He releases my hand and claps Luke on the chest. “We’ve been best friends since childhood. I’m one of the only people who can fuck with him and he can’t retaliate. Are you here for the party?” Chase asks, gaze flicking over my sloppy clothing.
I avoid eye contact with Hart. “I was just leaving,” I announce. “I’m also in the category of people he can’t retaliate against.” I make sure my smile is wide and true.
“Oh really,” Chase says, shoulders moving in a slick, sleazy way. “How do you know the infamous Hart?”
Luke speaks before I can. “I’ll walk you out.”
“Oh, I see,” Chase says.
“It’s not like that, dude. Back off. Meet me in the study. I’ll be there in a few.”
I sigh. “It’s not like what?”
“You had a date with him?” Chase asks, getting more confused about our dynamic by the second. “On family Sunday?” Ah, so this guy does know Hart well. “That’s a new one.” Chase looks at his friend, and then me.
Deflection by thinly veiled truths. “No, no, no. Not a date. Hart is bound to me for life.”
Luke laughs, shaking his head while Chase’s gaze flits back and forth between us.
“Walk me out, then. I don’t want to have to take your security guard out,” I deadpan. “Nice meeting you,” I toss over my shoulder as I exit. Chase is watching us closely, picking apart every movement. This invite over for family day meant more than I initially thought.
As we walk down the stairs to the drive, I say, “He’s a different sort of guy, Hart. Didn’t tell me about your party, huh? Didn’t want me to crash it?”
He explains that Chase is an old friend, what he does for work, and that he’s been close with him since childhood. He talks a little bit about the progression of Chase’s businesses and how he deals with his friend’s sleazy ways for reasons that benefit him. “The club chicks. He’s your source.” I brighten at my discovery. “Is that who Chantal is?”
His hand on the hood of my car, he lifts his eyes from the pavement. He’s not confused, he knows I heard them speaking. Expected it. Has my number. “She’s an ex of sorts. And yes, she works at one of his nightclubs.”
“You do have girlfriends,” I fire back, one brow raised.
The driveway is fully lit and the security lights are beaconing down on us so strongly it feels like afternoon instead of night. Luke’s tan skin appears alabaster in the glow. “No. She was a mistake. But I guess she was a good employee and Chase is pissed that I pissed her off.” Hart clears his throat. “Not that it’s any of your business or anything.”
I shrug. “Trying to understand you better. If we’re going to be friends, it helps.”
“You’re going to go back and tell the guys everything I say,” Luke says, tone accusing.
I smirk. “No. I’ll keep your girlfriends between us if that’s what you’re asking. Plus, I want to drive your cars, so I’ll keep on your good side if that’s what it takes.”
A breeze catches my hair and pastes it across my face, I pull it back quickly. “I’ll return the bathing suit and the clothes next time I see you outside of work.”
“Little Dempsey, I don’t let anyone drive my cars, and I can’t reiterate enough that I don’t have girlfriends.”
“Do you ever want girlfriends? Have you not met the right person?” I think of his parents. Of my parents. “Surely there’s more than a career in the Teams until you’re old and wrinkly.” His gaze is a cautious flail. I see the panic—the lies he tells himself. I don’t know why, though.
“Ah, you’re mistaken. That’s where the cars come in,” he replies, jaw clenching. “Maybe I have met the right woman. Maybe it’s not what I want.”
The salty ocean aroma seeps into my next breath and his face shutters.
Enough, Aara. Stop pressing him. “See you tomorrow, Hart. Don’t party too hard.”
He puts a hand on the roof of my Camry. “What do you have under the hood?”
I cross my arms. “Are you making fun of the Toyota? It is the most popular car in America, so you really can’t say much. It’s reliable.”
His eyes narrow. “You’re not really a reliable kind of car kind of woman…Aara.”
Pressing my lips together, I weigh whether or not to call him out. “Did you bring up my car so you could call me by my first name?”
“Maybe.”
Touché. No denial. “Fine, Luke. See you when we’re hurling ourselves out of airplanes.”
“I can’t wait to watch your face,” he says.
Swallowing hard, I get into the car and start it. Hart throws up the bull sign as I back out of the parking spot and leave the solace of his compound.
Chapter Eight
Luke
There are about twenty people here. The windows are open, so some are wandering out by the pool and others are haphazardly sprawling through my living room and kitchen. These aren’t my work friends, these are my old friends. I’m normally jovial, the perfect host making the rounds and taking shots with anyone who asks. Most definitely by this time of night, I’ve picked the woman who will spend the night with me. Chase invited new girls over tonight, but there’s something about the idea of having to talk to them that makes me tired. The bullshit is tiring. I’ll have to listen to a whiny voice, pretend to be interested in fuck knows what, and then play games until she’s in my bed and under my body. It’s exhausting.
I take a long swallow of the gin and tonic in my hand and press my teeth together against the sting of the alcohol. My father had a drinking problem for much of his life. A lot of SEALs I know have a drinking problem that they’d never categorize as such. What elite, alpha, type-A individual would fully admit to not having control over something in their life? Do I have a drinking problem? No. Do I drink more than I should? Yes. I’m more aware of the potential for disaster because of it. I’ve seen families torn apart, careers lost, and dreams squashed.
When the ice clinks against my teeth and the last drop is drained from the glass, I set it next to my sink. My dad would never tell me how to live my life, but I can see the darkness in his eyes when I mention a party, or tell a story that involves Chase. I have control. I’m aware. A dark-haired woman is on her knees next to my coffee table. She’s wearing a white mini skirt and a crop top. Her SoCal skin is tan, her smile is white, and her tits are perfect silicone balls riding high on her chest. There’s a crystal chandelier hanging in the center of the large room. It casts a cataclysmic rainbow of lights over everything it touches. When the girl leans over and snorts a line of coke off a mirror, she’s lit with purple. Then red and yellow as she reclines back on her knees, tilts her head up and makes sure her nose is clean.
I’m a D.O.D. employee and aside from alcohol, I don’t imbibe with my friends. I wouldn’t even if I could. Because that would relinquish control to a substance instead of my own mind. Chase calls out to me and I tip my chin at him. He gestures to the brunette. The easy win. If I wanted that. I shake my head and his brown, beady gaze grows curious. I can nearly hear the accusations telepathically. I sigh when he saunters over.
“She is literally a standard Luke Hart fuck. You’re acting weird tonight. What’s up?”
I can’t tell him how lonely I suddenly feel, or how Aarabelle Dempsey is still on my mind and how I wish she didn’t leave. But how embarrassed I’d be if she was still here is an even greater feeling. Because she’d see this fucking loose irreverent display before me. I’d have to explain it away, and then ask myself why I care. When I don’t respond, my eyes glued to the coked-up woman, Chase goes on, “Have another drink, tight ass. You wanted us to come over, remember? This was your idea.”
“Maybe it was a bad idea,” I snap.
He quirks one brow. “You forget who you’re talking to?”
“No, dude. I’m not in the mood for it. It was my idea last week. It was a bad idea tonight. Get them out.”
He shifts, uneasily. He’ll argue with me, sure. But I’m three times hi
s size, and he’d never bow up. His laugh is acerbic. “It’s that chick, isn’t it? The one that was here?”
“I never get twisted over a chick. Watch your fucking mouth,” I boom.
Chase steps back. “She was here on a Sunday. With your parents.”
He knows and I know he knows, but I can’t bring myself to admit it.
“You don’t know that,” I fire back. It’s a mistake. I sound defensive and he picks up on it.
He clears his throat, pleased with my answer. I fucking hate this prick. He’s good with people. It’s how he’s made it as far as he has. I swear it’s like he has another sense.
“She was here, and you liked that she was here. You must have fucked her because you’re turning away poor Brita over there, so it was that good?”
“Fuck you, man. I’m not talking about her with you. Go snort another line and you fuck Brita. At your own house. Get everyone out. I’m just tired, okay? I have an early morning.”
“You always have early mornings and never want the party to leave. Who is Aarabelle?”
I turn away. “I work with her, man. Look, I really don’t want to get into this with you.”
“Her face is memorable. She’s a dime piece. Even in her baggy ass clothes, I could see that. What is she, Intel at your base or something? You never shit where you eat, man. Something’s up. Spill it.”
I know what I tell him next is going to send the red flags up all over the place, but it needs to be said so he backs off and doesn’t twist this around for his benefit. “She’s just a friend, man. Just a friend. She’s, ah, the woman SEAL.”
He jumps back three steps like a toddler playing hopscotch. “Oh, oh, oh! You are bagging the first female SEAL! That make you a SEAL tapper? SEALs with benefits? SEAL Team sex? That has to be against HR rules, bro? I knew she looked familiar. Fuck, man! You know who her ex is, right?”
Of course, Chase knows about celebrity gossip. He lives it. Breathes it. Rolls in it. Snorts it for breakfast, I’m sure. I wait for him to go on.
“Henry Fucking Durnin. That singer all the ladies fucking drop their panties for. He fucked Aurora Ball on his fucking balcony next to my London club and Aarabelle saw a photo of it on the news the next day.” Jesus, it’s more depraved than I thought. “He played her like a guitar. I never understood what Durnin saw in a regular girl, though. Sure, she’s hot and all, but Aurora Ball. Celeb pussy. You can’t compare.”
I can see the appeal. Oh, man, can I ever. Aarabelle is any man’s wet dream. Hard to handle. A challenge. Beautiful. Intelligent. Durnin fucked up, and I bet he knows it. I can’t admit that to Chase though. He’s already on alert, and he runs his mouth louder than anyone I know. He was sitting in the passenger seat when I wrapped my car around a tree at age sixteen. He was the first to blather to my parents that it was my fault. The cops didn’t even know who was to blame. I didn’t talk to him for a month. I hold up one finger.
“First, I’m not fucking her. My dad…ordered me to be her friend because no one else would. She’s not my type at all. Obviously.” I wave my arm at the sofa filled with my type. Aara’s words, not mine, so it creates less guilt. “I’m just tired. That’s all.” Sometimes I think I’m tired of trying to keep up with Chase. That maybe I’m still submerged in this cluster fuck because it’s what I’m used to.
“You didn’t fuck her?” Chase’s eyes sear into mine.
I shake my head. “You’re right about one thing, there are rules. I can’t touch her. I’m just showing her the ropes. She had questions about training and I was being a good teammate.”
“But you do find her attractive,” he bites. He’s fishing.
“She’s me in woman form. Why would I find that attractive?”
He scratches his two-day stubble as he thinks. He says ladies love the jaw shadow. Too much and you’re shaggy, too little and you’re lame.
“Your dad can’t order you around,” he says, letting his gaze flick to the room around us. “You’ve never let him in the past.”
I palm the counter to the side of me. “Sometimes you do things because they’re the right thing to do.” Something he has had little exposure to.
“Luke Hart takes a charity case. Never thought I’d see the day.”
I wince. I can’t help it. These lies are a necessary evil. “She’s Dempsey’s daughter, man. My dad’s Team guy friend. It’s a huge charity case. I bet she ends up having a dick when it’s all said and done. There’s no other explanation as to why she made it through training.”
At that, Chase laughs. I swallow down the regret I immediately feel at saying things about a woman who is making me feel things for the first time in my life.
“I’ll call security and let him know everyone is leaving.” He’ll want to make sure everyone is accounted for, and that no one is hiding on my property. “I’m sorry, man,” I edge, trying to lay on the niceties. “I really am tired tonight. Just want to get to bed.”
Chase collects his bong, and his posse starts cleaning drugs off the coffee table after I call out that my house is closing. The brunette in white lingers by the door, at Chase’s command, I’m sure. Her pupils are enormous, and her breath smells like a combination of weed and sour beer.
I hold my breath when she says, “Luke, hey, do you want company tonight?”
“No.” My hand on the large front door, I gesture for her to leave. “Thanks for the offer though.” Her ankle buckles sideways on the high heels and I catch her arm and elbow before she goes down.
She says something about wanting to see my bedroom and how upset it makes her, but I continue walking her down the front steps down to the driveway. There’s no way she’d make it without help. My friend takes her from me when I get to his Maserati.
“Come on, sweetie. We’ll go back to my place.”
I raise my brows. “Yeah. Have fun with that.”
I salute my friend in a fuck off way and retreat to my house and lock the door. The skunk smell is wafting in from the patio, so I close the window with a click of a button and make my way to the office. As a SEAL, it’s not like I have that many things to do inside of an office, but this was where the office was when I was growing up. Where my mom worked most of her days. I kept it here mostly because it’s a smaller space and wasn’t sure what else to do with it.
I replaced her modern chrome desk that wrapped along the windowed wall with a huge mahogany desk placed directly in the center of the circular room. Bookshelves from floor to ceiling wrap around me, filling the room with colorful spines. Books on everything and anything. I take in the smoky, earthy scent of the wood as I sit down and open my laptop,
I pull up the search bar and type in Henry Durnin. After I’ve learned as much as I can about his background that may or may not be true, I type in his name and Aurora Ball. I know who she is. Everyone knows who she is. It’s one of those household names that pops up on the news because of some harebrained stunt she pulled on her reality show. Or how her parents gifted her another island in the South Pacific. I only know major headlines that find their way to me, nothing more. Literally, the first image that pops up after I search is the one Chase mentioned earlier. It has to be taken by a drone because of the height and angle. Henry is balls deep, Aurora’s legs wrapped around his waist, her bare ass on display because her dress is hiked up, and his hands grip her thighs. I click on, eager to discover more. There she is. Aarabelle Dempsey, her name under an unflattering photo of her. She’s dragging a suitcase to a car and it says it’s supposedly the very next day after the drone photo posted online. I won’t deny that it’s scandalous and intriguing.
I understand why a lot of people get caught up in following other people’s lives, but I know her. It pisses me off. There’s another photo of Aarabelle laughing in a café with Henry before the scandal. Her eyes are bright and her smile lights up the screen. Did it light up his world too? Did he not appreciate her enough? Or was the thrill of Aurora’s pussy too much—the allure of the famous too strong to
deny?
My cell phone is next to me on the desk. I think about texting Little Dempsey. It’s late. Does she go to sleep early because she wakes up before dawn to train? Like me? There’s a box of chocolates my mom brought me home from Paris. She went with her best friend, Morganna, and Marley. I open the intricate wooden lid and unwrap a green foil. My favorite ones.
When I click on Aarabelle’s name in my contacts, my stomach flips. I feel sick for the lies I told Chase. I had to, I tell myself. Keeping my distance is critical, especially now. I send off a warm-up text. A feeler. The one that could be taken a couple of different ways.
Luke: You up?
She replies immediately.
Aarabelle: Reality TV is only acceptable after 10 P.M. I’m up.
I laugh.
Luke: What are you watching?
Aarabelle: The one where they don’t meet until they get married.
I chew the chocolate—savoring it. Sort of like her words. Erasing the last two hours of my life. The house cleaner texts to say she’ll be here early tomorrow, and I swipe it away.
Luke: Reality television is the worst.
Now I’m looking for cracks in her sheen. Snagging celebrities as boyfriends, but then getting cheated on, so that one doesn’t count as much as it could have. Passing BUD/S training and becoming a SEAL. Knowledge of cars. A body like I’ve never seen before.
Aarabelle: It is the worst. I blame Marissa for getting me hooked on this one. How is your party going?
Luke: Sent them home. I’m tired.
Aarabelle: Why are you texting me? Go to sleep.
Leaning back in my chair, propping my feet up, I think about what to say next.
Legacy: A Salvation Society Novel Page 8