Can't Resist Him

by Molly McLain

  “I am. Too damn much. As much as pisses me off—as much as I don’t want to admit it—maybe they’re right. Maybe this is how it goes. Maybe I’m so caught up in my own head that I can’t see what everyone else does.”

  Twisting out of his grasp, she flipped the gesture and took his hands in hers. This man...God. She knew virtually nothing about him, but there was this invisible thread between them, a tug, she couldn’t explain. He was as lost as she was. Probably worse. And here they stood, trying to reassure each other. The broken aiding the broken.

  “It’s the Superman complex.” She tried on a soft smile, hoping it would ease him in some way. “It’s hard to take care of ourselves when we’re too busy making sure everyone else is okay.”

  He lifted his head hesitantly, letting her see the storm brewing in his eyes. Dark green, turbulent emotion, like an ocean in the middle of a late night typhoon. “I’m not a hero, Jenn.”

  “You are.”

  “No.” His fingers tightened around hers and pain seared through his expression. “You don’t understand.”

  Oh, but she did. “Let me guess—it’s your job, right?”

  “Yes! It is.”

  “Do you really want to have that debate with me right now, Superman?”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “No more than you want to own up to being lonely.”

  Yep, he had her there.

  She reached up and pushed a hand through her still damp hair. What to do now? What to say? If she were smart, she’d thank him for an enlightening evening and walk him to the door.

  “This has been one of the most unexpected nights I’ve had in a long time and frankly I’m exhausted.” She bit her bottom lip as he dropped her other hand and backed toward the sitting area, where his boots sat.

  “I’ll go then. Let you get some sleep.” When he turned, a surge of panic rose up in her chest and she reached out for him again, her fingers curving around his thick, corded forearm. He stopped short and glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

  “Stay.” One single word, one single plea. Probably a mistake, but one that felt very, very right.

  “I won’t sleep with you, Jenn.”

  “I’m not asking you to,” she whispered.

  He tipped his head to the side, a sad, understanding smile on his face.

  Then he reached behind his head and tugged off his shirt.

  Chapter Four

  Three weeks later...

  “This is a waste of time.” Brody leaned back in the chair, arms crossed over his chest. The beady-eyed shrink took up a similar stance and Brody settled in for the long haul, staring back. This guy definitely wasn’t a Marine or he’d know better to think this was a game he’d ever win.

  “That’s a matter of perspective, Corporal Nelson.” Dr. Sherman, whom Jeffords had personally introduced him to, spoke easily, if not kindly. “All I ask if that you keep an open mind and this process will go a lot smoother than you’re anticipating.”

  “How the hell do you know what I’m anticipating?” Brody’s bark of defiant laughter echoed off the walls of the training complex. He should’ve been drilling with his battalion, but the Commander’s orders had been crystal clear—go to counseling or go home.

  “You’re not the first Marine I’ve come here to speak with. You’re also not the first to sit in that chair and get angry because you’re not out in the field.” Sherman steepled his fingers in front of his chest and gave his leather chair a little bounce, apparently just as content as Brody to ride this out for as long as it took. “But there’s more to being a Marine than a steadfast work ethic, Corporal.”

  No shit, but this flowery, let’s-talk-about-our-feelings crap sure as hell wasn’t part of it.

  “Look, Doc, I get that I’ve got some shit to deal with, but I’m perfectly capable of doing it my own way. On my own time.” Maybe tipping back endless bottles of booze wasn’t the best approach, but it said something that he recognized it was a problem, didn’t it?

  “Your last deployment ended almost a year ago.”

  And that was supposed to be fucking news? Brody rolled his eyes. “And I’ve survived just fine all this time. I haven’t gone off the deep end. I haven’t flipped out because someone’s muffler backfired in my ear. I haven’t walked down the middle of Omaha with a rifle strapped to my back.” He lifted his hands and leveled with the doctor. “I don’t even think about that shit, therefore I don’t have a problem.”

  “Did you attend Corporal Martin’s funeral, Brody?”

  Brody now, huh? Wasn’t that special? Like they were fucking friends or some shit. “Of course, I did. I gave his mother the flag.” But he hadn’t looked Ernie Sr. in the eye. Couldn’t.

  “Are you sleeping okay? Getting through most of the night without waking?”

  Brody glanced out the window of the Reserve training complex. Snow floated through the air, light as a feather, a peaceful, calming sight against the dry, brown backdrop of Omaha in mid-January. His memory flashed back to New Years Day, when he’d woken up in Jenny Riley’s bed, having slept for five glorious hours without seeing his buddy’s lifeless face lying on the floor of that dingy, sand-bottomed hut.

  “I’m sleeping fine,” he muttered, clenching his jaw to ward off the yawn building in the back of this throat.

  “How’s work? I see you’re a utility lineman by day.”

  “What does that my job have to do with Ernie and Troy?”

  Dr. Sherman lifted a hand. “I’m just trying to get to know you better, Corporal.”

  “Is that right? Well, you’ll be disappointed to know that work’s fine, my social life is fine, I’m fine. Hell, I even led a completely normal childhood. No juvenile record. No trouble at school. Not even a speeding ticket. I have plants, too. Imagine that shit.”

  The older man smiled. “You went to college on a full scholarship for baseball, is that right?”

  Brody grunted. “I see what you’re doing here, Doc.”

  The man up-palmed his hands once again, a light-hearted gesture that was probably supposed to ease Brody’s skepticism. Instead it pissed him off. There was nothing easy about sitting across from someone you didn’t know, fully aware that every word that came out of your mouth would be analyzed. Dissected. Made out to be a damn lot more than it really was.

  “You know what? I think I’ve had just about enough for today.” He rose and the legs of the metal chair scraped across the concrete floor.

  “I can’t force you to like this, Corporal, but I can assure you that my door is always open. If not here, then my office at the VA center.”

  Jaw pulsing, he nodded from the door and made his escape. The air in the corridor of the training facility was thick and muggy despite the winter season. He couldn’t seem to get it into his lungs as quickly as he needed it. Why the fuck was this so hard? He knew what he needed to do in order to make Jeffords and company happy. Just cooperate and cut open a vein—even if just a knick—for the beady eyed bastard back in that office and all would be well. He’d be back on track for deployment and back to what he knew best—kicking ass.

  “You’re done already?” Sam glanced up from the back of the truck, where he prepped netting for the new recruit training obstacle.

  “Yep, seeing as there ain’t a damn thing wrong with me,” Brody barked, grabbing eyehooks and fastening them on. How the hell could the Corps question his capability? How? He could do this shit with his eyes closed and walking backwards.

  “I don’t like to talk about it either, but if you wanted to, I’d do it. You know, informally,” his buddy offered beneath his breath, and Brody appreciated the gesture. But, honestly, it annoyed the hell out of him that, aside from the standard debriefing and combat counseling, none of other guys in his unit, who’d seen just as much as him, had to go through this bullshit. He sure as fuck wasn’t going to boohoo to them and prove Jeffords and Sherman right, that he needed that kind of catharsis.

  Jenny Riley’s face, pressed into her pillow as she la
y facing him that morning in Vegas, flashed in his mind and, for a split second, the tension in his shoulders lifted. She’d asked a lot of questions, most of which he hadn’t answered, but she’d done it in an innocent, nonjudgmental way that made him feel more comfortable about this than he ever had. Not that he wanted to talk to anyone, but he wished he’d had the balls to ask for her number before she left. There was nothing wrong with him, but if he was going to talk, he’d prefer it was with someone like her.

  ***

  “Jenny Lynn, I swear to God if you don’t stop doting...” Helen Riley yanked her juice container off the tray and held it out of Jenny’s reach, an expression of warning on her pale face.

  “I’m not doting—I’m helping.” Jenny tapped the straw open on her mother’s table, a little two-seated number that came standard in all of the assisted living apartments, and handed it across the weathered wood. “We’ve been doing this long enough that you should know the difference by now.”

  Helen stabbed the straw through the foil on top of the apple juice, her lip turned up like Elvis. “I had a heart attack—I didn’t die.”

  “You had a heart attack and a stroke. And you coded on the operating table.”

  Her mother waved a dismissive hand, the fine bones in her fingers more delicate than ever. Since the incident two months ago, her mother’s body had become so frail and thin, so old for her sixty-one years. But, as worrisome as that was, Helen’s perpetual pain in the ass demeanor kept Jenny’s concern in check. If Mom could gripe and backtalk, she’d be just fine.

  “I’m telling you—my inner cougar just wanted mouth to mouth from that hot cardiologist.” Eyebrows waggling, Helen sucked down part of her afternoon snack while Jenny rolled her eyes and took the seat across the table.

  “So physical therapy is going better this week?” She scanned the schedule that the in-home worker had left out, easily accessible to Helen, who still had trouble with coordination. Thankfully, she could amble around without the support of a walker 24/7, but she still had good days and bad.

  “Yes, you worry-wart. Joanne thinks I finally rounded that last corner. Next stop, home.” Helen smiled a soft, uneasy grin that matched the uncertain weariness in her dark eyes. There had been so many setbacks, so much time lost from falls, that it was hard to believe she might actually live on her own again in the not-so-distant future. Three months had somehow felt like an eternity.

  “I’ll have to get your bedroom set up downstairs, and shift some furniture around to make maneuvering easier, just in case you do need to use your walker again.” She’d see if Reed... Ugh. She’d see if Josh or Tony could help.

  “That’d be great, sweetie. Thank you.” Helen exchanged the empty juice container for a carrot stick, sighing as she nibbled on it. She’d come a long way since October, but she still tired easily. Enough that Jenny wondered whether or not her mother would ever really be the same again. Once a vibrant, energetic woman, it was all she could do to make it through the day without a morning and an afternoon nap.

  “Oh, crap.” Jenny shot to her feet as her phone chimed in her purse. “I almost forgot about my emergency client this afternoon.”

  “I thought you took the day off.” Helen frowned, her dry lips pulling down so sadly that Jenny had to look away. Leaving her mother at the facility after visits never got easier. Each time, the guilt layered on a little more. She looked forward to Mom returning home as much as she did.

  “I did, but then Ellie called, needing a last minute wax. Hot date tonight, I guess.” She pushed aside the I’m-a-bad-daughter feeling and pasted on a smile.

  “Ooh,” her mother laughed softly, at least appreciating the gossip. “Lucky girl. Almost as lucky as you snagging the hunky building inspector.”

  Shit. She’d put off the news about Reed because there had been more important things to discuss. Christmas, Ally’s wedding, therapy... “Reed and I aren’t seeing each other anymore.” Not that “seeing each other” really equated to what they’d been doing, but her mother didn’t need to know that.

  Helen lowered the carrot from her mouth, a deep crease down the middle of her forehead, drawing her dark eyebrows together. A lock of salt-n-pepper hair drooped over her forehead. “Why the heck not?”

  Because I gave him the milk for free. “We just decided to go our separate ways. No harm, no foul.”

  “You really liked him. I thought he liked you, too.”

  How to tell her only parent, the one who’d worked her ass off to raise her right, that she’d acted so foolishly? Not just once either, but time and time again, making herself available to Reed’s whims—other men, too—even though it had meant sacrificing her own pride on more than one of those occasions?

  “Sweetie?” Helen prompted and Jenny blew out a breath, hiking her purse onto her shoulder. The first step to making a change is admitting there’s a problem, right?

  “I did like him, but I went about showing him the wrong way. I...” Just say it. Rip off the Band-Aid. “I thought sleeping with him would mean something more than it did. It didn’t. At least not like I was expecting.”

  “Oh, Jenny....” Her mother shook her head, undeserved compassion glistening in her eyes. “I had no idea.”

  “Of course, you didn’t. I didn’t want you to. I’m twenty-eight years old. Far too old to think sex might actually keep a guy interested, but that’s the game I played.”

  Standing on shaky legs, Helen came to stand before her, one soft, chilly hand curling around Jenny’s cheek. “I take the blame for letting you believe that. Lord knows I tried that same approach often enough in my younger years. Heck, how do you think you came about?”

  Sadly, she knew that story too well. Her father had been a truck driver who frequented McCauley’s Pub back in her mother’s hay day. Helen had fallen for his rough, nomadic ways and they’d carried on a fling for a year before Helen had gotten pregnant. Six months later, he married his long-time fiancée. Five years after that, he’d died in a multi-vehicle crash on I-80. Never once had he come back to River Bend to meet her.

  “No need to think too hard on that, Mom. It’s beside the point anyway, because I’m done with it. Done with Reed and men just like him.” She lifted her chin. “I’m...I’m better than that.” And maybe if she said it enough times, she’d start to believe it.

  She’d had a taste of that self-acceptance in Vegas. Then again, she’d also had a handsome man literally holding her hand, so of course she’d felt good about herself. Still, Brody had impacted her in a way she hadn’t expected. While not the ideal, independent, kicking ass and taking names approach she wanted to take, he’d offered comfort and support she’d needed to get off on the right foot.

  It was a good thing she’d never gotten his number, otherwise he’d become an all too-easily accessible drug she’d want another hit from, because she thought about him all the time. How was he doing? Was he dealing with his issues, too? Or were they still haunting him in his sleep?

  “What are you thinking about, sweetie?” Helen’s fingers trailed over Jenny’s cheekbone, tucking the hair behind her ear.

  “That maybe I need a support group. MA—Men Anonymous.”

  Helen laughed softly. “Nah, you can’t quit men. You just have to learn the difference between the cubic zirconium in this world and the real diamonds. Your gem is out there, baby girl. You just need to find him.”

  Chapter Five

  Valentine’s Day weekend...

  “Oh, my God. This might be better than McCauley’s.” Jenny fasted her lips around the straw and moaned, the cool, fruity ice of a blended margarita sliding along the back of her tongue. Beneath her, the cushions of Josh and Carissa’s couch embraced her ass better than any barstool ever had. They really needed to do these house parties more often. Especially with Heather mixing drinks.

  The redheaded bartender winked. “That’s because Josh bought the good tequila. Mac makes me use the cheap shit.”

  “He wanted to make sure you all felt th
e love, too,” Carissa explained, her gaze on her man, laughing at the dining room table. Across from him, his brother Dan dealt the cards for their first game of poker, while their friend Tony Dunn explained the rules. The newbie to the group, Nick-the-hot-firefighter, as he’d been officially dubbed, took it all in from behind a bottle of fancy imported beer. “Since the only lips I’ll let him kiss are mine, he figured top-shelf booze was an acceptable alternative.”

  Maddie, Dan’s wife, snorted. “He’s wasn’t wrong.” Though, if Jenny’s Spidey-sense was accurate, Maddie had secretly asked Heather to hold the rum in her Coke. Either she and Dan were following in Ally and Mark’s baby-making footsteps or they hoped to be soon.

  “No Reed tonight?” Heather asked, dropping down beside Jenny with a margarita of her own. The question probably should have been awkward since three of the four women cozied around the coffee table had intimate knowledge of what kind of underwear he wore, but it wasn’t. Not since they’d all realized Reed was exactly the kind of guy he’d told them he was up front—the kind who’d never offer a ring. He’d happily worship your body on Saturday night and then wake you up for mass on Sunday morning, but that’s as close as you were getting him to a church.

  “I guess not.” Not surprisingly, Jenny hadn’t heard from him since right before the holidays, when he’d dropped off a box of chocolate covered fruit at the salon. So customers could really indulge, he’d said, and then he’d given her a pouty lip and begged her to squeeze him in for a haircut.

  Carissa sighed, Heather bit her lip, and Maddie rolled her eyes. No further explanation needed. Reed was...well, Reed.

  “A little birdie told me you’re looking to bring another stylist on at the shop,” Carissa asked, edging the pillow she sat on a little closer to the fireplace, crackling and glowing behind her.

  “Thinking about it. It’s been tough since Mom came home a few weeks ago. She needs me more and more and hiring help at the salon is the only way to make the money I need but not man the place every day myself.” There wasn’t a ton of money to be made doing hair, waxing muffs, and painting nails in a small town and she could use all the tips she could get. But being available for Helen was more important than the bills that never seemed to go away.