Embrace

by Fernandez, Michelle

“Living the dream, huh?” she says jokingly, as she hands me her glass of wine. “Here, you need this more than I do.”

  I take a sip and stare at the red marks on the paper. “At this point, I’d rather grade those papers than be on this project.”

  “Oh, come on, Dee. It can’t be that bad.”

  I shrug and let out a sigh. I explain everything to her, about what Peter told me and the other company pitching for the account that is another top marketing company in LA. After Peter left me in the office, I researched the company and their marketing strategies are brilliant.

  “I need another drink,” I say, holding up the empty wineglass.

  Syd steps into the kitchen and comes out with a plate of meatloaf and sweet mash. “How about you eat and feed that growling stomach of yours? Your stomach will thank me.”

  I take the plate from her, smile then take a bite. “Eating your food while sitting on this couch is my comfort.”

  Sydney laughs. “That’s a great tagline.”

  I laugh, taking another bite of the sweet mash. “Mmm. This is delish and better than the last time. What did you do differently?”

  “Himalayan pink salt. Total game changer.”

  “Now, that’s a tagline.” We both laugh. I fork a piece of meatloaf and before I pop it in my mouth, I see a bouquet of sunflowers in a tall vase on the stand next to the television. “Are those from Levi?”

  “Since when are sunflowers my favorite?”

  “They’re for me?” I set the plate on the coffee table and spring up from the couch, then I look over at Sydney. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You needed to vent. What’s the point of me telling you about the flowers first, then venting later?”

  She’s got a point. “Who are they from?”

  “Read the card,” she says mischievously.

  I narrow my eyes at her. “You read it already, didn’t you?”

  “Duh. I’m your best friend.” Sydney laughs, scribbles her red pencil on a paper, and stacks the pile on the coffee table.

  I pull the card from the plastic stick and read it.

  Dorothy, I’m looking forward to our date.

  Your escort,

  Brody

  I grin as I bite my bottom lip. After a day like today, this definitely put a smile on my face. Those damn butterflies that have been dormant for so long, flicker to life. And he’s slowly winning me over.

  “Why does he call you Dorothy?” Sydney asks.

  “He thought Dee stood for Dorothy.”

  “That’s adorable. An inside joke between the two of you.”

  “It’s just all so weird,” I say as I scrunch my face.

  “What’s weird?” She takes a sip of her wine and straightens her shoulders. “You got flowers from a hot guy and he’s interested in you? Or that he’s making you smile?”

  I shrug. “What if he changes like To—‍”

  “Don’t you dare say that shitbag’s name. Not now. I allowed you to say it for the first week after you landed on my doorstep. But no more.”

  “Remember when you dated Andrew?” Her question gives me whiplash and I wonder where she’s going with this. But how can I forget Andrew Harris? Dreamy eyes, tanned skin, and great kisser. Too bad he was ugly on the inside.

  “I remember what a jerk he turned out to be. What’s your point, Syd?”

  “When you found him with Sandra Crumpton, you turned that anger into a positive. You didn’t mope around, you gave him the middle finger, picked up your shattered heart, and started dating again.”

  And there it is! Her sly and subjective advice.

  “Andrew was different. He was nothing like . . .” I catch myself before I say Todd’s name. “That shitbag.”

  “True. He may not have raised his hand to you, but he hurt you nonetheless.” She pats the sofa to sit next to her as I stare at her across the space. “You are a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for. What you have done these past couple of months in putting yourself together is nothing short of amazing.”

  “I’m still scared.”

  “And that’s okay. But, know that I have your back.” She takes my hand in hers and gives it a squeeze. “Since moving to Cali, my job as your bestie is to heal you inside and out. And although the visible wounds have healed, it’s the ones I don’t see I worry about. I love you and you need to be who you really are. Find the new you and focus on your future.”

  I press my lips together as my thumb slides over the words on the card. I imagine his handsome face, the scent of his cologne, and the mint of his breath so close to my face, he could have easily kissed me the other night.

  And despite trying to keep men at arm’s length, Syd is right, and I hope tomorrow night’s date with Brody will rid my thoughts of Todd for good.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Brody

  “How’d it go with Dad?” Avery’s soft and concerned voice fills the phone line. I throw a paper airplane in the air and it flies across the office over a few cubicles.

  The image of my dad’s blank stare when I placed the journals on his nightstand nearly broke me apart. I should have dropped them off at the front desk, but I’d be a prick if I had. Plus, I needed to see him and hope there was an ounce of recognition and maybe he’d remember me.

  “What do you want me to say, Ave?” With my elbow on my desk, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I dropped them off like you asked. He stared at me. He thought I was the fucking orderly. So I left.”

  “Doctor Williams said his memory may never come back and his health is worsening. He doesn’t want to eat, drink, or take his meds.”

  I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling, holding back tears. “Yeah, he told me,” I say softly. “So, what’s the point of going there?”

  “You’re an asshole for saying that.”

  “Seeing Dad like that, I don’t think I can face him again.”

  Faded memories of the first sign of his Alzheimer’s come back to me. I think about the family photos on the dresser in his stale room. And I wonder when he looks at them if they ever spark anything in that brain of his.

  Silence eats up the line, and I can hear Avery sniffle, her quiet cry. “I miss the way Dad was, Brody. Him on the deck with the newspaper. His stupid cackle after those corny jokes. And how he would make paper airplanes.”

  I clear my throat as I catch myself making another paper airplane. I ball the paper and toss it in the trash. And as a reflex, my fist pounds on the desk making the cup of pencils shake then tip over.

  “Can we not talk about this?” I snap at my sister who is undeserving of my irritation. She’s been trying to hold it together with Mom’s passing and Dad’s memory getting worse. All the while, keeping her head above water with her modeling career and new swimwear line. “How’d your photo shoot go?” I ask, deflecting the conversation.

  Avery sighs and I imagine her wiping the tears from her face. “Good. My new swimwear line should be in the summer issue of Kyndal Magazine.”

  “That’s awesome. I’m really proud of you.”

  “Thanks.” She clears her throat. “By the way, I reserved your seat for the fashion show.”

  “Damn, I forgot. When is it again?” I ask, knowing the answer. It’s something I used to look forward to. Watching sexy models strut down the runway with tiny pieces of fabric covering their bronzed skin. Since I have met Dee, all I want to do is see her.

  “Brody! You never forget. And Sophia has asked about you.”

  Being back in this city is like entering a time warp. My sister conjuring up the old me, before the navy, the snotty brat kid with the silver spoon in his mouth. The trouble I got myself into hooking up with women that had boyfriends or waking up in their bed knowing I’d never see them again. Except Sophia. And thank god she wasn’t clingy.

  “Sophia?” I fake innocence as I remember the weekend we had.

  “Oh, come on. Did you think I didn’t know? The models all talked about it. And the photos in
The Gossip . . .”

  I scrape my hands over my face. “Avery, this is not something I want to talk about with my baby sister. Besides, we had an understanding—no commitment.”

  “Such a heartbreaker, bro.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

  “So, you’ll be there?”

  “Yes. I’ll be there.” I look at the time on the computer. “Get me an extra ticket.”

  “For whom? Kyle?”

  “None of your business,” I murmur, playing with a paperclip.

  “A date, then?” she probes.

  “I met someone, yes. And I think she may enjoy your show.”

  “Does this someone have a name?”

  “I’ll introduce you when we get there.”

  “Why are you so secretive about it? Do I know her?”

  “I doubt it.”

  A moment of silence fills the line and I’m left wondering what she’s thinking.

  “Brody, speaking of secretive . . . Kyndal Magazine wants to do a story on us . . . the Saint Clair children.”

  “Damn it, Avery . . . how many times have I told you, I’m not him anymore. I’ve changed. And I’m not doing the story.”

  “Look, just because you’ve been absent and are now a reformed all-American hero doesn’t take away who you were and where you came from. Mom’s anniversary is coming up and they want to know what’s been going on since then. And no matter how you slice it, you are both a Reinhardt and a Saint Clair.”

  I want to correct her with her ranting. First, I’m no hero, not by a long shot. And second, I’m not the punk-kid Saint Clair anymore. But, I’m tired of debating with her.

  “Listen, I gotta get back to work,” I say, avoiding the conversation.

  “No, you can’t go yet . . . I need you to listen to me for a minute.” She inhales and then exhales. “Being a Saint Clair put you in some hot water and set your path, but you embraced it. You were a damn Navy SEAL for goodness sake. And now you’re back home. I think Mom would want you to put the inheritance toward something good since we ended up selling the business.”

  “So, your swimsuit line is something good?” The question is out before I can take it back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

  She grunts and I can hear the disappointment in her words. “If you must know, jackass, the profits from the show are going to a charitable cause.”

  It’s stupid to hold this much animosity against my mother’s last name. Having it had its advantages. But later, I realized once I joined the navy, I was much more like my dad, a Reinhardt, and not a Saint Clair.

  “I gotta get back to work. I’ll call you tomorrow,” I tell her.

  “Brody?” Her soft voice brings me back to my childhood. “I love you.”

  “Love you too, Avie.”

  After a few hours of filling artillery orders and matching bids, my stomach growls. I look at my watch, it’s past lunch and I have a sudden craving for pizza. I shove the last of the paid invoices in the filing cabinet when Jackson calls me into his office. I knock on his door and peek my head in. “You need me, boss?”

  “I have an assignment for you, Reinhardt,” Jackson says as he tosses a folder across his desk. I snatch it up as I sit down in the chair in front of him.

  I open the folder. “Virginia?” I ask.

  “There are a few devices that need testing. The shipment should arrive next month. I need you to go there, verify the inventory, test them, and bring me back a report,” Jackson says as he leans back in his chair. “And they want you to assist in training the new operators.”

  “Sure. Sounds easy enough.” I skim the papers, flipping one at a time reading the names of the operators. “How long am I there for?”

  “A week.” Jackson rises from his chair and looks out the window. “Another thing, I need to head back to Germany.”

  “Everything okay?”

  Jackson rolls his eyes. “It’s Dixon. Sometimes he doesn’t know his head from his ass. He mixed up scheduling a meeting for next month. It’s next week instead.” His voice is low as he looks out the window. “I hate leaving Catherine with the baby. That little girl . . . terrible twos. I swear she will be the death of us. If we have another kid, I pray it’s a boy.”

  I chuckle and am happy I don’t have any kids. Then I wonder how I would be as a father. Then thoughts of my dad staring out a window, not knowing who he is, or his children, is enough for me not to want kids of my own.

  Strategically placed photos line the credenza behind Jackson’s desk. A picture of him, Catherine, his daughter, and a few others I figure are of his sister and parents. Another with the Virginia team.

  That’s the one thing about the SEALs. It’s not just a brotherhood, it’s a family you would do anything for.

  “If you need me to do anything while you’re gone, just let me know.”

  “I appreciate it.” He turns to face me as he clears his throat. “Glad you decided to come here. Dempsey told me what happened to you in Sudan. The RPG. Matt Teals. Your injury.”

  Shrapnel images pierce my skull, then a tic of my jaw. I stand to my feet and wave the folder in my hands. “I’ll make sure I have Natalie book my flight and hotel,” I say, deflecting the conversation.

  “Brody, can you sit for a moment?” Jackson motions to the chair as he levels his eyes at me. I can feel it coming, or rather hear it coming and I’d prefer getting back to work.

  “I’m sorry to hear what happened to Teals. He was a good man.”

  “Yes. He was.”

  “How’s his wife? Laura, right?”

  “Yes. She’s fine. They’re taken care of,” I answer bluntly.

  “And you?”

  “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “Why not?” he asks, his tone serious.

  I narrow my eyes at Jackson, wondering where this is going. I know he cares and he’s also probing, but for what? I drag my hand through my hair and let out an annoyed breath.

  “We’re not going to talk about my feelings and have a kumbaya moment, are we?”

  “I’ve been where you are, Brody. Shutting down. Not wanting to talk about the shit that fucks with your head. Some of us deal with it better than others.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  Jackson’s glare locks onto my eyes. “You avoiding this subject clearly tells me there is something to talk about.”

  “What are you, my shrink or my boss?” I bite back, fully aware I’m being sarcastic when he doesn’t deserve it.

  “I’m the reason you haven’t been sent to the sandbox to help with the team.”

  “You’re fucking kidding, right? That’s why I’m playing desk-jockey, filling orders, instead of where I’m needed, doing something I’m good at? Boots on the ground with the rest of the guys?”

  “We’re contractors now. We assist. We aren’t military anymore and even though you were good at being a SEAL . . . I don’t think you’re ready. I want your head straight and that’s why I want you to train with the operators when you’re in Virginia.”

  “Look, Jackson,” I say calmly and place the folder back on his desk. “I’m fine.”

  “Fine . . . famous last word.”

  “That mission. It was a complete failure,” I snap.

  Silence fills the room as I scrub my face with my palms. When I look up, Jackson’s back is leaning on the opposing wall, arms crossed over his chest. The weight of his stare is heavy as he anticipates my answer.

  “It’s how we conduct ourselves after a fall that defines us, Brody.”

  “Well, this is how I operate,” I state, shrugging off his stare. “And if I talk about it, to you or to a shrink, I’m afraid I’ll heal. And if I heal, I’ll forget. I don’t want to forget what happened. It was either him or the damn reporters I was protecting. I made the wrong choice.”

  “Right or wrong, you made a choice, which was following your orders. Teals made his choice.”

  “I should have stopped him. I should hav
e made him wait.”

  “What were you going to do? Hold his hand?”

  “That was the only time I ever wore my dress blues,” I say as I close my eyes for a moment.

  “You’re lucky. I’ve worn mine too many times.”

  “None of us should ever have to wear it,” I mutter.

  “You’re right . . . none of us should ever have to wear it. But when you signed on, you knew the risk. We only hope we never have to wear the uniform that represents death and bad news when we face the families left behind,” Jackson chokes out. “Trust me, man. I understand more than you’ll ever know. The one question you need to ask yourself is how are you going to learn from your loss?”

  I stare at Jackson, jaws clenched as I sink into the chair. Too much shit spins in my fucked-up head—the night terrors and the whiskey I drink every night to fall asleep only to wake up still exhausted.

  “Matt was my best friend. His boys are my godsons. His wife is like a sister and now a widow.” My voice cracks while I hold back the tears while the turmoil and guilt churn in my chest.

  As much as I want to punch a wall, I can’t. Jackson’s right. I need to let him go and forgive myself.

  “I’m not trying to get all spiritual on you. Believe me, I’m the last person who should. But you got a second chance, man. Have you ever thought about that? There was a time I blamed myself for everything. That burden weighed a fucking ton.” Jackson takes a pause. “Think about the people who are still here, Laura and her boys, your sister, your dad. Now, think about your future.”

  A vision of Dee hits me full force. I think back to the other night when I walked her home. The pepper spray aiming at me and how adorable she looked.

  Lost in thoughts of her, I’m snapped out of it when Jackson slaps my shoulder. “Tell you what . . . take the rest of the day off, Reinhardt.” He walks over to his open door and motions for me to get out. “Get a head start on your weekend. Go grab a beer, hang out with a friend, clear your head. I’ll meet you back here on Monday and go over some details before I leave for Germany.”

  Chapter Fourteen