Truth About Love Duet: A beautiful small-town, angst filled, story of love (Legacy World Box Set Book 4)

by Mj Fields

  Ryan, for all intents and purposes, is my father. I have guilt and shame for how I spoke about him to Ava. The man has been nothing but kind to me. Always has. He loves me, and I love him.

  Worry for his health is at the forefront of my mind. I will hold on to the strongest emotion—hope—that he is all right, that he is fine. But damn if I can’t sense the worry in Mom.

  She lost a man she loved once, the man whose shadow I live in here, always have. She is strong, but a lot of her strength comes from Ryan’s kindness and his love. Without him, Mom would have forever been conflicted about ever moving on in life, knowing that Tommy Lane was replaced. She would have been crushed. My brother and sisters would not be here.

  Then I reflect on how I don’t want to tarnish the memory of my father, a man who was, from what I hear, perfect. But damn, my family makes that hard when they make me need to be as good as their Tommy, their hero.

  Without me, they would not have a piece of him. And my grandparents get to see the man Tommy would have grown into had he lived his life for himself and not his friends.

  The struggle is fucking real. Playing peacekeeper and hero to so many who expect it is the hardest thing I have ever done. But the truth...The truth would crush them.

  Then there is Ava. I am so fucking pissed at her. I don’t even want to reflect on that, but I do.

  Her needing me, a friend, a protector; her seeing me for the man I needed to become—that was all lies.

  A childhood of lies.

  The girl who showed her soul in her words, actions and, to me, in her fucking eyes, made a fool out of me.

  Seven years of lies.

  I watched her fall apart because I had to let her go. The hurt I caused her that day was less than it would have been if I could have gotten past the shock and anger I felt when she told me she loved me. She was never supposed to love me. We had a deal.

  Now...Now she is being true to her word and moving on, filling the void. She is doing it with a man who fucks her knowing I’m standing right there.

  I miss the girl who wore a fucking crown and tutu, defended herself against the snickers of peers and playmates with her hands on her hips, scowl on her face, and most of the time, sticking her tongue out at them.

  The girl who took no shit from anyone, until she turned away and showed me her eyes.

  The girl who I knew was too fucking stubborn for her own good.

  The girl who needed a boy to let her stomp and scowl, and go off on tangents, and be pissed when anyone stepped on a spider, yet was terrified of them.

  My chest tightens at the memory of Ava’s childhood hurt.

  My chest tightens at her strength and determination, regardless of the detriment it has to her true feeling.

  My chest tightens knowing, in some twisted, six-degrees of separation, she is just like me, except her fight is external and mine is internal.

  Do I love Ava Links?

  The truth is...yes.

  Yes, I fucking love her.

  Yes, I fucking want her.

  But the deeper truth is that I would never be able to love her and myself at the same time.

  As fucked up as that sounds, my internal battle burns, and the only way I can keep it extinguished is by being the man I have become.

  I am the best man I can be when I am away from here. Away from home.

  Away from her.

  Ava.

  A girl who said she loved me, and I pushed away.

  The girl who told me I crushed her gave me back the pain I dished out. And it fucking hurts.

  But I am no longer her protector. He is.

  At the same time, I am a man of my word. If he hurts her, I will fucking kill him.

  Chapter Three

  Nothing is wrong. Everything is fine. — Lizzie Hart Stevens

  Luke

  Turkey

  It’s been two months since my visit home. Ryan is doing well. I know this because I keep in touch with them through a secure video chat session.

  “Hey, Mom,” I say quietly when she comes on one of the chat sessions. “Everyone’s asleep, so we need to keep it short. How are things?”

  The pause in the feed is irritating. It’s why I hate doing these things.

  “They can’t seem to find what’s causing his PSA levels to be so high. They will continue checking his levels. He’s fine for now. Tell me about you.”

  “All is well, Mom.” I smile and nod.

  “Hello, there.”

  I look over my shoulder at Trigger.

  “Back off, man,” I whisper.

  “Not my fault your sister is so incredibly sexy.” He winks at my mom.

  “That’s my mother.”

  “Been in the desert awhile, soldier?” my mom says with a laugh.

  “No, ma’am. 20/20 vision and a great appreciation for beautiful women.”

  “And married,” I remind him.

  “Speaking of marriage,” Mom’s voice comes through the speakers. “Ava and T are expecting.”

  “Miss A?” Killshot whispers in shock.

  I shoot him a warning glare, and he shuts the fuck up.

  “Excepting?” I ask, really hoping my mom isn’t saying what I’m thinking she is.

  Mom smiles. “She’s having a baby. Don’t tell anyone, though. I overheard Lucas and Tessa.”

  Fuck!

  “Who am I going to tell?”

  “I wish you could be home for the wedding. It’s going to be so wonderful.”

  I smile and nod. “Gotta work. Tell her I want nothing but happiness for her.”

  “I know. Last mission, right?” she asks, just like every time I leave, and I answer with what she needs to hear from me.

  I nod. “Love you, Mom. Talk next week?”

  When I close the laptop and disconnect the line, I lean back and see both Trigger and Killshot staring at me.

  I roll my eyes and look away.

  “Hell no. Let’s talk about this,” Kill says.

  “Talk about what?” I ask as I stand up. “Got nothing to talk about.”

  “Girl you’ve been yanking the crank with for—”

  “Fuck if I have been,” I say dismissively.

  “Bullshit. Mail day, you disappear to the bathroom for an hour,” Trigger ribs.

  “Not your business,” I say, looking out the window to see if the vans down the road have moved.

  “What are you gonna do about it?” Kill asks.

  I turn around and look at him. “Not the time or the place.”

  “Get it off your mind,” Trigger says.

  “It’s off my mind.”

  “Could that kid be yours?” Kill asks.

  I shake my head. “No. Ava—”

  “Oh, so she does have a name,” Trigger jokes.

  I roll my eyes and look away. “She would not be marrying him if she was pregnant with my kid. Not mine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, I am.” I look back out the window. They are doubting what I know, yet I know Ava.

  “Get some sleep. I’ll take watch,” Kill offers.

  I nod then walk over to the bed I made on the floor. Lying down, I stare at the ceiling before forcing myself to close my eyes and picture anything but her.

  I despise her.

  Lies.

  Fucking lies.

  Loved me? Fuck that. She wants to ruin me.

  Unable to get comfortable, I roll to my side and focus on the mission.

  Three vans. Two black and one white. We wait for the return of one of the black ones that carries the number ten most wanted terrorist in the world. The Sandman. The man who is said to be worse than Hussein.

  He will feel my wrath.

  I roll to my back and sigh.

  I hope she’s happy. I truly do.

  Apparently, my dreams don’t get the message because, when I am shaken awake in the abandoned warehouse the three of us have been living in for the past three weeks, I know my sleeping mouth was running, saying shit it shou
ldn’t.

  “Birdman, wake up,” I hear and know it’s Trigger or Killshot.

  When I open my eyes, both are looking at me, their eyes showing concern.

  “Who’s Piper?” Trigger asks.

  I jolt upright. “What?”

  “Well, we know who Ava is, but who is Piper?” Trigger asks.

  “Why?” Why did I mention Harper’s daughter?

  “You were talking about them both in your sleep,” Kill says, patting my shoulder. “You good?”

  “I’m fine,” I grumble. “I’ll take watch.”

  “I got it,” Kill says.

  “No, I’ll take it.”

  “Head in the game? This could be our lucky night, Birdman. Get him, get out, get home.”

  “Will do,” I say as I walk across the dark room toward the window.

  “If you need a few days, we can call someone else in,” Kill offers.

  “No, this motherfucker is mine. All fucking mine.”

  I look at the small hand-held receiver for the CCTV camera I installed in the building next to Sandman’s hideout. We have been looking for him for four years, and finally, we got him.

  Two hours pass and dawn is about to break when I see the vehicle we have been waiting for.

  “Time to roll, ladies,” I tell my brothers, ducking out of sight.

  Trigger and Kill are up immediately, checking their weapons, and I do the same. Then I send an encrypted message, telling the guys in the sky to prepare.

  We head down the stairs and out through the back. I’m in front, where I like to be, when Kill grabs my shoulder.

  “I’m number one today.”

  I know damn well why he is saying that.

  “I’m one hundred and ten percent.”

  “I’m one hundred and eleven,” he retorts.

  Not wanting to argue, I fall back and let him lead.

  We round the building and see four guards, same amount as every other night we waited, until the one we pinned as the leader of the guards walks inside. We have thirty seconds before the gate closes and locks behind him.

  We are quick, we are effective, and we are lethal. Three guards down, and we are inside the gates of the Sandman.

  We have done our homework, so we know there are ten men inside the house at all times, add Sandman and his personal bodyguard, and there are twelve. No women. No children.

  We use the back staircase, knowing it leads to where the meeting will take place. We are quiet, more so than the mice running around the fucking warehouse that we will be leaving as soon as this assignment is complete.

  When Kill stops and holds up his hand, signaling five, and then two more fingers, we know seven are already in the room. That means five more are coming.

  He then motions forward, and I am pissed. My style is storm when his is sneak. I fucking hate it. We need to wait until the entire crew of fucks are in the room. The others could easily be alerted, and then all is for naught.

  He goes in, and we follow. Within seconds, they are eliminated.

  “You’re one lucky son-of-a-bitch,” I tell him in a low tone.

  He winks. “Skill.”

  I shake my head as I scan the room and see two laptops. I grab the SD card out of my pack and go to work.

  “We’ll grab the computers later,” Kill snarls.

  I don’t listen. Instead, I hold up two fingers, telling him to give me two minutes. The damn thing is right here, so I’m going to get what I can. You never know if you will get a chance like this a minute from now, and the information on these computers could save lives.

  I toss Trigger another SD card, and he plugs it into the laptop next to him.

  My heart bangs against my chest as I wait for the information to download. That’s when I hear a click and two shots.

  I quickly turn to see two more bodies, men we didn’t know about, lying dead in the doorway.

  “Time to move,” Kill says and starts without us.

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” I hiss then nod to Trigger to go.

  Ten seconds later, I pull the SD card out and quickly walk over to the other laptop. It’s done, too, so I pull it out then jet out the door.

  I hear them downstairs. Shots are fired. I lean over the railing to see a man with a gun. Trigger and Killshot have no fucking clue he’s behind them, honing in on them.

  When I get a better look, I know who the fuck is, and I only have a split second to either overtake him or shoot him when I know the directive is to bring him in alive.

  Sandman.

  I jump down the flight of stairs separating us and onto his back. We crash to the ground, and he fights as I easily strip him of his gun. Then he reaches under his robe.

  “You move, motherfucker, you die,” I warn as I restrain his arms and yank him up. “One word, and I will blow your brains all over these fucking walls.”

  I walk through the room quietly, and he starts fucking chanting. More gunshots, and I push him in front of me as I round the corner, using him as a human shield.

  Killshot and Trigger nod to the side door, and I follow them with Sandman.

  Outside, Sandman screams and chants as we hurry him down the pre-planned route. Trigger is on the phone, giving coordinates to the guys in the sky for evacuation, as he and Killshot go back inside the building we were occupying to grab our equipment.

  Again, Sandman puts up a fight, and I am forced to the ground with him. That’s when a whistling buzz pierces my ears, followed by an earth shaking explosion.

  The building has been hit!

  The ringing in my ears is horrific. The pain I feel as brick and metal hit me is allowed for...five, four, three, two, one, and now I dismiss it.

  Sandman easily pushes away from the grip I have on him because, lucky for him, he was covered by my body. When I grab him, I quickly realize my shoulder is dislocated, but fuck if I let him go, not after we spent years looking for him.

  I hear Trigger yelling, but I have no idea what the hell he’s saying with the ringing in my ears.

  I look back at Sandman, who has a sick smile on his face, and push him to the ground before looking back for my team. Trigger is a mess. Blood is everywhere as he pushes parts of the building off of him. I don’t see Killshot.

  I am caught in a moment of needing to help my men, yet not wanting to release my captive.

  I look back at Sandman who knows the conundrum I am faced: his live capture or helping my men. What he doesn’t know is who I am.

  Another whistle and another explosion rocks us.

  I pull out my piece and look at the sick fuck before pulling the trigger, shooting him point blank in the head. Blood and brain matter fly out of him, spattering everywhere.

  I turn to help my team, pulling Trigger to safety then handing him his weapon to defend himself. Then I push myself to get back in that fucking crumbling building while being attacked by cowards as gunfire surrounds me. I don’t know if it’s them or us. All I know is that I need to get Killshot the fuck out of here.

  Chapter Four

  I can handle it. — C. Bohannan

  Ava

  I watch as Dad and Tessa pull away from the curb, the place where Thomas Hardy, the love of my life, smiled at me before he took his last breath. I was so sure it wasn’t his last, and I was as sure that him being on life support would eventually mean he would wake up and tell me he loved me again.

  Standing erect atop the gray sidewalk is the light pole that he was crushed against, pinned between it and a car, while on his way to get me a Snickers bar that I didn’t need.

  No, I need him.

  I stand on the balcony and take in a calming breath. The babies are sleeping inside, freshly bathed, adorned in the cutest clothes money can buy, swaddled in their very own Bingos that I have in triplicate because my father insists I need them that way. Their bellies are full, and they have been rocked asleep in my arms.

  There is no way they can actually be affected by my pain, my anger, my sadness. I never want them to. T
herefore, if I keep my grief to their sleeping hours, I know they will be okay. I close my eyes tight and pray they will be okay.

  Praying. Why do I still bother?

  I place my elbows on the brick overhang, peering down at that spot where black meets gray, where the love of a man and a woman got taken away in the blink of an eye.

  But it’s not gone. My love. T and my love will never go away. We have a forever love.

  I stand back and wrap my arms tight around myself, letting out a low groan and releasing the pain, the anger, the hate, and all the ugliness in a place I know I can, where it will not affect a soul.

  Emotions come to a roiling boil as the clouds use this time to part, the sun peering through and shining down on me. I shut my eyes, seeing Thomas smiling back at me.

  The sun...The sun is T, my T, my love and my pain.

  Really, there isn’t anything I look at that doesn’t remind me of him and the insurmountable love I have for the man who loved me so much. He lied about the pregnancy so my pain wasn’t as severe, making me believe he was the father of both our children.

  There are lies in love, just as much as there are truths.

  A man will tell the woman he loves that she doesn’t look fat in that dress, or that she is the best he has ever had, or that she is the most beautiful women on the planet. It may not be true, but he believes it enough to tell her those things, to make her happy and feel beautiful, and not fat, and not the best he has ever had.

  A man like Thomas Hardy would do that for a girl like me.

  The pain of his absence is so copious it makes me sick. Sick to my stomach to the point I do throw up. My body can’t take the sickness it feels while it breathes in the air that surrounds me, in a world without T.

  I slowly lower myself to my knees and cover my face as the tears spill out, the way they do when I am on this balcony that should have a rooftop garden that we grew together. A garden that grows and blooms, and comes to life, surrounded by our love.