by Tara Wylde
My head rises and falls with each of Xander’s breaths. He’s not much of a talker, either. Is that why I wanted him so badly in high school? I’ve heard that girls date their fathers. Maybe I’ve got unresolved issues or something.
That’s where my sleepy mind is when my mouth opens and, independent of my brain, asks: “Why did you forget about me after you joined the Navy?”
By the time I realize what I’ve said, Xander’s chest stops rising and falling.
Chapter Twenty-Three
XANDER
Shit. I knew it couldn’t last.
I was just about to nod off and now Tina finally comes right out and addresses the elephant that’s been in the room ever since I showed up in that suite at the Beverly Wilshire.
I figured between the shows and the interviews and the sex, I’d be able to keep her distracted until the end of the tour.
I should have known better.
She hasn’t moved since she said it; her head is still on my chest, and she hasn’t tried to wiggle out from under my arm. But there’s a sudden tension in the darkness like smoke that I can’t see. She’s stiff as a board.
Well, Xander, what are you going to say? You better come up with something, you moron.
“I don’t know,” I hear myself say.
Smooth, sailor. Real smooth.
Tina is silent for a several moments.
“All right,” she says finally.
No, it’s not all right. It’s a thousand miles from all right.
But what else do I say? What can I say?
Sometimes I feel like the SEALs stole my life. At least the part of my life that was normal, that was sane and reliable. You can’t throw a flash grenade down a rat hole in Mosul, and then follow it down into the dark with nothing but an Mk 14 rifle and your guts between you and the bad guys, and not be changed by it. Be damaged, maybe.
I’ve always internalized everything. I may be easygoing on the outside, but that’s just how I keep what’s inside from escaping. I always acted like it never mattered that my daddy didn’t want me around. I always had a joke ready whenever someone was feeling down because I didn’t want to have to talk about my own problems. And when it came to what I saw — and did — as a SEAL, well, I just don’t talk about it.
Hell, until Tina exploded back onto the scene, I didn’t even think about it.
Easy as pie.
And it was easy, until I walked back into Tina’s life and everything flipped on its head.
So why am I not saying anything? It’s been a full minute since she spoke, and I’m still laying here like a stupid lump, expecting her to just move on so that I don’t have to deal with my own demons. What did I think was going to happen when the tour ended?
Did I really think everything was just going to stay like it is, we’d just keep moving from luxury hotel to luxury hotel, screwing our brains out every night?
“Tina…” I whisper. It’s all I can think of to say.
I can feel her torso trembling under my arm, hear the sniffles she’s trying to hide. She’s sobbing.
Jesus, what a mess.
Chapter Twenty-Four
TINA
Why did I have to ask that?
Why couldn’t I have just fallen asleep? Now everything has changed.
But this has been coming. It was always going to happen – eventually. It had to; we couldn’t just keep going on acting like it never happened. Not forever.
Xander Tate broke my heart when he cut off contact. Sure, I was a teenage girl, but it doesn’t mean my feelings weren’t real. And I thought his were, too.
And now I can’t help but wonder if we’re back in the same place we were back then, with me falling in love and him not even paying attention to what’s going on around him. Maybe I’m just a fool, drunk on physical pleasure and mistaking it for actual feelings.
And I’ll never know, because he won’t tell me. He’s still lying there silently. If he were breathing any more deeply, I’d swear he’d fallen asleep on me.
Is this what I can expect for the rest of my time with Xander: a knee-trembling fuck, followed by an off-hand joke and then silence? I want more than that.
I need more.
I snuffle back the snot that’s threatening to run out of my nose and onto Xander’s chest. He lifts his arm off my shoulder, leaving a little trail of perspiration where our skin touched for so long. He moves his torso to slide out from under my head without so much as a ‘sorry,’ turning to face outwards on the edge of the bed.
He cocks his head in the dark and I think maybe, just maybe, he’s going to say something to me.
But of course he doesn’t. He just reaches down and picks up his boxers from the floor, stands up, and pulls them on.
A cold fury flashes through me. Bastard.
He stands there in the dark, silent as always, until he finally turns back towards the bed. He leans forward, one knee on the mattress, and moves in close.
As if he can just kiss this all away. Does he think I’m just putty in his hands? That all he has to do is put his hands on me and I’ll be so transported by passion that I’ll just forget all this ever happened? That he can just go on the way he is, using my body and not talking about anything?
“Listen, you bastard,” I say, and suddenly his hand is over my mouth.
My heart thuds hard in my chest and I can taste the coppery tang of adrenaline in my mouth. My God – is Xander Tate going to hurt me? I can’t believe it. It’s not possible.
And yet, cold fear stills my heart. If he wanted to, what could I do to stop him?
My breathing sounds like a horse’s as the air rushes in and out of my nostrils. He puts his lips to my ear as he’s done so many times, but now my body doesn’t respond with lust. All I feel is terror.
“Get on the floor under the bed and don’t make a sound,” he whispers. “Don’t move until you hear me give the all clear. Understand?”
No, I don’t understand! What the hell is he talking about? I don’t say it out loud, but I’m sure my bulging eyes are conveying the message loud and clear.
“Good,” he hisses, barely audible even right in my ear. “Someone just broke into our suite and they’re standing right outside the door to this room.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
XANDER
Tina does as I say, lowering herself silently to the floor. I pad to the other side of the bed and pick up her nightie so that she can at least cover herself.
I’ll have to fight in my underwear, which isn’t ideal, but it’s not like I’ve never done it before. A wild night in Lagos comes to mind.
Once I see that she’s wedged herself under the bed on the wall side, I reach for the wall that faces the foot of the bed and put my back towards it. The floorboards are most stable next to a wall, so I sidle along it to reduce the chance that I’ll hit an unwanted creak and signal to the guy outside the door that I’m on my way to meet him.
Whoever is out there is good; I almost didn’t hear him enter. But he didn’t account for the spring-loaded handle on the main door having a short slack space that he couldn’t control with his grip. No matter how tightly he held it, the handle would have snapped back a good half-inch, making the light metallic “clack” sound I heard while I laid there listening to Tina cry.
I pivot slowly as I reach the door wall at the front of the room, keeping my back against it. I scan the area for anything I can use as a weapon: nothing. I ready myself for a grappling melee. I have the advantage of surprise.
At least I hope I do.
I hear Tina’s rapid breathing across the room. I want to run to her, tell her everything is going to be all right, but I can’t lose focus. Not now.
I take a deep breath, pull the door open without hesitating, and leap into the dark hallway. I throw myself on top of him – or at least, whee he should be – hoping to end this fight before it begins. But the assailant is too fast, and by the time I land, there’s nothing between me and the floor.
The living room and adjoining kitchen area are illuminated somewhat by the lights of the Chicago skyline, so it’s not complete darkness. A shadow speeds by me and I hear a grunt of effort coming from my right. Instinctively, I raise my left arm to ward off a blow and get a crack on the forearm from a piece of firewood for my trouble.
I bite back the pain threatening to blind me and bring my right foot up to where I estimate the shadow’s midsection to be.
It connects solidly and I hear the air whumph out of him. I follow up by closing the gap between us and driving my right elbow into the part of the shadow that appears to be the head.
I hear the sound of dead weight hitting the floor, and then the one sound I was praying not to hear: the hammer of a pistol being cocked back.
“I – I can’t do this,” a shaky voice says in the dark as the shadow rises from the floor.
The gun adds a whole new element to the situation, and my pulse quickens in time with my mind.
I map Tina’s location in my mind in an instant, visualizing where the bedroom door is in relation to the man in front of me: he’s facing away from the door, so a stray shot in this direction can’t possibly reach her.
Beyond the living room wall directly behind me is the ice-maker and vending machines, enough to stop the bullet from what sounded like a snub-nose .38.
I have a better-than-even chance of disarming him under these circumstances. But I have to do it, whatever the odds. Because it’s Tina’s life on the line, and that’s all that matters.
This all runs through my mind in a fraction of a second.
My body moves independently of my brain as I reach forward and upward with my left hand, grabbing his gun hand at the wrist and twisting it to the outside. At the same time, my right fist pistons out horizontally into his sternum like a jackhammer, knocking him backwards several feet.
Since I still have his right wrist in my left grip, he spins to his left from the force of the blow and stumbles backwards to the floor. As he does, he loses control of the .38 and it clatters to the floor.
At that precise moment, the room floods with light, blinding me for a second. A long, crucial second.
Chapter Twenty-Six
XANDER
“What the hell is going on?” Jason hollers from the doorway.
In the two seconds it takes for my pupils to contract enough for me to make out shapes, the intruder manages to drop to his knees on the floor and recover the pistol. I have to fight against the instinct to grab the pistol and blow Jason’s stupid brains out with it.
I see a blob of color in the shape of a man swaying in front of me. “I can’t do this,” he mutters again. As my vision starts to solidify, I can make out the barrel of the .38 pointing directly at my chest.
“Then don’t,” I say. “This hasn’t gone too far yet. It doesn’t have to.”
We’re both squinting at each other and I realize he was as affected by the sudden burst of light as I was. He looks from me over to Jason, but keeps the gun trained on me.
Jason stares the guy down. I never would have believed it if I wasn’t seeing it: Jason Lane showing steel in the face of danger. I guess the world really did turn itself upside down while I was in the Navy.
I use the distraction to grab the gun again. This time, I pull it towards me and pivot my body into his, so that he’s behind me, almost like we’re spooning. I use leverage to hoist him off the floor and all the strength my muscles can give to raise him higher.
I get him about shoulder height into the air and then drop him to the hardwood floor with all my weight on top of him.
I hear a deafening explosion and feel hot pressure on my left shoulder. His collarbone and some of his ribs give way from the impact as we land and he lets out a pained grunt. The gun is still in his right hand and now I can feel warm wetness running down my now useless left arm. It takes a few seconds to process, and I barely feel the pain.
This asshole just shot me.
I stagger backwards, clapping my fingers against the wound in my shoulder. Blood spurts out, and now the pain begins to burn. It‘s like a brief pause in the fight – like we‘re both struggling for breath, trying to figure out our next move.
The attacker lays there on the floor, grunting with pain. He’s middle-aged, unkempt, reeks of alcohol. His hair is in knots and he looks like he slept in his clothes. He spins and drags himself backward, chest wheezing from the effort. He holds the pistol out, and it sways, snake-like, as if the pain is causing him trouble focusing.
I recover my wits enough to plan my next move: I’ll have to kick the pistol out of his grip and hope that he doesn’t have the speed to match me or the strength to pull the trigger again. As I lean back, preparing to strike, I hear something that freezes my blood.
“Xander! Oh my God!”
I don’t have time to turn and look at Tina, but I know she’s in the bedroom doorway. It changes every calculation, every scenario my brain’s had a chance to run.
Dammit, why couldn’t she stay put?
It’s just enough of a distraction to make me lose focus. I’ve never fought in a battle where someone I loved could get hurt before. I spin, a helpless warning on my face, and as I do the intruder looks from me to Tina.
The gun hand weaves back and forth, as if he can’t quite focus. Again he looks over at Jason but doesn’t point the gun. Jason still has that steely look in his eyes: he’s not scared.
He should be, but he’s not. And I can’t figure why.
“Get back in the bedroom!” I bark as I position myself for another kick at the gun hand, trying to take advantage of the distraction. But I’m too slow. He turns towards me again, wincing at what has to be horrible pain in his torso.
I realize now that I have to go for broke. I crouch low, ready to roll on top of him to take another bullet so that it can’t hit Tina. If I’m lucky it won’t hit anything vital and I can get it away from him with only my right hand before he can do any more damage.
Like I said, as a SEAL, you’re trained to be prepared for anything. But I’m not prepared for what happens next.
The guy lifts the gun, levels it against the underside of his chin, and blows his brains out.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
TINA
Before I even realize I’m doing it, I’m running to Xander, my heart beating triple time. I can’t process it all: the guy on the floor, Jason, Xander, the sound of gunshots.
All I know is Xander is hurt. I’m beside him in three strides and gingerly reach out to touch his arm. Blood is flowing freely from a hole in the shoulder.
“Get a towel!” I shout to Jason.
My voice seems to awaken him from a daze and he does as he’s told for the first time in recent memory.
I feel like an overprotective mother, touching Xander everywhere, making sure he’s still there, that there are no pieces missing. The hot sting of tears burns my eyes like acid.
Xander is looking at the remains of the guy on the floor. I can’t bring myself to follow suit. It was bad enough watching him pull the trigger. I hope I never have to see anything like that ever again.
Jason brings me a pair of bath towels glass of water. I take one towel and push it against the hole in his shoulder, then turn to Jason.
“Hold this in place,” I say. He takes over, and I start looking for something to help stem the bleeding. A first aid kit would come in handy right now…
“My God!” I hear Carol cry from the doorway. Behind her, two uniformed security guards rush into the room, pushing her out of the way and drawing their weapons.
“Hands on your heads!” the larger guard orders. The other one grabs Carol and holds her against the wall. She’s wearing a dressing gown and what appears to be her birthday suit underneath.
“Get your hands off me, you little creep!” she snaps. “Don’t you know that’s Tina Quinn over there?”
Jason and I comply and put our hands up, but Xander can only raise one. The larger guard looks
down at the guy on the floor, then to Xander, then to me.
“What the fuck happened here?”
Jason lowers his hands with the rest of us as it becomes clear these guys aren’t trained for this sort of situation. He bends down towards the coffee table in front of the sofa, careful not to make any sudden movements, and picks up a piece of paper.
He cocks his head to one angle, examining it, then nods softly to himself, as if whatever he sees confirms his suspicions.
“Gentlemen,” he says. “I believe I can help you out here. I think if you look at this, you’ll see that it’s written to Ms. Quinn. She’s received other… uh, disturbing notes in the past.”
Carol’s brow furrows as the smaller guard lets her go. Even in her shocked state, she makes sure to straighten her robe and maintain her dignity. She rushes towards me and wraps protective arms around me. Her attention quickly turns to Xander.
“Dear God, sailor,” she says, stroking his cheek. “You’re a mess.”
I manage to get a makeshift bandage in place on his shoulder while Guard Two calls the police. Meanwhile, Guard One examines the piece of paper.
“I’m sorry for all of it,” he reads aloud. “I never meant to hurt anyone. I just wanted you to love me the way that I love you. But you love HIM now. I’m going to go away, and I’m going to take him with me. Goodbye Tina. I love you.”
He turns the piece of paper towards us and I see the typed words above a printout of the Instagram photo of Xander and me that first night in L.A.
I finally force myself to look down at the man on the floor. Part of me is revolted by him, part of me feels sorry for him. All of me is relieved that we don’t have to worry about him anymore.
I turn my attention back to Xander and fashion a sling out of the other towel. The blood seems to be seeping now instead of spurting, which I guess is a good sign. Xander himself hasn’t said a word since the man on the floor shot himself.
