Tackled by the Team

by Sierra Sparks

  I realize I sound like I'm straight out of a cheesy romance novel. But I'm trying every trick in the book to get this lady to help me. And I guess it’s working, because she's taking her hand off the phone and looking at me quizzically.

  "Please help me," I tell her, remembering what my mentor Jane Holstead once told me.

  When you want something, first act as if you own it already. Ownership is 9/10ths of the law. And it's better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

  If that doesn’t work, then ask for permission. The worst thing that can happen is that the other person says no. You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.

  But then I cut myself off from listing the advice of my mentor. It applies more to negotiation than to trying to make up with a lover.

  What a stupid idea. To think I could cause some kind of romantic movie scene that would make it possible to sufficiently apologize to Larson.

  The fact is, I blew it and this hair-brained idea isn't going to save me.

  "Okay," she says, with a sigh.

  She pulls up the flight information again on her computer screen.

  "What'd you say this Larson guy’s last name is?"

  "Campbell," I tell her gratefully. "Thank you so much."

  But her face falls.

  "I'm sorry honey, but he's already on the plane. And once that happens, they're not letting a passenger get off just to try to patch up a relationship on the rocks, you know?"

  Now it's my turn to sigh.

  "I know," I tell her.

  Makes perfect sense. Or at least, it makes a lot more sense than my last-minute run to the airport does.

  "Sorry, hon," she says. "I do like to try to support true love whenever I have the chance."

  "I really appreciate it," I tell her, heading back to the exit and texting my driver to pull back around for me.

  It was the dumbest idea ever. Now Larson is on the plane thinking I didn’t call at all except to tell him I’d talk to him soon. If I had any hope of salvaging what we had, I can just kiss that goodbye right now.

  Chapter 36 – Brynn

  I head back home to where Caleb steadfastly awaits. No matter how long I leave him hanging, he has no choice but to be there waiting for me when I get home. Poor little guy.

  "Mommy!" he cries, as I walk through the door.

  He's already in his pajamas, which makes sense because it's already his bed time.

  "Hi Love," I tell him, bending down to wrap my arms around him and smell his hair. A mix of pancakes, maple syrup and dirt greet me in the aroma. He must have refused his bedtime bath again.

  "Hello, Ms. Brynn," Esmeralda says, handing me a glass of sparkling water. "We have all missed you very much today. Your gentleman friend Larson is very nice."

  "Ha ha ha. Gent-le-man friend," Caleb laughs.

  I smile at him.

  "What's so funny, my little guy?"

  Then I smile at Esmeralda.

  "How do I always have such great people to help me?" I muse aloud.

  I'm thinking of her, and Mary, and even the airline employee who tried to support true love and my efforts to get to Larson.

  "Because you are a very nice person and a joy to work for," Esmeralda says, smiling back at me.

  I guess I'll have to take her word for it. Because right now I feel like a selfish bitch.

  "What did you do today?" I ask Caleb, as he jumps up into my arms.

  "Play with Larson," he says proudly.

  I see he has moved on to calling him Larson instead of Motorcycle Man. And it makes my heart ache. Because I'm pretty sure I just messed that up.

  And I knew I shouldn't have let Caleb get so close so soon. Even though I didn't know I'd be the one messing it up. I was afraid that Larson would, when all along I'm the one obviously not ready for a commitment of this magnitude because I can't even keep my commitment to day three of a 3-day date.

  "I'll put him to bed," I whisper to Esmeralda.

  "Okay, I'll see you tomorrow morning then," she says. "I'll give him a bath before his play group tomorrow, because he was not wanting to take one tonight."

  "No bath!" Caleb cries, shaking his head back and forth vigorously.

  "Thanks Esmeralda, and good night."

  I nod at her and start walking upstairs.

  "You have to be a good boy for Esie," I tell him. "Take a bath when she says to, okay?"

  He nods his head but then shakes it.

  "I know, you're tired," I tell him. "What did you and Larson do today?"

  "Bunny. Hop hop," says Caleb, hopping like a rabbit in my lap.

  "Hopped like bunnies?" I ask him.

  He nods and smiles.

  "Miss Bonnie."

  "You hopped like bunnies at story time with Miss Bonnie?" I guess.

  He nods again, proudly.

  "Well, that sounds like fun."

  He nestles his head under my own as I read him Goodnight Moon. We find the mouse in the picture on every page. At the end, he likes to add his own good nights.

  "Good night Mommy," he says. "Goodnight Esie. Good night Miss Bonnie. Good night Larson."

  By the time he gets to Larson's name, he's almost asleep, and he yawns half way through it.

  I kiss him goodnight and say, "Mommy loves you, Caleb."

  I just look at him in my arms, sad that this was the extent of the amount of time I was able to see him today— a Sunday. Tomorrow will be back to the rat race and our weekend plans got cut short.

  Even if it wasn't for Larson, I'm getting tired of this life of working all the time. I don't want to miss the few years I have left of Caleb still being a little boy. But I have no idea how to get out of this mess I've created. I now understand the phrase "golden handcuffs." Without the job, I can't afford the life we've become accustomed to because of the job.

  After a few minutes, I lay Caleb in his bed and kiss him again on his forehead. He groans and reaches out to hug his Tow Mater pillow from the Cars movies he loves so much. And then he's back asleep.

  I go down to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of wine. Esmeralda was sweet to offer me the sparkling water I usually reach for as soon as I get home, but tonight I need to drown my sorrows a little bit.

  Just a little bit, because I have to work tomorrow and I'm sure that will bring its own set of new challenges depending on what the partners and Clay— and I, I guess, since he's so insistent I be involved in everything— come up with in terms of his proposal.

  And I also need liquid courage.

  I decide to wait until I know that Larson's flight landed to call him. I try to watch mindless reality TV while I wait. And I drink another glass of wine.

  When my phone beeps with the alert that Larson’s plane has landed in Albuquerque, I stare at it, afraid to find out what will happen when he answers.

  But when I finally dial, he doesn't answer.

  "Larson, it's Brynn again, and I'm an idiot," I tell him. "I'd like to explain what happened today. And apologize again profusely. Please call me back."

  It’s time to go to sleep but I can’t. I can’t stop thinking that I ruined everything.

  I’m always forced to choose between my job and someone I love and this time, as usual, I chose my job. Over someone I love.

  I let the enormousness of the thought that I love Larson— and that I might never see him again— weigh on me as I stare at the ceiling and try to sleep.

  Chapter 37 – Larson

  I’m waiting at my gate for my flight and staring at my phone like a pathetic fucking puppy dog waiting for its master to return home. But I’m trying to see if Brynn is going to call me again.

  I was going through security when she had finally called. Even though I probably could have answered, it would have hugely annoyed everyone else in line had I stopped and had a phone conversation with the woman who’d just stood me up all day to meet with a billionaire.

  That is not the kind of fucking conversation I can have in a quick, hushed voice while being ushere
d through an X-Ray machine. Plus, I was mad at her and wanted to hear what she had to say for herself before deciding whether or not to talk to her.

  And then out of nowhere a security officer approached me and said, “Hello, Mr. Campbell?”

  I’d frozen, wondering what I’d done wrong.

  Somehow my past had caught up with me. I felt certain I was headed to the slammer.

  “Yes?” I’d answered, my defenses up. “What do you want?”

  “Only to thank you for your service, sir, and offer you expedited service through this faster line over here.”

  He’d gestured to the fast lane, that those with TSA pre-check boarding passes were using. I’d just looked at him, confused.

  “How’d you know I served?” I asked him, finally.

  “We have a list not only of the bad guys but also of the good guys too,” he’d said, beaming at me as if I was his hero.

  Good guy. Hrmph. If he only fucking knew.

  “While checking security risks we noticed that we had someone in our midst that had won two Silver Stars,” he’d said. “And we wanted to thank you for that by making your experience here as pleasant as possible. So you’re welcome to switch to the faster line.”

  “Thanks,” I’d told him. “But I’m good here.”

  I’d already taken off my fucking shoes, for Christ’s sake. It’d be nice if they could have moved a little faster in letting me know that I myself could move a little faster.

  “Did you really earn two medals?” a little old lady in line beside me asked, gripping my arm.

  “Yes,” I’d told her.

  And she’d thrown her arms around me. Little old ladies have fucking horrible boundaries.

  “Thank you so much for your service,” she’d said.

  Once I was through security and had found my way to my gate, I found out my plane had been delayed. Good thing I hadn’t rushed through the faster lane, only to find myself faced with a longer wait on the other side.

  I’d finally sat down in a chair and listened to Brynn’s rather cryptic message. It had just said she’d talk to me soon.

  I’ve been waiting since then, and wondering if she’s fucking playing me. It doesn’t sound like something she’d do, but maybe she’s not who I thought she was.

  I guess I don’t even know who she is and I never really had. I had just wanted to think I did. She seemed so sweet, sexy, charming and smart. She seemed like no matter how different we were, that she was fucking made for me.

  But I guess people can seem like whoever they want to make themselves seem like. And she’d wanted to seem like the perfect girl for me, for whatever reason. When in reality, for whatever probably valid reasons, I guess she’s someone who would rather spend the day schmoozing with a rich client than hanging out with me and her son.

  I’m still staring at my phone when the airline worker calls me to the desk.

  “Yes?” I ask.

  What now?

  “Mr. Campbell, we are in the pre- boarding stage, and we are allowing all veterans to board early. You may have your choice of seats.”

  “It’s fine,” I protest. “I can wait my turn like everyone else.”

  “We insist, Mr. Campbell,” she says, motioning towards the door that will take me to the plane. “We thank you for your service to our country.”

  I nod at her.

  I don’t want to be rude and not accept her offer. But sometimes these gestures can amount to one big pain in the ass.

  I don’t need anyone reminding me that I used to be a fucking American hero and now I’m just some punk outlaw. Sure, I still work for the military, as a private contract civilian, but it’s not the type of job most would consider honorable or decent.

  I look around, as if waiting for someone.

  How fucking stupid of me.

  She’s not coming, of course. This isn’t some asinine chick flick. And she hasn’t even called again, either. Whatever she meant by saying she would talk to me soon, it must not have included the same definition as I have of the word “soon.”

  I board the plane and nod at the flight attendants who welcome me on board and keep thanking me for my service. I sit down at my seat and wait for what feels like a very long time until everyone else is on board as well.

  Finally the pilot comes on the loudspeaker, to my great relief.

  “Dear Passengers, we welcome you aboard flight 209 with service to Albuquerque New Mexico. The weather there is as always sunny and warm compared to here.”

  There are some snickers throughout the plane. I appreciate his attempt at humor but I just want to get out of here.

  “I’d also like to pay special recognition to a passenger of ours today, Larson Campbell, sitting in seat 7E.”

  Fuck. All heads turn towards me, which is not what I was wanting. This pilot obviously doesn’t understand that I try not to attract attention to myself and for good reason.

  “Mr. Campbell served in the United States Air Force, Pararescue Unit of the Special Operations division, and was the only member of that division to ever receive two Silver Star medals for his bravery during combat and his rescue of fellow service members. I would like everyone here to give a round of applause to Mr. Campbell and thank him for his service and courage.”

  Everyone claps, but I’m rather mortified. I nod my head at passengers near me who say, “Thank you, Sir,” or tell me that they also served or know someone who does.

  I wish I could skip the recognition because that was all a very long time ago. I couldn’t save the two people I loved most in the world, so the acts of courage of saving other people seem to pale in comparison when I fucking think about that.

  I am not that person any more. I’m no fucking American hero. I am just a person on a plane who needs to get home. Back to where I belong, and away from the woman I thought fucking cared about me.

  As the plane takes off, I watch the New York skyline disappear from view. And I wonder if Brynn is disappearing from my life as well.

  Chapter 38 – Larson

  I’m at Ramsey Bradford’s house watching his band practice in his garage.

  Ramsey is Jensen’s and Harlow’s brother— we were all three in the SEALs together— and he plays in a band that he met through friends of ours at Louie’s and another bar we sometimes go to, Billy’s Long Bar. For all of the many times they make fun of Jensen and me for being in a motorcycle club, Ramsey and Harlow sure do like to hang out at biker bars a lot. Go fucking figure.

  Ramsey had played the guitar and sung for a while but it’s only fairly recently that he has been part of a band. I have to admit though, for a pretty new band, they’re pretty fucking good.

  In fact, I enjoy Ramsey’s band so much that I often stop by to hang out and listen to them jam. Especially on days like today, when I’m trying to forget about other fucking things that are weighing heavy on my mind. Today, another of their band members, Blaze, is jamming out on bass guitar and it sounds fucking sick.

  “Are you coming to Thanksgiving at Jensen and Riley’s?” Ramsey asks, in between sets. “Or no, because Brynn’s going to be there?”

  Leave it to Ramsey to bring up Brynn— the very person I’m here trying to forget about. But my ears—and my cock— perk up at the sound of her name.

  Try as I might, I just can’t seem to fucking forget about her.

  “She’s gonna be there, huh?” I ask.

  “Yeah, she’s going to be in town a lot now,” Ramsey says.

  He sits down beside me on the old sofa that he and his wife Monica had moved to their garage after they made part of their family room into a playroom for their son, James. Then he hands me a beer.

  “She’s heading up some brand new local branch of her law firm. Because Clay Tucker specifically asked for her. It’s a really big fucking deal. Tons of money for Albuquerque. And for Brynn, I’m assuming.”

  “Is that so.”

  I crack open the beer.

  Of course Clay Tucker asked her to do
it. I’m sure he asked her to do other things too. I’m no business man but I know that there are more to these deals that often go on behind the scenes than get reported to the public.

  “She’s going to be working in both Albuquerque and New York, from what I hear,” Ramsey says. “In case you’re still interested.”

  I just shake my head.

  “So you really didn’t know any of this? You haven’t talked to her since New York, have you?” Ramsey says, as one of his band mates says, “Two minutes until we start up on the new song.”

  “Nope.”

  “I thought you guys had really hit it off. She never explained why she stood you up when you went to go see her?”

  I shrug.

  It’s not a fair characterization to say she never explained. She tried to explain, I’ll give her that. When I got off the plane in Albuquerque I had a voicemail from her saying that she wanted to explain.

  And then she’d called once after that, telling me something about some big meeting at her firm. Something important had come up and she’d needed to stay to discuss it.

  But funny enough, she hadn’t mentioned a word about Clay Tucker.

  And I was sick of wondering whether or not I could trust her. I figured I’d been better off how I was before I’d met her. Sure, it could be a fucking lonely and depressing life. But I didn’t have to explain anything to anyone. And I didn’t have to listen to their pathetic attempts to explain anything about their own life and their own choices to me.

  Suddenly an SUV pulls up and Monica and James get out. Jensen’s wife Riley and their son Drew is with them.

  “Daddy!” James says, running into the garage and throwing his arms around Ramsey.

  “James Bowie,” Ramsey says, using James’ full name— they named their kid after a fucking rock star— sternly, but tousling his hair gently at the same time. “What did Daddy tell you about interrupting his band practice?”

  “Stay out of the garage,” James parrots. “Adults only.”

  He points at the beer in my hand and says, “Uh oh.”

  “Honey, you can’t exactly leave the door wide open and expect him not to want to run in and see his daddy,” Monica says, with a frown.