Long Live the Rebel

by E L Irwin

  “Guinness.”

  “That was easy. Very precise. Your turn.”

  “Coffee or tea?” he asked.

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “The mood I’m in. Sometimes I want coffee. Sometimes I want tea.” I nodded at him. “Same question.”

  “Same answer.”

  We continued like that for some time, and somehow, I ended up asking the questions. So far, I’d learned his preference in music — Rock; ice-cream — Cookie Dough; sports — hockey; team — Blackhawks; season — winter; chips — any, just not the salt-and-vinegar kind; food — all kinds; movie — anything with John Wayne or Clint Eastwood. He said military and war-themed movies tended to irritate him, though, as they never seemed to get anything correct.

  I learned that his parents had divorced when he was in the third grade. His dad had split, leaving his mom and him, mainly because he hadn’t been convinced that Ryler was even his. He’d been born in northern Idaho, and after the divorce, his mother had turned to drugs and drinking to cope. It hadn’t been long before the state had had to intervene, removing Ryler from their house. He’d bounced around from foster home to foster home, never staying anywhere more than six months before the foster parents had changed their mind.

  When he was fourteen, he’d been in a group home and hung with the wrong crowd, and before he knew it, the guys he was with had stolen a car and taken it for a joyride. They’d intended to return it, but they were caught beforehand. Ryler, being only fourteen and just an accessory, had been given the option to enter a rehabilitation ranch for troubled boys or spend time in juvenile hall. He’d chosen the ranch. The Lost and Found Ranch was located several hours south of where he’d lived, near Boise, Idaho. And there he’d stayed until he’d joined the Army. Like Jake, he’d been selected for RASP, formerly RIP, or Ranger Training, about a year later.

  Billy, the man who owned and ran the ranch, had encouraged him to enlist, and also to leave Idaho and not come back, to leave behind the negative and create something new somewhere else. Something strong. So, having nothing to go back to in Idaho, Ryler had decided on Washington State as his new home. And once he’d reached Sequim, he’d taken a liking to it. Jake had seen something of himself in Ryler, so with understanding, patience, and compassion, he’d taken Ryler under his wing after he’d come back from his first tour.

  The load of information I was processing right now was weighing heavily on me. I honestly hadn’t expected him to answer my questions, not the ones about where he’d come from or anything. My heart hurt a little for him now. And I desperately needed to get my mind off all that I’d learned.

  So, before thinking things through clearly, I just blurted, “Boxers or briefs?” I really couldn’t say where that question had come from. It wasn’t as if I’d been thinking about the possible answer or anything.

  Ryler choked on his beer, coughing into his hand. “Boxers.” He coughed after a moment or two, when he’d been able to breathe. And, somehow, I knew what his return question would be. I just knew. So, I wasn’t surprised when his eyes flashed as he said, “Same question.”

  Heat curled in my gut, swirling and tumbling about. “Boxers,” I said, barely more than a whisper.

  He took a slow deep breath. “If I remember correctly, you wear boxer-briefs.”

  I could only blink at that observation.

  “Hmm,” he muttered, almost more to himself, then said, “Is that it?”

  “For the most part. They’re comfortable.” My shoulders lifted.

  He chuckled under his breath. “That’s good to know, I guess, but what I meant was, are those all the questions you have for me right now? I need to get to work.”

  My face flamed red at that. Oh. Oh. Good gravy, I cannot believe I just said that. Somebody, shoot me now. “Sorry. I’m so sorry. Um, yeah. Yeah, that’s it. I should get going as well. Thanks… thanks for this. For talking.”

  “Anytime, and don’t worry about it.”

  My face was still enflamed, my body still warm — hot, even — from this time with Ryler. And while I’d gleaned so much about him, I felt there was still much to learn. When we’d parted ways just now, we hadn’t made any plans to get together again, even just to talk. The lack of it was an irritation. Sitting in my car in Charlie’s parking lot, I stared toward the entrance, considering going back inside just to see him again, maybe make some plans with him.

  Chickening out, I started my car and headed for home. Once there, I showered and, over a relaxing cup of tea, pulled my things from the backpack. As my laptop slid out, my cell phone tumbled along with it and landed on the floor. Picking it up, I saw ten missed calls from Harley and one from Mrs. Carson. Ten was a lot of calls. I dialed her back instantly.

  “AJ!” Harley screeched as she answered on the first ring. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you!”

  “What’s wrong, Harley? Are you all right?” I asked, now concerned.

  “Mrs. Carson called me. She’s been trying to reach as well. Why haven’t you answered your phone?”

  “I’m sorry, Harley. I’d slipped it into my backpack and forgot about it. What’s going on? Is Mrs. Carson all right?”

  “Babe… babe, someone broke into the house. Ransacked her study. Turned the place upside down.”

  “What? Oh, my word, is she all right?”

  “She’s fine. She wasn’t home at the time. she was at some doctor’s appointment. But, there’s something more… the house was vandalized. Your door… they wrote… well, they…”

  “What? What did they do, Harley?”

  “They wrote something on your door and the wall near your room. The police are looking into it. They’re starting to think maybe it was a fan of yours or something. No one else had anything happen to them.”

  “What was written?”

  “It’s weird, AJ. They wrote the word selfish. That’s it. Just selfish, over and over again.”

  “Only on my door?”

  “Yeah, that and the wall near your door.”

  “That’s… disturbing… and really weird.”

  “The police want to speak with you. You should be getting a call from them soon.”

  “All right. I guess I can call them. I’ll call Mrs. Carson as well. Thanks for the heads-up, Harley.”

  “Yeah, of course. Hey, I gotta run. I’m at work and need to get back. Love ya.”

  “You, too. And thanks again.”

  Ryler watched as AJ walked out of Charlie’s. Every move she made was designed to entice, whether intentional or unintentional. She was grace and purpose. She was undiluted desire. And she was driving him insane. AJ was a breath of fresh air. It was a bit like being unaware you’ve been suffocating until you’re suddenly able to breathe freely.

  Chief slid another Guinness toward Ryler as he neared the bar. “On the house,” Chief said.

  “Thanks.” Ryler indicated as he took a sip before stepping behind the bar. Chief had called him this morning, said his icemaker was on the fritz again. It was a temperamental machine and did this every so often. And when it did, Chief would call Ryler to come take a look at it. And Ryler would get it working again, until the next time it shut down, or Chief decided to replace it.

  Ryler got to work, taking apart the machine, cleaning out all the water lines that sometimes got plugged up with one thing or another. He checked the fuses and all the wiring, making sure everything was in working order. Occasionally he’d stop to take a sip from his drink. All in all, it took him just under two hours to get the crotchety machine up and running again.

  As Ryler gathered up his tools and mopped up the watery mess he’d made while cleaning the machine out, Chief leaned on the counter near him. “She’s a looker.”

  Ryler looked to him, brows raised in question.

  “AJ. She’s a looker.”

  “Mmm,” Ryler grunted in answer.

  “Jake’s kid, huh?”

  “She tell you that?�
�

  Chief shook his head. “It’s in her eyes. They’re the same as his.”

  “Yeah.” Ryler rubbed his scalp in a show of mild irritation. “Yeah, that’s her.”

  “She’s not what I’d expected.” Chief scratched his chin thoughtfully.

  “Yeah, me neither.”

  “I like her, though. A guy could do a whole lot worse.”

  “Yeah.”

  When Ryler made no further move to expand on that idea, Chief just chuckled a bit knowingly and said, “Thanks again for coming in, Rye. You take it easy.”

  Ryler signaled to Chief as he downed the last bit of his drink then gathered up his tools, whistled for Shiv, and headed out. He wanted to see her. Though she’d left just a couple hours ago, he already wanted to see her again. And as he drove down the dusty road toward Jake’s place, he slowed, contemplating stopping. But what excuse could he give? What would he say? Shaking his head, he drove on home, deciding this was a road fraught with danger around every curve. But man, those curves…

  Feeling restless after my phone calls with Harley and Mrs. Carson, I stepped out onto the back patio, trying to breathe in the cool, fragrant air. Trying to calm the pounding in my veins. I’d called the Coronado Police Department. The detective assigned to my case was unavailable at the time, so I’d left him a message. Now I had to wait. And think. Think about what had happened, wondering if the blame lay on me. If this person was truly targeting me, then I’d brought this on poor Mrs. Carson, and I felt horrible about that. She was such a sweet, darling, old lady. I didn’t want anything to happen to her. and I didn’t want her to live in fear because of me. Now I wondered if she’d want me to move out.

  Today had started off in such a great way. Time at Charlie’s was always well spent, and the story had flowed, words pouring out of me. Midnight Marine was nearing completion. Then there was my time with Ryler. Now that was something else I needed to think about. As I considered Ryler and these urges and feelings I was experiencing on his behalf, I heard a series of loud popping sounds that echoed off the trees surrounding my back yard.

  Silence followed the popping. A few minutes later, they began again. Turning, I tried to figure out just where the noise was coming from, what was causing it. It seemed to be coming from the general location of Ryler’s place. What in the heck? I ran back inside to grab my keys off the counter and then headed out to my car. Minutes later, I was parked once more in front of Ryler’s locked gate.

  The popping noise was much louder now. And was definitely caused from gunfire from the sound of it here. What was going on? I wondered. What was he doing? Not letting the locked gate deter me, I swiftly climbed over it and headed toward his house. The echoes of gunfire came from off to the right of Ryler’s house, so I veered in that direction. Sure enough, behind a small stand of evergreens, Ryler was coolly firing a handgun toward targets set up several yards away.

  I spied Shiv lying in the shade under one of the trees. His big head lifted as I approached, and he climbed to his feet and came up to greet me. After a quick hello, Shiv retreated back to his spot under the tree, so I followed him. Then I just sat and watched, with my fingers in my ears. I’ve seen guns being shot before; I’ve been given demonstrations of technique and usage as part of the tours I’d had of various bases. But watching Ryler was somehow different. He was fluid, energy in motion. His focus was complete, his manner direct — the way he held his gun, the way it was cradled in his grip.

  What Ryler was training for I wasn’t sure, but he was definitely training. Or maybe he was just keeping himself in a state of readiness. Whatever the reason, he was doing drills, practicing moves, accepting nothing less than perfection from himself. Not even his bad foot held him back as he ran, ducked, rolled, jumped, firing, firing, firing. He’d eject an empty magazine, only to replace it seconds later with a full one and was once again firing, once again moving.

  I wasn’t sure just how long I’d watched him. I was mesmerized by it — by him — though. I felt completely enthralled, at least until the silence descended, and he turned in my direction. He didn’t seem surprised to see me, as if maybe he’d known I’d been there the whole time. Ryler holstered his weapon, putting it to rest on his thigh, and moved toward me. He dropped carefully to the ground near me. “Twice in one day? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you might like me.”

  I shrugged, ignoring his attempt at humor, not sure just how to answer him. He studied me thoughtfully. “Did something happen?”

  Drawing in a deep breath, I held it for a moment or two before letting it out in a rush. “I’m not sure exactly… I… I got a call from my best friend, Harley, letting me know someone had broken into the house where I live on Coronado Island and vandalized it. Thankfully, my landlady hadn’t been home, but still. I think… I think it may have been my fault that it happened.”

  Ryler was quiet for a moment before responding, “Why do you say that? That it might be your fault? What did it have to do with you? You weren’t even there, AJ.”

  “Yeah, I know, but they destroyed her study and targeted my room. Spray-painting the word selfish all over my bedroom door and wall. No one else was targeted.”

  “I’m assuming the police are involved. What do they have to say about it?”

  “I’ve put a call in to them, but the detective handling the case was unavailable, so I’m not sure what they’re thinking about it. I’m assuming it’s a crazy fan or something. Maybe someone didn’t like my last book. Who knows?”

  “Yeah, maybe. Are you concerned?”

  “Not for myself, but for my landlady, Mrs. Carson. She’s just this sweet old lady who’d never hurt a soul. I worry about her. She was gone at the time, but what if they make a second attempt? What if she’s home at the time and is injured?”

  “Doesn’t sound like there’s anything you can do about it. And it definitely doesn’t sound like it was your fault.”

  I just nodded noncommittedly, still feeling like I was somehow to blame. Ryler was staring at me. The weight of his gaze was like a physical touch. As I looked to him, something began to build between us; the tension mounted with each beat of my heart. Like a moth to a flame, I was drawn to him. “What’s your full name, Ryler?” I asked him, trying to sidetrack my brain from the direction it so desperately wanted to travel.

  He chuckled at my question, just a soft rumble of sound. “Ryler James Dean. I’m told that my parents were torn over what to name me. My mother wanted Ryan, and my father wanted Tyler. Eventually, they settled on Ryler.” He shook his head, “It’s ridiculous, really. From what I understand, they didn’t agree on much of anything.”

  “It’s interesting,” I disagreed. “Not ridiculous at all. You want to hear something ridiculous? Try my name. Anna Joanna. It sounds like banana. That’s ridiculous. Seriously. Sometimes I wonder what exactly my mother was thinking. About a lot of things…”

  “AJ fits you. Though, now I’m tempted to call you Banana.”

  “Don’t you even think about it.”

  “Too late… Banana.”

  “Jerkhole.”

  “Whoa. Easy now. There’s no need for swearing.” Ryler was smiling at me.

  Well, it was more of a grin than a smile. But all the same, it was absolutely beautiful. He was beautiful. His stormy blue-gray eyes were lit from within, and I was finding it difficult to maintain my distance. Especially as that light in his eyes began to change. It warmed, heated, seemed to smolder. My mouth became dry. And I noticed the shadow growing along his jawline. The way his lip curled, flashing bright white teeth at me. My pulse had picked up, ratcheting into high gear. And all thoughts of break-ins and crazed fans went out of my head. Basically, the only thing on my brain right now was Ryler.

  Ryler. And his mouth. His hands. Seemingly of its own accord, my body began to lean in his direction. And I didn’t think I was imagining that Ryler began to lean in my direction as well. My gaze flicked up to meet his, but Ryler was focused on my mouth. Intending
to speak, to say anything to remedy the incredible pressure that was building inside me, I drew a deep breath. But before I could actually say anything, my cellphone rang, causing us both to jump.

  At first, I was unsure just what I was supposed to do, or who might have been calling me, but then it all hit again, and I was scrambling for my phone. “Hello!” I fairly shouted.

  “AJ McAdams?” the voice on the line asked.

  “Yes, this is she.”

  “Miss McAdams, this is Detective Whitaker with the Coronado Police Department. I wonder if you might have a couple minutes to answer a few questions for me.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Is now a good time?”

  I was about to say yes, when Ryler stood up beside me, reminding me of where I was, what I’d been doing. Standing up as well, I said, “Actually, I’m not at home right now. Can I call you back in like ten, fifteen minutes?”

  “Yeah, that works for me. Just call the number you did before and ask for me, Detective Whitaker.”

  “Okay, I will. Thanks.”

  Ryler had walked away a few paces while I’d spoken with the detective, but as I ended the call, he looked back at me.

  “I gotta run,” I said. “I told him ten minutes or so, so…”

  He inclined his head in an understanding manner. “All right. See you later.”

  Ryler began to turn away again. “Thank you,” I quickly said, “for talking with me, just now.”

  “Sure thing,” he nodded again.

  “Are you doing anything later? Tonight, I mean?” I took a deep breath. “You wanna go get a drink or something?”

  Ryler studied me quietly for a moment; speculation thick in his eyes. “I’d planned to stay in this evening. I’m not really a people person, I guess.”

  Maybe it was because he’d seen the way my shoulders slumped, maybe he’d intended this all along, but as the feeling of rejection began to settle in my middle, he said, “But I could bring something over to your place, if you’d like.”