Suds and Sam For Hire

by Stella Marie Alden

  Her father’s conversation comes to mind. What if the killer had a gun instead of a knife? He would’ve pointed it up at her and…”

  Shit.

  She bumps her seat up and stares. “What’s wrong? What did my dad say to you?”

  The ache I’ve had all night kicks up a notch as I pinch the bridge of my nose. Hell, I’ve been shot at, blown up, and had my ass kicked but I never felt as scared as when I heard the gun go off in the back bedroom.

  It’s no good. I can’t do this. “I think we should reconsider Suds and Sam.”

  “What’re you talking about? We solved a crime that stymied the FBI for months. We’ll be famous.” She looks at me with those big brown eyes and my fucking heart splits down the middle. Her dad was right. She hasn’t got a clue.

  “Babe, you rushed the room before I said clear.”

  “I was already in the window.”

  “You’re not trained for this shit.”

  “Not true. I nailed it.” When her chin juts out and lips purse, my resolve doubles down.

  If I could only get her to see reason. “Townsend could’ve just as easily had a gun rather than a knife. You didn’t know.”

  “I did too. I looked through the window, I saw light reflecting off the blade.”

  “Be honest. I’ll know if you’re lying.”

  “You’re being totally unreasonable.”

  “Well, it don’t matter because our license is suspended pending the investigation.”

  “What? No way. The FBI is just pissed because we made them look bad. We can get it back.”

  “Our reasons for following the suspect were pretty slim, darlin’. Our lawyers are going to be busy.”

  “But you had the same feeling.”

  “Not quite. I knew you were in danger so I stuck to you like glue. I never believed Townsend was our guy.” I lie and I know she buys it when her eyes narrow.

  The adoration I’ve grown accustomed to, disappears. “Wow.”

  I might as well get this over with. I tone my voice stone cold. “You got a real good offer with the FBI. Best you take it.”

  “Maybe I will.” Tears drip down her cheeks and she turns to the window so I can’t see.

  “Good. I’m leaving for London tonight and don’t want you getting into any more trouble.”

  The rest of the drive home, neither of us says another word. Hell, the lump in my throat’s so big, I couldn’t speak even if I tried. I haven’t felt this bad since my mom up and left me and my dad.

  What was I thinking? I got no business falling in love. I don’t know the first thing about it and now I got her cryin’ and I’m feeling like a giant turd.

  Her father’s voice keeps ringing in my ear. You almost got her killed.

  I’ve seen a lot of good people die but damned if I could go on living if something ever happened to her.

  Chapter 30

  Sam

  He’s breaking up with me? Damn his whole noble take-care-of-me-before-him nature. I would beg him to reconsider but his acrid tone tells me it would do no good.

  This is so unfair. I wasn’t in danger. I would’ve known if Townsend had a gun. Well, I’m pretty sure I would’ve. Okay, maybe he’s right. I need more skills but I can get some. There’s thousands of men and women in combat who learn this shit every day. Why can’t I?

  I wonder if I’m too old to enlist. Perhaps, if my old boss wants me bad enough, I can convince him I need more hands-on.

  All these thoughts race through my head as we drive down the West Side Highway, past the skyscrapers of the city, and over the Manhattan Bridge.

  In Brooklyn, I wipe my eyes, swallow hard, and turn in my seat. I know he sees me staring but unlike before, his beautiful dark eyes stay glued to the road as his neck twitches.

  White knuckled, he grips the steering wheel and I wonder why he’s so angry until I see a drip of water leak from his eye and slip down his cheek. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, sniffs, and clears his throat.

  I think back to the restaurant and moan. It had to be something my dad said. When I get through this, I am going to ream my father a new asshole. If he ever wants to visit grandkids, he needs to keep his nose the fuck out of my business.

  Too soon, we arrive at my house.

  Suds, always the gentlemen, opens my car door, and I jump into his arms, sobbing into his firm chest. “Please. We can talk about this. I’ll change. I promise.”

  Reaching my arms around his neck, I bring his lips to mine, and kiss him like there’s no tomorrow.

  He moans into my mouth and hands cup my wet cheeks. Then, he places me aside, runs back to the SUV, and when he drives away, my future disappears with him. Only my past waits for me in Brooklyn.

  I love my family so much but I need to live my own life. Too late, I see how I’ve fallen into old patterns. If Suds and I are ever going to make it as a couple, I need to make a clean break from their overbearing nature.

  I am not giving up on Suds and Sam. Not ever. We got a website, business cards, and hearts that can’t survive being apart.

  This little fight is not unfixable. It’s a small setback in my five-year plan. Suds loves me and I love him. I can stay behind a desk, most of the time, until I get more training. I can also learn to wait for all-clear. All he has to do is explain the rules.

  Breaking up is in his head and I need to straighten him out.

  Once I get upstairs, I call Kessler, my old boss at the FBI. “Is the job still available?”

  “When can you get to DC?”

  “You willing to pay for relocation?”

  “Anything you want.”

  “Good to hear. I’ll send you a list of my conditions in the morning.”

  By the time I hang up, I’ve stopped crying and have a pretty good idea how to get Suds back but what if it doesn’t work?

  Chloe scratches and meows on my bedroom door.

  “Go away.” I cover my head with my pillow but she yowls louder and bangs her head against the wood.

  “Okay, fine.” Dragging my ass off the bed, I open the door, and she hops up, green eyes studying me.

  “Meow?”

  “Yeah, it’s bad. You want a beer?” In the kitchen I grab a cold one and put a couple splashes on the floor.

  Then, the doorbell rings, so I holler down. “Come in.” I’ve already dealt with a mass murderer and lost my boyfriend. How much worse can it get?

  Shit. I should not have asked.

  “Hello, Samantha.”

  “Mom?” I wait for my father to enter behind her and when he doesn’t, I assume he’s waiting in the car.

  Knowing he has no patience, it will be a short visit.

  “Can I come up?”

  “Ah, yeah, sure.” Just what I need, a lecture about the dirty dishes in the sink, the nuclear disaster in our bathroom, and the cat hair on the couch.

  Grabbing the banister, she daintily takes the stairs, pointed heels tapping on each step. At the top, she kisses both my cheeks. She pulls off her leather gloves, puts them in her coat pocket, and hands it to me.

  “What? You’re staying?” I glance around my apartment and moan.

  “Yes dear. I took a… what do you call it? Loofah?”

  I take a stab in the dark. “Uber?”

  “Yes, yes. That’s it. Very convenient. You can help me get one back, right?” She sits at my kitchen table, brushes toast crumbs into her palm, and looks to me with her hands outstretched.

  Right. I rip off a paper towel and hand it to her. “Why are you here?”

  “Because you need me.”

  I remember when Mary-Jo Kenny got the lead in the play and when Johnny D’Angelo broke my heart in high school. I remember scraping my knee when I fell off my bike. Every one of those times, my mom told me to suck-it-up-and-move-on.

  What the hell has changed?

  “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

  “Where is your young man?”

  Tears well. “Not here. We b-broke up.�
��

  “I’m very sorry to hear that. That’s a fucking shame.”

  Wow. My eyes bug out of my head. In the over thirty years I’ve known her, I don’t think I’ve ever heard her use that word.

  “I told your father to stay out of it.” She takes my hands in hers and I move them away, not because I don’t want comfort, it’s too damn confusing.

  Where the hell are Joey, Rose and Mia when you need them? Even Chloe has abandoned me. I walk to the sink and with nothing else to do, start the water.

  Standing, she joins me. “Let me wash. You can dry.”

  I was going to leave them in the drainer but sure, I grab a towel. Here we are, two women bonding in the kitchen over dishes.

  Meet Sam Russo, detective and domestic services available. “You really don’t have to stay. I’m fine.”

  My mother searches for dish soap under the sink, pauses at the mess, but manages not to faint. “Are you going after him?”

  “Ah… I’m not sure. For now, I’m going to take the job in DC. The FBI offered me my old job back.”

  My mom sighs heavily. “I was afraid of that. I wish you wouldn’t.”

  “I know but this?” I point around the room. “This was me in college. I need a place of my own. As much as I love Joey, Kimmy, Rose, and Mia… I need some privacy. Everyone here is always in my business.”

  “That’s what family does. Has your young man ever complained?”

  I think back to all the times he visited and he never said a word except if I was too loud during sex. “No.”

  She shrugs as she scrubs the moldy ring out of a coffee cup. “Go to DC but not forever. You belong here, with us.”

  “I’ll think about it, I really will.”

  “Good. And don’t give up on Sebastian. I’ll take care of your father.”

  We finish up the dishes, she dries her hands, and grabs her coat. “You can call me an oompah loompah.”

  “Sure Mom.”

  I call her an Uber and right after she leaves, I collapse on the couch.

  Chapter 31

  Suds

  January in London suits my mood. All week long, a frigid wind blows off the ocean, bringing with it cold torrential, rain. My umbrella bit the dust this morning and my wool jacket smells like old, wet dog.

  “Good morning, sir.” Part chauffeur, part bodyguard, I hold the door open for my charge.

  “Sebastian.” Nodding, Lord Collins ducks into the back seat and grabs the newspaper while I slide behind the wheel.

  Driving on the wrong side of the street takes all my concentration, a blessing I relish. Every other damn moment, I’m haunted by thoughts of Sam.

  After I drop my client off at Parliament, I change into my running clothes and run along the Thames. My chest hurts and my legs burn. Still, her snarky comebacks ring in my ear and her pretty brown eyes follow me wherever I go. Even in the shower, I close my eyes and picture her.

  With my forehead against the tiles, I slide my fist up and down my cock, and come hard, wishing like hell she were here. Time is supposed to heal all wounds but I must be the exception. Days go by and if anything, the hurtin’ grows worse.

  At night, I ease my aching body onto a lumpy mattress in a cheap hotel room. I could’ve stayed at a nicer place but total fuck-ups don’t deserve better. And the nightmares? Hell, they’ve come back with a vengeance. I make sure I’m good and tired before getting into bed, my alarm’s set early, but it don’t matter.

  Tonight, it’s the same ol’ dream. Me and Lucky are back in Afghanistan. This time, so is Sam. Despite all my efforts, she’s enlisted. Alone with her in the barracks, I kiss her, touch her all over, and tell her how much I love her while she squirms. Her nipples harden when I pinch them and she moans as I reach to her core. Warm, wet, and ready, she spreads her legs wide.

  Ready, I place my tip at her entrance.

  As I push into her, the cement wall explodes into tiny pieces. I cover her body with mine but Townsend appears, pistol pointing at her head. Before I can react, he fires.

  “No!” Heart thumping, with a shitload of adrenaline racing through my veins, I jump out of bed, ready to kill.

  Where the fuck am I? Sweat rolls down my sides, my fists unclench, and I pick my cellphone up off the nightstand.

  “Shit.” Bright red digits indicate it’s four in the morning.

  So, like every damn day for the last two weeks, I drag my ass outside and pound the pavement along the winding river. The rain hides the fucking tears that threaten and eventually I let them fall because who the hell would know the difference?

  I know I did the right thing by leaving. Just ask her father. I probably saved her life. Guys like me weren’t meant for a woman like her. These and similar phrases have become my mantra. I figure if I keep repeating them, the reality will sink into my thick skull.

  She’s gone and there’s nothing to be done about it.

  Back at the hotel, I check the time and ration exactly thirty minutes on social media. Sam posted a few new photos on Instagram. I study her smile the way I was trained and damn, it reaches her eyes. She doesn’t miss me at all.

  What the fuck is wrong with me? Here I am, pining away, and she’s moving on. She’s happy as a pig in shit without me.

  Like always, my thumbs halt over the keyboard when I try to erase her contact information. Instead of calling her, I call my father.

  “Sebastian?”

  “Hey Dad.”

  There’s a long silence and I understand. We’re not close since he married the Southern Baptist Holy Roller.

  “Everything all right?”

  “Not exactly. I need to know how you managed, when Mom left us.”

  We never talk about the day my mother took off and never looked back. One day she was there and the next, she was gone. I came home from school and every reminder of her was removed from the house, right down to the skim milk and low-fat yogurt in the fridge.

  “Well, that’s a hell of a thing to ask me out of the blue…”

  Still wet from my run, I kick off my sneakers and grab a towel out of the bathroom. “I know. Listen, I was a kid and she was my mom. I got a right to know what happened.”

  “What happened, son? She left. Plain and simple.” His breath comes hard on the other side of the phone, like he was the one running, not me.

  “Surely, there was an incident or a fight or some reason?”

  “I could say yes to make you feel better but I was plum blindsided.”

  “How long before it didn’t hurt no more?”

  “Sebby? Most women can’t be trusted. You got to find yourself a God-fearing church gal. They stick with a man, no matter what.”

  My eyes roll so far back they almost fall out of my head. I should’ve known the call would turn into a bible-thumping revival. “I’ll do that.”

  “When you coming home to visit?”

  “Soon, Dad. Nice talkin’ to you.” I hang up, put my head in my hands, and sob for the little kid who lost his mom and never got to mourn her.

  Chapter 32

  Sam

  The FBI gives me the same ol’ office, reporting to the same ol’ boss. However, now I’m in charge of an artificial intelligence group in Ireland. They’re five hours ahead of my time so I start my day around four and don’t end until several hours after dinner.

  Today, I hurry back to my hotel in the dark, blessing the heavy snowflakes as they rest on my eyelashes. They are the perfect cover for my red nose and wet face. I’m tired of people giving me sympathetic looks because I can’t stop crying.

  I miss Suds and would beg him to take me back but Lucky’s wife insists he needs to come to me on his own. Give him some space, she said. But what if he never comes around?

  We’re so right together. Why can’t he understand?

  Inside my efficiency apartment, I drop my Chinese takeout on the table, grab a fork, and eat out of the cardboard containers. I ordered extra-spicy but like everything I’ve eaten since our breakup, it
tastes like cardboard.

  After a few bites, I toss it in the trash. Then, I find a chick flick on Netflix and cry myself to sleep. Later, I wake with his warm body spooned behind me and my heart leaps.

  “How did you-” Upon opening my swollen eyes, I moan.

  Shit. It was only a dream.

  Out the window, snow continues to fall so I turn on the weather channel. The last time it snowed this hard we were in Vermont.

  Tears well. Why couldn’t we talk things out like a regular couple?

  As has become my routine, I search social media but all I find is images of him with the famous Tiera. Was I a fling, too? With my English muffin stuck in my throat, I make some coffee to swallow past the hurt.

  How much longer should I wait before giving up entirely?

  Needing Suds to think I’ve moved on, I post some old pictures online of me in DC having a good time with a few friends. As I walk to work, I check my phone, wondering if he ever thinks about me.

  I am such a pathetic loser when it comes to love.

  Letting go my pride and contrary to all the advice I’ve been given, I text him for the first time in two weeks.

  Me: Hi

  It’s midmorning in London and he’s probably busy, so I don’t expect an answer right back. Even so, I hold my breath.

  Why am I doing this to myself? He’s the one who walked away. I can still picture the SUV as it disappeared and drove away, taking my life, my future, and my very soul with it.

  Slate’s wife, Lilac, explained the SEAL psyche. “They’re born for protection and you, my dear, rejected his.”

  She’s right. Despite all the laughs, the fun, and the amazing sex, we may never get over that primary hurdle.

  Suds: Hi

  My pulse races. How the hell should I respond? I should’ve thought this through better. I text the first thing that comes into my head.

  Me: Miss you.

  His answer doesn’t come until lunchtime.

  Suds: Don’t seem so.