Grabbing a green juice and a bottle of water, I pay and am on my way out in a few minutes when my phone rings. It’s Natalie.
“What’s wrong?”
“Well, good mornin’ to you too.”
I exhale deeply when I hear her voice. She sounds fine. Cheerful even for five-thirty in the morning. “Sorry. Just jumpy this morning.” I hook the phone back into the car so I can go hands-free to talk over the speaker system. “Saw Hayden’s light on this morning. Was worried he was sick.”
“Just a nightmare. Giant turtle trying to eat him.”
I laugh. “Wonder where that came from.”
“No wonderin’ needed. I had to take the terrarium downstairs to calm him down.”
“Jay’s okay?”
“Yep. Slept through the entire thing. I’m heading back to bed soon too, but wanted to check and see how everything went last night.”
I blow out a breath and grip the steering wheel tighter.
“That good, huh?”
“Well, actually, we never got to that point. Walked into the house to a trail of his dirty clothes, then found…” I rattle on, telling her about the credit card statement and the ensuing argument.
She gasps and curses throughout my telling, even making me laugh a few times with her comments. I sober when she asks, “So what’re you gonna do?”
I suck in a deep breath and feel the baby move inside me. Not sure exactly what he’s trying to tell me this time. “I’m going to call Mr. Shipley up and—”
“Well, thank the Lord.” I smile as her voice flows through the speakers at the notion of me calling an attorney.
“Hold on, I’m just scheduling an appointment to see what my options are, especially with this credit card bill on my shoulders.”
“Grace, honey. You need to ask him how to find out if there are more bills he’s put in your name. You need to do a credit check too. Just to see.”
I add that to my mental checklist and rub my temple. The pain in my head is getting stronger.
“Grace, honey. You okay?”
My eyes burn suddenly and I blink the sadness back. “I don’t know how I let this get so bad.”
Nat sighs and I can almost see the sympathy in her face. “Honey, you didn’t let anything happen. It just happened. You grew up. Rob didn’t, probably never will. He’s a dreamer, not a doer. You have to decide if that’s something you can live with, cause you can’t change him. The baby won’t change him.”
I snort. That is true. “How did I not see it?”
“Well, hell, Grace. It’s not like he had ‘deadbeat’ written on his forehead when you married him. He had plans. Excitin’ plans. Plans that aligned with your plans. You loved him. He loved you. You saw what was in front of you to see.”
I exhale, allowing some of the guilt to flow out with it. “Wish my crystal ball worked better.”
“Yep, your crystal ball and my magic wand need a tune up.”
I take the exit to the med center and wait for the light to turn green.
“I’m here, so I need to go. Get some more sleep if you can.”
“Probably not. I’m pissed and awake now.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t sorry me. Have a good day and come by after work. I’m making spaghetti and meatballs. There will be plenty.”
“You’ve got yourself a date. Need me to bring anything?”
“Nope. Just yourself. Have a good day. Love you.”
I smile broader, my headache easing just a little more. “Love you too.”
“Grace, honey. You okay. You don’t look so good.”
I glance up from the med-pad I’m charting on and into the warm brown eyes of my supervisor. “Hi, Marnie. Just a headache I can’t seem to shake. I’ll be fine.”
Ding.
I look over and see that room 304 is calling for a nurse … again. I stand up. “Mr. Hall’s got a busy thumb today.”
“Need one of us to spell ya?” Marnie asks.
I touch her arm as I move past her. “No, thanks. He’s just lonely. He’s been here for two weeks and not one person has come by to see him.”
“Alright, but when you get finished, take your break. You look a little peaked yourself.”
“I’m fine. Promise.”
After knocking on room 304 and getting a gruff, “Come in” I push open the door and plaster a bright smile on my face.
“It’s about time,” he says the second he sees me, but I ignore his tone and push the button to turn off the call light.
“How can I help you, Mr. Hall?”
“Well, you can start by feeding me some damn breakfast. Are you trying to starve me? Is that how you get rid of patients around here?”
I don’t even blink. “Sure seemed like you enjoyed that bacon and eggs this morning. You sure did enjoy your chicken and mashed potatoes for lunch too. But if you’re hungry again, I’m happy to get you something else.”
I wait and check his IV tubing, giving him time to remember. He’s in the beginning stages of dementia and can often come back to reality with a little prompting.
My heart breaks a little as I watch his face shift from anger to confusion and then to acute embarrassment. “Oh yes, I forgot. Woke up from a nap and thought it was morning.”
I press my hand to his. “Completely okay. I get groggy and confused when I wake up too. One time when I was in college, I woke up and was certain I was late for class. I jumped out of bed and hopped in the shower. I was dressed and almost out the door when my roommate asked me what I was doing. I was so embarrassed when I realized it was just three in the morning.”
He squints at the clock. “What time is it?”
“Quarter after two in the afternoon, Mr. Hall. Where’s your glasses?”
He brings a hand to his face and almost pokes himself in the eye. “Well, now. I don’t know.”
I search his bedside table, then some of his bedding before finding them on the floor. “Here they are. Let me get them all shiny and cleaned up. Then we’ll flip through the TV stations and see if there’s anything worth watching on.”
Stepping into the little bathroom, I run the glasses under the water to get the food stains off, wondering how he’d gotten them so dirty. I wash them twice and then fiddle with the arms to straighten them up a little. I’m wiping them off with a small towel when I walk back into his room. “Here you go. All—”
His eyes are closed, his mouth hanging open, looking still as death. I inhale and quickly step toward him, waiting for his chest to rise. It doesn’t.
As I press my fingers to his throat, I jump when he snorts, then stifle a giggle when he coughs and then farts. His mouth works and he growls out, “Don’t honey me.”
Mr. Hall is from the north and hates to be called “honey” or “sweetie” or one of the many endearments we southerners seem to love.
“I won’t, doodle-blossom,” I whisper and grin at the sleeping man, bringing his blanket up to his chin.
As quietly as I can, I lower the head of his bed to a more comfortable resting position and then gather everything he’ll need on his bedside table when he wakes.
“Atten-hut,” he says as I push the rolling table closer and watch as he gives his dream-sergeant a sharp salute.
Mr. Hall retired from the Army about thirty years ago and has shared many stories during his stay with us. He was a soldier on D-day back in 1944 and somehow involved in the bombing of Pearl Harbor, although he only grew quiet and wouldn’t talk about that much.
He barks off an order to someone in his dream and I can almost imagine him as the man he once was. He curses and I cover my mouth. Still grinning, I walk from his room, quietly closing his door behind me.
“That’s it, you’re going home!”
A hand presses to my forehead, feeling cool against my skin.
“You don’t have a temp, but you still look as pale as a ghost. That headache still bothering you?”
I squint up at Marnie, then nod. “I’ll
be fine, just another couple hours and then I’m off for two days.”
She looks at her watch. “Add a couple hours to that time off. Go home. That’s an order.”
I know better than to argue with Marnie when she gets that look in her eye. Besides, my head does hurt terribly and I can’t take anything good for the pain because of the baby. A nap. All I need is a nap.
“Thanks, Marnie. I think I will go on home if you think we have enough coverage.”
Placing a hand on my shoulder, she nods. “We’ll be fine. Discharged seven this morning, so don’t worry about a thing.”
I make the drive home in silence and mentally curse when it starts to rain. Hard. Lightning streaks across the sky and is joined by another, then one more before the boom of it rattles the air.
I’m driving into the storm, and brace myself for the sheet of water coming my way. Even with wipers on full blast, they can’t slice away the water fast enough to see more than a foot past the windshield. I slow down to a crawl and grip the wheel tighter, my jaw clenching each time my tires hydroplane on the inches deep water.
Within ten minutes, I’m near tears. Exhaustion, pain, and tension is triple teaming me by the time I’m through most of the storm. Five minutes later, it’s nearly over. Then, I receive a payoff for the suffering … a beautiful double rainbow.
It’s funny how one moment things can feel so hopeless or overwhelming and the next hope is in full bloom again.
“I wish you could see this, baby boy,” I tell my little bundle. “That’s our sign that everything is going to be okay.”
Pulling into the driveway, I sit in the car and just catch my breath for a few minutes. Another storm came through on the drive, not as bad as the first, but enough to create knots in my shoulders.
Bath. Nap. Then dinner with Nat and the boys. Then two days to sort through everything else.
Straightening my shoulders, trying to work out the kinks, I unlock the front door and toss my keys in the little basket on the foyer table. I kick off my shoes and sigh, long and deep, before I reach around my back to unhook my bra under my shirt.
Ohhhh … yes. Heaven.
A minute later, grape juice in hand, I’m dragging my weary butt up the stairs.
What was that?
I pause. Listen. Take another few steps and pause again.
A voice?
The TV?
Was Rob here?
I didn’t look into the garage to see if his truck was here. Maybe he came home early because of the storms.
Terrific.
It doesn’t matter. I’m having my bath. I’m having my nap. Then I’m spending the evening with Nat and the kids. He can spend the evening with his Polaris.
I open the door to my bedroom and freeze, my lungs forgetting to do their job.
Oh.
My.
God.
Rob’s white ass is humping up and down while feet with pink toenails wrap around his back.
In.
My.
Bed.
Anger like I’ve never felt before travels up my spine and races into my brain, so hot I think it will explode. I don’t even care as much that he’s screwing around; I realize I’m really not that surprised. But he’s doing it on the bed I saved for months to buy. And my brand new, twelve hundred count sheets. The only good sheets I’ve ever owned.
“My bed?!” I don’t recognize the voice that comes from my throat; it sounds like half me and half lion.
All humping halts. A gasp. A squeal. A tangle of limbs and sheets.
“You fucking son of a bitch.” I step into the room and throw the glass of grape juice as hard as I can. I’m thrilled when it bounces off the side of his head and the purple liquid covers them both. Damn, I wish it had shattered.
“Grace. Sweetheart. It’s not what—”
Then I see her and my head implodes. The shock of it nearly causes me to sway on my feet.
Marilyn?
Marilyn King!
The woman I hate most in the world. The spiteful, hateful woman who’s done her very best to taunt me at every opportunity since kindergarten.
She’s in my bed. With my husband. And she’s smirking at me. Smirking! Her red smeared lips curving up in a nasty grin. And she doesn’t even have the decency to cover her naked body.
Rob is on his feet now, pulling a sheet around his waist. My sheet now dotted with purple juice.
“Grace. Sweet—“
I turn on him. “Shut up.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Shut up.”
I turn on my heel. I’ve got to get out of here. I make it several steps before he catches up with me, his big hand clamping hard around my arm. I jerk away and keep going and he grabs me again.
“You know what?” I say, spinning around and pointing a finger in his face. “I ought to thank you. You just made my decision easier for me. I’m filing for divorce. Get your shit and get out of my house.” I look toward the bedroom. “And remember to take out the trash.”
I spin around and head toward the stairs when he grabs me again, his fingers wrapping around my upper arm. He turns me, forcing me to face him. I stare at his chest. At the hickey that’s already darkened above his right nipple.
“I don’t want a divorce, sweetheart. I was just lonely and—”
I meet his eyes. “Well, lucky you. Looks like you won’t have to be lonely with Marilyn around. I hope the two of you are very happy together. Now, get out.”
He tries to lay a hand on my face, but I pull away, disgusted. “Don’t you touch me with her stinking twat still on your fingers. Don’t you ever touch me again.”
He’s back, his hands on my shoulders now. “Wait. I’m sorry. We need to talk.”
I pull back a foot and raise a knee to kick him in the balls. He twists, trying to block the blow, but I get a piece of him.
“Bitch.” The sound comes out like a hiss from between clenched teeth. Then he shoves me and I’m falling backwards … backwards … backwards.
I reach for something, anything to break my fall.
Air. There’s only air.
And the ceiling receding above me.
I fall for forever.
With time to think of my parents and my sister and brother.
My niece and nephew.
With time to think of Nat and the boys.
Worse of all, time to think of the baby nestled inside me.
Then pain explodes. Everywhere.
But only for a second.
Chapter 6 – Duffy
“Home sweet home,” Hulk says as we step off the C-17 after the long ass trip to Fort Bragg.
“Amen, my brother,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder. North Carolina is absolutely my home now.
I have a few hours until I leave for California, so I’m heading over to Darren’s place to see Julie and the kids before heading west and dealing with the family.
Seven miles later, we’re pulling into his driveway. A bike and two tricycles as well as a basketball lay in the middle of the yard along with a doll with all its hair cropped off.
Darren is almost jittering with excitement and I stay several steps behind to give him his first few minutes of home time. He jumps the steps to the front porch and heads to the door. It’s open several inches. He pushes it the rest of the way open.
“Daddy’s home!”
I can’t help but smile at the change in the man. One minute he’s taking down assholes and the next he’s like a little kid. I wait for the usual screaming and crying of his children running into his arms.
It doesn’t happen. Only silence greets us. That, and what sounds like a TV coming from the back of the house.
“Julie!”
Taking long, cautious steps down the hallway, he calls her again. Nothing. Maybe a car commercial now—something obnoxious and loud.
He looks back at me, a frown on his face. “Maybe they ran to the store.”
I don’t remind him that the door was left o
pen and the TV on. Julie is nothing if not responsible. “Yeah. Probably forgot something,” I tell him. “You take downstairs. I’ll take up.”
I circle back to the steps and pick my way over the toys scattered around. After sweeping the three bedrooms, their closets and bathrooms, I head back down.
By the time I’m in the kitchen, Darren has a phone to his ear. He looks at me and shakes his head. He presses the button again.
My pager goes off. So does his. We look at each other before we pull them out. If the pager could talk, it would say: Report to base. Now. Anytime this pager goes off, we drop whatever we’re doing and head to command. We have one-hour max to get there or our ass is left behind.
“What the—?”
‘Fuck’ is interrupted by the television spouting ‘Breaking News.’
We both turn to the TV and Darren picks up the remote, turning up the volume. I’m almost expecting the president’s fucked up visit from yesterday to be front and center in the news. There’s a leak somewhere, and the CIA has yet to plug it. Shit. There’ll just be another one after that.
A blonde talking head comes on the screen. “This just in. The 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment of the Joint Special Operations Command unit, more widely known as Delta Force, experienced a security breach that now threatens the lives of those soldier’s loved ones…”
My blood grows cold and my focus sharpens. What the fuck is she talking about?
“We have just received this exclusive video claiming that the Islamist militant group known as the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria has uncovered the identities of sixty-eight tier one elite Delta Force soldiers. More disturbing, ISIS is also claiming to be holding hostage family members of those brave United States warriors on top of the Empire State Building in New York City.”
Neither Darren nor I move or say a word.
The screen cuts from the blonde to the face I know too well—Abu Al Haji Alwani, a top field commander of ISIS. We’ve been hunting for him the past two years.
Badass - The Complete Series: A Billionaire Military Romance Page 10
