Falling Into Right

by Sharon Kay

  In desert camo fatigues, Shane lay on his back sound asleep on a cracked, dusty cement floor. A pack or bundle of some kind was under his head. A brightly colored mural decorated the wall behind him. She couldn’t tell what it was supposed to be because a chunk of the wall was missing. At his right side was a rifle, and at his left lay a German shepherd.

  “Is this…” She showed him the photo. “Is this you and Denver?”

  He crossed the small room and peered over her shoulder. A half laugh escaped him. “Huh. Holy shit. I forgot that was in there.”

  “I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have just—”

  “No, it’s fine.” He studied the photo, his eyes distant like he was back there. “One of the other guys on my team took that. We slept in shifts.”

  Her eyes dropped from his pensive ones back to the image. Dirt smudged his face along with a couple days’ stubble. His left arm lay slightly away from his body, and the dog’s head nestled in the gap between.

  “And that’s Twister,” he went on. “She was the dog I had over there.”

  Was. A sudden sinking feeling bloomed in her heart. Maybe she should have kept her mouth shut, but now she had to know. “Oh no. I shouldn’t have …was she… did she survive?”

  “It’s okay.” Shane set his hand at her lower back. “Actually, she had the least injuries of any of us.”

  “Oh.” Becca’s shoulders sagged in relief. “I was scared I brought up a bad memory.”

  “Well, there are those. But there’s good ones too. And that dog, she was a good one.” He shook his head. “She was a worker.”

  “Did you get to keep her?”

  “Nope. She was still able to do her job. So the Army kept her in the sandbox. Transferred her to a different team that was in need of a dog.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Becca turned to him. That seemed impossibly mean. “But she was yours. You guys were a team.”

  “A team, yeah. But mine? No, though my mistake was in thinking of her that way.” Shane studied the photo closer. “She was thrown from the vehicle along with all of us, but she only ended up with a sprained leg and some cuts.” His tone softened. “She didn’t want to leave me that day. Stood over me and insisted on coming in the medical transport back to base. Once I was stabilized, they shipped me back here. At least I got to say goodbye.”

  “That must have been so hard.”

  “Yeah. I was pissed at first. I lost my friends, and now I was gonna lose my dog. But…” He looked up as Denver padded into the room. “She wouldn’t have been happy retiring. She loved nothing more than to get up at the crack of dawn and find explosives. She’d work all day in the hundred ten degree heat, totally happy. If she’d come home, she woulda been bored.”

  “And she got to keep saving lives,” Becca said softly.

  “Yup. Gotta admit, the Army made the right call on that one.” He patted Denver who was sniffing his pockets. “So I came home, healed up, and a while later, I got this big lug.”

  Becca stared at the photo—at the rifle, draped with those chains of bullets that she didn’t even know the proper term for. At the ruined building that he and his men had taken shelter in. At the dog who obviously adored him. “I’m glad you were able to come home,” she whispered. The possibility of what might have happened soared to stark reality. She’d seen the news. She knew American soldiers put their lives in danger every day. But she had never known any of them personally.

  “Me too,” he murmured. “Got a few pretty ladies here to take care of.”

  “A few?” She arched a brow.

  “My sister, though she’s married now, and she’d say she don’t need me to protect her. Then there’s my niece. If her daddy don’t put the fear of God into any punks who want to date her, then I’m the next layer of security.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “And there’s you.”

  Becca wasn’t sure what she’d need protection from, but she’d take Shane anyway she could get him. “How old is your niece?”

  He frowned. “Couple months? I forget. My sister counts it in weeks.”

  “Weeks? She’s just a baby, and you’re planning to scare her future dates?” Becca grinned and shook her head. “You best be careful, or you’ll drive her to the point where she sneaks out.”

  “Nothing will get past Uncle Shane.”

  He said it with such sincerity. Becca smiled, remembering how sneaky teenagers could be, but opting to not burst his bubble. He was obviously a proud uncle. “I don’t doubt that.”

  He took a sip of his coffee. “What you got on the docket for today?”

  “A hair appointment with Marcy. She wants to try some new temporary color on someone and somehow, I got picked.”

  “Color?” His eyes roamed her messy locks. “I like your hair the way it is.”

  “No, it’s temporary. And it won’t be all over. Just streaks. At least that’s what she says.” Becca stirred in some sugar. “Then we planned to go to a bar. Girls’ night.”

  “Really.” He kept his expression neutral.

  “I’m the designated driver. She wants to drink and flirt. I’m supposed to make sure I get her back home to her own house, alone.” Becca grinned. “Or to mine, but no guys allowed.”

  “Huh.” Shane frowned. “Don’t wear the shirt you wore last night.”

  “I won’t. And not just because I wore it last night.”

  “I’m thinking you should wear a shirt that comes up really high. Like a turtleneck.” He traced a hand over her shoulder, over the navy cotton that belonged to him. “And baggy jeans. Maybe sweatpants.”

  She stifled a giggle. “You’re funny.”

  “And don’t wash your hair. In fact, don’t shower at all.” He folded his arms. “That should do it.”

  “That should make random guys want to turn the other way when they see me?”

  “That still might not work.” He looked utterly serious, like this was a problem he had to solve or something dire would happen. Suddenly his eyes lit. “Tell them you have a boyfriend.”

  Becca blinked in surprise. The b-word…She started to repeat him, but he stopped her with a finger on her lips.

  “Wait. I know we haven’t known each other long. You can say it tonight, or don’t say it, whatever. We don’t have to get specific. But I meant what I said about sleepover privileges. It only applies to you.”

  Becca’s head spun with a giddy swirl of surprise and delight. Boyfriend. Sleepover privileges. Only her. The rational side of her brain said to chill. She wasn’t long out of a broken engagement and a ton of bad news.

  But her heart was miles ahead, picturing endless nights in his arms and mornings just like this. He was so perfect for her she couldn’t even wrap her head around it. She leaned up on her toes to kiss him. “I think that’ll work just fine.”

  Chapter 22

  It was ten p.m., and the country joint in Murphysboro was packed. Becca and Marcy managed to get seats at the bar, smiling and sidling their way through the throng.

  Becca had worn a black, short-sleeve T-shirt with subtle sparkles throughout the cotton. It was left over from the holidays, but no one would realize it. And the best part was that with a crew neck, it came up well above her collarbones. Shane would approve. She smiled to herself.

  Her pants were totally not club wear, either. She’d pulled on a pair of black yoga pants that worked well enough to get by in a dark room. They could pass for work pants, and anyway, her shirt was a little long.

  Marcy caught the bartender’s attention. “A double shot of tequila.”

  He nodded and glanced at Becca.

  “Just a Coke,” she yelled over the noise.

  “Thanks for not ditching me for your hot cop.” Marcy grinned. “And for being my model today. This turned out so cool!” She lifted a newly-colored, fire-engine-red lock of Becca’s hair.r />
  “I’m just glad it’s streaks. I couldn’t handle this color all over.”

  “You could totally rock that red.” Marcy turned to the bartender who’d just delivered their drinks. “Thank you!” In one swift move, she downed her double shot. She slammed the glass on the bar and blew out an exaggerated breath. “That was just what I needed.” Rotating on her seat, she scanned the room. “And that is what else I need. I mean, who else.” She hopped off the stool and worked her way to the dance floor. Next thing Becca knew, Marcy was dancing with a tall guy in a dark T-shirt.

  Becca couldn’t help but smile. Marcy had such a live-for-the-moment attitude. Total opposite of Becca. She’d half wanted to find a reason to stay at Shane’s place for a repeat of last night, but she couldn’t ditch Marcy. Marcy had been there throughout her entire horrible year.

  The song changed, and Becca sipped her Coke. Some people jostled good-naturedly, and some flirted. Girls shook out their hair. Everyone checked their phones. Becca wondered what Shane was doing now. Did he watch TV? Read? Hang out with his cop friends? Babysit his niece? There was so much to learn about him.

  Impulsively, she pulled out her phone and opened their text thread. I think you’ll be happy to know that no one is talking to me.

  A minute later, he replied. Good. And he added a winky face. Are you having fun?

  Yes, she replied. And Marcy is having enough fun for the whole bar.

  Sounds good. Call me if you need anything.

  K. Becca put her phone in her purse as Marcy hurried to the bar, shouldered her way next to Becca, and signaled the bartender for another drink. She draped her arm around Becca. “You know you’re the best, right?”

  “And you love me.” Becca grinned. “How was that guy?”

  “Nice. Hot. Employed.” She giggled. “That’s always a plus.”

  The bartender brought Marcy’s drink, and she tossed it back. Keeping her face tilted back, she swayed to the beat and murmured, “Perfect.”

  “You got the perfect buzz going?” Becca asked.

  “Hell, yes.” Marcy stuck her hands in her back pockets and did a quick scan of the room. Then she did a double take. “Holy. Effing. Shit.”

  “What?”

  Marcy peered at a point behind Becca. “Don’t freak out. I totally just thought I saw Kirk.”

  “What?” Becca whirled.

  “I don’t see him now.” She shook her head. “It must have been someone else.”

  “Yeah,” Becca said. “He doesn’t go to bars.” But just the thought of him being here unsettled her. “Or else you’re more buzzed than you think.”

  “That was really weird.” Marcy still stared at the crowd along the wall as though she could find Kirk if she only glared hard enough.

  “I really hope the tequila is making you see things,” Becca muttered.

  Marcy twirled a lock of pink hair. “Or he has a look-alike. Anyway, it’s dark in here. It couldn’t have been him. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “No, it’s okay,” Becca said.

  A tall man parted the crowd behind Marcy and ran a hand down her arm. The guy she’d danced with. “Hey,” he drawled.

  “Hi, Dylan.” Marcy’s smile grew huge. “This is my friend Becca.”

  “Hi,” Becca said.

  Dylan nodded at her, then turned smitten eyes on Marcy. “Wanna dance again?”

  “Sure.” Marcy took his hand and gave a short wave to Becca, and they disappeared through the crowd.

  Becca leaned her elbows on the bar and glanced at the TV overhead. Baseball playoffs were in full swing, and the Chicago Cubs were fighting to survive in extra innings against the Pittsburgh Pirates. Football was more of Becca’s thing, but she was happy to cheer for an Illinois team.

  Sipping her Coke, she studied the screen and tried to figure out how in the world those guys figured out the difference between a strike and a checked swing. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t realize someone had occupied the seat next to her until he spoke.

  “Hey, Becca.”

  All the air whooshed out of her lungs at the familiar timbre. Kirk. She turned on her stool, too stunned to speak.

  He looked terrible, like he hadn’t shaved or slept in a few days. His eyes were glazed, and he slouched toward her.

  “What are you doing here?” She couldn’t hide her shock.

  Coldness flashed in his eyes, then it was gone. “I guess a ‘Hi Kirk, nice to see you’ is too much to ask for.”

  She stared. “You never go to bars.”

  “I decided to support a local establishment.” He spread his arms. “And I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

  “Yeah, it was.”

  “You changed your hair.” He eyed the bright red streaks.

  “Temporary. Marcy needed a test subject.”

  “Ah.” He muttered it with distaste. “I thought I saw her.”

  She waited, still not quite processing that he was sitting next to her. “What do you want, Kirk?”

  He sighed and shifted his body toward her. “I miss you.”

  What? Her jaw dropped. She closed her mouth abruptly. His words bounced around her brain, not falling into a logical pattern.

  “I was an asshole, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for every stupid thing I said.” He turned beseeching eyes on her.

  Something in his tone set off alarm bells in her mind. This made no sense. “You were very clear about how you felt. Do you remember what you said?” She straightened as her anger built. He had been so cold with her, like she was arm candy that could be replaced if it spoiled. “You said we had no future, and it was best if we cut things off now. And don’t forget, I could ruin your career.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “You know what?” She glared. “I’m not. Not sorry.”

  Now it was his turn to look confused. Had he really thought she’d believe him?

  “We’re done. Over. There’s nothing to go back to.”

  That odd coldness flickered across his face, like a chill wind, then it was gone, replaced by the neutral-yet-nice expression he used at political functions. He squared his shoulders. “I think we could make it. Give it another try.”

  No way. “Don’t do this.”

  He dropped his head to his chest for a second and then raised it. “Okay.” He stood and left without a backward glance.

  Becca let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Oh my god. She could make out Kirk’s broad shoulders pushing through the crowd, toward the exit. She downed the rest of her Coke and stood to find Marcy. The idea that Kirk might still be here gave her chills.

  Standing at the edge of the crowded dance floor, she searched for Marcy’s pink-streaked hair. Lord, the place was packed. No pink hair in sight.

  Someone brushed past her and she whirled, but it was just two girls pushing their way into the happy crowd. Becca let out a breath. She couldn’t decide which was more unsettling—Kirk at a bar or Kirk wanting to get back together.

  An abrupt flash of color to her left caught her attention. Marcy bopped over, all smiles, sans Dylan. “Hey, Bec! Oh my god, Dylan is awesome,” she cooed. “He and his friends are going to another bar and wanted to know if we wanted to go along.” She paused. “Wait, what’s wrong?”

  Becca’s shoulders sagged. “You weren’t imagining things.”

  “Oh no. Holy shit!” Marcy laid a hand on Becca’s shoulder. “Where is he?” she growled and scanned the room.

  Becca waved a hand dismissively. “Think he left. I don’t know.”

  “Did he talk to you?”

  “Oh yeah.” Becca nodded. She relayed the brief, messed up conversation.

  “Oh my god. I would slap him if I could find him.” Marcy’s fists balled. “He is such an ass. You know that right?”

&nbs
p; “Yeah, I know.” Every day I know it more.

  “And Shane is, like, amazing,” Marcy said. “He is the polar opposite of Kirk. He’s the kind of guy you deserve. If not the guy.”

  The guy. “We only met a few weeks ago.” But deep down, Becca knew that the length of time didn’t matter. Something about Shane felt like everything she ever wanted, all bundled up in a body that could protect her as easily as make her moan.

  “Pfft.” Marcy shook her head. “Amazing. I think I’ll call him that from now on. Mr. Amazing.”

  Becca gazed at Marcy. She was right. “Did you get Dylan’s number?”

  “Yep.” She rubbed a smudge off her phone screen. “I’ll text him that we’ll pass on the other bar.”

  “We can go if y—”

  “Nope. I can tell that asshole totally killed the vibe. Let’s watch a movie where the heroine kicks ass.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Totally.” Marcy nodded enthusiastically.

  “What about Dylan?”

  “I can see him another time. You’re doing me a favor, being the bestest bestie ever, and I’m not gonna have you sit here after your asshole creepy ex just randomly found you and wanted to get back together.” Marcy set a hand on her hip. “Nope.”

  Becca straightened her shoulders. “Okay. A movie sounds good.”

  Half an hour later, they were crashed on Becca’s living room couch, which Marcy insisted was softer than her own. Bags of popcorn for Marcy and mint Oreos for Becca covered the small coffee table. Miss Congeniality played on the TV.

  “I love how tough Sandra Bullock is. At first, she totally doesn’t want to do the pageant thing, but she does because she is so determined to catch that nut job.” Marcy was snuggled under a chenille throw, her head on the armrest. “Oh! It’s the talent show part—look at her self-defense skills!” She nudged Becca with her foot. “We should take a class like that.”

  “We could.”

  “Or you could learn some moves with your hot cop.”

  “Mmm, maybe,” Becca said coyly.