SEAL of My Dreams
Page 2
Sure, he’d known Sarah would be furious at him. In her mind, their plan had been set for nearly a decade: after graduation, they’d get married and get jobs and an apartment in Manhattan. Once they’d had enough of city life they’d move back out to Greenwich to raise their family.
While it hadn’t been Nick’s dream to follow in his to be father-in-law’s footsteps, he knew he had to do something to support Sarah in something close to what she was accustomed. Not that she was a snob, at least Nick had never seen that side until it was too late—it was that, unlike Nick who was raised by a single mother living on a teacher’s salary, Sarah had never been told she couldn’t go to the movies because they needed to save every spare penny to pay the property taxes on their small house on the water.
While Sarah had received a brand new white BMW on her sixteenth birthday, Nick saved for two years, mowing lawns, cleaning pools, and waiting tables at the pizza place down town once football season was over, all so he could buy a ten year old pickup with tricky starter.
Sarah had never cared about the differences, and neither had Nick. He knew he was smart and capable enough to make his way in the world. He might not end up like Sarah’s father, who had been one of the richest men in one of the country’s richest towns, but he’d do all right by her. They loved each other, that was all that really mattered.
At least, that’s what Nick thought. But when it came down to it, she hadn’t loved him nearly enough to stick by him when he realized he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t do what was right. Do something bigger than himself and the privileged little world they’d grown up in. But he’d seriously overestimated Sarah’s devotion to him. And when push came to shove, her privileged little world had won over him, hands down.
“I’m glad you could make it today,” she said, snapping him back to the present.
“I should have made it sooner,” he said bitterly. But he hadn’t, because of her. On some level he knew it wasn’t fair to blame her. He was a grown man and made his own choices, but right now it felt good to direct some of the soul crushing guilt in her direction.
“It happened so fast. On day she was fine and the next . . . ” Sarah broke off and squeezed her eyes shut, but couldn’t stop the tears rolling down her cheeks.
In spite of everything Nick had a sudden, overwhelming urge to pull her into his arms, comfort her and protect her like always. Yeah, you were her devoted lapdog for years and look what it got you, he thought, steeling himself.
Sarah sniffed delicately and gave him a quick scan up and down. “You look really good in your uniform,” she said with a watery smile.
The uniform, and all it represented, to him, to her, to them, suddenly felt about two sizes too small. Nick felt his lip curl as he said, “Navy comes through with the cool clothes, even though they don’t pay enough to keep you in high style.” He gave her the once over as well. He didn’t know jack crap about fashion, but he knew enough about Sarah and her taste to know the simple black dress probably cost more than a month of his military salary, and the black heels would cover his car payments for at least two months.
“Speaking of which,” he said, trying to ignore her stricken look as he scanned the crowd, “don’t you need to go find your banker? Get yourself back to the estate and count your money?”
Sarah laughed softly, though she couldn’t disguise the hurt in her eyes. “There’s no banker,” She held up her left hand to prove the absence of the gigantic rock she’d sported the last time he’d seen her, and the absence of any ring at all, for that matter. “No estate either, other than my parents’ anyway. Steven and I broke up a long time ago.”
Nick digested that bit of information, surprised his mother hadn’t ever mentioned anything. He knew his mother had kept in touch with Sarah after the split. She had to have known Sarah had never made it to the altar with the pompous douchebag Nick had met on his one and only visit back to Greenwich after he’d joined up.
But Joan had never said anything. Probably because the one time she tried to mention Sarah, you told her you didn’t want to hear another word about that faithless bitch.
All this time, when his defenses had weakened enough to let Sarah creep back into his thoughts, he’d imagined her living in some big house, another man’s wife, having another man’s children. Nick seized on the pain it caused, using it to remind himself that she had moved on. That part of his life, their relationship, was over, nailed shut.
She’d chosen a different life, a different man.
Now she was telling him none of that was true. It doesn’t matter, he told himself. “Sorry to hear that. If you haven’t already, I’m sure you’ll land some other schmuck who can give you the life you think you deserve.”
Her eyes narrowed and got a feisty glint and Nick felt an answering heat. He’d always loved getting a rise out of her. She was always so cool, so composed, but every so often he was able to push her over the edge. He’d always loved being one of the few people who was able to get her to lose control, whether it was her temper, her laughter, or in bed. Especially in bed.
“I’m taking pretty good care of myself these days, thank you very much.”
His eyes raked her from the top of her blonde head to the tips of her heel clad toes. “I can tell—all the hours at the gym must be paying off. And the tight dress and the do-me shoes make sure every single guy here knows it.”
Her cheeks flushed red and her fists clenched at her side. In spite of the gloom of the day Nick bit back a smile at the signs of her struggling to control her temper. “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.” She shook her head, closed her eyes. When she opened them, the anger was gone. In its place was a look so bleak it made his breath catch in his throat. “I was hoping when I saw you today . . . ”
“What?” he asked in spite of his common sense screaming at him to keep this encounter as brief as possible.
She started to open her mouth, but they were interrupted by a short, stout woman who he recognized as Mrs. Morelli, his mother’s best friend who’d worked with Joan at the high school for the last thirty years. She grabbed Nick in a fierce hug which he returned, struggling not to choke on the fumes of her heavy perfume.
“Thanks for all your help, Mrs. Morelli,” he said. In his absence, she’d taken the reins with all of the funeral preparations.
“Of course,” she said with a wet sniff. “Anything for Joan. But it’s really Sarah you need to thank,” she said, nodding in Sarah’s direction.
“I do?” He looked at Sarah, whose gaze was fixed on the thick grass under her feet.
“Yes,” Mrs. Morelli said emphatically. “If it weren’t for her, we never would have been able to have mass here. And you know how much it meant to your mother.”
Sarah shrugged. “I just made a couple phone calls. It wasn’t that big of a deal. Now if you’ll excuse me,” she started to slip into the crowd.
“Wait.” Nick caught her upper arm in his hand to stop her. His palm sizzled at the first contact with her skin, and it took every ounce of willpower for him to let her go, to not slide his fingers up and down and explore the silky smoothness. For a moment he was so stunned he couldn’t remember what he was going to say.
“What is it?” Sarah prodded gently.
“Thank you,” he finally blurted out. “For helping us reserve the church.”
Her pink lips curved into a sad smile. “You know how much I loved your mother. And honestly, it really was just a phone call.”
Nick felt a pinch of shame for giving her a hard time before. Their past aside, Sarah was a genuinely caring and compassionate person. It had been one of the many things he’d loved about her. “It might not seem like a big deal to you. But it meant a lot to my mother. And to me.”
He watched as her eyes welled with tears, staring into the blue depths, and felt a twisting, falling sensation that set off warning bells. He knew he had to get away, and was relieved when Robby called out to him from the crowd.
> He murmured his good-byes and went to join his friend.
“Any old flames rekindled?” Robby asked, giving him an elbow to the ribs.
“Hell, no,” Nick snapped. But as he joined the conversation with a few of his old high school football buddies, he found himself tracking her blonde hair and slim form through the crowd. And when he saw her headed to the parking lot he had to clamp down on the urge to go after her.
Chapter Two
By the time he got back to his mother’s house, Nick felt as exhausted as he’d been at the end of Hell Week. But unlike then, when he’d been able to collapse into a deep, dreamless sleep for the next twenty hours, now he was too keyed up by the emotions churning inside of him.
He changed out of his dress whites into a pair of cargo shorts. August in Connecticut was hot and humid, even at seven in the evening, so he skipped the shirt. Despite the heat, he felt a chill settle into his bones at the profound silence of the house he’d grown up in.
Though there were only two of them, their small house had always seemed a flurry of noise and activity. There was always a group of Nick’s friends, including Sarah, who would wander in at various points after school, usually staying for dinner. The house would fill with the sound of laughter and his mother’s beloved opera playing on the boom box she kept in the kitchen.
He wandered aimlessly through the house, his chest tight. Though the house was still full of her stuff and the things Nick had left behind, it seemed desolate, empty.
He went to the end of the hall and pushed open the door to his childhood bedroom. Nothing had changed since the last time he’d been here, or since he’d left for college for that matter. His double bed was still there, with its dark green quilt and pillows piled haphazardly at the top. The dresser that still contained the clothes he hadn’t needed at school. A handful of books on the shelves.
The small desk where he and Sarah had crowded together to do homework, only to end up getting distracted by each other sometime around the third study question. He swallowed hard, remembering the first time he’d kissed her right there at that desk.
His gaze flicked to the bed. There had been a lot of firsts there, too.
The tightness in his chest got worse, threatened to cut off his breathing. This house, once so full of happiness and love, now seemed to exist only to remind him of what he’d lost.
On that morbid thought he headed back down the hall to the kitchen, where he was grateful to find a bottle of single malt, three quarters full. His mom’s only vice had been a glass before bed each night.
He filled a tumbler with ice, tucked the bottle under his arm and headed out onto the patio outside the kitchen where he settled into one of the pair of Adirondack chairs looking out over the water.
Their house, though modest, stood on one of the most spectacular pieces of waterfront property in all of Greenwich. Overlooking Long Island Sound, it had once been the carriage house of a much grander estate which had been broken up and subdivided back in the sixties when the owner went bankrupt.
Knowing how much his wife loved being near the water, Nick’s father had bought it and fixed it up himself. Over the years, Nick’s mother had been offered millions for the property alone, but she’d refused to sell, not willing to leave the house and its memories of her all-too-brief marriage.
Nick settled into a deck chair and poured himself a stiff drink as he wondered if his father realized how much Joan had loved him, enough to sacrifice millions of dollars to hold onto his memory.
The scotch burned its way down to his stomach and his mouth pulled into a tight line. Once he’d thought he and Sarah had shared that kind of bond. Apparently not.
His eyes started to burn, and he told himself it was the scotch. It wasn’t like him to get so maudlin, even over her. That was an advantage of being in his line of work—there wasn’t a whole lot of time to moon over the girl who broke your heart.
But seeing her today . . . it had been as awful and wonderful as he’d always feared, and he knew it was going to be a long time before he could go to sleep without seeing those big, teary eyes, the sad smile on her soft pink lips.
“I see you found her stash.”
Nick shot straight up in his chair as he looked up to see Sarah standing next to him. She held a foil covered plate in her hand and wore a tentative smile on her lips. Her eyes widened as she took in his shirtless state. “Wow, you’ve, um, really filled out.”
Nick tried to ignore the flare of heat in her eyes and the answering flare in his gut. “What’s that?” he asked, gesturing to the plate in her hand.
She looked at the plate, starting a little as if she just remembered it. “A peace offering.” She set the plate down and removed the foil with a little flourish.
“Lasagna,” Nick said, smiling a little as the aroma of tomato sauce and oregano hit his nostrils.
“When you didn’t show up at Mrs. Morelli’s I thought I’d bring you some. I know it’s your favorite.” She pulled a fork out of thin air and set it next to the plate.
Nick hadn’t been able to handle the prospect of more pats on the back, more somber “I’m sorrys.” Not to mention he didn’t need any more encounters with Sarah messing with his already screwed up equilibrium.
He knew he should ask her to leave. Yet when she nodded at the bottle of scotch and asked, “Mind if I get myself a glass?” he found himself saying, “Go right ahead,” around a mouthful of lasagna.
Sarah came back out, ice filled tumbler in her hand. She sat down in the Adirondack chair next to him and poured herself a drink.
He hadn’t even realized he was hungry until the first bite hit his stomach. He counted back and realized he hadn’t had anything to eat since he’d left San Diego the day before, his hunger drowned out by grief and guilt. “Thanks,” he said. “This is really good.”
“It should be. It’s your mother’s recipe.”
His fork froze halfway to his mouth. “My mother gave Mrs. Morelli her lasagna recipe?” he asked, stunned. His mother had one of the biggest hearts and the most generous spirits on the planet, but she was downright stingy when it came to sharing her recipe secrets.
“No, she gave me her recipe,” she said, cocking and eyebrow as she took a sip of her scotch.
“No way. When?”
She sat back in her chair, cradling the tumbler in one hand, and gazed out over the water. Her mouth pulled into a sad, wistful smile. “Right after we graduated from college. She told me she wouldn’t be around forever, and I would need it so I could make it for you on your birthday and Christmas.”
Nick’s throat went tight and the lasagna congealed into a cold lump in his stomach. He put the fork down with a clink. “It’s good,” he said tightly. “I’m just not as hungry as I thought I was.”
Wordlessly, she reached out and covered his hand with hers. “I’m not going to tell you it gets any better,” she said softly. “But there will be a day when you wake up and it will hurt a little less.”
He turned his palm up and entwined his fingers with hers. He knew the smart thing would be to pull away, but the soft warmth of her hand, the feel of her slender fingers laced with his, felt so good, so familiar, sending a ray of heat through the cold that seemed to have settled into his bones.
He studied her profile, light of the setting sun highlighting her high forehead, small, straight nose and firm chin. She still wore the dress from the funeral, and up close he could see it had wrinkled in the heat. Her scent drifted over to him on the salty breeze, fresh, floral, as delicious and irresistible as ever. He took a sip of his scotch, but even the smoky, peaty aroma couldn’t get her scent out of his head.
Sarah took her own glass and raised it to the sky. “To you, Joan. I hope they serve scotch in heaven.”
Nick raised his own glass with a little smile. They were quiet for several minutes, staring out at the last of the sun playing off the water. How many times had they sat out here, talking or sitting in comfortable silence? It felt so pe
rfect, so right.
But nothing was right, he reminded himself. Hadn’t been for a long time.
He pulled his hand from hers, drained his glass and poured himself another. He blamed it on the scotch when, after a few minutes he asked, “So what did happen with the banker?”
She sighed heavily and took a substantial swallow of scotch, shuddering a little as it went down. “Remember when you ran into us at MacKenzie’s?”
Like he’d forget the day his heart had been ripped out of his chest. All that first year, despite Sarah’s refusal to communicate at all, somehow he’d been convinced that if he could just see her in person, get her to talk to him, he could convince her to give them another shot. Robby had tried to warn him that she’d moved on, but he’d refused to believe it.
Until he’d walked into their regular hangout and seen her with him. Steven, the banker. She’d introduced him almost defiantly as her fiancé, and informed him that he was a senior director at her father’s former firm.
When Nick had taken off for the Navy, Sarah had replaced him with exactly the kind of guy she wanted.
“I remember,” he said tightly, immediately regretting that he’d asked. He knew if he traveled down this path he risked reopening wounds that might not heal this time around.
“You accused me of being a cold, shallow bitch who didn’t care about anything but landing a rich banker husband.”
Nick took another swallow of scotch. “Nothing to dispute there. You wanted our life to go down a certain path, and when I wanted to change course, you cut me off and found someone else.”
She drained her drink and refilled. “It was never that simple, and you know it,” she snapped. “I admit, I was acting spoiled and immature.” She paused a moment, squeezed her eyes shut. “So much had happened. And Daddy,” her breath caught in her throat. “It was still so soon after he died, and I felt like everything was falling apart. I just wanted something to stay the same, to pull everything back under control. I didn’t know how else to handle it.”