman continued to lean against the wall. His heart was heavy, and she was right. He wheeled around and beat the bag without thought to his form or injuries, just hitting until he couldn’t lift his arms. Nothing to do but collapse on the ground and stare at the ceiling, chanting that he didn’t care and hurting because he did.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Jared and Sugar’s house was like them—big, bold, and loud. The walls were bright. Their guns were on display, almost like an ode to art and gun collectors everywhere. Beth sat on the couch, feeling slightly out of place. Titan surrounded her. The group did things a certain way, and apparently, if there was a funeral, they arrived in force. They were an overwhelming presence, unified.

  She watched the guys she knew, the men she didn’t, and tried to ignore the obvious. No Roman.

  Sugar wandered over, looking somehow respectful in skintight black leather and boots. “Where’s your boy?”

  “Not mine. But I don’t know.”

  Mia Winters left Colby’s side and joined Beth and Sugar. Beth got the feeling that this was a planned attack as the women sat on either side of her, readying their inquisition.

  “He’s not going to handle this well,” Mia said instead of hello.

  Not at all… but that wasn’t Beth’s to share. “The bit I saw…” Beth shrugged. “I’d say you’re right.”

  Sugar picked at a painted nail. “Jared said Roman was taking Montana under his wing. First time he’d shown any interest in anyone new… since you.”

  Beth rolled her eyes at Sugar’s fishing. She didn’t know what Jared had said, but Beth had her concerns. Was Roman really not going to come? “He said he didn’t care.”

  Mia shook her head. “He does have a hard time with letting folks in. Then this?” More head shaking. “He’s hurting.”

  Sugar leaned in front of Beth to ask Mia, “So, Miss Head Doctor, what do we do?”

  “Nothing. He needs to figure it out on his own.”

  Beth bit her lip. Roman would regret missing this, especially if what they said was true. “He’s too stubborn to do that.”

  “Maybe,” Mia said. “Tough exterior but a little broken inside.”

  “Exactly.” Sugar’s bright lips pursed. “Beth needs to go get him. And fix him.”

  “Uh?” Beth looked between them. “One, I don’t think anyone can just go get Roman. Two, I’m not the one who should. Maybe Nic? And three, I don’t think he’s broken. Nothing to fix.”

  Sugar and Mia hummed.

  Then Mia shook her head again. “Nic, God love her, is the reason why he likes to close out the world, as much as he won’t admit it.”

  Nicola and Roman seemed fine to Beth, all healed up and memories rightfully stowed in place. “You might be wrong.”

  “Just because they’re in a good place doesn’t mean he’s not haunted by the past,” Mia said.

  “I agree,” Sugar added.

  Of course they agreed. Beth knew this conversation wasn’t a first for them. Their back-and-forth was too coordinated, too scripted.

  Jared walked over and crossed his arms. “Where’s Roman?”

  Beth glared at him. “God, I’m not his keeper. Why does everyone keep acting like I am?”

  He ran a hand over his jaw. “It’ll take you twenty minutes to get to his place. Get him and meet us at the cemetery. The bastard will regret this, and you’re the only thing that can make him go. Don’t disappoint me, Beth.”

  Her jaw fell open.

  “Go,” he ordered then turned away.

  “You heard my man. Go.” Sugar’s bright red lips smiled. “And he’s right.”

  “I have no idea how to get him to do anything. Have you met him?” Frustration built in Beth’s chest. She wanted to get him. Being around him made everything better, and funerals were the worst. “He ignores me most times, anyway.”

  “Roman is intense,” Mia said. “He might not do what you think he should, but he’s listening. Maybe to you more than anyone else.”

  Beth bit her lip. “So I should say… what?”

  “It’ll come to you.” Mia stood, and Sugar did the same. “See you there.”

  Beth had no clue what words could get him to a funeral he would barely acknowledge, but God did she want to ease his hurt. She nodded and headed for her car. Operation Get His Ass to the Graveyard had no strategic plan, no operational guidelines. But it did have a mission objective. She’d never been one to fail before, and she wouldn’t fail him now. Even if he wanted her to. Roman was going to that funeral if it killed them both.

  ***

  A soft knock on Roman’s door interrupted his time spacing out on the couch. Staring at the white ceiling was the only thing he wanted to do today. Not answer the door when Beth came calling.

  And it was Beth, he knew it before he could see her. Knowing that and having her there irritated him to no end. There was only one reason she’d be at his place right now. At least she could’ve called. That way, he could have stayed on the couch to tell her to go away, stared at the ceiling, and, if he found a burst of energy, gone to his liquor cabinet and downed something with a smooth burn.

  A harder knock taunted him this time. “Open up, Roman.”

  He sat up then leaned over, putting his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He’d showered, shaved, and dressed for the service. But damn if he could walk out the door.

  Roman cracked his neck and weighed the pros and cons of leaving Beth outside his door. The woman could pick a lock. She wouldn’t stay on the outside too long. He shook his head, amused in the midst of all this crap. She made him smile even when she didn’t know it.

  A hollow, slapping noise sounded on the door. “Now. Or I’m coming in.”

  He’d called it. It made him laugh then imme
diately scowl because nothing about today deserved laughter. “Coming.”

  He opened the door. Beth wore a dress as black as the dark days he’d suffered through in his Nicola-spurred depression. Her wild hair was pulled into a tight knot on top of her head. The polished-princess look worked for her in a major way. Then he remembered why she was dressed like that. She pushed her way in, seemingly unfazed that it took threats of breaking and entering for him to relent.

  “Well, make yourself at home.” He swept his arm around, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

  She spun on a heel and shook her head. “You get thirty seconds more of that, then we get in my car and head out.”

  “Not a chance,” he grumbled. “But you get an A for effort, party girl.”

  “Mia said I’d know what to say, but I don’t. I have no clue how to move a mountain that would just as soon sit on his ass, in his suit, ready to go but not leaving.”

  “That’s because there’s nothing to say.”

  “Montana was a good guy.”

  “You didn't know him.”

  Beth fidgeted. “Alright, fine. But you did, and you respected him, so obviously, he was a good guy. You need to go say goodbye.”

  “I don’t know why you’re making a big deal out of this.”

  “Look at you. You’re dressed, Roman. You wanted to go. You just didn’t.”

  Because he couldn’t. “And that’s why the CIA pays you the big bucks. Great analysis.”

  “God, you’re a dick.”

  “At least you know what you’re working with.”

  Beth stormed by him, and without thinking, Roman snaked an arm around her, grabbing her to him. Face to face, their eyes locked together, she kissed him. Hard. Aggressive and sanity saving. She bit his lip, lashing her tongue and making him come completely unglued. The pain in his chest stopped. If he hadn’t been knotting his hands into her dress, grabbing her like a ragdoll, he would’ve finally been able to take a breath.

  She pulled back, ragged gasps escaping swollen cherry lips. “Get your head out of your ass and get in my car.”

  “Why do you care? I don’t.”

  “Because you do care, and if you can’t realize it, then I will for you.” Her lips tickled against his, and fuck him, that was a tender touch that soothed away the darkness.

  “Why would you do that?” His voice was harsh, gravelly.

  “Because hurting while you’re alone is the worst kind pain. You don’t have to admit it. Just—” She paused, then her eyes forced back to his, vibrant and determined. “No one deserves to feel like that. Certainly not you.”

  She slipped her hand into his and pulled him toward the door. Against his plans, against the promise he had made to not leave the house today, he followed as though she were the Pied Piper.

  Each step toward the car beat him into the ground. Then he dropped into the passenger seat, a complete mindfuck if there ever was one, but he wouldn’t drive there. Couldn’t. Because he was a pussy-ass bitch.

  The ride was a slow hell, but then they were there. He wouldn’t look out the window to what he knew was across the rolling green grass and field of marker stones. A funeral with all the military trappings stood at the ready.

  They were five minutes from the start. His stomach knotted along with his throat. For as strong as he was, he wasn’t sure if he could push out of the seat. Funerals. Final endings… he couldn’t stand them.

  Beth didn’t look at him. “Out.”

  Then she left him sitting in her car as she stalked toward the rows of people ready to pay their respects. The farther she got from him, the tighter Roman’s chest felt. He wanted her touch. Hell, he wanted that kiss. The one that had almost drawn blood. That cried for pain and release.

  Roman dropped his head back and stared through the moon roof of her fancy little eco-car. He had to go, and he didn’t see another ride he could hitch. So… hotwiring her car was the only escape. She’d kick his ass, but he could deal with that. Decision made, he pushed out the door, heading toward the driver’s seat. The woman should’ve left the keys. Or left him at home.

  Rounding the hood, he startled when the lights flashed and a quiet thump sounded from inside the vehicle.

  What. The. Hell.

  The car doors were locked. She’d locked him out of her car. He looked over and couldn’t see her. Rage built in his chest. She would give him those keys. No time for games. Not when he’d been suckered and the funeral was starting any second. Damn it, man.

  He spun toward the crowd and powered over, searching for her among all the people cloaked in black. Beth. There she was, next to an empty seat. Like hell, what was she trying to prove?

  “Excuse me. Excuse me.” He scooted down the row, ready to grab her keys and demand—

  “Thanks for joining me.” She looked at her phone. “It never occurred to me there was an app that could get Roman Hart to behave himself.”

  “Have you lost your fuckin’ mind?” he growled.

  “Sit, Roman. Try to keep it down.”

  “You have no idea…” His molars gnashed when he caught sight of Bryce and knew the pain of an older brother mourning that kind of death. “…what you are asking of me.”

  “You weren’t going to join me. I’m not stupid. And you’d regret leaving.”

  He glared at her.

  “Maybe I know you better than you think. What was the plan? Hotwire my car?” Her eyes drifted down the winding driveway. “Home’s too far to walk. No one would give you a ride.”

  He boiled on the inside. Around them, a few people glanced their way. “You’re making a scene.”

  She ignored him.

  “Beth.”

  A hush fell over the intimate crowd, and Roman closed his eyes, knowing what was next. A chaplain and the casket. An American flag and the family. His dry throat ached. Damn Beth to the level of hell he was in right this fuckin’ second.

  Minutes passed. A eulogy was said. The chaplain was done, and Roman’s chest squeezed. Then, the bugler started. The sound of “Taps” carried across the cemetery. If he were less of a man, he’d leave. Walk away and tune it out.

  Beth’s knuckles touched his, and he realized his fists were balled. She didn’t take his hand, just pressed hers against his. Her slight touch reached into his soul. He took a breath. Then another. Slowly, his fingers relaxed, loosening until they were limp. She locked her pinky around his, and he shut his eyes.

  She didn’t say a word, didn’t try to take his hand to soothe him beyond what he was capable of. But she had given him a life vest, without him knowing that he needed saving. With the strength of one finger, she helped him live through the last painful notes of a song that embodied everything that hurt on the inside.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Bacon and eggs sizzled in the background. The air smelled like grease and dishwater. Chatter churned around them as Roman stabbed the waffle on his plate. The last hour had been spent in near silence, but he looked less like a homicidal maniac, so there had been progress.

  Some. Not a ton. Beth had decided the Waffle House waitress didn’t know what to do with him. He was too attractive to ignore, but he emanated attitude. Plus, they were both dressed in black, clearly on the way home from a funeral. So the whole scene had to be confusing.

  The poor waitress ventured back. “Want some more coffee, honey?”

  He ignored her.

  “I think we’re good,” Beth offered. “Just the check.”

  The woman popped a piece of gum, tore off their ticket, and smiled. “Pay up front when you’re ready. No rush.”

  Other than ordering waffles, Roman hadn’t said two words since the funeral. He hadn’t stuck around to talk to anyone, just bee-lined for the car. And when Beth had parked in the Waffle House’s lot, he had gotten out silently and headed into the restaurant.

  He could stay quiet, as long as he stayed. When their fingers had found each other, it was a solace. He couldn’t say it, and she would never ask about
it. But she’d somehow known that he needed her. The undeniable, unflappable man who she needed more and more had a weakness, and she’d helped him survive. That made her heart swell. Not that she’d ever admit it.

  “You ready?” she asked.

  He stood, his non-answer giving enough of one that she followed. Roman grabbed the check, pulled out his wallet, and tossed a hundred-dollar bill with the slip of paper at the register.

  Grabbing Beth’s hand, he tugged her into the parking lot. “Give me your keys.”

  Her forehead pinched as she stared at him.

  “Please. Give me your keys.”

  Beth dug them out of her purse and put them in his large hand. He walked them to her obnoxious car, put her in the confines of her passenger seat, and headed around the front. His face was drawn as he studied the pocked asphalt, and she wished he would say… anything.

  The slam of his door echoed in her ear, then Roman revved the Lexus’s engine, spinning tires out of the parking lot.

  “Whoa.” Look at her little eco-Lexus go. It wasn’t the right time to smile, but she couldn’t help herself.

  Roman floored it, redlining it, and probably sending an alert somewhere that she was in a car chase. The CIA didn’t give you a car if they weren’t going to monitor it.

  After a dozen hairpin turns that knocked a few years off her life, Roman went from not-so-populated roads to deep-woods back roads. Before Beth knew it, they were screeching around wooded corners as if in a Formula One event, spitting gravel as they summited hills and tummy flipping down hollows. If this was how he needed to release tension, then she could allow him to let it out. There was nothing like a practice round of escape-and-evade training to blow off steam.

  Finally, he pulled onto an old country-road overlook. It was maintained, but by who knew who, since they’d been off state roads for miles. Roman dropped his head to the steering wheel. The sun was starting to set, the fall leaves turning the trees a deep red-orange. The sky changed pinkish-purple, and there wasn’t a sound except for the occasional gust of wind. Fall was here, and it was the first time Beth had noticed the change of the seasons.