Damaged Desires: A Frenemy, Military Romance

by LJ Evans

  He nodded. “It’s known as a Washington chess set. A gift from George himself to the family.”

  “To Nathaniel Wellsley?” I asked.

  Carson lifted heavy eyebrows in surprise. “You know of him?”

  I shook my head. “Only a few words from the tour Nash took me on earlier.”

  “Nash was supposed to be Nathaniel as well. But my sister, ever the rebel, decided at the last minute to break with tradition,” Carson said heavily.

  I couldn’t see Nash as a Nathaniel.

  “Tell me what you know,” Carson said, waving his hand at the board.

  I told him the little I did.

  He nodded. “That’s really all there is.”

  “Don’t believe him.” Nash’s voice journeyed from the door as he walked into the room. “There is always more to chess. It’s not unlike a war game with strategies and plays you make from a given playbook.”

  “Well, unfortunately, I’m not going to be much of a challenge.” I gave Carson a weak smile. “Now, if it were poker, I’d give you a run for your money.”

  Carson smiled. “Ah, another game where you must read the people as well as their hand. Chess is much the same. You have to get into the head of your opponent so you can see the steps they are going to take. You have to see their real move, which will be five ahead of the one they just made.”

  Carson switched the board, the white and black pieces turning.

  Nash grunted. “You’re letting her go second?”

  It seemed like the complete opposite of what you’d ever want as a kid―to be second—and yet, Nash’s words had made it sound like a gift.

  “Ignore him,” Carson said. “He doesn’t remember when I used to let him go second either.”

  Nash snorted. “You never allowed me to go second.”

  Carson smiled as if a sweet memory had crossed his mind. “I did. When you first played.”

  Nash rumbled in disbelief as he took a seat on a loveseat. It was white with gold embroidery that echoed in the gold leaf of the legs and the arch across the back of the seat. It felt like we were sitting in a museum we would be kicked out of. It was so unlike our house in Wilmington, which also had antiques but never looked like anything but a home, well lived in. Toys and knitting and books strewn around. Tennis rackets and sports gear discarded and forgotten by whoever had last used them.

  Carson moved a pawn, and Nash choked again.

  I glanced at him and then back. “If you wanted to play, you should have said something.”

  “He doesn’t play anymore,” Carson repeated.

  I made a move with my pawn that matched his. Nash made a noise again.

  I made to stand up, saying, “Seriously, do you want to play?”

  “God, no,” he said.

  “Then stop analyzing it. I’m going to be shit at it, but it’s the only way I’ll learn.”

  He got up from the couch and went to a bookshelf in the corner. When he came back, it was with a book that looked old and worn in a way that nothing else in the house did. It all looked old, but it all looked well-preserved. Not this book. I couldn’t read the title but was curious at what he’d picked up so easily. An old favorite.

  Carson moved another pawn, and I could almost feel Nash holding back his retort.

  We played this way in quiet.

  “Tell me why you made that move,” Carson prompted after a few minutes of silence, and it drew Nash’s eyes to us and the board again.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” I said back.

  Carson laughed, and even Nash’s lips curved up at the corners. “I’m not going to use it to my advantage. I was going to explain some of the strategies behind it to you.”

  “Ha, no way. You’ll just have to tell me when I’ve lost. I have two sisters, a brother, a father in the military, and a grandfather in politics. I know you never give away your strategy in the middle of the game.”

  Carson’s eyes twinkled. “I see why Nash likes you.”

  “Otter? Like anyone? Sure, he can charm. Seduce. Tease. But actually like? It’s impossible. It’s not in his makeup.”

  Nash made a pained noise again, and Carson’s smile widened. It looked so much like Nash’s that it seemed impossible for this man to just be an uncle instead of his father. As if the genes had been handed down one to the other instead of skipping through an X chromosome.

  We played for about an hour, with me slowly losing two or three pieces for every one of his. We continued to play even when Maribelle brought in peach cobbler on a tray. Nash carried the bowls away when we were done only to return to the loveseat. Maribelle joined him with some knitting, which made me ache for my mom and my grandma who did the same. I’d never had the patience or desire to learn how to knit.

  Eventually, I lost my queen, and I knew enough to know I was done for, but we continued until Carson called out, “Checkmate.”

  It was said with pleasure in his voice, like when you haven’t done something you enjoy in a very long time and suddenly can do it again.

  “I told you,” Nash said.

  I stuck my tongue out at him. “And I agreed I’d lose.” I turned back to Carson. “Tell me where I went wrong.”

  Carson got up, went to the desk, and then came back with a yellow legal pad and an embossed pen that had to cost as much as a pair of my designer shoes. He started explaining things I’d done right and wrong, going all the way back to my very first move of the pawn to block his. I was both surprised and not surprised at the number of steps he remembered, the number of moves we’d each made, and the possibilities he scattered down two pages of lines.

  “I see I have much to learn.”

  The grandfather clock in the entryway chimed, the music graceful and deep. I was amazed to find it was ten o’clock. It hadn’t felt like we’d been playing that long. As my brain wound down, my body reminded me it was still tired and recovering from the drama of the day before.

  I stood, stretching. “Thank you. For everything,” I said, looking from Carson, to Maribelle, and even to Nash. They were an odd combination. A woman old enough to be Carson’s mother but somehow not tied to the family at all, a man who acted like Nash’s father but was really an uncle, and a SEAL who refused to acknowledge them to the rest of the world. “I’m grateful to be here, but if I don’t go to sleep now, I’ll never be up for my morning meetings. So, goodnight.”

  Carson and Nash both rose as well—like we were in some historical novel.

  “It was a pleasure,” Carson spoke, the honesty resonating through his tone.

  “Goodnight, love,” Maribelle said. “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to tell Nash. His room is only three doors down from yours toward the stairs.” A mischievous smile returned to her lips that made me want to laugh. I just smiled and let her think what she wanted to. It wouldn’t hurt.

  I made my way out the door with Nash on my heels.

  “You don’t have to come. I think I can find my way,” I said.

  He didn’t respond, and he didn’t turn away. When we reached the stairs, he walked with me all the way to my room, well past the door that was supposedly his.

  “I’m sorry about that,” he said.

  “About what? Carson? Chess? It was all very enjoyable.”

  “It was a test,” he said, his arms crossed over his chest. A defensive move as much as it was a move of strength.

  “A test?” I asked.

  “Yes.” He uttered the words as if he didn’t want to.

  “A test for what?” I asked, trying not to smile at his glower.

  “It’s his way of judging people’s worthiness.”

  “Or maybe he was just a man wishing to play a game he loved.”

  He gave a sarcastic snort. “Carson does love his games, but that was not done from a desire to play. That was done from a desire to dissect you like he’s dissected any friend I ever brought home.”

  Like so many
of the emotions and words Nash had shared since we’d arrived on the estate, the bitterness in his tone was not one I was used to either. Anguish from the loss of his team. Sexiness filled with flirtation and desire. But never bitterness. I put a hand out to his arm, feeling a need to reassure him in some way. As if I could swipe at the screen and delete the hidden pain that was marking him.

  “I don’t care. There isn’t anything he can see that hasn’t already been seen by a million other people,” I told him. It was the truth. I’d been judged for years. The Hill was a fester of people who liked to play games. Who dissected every word instead of every move. “I have nothing to hide.”

  It was both a truth and a lie. One I was good at saying. I didn’t need to hide who I was or where I came from. My emotions, however, were very much buried behind my barbed wall. Nash was hiding more than emotions. He was hiding everything about where he came from. The Nash I’d thought I’d known was just a thin veneer on top of stacked layers beneath.

  Taunting me. Drawing me in. But I couldn’t let him. I turned away.

  “Goodnight,” I said, opening the door and going inside as he watched.

  As the ipecac syrup left my system, returning my body to its normal state, it allowed the heightened awareness of Nash to ease back in. I ached to touch him. I ached to be touched by him. But I wouldn’t be the one to make the mistake again. I wouldn’t straddle him with bare breasts or kiss him while he lifted a dumbbell from my arms. I was done making my moves on a man who would only regret it.

  ♫ ♫ ♫

  The sun was just chasing away the dark when my alarm went off. I groaned and then pulled my body from the bed which was not only beautiful but had been extremely comfortable. I put on my workout gear, pulled my hair up into a ponytail, tied my shoes, and headed down the stairs to the kitchen to fill my water bottle.

  When I opened the back door, the smells of the farm hit me first, followed by a brisk breeze that coasted over my skin. The summer weather had hung on later than normal this year, but it finally felt like the humidity and heat were breaking away as October moved into November. The rustle of leaves on the grass agreed.

  I took off down the path we’d taken the day before in the golf cart named Betsy, heading toward the fields and the pond at a steady pace. The lemon scent in the air was appealing to all of my senses today, bringing images of the Isle of Capri to mind. We’d gone there as a family when I’d been in high school. Our parents had wanted us to understand our heritage, and so we’d spent an entire summer in Italy on one of Dad’s sixty-day leaves. We’d stayed on the mainland but visited the island multiple times.

  My thoughts were on the island as I passed the greenhouses, but then I was drawn back to the unexplored land in front of me. More fields of plants I couldn’t define. More scents in the air, these spicy like basil and rosemary and thyme. I ran until I hit a gate that led to some sort of manufacturing building on the other side. The words Wellsley Place, Inc. were painted across the top of it. If I wasn’t seeing it all with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe Nash came from any of this.

  The thought brought back the tension from the night before between him and his uncle. It felt heavier than just Nash thumbing a nose at the family legacy for a military life he had no intention of giving up. It felt like sad stories were holding them both back.

  I left the gates behind, reversing my direction until I approached the pond again. The willow trees on the opposite bank called to me. I found a barely visible grass path that circled the water and followed it without much thought. The birds and wildlife came alive as I jogged, chirping, croaking, crunching in the bushes, but nothing to cause fear.

  Once I got to the willow trees, I slowed to a walk, the drooping fronds adding a dream-like quality to the morning. I eased my way through them, brushing them aside like I was dancing between the branches. It was cooler there, sending a slight shiver over my sweaty skin.

  On the other side of the trees, the path curved toward the gravel road once more, but I was reluctant to go back for some reason. My phone buzzed, and I sat down amongst the long blades of grass at the water’s edge, pulling my phone from the pocket of my yoga pants.

  BRADY: Are you awake?

  ME: If I wasn’t, I would be now.

  BRADY: Don’t try to make me feel bad. You’re always awake this early, babe.

  ME: Then why did you ask, BABE? And more importantly, why are you up this early?

  I emphasized “babe” to make sure he got the point that he wasn’t supposed to be using it.

  BRADY: ***eye roll emoji *** This house is too quiet. I’m already going insane.

  ME: It hasn’t even been a day. ** laughing emoji **

  BRADY: Unlike you, there with some sexy being to keep your heart pattering, I’m stuck with LEE and four BEHEMOTHS. I don’t even have Alice to flirt with.

  ME: You do know Alice is lesbian, right?

  BRADY: But she still flirts with me.

  ME: What do you really want?

  BRADY: I’m worried about the press.

  ME: Me too. I’ll spend some more time today heading them off at the pass.

  BRADY: I’m also worried about you.

  ME: Fiona isn’t going to find me here.

  BRADY: But what about when we come crawling back out of the woodwork?

  ME: Give the police some time to find her.

  BRADY: I know. It’s hard to be patient.

  ME: It’s never been my strength either.

  BRADY: Please be safe. Georgie and Mac would never forgive me if something happened to you.

  ME: I’ve got the Otter with me. Nothing is going to get past him.

  BRADY: It already did.

  ME: Which means he’s doubly diligent.

  I couldn’t help an impish smile because I was out in the middle of nowhere, jogging by myself, even with Nash on alert. His family and his past were distracting him. Regardless, he’d probably flip a lid when he found out. I lay back, looking up at the blue sky and the trees, listening to the pond softly lapping at the shore. It was so peaceful. I could almost go back to sleep. I closed my eyes, sighing.

  I heard a footfall on the gravel path and stilled, thoughts of Fiona having just left my brain. And even though I knew it was impossible, I didn’t want to give my place in the trees away. It was likely someone who worked for the family. We’d seen plenty of people at a distance the day before. The steps halted, and I stayed still.

  Then, the bush and trees were crashing apart as Nash’s voice, filled with alarm, hollered out, “Dani!”

  He stumbled to his knees next to me, lifting me partially off the ground into his arms and repeating my name with fear and anguish threaded through it.

  “Holy shit,” I said, wriggling against him. “Nash, stop. I’m fine.”

  My voice seemed to penetrate whatever place he’d gone. More than scared―petrified. The tough military man was shaking, and even as the fact that I was okay started to sink in, his face remained startlingly pale and distressed.

  I pushed harder and ended up on my knees, just like him, with our thighs bumping. He took me in, molecule by molecule, as if doubting my own words. I put one hand on his shoulder and one hand on his chin, drawing his face so that his eyes met mine. Panic lingered there.

  “Nash, I’m right here. I’m really all right.”

  His eyes slowly came back into focus. He exhaled a heavy breath and touched my face with his fingers before crushing me to him in a hug that could break bones. He buried his face in my neck. I returned the hug, wrapping my arms around him and holding on while he fought for control, every muscle in his body held taut, ready to fight if needed.

  Eventually, his arms dropped, and I reluctantly let him go. He sank into a seated position with his elbows on his knees, burying his head in his hands. I sat in a similar position but wrapped my arms around my legs so I wouldn’t be tempted to continue touching him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. His
voice was almost back to normal, the anxiety and fear slowly disappearing behind his concrete wall.

  “What the hell was that?” I asked.

  He shook his head, swallowing. “Don’t do that again,” he said, and now his words were hard and harsh.

  “Do what?”

  “Go jogging by yourself. Lie on the ground like you’re…like you’re…” He didn’t finish it, and I suddenly realized he’d thought I was seriously hurt. Dead. Dying. Why on Earth his brain went there first was beyond me, but I felt a stab of guilt for causing him that much fear.

  “I’m sorry. I… I honestly didn’t even think about telling you until I was already on my way back,” I told him. It was the truth. I hadn’t thought about how Nash would hate it until I’d been texting with Brady. I wasn’t accustomed to having to tell people my every move. To have people trailing after me. It wasn’t a life I wanted. If they didn’t catch Fiona soon, I was going to be more impatient than the country singer.

  Nash stood, sticking out a hand to help me up, and while I didn’t need the help, I let him do it anyway, regret that I’d caused him to go off the deep end filling me. When I was on my feet, he looked me over again, as if he didn’t trust my words or his own eyes. There wasn’t a mark on me except pieces of grass and trails of sweat from the steady run.

  He turned, dragging me by the hand back to the path, not letting go of my fingers as we walked toward the house. Our sweaty palms were sticky, but it didn’t prevent the energy between us from surging back and forth like always.

  I wondered if he needed the touch to stabilize him. Like I often used touch to center me back to the world I was in when the anxiety got to be too much. I wondered if this was somehow Nash’s response to what he’d lived through in Africa, finding Darren and the others dead. I wondered if I’d somehow looked like them and triggered a response he hadn’t been prepared for. My heart leaped, beating a thundering tune. More remorse filled me until I thought it would burst from my chest.

  We said nothing until we were back at the house. He would have gone in without a word, but I couldn’t do that. I pulled on his hand, halting him, doing what he had done for me in the elevator by rubbing a thumb on his palm.