Lucas - Anne L Parks

by Special Forces - Operation Alpha

  Four gold Navy Seal budweisers. Four silver Army Delta Force. Three silver Air Force Parajumper. Three other Marine Raiders. And one CIA pin.

  He lined up his skull and star Marine Raider pin at the end of the line of his eleven teammates, curled his hand into a tight fist, and pounded the pin into the top of the coffin. The sound reverberated in his ears like a death drum.

  He knelt beside the casket, one hand still covering his embedded insignia. “I’ve got your back, Mick. Your family is mine, and I will protect them to my dying breath.”

  He walked away from the casket without looking back. That was not Mick in there. His spirit was within Lucas—in all of the members of The 13—and in that tiny baby that Lucas couldn’t love more than if it were his own child.

  He joined his teammates as they gathered around a tree, away from the general population of mourners. A few people from other special forces commands joined them.

  Lucas felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find the familiar face of Captain Keane Bryson, Delta Force. Lucas had worked with Bryson’s Delta Force team in Afghanistan, on a mission not many outside of the deepest channels in the US government even knew about. Bryson’s team was in desperate need of a great sniper for the mission. Luckily for them, Lucas was there, so they got the best sniper in the country, at that time.

  “Ghost,” Lucas said, shaking the man’s hand. “It’s good to see you.”

  Bryson nodded, a grim smile on his lips. “Wish it were under better circumstances.”

  “How did you know Mick?”

  A deep chuckle came from the man’s chest. “Doc saved my life—hell, a good portion of my team’s lives—on more than one occasion.” He let out a low sigh. “God, that country sucked ass.”

  Afghanistan. It was a mantra anyone who had served there repeated in one form or another. Most referred to it simply as the shithole.

  Lucas felt a tug on his elbow. Lettie stood behind him. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

  “No, that’s fine,” Lucas said. Ghost stood next to him, looking at Lettie, waiting on an introduction. “Ghost, this is my wife, Scarlett. This is Captain Bryson.”

  “Keane,” Ghost said, and shook Lettie’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “And you, Captain.” Lettie turned her attention to Lucas. “Can I speak to you for a minute?”

  Ghost nodded to both of them and walked over to where Holt, Lance, and Riley were standing. Lucas grasped Lettie gently by the arm and directed her away from the group so they could have some privacy. For whatever reason, Lucas’s heart was beating as if he had run the o-course in record-breaking time.

  “Layla needs to go home. All of this, along with this mornings Braxton-Hicks episode, has her exhausted. I’m going to make sure she gets into bed without her family smothering her.”

  “Okay, I’ll come with you.”

  She placed her hand on his chest, and the heat from her touch began melting the ice that encapsulated his heart. “I think it’s best if I go alone. She asked if we would stay at the house with her. I think it’s a good idea—and I am definitely going to do it—but I understand if you would rather stay at the hotel.”

  “No,” Lucas said, placing his hand over hers. “I’ll go by the hotel, pack our stuff, and check out. Shouldn’t take me long. I can be back at the house in about an hour.”

  Lettie smiled. “Okay, I’ll see you there.”

  She turned and walked away, and something shifted inside Lucas. He was starting to remember why he had first fallen in love with Lettie. And it had nothing to do with how beautiful she was. She was one of the most caring people he had ever met. It’s part of what made her such a wonderful doctor.

  Somehow, he needed to find his way back to the Lettie he once knew. The one who made him thank god everyday that she was in his life.

  He just hoped this return of the woman he knew was the Lettie who was sticking around.

  Chapter 13

  Lucas dropped the suitcases on the floor at the end of the bed. Lettie closed the door to the room Layla had said they could use. Lettie had considered asking Layla for separate rooms, but wasn’t sure she wanted to have a discussion with Layla about how her marriage was falling apart. She also wasn’t sure how Lucas would react to people on his team finding out they were having marital problems.

  Hell, Layla wasn’t sure about much of anything anymore. During the funeral, Lucas had been cold, until she held his hand. Then he seemed to warm to her a little, and then a little more when she said she was going to stay with Layla in case she was needed.

  But now, he was looking at her the same as he had when they were talking in the hotel room this morning before they got the call about Layla. Thank goodness that had turned out to be a false alarm.

  “I just threw stuff in bags,” Lucas said, dropping onto the bed. The corners of his eyes and mouth dropped, and his shoulders sagged. He was exhausted, and she wanted desperately to just take him in her arms, stroke his hair, and offer him a safe place to just let go of everything.

  “No worries.” She sat in the chair across from him. “How are you doing?”

  He rubbed his eyes and exhaled long and slow. “I’m fine.” His tone was flat, with a hint of irritation. “It’s Layla we should be worried about.”

  “And we are, but she’s resting which is the best thing for her and the baby, right now.” She inched closer to the edge of her seat. Closer to him. Her arms rested on her legs and she clasped her hands in front of her. “But I can also be concerned about you, too. Today was tough on everyone—I can’t imagine how hard it was for you.”

  Silence fell between them, and it felt like hours before he looked at her. There was a coldness to his gaze that sent a shiver through her. “Yeah, it was. And completely unnecessary.”

  She tilted her head to the side. “Meaning, what?”

  “Meaning Mick shouldn’t have been there. You shouldn’t have been there.”

  “I didn’t ask to be kidnapped, Lucas.”

  “No, you never ask anything, Lettie. You just make decisions that affect everyone else, and damn the consequences. As long as it’s what you want, and it’s good for you—it has to be good for everyone.”

  “That’s not fair, Lucas. You act like our marital problems are all my fault.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You don’t have to—you have this whole wounded warrior act down. ‘My wife doesn’t understand me. She doesn’t get my job. She hates what I do and won’t listen to me.’”

  “Sounds accurate.”

  “Yeah, well, you never listened to me, either. You never tried to consider my feelings or my struggles. You just pouted about how I had changed. You never wanted to help me work through my feelings—you just wanted to tell me my feelings were wrong.” She stood and strode to the window, pulling back the curtain and looking out into the back yard. Two birds flitted and splashed in the birdbath. They were either playing or fighting—it was so hard to tell the difference. “That’s why I left. Because I wasn’t sure I could live with the constant battle between my head and my heart, and you seemed content to let me figure it out on my own.”

  Lucas stood and turned the knob on the door. She knew if he left, it was over. They would never get to a place again where they were both so vulnerable and open to talking things out. Something about death made people more open about the mistakes they’ve made in their lives, and eager to fix the things that are broken.

  She faced him, swiping at the tears rolling down her cheek. “Talk to me, Lucas. Yell at me, tell me you hate me. Say something! Hell, tell me to go—”

  He spun around and faced her. “That’s what you really want, isn’t it? A way out without placing any guilt on your conscience. End our marriage and put it all on me.”

  Throwing her hands in the air, she said, “Then tell me to stay. Just—please—talk to me.”

  Lucas ran his hands through his hair. His jaw was clenched so tight she could see a steady pulse in his ne
ck. “What do you want me to say? That I love you?”

  The words hit her like a train, nearly derailing her. “Do you?”

  He took a few heavy inhales and exhales through his nose, his gaze drilling into her. “Yes, but I also hate you, Lettie. I hate that you left. I hate that you made decisions without discussing anything with me. And now you want to talk?” He took a couple of steps toward her. “I wanted to talk a year ago. A month ago. But you refused. So, excuse me if talking is not on the top of the list of priorities. But that’s on you—not me. That’s what you wanted. And I listened.”

  She looked away and slumped against the window frame. “You’re right. I was selfish. I didn’t know how to deal with what I was feeling. And every time I tried to talk to you about it, we argued, and then I felt even worse…even more confused.”

  He snorted, wrapped his arms across his chest and widened his stance. “So, that’s my fault, too?”

  “No,” she shook her head and swallowed over the lump in her throat. “I left. I cut you out. I made decisions without your input.” She reached out for him but didn’t touch him. She guessed it was positive that he didn’t move away, but he also made no move toward her. “I was confused and a coward. But I’m here now, and I want to work on this—on us—and see if we can save our marriage.”

  “Is that what you want? To be married?”

  “Yes.”

  He shook his head and looked to the ceiling as if he was telling God, can you believe this shit?

  “I had a lot of time to think about what was really important—” she stepped in front of him and put her hands on his forearms. The muscles tensed, but he didn’t jerk away like she feared he would. “Every thought brought me back here. Back to you.”

  He inhaled deeply, and the exhale rolled through his body, but he kept his gaze on her. He also kept the scowl in place.

  So many emotions were assaulting her, and she feared she was on the precipice of either getting through to him, or losing him forever. “The question is: do you want to be married to me?”

  She could see his internal battle through his eyes, and wanted desperately to make this decision for him, also. But that’s not how their relationship could be any longer. She had to confront the good with the bad, and deal with issues head on. No more running away.

  He dropped his arms. “I don’t know.” And turned and walked out the door.

  Chapter 14

  A few blocks from where Layla and Lettie were, in the house Mick had inherited from his grandmother, was the house he had grown up in. In the basement of that house, was a fully stocked bar. Mick’s father, Aemon, was hosting a fond farewell for his son, with plenty of Irish whiskey flowing. Aemon and Mick’s two brothers, Archie and Thomas, were regaling Lucas and his teammates with stories of young, carefree, often stupid, Mick who never saw a challenge he wouldn’t take.

  Sometimes—to the horror of his poor mother—head on.

  When the memories turned to how the young McIntyre’s would try to find the fastest sleds to travers the big hill at the back of the property, The 13 grabbed up bottles of whiskey and headed out the door in search of the hill.

  Even though the temperatures had dropped, and the weather-guessers had been predicting snow for the past week, not a single flake was on the hill. Much to the dismay of the men.

  But Mick was due a proper send off, and the guys were due a few hours of not being ever vigilant in order to say their goodbyes to their fallen brother.

  By the time the whiskey was gone, and Lucas could stand without falling over, he made his way back to Layla’s house. Carefully, he opened the door to the garage into the house, surprised the kitchen light was still on. He poked his head into the room, expecting to see Lettie—disapproving look and all—sitting at the table nursing a cup of chamomile.

  Instead, he found Layla heating up some milk on the stove. She looked up at him and smiled. “Oh, dear. Did you leave Aemon any whiskey?”

  “Not much,” Lucas chuckled. “Where’s Lettie?”

  “In bed.” Layla took the pot of milk from the burner, poured it into a mug, waddled over to the table, and sunk into a chair. “After you left, my family showed up to ‘help take care of me’.” She used air quotes for the last few words. “About wore poor Lettie out. She was adamant that they let me rest, but my mother and grandmother were sure what I needed was a good cry over a large bowl of pasta.” She blew on her mug and took a sip. “That wife of yours sure is strong-willed. I never thought anyone could outhandle another human over my mother, but Lettie put my mother in her place.” She laughed. “I need to remember to thank her—and find out her secret.”

  Lucas didn’t say anything. Part of him was pleased and proud that Lettie had taken control of the situation and done what was best for Layla and the baby. But the anger had not completely subsided, and he still didn’t completely trust her, or what she said. It all sounded great now, but what happened the next time the going got tough? Would she stick it out or run away?

  Lucas knew if he opened his heart to her again, and she left, he would never recover. And he wasn’t sure he was willing to put his heart, or his sanity, on the line again.

  “She gave me the letter that Mick wrote to me,” Layla said. “And before you get mad, she did it because I said I was surprised he hadn’t left one. She told me that his last words were for me—which means his last thoughts were of me and this little peanut.” She looked down at her rounded belly and rubbed it. “I can’t tell you how much it calmed me to know he wasn’t alone at the end.”

  “I should’ve given it to you earlier,” Lucas said.

  “I’m not sure I would’ve been able to read it any earlier than when I did. It would’ve been too much for me. Once I was able to relax after my family departed, his words soothed me rather than ripping me apart.”

  It was a small consolation, but Lucas still felt like he had let Mick down by not being the one to deliver the letter to Layla. Or was it that Lucas felt he deserved the task because Mick was his best friend?

  “So, what’s going on with you two?” Layla asked. “Are you still upset with her for leaving?”

  Lucas shrugged. “Among other things, I guess.”

  “What other things?”

  Lucas shrugged again. He didn’t want to have a discussion with Layla about Mick’s death. She seemed to be in a good place at the moment, and he wasn’t going to be the cause of her breaking down over the loss of her husband.

  “Do you blame her for Mick’s death?” When he didn’t respond, she pushed the chair across from her out with her foot, and gestured for him to sit down. “If I’m not mad at her, or blaming her for what happened to Mick, then why are you? Do you think you have some superior claim to my grief?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Mick understood the risks involved in his chosen career. And I was not clueless about what could happen every time you guys went on a mission. Because we understood, we cherished every minute we had together—admittedly, some more than others. When he walked through that door, the first thing we did was thank God he came home unharmed and safe.”

  She pulled an envelope from the pocket of her robe and flattened it on the counter. Her name was in Mick’s handwriting, and Lucas recognized it instantly as the letter he had given Lettie.

  “This letter is not his greatest gift to me. His child is. Mick will live and breathe through this little miracle. So, take your anger and selfishness away from me and my baby. I don’t forgive, Lettie—because there is absolutely nothing to forgive her for. If anything, I am eternally grateful she was with him in his last conscious moments. And that she was here when I thought I was going into labor.”

  She reached across the table and grasped his hand in hers. He looked up into her eyes, and lost the battle to keep the tears at bay.

  “I’m thankful, Lucas. Just as you should be. Mick gave you a gift, also. A second chance at a life of love—a life you have been pining for over the last year. Don’t
throw away his gift because you are hurt and letting your pride get in the way of your heart.”

  She tipped the mug back, emptying it of all the milk, and stood with some manuevering. “I’m going to bed.” Rinsing out the cup in the sink, she dried her hands on a towel, and walked out of the kitchen, squeezing his shoulder as she passed him.

  He was so damn confused. He wanted things to go back to the way they were—when he and Lettie were happy, and love was new. But so much had happened, he wondered if they would ever feel that way about each other again.

  And what if you don’t? Does that mean the love that remains isn’t enough?

  His vision blurred, and a yawn escaped. Nothing was going to be settled tonight. Hopefully, with the dawn of a new day, light would erase all the doubts that lingered.

  Lettie had left the light on in the en suite bathroom, leaving the door open a sliver to provide Lucas with enough light to see around the unfamiliar room. He gazed upon her figure under the blankets. Her face was relaxed, lips slightly parted, her breathing soft.

  He flipped off the bathroom light switch, and let the ember that flared in his chest at her thoughtfulness spread throughout his chest. So many times he had not acknowledged the little things she had done for him to make his life easier. It wasn’t until she was gone, that he realized just how much she cared about him in a million little ways every day. And he wondered if she knew how much he appreciated her, even if he never said thank you.

  Slipping out of his clothes, he draped them over the arm of the chair, and slid into bed beside her, hoping he didn’t jostle the bed so much it woke her.

  “Lucas?” Her voice had that sleepy, sultriness he loved.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Go back to sleep.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Late.”

  She tossed back the covers and slung her legs over the edge of the bed, sitting. “I should go check on Layla,” she said through a yawn as she rubbed sleep from her eyes.