by Rachel Grant
“Can I do anything?”
“Just keep me company. We’ve got an hour before I need to start getting ready.”
He scooted the visitor’s chair close to the side of her bed and took her hand in both of his. “You got it.” He kissed her knuckles.
She swept her hand to the shopping bag. “Savvy sent me makeup. And clothes.” She didn’t know how she felt about Bastian seeing her as Gabriella again. He didn’t like Gabriella, but he liked Brie. And she was Brie.
But there was a part of her that had loved Gabriella’s power. Gabriella was strong and smart and regal. If she could be Gabriella without chemical boosters, would she return to the role?
Now that Brie couldn’t be an aid worker, she might have to. Gabriella knew how to fund-raise and cut deals. Gabriella had all the money contacts who could make her project happen. Brie didn’t.
Whether she wanted Bastian to see her as Gabriella or not was moot. It would happen. In just a few hours. She bit her lip and cast about for something to talk about. “Have you told your parents you’re going to be on the news today?”
His mouth tightened, but he nodded. “Actually, yes. I wasn’t going to, but some of the guys on the rez will get a kick out of seeing me wearing my green beret, so I sent them an email.”
“Your parents should be proud.”
He shrugged. “Yes and no.”
Okay, he didn’t want to talk about his parents. She could respect that, but she still wanted to know more about him beyond that he was a badass, hot Green Beret. “Tell me about your hometown. Both Coho and the Kalahwamish Indian Reservation. I’ve heard a lot about Coho’s living history museum, but I’ve only driven past that stretch of Discovery Bay, never had time to visit it.”
“Discovery Bay, Coho, and the rez are beautiful, each in their own way.” He smiled, and his eyes took on a distant stare, telling her he was visiting his home in his mind. “Growing up on the rez, with all those acres of forest, living at the edge of the bay, was…special. I mean, there was poverty—it’s an Indian reservation, and Coho was a logging and sawmill town owned and ruled by a bigot for most of the twentieth century. As a tribe, we paid a huge price. But still, the rez was—is—ours. Our own nation. About fifteen years ago, we got the sawmill properties back, which changed our bottom line, but not our way of life. My mom is tribal chairwoman and has been since I was in my teens. So the Kalahwamish really felt like mine. My mom. My tribe. My whole world.
“It’s hard to describe, how personal the reservation feels to an Indian. It’s not like an old family farm for white people. We’re talking about land that has been ours for thousands of years. Since the beginning of time.”
He cocked his head. “I’m not the kind of Indian who doesn’t believe in evolution. I get it—we all came from somewhere else. In fact, we came from here.” He released her hand and spread his arms. “Or rather, Africa—fifty or so nautical miles to the west of us. Hell, I got to hold the Linus fossil in my hands last month—which was fucking mind-blowing—but still, I share my tribe’s core beliefs. We respect our elders and the land. Our connection to our ancestors is intertwined with sacred sites, on and off the rez. That connection goes deeper for us, especially because we’ve had to fight so hard to keep it—our reservation, our language, the potlatch ceremony, our treaty rights. We’ve had to fight to keep every aspect of our culture. And now we have to fight to keep white people from appropriating the very thing we had to fight so hard to maintain to begin with.”
She knew of all the atrocities tribes had faced: their language and the potlatch ceremony had been outlawed for many years. Children had been rounded up and sent to boarding schools to erase their connection to their native heritage. And this all came after the attempts at genocide that included smallpox blankets being given to natives by the British forces during the French and Indian War.
But knowledge wasn’t the same as understanding. She’d grown up white and wealthy and no amount of empathy could put her in his shoes.
All she could do was squeeze his hand. “You must miss it, being based out of Fort Campbell and then being sent for long deployments abroad.”
He shrugged as if it was no big deal, yet he’d just made it clear it was a big deal. “Where did you grow up?” he asked. “You’ve mentioned Florida, but I thought your brothers live in New York?”
“We had half a dozen houses all over the world that we divided our time between, including New York and Florida. But none of them ever felt like a home.” Really, none of them had been safe. She frowned, realizing he’d turned the conversation to her, when she really wanted to know about him. “When was the last time you were home?”
He grimaced. “Four years ago.”
“Four years? Surely the Army gives you leave between deployments?” Given everything he said about how important his home was to him, that made no sense.
“They do. I haven’t wanted to visit.”
It occurred to Bastian when he asked about where she grew up that if he wanted her to talk about her family, he would need to open up about his. The more he shared, the more likely she was to do the same. But it had to be real, or she’d never open up.
This meant he’d have to talk about things he didn’t share with anyone. Not even Cal and Espi. His friends on the rez knew, but they’d never talked about it. They understood without words why he didn’t visit.
He held out hope that if she confided in him—without sex as part of the equation—she wouldn’t hate him when she learned the truth. He wouldn’t feel like such a bastard.
He wouldn’t be such a bastard.
“Why don’t you want to visit?” she asked, her tone tentative.
For once, he welcomed the question. It was his opening. “My college girlfriend, Cece, grew up in the Skagit Valley. Her dad is Upper Skagit, her mom Kalahwamish. Ten years ago, right after we graduated college, she moved to Coho. She had big plans for us, but I’d been trying to break up with her for months. Technically, we were broken up. I’d ended it. She lived in Coho. I lived on the rez. I told her she shouldn’t move to the peninsula for me. We were done.
“But my parents… They love Cece. My mom especially.” His sister had died in a car accident just the year before, making his mom’s attachment to Cece all the more intense. But he didn’t tell Brie that. Talking about Lily was a different kind of pain and one he couldn’t face in that moment.
He cleared his throat and continued. “Once Cece settled in Coho, my feelings were irrelevant. My mom told her I was going through a phase and would come around. When I found out she’d booked the Warren Cultural Center for our wedding, I couldn’t take it anymore. I told Cece—again—we were never getting married, and I wanted her to leave Coho.” He shook his head, back in the moment when his mother pulled him aside and told him not to be rash. He could take a break from Cece if he needed to think, but his mom had made it clear she hoped he would get his head on straight and marry her. She also reminded him it was Cece’s tribe too, and she had as much right to live there as he did.
His mother was right about that, and he’d felt like a shit. Cece might not have grown up on Kalahwamish land, but she had the same deep connection to the place and people.
He told Brie this in halting words. He’d never verbalized it before. “But then, I found an escape. Cece wouldn’t leave the rez, but I could. I joined the Army.” He paced the small room. “My mom was devastated. She felt rejected. Like I was giving up the tribe. Betraying them. After all, I had a college degree—paid for with a tribal scholarship—and was supposed to use it for the good of my people.” He dropped his gaze to the floor, reminding himself that only raw honesty would get him where he wanted to go. “I was glad my mom hurt. I’d hoped it meant she’d finally understand, because I felt rejected and betrayed too. Meanwhile, my dad was proud, but I don’t think he really understood why I’d joined.”
He lifted his head and met Brie’s gaze. “And for my part…I loved the Army. It was a new family that kicked m
y ass on a daily basis. But they valued me. Honed me.” He spread his arms wide. “I get to see the world and make a difference. Just ten days ago, I rescued a woman from a slave market while my team freed dozens of kids who were about to be sold.”
He liked the way Brie smiled at that.
“I wasn’t ROTC in college and didn’t seek Officer Training School because I went the technical specialist route to become a warrant officer. My dad figured I’d get out as soon as I could, but once I made it through the Special Forces Qualification Course, I knew I was a lifer. This is the only job I want. It’s who I am. I’ve been thinking of applying to OTS so I can make captain and run the team.”
“You’d be great as captain.” She cocked her head. “So you don’t go home because your mom still resents you being in the Army instead of working for the tribe?”
He shook his head. “No. I don’t go home because Cece is still there. Still at the heart of my family. She’s on the tribal council now, my mother’s protégé. She’s a good steward, and I’m sure the tribe has benefited from all the work she does. She’s not a bad person. But when I visit, I don’t want to spend every minute with my ex who usurped my role in my family.”
“And she doesn’t respect your need for time alone with your parents?”
He shrugged. “I’m pretty sure my mom tells her it’s okay. My mom is hoping I’ll take one look at Cece and fall in love again. But that won’t happen.”
He’d actually tried on his last visit. He’d spent time with Cece, to see if the intervening years had made a difference. It would have been so easy to give his mother what she wanted if it meant having his home back. But in the end, his emotions were dead where Cece was concerned. He didn’t love her. Didn’t hate her. He was indifferent. So he’d left and never gone back.
“I’m sorry, Bastian.”
“Cece is why I don’t get involved. Relationships aren’t worth it.”
“I get that,” she said, giving him an opening for probing questions of his own. But he missed his chance when she continued, “Have you ever tried bringing a woman home? To send the message loud and clear that you’ve moved on?”
“Are you volunteering?” He shook his head. “It wouldn’t work. My parents would hate you. They’d cling tighter to Cece.” He closed his eyes and imagined his mom’s shock and horror.
“Excuse me?” Brie’s voice was soft. “Am I that awful?”
He opened his eyes, catching her stricken look. Shit. She’d taken it wrong. “No. I mean—you’re Oil Company Barbie. And an anthropologist on top of that. They’d hate the idea of you. They’d never bother to get to know the real you.”
“Oil Company Barbie?” Her words held an edge. “That’s how you think of me?”
“Not anymore.”
“But you just called me that.”
Shit. He rubbed his hand across his face. “I’m fucking this up. I didn’t mean it that way.”
She rose from the bed and walked stiffly toward the door, opening it wide. “Even a pretty plastic toy has enough of a brain to discern your meaning. And this doll wants you to leave.”
“Brie—”
“Just go. I need to be alone.”
Bastian paused in the hall outside her closed door. A moment passed before he heard her sob.
22
She’d held her breath, willing herself to keep it together until he left the room. The last thing Brie wanted was for Bastian to see her cry.
Oil Company Barbie? She’d busted her ass for five years as an aid worker. She’d been doing aid work in the midst of a civil war in South fucking Sudan for months, and he still saw her as Oil Company Barbie? It had rolled off his tongue too easily to not be a name he’d been calling her in his head.
It was one of the more condescending nicknames she’d ever heard. As if Princess Prime wasn’t bad enough. Pretty much any other man could call her that name, and she’d feel the kick but be able to ignore it. But this wasn’t any man. This was Bastian. And fuck, his words hurt.
It didn’t help that today she’d have to don Princess Prime’s makeup and clothes and be that fricking doll. She didn’t want to put Brie Stewart in front of the media. Brie was private.
The truth was, Bastian was one of the rare few who got to know the real her.
As a teen, she’d learned to build walls around her heart and mind because so many people wanted to use her for something. They didn’t actually give a fuck that she was a person with insecurities and needs. She was a bank account. A company. A daughter expected to use her body to close deals.
And yes, like a Barbie, she’d conducted negotiations while wearing four-inch high heels and perfect makeup. That was what women in her position had to do. Plus she’d smelled good while spearheading projects to skirt environmental regulations. She looked fuckable as she screwed over locals and fudged the facts on the effects of fracking.
She’d escaped from the business. Quit using drugs. Changed her name. Hid her past. And still she never let anyone in. She built even bigger walls.
Ezra, Jaali, and Alan didn’t even know she was a Prime. Seven months of living and working together, with limited electricity and Wi-Fi. No TV. And in all those months of late-night talking, because that was the only entertainment to be had, she’d never once shared a detail of her life before grad school, never gave a hint to her background.
That hadn’t been possible with Bastian. He’d known who she was. And at first he’d hated who she was. That was fine, because her walls were in place.
But then he’d saved her from a slave market, and her walls crumbled. They’d been stranded together for days and she had no defense. No hidden past.
So she’d been Brie Stewart and Gabriella Prime, combined. An aid worker from a wealthy family. For days in a row, she’d been free of secrets and completely herself. And still, even knowing the real her, Bastian had called her Oil Company Barbie without thought or hesitation.
She took a deep breath and wiped away her tears. She’d liked not having secrets. She’d enjoyed the fact that he knew her ugly but still respected her.
Or so she’d thought.
Another sob rose, and she swallowed it. Brie might care, but Gabriella didn’t.
She pulled the magnified makeup mirror from the bag Savvy had sent, relieved to see her eyes weren’t puffy. Brie was a crier, but Gabriella wasn’t. Today, she’d armor herself with Gabriella’s makeup and clothes. Brie had no place here anymore.
She glanced at the dress Savvy had sent. Simple. Classy. Cream and navy blue, it had a sleeveless striped bodice with a cinched waist and flared solid-blue skirt. An elegant throwback to the fifties. It would look better without the white cardigan.
She pulled cover-up from the makeup bag to hide the track marks on her arm. Savvy had sent the right colors, and Brie was an expert at blending. She opened the jar and grabbed a sponge, then stopped.
Gabriella hid all her faults and was as plastic as the doll Bastian had called her. Now that her identity had been revealed, she didn’t have to revert all the way back.
To a certain degree, she could be her real self with everyone now, not just Bastian. That meant owning her past, even the ugly, shameful parts. She left her arm alone and started on her face.
Bastian stood on the flight deck in clean ACUs and green beret, waiting for the key parties to assemble for the press conference. He hated this kind of event and wished his team was here to suffer with him, but SOCOM had wanted him to fly solo on this.
The senator stepped out on the flight deck with his entourage. The traveling press corps snapped photos of the man in a completely unnecessary flight suit, considering he’d arrived on a helicopter and would be leaving the same way.
These guys loved to play dress up. The sailor nearest to Bastian whispered, “That asshole avoided Vietnam. Tennis elbow or similar bullshit. It only flared up when it was exam time.”
“Prick,” Bastian muttered. The fact that Jackson was a creeper who’d groped Brie when she was
fifteen made him want to deck the man, but that would be a fast ticket to the brig.
The senator waved and grinned at the press, then turned to the sailors and airmen who’d been assembled for this ceremony. Bastian was with a group of soldiers and sailors who would stand behind the senator as he faced the press and crew. Bastian was part of the backdrop to make Senator Jackson look important.
Standing several feet to Bastian’s right was Captain Shaw, USS Dahlgren’s commanding officer, who shook the senator’s hand. Next to him was Rear Admiral Howard, the commander of the carrier’s strike group.
Smiles were stiff and perfunctory on all but Senator Jackson, who bore a wide grin. He looked like a kid on a field trip.
Senators were rarely honored with ceremonies like this. Usually they made stealthy, lower-cost trips to military bases in Afghanistan. Aircraft carriers were reserved for cabinet members and presidents—the big and sometimes regrettable mission accomplished-type ceremonies.
But this guy was tight with Brie’s father and was taking advantage of that for political pomp. Barring big breaking news, this feel-good story of a USAID worker/American princess being rescued by Special Forces would lead the news at home tonight.
If SOCOM had their way, the op to rescue Brie would have been buried without headlines, but thanks to the senator’s blabbing to the Prime family and Jeffery Prime Jr.’s leak to the media, here they were. Seeing an opportunity for positive PR, the Pentagon had caved to the senator’s request for the dog-and-pony show.
If Jackson weren’t on the Senate’s Armed Services Committee, none of this would be happening, because the man wouldn’t have been privy to the secret op to begin with. Bastian wondered if Jackson had been aiming for this PR show when he leaked the details to the Primes.
Heads turned, and the moment everyone—even, frankly, Bastian—had been waiting for arrived. Brie stepped onto the deck, leaning on her cane and accompanied by several members of the medical team.
