Fighting the Fire: A Warrior Fight Club Novel

by Kaye, Laura

  For now.

  What did surprise him was that she didn’t respond to his texts for the rest of the day. Not when he asked her opinion on two comforter sets he was considering at Target for the guest bedroom. Not when he texted her a photo of his freezer newly stocked with popsicles. And not when he sent her a ‘Deadpool’ meme that read, “If your left leg is Thanksgiving and your right leg is Christmas, can I visit you between the holidays?”

  But most surprising of all was that she didn’t respond when he texted her after the home inspection the next day.

  It went fuckin’ fantastic. The man who came was laid back and outgoing and totally put Sean at ease. The guy loved Sean’s basement and thought kids would flip out to get to spend time there. He didn’t see any problems and thought they’d be in touch with him next week given that tomorrow was the 4th.

  He thought for sure Dani would respond to that news.

  When she didn’t, he called her…and got her voicemail.

  Sean had no idea how to read any of that, but what he did know was that something felt very, very wrong. And he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dani had been sitting on her living room couch since midnight the night before. She was halfway through the sixth anniversary of Anthony’s death.

  Her comfiest blanket piled on her lap, Dani had spent a lot of that last thirteen hours staring at an envelope—the envelope that contained Anthony’s just-in-case letter.

  They’d both written one. Neither had ever expected for theirs to be read. Hers never had because she’d survived. But his hadn’t been read either—because Dani had felt so guilty for not being at Anthony’s side, for not even knowing he’d died until hours later, that she hadn’t felt entitled to whatever comfort his last words to her might’ve offered.

  Survivor’s guilt was a bitch.

  It got its talons deep into your skull and whispered all kinds of insidious little lies into your heart.

  If you hadn’t insisted on doing aeromedical evac, you might’ve been there for him when it mattered most.

  He would be disappointed in you for not being brave enough to face what he had to say.

  It should’ve been you.

  Every year, she’d revisited those feelings, and found them still present in her mind and her heart. Sometimes they got quiet enough that she thought maybe they were finally gone, but July 3rd always came around to prove that they were still very much there.

  Which was why, six years later, she still had the envelope. Worn now from her handling it year after year. One piece of the back unsealed from when she’d almost worked up the courage to open it last year.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been braver, Anthony,” she whispered, tears forming a knot in her throat.

  From where her cell was charging in her bedroom, she heard another incoming text message. She’d finally moved it to the charger in there instead of keeping it within hand’s reach out here on the couch—because Sean had been texting her on and off. And she’d just needed the space to work through all of this without being tempted to chat with him or laugh at his jokes or confront the fact that Dani had way stronger-than-friendly feelings towards him.

  How strong was the part she couldn’t deal with just then.

  It didn’t help that Dani still wasn’t feeling good. No more fever or vomiting, fortunately, but she was still headachy and sometimes nauseous, and she hadn’t eaten since the night before which probably wasn’t helping since it was well after lunchtime.

  Yeah. I should probably eat, she thought, staying right where she was, her brain half on autopilot whether or not her body needed fuel. She smoothed her hand over the plain white envelope. The only thing on the outside was her name in Anthony’s slanted handwriting. She imagined that she could feel his touch through the envelope, through something he’d once touched. It was such a nice thought. But when her mind attempted to conjure up what that touch would feel like, it was Sean’s much-bigger hand that she felt against her thighs, her wrists, her shoulders. It was Sean’s touch, still fresh from all the time they’d just spent together, that now had the power to set her senses afire.

  She burst into tears. Hugging the envelope to her chest, she sobbed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

  This had happened before on this day. But in her heart of hearts, Dani suspected something was different. Part of her might’ve still been apologizing for not opening his letter. Part of her might’ve still been apologizing for getting to live while Anthony didn’t. The tears came harder until her throat was so strained she barely made any noise at all. She just rocked herself with a shaking hand to her mouth, while tears streamed down her face.

  Because this year, if she was being honest with herself, she knew something was different.

  Part of her was also apologizing…for falling in love with another man.

  And as much as that was a beginning, it was also an ending—an ending that meant it was finally time to let Anthony go.

  Dani cried so hard and for so long that she crumpled over until she was lying in a ball against one arm rest, tears finally drained along with every bit of her energy. Blessedly, she fell asleep.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  She startled awake and had no idea what day or time it was. The blackness on the other side of her windows told her she’d been asleep for hours.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  “I’m coming,” she tried to call, but her voice was little more than a froggy croak.

  She untangled herself from the blanket and tossed it aside, and then she stumbled to the door in the darkness. She had just enough presence of mind to peer through the peephole—and it was Sean she found standing on the other side.

  Still disoriented, Dani opened the door. “Sean?”

  His gaze did a complete once-over of her, making her realize she had no recollection of what she was even wearing. She looked down at herself—oh, right. An old gray army T-shirt that just barely covered her underwear…and nothing else.

  She raked a hand through the rat’s nest of her hair. “Uh, come in,” she said, leaving him standing in the doorway as she retreated into her apartment and turned on the lamp next to the couch. She grimaced at the stack of used tissue that littered the coffee table. A few had tumbled to the carpet. But as he was already surveying the scene, it didn’t make a lot of sense to try to hide the evidence of her sob-fest now. “Sit down if you like,” she said, increasingly aware that he hadn’t said a word yet. “Let me just, uh…” She thumbed over her shoulder. “Just gimme a minute.”

  He nodded. “Take your time, D.”

  She gave him a look long enough to take in just how freaking hot he was, even wearing just a pair of cargo shorts and a plain white T-shirt that highlighted the bulk of his shoulders and the muscle of his thighs. And did that man ever give good forearm. But she really didn’t want to be thinking about Sean Riddick’s hotness. Or his arm porn. Not today of all damn days.

  Dani closed herself inside her bedroom and heaved a deep breath. She pulled on a pair of sleep shorts and then grabbed her phone off the nightstand. In the adjoining bathroom, she flicked on the light and made a face at her own reflection. Because the way she looked right now had to be in the dictionary next to “hot mess”. Jesus. Her eyes were puffy and her skin was blotchy and her hair was all over the place.

  She brushed her hair and teeth and held several handfuls of cold water against her eyes, but there was really no help for the bags hanging under them. For the time being, this was as good as she was gonna get.

  Taking one last moment to collect herself, Dani woke up her phone to check her messages. The lock screen read:

  12:04 AM

  Friday, July 4

  She gasped. The anniversary was over. Competing reactions coursed through her. First, that she’d survived this day she so dreaded for another year. Second, that she felt less awkward having Sean here—and ogling all his hot-as-fuckness—now that it wasn’t the anniver
sary. And, third…well, fuck.

  Third was that Dani felt a little disappointed in herself for not opening Anthony’s letter.

  It was time. She wouldn’t even beat herself up by saying it was long past time. Grief wasn’t a state, it was a process. For better or worse, all of this had been her process. And it was a process that ultimately led to her being able to fall in love again, something she’d thought—no, insisted—she’d never again do. Even though the prospect of loving someone remained kinda freaking terrifying, it was Sean. Somehow he’d gotten behind or over her walls and made it so that loving him just felt…right.

  The thought made her lean against the counter. Holy crap, she was in love. In love with the sexiest, bravest, funniest, snarkiest, dorkiest, most infuriating and most caring man she knew.

  Live where you fear to live, Dani.

  Now she knew why she was just remembering her granny’s words after so very long. There were two things she’d most feared for all these years. First, reading Anthony’s words. And second, the possibility of falling in love again—and of losing that love. And both of those fears were waiting to be faced on the other side of her bedroom door.

  It didn’t matter that the anniversary was over. It was time to read Anthony’s letter. More than that, she couldn’t wait to see what he’d written. But first there was Sean.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened her bedroom door and went back out to the living room. She found Sean sitting on the couch. He looked up at her, eyes wide, head shaking. “I didn’t mean it,” he said.

  Her gaze flashed down to his hand, to Anthony’s envelope, which was torn open, the lined paper inside partly sticking out. She could hardly believe what she was seeing. She’d waited literal years to open this letter, and here he’d gone and done it. Rage absolutely roared through her. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she said, swiping it from his hand. “This was private. You had no fucking right.”

  Sean rose, palms raised. “I didn’t mean to, Dani. I swear. I’m sorry.”

  “I can’t believe you. You come over here uninvited in the middle of the night and…and what?” she sputtered. “You just thought you’d read something addressed to someone else?”

  “Dani, I—”

  “I barely know what to say to you right now, Riddick!”

  He stepped closer and reached out for her. “Daniela—”

  Dani reared back. “No,” she said, backing away even further. “You have no idea what you’ve done. You just came Kool-Aid-man-ing into my life, and—” Shaking her head, she said, “You know what? I can’t do this right now. My brain is literally on fire I’m so angry at you. I need you to go.”

  His expression went stony, and he gave a single nod. “If that’s what you want.”

  She crossed her arms, trying to hold herself together. “It is.”

  Another nod. He made for the door. It seemed odd that someone so big could move so quietly, but he didn’t make a sound until he put his hand on the doorknob. “For the record,” he said in a low, rough voice. “I didn’t read it.”

  “O-okay,” she whispered, swiping at a single tear suddenly spilling from the corner of her eye.

  He left.

  And Dani was alone. Alone this time of her own making.

  She felt like shit before he’d even fully closed the door, but she was so raw that she didn’t know what to do.

  Live where you fear to live, Dani.

  One fear she held in her hand. The other was walking down the hall outside of her apartment. She looked down at the letter and saw the slant of Anthony’s handwriting on the ruled pieces of loose-leaf paper.

  She’d possibly never felt more torn in her whole life.

  Dani bolted to the door. Wrenched it open. Stepped out into the hall. Sean was already gone. A rock dropped into her gut. She debated calling him to come back, but maybe this was fate saying to finish one book before she started another.

  So even though the pull to go after Sean remained, she returned to the couch, sat with her legs tucked under her, and slid the letter out of the ruined envelope. Unfolding it made her heart trip into a sprint, and then all there was to do was read it.

  Dear Daniela,

  Just in case I don’t make it, I want you to know that you were everything I wanted and everything I could’ve ever asked for in a wife, a best friend, and a partner. I can’t believe that I was lucky enough to turn your head in the first place—that was pretty near to a damn miracle. I can still picture you that very first time I ever saw you. Black hair shining in the sun while you were laying on a blanket in the Commons reading a book. I walked past three times until you finally looked up and I got your attention. I thought I’d been all stealthy about it and then you were like, how many more times are you going to circle by before you say hello? Do you remember that? That I’ve gotten to spend the last eight years with you, both of us sharing so many of the same passions and ideals, that’s just been a dream, Daniela.

  I want you to know that I am so proud of you. And if you ever need proof of that, just ask my guys how often I talk about you! I don’t even have to, of course, because they all know your bad-ass reputation. But if you have any lingering worries about how I feel about your MEDEVAC work, put them aside now. Of course I worry. I can’t stop that because I love you. But, Daniela, I see it. You were made to do that work. And I get to stand back and say, that bad-ass woman is mine.

  Since you’re reading this letter, that means I’ve left you. I’m so damn sorry for that. I know how many times you’ve been left and how many times you’ve had to deal with the pain of loss. I’m sorry I’ve brought you back to that place again. But know I would never have chosen to leave of my own free will. Right by your side was always where I was meant to be. It was the only place I ever wanted to be. Because you made my life happy. Full. Complete. God, we laughed and had fun, didn’t we, Daniela? Thank you so much for that.

  Now here’s the part I really need you to hear: Live. And don’t do it for me. Live for yourself. And don’t just survive, but really live. Live and love and be happy. That’s what I want for you. Don’t waste a single moment thinking I wouldn’t want you to have a life full of love and family and kids and happiness. It’s all I want for you. And if I can’t be the one to give that to you, find someone who can and make sure he realizes what a lucky son of a bitch he is to have turned your head.

  So I guess that’s what I want to say. I hope you never have to read this and that we get to grow old and gray together. But if that’s not the way the chips fall, then know I loved you to the very end and beyond.

  —Anthony

  The second Daniela finished reading the letter, she started it again. And then she read it a third time, and a fourth. Her eyes were leaking whether she wanted them to or not, damnit, but she was also doing something that seemed so freaking impossible—she was smiling and laughing. She could hear Anthony’s voice for the first time in years. It was like he was sitting there talking to her. She could see his crooked smile and the way he arched one eyebrow when he was calling her out on her shit.

  Oh, God, why had she denied herself this letter—this healing, freeing, reassuring, life-giving letter—for so long?

  An incredible lightness filled her chest, one that made it easier to breathe, one that lifted the weight she’d been carrying all these years. It felt nearly euphoric.

  And now that she had finally read it, she wasn’t going to waste a single minute before taking Anthony’s advice.

  She picked up her cell phone and called Sean. Without even ringing, it went directly to voicemail.

  So she texted. Hey. I’m sorry I freaked out. Can we please talk?

  Five minutes passed. Ten. That wasn’t like him.

  She didn’t even debate it. She found a pair of flip flops, grabbed her purse and keys, and headed down to the garage. Worry was seeping around the euphoria. Worry that she’d really hurt Sean’s feelings. Worry that she’d pushed him away. Worry that she’d blamed him for
something he hadn’t done, which was really the worst possible thing she could do to Sean.

  Fuck. She’d fucked up. Especially because, even if he had opened the letter, in the end it’d given her a big push towards reading it. And she couldn’t find anything to regret about having done that.

  Everything appeared dark when she drove past the front of his house on 13th Street, but his bedroom and basement family room weren’t visible from the front anyway. And maybe he’d already gone to sleep. In which case she wasn’t sure what she was going to do.

  But it turned out that didn’t matter, because when she pulled into his backyard, his truck wasn’t there.

  Where the hell could he be at one-thirty in the morning?

  Just to be sure, she killed the engine and walked up to the back door. The porch light wasn’t on and she couldn’t make out any light inside. Dani knocked. Waited. Knocked again a little harder. Standing there, she tried calling him again. But no luck. It still went straight to voicemail.

  Dani’s belly dropped to the floor.

  And it pretty much stayed there for the next eighteen hours as she left voicemails and sent texts to which he didn’t respond. She guessed that sorta served her right after she hadn’t returned his texts or phone calls the day before. The thing was though, she hadn’t done that on purpose, really. She’d done it because she’d been emotionally wrecked. And now her bones were telling her that he was doing it for the same damn reason.

  With that feeling of dread rolling around in her gut, she got ready for Noah and Kristina’s July 4th party. The last few days had been so messed up for her that she hadn’t gotten around to making the pasta salad she’d volunteered to make, so she stopped by the fancy market with the great salads and bought some instead. And then, even though she was now officially running late, she drove by his house before she headed out of D.C. to Alexandria. His truck still wasn’t there.