by Hart, Taylor
Getting back to his room, he realized it was barely eight o’clock. He didn’t know if he wanted to go out or not. On his phone flashed a text from Dave, one of the architects and a fellow former SEAL working with him on the project.
A couple of us are at the sports bar the End Zone watching the game. Come over.
So he did. He went to the sports bar and met some more ex-military guys. It was fun connecting with them, telling them about his vision. Some of them scoffed at it, but most wanted to be part of it. It made him feel like his life still mattered.
After three sparkling waters, Scar caught a familiar flash of red hair in the corner of his eye. Scanning the room more intently, he saw her—the feisty redhead from the diner. She sat at the bar with another girl, laughing. He noticed she was done up for a night out. Her hair was piled on top of her head, and she wore more makeup. She looked so different from the morning. She didn’t look like she was trying to catch guys, though. She looked like she was just having a drink with a friend. Before he could think of what to do, she got up, nodded to her friend, and turned to leave.
Wait. No. Adrenaline surged in him. He wanted to talk to her. Thinking quickly, he stood to leave. “Gotta go. See you guys.”
The men shouted their disappointed goodbyes. He was out the door in no time, but he couldn’t see where she was. Then he got a feeling, that gut feeling, again. The same sense he’d felt last night after that unidentified phone call. The one that told him something was about to happen.
He heard what sounded like a muffled yell and took off in that direction. As he turned the corner, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing at first. It was the redhead, struggling against a guy as he pushed her roughly up against the wall, his hand over her mouth.
Without thinking, Scar rushed forward and pulled the guy off of her, lifting him off his feet and throwing him to the ground. He turned to her. “You okay?”
Looking very not okay, she nodded.
The guy on the ground started moving like he would get up and run, but that would not stand. Scar seized him by the scruff of his shirt and held him up. “What were you doing?”
“Let me go!” The guy struggled to free himself, kicking out and scratching.
Scar slammed a fist into his face. Before he could land a second punch, he paused, noticing that the redhead was running away, and called after her. Taking advantage of the distraction, the guy scrambled away from him, running toward the beach.
Scar was torn between wanting to finish kicking this guy’s butt and wanting to check on the girl. He made a command decision to chase the girl and sprinted after her.
A grey car swerved around the corner ahead, prompting Scar to jump out of the way. He saw the girl at the wheel and their eyes connected, but she didn’t slow as she peeled out of the parking lot.
He watched her go and sucked in a breath. What had just happened? Why hadn’t she stayed and explained or even anything? The look in her eyes and the feeling in his gut said something was very wrong.
His gut was never wrong. His Navy brothers used to tease him that he was the “trouble whisperer.” It hadn’t been a name he appreciated, especially when they called him “Whisp” for short, until he’d gotten the nickname “Scar.” There was something about trouble that seemed to find him. Or rather, he seemed to find it.
Frowning, he muttered a quick prayer for the woman and headed back to the hotel.
Chapter 4
Later that night, Shayla sat on her bed, gazing through the window at the ocean. She thought about the guy who’d saved her. She probably should have stayed, filed a police report, something. She had fled instead. She was too shaken up. It had been the B.O. guy from the diner.
Starting to shake, she closed her eyes and tucked her legs up beneath her. If her parents got a whiff of this, they would want her to come home. This had been a concern of theirs. She was going off to the big city and heaven knows what would happen to her. It had been a serious topic of a lot of conversation when they were trying to decide if they would let her go. Many times, she had reminded them she was nearly twenty-one and they didn’t have a say. Now, she was a bit freaked out. Why was the weirdo guy after her?
Wishing for the millionth time that her ex-boyfriend, Jason, would have come with her to San Diego, she imagined what it would be like if he just showed up tonight. She barked a laugh at the thought. He wouldn’t show up. After all, he’d made it pretty clear he wanted to stay in Kansas. Somehow, that didn’t seem to matter. Old habits died hard, and she wanted to call him. For comfort. With a sharp breath, she pressed his number. It rang three times before going to voice mail, which meant he’d declined her call.
Rejection and sadness squeezed her heart as pain came back all over again. Jason had been her best friend since they were little. He lived on the adjacent farm, and they had ridden the bus together every day. Over the years, it’d naturally blossomed into a first love. She had been sure she would marry him. She’d been wrong.
Staring at her phone on the bedside table, she thought of the soldier guy. A swarm of questions buzzed in her mind, so she did something she never thought she would do: she called him.
Not knowing what to expect, she was surprised when he answered on the first ring.
“Hello.” His voice was soft, and she wondered if he’d been asleep. He didn’t sound like he’d been asleep, though.
She felt like she was at one of those fast food Mexican places where, when you get to the front of the line, it doesn’t matter if you know what you want or not because suddenly you’re put on the spot and discombobulated. “Hey,” she said.
For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he let out a breath. “Are you okay?”
It was weird to hear a near stranger ask that question. Still, he deserved to ask; he’d saved her. “Yeah. I think so.”
“Good,” he said gruffly, almost matter-of-fact. It was like, Okay, you’re fine, so now the conversation is over. At least, that’s how she felt. What if he had a girlfriend or a wife? So what if he had given her an outrageous tip?
At least he didn’t seem to be with anyone else. He wouldn’t be glad she called if he was, right? “I had to, well, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He sighed. “Why didn’t you stay and file a report?”
She should have known he would ask that. After all, he looked like a vet, and she had figured him for a straight-laced type, though he looked rather dangerous. “Look.” She didn’t owe him an explanation. “I need to get some sleep. I just wanted to make sure I …” What did she want to make sure of? This wasn’t just a polite call, no matter what she said.
“Are you really okay?” he said again. “That guy looked determined.”
She shivered. “Yeah. I am.” How did she tell him that she was scared and that she was alone? “Thank you. I have to go.” She pressed end.
Her hand still shook. She hated it. She hated that the weirdo guy was out there, and she hated how it felt to be shoved up against the wall. A tear leaked down her face. She hated that she wasn’t going to sleep at all and she still had a five-page paper to write for her English class that was due in two days. She needed to start it tonight and try to get most of it written, because tomorrow, after her short waitressing shift, she had a three-hour class. She would have to finish the paper after that.
Sucking in a long breath, she did the only thing she could think to do. She bowed her head and prayed for help.
Chapter 5
The next morning on the way to the diner, Scar found himself still keyed up from the incident the night before. For heaven’s sake, he’d survived Navy SEAL special ops missions in the most volatile places on Earth, and he’d probably still would be on missions if not for taking that bullet. His arm ached at the memory. It usually didn’t, but he found that when he was extra stressed his body would manifest it at his weak spot. Walking in the diner, he rubbed that shoulder and searched for the redhead. Today, he would get some answers.
It frustrated
him that he hadn’t been able to sleep very well last night. Visions of the guy doing awful, horrible things to her had circled in his brain like vultures. He wanted to demand they get that police report filed today.
He didn’t wait for someone to seat him. No one was at the hosting booth, so he picked up a menu and walked to the same place he’d sat yesterday. The place had an amazing view—holy hallelujah, it was gorgeous. Big waves were rolling in and crashing dramatically on the shore.
Coronado Island was pristine and beautiful. He felt hugely grateful he was set up in digs at the hotel. He hadn’t wanted to stay in nice places while on these projects, but Anthony had insisted, acting like it was an insult if he didn’t stay at the best. “Dude, you served our country, and you created this project. Let us take care of you now.”
The idea that Scar needed someone to take care of him was laughable. He’d been taking care of himself for forever. But what could he say? He liked creature comforts, even more so since joining the Titans. How ironic: a job that demanded utter grit from him also gave him a taste for being pampered.
He sat at the booth and didn’t even look at the menu, knowing he would get eggs and bacon. He’d run his five miles that morning and had done some tai chi, finding that he needed the soothing mental comfort of the strokes. He’d taken out his bands and done his functional training for his shoulders, biceps, and triceps. Even if taking a couple weeks off from the intense training was good, he still needed to work his shoulder out.
The redhead meandered over to his table. “Hey. Water, eggs, and bacon?” For the first time in the diner, her tone was not snarky or aggressive.
Looking up into her green eyes, he saw vulnerability. “Are you from here?”
She smiled slowly, and his heart kicked up a notch. He hadn’t seen her smile. Not really. Only glare and be snarky and a bit pissed off. But oh gosh, the smile was heart-stopping. “Kansas,” she said.
That was not what he’d expected. “Why are you in San Diego?”
She gazed out at the ocean. “Since you saved my life, I’ll tell you. I worked for three years to accomplish my dream of coming to San Diego and living on Coronado Island. Growing up, I had these friends that would come to Coronado Island every summer. I would see pictures, and they would text me. All I wanted was to come too. I …” The dreamy look faded. “Since my father and mother farm, we never had the money. So I decided to make it happen myself. I did, even though it’s not exactly what I thought.” Her smile turned to a half frown, then turned up again as she met his eyes. “Thank you again for helping me last night.”
Scar watched, befuddled, as she scurried away with the menu. He had never experienced this before, which was funny to him. After hearing her confession and seeing the dreaminess in her eyes, he was realizing he’d fallen in love with her.
Which was plain dog stupid, right?
His heart pounded. He found himself utterly confused, bewildered, and feeling sickly sweet thoughts, like he wanted to bottle the innocence in her eyes.
The past two years of being third-string quarterback for the Titans had been interesting. Sure, he had some cleat chasers—yes, the name disgusted him, but that’s what they were called—try to be with him. But he’d been careful. Only one had gotten close to him last year. Then she’d shown her true colors, and it had ended.
Just now, after speaking to this woman, he’d felt a real connection with her: hearing how she was trying to live the American dream, seeing her chin up, and learning that even though she was afraid, she was doing it anyway. It made something in his chest relax. He was able to breathe.
It felt like his sacrifice for his country might have been all worth it. For American girls like her, working and saving and doing what they wanted with their lives.
Thoughts of the punk who tried to hurt her pulsed through him, as did the need to ram his fist into the guy’s face again. It wasn’t right that the guy had gotten away with almost hurting her. Scar thought of how he could find the guy and pound him and then turn him over to the cops.
The girl came back with his food, placing it carefully on the table. Scar couldn’t stop himself from staring at her: the smattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks, the way her autumn red hair fell in wisps around her face because it was tied up in a messy bun—
“Okay.” She smoothed her apron down. “Do you need anything else?”
Scar hesitated. “Do you know the guy? From last night?”
She wandered over to the table next to his, picking up some plates. “He comes in periodically, but I wouldn’t know where to find him. I think he’s homeless.”
Scar looked around. He hadn’t noticed anyone suspicious.
When she looked at him, he saw the fear in her eyes. “I told Bob about last night. He’s the manager. He says if he comes in, we call the cops. No questions.”
The news bolstered his confidence, just a little. “Good.”
She shook her head. “Please, just … Let’s just let this be, okay?”
Clutching the fork in his hand, he stuffed a bite of eggs into his mouth and pointed the fork at her. “You don’t let sleazeballs like him run unchecked. It doesn’t help anyone.”
She hesitated by his table, looking vulnerable and nervous. “Look, I don’t need a bunch of cops involved and reports. I just need to finish a paper for my summer class. Seriously, he’s just a sleazeball. It’s part of the job.”
“No, it’s not.” He leveled her with a stare. “If he shows up anywhere, you call me.” Scar wanted to lecture her more, wanted to ask her a million questions, but she rushed off, picking up more plates and carting them into the kitchen.
Chapter 6
It’d been a crazy day. Summer school moved at a fast pace. At the end of it, Shayla wanted to know who the heck cared about Romeo and Juliet and tragic love.
Shayla flopped face down on her bed. It was almost ten-thirty, and she’d been up since five. More importantly, she hadn’t really slept at all the night before. Her thoughts went back to the previous night. The only good thing about being so busy was that she couldn’t focus on the bad; now her mind drifted to the guy who grabbed her.
Trying to re-train her thoughts, she thought of the latest personal development book she’d read. “What you plant in your mind is sown in the physical world.” She loved all those kinds of precepts and principles. It was the thing that had helped her accomplish her dream thus far—changing her thoughts, asking different questions, focusing on the good.
She thought of the soldier’s dangerous, gorgeous face. She realized she didn’t even know his name, yet he cared. He had been of angry, but also protective. It was stupid how she created this whole backstory for him. He was military, flew the scary kind of missions. Killed people with his bare hands. The other night, when he’d thrown the stalker off of her, she’d thought he might kill the guy. He had looked that fierce for a moment.
Dang, the man was handsome. But there was no way he would be interested in her, right? And she wasn’t even really over Jason, was she?
Blocking that nagging inner voice that told her she really didn’t have a life between work and school, she rolled onto her back before sitting up. She needed to finish the stupid paper. Her professor wanted it emailed to him by midnight or he wouldn’t accept it.
She cracked open her laptop and reviewed the philosophical argument she was making for Romeo and Juliet, but she couldn’t find the right words. She needed to prove that Juliet was justified in killing herself. That was the argument. She could argue that. Juliet was in love. Love is blind. Juliet wouldn’t be happy without him. Could she prove that? She didn’t really believe that, did she? Wasn’t she happy without Jason? Yes. No. She was fine. Her head hurt.
Her phone rang. Without looking, she knew who it would be as she answered. “Hello?”
Hesitation. “Hey.”
It was funny to her that there was a familiarity already. “I don’t even know your name.”
“I know,” he said. “I
don’t know yours either. I’ve named you Kansas in my head.”
Liking that he’d been thinking of her, she smiled. “My name’s Shayla Castle.”
“Okay, your real name doesn’t disappoint either.”
This pleased her, which was stupid. “Okay, so what’s yours?”
“Brandon Walker. My friends call me Scar.”
She bit back the obvious question. “Your name is nice, too.”
“Another story for another night,” he said.
“What?”
“You want to know about my scar. I’ll tell you another time.”
It put her on edge thinking this would be a normal thing, them talking. She hated how much she actually liked that idea.
He let out a quick exhale. “I wanted to check on you. How’s it going?”
“Thanks. I’m fine. You could have texted.”
“Nah. We have this thing happening.” His voice was soft.
“We do?” She found herself smiling.
“Yeah, we do.”
Neither of them spoke for a few seconds.
“Well, thank you,” she said, her heart pounding. The mystery of that scar still taunted her.
“What are you doing?” His words were stilted, and his discomfort made her relax more.
“I’m arguing the merits or justification that Juliet had for killing herself when she thought Romeo was dead.”
For a beat, he didn’t answer, like he was weighing his response on his tongue. “She was stupid. Plain and simple. Life is precious. Killing herself was a huge waste.”
Shayla disagreed. “She was in love. She was heartbroken.”
He barked out a laugh. “Life is worth more than love. She was reckless. She was too young to be messing around with a thug like Romeo. He shouldn’t have married her in the middle of the night. He would have gotten his throat cut if her father had known. That’s why he did it in the cloak of darkness.”
