by Erika Wilde
The entire time, Rick remained composed and didn’t panic during her emotional breakdown. Instead, he rocked her in his arms and murmured soothing words to her, as if he knew she needed this cathartic release and it had to run its cycle—and he was there for her every single moment. When her ugly crying jag was finally over, she fell asleep against him in utter exhaustion, and when she stirred a few hours later and tentatively glanced up at him, his eyes were filled with kindness and understanding. He’d merely brushed her hair away from her face with gentle fingers and asked if she felt better.
Shockingly, she’d felt less burdened and realized that Rick had given her exactly what she’d needed. Today, she felt calmer and less resentful. More focused and stable. More intent on looking toward the future.
It was a nice place to be after months of emotional upheaval.
Finishing off the last of her sliced apple, she took her plate to the kitchen, washed it off, and set it on the drying rack. She’d just finished wiping her hands on a terry towel when someone knocked on her apartment door. Not expecting any visitors, she glanced through the peephole and was surprised to find Rick standing on the other side.
She unlocked and opened the door, not sure what to make of his pensive expression or his usually neatly styled hair that was tousled around his head, as if he’d been running his fingers through it repeatedly. While they’d parted ways amicably last night and with no awkwardness between them, she didn’t expect to see him today.
“Hey, come on in,” she said in a light tone as she stepped back to give him room to enter.
He walked inside, giving her small place a curious glance since he’d never been there before, then met her gaze again. “Before you ask, I got your address from Paige.”
“Yeah, I was wondering,” she murmured and got right to the point of his visit. “What brings you by?”
He exhaled a deep breath, a flash of concern etching his features as his eyes searched her face. “Last night was . . . intense, to say the least, and I just wanted to check in on you to make sure you were all right.”
She arched a brow and folded her arms over her chest and the army T-shirt of Declan’s she’d chosen to wear this morning. “You could have easily called or texted.”
“I know I could have,” he replied, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “But to be honest, after everything that happened, I needed to see for myself that you’re okay.”
“Well, my ass has certainly felt better,” she said with a laugh.
He smirked. “So, you learned your lesson then,” he said, teasing her before growing somber once more. “But more seriously, how are you, emotionally?”
She appreciated him asking, considering he’d been her rock while she’d fallen apart and bawled against his chest. “Actually, I’m good. Better. I’m going to be fine. I promise,” she said, believing her own words. Today, she felt stronger, more determined and confident.
“And what about us?” he asked. “Are we good?”
She heard the worry in his voice and didn’t hesitate to reassure him. “Yes, we’re both good. What happened at The Players Club stays at The Players Club,” she said playfully. While she knew she hadn’t done anything wrong the previous evening, she also realized that being with Rick hadn’t alleviated her feelings for Declan. For her, being with Rick had been a one-night deal because she wasn’t looking to hurt him or lead him on in any way.
He nodded, his relief palpable as he glanced around her apartment again and the cartons all over the place. “What’s going on with all the boxes?”
She sighed and looked in the same direction. “I’m moving. I have to be out of here in two weeks when my lease is up. Problem is, I haven’t found a new place yet.” She’d even scoured apartment sites on the internet early this morning, but still nothing in her price range.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had to move when we had dinner last week?”
Hearing the thread of chastisement in his voice, her brows rose and her mouth quirked with amusement. “Umm, I didn’t think I needed to.”
He was quiet for a moment, then shifted his gaze back to hers. “I can help.”
“As in, help me move?” she asked, confused.
The corner of his mouth quirked with a smile. “That, too, but I can also offer you a place to stay temporarily, until you find a place that fits your needs.”
She bit her bottom lip, appreciating the generous overture but not sure how smart it would be to accept his suggestion after their night together. One she didn’t intend to repeat.
He must have sensed her misgivings, because he quickly expanded on the proposal and his idea. “I understand that last night was an exception, and the offer doesn’t come with any strings attached or expectations,” he said, pacifying her concerns. “Except maybe you cooking an occasional dinner.”
She laughed at the hopeful note in his voice.
“I just want to help you out, because I can,” he went on, his tone as genuine as the man himself. “There’s an extra room in the house that’s not being used. You can stay there until you find another place you’re comfortable moving to.”
He gave her a few minutes to think it over, and she came to the conclusion that, with the parameters of their relationship established, the arrangement could work. He was giving her the freedom and ability to keep searching for the right place to live without rushing into a decision, and she felt a sense of relief that the stress and pressure to find another apartment had lessened.
“Okay, you’ve got yourself a roommate and a chef.” She grinned.
He chuckled, looking pleased. “Somehow, I think I’m getting the better end of the deal.”
Three weeks later . . .
Rick sat in the boardroom at Noble and Associates, surrounded by Dean and Mac as they discussed a proposed government contract to update their intrusion detection systems against malicious activity on their servers. As head of the Cybersecurity Division, Rick was in charge of the project, which was scheduled to begin the following week.
A few hours into their strategic planning of implementing the software application, Rick’s phone vibrated on the table next to his open laptop. He glanced at the caller ID, which showed what he knew was an international number. One he didn’t recognize.
His heart immediately lurched in his chest, followed by an awful sense of dread settling in the pit of his stomach. The infrequent, sporadic times that Declan called to touch base with Rick was from his own cell, and he hadn’t heard from his stepbrother by phone in the four months since he’d left, just a brief email letting Rick know he was in the Middle East somewhere, trying to infiltrate a terrorist group.
Fearing the worst news, he swallowed hard and glanced up at Dean and Mac. “I’m sorry. I need to take this call.”
His voice sounded like gravel, and both men looked at him with concern but didn’t ask questions—though he was certain they would later.
“No problem,” Dean said, quickly gathering the printout of the contract and standing, along with Mac. “I think we’re done here, so we’ll give you some privacy to take your call.”
Once the two men walked out and closed the door behind them, Rick connected the call. “Hello?” His tone was as cautious as he felt.
“Rick . . . it’s Declan.”
Hearing his stepbrother’s voice flooded him with relief, and Rick slumped back in his chair. “Jesus Christ, Declan! Seeing an international call from a number I’ve never seen before scared the shit out of me. Why aren’t you calling from your cell?”
“Because it was destroyed in a blast,” he said, his tone unreadable. “I’m on a prepaid.”
Because Declan seemed so impassive, Rick wondered if he was messing around with him, because destroyed in a blast did not have a positive connotation. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“I wish I were,” he said, his voice gruffer now. “It was in my tactical bag when my unit was ambushed.”
Resting the back of his head against the chair, Rick pinched hi
s fingers against the bridge of his nose, silently praying. “Tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m okay now,” Declan clarified. “I was shot out in the field during the attack. I was hit in the right shoulder. The bullet went clean through, but it did require surgery.”
Rick swore beneath his breath, even as he was grateful that worse hadn’t befallen Declan. “When did this happen?”
There was a slight hesitation, then a reply. “About a month ago.”
“And you’re just now calling to tell me?” he yelled into the phone.
“I didn’t want you to worry, because I’m fine,” Declan snapped back testily.
He didn’t sound fine. The irritable bite to Declan’s words caught Rick off guard, and he forced himself to calm down. “Okay . . . so are they sending you back out on another assignment?”
“No.” Another pause before Declan finished. “I wanted to let you know that I’m coming home . . . to figure some shit out.”
Shock rippled through him at his stepbrother’s words. Declan never had shit to figure out. Not when it came to his military career. As happy as he was that Declan was coming home safely and in one piece, Rick instinctively knew something was wrong. More than Declan just being shot in the shoulder.
“What shit?” Rick asked.
“I’ll explain everything when I get there.”
Rick clenched his jaw in frustration, hating that Declan was being vague and evasive about whatever was going on with him. But he also knew better than to push and prod Declan when he wasn’t ready to talk about something.
“Fine,” Rick said, letting the issue go for now. “When are you arriving?”
“This Sunday evening.”
In two days, since it was a Friday, Rick thought. “Send me your flight info and I’ll be at the airport to pick you up.”
“I will. Thanks.” Declan’s voice returned to being brusque. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Same,” Rick said, and disconnected the call the same time Declan did.
He tossed his cellphone onto the table and scrubbed a hand along his jaw, realizing he now had to break the news to Summer, who finally seemed like she was in a good spot in her life. Happy and cheerful and no longer depressed over her breakup with Declan. There was no doubt in Rick’s mind she still had feelings for his stepbrother, but at least she’d made the conscious decision to wake up in the morning optimistic and hopeful.
It had been three weeks since their night together and one week since she’d moved into the house and into the spare room opposite of where his was located. He’d given Summer her own space and respected her boundaries. Their relationship was strictly platonic—roommates, as she’d dubbed them—and admittedly he liked having the company in the evenings after work, and she seemed to, as well.
He exhaled on a few choice swear words. Enlightening Summer of Declan’s return was bound to throw a wrench into what had become a comfortable arrangement, despite Rick’s own lingering feelings for her, but she had every right to know what was coming. Especially since he suspected that Declan himself hadn’t called to tell Summer he was headed back to the States.
At six that evening, Rick’s normal time for arriving home after work, he walked into the kitchen, where Summer was removing a casserole pan from the oven. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to enjoy the delicious, savory scent wafting up to his nose since his stomach was in knots over what he had to tell her.
“Hey,” she said, greeting him with the bright smile he’d grown used to in one short week. “We’re having baked ziti Bolognese for dinner tonight.”
“First, I need a goddamn drink,” he muttered, heading to the liquor cabinet and pulling down a bottle of bourbon, along with a glass, which he filled more than halfway. He took a few gulps, letting the alcohol burn its way down his throat and mix with the apprehension in his belly before turning around and facing Summer.
She wore a concerned frown on her face as she glanced at the bottle of liquor, then back to him. “Umm, rough day at work?”
“No.” Work wasn’t the issue. He set his glass down on the counter and decided the best way to handle the situation was like ripping off a Band-Aid. Do it quickly and succinctly to get the shocking news out in the open, then deal with the fallout.
“I got a call from Declan today. He was shot out in the field while on an assignment.” Rick immediately saw the panic flash across Summer’s features and quickly finished. “He’s okay, I promise, but he’s coming home on Sunday.”
“Oh, thank God.” Her hand fluttered up to her chest as he watched her digest that information, her worry segueing into doubts and uncertainties. “I . . . umm . . . shouldn’t be here when he gets home.”
He watched her go into frantic mode, nervously wiping down the counters and doing busywork around the kitchen, and he could only imagine what was going through her mind and how she was feeling about Declan, a man she still loved, returning home without any real warning and under unusual circumstances.
“Summer, you have every right to be here because I say so. Declan left you, not the other way around, so he’s just going to have to deal with you being here until you find a place.”
Unease glimmered in her gaze. “If you say so.” She shifted anxiously on her bare feet, a hint of guilt in her eyes. “You know we have to tell him . . . about us . . . about our night at the club.”
He closed his eyes and groaned. He’d been dealing with that particular guilt swirling in his gut for the better part of the day, too. “I know, and I will when I pick him up.”
When he and Declan would be alone, because Rick suspected Declan was not going to take the news well, despite the fact that his stepbrother had essentially cut Summer off and told her to live her life without him.
He stepped closer, wanting to help her deal with the feelings that had to be twisting inside her. The shame she shouldn’t be feeling, despite the fact that he felt it as well. “No matter what we’ve done since he’s been gone, he has no right to get upset. You’re a grown woman who is single because he let you go, and you have nothing to feel guilty or bad about.”
“Then why do I?” She swallowed hard. “No, you’re right. He let me go.” She groaned and shook her head. “God, this is going to get complicated.”
Rick couldn’t disagree.
Chapter Fourteen
Rick picked up Declan curbside at the airport Sunday evening at the designated time. He got out of the car to greet his stepbrother and to give him a hug, but it was immediately apparent to Rick that there was something very off about Declan’s demeanor and personality, when he was usually happy to be home visiting. Even as they started the drive home and Rick asked him mundane questions about how his flight had been, he was met with gruff, one-word answers that did nothing to stimulate conversation between them.
After a few minutes of silence, Rick decided to broach the more difficult questions he’d been thinking about since speaking with Declan the previous Friday at work.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” he asked, casting a brief glance at Declan, who was staring out the passenger-side window in a brooding manner.
He didn’t turn his head to look at Rick. “I told you on the phone.”
Rick gripped the steering wheel tighter in an attempt to remain calm. He reminded himself that Declan had clearly been through a traumatic event, which probably accounted for his cool, distant attitude. As much as he wanted to know about the ambush that had led to Declan being shot, that terrifying experience was something his stepbrother needed to share on his own and when he was ready.
Instead, Rick focused on the reason why Declan was home earlier than what his contract had stated. “No, you didn’t tell me everything on the phone,” he countered, keeping his tone even. “You said you had some shit to figure out, and you’d explain everything when you got here.”
Declan exhaled a harsh breath and finally turned his head to look at Rick, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “So, when the bullet went throug
h my shoulder, it left me with some permanent nerve damage along my arm. Which, considering I’m a trained marksman who is required to have a steady hand, it means I’ve been relieved of my duties out in the field.”
Rick swore beneath his breath. Declan sounded angry, bitter even, and Rick couldn’t blame him. As dangerous as it was being a sniper in the Special Forces, Rick knew how much Declan loved what he did. It had been his identity in the military for the past ten years, and now he was being stripped of the position.
“What are your options?” Rick asked, certain this was the figure some shit out part of Declan being home.
Declan opened and closed his right hand into a fist, as if making sure he still had feeling in his fingers. “They said they could switch me over to an administrative position for the rest of my term,” he said, resentment infusing his voice. “But I’d rather take another bullet than deal with bureaucratic bullshit. That’s not what I signed up for.”
Yeah, Rick couldn’t imagine Declan riding a desk all day, pushing paperwork. The one thing that drew his stepbrother to the Special Forces was the unpredictability of the assignments. The element of danger and the adrenaline rush and satisfaction of completing a mission as planned. He enjoyed the energy, the intensity, and even the close camaraderie with the soldiers in his unit. And now, all that was gone.
“Did they offer you any other alternatives?” Rick asked.
“Sure,” he drawled, the sound laced with more frustration and animosity. “I can take a medical discharge and early retirement.”
Rick’s stomach gave a hard twist for his stepbrother’s dilemma, knowing this was Declan’s chosen career and undoubtedly a huge blow for him. Neither option was a good one for a man who’d made the army and Special Forces his life. Was it any wonder Declan was distant and withdrawn?
“What are you going to do?” Rick asked as he turned into their neighborhood, another kind of dread settling in his gut at what awaited Declan once they arrived home.
“I don’t know.” His jaw clenched, a troubled look on his face. “That’s what I’m home to figure out. I need to give my commander my decision in two weeks.”
