by Sarah Monzon
Knuckles rasped against the hangar’s sheet-metal walls, and she looked up from her project. Michael Carrington hobbled in, an Under Armour shirt pulling against his chest and running pants hanging loose from his hips. The top of a white paper bag bunched between his palm and the crutch’s handle, and the stump of his arm pressed two Jamba Juice paper cups against his chest.
Jack dropped the staple gun on top of the pilot’s chair and rushed over, grabbing first the drinks, then the to-go bag. “What are you doing here?”
He grimaced. “Good morning to you too.”
She deposited the food on the workbench and turned toward him, hands on hips. “Good morning, but I thought we agreed I didn’t need a babysitter.”
Michael sat and lifted a bagel from the bag. He reached back in for a plastic knife and a small travel-size container of cream cheese. Using the table as leverage, he peeled back the wrapping and then picked up the knife. Every swipe through the cream cheese sent the small container scurrying across the wooden table.
Jack huffed and grabbed the bagel and cream cheese, yanking the knife from Michael’s grip. She smeared the spread over his plain bagel and then placed it in front of him.
Michael stared at the bagel, then lifted his head slowly, his eyes piercing through her. “Neither do I.”
She looked away, shame washing over her. How thoughtless can you get? Growing up with brothers, she knew one thing at least—men needed to be treated as men. Not as helpless children who couldn’t do for themselves or others. That was the truth of any regular Joe out there. Military men? Especially those highly trained in a competitive field such as aviation? Yeah. She would have insulted him less if she’d spit in his face.
And for what? Her pride? The justification behind the flash of frustration of his continued hovering presence died an agonizing death.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking down at her hands.
“Forgiven.”
A to-go cup with a green straw entered her line of vision.
“Banana Berry smoothie?”
The chilled drink cooled her palm as she wrapped her hand around the beverage. “Thanks.” She offered him a half smile.
Michael took a bite of bagel, cream cheese sticking to his upper lip. Jack’s smile lifted a little higher. Far be it from her to emasculate him again by handing him a napkin.
“What’s so funny?”
Jack pointed to her own lips, signaling he had something on his.
Michael’s gaze lowered to her mouth, held there.
Her heart skipped a beat as if it had decided to play hopscotch right then and there. She should say something, do something. Divert his attention. Because whatever had flashed through his eyes shook her foundation.
Interest? In her? Maybe she had only imagined the look. It had blinked on and turned off faster than a lightning bug’s glow in the dusk of summer.
His gaze met hers. “Kissing friends?” He winked. “I’m not sure that’s what Geyser had in mind, but who am I to argue?”
She must be PMSing, because her temper sparked. Again. One minute gooey inside, the next a hardened shell. She felt her nostrils flare as she controlled her breathing, biting back an angry retort she would surely feel bad about the second it left her tongue.
“Whoa. What did I say?” Michael held up his hand like a stop sign. “Your face just closed up tighter than a hatch on a submarine.”
Jack crossed her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes. “Wipe your mouth.”
He looked at her funny but picked up a napkin and swiped it across his lips. “Better?”
She shrugged, then turned back to the seat she’d been working on before he’d shown up. Stupid. How could she have thought, even for a split second, he’d be interested in her? Her. His partner’s helpless little sister who had been dumb enough to fall for a scumbag once upon a time and now needed protection from her idiotic mistakes. Her. The woman who would always just be one of the guys.
Her.
She squeezed her eyes shut and hung her head.
And she’d thought better of him. Sure, she’d known him only a short time, but he hadn’t come across as the cocky type who threw empty compliments around. Who played with girls’ hearts by showering them with attention, making them fall in love with a lie and then ripping the mask off his suave facade, revealing his blackened heart. Like Mitch. No thank you. She didn’t care to be anyone’s fool. Not ever again.
So even though she’d thought Michael Carrington was one of the good guys, what did she know? Her track record was less than stellar, her judgement not trustworthy.
Condensation sweated the outside of the Jamba Juice to-go cup. She set it on the concrete floor untasted, picked up the staple gun, and blasted a few more fasteners through the leather. There. Seat done.
Michael used the crutch to lower himself down beside her. “Did I do or say something to offend you?” His brows pinched, as if he was really worried he had hurt her feelings.
But that couldn’t be true. He was just another flirt hiding behind a disarming smile. No matter how sincere his blue eyes looked at the moment.
“Thank you for stopping by.” She forced her mouth to bow up. “I’m sure you have a busy day ahead, so I won’t keep you any longer.”
“I see.” His lips pressed in a firm line as he strained to rise again. “You’re absolutely right. I do have a full day ahead.” The rubber bottom on his crutch thumbed against the concrete floor. From the direction of the sound, she figured he headed out of the hangar.
“Thank you for the smoothie,” she called after him, eyeing the drink.
He disappeared, and she set the staple gun down. Gravity pulled her, and she flopped to the ground. Knees high, she rested her elbows on them and cradled her head in her hands.
What a disaster. Whether she’d imagined his moment of interest before, it didn’t matter. She was doomed. Because there was no denying her own attraction. For a flirt. How could she be drawn to another phony?
Or maybe she’d jumped to the wrong conclusions. It was possible… Brett trusted him, after all. That counted for something. She let her head fall to her knee and groaned. Whatever the case, whether he was true or not, it really didn’t matter because he’d already left. Hasta la vista. And with how she’d treated him, she doubted he’d be coming back. No matter what he’d promised her brother.
The cadence of his crutch-hop brought her head up. He came back?
A rolled yoga mat was tucked under his arm, and a backpack hung from his shoulders. He didn’t come deep into the bay but stayed near the open door, moving to the side where the sun’s rays hadn’t reached. The yoga mat snapped as he flung it out and settled it on the ground. He shimmied out of the backpack’s straps, let it slide down his arm until he had the strap in his hand, then set it on the floor.
What was he up to?
He lowered himself onto the mat and tossed the crutch to the other side of the backpack.
The sound of the zipper being opened filled the silence.
“Ummmm….”
Michael lifted a number of dumbbells out of the pack and lined them up next to his mat. He grabbed one of the smaller ones and lowered himself to his side, his intact leg stretched out. Gripping the weight, he placed it on top of the thigh of his injured leg and lifted. Up, hold, down. Up, hold, down.
“What are you doing?”
Michael didn’t even pause. Up, hold, down. “Exercising.”
“I can see that, but why are you exercising in my hangar? Shouldn’t you do that at a gym or with a physical therapist or something?”
“I don’t have a PT appointment today, and I can do everything here that I’d do at the gym and without all the annoying spectators.”
Oh, she doubted that. Not the spectator bit—that was a little annoyance he shouldn’t have to deal with—but gyms had fancy equipment. Here he had a yoga mat, a few weights, and a decades-old airplane. Not that the last item would be of any help whatsoever. If he didn’
t use the proper equipment, he’d never heal properly. She wasn’t going to have that on her conscience.
“Look. I know you made some sort of promise to my brother, but you really don’t have to hang around. I’ve got it. And if something does come up, I know how to call the police.”
Michael stopped his leg lifts and sat up. He draped his arm over his bent knee. “I’m not going anywhere, Jackie.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Jack.”
“So can we go back to the part where we agreed to be friends?”
She considered him. Sincere or ulterior motive? He leaned in, his gaze alert and steady, a strong set to his jaw. She didn’t necessarily owe this man her life, but he had come to her rescue. As much as she’d like to tell herself she’d had the situation at the bar under control, Mitch had manhandled her, and she couldn’t match his strength. But did that make Michael trustworthy? Mitch had played the role of her hero a number of times, and in the end he’d turned on her, fracturing her arm and breaking her heart.
“Friends.”
Chapter Ten
Present Day, Maryland
The off-tune strains of “Amazing Grace” punctured the sanctuary, the organ holding the last notes in an eerie chord. Organ music wasn’t exactly Jack’s favorite, but there was something about it that sang church to her. A traditional comfort perhaps, but she felt more at home here than the newer churches she’d tried. Seats instead of pews. Full bands instead of piano and organ duets. Not that there was anything wrong with seats and bands with electric guitars and drums—it just wasn’t what she’d been raised with.
Amara, Jack’s sister-in-law, bounced little Cayden in the crook of her arm, her other hand full with Dominick’s fingers. The three-year-old boy had fidgeted all through church and was antsy to escape the building. No doubt he’d rip down the aisle as soon as the music died if his mom didn’t have such a solid hold on him. Jack ran her hand over the boy’s tight black curls. He was the perfect mix of his mother’s coffee complexion and his father’s hazel eyes.
Jack spotted a Hot Wheels a little farther down on the pew, and she leaned over to retrieve it, placing it in her nephew’s hands with a wink as Pastor O’Brien stepped up to the pulpit for the benediction. After the prayer, Jack slipped the bulletin between the pages of her Bible and tucked the book to her side.
Amara laid a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “You’re still coming over for lunch, right?”
“Absolutely. Someone has a big day coming up we need to plan for,” Jack whispered out the side of her mouth. “I wonder who that could be.”
Dominick jumped up and down between them like a hyper little kangaroo. “Me! I do! It’s gonna be my birthday!”
Jack widened her eyes in false surprise. “Really? Wow! How old will you be? Oh wait. Let me guess.” She tapped her chin in mock concentration. “I know. You’re turning twenty-three.”
Giggles erupted from Dominick.
“No? How about forty-nine?”
He shook his head, his hand hiding his huge smile, little body bouncing on his toes.
“Fifty?”
“Auntie Jack! I’m gonna be four!”
“Four?” Her mouth rounded. “Wow, that is big.”
He nodded, all seriousness. “And I’m gonna have a Jake and the Neverland Pirates party, right, Mommy?”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
Dominick’s glee faded. “Daddy’s the captain, Mommy. I’m the first mate.”
Amara’s chin quivered, though she forced a cheerful tone. “Right you are, buddy.”
“Will he be at my party?”
Jack noticed the bright sheen in Amara’s eyes. Eli had been deployed for five months. He hadn’t even seen baby Cayden yet. As much as Jack and her father tried to help, the separation, especially this time around with the birth of the baby, was really hard on her sister-in-law.
Jack knelt to eye level with her nephew. What could she say to make this little man feel better?
“He won’t be there, will he?”
Jack cupped his baby-soft cheek. “I’m afraid not, sweetie.”
“Can we at least save him some cake?”
Emotions clogged her throat. “You betcha.”
Amara reached down and squeezed Dominick’s hand. “Come on, buddy. Your sister will be waking up soon, and she’ll be hungry. We’ll see Auntie Jack at the house in a little while.”
“I’ll be right behind you guys.”
Amara and the kids filed down the aisle and exited the sanctuary while Jack pulled the strap of her messenger bag over her head.
A pirate party, huh? A little searching on Pinterest should give us a flood of ideas. Oh! We could fill up Dominick’s kiddie pool and set up a two-by-four over it and have the kids walk the plank. That’d be fun. Or maybe—
Oomph.
Her body slammed into a solid mass.
“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where—” Her lips snapped shut. Dread filled her stomach like liquid iron.
Mitch smirked down at her.
“Look what lost sheep has made it back to the fold, Jack.” Pastor O’Brien beamed.
More like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
She glanced at Pastor O’Brien and offered a forced smile. “Miraculous, but I really should be going.” If she could slip out while the pastor still occupied Mitch, he wouldn’t have the opportunity to corner her.
“Hey, what ever happened between the two of you anyway?”
Drat pastors and their need to chitchat with every person before they left church. Especially Pastor O’Brien. He was sweet. Friendly. Made every visitor feel like family. But he also didn’t see personal boundary lines or read social cues very well.
Mitch raised his brows at her, his look pointed and amused. No doubt he enjoyed learning she hadn’t confided in the whole church about his abuse. He could waltz right back in smelling of roses, and they’d all clap and cheer that another sinner had returned to the family.
She didn’t care. Hadn’t kept the incident private to save his reputation among the congregation. In fact, she had no problem ousting his character now. If she had to endure pitying looks and whispers behind her back, so be it.
“One night he—”
Mitch hung his arm across her shoulders, and she stiffened. Her breath held.
“Only a little lover’s quarrel. I had to ship out before I could make it right, but I’m not losing this wonderful woman over a little misunderstanding.”
Pastor ate that up like it was a gourmet meal. “So romantic! Pining over our Jack for the last few years, waiting for the opportunity to win her heart again.”
Over my dead body. Which Mitch was more than capable of making happen.
His arm weighed on her like an iron blanket. She rearranged the keys in her hand until one poked between her fingers, then she hooked her arm around his back and pushed the key into his side. Hard.
Mitch’s thumb dug into her flesh. “If you’ll excuse us pastor, I’d like to start making things right with Jack now.”
“You two run along.”
“Pastor O’Brien, I—”
He waved her away. “Forgive the man, Jack. Seventy times seven, remember?”
Forgive him or not, she highly doubted Jesus meant to put oneself within a madman’s clutches a hundred and forty-four times.
“Really, Pastor—” But he wasn’t paying attention as he leaned down to hear about Mrs. Morris’s rheumatism.
“Get your hands off me,” she hissed through gritted teeth.
Mitch pulled her out the door and around to the side of the red brick building. “Nice stunt with the keys.”
“I put a restraining order against you, Mitch.” She folded her arms across her chest. “You’re breaking the law.”
He quirked one eyebrow up in a what are you going to do about it look. “Bluff, sweetheart. I haven’t been served.”
Thank you, God, for cell phones. She fumbled in her bag. “I’m calling the cops.” Her thumb pressed 9-1-
>
He ripped the phone out of her hand and smashed it against the brick wall behind them, nostrils flaring, chest heaving.
“I love you, woman, and you belong with me. The police can’t keep us apart. Nothing can keep us apart, you hear me?” Grabbing a chunk of her hair at the back of her head, he yanked her forward, his mouth crashing down on hers. The pressure forced her teeth into her lip. A familiar metallic taste filled her mouth.
She pushed against his chest and beat against the checkered button-up he wore. Unwanted tears pooled at the corners of her eyes. Panic suffocated her in beating waves. She searched around Mitch’s head for someone, anyone, in the parking lot who could come to the rescue.
Empty. Not a redeemed soul in sight.
I refuse to be a helpless victim. She lifted her knee in a quick hard jab right into his groin, and his mouth came off hers. He cursed at the same time his open palm slammed across her cheek. She stumbled, but he caught her arm. Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, his face relaxed, transformed, and became almost tender. He traced a butterfly-soft finger against the skin red hot from his slap.
Nausea rolled her stomach. A new kind of crazy stood in front of her.
“I’m so sorry, baby. I love you. I never want to hurt you. You have to know you’re my soul mate.”
And pigs fly. This swine didn’t know the meaning of love.
She batted his hand away. “Don’t ever come near me again.”
***
Jack sat in her car in front of Eli and Amara’s federal-style house, black shutters framing all eight front windows. Her hand shook as she pulled down the visor and looked in the small mirror and then gingerly prodded her cheek. Already it was starting to turn an ugly shade of green. Her lip puffed up slightly on one side. Concealer would help. With the outer evidence of the afternoon’s events, anyway. No matter how strong she wanted to be, how resilient she tried to convince her family she was, she couldn’t lie to herself anymore. Mitch back in town, the pub, the church…all shook her. He’d made it clear today he wasn’t finished with her. Some bizarre idea that they were meant to be together. Soul mates, he’d said.