by Cecy Robson
My parents bought us only what we needed, not just what we wanted to have. They kept my brother and I humble by taking us around the world and showing us what poverty really was, introducing us to those who didn’t have much, so we’d see firsthand what it was like to be hungry, sick, and alone. They taught us the importance of compassion and how we should spend our lives demonstrating it to everyone we meet.
“Trin?” he says.
“Sorry,” I say, pausing as we reach the bottom of my front steps. “My father comes from what people refer to as old Southern money. There’s a lot of blood attached to those dollar signs, and even my granddaddy admitted he’s not proud of how the family fortune was built.” I push a strand of my hair behind my ear, feeling the brunt of what I’m telling him. “No one has ever come out and fully explained, like I said, there’s a lot of shame. But it’s understood that good people broke their backs to make my great-granddaddy rich.”
A lot goes unsaid in my words, but Callahan seems to understand. “It’s not something many southerners with our degree of wealth discuss. And many like to pretend it didn’t happen. But we know it did, and I’m not going to lie.”
He nods like he understands. “All right,” he says.
“What’s your family like?”
He motions toward the large front doors. “Not like yours,” he says.
The way he responds makes me think that his family is another sore spot in his life. After baring his soul about his experiences in the war, it’s clear that he’s already shared more than he’s comfortable with. So instead of pressing for more, I lift up on my toes and kiss his cheek. “Okay,” I whisper.
He smiles, sweeping a finger along my jaw. “Are you going to be okay by yourself?”
No. I’d rather be with you. Again it’s what I think, but don’t dare say aloud. I motion up the brick steps. “The alarm’s set, and you may not believe it, but sometimes even I need some peace and quiet.”
He chuckles. “You’re right. I don’t believe it.”
I laugh, lifting my arms to embrace him when his hands reach around to stroke the small of my back.
“Do you want to go out to dinner tomorrow night?” he asks. “Maybe catch a movie?”
“Callahan Sawyer, are you asking me out on a date?” I say, trying not to gush and failing miserably.
His lovely baby blues twinkle. “What if I am?”
“Then I’ll have to say yes,” I answer.
“In that case, I’ll pick you up here after your shift.” He pauses, and then adds. “I didn’t own a cell phone, but I bought one earlier today. I’ll give you the number so you can call me to let me know when you’re ready.”
“Okay. Sounds good.” I pull out my phone from my purse and send him a text so he’ll have my number, too.
As soon as I’m done, he leans in and offers me a very small, but very alluring kiss. “Goodnight, Trin.”
“Goodnight, Callahan,” I respond, struggling to pry my hands off him.
Somehow I manage and hop up the steps, resetting the alarm after I slip inside and lock the door.
I hurry to the upstairs balcony to watch him leave. Anyone else passing him on the street wouldn’t notice the darkness he’s experienced, and how it squares his shoulders, tightens his stance, and evens his stare. At least I don’t think so. But I see it, and maybe know it a little better now, too.
I only hope I can help him through it, and that he’ll somehow use me to be his light.
Chapter Fourteen
Callahan
Boom.
“Yeah. Get some!”
Boom.
“Run, Cal, run!”
Boom.
“It’s an ambush—Retreat. Jesus Christ, retreat.
Limbs fly. Maris’s blood soaks my shirt. They’re dead. All of them.
I curl inward, gathering the pillow around my ears. I tell myself they’re just fireworks in the distance—that I’m not back in Iraq. But between Billy’s death and all the blasts lighting up the sky, all I hear is enemy fire and all I see are my friends lying in pieces.
My breath is too fast to register, my pulse too quick to trace. I clasp my wrist, focusing on counting each beat. One-ten. One-twenty. One-thirty.
“Cal, help me. I don’t want to die. Help me!”
“We’re counting on you, Ranger.”
Sweat soaks my sheets. I go back to counting my heartbeat. One-forty. One-fifty. How fast is too fast?
Fear rattles my body, making me convulse.
“Callahan?”
They’re dead.
“Callahan, are you in here?”
I know they’re dead.
“It’s me, Trinity . . .”
God, please let me die with them.
“Oh, Jesus,” my angel whispers. “Sweet Jesus.”
The slamming of a door, the trample of steps rushing forward, and fingers sweeping along my sweat-soaked brow. “I’m going to take care of you. You hear me? You’re safe, and-and strong, and you’re going to be fine . . .”
I wrench away. She’s wrong, dead wrong.
Another blast. Another death.
Something crashes to the floor. “Shit—I’m sorry,” Trin says. “I’m so sorry.”
The sound of pouring rain drifts in, growing louder, filtering the next blast. I don’t know what’s happening. Something pushes into my ears.
“Hey―hey. It’s okay. Don’t fight me. They’re earplugs I bought to cushion the sound.”
I shake my head, not understanding. Not caring to either. I need to run. Need to get the boys out. Need to carry Lewis. He’s not moving. Christ, why isn’t he moving?
I push up from my bed only to be wrenched back down.
Lips find mine, warm and sweet. I welcome them, taking the kiss deep and digging my fingers into hair as smooth as silk.
The mouth and body I crave and need withdraw abruptly. I haul both back, but again I’m denied.
“Later. I promise,” she tells me. “Right now let me help you, okay?” She struggles to catch her breath. “I’m going to try to put these plugs in again, all right?”
I don’t respond, waiting to understand. Something soft forces its way deep into my ear canal. This time I don’t fight it.
“That’s it,” she says, her voice is muffled and the sound of pouring rain dims. “Just like that.”
Next explosion. Next death. They’re weak, those sounds, but I jolt with each one.
“Lewis is dead,” I tell her.
She pauses and smooths my hair. “He’s at peace, Callahan. I swear he is.”
Something in her voice makes me believe her. “Shhh,” she says. “One more. One more and we’re good.”
Pressure against my ear, and the world fades. I remember a body curling around me. I remember hands stroking the length of my spine. I remember shaking. Why was I so cold?
Life ends.
But she is with me.
Something tickles my nose. I bat it away, but there it remains. I fight the sleep engulfing me and try to push away the itch, lifting my head when I realize its hair.
Trinity is lying on top of me. I think she’s asleep until she tilts her chin and rubs her eyes, squinting at the sunlight trickling in through the windows.
“Hey,” she says, sounding far away.
She inches upward, using her legs to slide her body along my chest. Her eyes flicker from side to side. “Keep still a moment and I’ll fix you right up,” she tells me.
She lifts her hands and reaches for me. With a sudden pop the room fills with sound. The air conditioning blasts in the corner, a bird sings outside, and in the distance the sea’s lullaby welcomes me home.
Trin leans in, skimming her lips over mine. “You okay?” she whispers against my mouth. She cocks her head when I don’t answer. “I think the fireworks were too much, especially since it hasn’t been long since you left Iraq,” she explains. “When I arrived at the bar, Jed told me you couldn’t take it and had to leave. I swung by the drugst
ore and bought one of those white noise CDs―one with rainfall sounds—only it had a four-hour running time so I bought these, too.”
She lifts the ear plugs, showing them to me before tossing them into the waste can beside my bed. “They seemed to help,” she continues. “The thing is, you were in such bad shape I couldn’t leave you. I hope you don’t mind that I stayed. As far as the plugs, I bought a whole container of them. Maybe you should keep using them and the CD together. They helped you settle and―”
I crash my lips against hers. Instead of pulling away and denying me like she did last night, her mouth invades me. Her lips suck, her teeth nibble, stirring moans loud enough to vibrate my chest.
We consume each other. I thread my fingers through her hair, needing to taste more of her. Heat drills its way down to my groin. I struggle with the sheet tangled around us, wrenching it free from her hips to find her bare legs.
The denim shorts she’s wearing scarcely cover her round ass. Good. She’s already wearing too much. Especially for what I want to do to her.
She jolts as I pry my hand between us and rub directly above her center. For now I keep my hands outside her clothes, that doesn’t mean I’m not hell bent on making her feel good.
My motions cause her to rip her hot mouth from mine and break our kiss. With wide eyes she stares down, her hips circling in time with my fingers.
“Do you want me to stop?” I rasp.
She shakes her head slowly, her throaty moans goading me to increase my speed.
Christ, it’s all I can do not to tear her clothes off.
She falls forward, her head pushing into my shoulder. I know she likes this, I can hear it. I can feel it. But I want more.
I hook my fingers through the crotch of her tiny shorts and slide them beneath her panties, rubbing them against her slick folds. She cries out, like she’s afraid—like I’m hurting her—despite that her pelvis rocks against my hand with equal force.
I swear out loud because I don’t want to stop. But I won’t scare her, and I refuse to hurt her.
I loll my head to the side, placing my lips against her ear. “Tell me to stop,” I gasp.
“No.”
Her shoulders rise and fall, like she’s crying. I slow my movements, so hot in need of her, I can barely speak. “Trin, if it’s too much . . .”
I start to withdraw my hand, but hers covers mine, keeping me in place. She lifts her head, her lids heavy, her voice strained. That’s when I realize she’s not crying. No . . . she’s just close to coming undone.
“Please, don’t stop,” she rasps. Her lashes flutter as my fingers return to play. “You feel so good.”
It’s all the permission I need. My other hand clamps the back of her neck, yanking her to me for another kiss. Her tongue drives into me deep, showing me how bad she wants me. I want her, too, and ease a finger inside her to show her.
The moment I’m in, I curl my finger, moving it fast. Trinity rolls onto her side, biting back a curse. I follow her, twisting and removing my arm trapped beneath her to pull her shirt loose of her waistband.
I yank her shirt up along with her bra, my mouth finding a perfect pink nipple and drawing it in to suck.
She whimpers, jolting hard.
When she comes, it’s nothing graceful. It’s gritty and sexy as all hell. Her body shudders violently and she clutches my head against her, writhing with pleasure. I wait until the tightening eases around my fingers and her quivers lessen before pulling out.
God, I want her. To grip her tight and ride her harder. But I can’t. This is Trinity. The woman who saved me from me, and from all the dead who followed me home.
For what seems like forever, we simply stare at each other. Her flushed face beautifully split between ardor and happiness. But then she kisses me briefly, and does something I don’t expect.
The long strands of her dark hair pass along my bare chest, brushing my pecs, stomach . . . oh, shit. She yanks my shorts down and takes me deep in her mouth.
I slap my hands against the sheets, twisting them around my hands for something to grip. Between the audible pulls of her mouth and her firm and fast hold, my vision spins and my heart threatens to launch through my chest.
I abandon the sheets and smooth my fingers through her hair, tracing them along her scalp. I grunt when she goes deeper, her speed and flicking tongue making me harder with each pass. My hands gather the strands hiding her face. I want to watch what she’s doing, but I’m not prepared for what I see.
Trin’s face is a blend of lust and passion, puckering her lips like she never wants to let go.
My words release in mangled groans. “Just like that, baby . . . yeah, just like that . . .”
The way I speak, and what I say, seems to please her, spurring her movements with mind-blowing aggression. Her moans vibrate along my length, sending my need for her spiraling over the edge.
I tell her how good it feels and how bad I want her. My reward is her quickening speed and a view of her sexy backside swirling like she’s riding me. I’m turning her on without touching her. But I want to touch her and spend the day making love to her.
Damn, will she let me push inside of her?
I’m ready to come when her phone starts ringing and buzzing against my bedside table. Considering what she’s doing, and how fine she’s doing it, I don’t care about the phone. I only care about her and what’s about to happen.
I haul her to me as I feel my release, kissing her with all the passion she’s riled within me. She knows what’s happening and hangs on, rubbing and finishing me off. I jerk so hard, I rock us both, unable to hang onto our kiss.
Her lips trail along my neck and shoulder. I can’t control my breathing, and neither can she, both of us reeling from what’s happened, and what we’re about to do next.
I lift her hips and wrench her shorts down. Again, her phone rings. This time, she stops what I’m doing and pulls away.
“Sorry, I have to get this,” she says, reaching for the phone. “Hello?”
“Trin. It’s me, Hale. I know you said you’d be late, but we need you here now.”
She scoots her butt, trying to pull her shorts back on with her free hand. “What’s wrong?”
“A storm’s hit off the coast. The waves are getting rough and we’re trying to shut down the beach. Problem is we’re down four guards.”
“Four guards?” Trin says.
“Yup. All with food poisoning. But that’s what happens when you eat at Bucky’s Burgers,” he adds. He sighs when she hesitates. “Trin, you know I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t necessary. But I need you down here.”
“Okay,” she tells him quietly. “I’m on my way.”
She disconnects and adjusts her breasts beneath the cups, her messy hair falling around her as she hurries to fix her disheveled clothes. It’s only when she stands to shove her feet into her shoes that she looks back at me. “I’m sorry. ButI have to go.”
I clasp her wrist, pulling her back. “Don’t,” I tell her. “Get someone else to cover for you, and stay here with me.”
She leans in and strokes my face. “I can’t. They need me.”
She kisses my mouth and hurries out the door. I sit up and swipe my face, realizing for the first time just how badly I need her, too.
Chapter Fifteen
Trinity
My head was still spinning from my morning with Callahan when I arrived at the beach. But reality hit me the moment I saw how bad the waves were and found my team struggling to save a couple of swimmers who were caught in the riptide. With four lifeguards down, I ended up jumping in the water with my clothes on to rescue a little boy. It’s not the first time I’d saved someone from drowning, but this little boy, whose face was so white with fear, hit me especially hard.
I didn’t notice Callahan arrive. My team and I were too busy trying to make sure everyone was safe and accounted for. But there he is, waiting patiently while the sheriff, the owner of Magenta Groves, the EMTs and I
conference to discuss everything that happened. Like the rest of my team, I pushed myself to my breaking point. But it was saving that little boy from drifting away that well-neared choked the life out me. I’m tired and want nothing more than to leave with Callahan. But I try not to let it show as I listen to each man speak.
The sheriff nods. “The other beaches pulled their swimmers out when they got wind that Magenta Groves was closing shop. Just so you know, your executive decision likely helped save a lot of lives all over the island.”
I smile at Hale since it was his call. “I’d expect no less from my second in command,” I tell them.
With the owner’s permission, Hale and I step away.
“So, I’m you’re second in command?” Hale asks, smirking in that way that makes all those pretty gals chasing him swoon.
“Of course,” I tell him. “And after today, I think you deserve a promotion and a raise.”
“A raise, too?” he says.
I pat his back. “That’s right. I’m going to make sure you get that buck fifty an hour extra if it kills me.”
He laughs, but then glances up when one of the ambulances pulls away. One of the men, he and Mason pulled out is stable, but given his age, they’re taking him to the local hospital to make sure he’s okay.
“It could have been bad,” Hale says, his humor fading as the ambulance disappears. “Real bad. It didn’t take long for those waves to go from bad to worse, and for the riptide to drag people under.”
“I know.” I look to where Callahan is sitting on the sand. To any outsider, he looks like someone simply taking everything in. But I recognize that detached stare in his gaze, similar to the way I’d found him last night. The two men sprawled along the sand just moments ago, along with the little boy being cared for must have triggered more of those terrible memories.
“Lewis is dead,” he called out last night when his PTSD hit him hard.
Had he carried Lewis’s body out from the ambush he spoke of? The way he seems to stare out into the distance, makes me think he’s carried his share of fallen friends.