Broken

by Enders, KC

  “It’s no problem. I—” My phone screen lights up with a call from California. At this hour, a call from the West Coast can’t be ignored. “Lee, I need to take this.” I stand, swipe my phone from my desk, and answer as I walk to one of the conference rooms, shutting the door. “Hey, Ryan. Did I forget to send you my flight details, or—”

  “No, no. I got them when I dragged my ass out of bed Saturday morning, but we need to push your trip off,” the lawyer says.

  Ryan Purdue is the lead on Aly’s defense team. I don’t know how her parents found him or if they just lucked out, but honestly, I don’t think there’s a better guy for this case.

  “What? Why?” I push my fingers through my hair.

  “Right? Serious kick in the ass, but prosecution is pushing hard for prison time. They’ve been digging deep, pulling old cases to cite. They want life for her,” he explains. “My guess is, they don’t understand your angle. It’d make things a whole lot easier on them if you weren’t so …” He trails off, struggling to find the right term.

  Supportive. Involved. Guilt-ridden. Any of them could apply.

  “Jesus Christ, Ryan. I’m the one who should be held responsible. The whole thing is my fucking fault.” The conference rooms at Cole are soundproof by design, as the shit we tend to discuss around here tends to be sensitive, but I suck in a calming breath and drop my volume anyway. “I missed all the signs. The signs were right there, begging for me to notice and I didn’t. The blood is on my hands.”

  Ryan is still there, his strained breathing just barely perceptible, but as seconds tick by, I can’t help but check the screen of my phone to see if the call dropped.

  “You didn’t know, Miles. Aly’s doctor, the nurses, if they had no indication, how can you think you should have seen the depths of her sickness?”

  My teeth grind together, my jaw sawing back and forth. “We were married. I lived with her, saw them every fucking day.” Emotion clogs my throat.

  Ryan’s tone softens. In the time we’ve been working together, he’s been almost more of a friend to me than anything. “And why was that? Why were you married to her? Don’t forget the depths of her deception. Don’t forget what Aly did to make that happen. Your support, the way you stand by her, is commendable. It certainly goes above and beyond. But, Miles, after this round of testimony, I think it’s best for you to let it go. Take a step back. You changed your career, moved across the country. It’s time to live your life.”

  My shoulders sag under the weight of his words. The truth in them is raw and painful. “Yeah.”

  “I’ll call when I have something more concrete, date-wise. I’m sorry.” Ryan blows out a tight breath and ends the call.

  I stand still for a minute, for five, maybe ten. Time seems to spill away as I try to reconcile the things Ryan said with the emotions I have shoved deep down inside.

  With three soft raps, the door creaks open just wide enough for Natalie’s concern to bleed in. “Everything okay?”

  I force a tight grin, knowing she’ll see right through it. “Not yet, but it’ll be fine. I, uh … my trip is postponed, so no need to reassign anything. I just need to cancel my flight, and then I’ll jump back in.”

  Natalie doesn’t step aside as I approach the door. In fact, she slips through the narrow opening and closes the door behind her. “Why don’t you go home? You look exhausted.”

  I am emotionally wrecked, but I can’t. “That’s not going to work.” I put my hands up, palms out, as she opens her mouth to protest. “I appreciate it, Natalie, and I get what you’re saying, but I can’t just go home and wallow.”

  “I’m not saying you should wallow, but—”

  “I know. I know you’re not, but now, more than ever, I need to throw myself into work. Keep my mind on something else.” I shake my head and then meet her concerned gaze. “It would kill me to be idle right now.”

  Concern softens into something closer to understanding, and Natalie finally nods. “Okay. But promise me you’ll kick out of here early today. Take a nap. Hang out on the beach. Anything. There are much better ways to distract yourself than working a thirteen-hour day on analysis.”

  I shift under the focused attention, uncomfortable with being on the receiving end of what feels way too much like pity. “We’ll see how far I get.” With that, I stalk back to my desk, pop in my earbuds, and cancel my travel plans.

  * * *

  Natalie and Ryan—they were both right. I should have left the office at noon, stolen Chloe and Jake from school, and spent the day out here in the sand. Twenty-twenty hindsight and all that.

  “Miles, catch,” Jake yells, heaving the rugby ball.

  His lateral toss is improving. Big-time.

  I jog a couple steps forward and pass it back to him. “Now, kick it and see if Bronson can field it.” Sand shifts beneath my feet as I walk backward to where Chloe is perched on a blanket. “Are there any cookies left?”

  Chloe opens the plastic shell from the grocery store and offers me the last one. “Thanks for this. I don’t know what it was about today, but something just felt off, you know?”

  I break the chocolate chip cookie in half and hand Chloe a piece as I plop my ass down next to her.

  It’s a small thing, but I love that she reaches past the piece I offer and takes the smaller chunk, mumbling, “Thanks.”

  I glance down the beach, checking on Jake’s whereabouts, before relaxing into the hand I have propped behind her back. “I do. I hated thinking that I wouldn’t see you again for a while. It made sneaking out this morning even worse.” I offer a weak smile because I hate sneaking around. I hate anything not fully honest, open, and up-front. Which makes me feel like an even bigger asshole for doing the exact opposite, but I’m not ready. It’s too much. Too raw.

  Chloe pops the last bite of cookie into her mouth and eyes me while she chews. Her brows pinch together. “Why wouldn’t you have seen me?” she asks.

  And it slams me in the face that I didn’t even tell her I was leaving town.

  Not that I planned on sleeping with her last night, but that would have been pretty shitty to slip out from between her sheets and answer her phone call from the other side of the country. No warning. No explanation.

  My beard rasps against my palm as I run my hand down my face. “I was supposed to fly out to the West Coast today. My trip got postponed at the last minute, so …”

  “Oh. I had no idea.”

  How would she? I was a schmuck and fucking hid it from her.

  “So, you’ll go later? For work stuff?”

  My hesitance to respond is just enough that she nods once and turns back to look down the beach to where Jake is tossing the ball with another kid, Bronson running between them. I should suck it up and tell her. Lay out the reasons behind my stellar hangover at the rugby game. Explain why I couldn’t hang with her and her friends that night. And just tell her about a cross-country trip that I purposely kept from her.

  I’m not proud of the choice, but I don’t do any of those things. Instead, I take advantage of the fact that as a former Special Forces wife, she knows there’s shit we don’t talk about. Things we just can’t. I might not be on a SEAL team anymore, but Chloe knows from talking to Natalie that we still deal in some hairy shit.

  For now, it might be better if she doesn’t know what has me in knots. That I lose sleep at night, thinking about all the ways I’ve failed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chloe

  There’s a code. Elite service members do things, run missions, that keep the world safe, but there’s no way in hell the general population needs to know what’s going on. Details are a privilege, not a right and certainly not an expectation. Whatever was going to pull Miles away to California is obviously not something that I need to know about.

  I understand the demands of Special Forces. SEALs. And by extension, even Cole Security.

  Jake barrels down the beach to where I sit with Miles’s arm tucked behind my bac
k, the boy he was throwing ball with abandoned.

  “Who was that? Did you make a new friend?”

  Obviously, my questions are far too immature for the worldly tween because his eye roll could win awards. Or strain a muscle—whatever.

  “Fine. Good job tossing the ball. Nice moves,” I add, changing directions. My body shakes as Miles jostles me with his rumbling laughter.

  The insolent child graces us with a huff of a reply, “That was Harry. He’s in my class, Mom. Globrammit.”

  “Nope. Not okay, friend. I don’t care how you substitute it. That’s still goddammit, and that’s just not cool. Try again. Or don’t,” I add sternly.

  Jake kicks at the sand, spraying us. Balling my hands into fists, I give Jake the mom look. I’ve about had it with the hot-and-cold attitude from him, and while I have never been one to wish life away, not even during back-to-back deployments, I can’t wait until puberty is in the rearview mirror of life. This is why I teach high school and not middle school.

  “I know you have better manners than that,” Miles says casually.

  Jake blinks, looking from Miles, to me, and back again. I can practically see the wheels turning as he processes just how much trouble he’s going to get in.

  “Rules of being a gentleman, Jake. I know you know it,” Miles prompts.

  “Always treat women with respect,” Jake replies, his shoulders slumping as he uncomfortably shifts his weight.

  “Right.” Miles puts his hands out, indicating that he wants the rugby ball. “And were you showing your mother respect just now?”

  “No, sir.”

  I don’t know whether to be pissed or impressed, but somewhere along the way, a strong relationship has developed between my son and this man. A relationship that was desperately needed. I never sat Jake down and talked to him about dating, about including Miles into our lives. It just happened. Seamlessly. Naturally. And Jake hasn’t pushed back against it at all. It’s almost like it was meant to be.

  “What are the rules of being a gentleman?” I cock an eyebrow and pull Bronson in to scratch his ears.

  Jake stares at where his toes dig into the sand, making deep grooves along the edge of the blanket.

  “Wild man?” Miles prompts. “Why don’t you get started?” He pats the big white leather ball with his left palm and gently tosses it across me to Jake.

  Jake drops the ball to the ground, and recites a handful of life rules, ticking them off on his fingers as he does. I’m amazed. Totally impressed with the things on that list that Miles obviously thinks are important enough to instill in the kids he coaches.

  “And the most important one?”

  Jake makes a big show of sucking in a huge lungful of air and blowing it out through his nose. His sweet little mouth is pursed, and his brows are pulled low over the chocolate-brown eyes he got from his father. “Always mind your manners, and above all else, be a gentleman,” he says.

  A broad smile stretches across Miles’s face, pride evident. “Nicely done.”

  He holds his hand out for Jake to toss the ball back to him. And when Jake holds off, tossing the ball between his hands, Miles hops to his feet with a growl, sending Jake running as fast as his legs can take him. The sand makes it a challenge, so it takes nothing for Miles to be within reach.

  Miles taps at the ball, zigzagging around Jake, chasing him, and playing. Playing. Of all things, who would think that such a simple thing as a boy playing ball, laughing wholeheartedly, would be such an amazing sight to behold?

  I gather our trash and carefully fold the blanket, shaking out the sand. And then I just stand. The sun-warmed sand shifting beneath my feet. The cool evening breeze swirling my hair around my head in an unruly black cloud. Peace wrapping me up, not just from seeing the carefree way my kiddo is laughing and playing and thoroughly enjoying life, but also from seeing that reflected in Miles as well.

  “Come on, Bronson,” I call, throwing the blanket over one arm and grabbing the bag of trash in the other.

  Miles and Jake trot toward me, the rugby ball flying back and forth between them as they run.

  “Mom, can Miles and I go get ice cream?” Sweat plasters sandy-brown curls to Jake’s temple.

  “Just you and Miles? I don’t get any?” I huff out a laugh.

  “You don’t even like ice cream,” Jake says, his lip popping up in a sneer.

  Concern, maybe confusion, clouds Miles’s face. He props his hands low on his hips and looks at me like I’m insane. It’s not the first time I’ve gotten that look over this. “You don’t like ice cream? Is that a thing?”

  “She’s weird, right?”

  I toss the trash into a nearby can and click the locks open on my car. Miles reaches forward to open the back hatch, tapping the bumper for Bronson to hop in. He takes the blanket from me, giving it a final shake before tucking it in the back.

  “I don’t know about weird. But she’s definitely one of a kind.”

  Electricity skitters up my spine as Miles’s hand gently guides me to the driver’s side. He opens the door for me, holding it until I’m settled.

  “A single scoop, I promise. Then, I’ll drop him home and head out.”

  “You can hang with us for a bit if you want. Maybe make a beer float. Watch a movie or something?”

  “You don’t mind?”

  A laugh bubbles up, escaping through my nose. “No. I would love to watch another movie with you.” I wink, giddy at the huge smile that lights up his eyes.

  With a quick nod, Miles closes my car door and calls to Jake, “That’s how it’s done, my friend. It’s never the wrong thing to do—”

  “To open a door for a lady,” Jake finishes. “I know. Can we just go now?”

  I roll down my windows and yell, “See you at home,” as I take off out of the parking lot.

  * * *

  “What’s your secret?” I ask Miles as he pulls my feet onto his lap.

  He chuckles as a moan settles deep in my chest. His thumb pushes into the arch of my foot, a warm palm wrapped around my calf. It’s intimate but so comfortable, like we’ve been doing this forever.

  “I dazzle you with my good looks, manly muscles, and sparkling personality,” he replies. “If it all goes to plan, I get to carry you upstairs again tonight and fall asleep to the sound of you snoring.”

  I dig my toes into his side, hitting a tickle spot on the first try, making Miles jump. His hand wraps around my ankle, and my ass slides across the cushion as he pulls me toward him. There is something so amazingly sexy about the way he moves me. On more than one occasion, Miles has used a minimal amount of force to manipulate my body, putting me where he wants me. Not in a forceful way, always gentle. Always with respect. And always to my benefit.

  “That goes without saying.”

  “It does?” he asks, his hands roaming up my leg, kneading the taut muscles in my calves.

  I dig my other foot into his side, and when he shifts away laughing, he captures it, tucking it into his hip, secured with his elbow.

  “Mostly. First, I don’t snore,” I say adamantly.

  “You say that …”

  “Two”—I draw the word out, getting us back on track—“I actually was talking about Jake. How do you so seamlessly correct that attitude and at the same time command respect?” I scoot down further on the couch and free my trapped foot, resting it on his thigh. “Do you have a bunch of nephews? Secret kiddos of your own hidden in every port?”

  Miles’s hands still briefly in their massage before he clears his throat and tilts his head to the side, cracking his neck. “I have four nieces. My younger sister,” he adds when he sees my questioning look. “She married her high school sweetheart and lives near my parents’ farm.”

  “How old are they?”

  “The oldest is six, the twins are four, and the youngest just turned one.”

  My eyes widen. “Twins. Really? Jack and Kate’s oldest are twin boys. I can’t imagine.”

  Finally,
the stress I saw twist his lips stretches into happiness. “They’re Irish twins actually, eleven months apart, but they look a lot alike. All the girls do.” And there’s that sadness back again.

  “You miss them?” I guess.

  “I do.” He goes back to rubbing my foot, digging his thumbs in, working my tension away as he battles his own. “I get back to Iowa to see them when I can.”

  “Does your family ever come to visit you? Oh, have they ever seen the ocean?”

  I so take it for granted that everyone has experienced the power of the ocean, perfectly balanced with the calm serenity of it. Growing up in the Midwest, it’s a distinct possibility that they haven’t.

  After a pause, Miles blows out a deep breath, almost forcing the tension to leave his shoulders. “They all came to California a couple of years ago, so everyone but the baby has. The middle two probably don’t remember any of the trip.” A shrug hitches at his shoulder, his movement stiff and uncomfortable.

  I pull my foot from his hands, sit up, and push the coffee table away from the couch. “Come here.” I pat the floor in front of me.

  A laugh chuffs from Miles, a little reserved. “Why do I need to sit on the floor?” He folds his big body onto the floor and leans his back against the couch.

  “Take off your shirt,” I tell him, swinging my legs so they rest one on either side of him. And, Lord, when he does, muscles flex and ripple in a mouthwatering display.

  He hums as I drag my nails through his thick, dark hair and down the back of his head.

  He groans as I grab hold of his trapezius, and he rolls his shoulders back as I dig my thumbs into the tight muscles.

  I knead and dig, pinch and push until, finally, Miles melts, relaxing into my thighs.

  “What are you doing to me?” he mumbles, low and husky.