Legacy: A Salvation Society Novel

by Rachel Robinson

  Like Luke and his parachute folding. I put him on autopilot. Except when we’re in the plane together, alone. He sets his gloved hand on mine. My heart pounds against my ribs double time. I glance at him and his smile is wide. I bet his palms aren’t sweaty like mine.

  I pull my hand out of his and give him the bull horns. It’s safe.

  His smile widens as I imagine the sound of his laugh over the roar of the plane taking off. Drumming my fingers on my thighs, I try and fail at controlling my reaction to him. The heat radiating from his side against mine captivates my senses. He makes signals with his hands I’m familiar with after days of practicing and testing. We’re jumping out together as I suspected, but we’re holding both of our hands instead of just one. It’s the smallest formation we can make. My mind goes blank except for protocol—everything I need to remember. Which would seem like a lot for such a simple action.

  The pilot signals that we’ve reached the proper altitude by flicking on a green light riding above the hatch. Hart stands, opens the door and turns to face me. I’m momentarily blindsided by the wide smile flashing my way, but compose myself and nod my head. I realized early on that I can’t look down when I’m jumping out. I can look before my feet leave the plane to gauge where I’m at in relation to the landing zone, but not while I’m flinging myself out. Luke holds on to me and we count down. The goggles are pinching my nose and I don’t like how the helmet makes my head itch—this is part of it. I focus on that I’m doing something my peers, who are new at this, haven’t done yet.

  We tumble out of the plane at a speed that doesn’t feel nearly as fast as it actually is. He kept a hold of my arm the whole time and for that, I’m grateful and annoyed. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on making the perfect shape with my body to balance my weight. Arms out, legs bent a bit, yet separated, and my chest placed at the right angle to keep from bowing forward or backward and spiraling out of control. I check my altimeter, and only then, when I’m sure I’m under control, do I look at Luke’s face. He glides around gracefully, his body part wind, extending his hands to grab mine. His cheeks are flapping, and I’m sure mine are doing the same. The air rushes around us. My senses are overwhelmed with adrenaline so strong that it wallops me.

  Before we pull apart to pull our chutes at a safe distance, my pulse ricochets.

  Falling is easy when I’m holding Luke Hart’s hands.

  I’m sitting cross-legged on a chair in Dagger’s room—rather, his suite. It’s larger than my room, but I assume it’s because I’m new. I sat here because it was far away from the beds. I pull my feet under me and take a sip of the drink Dagger handed me when I walked in. He greeted me like it was his hometown bar. It kind of is—bottles of every type of liquor you can think of line the desk in the corner of the room. There’s no piss beer in sight tonight. Sanders came with me and so did a new guy named Milo whom I haven’t had much interaction with. It’s Dagger, Luke, Mossimo, a man they call Babe, and three women of questionable background all drinking and shooting the shit.

  Dagger announces that we should play a game and how he’d be upset if we didn’t take this opportunity when we’re forced to congregate indoors instead of at an establishment. I look away. It’s my fault. The OIC of training shut down all extracurriculars outside of skydiving and didn’t say why, but everyone knows. They see the media when we leave base and hotels. SEALs are used to being undercover operators, doing business in the cover of darkness—never in the spotlight. By being female, I threw on the light switch—more like a spotlight aimed at special operations.

  “Medusa,” Dagger announces, pouring shots into red cups. “Everyone get into a circle around this table.” He picks up a coffee table from in front of the sofa next to me and places it in an open space near the window.

  I crinkle my brow. “How do you play?”

  “Yeah, I’ve never played this one,” one of the women says, tone annoyed and whiny.

  Dagger, a man that exudes confidence at all times, explains the game. The confidence trails from work, where he’s damn near perfect at many things, to something as asinine as explaining a drinking game no one has heard of. As he tells us how to play, he fills dozens of red cups with a shot sized amount of alcohol. My eyes bug out as I realize I’m about to go toe to toe with men three times my size, with booze. Lightweight isn’t a term I’d use to describe myself in any other scenario.

  “I’ll be the counter,” Luke says.

  “We stare at the table, and then look up at someone on the count of three, and if both people are looking at each other we take a shot?” the woman Babe is draped over asks.

  Dagger lifts and lowers his shoulders a few times. “You got it.”

  Luke holds my gaze as I digest the rules. Exactly what I have to avoid if I’m going to return to my room walking later. Never look at Luke Hart. Got it. I’ll win for sure.

  Luke announces we’re starting as Dagger pours a few more shots. “We go until all these are gone.”

  I gulp and tip my head down, searching for a red cup that looks less full than others. This is supposed to be fun, not survival of the fittest. Then again, this is part of comradery and I’m grateful to be mingling. Even if it means risking my feelings for Hart on blatant display.

  “Three, two, one,” is called out and I lift my head, decidedly glaring at the blonde woman on the side of Mossimo. He’s looking at the brunette woman Babe has claimed. Safe.

  Sort of. Hart was looking at me—his gaze like a lit match to my core. My stomach flipping and my muted desire is explosive. There’s false whining as those who looked at each other take their shot. The next round is the same. I look at Sanders next to me, but he looks at one of the other women. Luke’s gaze is on me. My heart hammers, and I swallow down panic tinged lust. I don’t dare meet his eyes even now, when it’s safe. I offer a fake laugh as my teammates take their shot and pretend to be pleased. I want a hit of his blue eyes soaking into mine, the damn dimple popping when his smile pulls to one side making one eye crinkle.

  I close my eyes and get into the ready position before Luke says it’s time. The scent of vodka fills the air as I look down at the cups.

  Dagger snickers. “Not one shot yet, Dempsey?”

  My head darts up. “Just lucky. I’m always pretty lucky with games like this.”

  I can see Luke smirk from the opposite side of the circle in my peripheral vision. “Bullshit. You better drink this time.”

  “Why? I want to win. Also, I want to walk out of here tonight without a hangover tomorrow morning.”

  Sanders chimes in. “Drinking is winning, Dempsey. Come on. You know that.”

  I fold my arms across my chest. “Are we going to debate this all night or are you stalling because you know I’m going to kick your ass?”

  “Let’s move. Everyone shifts around to different spots in the circle. Head down, eyes closed.”

  “Brilliant,” the blonde scoffs. “We can trip all over each other.”

  There is snickering as we move around the table. I’m about to stop a few feet from where I was before, but at a touch, a warm, firm grasp on my waist, my eyes fly open as I peer behind my shoulder. Luke licks his lips, disobeying the rules, eyes open as he moves around Dagger and Milo to stand away from me.

  If I thought ignoring him electrified my body, now that he’s made a blatant pass at me in front of our teammates, I’m turned on beyond measure and sort of horrified. Everyone around us is stumbling into their places, unaware. Hart must have noticed and used the opportunity to flummox me completely. I hate that he knows what he does to me. The adrenaline coursing my veins makes me feel jittery. I’m the one who needs the shots more than anyone else.

  Luke counts down, and I don’t look up when it’s time, I keep my face pointed at the shots. What the hell am I doing? Focus, Aara. Focus.

  I close my eyes and try to take a few deep breaths. How do I expect to be a goddamn operator when being next to him is akin to a nuclear bomb of testosterone?

&n
bsp; Sanders is across from me in the circle. When I chance a look up, everyone is staring at me. Dagger narrows his eyes at Hart. “You’re cheating, fucker. You’re looking at Dempsey every time.”

  “It’s a strategy,” he replies, lifting and lowering one shoulder. “Don’t hate the player, bro.”

  I do the unthinkable. I meet Luke’s eyes. A mistake. A relief. Everything rolled into one. Just as I imagined, the smile is perfect, the hue of blue is dreamy, and also as I suspected, my stomach leaps to my throat.

  “Drink, then,” I say, leaning over to pick up a cup for myself. “Fair is fair.”

  We take the shot. Then we take the next six shots, too because I look at him and he looks at me. Every round. There’s no question of if we’ll switch it up. The sexual tension is fever pitch level, a maddening and cumbersome feeling in my chest. My body is vibrating with need. Skydiving with him only reinforced what I already knew. The trust. The vigor which we both possess for life and country. It’s the elephant in the room in a land where elephants don’t exist. They can’t. They’re not naturally occurring. It caused the seemingly invisible string connecting us to forge itself in steel and bind impenetrable knots.

  Also, it’s a game I know I can’t win. I’m leaving here blitzed drunk, but at least I know I’ll have the courage to tell him to his face what I’m feeling. If I looked at someone else now, I’d let the man win. Tonight, the challenge tastes like vodka.

  Two shots remain on the table. Using one hand, I pick up both and hand one to Luke. Dagger is jumping up and down whooping—the noise is wild in the room and if I was sober, I’d probably fear getting the cops called. A little logic seeps in between the inebriated cracks as I tilt my head back, open my throat, and let the liquid slide down to warm my stomach even more. Cringing, I wipe a hand over my mouth and lean over to put my hands on my knees.

  “Gross, gross, gross.”

  Babe cackles. “Doesn’t count if it comes back up, Little Dempsey. Hold it!” I didn’t even know he knew my name. That’s a plus, I guess. Everyone disperses, some to the kitchenette, another to the restroom, and I do my best to keep the room from turning upside down.

  Milo pairs off with one of the women, whispering something into her ear. Dagger is tooling around on his phone, on Tinder, announcing names, ages, and bios as he swipes. That could be interesting. Doing my best, I’m trying to seem sober walk, I sit next to him on the edge of the bed.

  “She’s pretty.” I point at the girl on his phone and lean in to get a better look. “And she looks nice.”

  Dagger laughs but stops abruptly when Hart slings himself down in the chair next to the bed. Dagger scoots away from me, but I follow, I want to see. “Dempsey,” Dagger says, clearing his throat, looking at me sideways. “I’m not trying to find the nice ones. I’m trying to find the ‘looking for a good time tonight ones.’”

  Such a simplicity in that lifestyle. I’ve never had that. Not all the way. Even when I traveled to London, I knew my commitments were in the States and that I would return. My whole life would be laid out for me.

  “That easy, huh?” I ask, curious.

  “That easy.” Dagger swipes in whatever way means he’s not interested, and another woman comes on the screen. “She’s a mile down the road,” he explains, showing me her location.

  I crinkle my nose. “She’s not nearly as pretty as the other.”

  Hart chimes in with a firm tone. “They don’t have to be pretty, Dempsey.”

  My head swims when I hear the gruff salve of his voice. “No one asked you.” I wobble a bit, leaning toward Dagger. “That’s rude, too.”

  “You’re over there judging their looks against each other and I’m rude?” He looks stone-cold sober and I’m unsure how that’s possible. I’m drunker than I first thought.

  I ignore Luke and concentrate on Dagger’s phone. He’s in the private messages now, talking to the woman who is a mile away. I sigh and reach into my sweatshirt pocket for my own phone. My screen is littered with notifications of texts and social media alerts. I close them all out and download Tinder for myself.

  Dagger laughs. “Are you serious?”

  I shoot him a dirty look as he peers down at my screen. “Does it look like I’m serious? Help me set up my profile.”

  Dagger tentatively takes the phone from me, setting his aside. “You realize this is a horrible idea, right?”

  “You too? Hart said the same thing when I suggested it earlier today. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, right? If you can do it, so can I.”

  Luke clears his throat loudly, and Dagger’s gaze drags to his friend. I look between them and it’s obvious there’s a silent conversation happening. “Luke told you not to get dating apps?” Dagger asks, eyes narrowed at his friend.

  “Yes. I don’t know why. We’re equals.” I hiccup. Well in all ways except how we hold our alcohol. Definitely not equal there.

  Dagger grins. “I know why.”

  “Why?” I ask, and Hart looks away, leaning his elbows on his knees and placing his chin on his hands. Dagger doesn’t answer me. I’m an angry drunk and being ignored, well, it doesn’t bode well. “Why?” I ask louder.

  I will my eyes to laser a hole into the side of Dagger’s head, through his perfect hair. “Dagger,” I prompt.

  He looks around, a stealthy gesture, before he asks Luke, “When did you decide?”

  Hart starts bouncing one knee. “Decide what?”

  Dagger notices his agitation and his lips curl up to one side. “When did you decide that you wanted Dempsey for yourself?”

  I lose my breath. This was not a direction I anticipated. My face flushes even more than it already was. My cheeks get red when I drink. A botched attempt to stand up is ruined and I sit back down. “This cannot be happening,” I mutter to myself.

  Luke finally answers after watching my poor excuse to exit this conversation. “Fuck off, Dag.”

  Dagger’s jovial smile moves into rough laughter. “No, fuck her.” His voice is low as he speaks to his friend, pointing at me. “Get it out of your system. Then let’s move the hell on. You can’t be a broody asshole for much longer or other people are going to see through you. At least I’m calling it like I see it and I’m not going to tell anyone.”

  I cover my ears. “Hello, I’m sitting right here.”

  “I know,” Dagger says, turning his smile on me. “I’m talking to you too. This is obviously mutual.” He gestures between us. “The skydiving alone. These glares and games. Hart would blow an artery if you had a dude meet you here tonight. You want a dude to come over because you can’t have Hart. See? Fuck it out of your system and then let’s proceed.”

  Luke shakes his head vehemently. “Because she’s piss drunk. Someone might take advantage. That’s the only reason I’d be upset.”

  Why? Would he take advantage if given the chance?

  I cringe as I mentally transpose Henry’s face on top of Luke’s. “That’s offensive. I can take care of myself anytime. Even drunk.”

  Dagger bangs one hand on his thigh and stands. “A someone who isn’t you, Hart. That’s all this comes down to. You can’t have her so you don’t want anyone else to, either.”

  Luke rises from the chair, a tall, masculine drink of water. He runs his hands through his hair and stalks off to the other side of the suite where the brunette woman is dumping wine and vodka into the same cup. Dagger holds his liquor better than I do, too.

  “Listen, I could be wrong, but I’m rarely wrong, let’s be honest here. There’s something going on with him. He’s mean and gloomy.” Dagger looks at Luke. “More than the bastard usually is.” His gaze finds mine. I see two of him until I blink him into one person. “Ask him to leave. To go back to your room.”

  “What?” I throw a hand over my mouth when I realize how loud my exclamation is.

  Dagger rolls his eyes and steps away from me when Sanders rounds the corner, checking up on me. I smile, mostly with my eyes because my face is num
b. “We’re going to play a little prank and test him at the same time,” Dagger explains, voice low. He leans closer to my ear when he says, “If he leaves with you and goes back to your room. I’m right.”

  Seems simple, but there’s one problem with this plan. “I’m not some bait, man.”

  “Aren’t you the least bit curious to know if he feels the same way about you as you do about him?”

  I cross my arms across my chest. “Bold assumption.”

  “But true, nonetheless.”

  I stay quiet and roll my eyes. “I didn’t claw my way to get here to get kicked out for a dude.”

  “No one will know. Be covert. You are an operator. Are you not?”

  Do I smell a challenge? Gosh. Drunk Aara is angry, and she never turns away a challenge. It’s like he knows me.

  “You don’t have to fuck him. I mean you can if you want, I won’t tell anyone, promise. All I need is to see if he leaves with you.” Dagger snaps his finger and shakes it in the air a couple times. “Or tell him you have to go back to your room because you met a guy on Tinder and he’s coming over. I’ll be able to get a prime gauge on the motherfucker that way, too.”

  “You are devious,” I say, moving back. Liquid courage. “Is it true then? What everyone says about you? How you got your nickname?”

  The shark smile pops out. “I don’t entertain gossip, Little Dempsey. Go abate my curiosity with Hart and maybe we can talk.”

  I shrug. “Fine. Which plan do you want to execute?”

  Dagger looks positively evil, nostrils flared, rectangular jaw clenched, as he stares at his friend. “Go tell him you have a Tinder date. We’ll go from there.”

  Playing on the alpha male jealousy card. I like his style. I also feel kind of shitty because it is a lie. It doesn’t have to be a lie, though. I pull out my phone and haphazardly set everything up with the bare minimum and post a shot of myself in my camera roll. I’m leaning against a telephone booth in London. I’m wearing a tight-fitting dress and my hair is in a low ponytail. I’m smiling wide because Henry told me I looked like a snack and called me love, a nickname I was secretly obsessed with. Dagger sees what I’m doing and tries to talk me out of it.