Legacy: A Salvation Society Novel

by Rachel Robinson

  Luke: Why aren’t you sleeping?

  She takes a while to reply.

  Aarabelle: Your car got me so excited, I can’t calm myself down.

  She ends it with a winky face, and continues.

  Aarabelle: Do you have parties with Chase a lot?

  Sighing, the sick feeling returns to my stomach.

  Luke: Sort of. Not really. Like I mentioned, he’s big into the nightclub scene. It goes hand in hand with the celebrity scene.

  Aarabelle: I got that impression. He gives off the lecherous, energy drink and blow by the pool in Vegas vibe. Owns a tiger. Has a few girlfriends a decade or so younger than him. Am I close?

  Her assessment is pretty accurate. Although his lion stays at a private zoo in Texas. He visits a couple times a year and brings an entourage to show it off.

  Luke: He recognized you as Henry’s ex.

  I’m not sure why I sent that message. Maybe I want to know what she has to say about him. More than she’s already told me. Because he’s an ex-boyfriend and knows her intimately.

  Aarabelle: Oh God. Do you think the other guys know?

  Probably not. No one gives a shit about celebs in our community. I only know because of Chase.

  I answer her as such, but she replies with the puking emoji.

  Luke: From celebrity scandal to the SEAL Teams. Admit it, that’s kind of weird.

  My message is meant to diffuse, but recognize she may take offense.

  Aarabelle: If the Teams weren’t so adamant about letting me go through training when I graduated the Naval Academy, I never would have traveled to the U.K. I never would have met Durnin in that dirty pub. If you’re going to call anything weird, it should be the government for not letting me roll in with my graduating class.

  I get it. The hostility. I like it. She texts once again.

  Aarabelle: Oh my gosh. You will never believe what happened. This woman on the show just ran from the altar when she saw the guy she was supposed to marry. He was a ginger. I can’t blame her. I’d never marry someone I hadn’t met before.

  Her attempt to deflect. Back to the mundane. I’ll allow it.

  Luke: What do you have against gingers?

  Aarabelle: They don’t have souls.

  I cackle at her inappropriate joke.

  Luke: I’m going to tell Mossimo you said so.

  He’s a ginger SEAL with a vendetta against ginger jokes.

  Luke: Just joking.

  There’s a drawn-out pause before my phone rings. It’s her. “Are you into actual phone calls like a grandmother?” I ask.

  She sighs into the receiver and the small noise travels straight to my cock. What the fuck is wrong with me? I have to be broken. I forwent an easy lay and popped a boner from a sigh. “No, I’m just in bed now and I don’t feel like texting. Can I come to your next party? I think I might need to talk to Chase.”

  Never. They can never cross paths again. My new life’s mission. “Sure, though he’s going to be traveling a lot for his work. He owns a nightclub in London.”

  “You’re kidding me. Small world.”

  I clear my throat as I sit straight in my chair. “Why do you want to talk to Chase?”

  “I don’t know. If he’s your oldest friend, maybe he’ll tell me some dirt on you. Something to hang over your head whenever you feel like blabbing about my secrets.”

  I’m relieved it has nothing to do with her ex. “I bring secrets to my grave. Don’t worry about that. Did the paps follow you home or were you good?”

  Aarabelle groans. “Yeah. But they left when they realized I wasn’t leaving my house. My mom said it should die down soon. The whole clamoring for information about me. Don’t think I’m pompous or anything like that. It’s just…I’m not used to the attention. I was a plain girl my whole life. Focused. Predictable.”

  Hot.

  “I have a brand-new life with an old start.” Her voice sounds sleepy. “My past is tainting my present.”

  It makes my lids half-mast. I push off my chair and make the trek to my master bedroom. It’s as I left it this morning. Immaculate. My cologne hangs in the air in my bathroom from when I changed for the get-together.

  “I don’t like that you live by yourself.”

  Aarabelle scoffs. “Don’t patronize me. Like I can’t take care of myself, Hart.”

  “You underestimate people. That’s the first rule of being a Team guy. Never underestimate your enemy. Always think they’re ten steps ahead of you. Assume they’re smarter. Stronger. Faster. Assume they will kill you before you can kill them.”

  She’s quiet as she lets that simmer. “That’s actually good information. Thanks, Hart.”

  “More than a pretty face,” I counter. “I’m the whole package.”

  “Your face isn’t pretty,” she replies. “It’s masculine.”

  “Masculine hot, or masculine grandpa?” I ask, half teasing, mostly not.

  “Hmmmm. You know you’re hot. You wouldn’t get all the club chicks if you weren’t.”

  I speak before thinking. “What if I don’t want the club chicks anymore? Am I hot enough for you?”

  Chapter Nine

  Aarabelle

  Luke wants to talk. For no other reason, that I can think of other than he was bored. Now, some would say that’s a reach because you’re admitting that he’s bored, but my argument is that he wanted to talk to me. Out of all of the people he could have texted, he sent me a message. Am I reading too far into this? I wasn’t until he asked if I thought he was hot. I’m staring at my ceiling fan beating the air ruthlessly, breathing—trying to think of a joke to diffuse whatever is happening right now. Sexual tension? Chemistry through shared hobbies and bonds?

  “I’m waiting. It’s not a hard question. I was doing a little searching and saw Henry’s photos online. Am I hotter than Henry?” Hart asks, an edge to his voice.

  “Every male on the face of the planet is hotter than Henry,” I retort. “What changes if I tell you if I think you’re hot? It doesn’t change anything. I’ll plead the fifth.” Henry is attractive in every way that Luke is not and vice versa. “You can’t compare apples to oranges, anyway. It’s invalid data.”

  Luke snickers. “I can’t believe you don’t think I’m more attractive than that douche bag.”

  “I work with you, Hart.”

  He groans. Where is he going with this? I’m confused, and happy, and all sorts of mixed up. The first thing I did when I got home from his house is pull up the HR notice about the new rules. I wanted to read specifically what Lt. Williams was pushing out to everyone. It’s the fourth directive. No interpersonal relationships between teammates. It’s vague to give the authority more power. If they gave specific guidelines, there would be loopholes. No interpersonal relationships between teammates has no loopholes.

  “We can pretend we don’t work together for a few minutes,” Luke says.

  I hold my breath. I’m on the border of spitting out the fourth directive but don’t. “Do you know how many people were against me? Didn’t want me to make it? You’re asking me to put everything in jeopardy to play pretend? If you cared about our friendship, you’d value that fact more.” Granted, it’s a new friendship and I don’t expect him to do as I ask, but if I get it out there now, maybe it will tamp down on his advances and I could stop daydreaming about his stupid dimples. His full lips. Blue, glacier eyes that narrow when he looks at me. Oh, God. I hate myself right now. Literally as I’m preaching to him about morality and upholding high standards, I’m thinking of his body and what I want to do to it.

  “You’re my type, Aarabelle.” My name on his lips halts my heartbeat for a second. Then another. I don’t breathe. “You’ve been my type. You don’t have to worry about your career being in jeopardy. I’m not telling anyone anything. So, if the fact that I think you’re the hottest fucking creature on Earth gets out, that’s on you.”

  “That’s…well, that’s a strong statement.”

  “Don’t fling
the rules around. I know the fourth decree by heart. I’m not breaking any of them.” Yet, I think. His admission only sets my thoughts on fire. Can I go there? Without going there? Of course. But it’s a step into dangerous waters.

  “Fine. I think you’re hotter than Henry Durnin,” I admit. “You’re built better.”

  “I’m not a car, Dempsey,” he jokes. “But good to know. The guy seemed a little weak in the wrists in all the photos I saw.”

  I roll over in bed, the phone making my ear hot. “I can’t believe you went online and looked for him. You definitely saw the photo then. And probably the fantastically ugly images of me plastered next to it.”

  He clears his throat. That’s an affirmative. “He knows what he’s missing. Trust me. Guys don’t just let girls like you go and not think of them every day for the rest of their lives. That’s science.”

  “Do you think of a woman every day? Is that why you don’t date? Is there someone out there taking up the corners?” It would make sense why it seems he guards his heart.

  “No. All my corners have caution tape and venomous snakes,” he spits back.

  “Okay, well that theory is out the window. Do you spend as much time talking to me as you do to your club chicks?”

  There’s no hesitation. “No. Not at all. They don’t bring much to the table in the way of interesting facts.”

  “You think I’m the hottest creature in the world and you think I’m interesting? How much have you had to drink tonight, Hart? You sure you’re okay right now?”

  “I’m okay now,” he says.

  “Okay,” I say back.

  “I’m going to sleep,” he says. “I just needed to hear that you thought I was hot.”

  “Real mature, Hart.”

  “Listen, no one promised you maturity on the Teams. Just that you’d have the time of your life.”

  “You’re going to give me the time of my life, or the Teams are?”

  He laughs, and it makes my stomach flip. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” There’s a pregnant pause in which I’m questioning my sanity for at least the tenth time today. He says, “Working out early. I’m heading to bed.”

  “Me, too,” I reply. “Before the sun rises.”

  Hart is quiet again. “Night, Aara.”

  There wasn’t any car talk there. “Night, Luke.” The line goes dead.

  Now there’s zero chance of me going to sleep without him in my dreams. Filling up every single corner.

  It’s day four of skydiving. The first three days a Jump Master held my hand—someone who has a massive number of jumps and is fully capable of handling himself and me if shit goes sideways while we float in the atmosphere. All day today, I was jumping out all by my lonesome. The first time completely solo I thought for sure one of the few terrible things that they taught me about would happen. I checked the altimeter on my wrist near constantly until I got to the highest acceptable height to pull my chute. Once I was under canopy with the toggle handles to guide me down in my hands, I felt an immense sense of relief. More than I felt when Hell Week was over. I didn’t die. I can land without hurting myself because I don’t weigh two hundred plus pounds like my teammates do. They blow knees and hurt ligaments on their skydiving landings because they come down like sacks of bricks.

  Luckily, I wasn’t in Luke’s group while I was learning, the drop zone employees are specially trained to teach SEALs here. Luke has jumped hundreds of times so he’s with the veterans doing complicated formations in the sky. They link up with hands and pull away from each other and land in tight knit groups together. It’s impressive how comfortable they are, and I cannot wait until I get to that point—the level of confidence where I don’t want to pee my pants when I see the person in front of me drop out of the plane door like a satchel of rocks.

  We’re packing our chutes under the watchful eye of the masters when Luke’s group saunters up, chattering animatedly from the adrenaline rush that accompanies falling from the sky. He spots me and takes the spot next to me and begins the process of laying out the parachute and folding it ever so carefully. I never realized how important this step was in the process. If you fumble here, you’ll fumble in the sky.

  He settles in next to me. “How was it?” His eyes sparkle when they meet mine. Dagger catches my eye. He’s across from us. I try not to overthink him looking at us, but since hanging out with Luke at his house I feel differently toward him, and my subconscious tells me it shows outwardly.

  I don’t take my eyes off the soft material. “The most amazing feeling in the entire world.” The fold I’m on takes longer than it should. “The formations you guys were making looked pretty awesome.”

  “You’re up next, Little Dempsey.”

  “What? Not today. It’s too soon. The new guys aren’t joining formations yet. That’s like next level shit.” I think about Sanders who is petrified of heights and how much he’s struggled the past days. He’s sitting with a group, his head between his knees. He hasn’t stopped shaking yet. Also of note, his fear hasn’t stopped him from doing the damn thing either. I don’t envy his strength at the moment. I’m relieved I don’t have to sympathize. And therein lies the Type A issues. Having someone’s back and also wanting to have a better back than them.

  Luke clears his throat. “I’m joking. You guys would kill us all. I recall that out-of-control feeling when I was first learning. Scary as fuck.” He laughs, not even looking at his chute as he folds. It’s autopilot for him. “Do you want to come out for drinks when we get back? In Dagger’s room.”

  We stay at hotels when we travel for training. Some destinations don’t have bases, and it makes it easier. We have our own rooms. It’s a neutral playing field. There aren’t women’s and men’s facilities separating us.

  I groan. “I heard about Dagger’s three Tinder dates last night. At the same time.” I smirk when I feel Hart’s eyes on my face. “I don’t want to have any part of witnessing that and also that’s not really going out for drinks. It’s staying in for drinks.”

  “Hey, it’s our last night here. You’re jumping out of planes by yourself. That’s kind of a big deal.” He’s already surpassed my progress in folding and that annoys me. I try to speed up, but maintain accuracy. “Also, no paps will be in Dagger’s hotel room. It’s easier.”

  Cringing, I mentally agree. Whenever I go anywhere, even here, out of state, the media finds a way to locate me. The feeling is sort of seedy, almost like I never truly left the circus surrounding Henry’s scandal. It’s the same, but also completely different. “Fine,” I agree. “But are you sure they want me there?”

  Dagger is still watching me. Sighing, I think about how strange the integration has been. There’s one female civilian jump instructor here and other than that, I am surrounded by men. My fellow FNGs from my BUD/S class treat me with respect, and a bit of normalcy. Save for Luke, the veterans sort of pretend I don’t exist. They’re irritated that my presence changed things. I can’t help the media curiosity. My mom pushed out the interview piece, and while it did quell some of the rumors, it didn’t do anything to abate their scrutiny. It’s not going away. Lt. Williams doubts it will die down at all until another few females make it on to the teams. “If they don’t want to hang out with me, I don’t want to force it, Hart.”

  “Listen, we’d usually be out at a bar the last night of a trip. You make it easier to stay in. And Tinder,” he adds, when he looks at his friend.

  “Maybe I should Tinder,” I muse. “Be more like my guys.”

  Hart scoffs, finishing his pack. “Do not Tinder. That would give them something else to gossip about.”

  “Like I couldn’t hide it if I wanted to. Pssssh. You of little faith.”

  He sighs, and raises two middle fingers to Dagger before standing, putting his parachute back on. At least he felt the heated stare, too. “Hurry up, Little Dempsey. I’m taking you up.”

  “What?” I choke on the word, and the person watching me fold makes a correction, t
hen moves me out of the way to finish the job properly. So I don’t die.

  He raises one brow. “Unless you’re not ready after four days. Our plane is gassed and ready.” Luke looks at his wrist. “We have time for one more.”

  Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. The OIC agrees that it will be good if we mix company to gain skills. The Officer in Charge’s opinion seals my fate. How can I tell him that Luke’s presence makes me nervous on land and that my stupid body is going to betray me if I’m forced to jump out of a steel death trap with him? I don’t. Because this is part of the job.

  My birth father, Aaron, wasn’t pleased when I told him of my plans to be a Navy SEAL. He was even less impressed when I made it. He, too, was a SEAL and couldn’t understand my drive and desire to not only follow the footsteps of the man who stepped in and became a true father, but because the patriotism quite literally ran through my blood. His argument was that I wasn’t capable of handling everything that was part of the job.

  As I trudge behind Luke Hart, trying my best not to obsess over the smell of his sweat mixed with his deodorant, or is that body wash? Shampoo? I feel like, for the first time, I might know what Aaron was trying to say. Surely, he wasn’t talking about me falling for a man I can’t have, but maybe he understood that some challenges presented by the odd, and unfamiliar territory I would explore for the first time, would feel like a burden.

  Luke smiles over his shoulder when the engine roar becomes too loud for us to communicate easily. His goggles blessedly hide his eyes and the headphones obscure his dimples. I can’t let Luke Hart be my burden. We are to deploy together on a small ship off the coast of Africa soon. Together. I have to be stronger than this part of my job. Closing my eyes, I step into the plane, ducking my head and take my seat against the wall.