“Don’t see Uncle Tony’s car,” Mason called out from the back seat. “You sure he’s back from the officer training school?”
“Yes. And it’s Officer Candidate School.”
Mason shrugs me off and goes back to scoping the street for my best friend’s truck.
Riley fidgets with her purse, a forced smile on her face. “So, are you close with all your teammates? Or just some of them?”
The question catches me by surprise. Most know how bonded the guys in teams were, but I forget Riley doesn’t know much about the life. “We’re like family. Been through a lot together. One of us even died a couple of deployments ago. Families are all close too.”
“Oh. Sorry for your loss.” She looks stricken.
I park the truck and we all hop out like a family. The feeling is odd. Even Mason hangs back with us instead of running off into Bear’s house. The front door is open, so we all walk inside and follow the voices to the kitchen.
“Craiger, nice of you to make it. Want a beer?” Bear holds out an amber bottle, all smiles until his eyes fall onto the woman standing behind me. Then his eyes shoot to mine, brows furrowed.
It’s not like I haven’t brought a date to one of our gatherings before, but never when Mason’s there. I scratch the back of my head and glance around the room. Trevor Graves—the newest member of the team and one of the youngest, and possibly a mite too pretty for everyone to feel settled around him—and Jim Stephens are staring, bodies completely still.
“Uh, this is Riley. My wife.”
Stephens chokes on whatever he was trying to swallow. Graves looks around the room as he forces back a smile. Bear blinks rapidly as if I were his eldest daughter informing her burly father I’d just eloped in Vegas.
“Oh my God. Did I just hear you correctly?” Marge walks in from another room, followed by Taya. “When did you get married?”
Taya tilts her head, gaze bouncing from me to Riley to Stephens, her husband. “Wait. Did you join the program? Is this another match?”
“Yes, Lucas and I were assigned to one another. We’re not strangers, though. We grew up together in Texas.” Riley steps around me and walks over to the women.
They all start talking while my friends remain tight-lipped. All except Graves. “Martinez know?”
I shake my head.
“Can’t wait for them to meet,” he says.
“Me too.” Mason high-fives the newest member of our team.
“Can’t wait for me to meet who?”
We spin around to find Tony and his wife, Inara, another couple brought together by the military’s spouse-matching program, standing in the entranceway to the kitchen. Fuck. My palms start to sweat. I’m not ready for this.
“Hola, missed everyone.” Inara scoots around her husband and runs over to Mason and gives him a hug, before hurrying over to the rest of the wives, eyes locked on Riley.
“¡Cuánto tiempo sin verlo!” Martinez wraps me in a big hug and thumps me hard on the back. “Who’s the blonde?”
Bear sets his drink down with a thunk. “Supposedly, his new wife.”
Martinez looks over my shoulder to where my wife stands. “¡Bien hecho! What’s her name?”
“Riley. Her and Dad grew up together.” After Mason throws me under the bus, he runs over and leaps into Martinez’s arms.
A chair scrapes against the floor and coughing fills the air. Everyone stops and turns to find Stephens pounding a fist on his own chest, face turning red and eyes watering. Taya runs over and pats him on the back while the rest of the group gathers in.
Meanwhile, my son is giving Martinez the biggest hug he can muster. “Missed you, Uncle Tony. Happy birthday again. Sorry we didn’t get to have cake together last month.”
“Missed you too, buddy. And don’t worry, I’m sure Mrs. Donaghue will whip up one of her yummy creations.”
He’s referring to Marge, who narrows her eyes at him, most likely as a warning not to take her for granted. But none of us do. The fiery, petite redhead does so much for all of us. Which includes being the birthday cake baker.
When Martinez finally lowers Mason, he turns to my wife and extends his hand. “You’re the infamous Riley. Encantada de conocerte. Heard so much about you. And here I thought coming home itself would be the best birthday present.”
Riley shakes his hand. “Expected more from you the way Mason carried on about his uncle being so funny.”
Martinez places both hands over his heart and balks.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Please don’t get him started.”
“Pendejo, you didn’t even tell me you signed up for the program.” Martinez shook his head. “What else have I missed? Well, besides meeting Stephens’s kid. Where is the little bugger?”
“Sleeping upstairs.” Jim folds his arms across his chest. “And don’t go waking him.”
I forgot. Riley wasn’t the only person Inara and Martinez were going to meet today. The newest—youngest—member of our family is here. I shake my head. Seems like ages ago Taya and Stephens met. Through the same program, no less. They were one of the first couples matched. Then we almost lost Taya when some psycho tried to kill her. But look at them now. A happy family, complete with a new baby. Inara and Martinez are happy together too.
Maybe the committee saw something Riley and I both missed. The success rate of the program so far is pretty high. About eighty-seven percent. They must know something about what they’re doing. My gaze falls to Riley, blond hair in a high ponytail, talking animatedly to Inara and Taya and Marge. She tilts her head back to laugh and something in my chest unfurls a tiny bit.
Maybe, just maybe, this marriage might work out.
Chapter Six
Riley
Mason and his friend are in the living room playing video games. I never knew watching kids could be so easy. The two boys didn’t argue, came to eat, scarfed the food down without a word, then rushed back off to continue playing. Maybe video games aren’t so bad. They are definitely making my first day with Mason alone much easier.
And they didn’t require me to change my wardrobe. I lean a hand on the counter and take a second to close my eyes. Blech. Nausea. Not a lot. Just a little. Just enough to make me feel slightly off-kilter. Which is why I’m still wearing my Sexy Kitten pajamas. Not that I feel sexy. They were supposed to lift my spirits when I got them. So, when I’m not one hundred percent, I sport the solid black top with sultry cat eyes made of silver glitter and matching velvet shorts that have Sexy Kitten written all over them.
They’re also my go-to for whenever the sad truth that I haven’t had sex in over five years comes floating to the front of my mind. My celibacy started because of my health. Not to mention the one guy I dated in college walked out on me during a flare-up as if he couldn’t be bothered. Then I moved back home to my parents’ house, although I’m not sure it would have been any better anywhere else. It was hard to be sick and fight to make it on my own, and be sexy all at the same time. In fact, it was impossible.
Which also happens to be why I haven’t mentioned anything to Lucas yet about my condition. Luckily no one really questioned why I didn’t eat much at his friend’s barbeque and he hasn’t said anything the few times we’ve eaten together. I just want a chance to build a solid relationship with someone who doesn’t know about my disease. To see if such a thing is even possible. Not that Lucas is my forever or anything. He’s temporary. But what better way to experiment and see if people do exist who can give me a chance to prove myself as capable before they prejudge?
Also, a premade family is perfect. While I would love to have kids of my own, all the surgeries, along with the Crohn’s, make it too risky. So, marrying a man with a child is a way to safely fulfill that need that still aches in my heart. Mason gives me the opportunity to practice being a stepmom. Maybe more than practice. Maybe really be that stepmom. Except that would mean staying married to Lucas and that wouldn’t be fair to him. “Besides, how am I going to bec
ome the new version of myself that I desperately want to be when I’m literally married to my past?”
That is the fifty-million-dollar question.
With a sigh I drop down into the chair at the kitchen table and stare out the window. Lucas has been great so far when he’s been home. We’re developing a friendship built on respect and admiration. But again, he isn’t exactly the fresh start I’d hoped for.
I reach into my purse and take out my wallet. Inside, tucked behind my license, is the very first love letter Lucas ever wrote me. He was such a romantic. Come to think about it, he expressed himself better in his letters than he ever did in words. Though I never minded. There was something exciting about finding a letter hidden in my locker or one that had been stuffed into my backpack when I wasn’t looking.
I unfold the letter and read through it, the pencil fading but the words still readable. How simple those days had been. Brighter and full of hope as well.
Dearest Riley,
This morning when I saw you walking up to my locker, I thought my heart was going to burst. The best part of every one of my days is when you smile at me and this morning your smile was even more dazzling than usual. It’s like all your goodness, your kindness, your bravery, your strength was shining from you and it was all directed at me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt luckier.
But then you took my hand in yours and then that was the luckiest I’ve ever felt.
From the first time I saw you, walking into school our freshman year, you made my heart beat faster. I know now, though, that was shallow. That was all about how beautiful you are. It was about your shining blond hair, your clear blue eyes, your cute little butt. It was about the outside beautifulness of you.
Now I know about the inside beauty of you too. I know how much of you that you give to others. I know how you’ll take time to bottle-feed a little lamb who has no mama. I know you’ll stop to give a hand-up to someone on the other team who’s fallen during a soccer match. I know you never let anything stop you or stand in your way. I know how you look out at the ocean, and instead of seeing danger, you see adventure and opportunity. From the time you jumped on that wild mare to when you backtalk your father whenever he has something to say about the trailer park I live in, you’ve shown yourself to be one of the strongest and most fearless people I know.
I liked you the second I saw you and my feelings are growing stronger and stronger every day. Every new thing I learn about you makes my love grow. Sometimes I don’t think I can love you more, but then you do something brave and smart and kind, and I do.
You are my sun and my moon, Riley.
Love,
Lucas
The letter pointed out everything Lucas liked about me, things my family had seemed to forget because my illness overshadowed the rest. That’s part of the reason I’d always kept the letter in my wallet. For days when I feel less than, for those hard days when I need to wear my sexy kitten pajamas, I can remember the girl I used to be and the woman I hope to become. Maybe I could even become that woman with him by my side. Maybe we could have the life we could have had if I hadn’t gotten sick and sent him away.
If only I could trust Lucas would see the same girl instead of the sick one like everyone else always does once they find out about my battles with Crohn’s.
My thumb grazes over the soft loose-leaf paper. I should really make a photocopy before it falls completely apart. After refolding it, I place it back into my wallet, which I then put back in my purse.
I grab the bowl of honey-flavored pretzel twists, leave the kitchen, and head down the stairs into the family room. “You boys still playing?”
Mason turns his head toward me. “Yea, do you want to play?”
I plop down onto the suede sectional couch and bite into a pretzel as I stare at the screen. “Would love to. But what kind of game is this? Soccer with . . . cars?”
“Yeah. Here, take the controller. I’ll show you how to play.” Mason jumps to his feet and is at my side.
“She can just do the tutorials,” Parker says.
Mason shrugs, presses a bunch of buttons, then hands me the controller. On the screen is some sort of blue race car with flames coming out of the back. Mason and Parker sit on either side. Mason points at the buttons on the top corner of the controller. “One is RB and the other is LB. If you follow what the screen says, it will tell you how to shoot the ball and move around.”
“Get the yellow balls. Those are for boosting. It helps you go faster,” Parker points out as I drive my virtual car toward a giant soccer ball.
I miss and laugh. “This is harder than it looks.”
“You get used to it. Takes practice. Mason gets stuck driving up the wall sometimes.”
After a few attempts and more laughs, I hand the controller back. “You know what? Why don’t you two play and I’ll watch? It’ll give me time to understand the game and maybe next time I can join in.”
“You don’t have to wait until I come to visit. I have the game at my mom’s house too. We can connect online and play,” Mason says.
I swallow the pretzel I’d been chewing. Weird . . . why would he want to play with me? “I’m sure I don’t measure up to your other friends. You’d probably get bored.”
“He doesn’t have friends where his mom lives,” Parker says.
Mason lets out a deep growl then turns to face his friend. “Shut up, dummy.”
“Hey, boys. That’s not the way to talk to one another. And what does Parker mean, you don’t have any friends?” I place the bowl down on the coffee table in front of us and angle myself to face Mason.
He avoids my gaze, concentrating on the game. “Parker doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“Uh, yeah, I do. You FaceTime all of us every day talking about how your school sucks and how you hate it. You even said you wished your dad got hurt so he could stay home more and you could move back here.”
My breath catches at Parker’s words. Mason had actually wished his father to get hurt. To stay home. I take a deep, centering breath. I’m not really sure what my place is in this situation, but Lucas had mentioned his son was having a hard time. Maybe I can find a little more information out to help. “Mason, do you really not like your other school?”
Mason lets his car crash in the game. His shoulders hunch inward, so tense that they quiver. “The other kids, they don’t understand. Their parents aren’t gone like mine and Parker’s dads. They’re not in the military, and when I say my dad is on a mission, they say I’m lying and my dad left because he didn’t want me.”
My heart beats so hard, I’m afraid it might come out of my chest. Sadness and rage war within me. Is it wrong for a twenty-nine-year-old woman to want to beat the crap out of some snot-nosed children? A growl deep within my chest rumbles as I recall how mean some kids were back in high school. How they’d make fun of Lucas for the clothes he wore and point out his family’s financial status.
“Did you tell your teachers?” I do my best to keep my voice steady. No sense is showing how riled up I am as it won’t help Mason.
Both boys turn and stare at me as if I’d just unplugged their game. With a groan, Mason shakes his head. “Tattling will make it worse. Then I’ll be a rat and a kid whose dad doesn’t like him. It was better here where the other kids understood what it’s like. A lot of the kids here have parents like mine. Sometimes our moms and dads went away together. Sometimes they went different places. Those kids know what it’s like, about how our parents love us and aren’t running away, even if they have to go away.”
My heart keeps breaking listening to Mason, my gaze bouncing between both boys. This is the life they live, knowing their fathers might not come home. But they both seem to know they are loved. They are so brave. Whatever Mason needs from me, I vow to be there for him. The more people on his side, the better. “I’ll talk to your dad about it. We’ll figure out a way to help.”
Mason jumps up. “No!”
I pull back
, blinking. Not the reaction I expected. Well, not the harshness of it.
“You’ve gotta promise, Riley. You can’t tell Dad.” He wrings his hands. “I can take care of it myself.”
“Why, Mason? Maybe he can help.” I reach out to take his hands and still them.
“He can’t.” He shakes his head. “He’ll only worry, and if he’s worried, he’ll get distracted, and if he gets distracted . . .” His words fade out.
My gaze turns to Parker who has also become sullen. The image of the kids at the Gold Star Family Surf School comes back to me. If Lucas is distracted at his job, he might not come home. “I get it, Mason.”
“Then you won’t tell him?” he says, looking up at me with eyes that are just a bit too shiny. He holds up his hand, crooked pinkie forward. “Pinkie-swear?”
I curl my little finger around his. “Pinkie-swear.”
Mason nods and sits back down. “I’ll talk to Mom. I promise. Just please don’t make my dad worry.”
“Okay, but be sure you talk to your mom about it, okay?” Uneasy, I grab my laptop and research online jobs as the boys return to playing their video game, laughing and poking at each other as if the conversation we just had never happened. But whether or not I should say something to Lucas keeps nagging at me. Nothing like feeling caught in the middle, and being the new person in the family, I’m not sure what to do. Hopefully, Mason will talk to his mother and she’ll relay the information to my husband.
I shake myself and refocus on my own situation. I need a job that can accommodate my Crohn’s flare-ups and has benefits that will help cover the medications and treatments I need. It’s all fine and well to have Lucas’s insurance now, but being able to take care of myself is a necessity because there is no guarantee at the end of the year Lucas will continue to want to be married. That was never my intention anyway. This marriage, this assignment, is only supposed to be temporary. A holdover until I can do things on my own. The fact that it’s Lucas doesn’t change anything. Or so I keep telling myself. Because I can’t seem to stop thinking about what it might be like if we were really together.
Assigned (Navy Seals of Little Creek Book 3) Page 6
