Beneath This Mask

by Meghan March

  “Let’s go.” He gripped my hand and started to lead me toward the ramp. He stopped abruptly. “Shit. I don’t want you walking on this barefoot.” He dropped the blanket and the cooler on the deck of the barge and swept me up into his arms. I clung to his neck as he carried me down the ramp and to the car. He’d just shut my door when the security guard reached us. I could hear muffled words, but couldn’t make them out. I really hoped Simon was using that silver tongue to talk our way out of this. A cold sweat prickled over my body at the thought of possibly getting arrested. My fake ID wouldn’t hold up long under heavy scrutiny. I squeezed my eyes shut. I’m not ready for this to end. I’m not ready to let him go. I took a few deep breaths to calm my hammering heart as another thought intruded. Will I ever be ready to let him go? It was a stupid question, and I knew the answer before I’d finished thinking it. But it didn’t matter. I wouldn’t have a choice.

  The light turned and headed away from the SUV as Simon opened the driver’s side door.

  “Sorry about that, babe. It was security. They changed shifts, and my guy forgot to mention it to his replacement.” He must have noticed my pale face or my fingers clenching the fabric of my skirt, because his forehead crinkled with lines of concern.

  “You okay?”

  I nodded, swallowing back my momentary panic. Pasting a smile on my face, I tried to think of something casual to say. I ended up going with, “And here I thought you were finally breaking the rules.”

  The lines of concern didn’t leave his face, leading me to believe that my attempt at masking my freak out had failed. He didn’t comment, though, and for that I was thankful. “I’m going to grab the rest of our stuff.” Simon flicked on a flashlight I hadn’t noticed. Gesturing with it, he said, “Got it from the security guard. Apparently he didn’t want to be fishing me out of the river tonight. Be right back.”

  Simon loaded the blanket and cooler into the back of the SUV, and we drove out what I assumed was the same way we’d entered. Silence stretched between us. I had no idea what he was thinking; I was too busy trying not to think at all.

  He reached over to pull my hand away from where it was tangled in the folds of my skirt. “You want to come home with me?”

  I studied him in the glow of the streetlights. One hand casually on the wheel, the other holding mine, eyes directed out the windshield as he changed lanes. Of course I wanted to go home with him. But I couldn’t.

  “I want to, but I can’t.”

  He glanced at me. “Why not?”

  “Huck. Harriet helped me out last night and tonight, not to mention letting him out every day while I’m at work. I don’t want to take advantage of her. And I also don’t want Huck to get lonely. He’s already pretty depressed being in his crate most of the time. Although, starting tomorrow, he’s allowed to be out for a little bit longer on a short leash.” I smiled at the thought of Huck’s marked improvement over the last few days.

  “Then your place it is.”

  I raised an eyebrow at his words. “Did I invite you?”

  “You were getting around to it.”

  It was strange waking up next to Simon for the second morning in a row. And it scared the hell out of me how much I liked it. In my full-size bed, we had no choice but to cuddle. And I was not a cuddler by nature, or at least I hadn’t been before Simon. I tried not to wonder what that said about me and the other guys I’d been with before. Regardless, I didn’t have time to enjoy the heat of his body surrounding me, because in exchange for my Saturday off from the Dirty Dog, I’d agreed to go in and do inventory at nine o’clock today.

  I tried to extract myself from Simon’s hold, but his arm tightened around my stomach.

  “Sleeping, babe. Try it.” His voice was grumbly and rough.

  I wiggled to get free, but stilled when I felt his morning wood press against the crack of my ass. “I have to go to work. And after that I have to go to my other work.”

  Simon growled. “You work too much.”

  “Says the guy who left me naked in bed yesterday to go to work on a Saturday.”

  He sighed and released me. “Fine. When do you have to be there?”

  I rolled off the bed. “In twenty minutes.”

  His eyes popped open, and he looked at the clock. “Shit. You want me to go let Huck out while you get ready?”

  My heart warmed at his question. I was leaving him hard up in my bed, and he was offering to help take care of my dog. “That would be awesome.” I thought for a moment about warning him that Harriet didn’t always wear a robe in the mornings, but figured since we’d heard the sounds of Madame Butterfly coming from her studio until shortly after two o’clock, she’d probably sleep until noon.

  Simon pulled on his slacks and shirt from the night before and left my apartment as I rushed to get ready for work. I threw on my uniform of choice: black skinny jeans, a hot pink bra, and a white wife beater. My hair went up into a messy bun, and I put on some eyeliner, mascara, and lip-gloss, and called it good. I slipped into my Chucks and was heading down the spiral staircase when Simon was leading Huck back into the house. A few words and a snuggle with my pup to get him settled, and I was about to leave Harriet’s guestroom when Simon grabbed something off the bed.

  He held up Breaking the Code with Cryptography, and I froze. “Harriet breaking codes lately?”

  Oh. Shit.

  I thought I’d grabbed all of my library books yesterday, but apparently not.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I snatched it out of his hand before he could flip it open and see the library bar code.

  I forced a laugh. “Who knows with Harriet? I’ll stick it back in the bookshelf. Otherwise, she’ll probably never find it.”

  My heart pounded and my hands went clammy as I left the room and shoved the book between a Georgia O’Keefe biography and the Kama Sutra.

  I jumped when Simon laughed from behind me. “She’s got quite the eclectic mix.”

  Trying to pull my shit together, I rubbed my sweaty palms on my jeans, forced a casual shrug, and turned for the door. “I’ve really gotta get going.”

  He followed me out, and I had the feeling I’d just failed some sort of cosmic test. It was an eerily perfect opening to confess all, but every fiber of my being screamed not yet.

  I regained my composure as we walked toward the Dirty Dog. Simon insisted on accompanying me even though his car was parked in the opposite direction. He even directed me into a little café for coffee and quiche because he didn’t like the idea of me skipping meals.

  Accepting my coffee from the barista, I finally felt like I was back on even keel. I looked down at my curves and replied, “I could skip a few and be just fine.”

  His response: “Not without endangering some of my favorite parts.”

  We walked the rest of the way in companionable silence, his fingers laced through mine. It was like we were a regular couple, living a regular life. Except we weren’t. And the close call this morning highlighted once more that we probably never would be.

  Simon waved to Yve as I ducked inside the store.

  “I don’t know what you did to that man, but honey, he is smitten,” Yve said as she waved back.

  “Yeah, well … I didn’t exactly plan this.”

  “But it’s good, right?”

  I settled on the stool behind the register and pulled my quiche from the bag. Might as well eat while it was still hot.

  “Yeah. I mean, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, and there’s no way it could possibly work out, but for now, it’s really good.”

  Yve leaned a hip against a display rack and watched me eat. “I know we haven’t talked about what either of us is running from, but I don’t think whatever that is should stop you from trying to make something real with him.”

  My fork halted mid-air at her words and quavered. The bite of quiche landed on the countertop. One thing I had always been able to count on with Yve was no questions. I’d always figured she didn’t ask
because she didn’t want any in return. But she’d just broken that unspoken pact. I thought for a moment before responding.

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Charlie, I’m the queen of ‘not that simple,’ but even I know you can’t let your past dictate your future. That’s no life.”

  She didn’t understand the magnitude of the difference between our situations—because I couldn’t tell her. Humorlessly, I said, “If I was just running from a bad relationship, I’d agree with you. But this is a whole different level of fucked up.”

  Yve narrowed her eyes. “Letting a man beat on you for two years because you think you deserve it is a pretty high level of fucked up, I think.”

  I lost my grip on the plastic fork, and it clattered on the counter. It was what I had suspected, but my stomach still twisted to hear her say it out loud. “Yve—that’s … I … I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t need to say anything. But I didn’t let that man run me out of my own town. Complicated or simple, some things are worth standin’ and fightin’ for.”

  I stared down at the mirrored surface of the counter and considered her words. “What if I’m juggling too many lies to make it out of this in one piece?”

  “Does he love you?”

  I thought about it for a beat. “I think so.”

  “Do you love him?”

  This time I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  “Then there’s always hope.”

  Even after a year, I hadn’t yet figured out why Con kept the tattoo parlor open until ten on Sunday nights. It was almost nine o’clock, and we were dead slow. Which was dangerous. Delilah had gone home after her last appointment of the day, so only Con and I remained.

  “Want to add to your sleeve?” Con asked.

  That was why it was dangerous for me to be here when it was slow. I started to get the itch.

  I couldn’t say no. Especially when I already knew what I wanted next. Fuck it. “I was thinking my shoulder blade.” I described my idea.

  Con grinned. Of course, I assumed the grin was because these tattoo sessions usually ended with him getting laid. That part was not happening. I was pretty sure he knew it, but I needed to be sure we were both on the same page. “I’m not fucking you after.”

  His grin faded. “I know, Lee. I still don’t like him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Long story. I suppose I need to start getting over it if he’s going to keep coming around.”

  “That’s all you’re going to give me?”

  “That’s it.” His smile returned. “Are you at least going to take your shirt off so I can get to your whole shoulder?”

  I pulled my tank over my head in response as he readjusted the chair and readied his station.

  “Bra, too?” He reached out and snapped the strap against my shoulder.

  I gave him the evil eye. “Work around it.” He slid the strap down, gloved up, and got to work. As soon as I heard the familiar buzz, I relaxed into the seat.

  Number one on the list of things I didn’t want to see when I walked into Voodoo to pick Charlie up from work: her, shirtless, with the guy she used to fuck.

  I’ve never been the jealous type before, but something about Charlie fueled my most basic instincts. If Con hadn’t been holding a tattoo gun, I might’ve decked him. I started boxing at the Naval Academy, and still made sure I hit a bag or got a workout in at least five days a week. Con might have a couple inches on me, but I could take him. I was pretty sure he’d gone Army, so we might spill some blood before I finished him. I fought to bury my emotions when he lifted the tattoo gun away from her skin and smirked as I crossed the room.

  I kept my tone light. “Charlie, sweetheart, why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” The answer was obvious, and I was probably being a dick by asking, but I couldn’t hold it in.

  Charlie twisted to smile at me and then looked over her shoulder at the burst of color that hadn’t been there when I’d left her at the Dirty Dog this morning. She looked as relaxed as I’d ever seen her outside of bed.

  “Do you like it?” I stepped into the small room and checked out her new tat: vivid fireworks exploding across the creamy skin of her shoulder blade. Blue, red, green, and golden yellow, artfully shaded and incredibly detailed. This time I was the one smiling. She’d marked herself permanently with a memory we’d made together. I leaned down, ignoring Con, and kissed her for all I was worth. I heard his stool roll away but wasn’t sure if he’d left the room. Regardless, I wasn’t stopping the kiss until I was damn well good and ready.

  When I finally pulled away, I kissed the top of her other shoulder. “I love it.” Although I wasn’t entirely sure what it meant to Charlie—I could never guess what was going on in her head—I was going to take it as a sign that she was committing to this. To us. “Can you get the night of the Fourth of July off? It’s a Saturday.”

  She glanced toward Con where he stood leaning against the doorway. “You’ve had a lot of Saturday nights off lately,” he replied.

  I was ready to argue, but he continued, “But I’m always telling you that you work too damn much anyway. So go for it.” Con turned to me with a mocking stare. “What’s the occasion? Or don’t I want to know?”

  Hell, I’d hoped to warm Charlie up to the idea gradually, because I didn’t want her to say no. I needed her next to me. “Just some festivities.”

  Charlie stiffened. “Public festivities?” she asked.

  “Let’s talk about it later, yeah?” I said, hoping we could have this conversation without an audience. Thankfully, she nodded.

  “You mind waiting a few more minutes while Con finishes up?”

  I leaned down and kissed her shoulder again. “As long as it takes.” I shot her a pointed look. She bit her lip at my double meaning. I’d never claimed to be subtle.

  I stepped aside for Con to come back in and get settled on his stool. He picked up where he left off, and Charlie slipped back into her relaxed state as soon as the buzz of the tattoo gun filled the room.

  Her easy mood lasted about three steps outside Voodoo. “So tell me about Fourth of July.”

  “It’s a holiday celebrating American independence.”

  She shot me a sidelong look and waited for a serious answer as we walked in the direction of my car. Parking in New Orleans had never been irritating to me until I met Charlie. She lived and worked in some of the most unparkable places. I opened her door, and she climbed in. I rounded the hood and hopped in the driver’s seat.

  The silence in the car forced me to explain. “It’s an event called Fighting for Freedom that’s being held on the Steamboat Orleans. It’s put on by two nonprofits focused on serving veterans that I’m partnering with to get my own off the ground. There’s a dinner and silent auction before the fireworks.” I pulled away from the curb.

  “Your own?”

  I looked over, realizing I hadn’t yet shared it with her. She was quickly becoming the most important person in my life, but every time I saw her, my thoughts were filled with nothing but Charlie. So it was little wonder we hadn’t discussed it.

  I explained further as I drove. “I’m starting a nonprofit to offer PTSD counseling and alternative therapies to vets who’d prefer not to seek treatment at the VA for whatever reason. My lawyer has already formed the corporation, and we’re working on the application for tax-exempt status. There’s still a ton of work to be done, but it’s all starting to come together. That’s why this Fourth of July thing is so important, because there will be a lot of people there who support veteran’s causes who I’ll need on my side to make The Kingman Project a success.”

  “Wow. That’s … amazing. If you need help with pro forma financial statements, I’m your girl.”

  My gaze snapped to hers for a second before refocusing on the road. What the hell? Pro forma financial statements?

  “Why—” I started to ask her to explain, but she interrupted my question.

  “Wait, Kingman�
�was he the pilot who…?” Her change of subject derailed my thoughts as my stomach dropped, the same way it did every time I relived the explosion in my head. It should have been me.

  “Yeah. He’s the one. The one … who saved me. His widow will be there too. She’s remarried now, to a friend of mine. I’d like you to meet her.”

  I turned onto her street and snagged a spot not far from Harriet’s house. I put the SUV in park and turned to face Charlie. She was frowning and picking at the black nail polish on her thumb. Her body language was all wrong.

  She didn’t look up when she said, “I’m not sure I can do that.”

  A cold feeling crept into my chest. “What do you mean you’re not sure you can do that?”

  “The event. Meet his widow. There’ll be press, right? Cameras?”

  “Yeah, but it’s no big deal. A few photo ops and it’s done. It’s for a good cause, and it’s pretty painless.”

  “I’m not a photo op kind of girl, Simon. I told you before, and I wasn’t kidding.” She finally looked at me, and the stubborn set of her jaw pissed me off. I tried one more time to explain how much this event meant to me.

  “I need you with me for this, Charlie. It’s important to me. I want you there, next to me.”

  “I should go.” She reached for the door handle, and the grip I had on my temper snapped.

  “You’re not getting out of this car until you tell me what the hell you’re hiding from that you can’t risk a goddamn picture in the fucking paper. And pro forma financial statements? What the fuck, Charlie? You’ve gotta give me something here.”

  She stilled before slowly turning to face me. Her glare was ice, and her walls were up higher than I’d ever seen. “Don’t talk to me like that, and don’t tell me what to do. It’s not going to work out how you think.”