Badass - The Complete Series: A Billionaire Military Romance

by Leslie Johnson

  “We can be there tomorrow. I’ll search for him myself.”

  “Remind him that I’m a nurse and PT,” Grace adds. “Tell them I can help with some sort of clinic if they need a reason for us to be there.” I nod and repeat to Henry what she said.

  “That could help,” Henry says. “Yes, we could offer a clinic. Ask your father—”

  “Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker. He’s right here.”

  My dad steps closer. “What do you need, Henry?”

  “Charles, do you think it’s possible—?”

  “Yes,” Dad says, interrupting. “Whatever you need, do it.”

  Henry’s loud exhalation crackles over the phone. “We can get medical supplies from your—”

  “Yes,” Dad interrupts again. “Do it. Lincoln will be taking the jet. Get someone to handle the logistics. While you’re at it, get Angie to contact that humanitarian group I donate to and see if they can add additional support. I’ll fund it, of course. Maybe get a doctor in there as well.”

  “Hold on now. Just hold on a minute,” Henry says in total exasperation. “Does Miss Johnson have a passport?”

  I look at Grace and she nods, then she shakes her head and mouths ‘Tennessee’. “Yes, she has one. We’ll have it overnighted to us.” She pulls out her new phone and begins typing rapidly with her thumbs.

  “Okay, I’ll check that box off. Next box. With your military service, I’m sure you’re fully vaccinated. What about Miss Johnson?”

  I look at her and she stops typing long enough to give me a thumbs up.

  “Check that box off too. Grace, have them send your immunization records as well.” Her thumbs start moving again.

  My dad takes over. “Henry, I’ll be in your office within the hour. Contact the best adoption attorneys you know and conference them in. Then, let’s talk about refugee relief and uncover what they need over there. I can fund an orphanage. Healthcare facilities. I make substantial contributions to charities, one of which supports international aid workers. I’ll see how many of those I can rally. Whatever it takes to get my new grandchildren to the states.”

  From the couch, Camille starts to cry. If I’m not mistaken, Tate looks a little red faced standing by the bar.

  I stare at my father and watch with dread as my mother approaches him, her chin skyward, her eyes sharp. Dad says, “Hold for moment, Henry,” and picks up the handset, taking the system off speaker phone.

  Mother sniffs and holds her hand out, silently indicating to my father to hand it to her. There’s a stare down that lasts nearly a minute. Then my mother says something I’ve rarely heard her say, “Please.”

  Furrowing his eyebrows, Dad hands her the receiver, but looks ready to yank it back if she begins objecting to our plans. Holding the phone to her ear, she says, “Henry, I’m fully prepared to release whatever of my personal funds necessary to support this cause. I’d also like to set up a meeting with you next week. I haven’t been nearly as generous as I should be over the years. I’ve been thinking of a foundation for children here in America. I’d like to talk to you more about it. And something for wounded soldiers.” She pauses and turns her back while Dad and I gape at each other. “Yes, Henry. This is Olivia. Please don’t make me fire you.” She pauses again. “Yes, housing for homeless veterans is something I’d very much enjoy sponsoring.”

  I’m not sure who is more stunned, my father or me when she hands the phone back to him. If I’m not imagining it, she gives him a little wink in the process.

  While my dad finishes up with Henry, Mother walks over to Grace and Camille. I hear her say something about shopping for the trip and Camille lights up. Grace just sits there, looking stunned.

  I go to her. Kneel down in front of her. I take her hands in mine.

  “Grace, I know that we barely know each other when our relationship is viewed through an hourglass, but we know each other. Really know.”

  She nods and her fingers tighten in mine.

  “I know that my future is up in the air. I don’t know what I’ll be doing next month or next year. I don’t know your plans or if what you want to do with your life even comes close to aligning with mine, but God, I want it to.”

  Beside her, Cami has curled into a ball, her face in her hands, crying gently. I grit my teeth and look back at my beautiful Grace.

  “Marry me. Today. Tomorrow. Sometime. Anytime.” I laugh. “Shit. This has to be the worse proposal in the history of proposals, but I swear to you, Grace, our life together will be wonderful. I want those kids too. I want us to go get them and adopt them or foster them or do whatever we can.” My chest tightens and my face grows hot. “I need them. I need you. I want us to be a family, if you’ll have me.”

  I wait and her mouth opens. Her chin quivers so bad she can barely speak. Huge tears spill down her face, falling from her cheeks and onto the red dress.

  “Yes. Yes to it all. To everything. To you. To them. To being a family.” Her face crumbles and her shoulders begin to shake. “To being a mother.”

  She slides from the couch and onto my lap, her hand in my hair, her lips on mine.

  And there, on the floor of my parents’ house, I knew I had a future worth living for.

  An hour later, Camille is pulling Grace out of the door, taking her shopping for clothes and other necessities for our trip. Tate is going with them, offering ‘protection.’ He gave me a little salute as he left.

  Dad left earlier to meet with Henry and get all the details sorted. I can’t begin to explain how happy I am to see him this happy. How touched I am to see him this affected. It feels surreal.

  All that’s left is Mother and she walked out of the room shortly after Camille. I’m glad. She hadn’t said much during the past two hours. At one point, she looked sad. Another point she appeared to be touched. Then she’d straightened her backbone and put on her stiff upper lip. And that had been that.

  I’m alone now. The iPad still in my lap, a glass of bourbon in my hand and a heart that is still beating out of control.

  Then I hear the click of shoes on the hallway marble, growing louder with each step.

  Mother appears in the door and I sigh, taking another drink.

  She comes in further, walking until she’s in front of me. She holds out a hand. “Take a walk with me,” she says. “I need to speak with you.”

  I lift the glass to my lips and finish the drink before taking her hand and standing. Silently, she steers me down the spacious hallway and to the large double doors leading to the veranda. Without a word, she turns us toward the path leading to the cottage that’s no longer standing. I give her the control, slow down to her pace and wait, wondering how bad the shouting will be by the time we’ve reached our destination.

  The evening sun glistens on the ocean and the familiar crash of waves comes from below. I look down at her, but she continues to walk, her chin held high, saying nothing. The silence between us stretches into a question mark.

  Once we’re past the first curve of the path, Mother stops and turns to me, lifting a hand to brush something off my shirt. She opens her mouth, closes it and opens it again. Then she shakes her head and looks past me to the sea.

  I’m at a loss. I’ve never seen my mother this way. The perfectly groomed woman who is the epitome of class and flawless perfection is crumbling in front of me. Her eyes glaze as she fights the emotion behind them. An emotion I’ve never witnessed from her before.

  Grief.

  Filled with sympathy for the fight she is battling within herself, I pull her to me and take her into my arms. She rests her forehead on my chest, then her shoulders begin to shake as her arms curl around my waist.

  “I’m sorry, Lincoln,” she says, pulling away after a few moments. “I thought this discussion would be easier.”

  “It’s okay. Would you like to go back inside? Talk another time?”

  She shakes her head. “No, I want to tell you a story. But let’s walk. It might be easier.”

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sp; I offer her my arm and we continue down the path.

  “Once upon a time there was this girl and her life was pure bliss,” she begins. “Her parents were exceedingly wealthy. She went to the best schools. Had wonderful friends, dresses, adventures. Everything a girl could dream of. Then … she met this boy.”

  Mother stops walking and turns to look at the sea again. “There was a problem. This boy was from the other side of the tracks, one would say. He wore a leather jacket and his hair swept back from his forehead in this rakish sort of way that made this girl simply swoon each time she laid eyes on him.” She lowers her voice. “And he rode a motorbike. Needless to say, he was the ultimate bad boy. The ultimate Romeo to her Juliet, or as you young kids would say today, he was the Jack to her Rose.”

  I look down at her and smile, unable to believe she’s referencing Titanic.

  “Their union was heavenly,” she continues, her voice almost breathless. I can’t help it. I close my eyes to the picture forming in my mind. “So in love. So perfect for each other. Then…” Mother’s hand grips my arm tighter. “Then her parents found out.”

  Shit. I see the direction this is going.

  “To say her parents didn’t approve would be an understatement. The threats, you wouldn’t believe. Then, one morning, this girl’s parents went to see the boy. They offered him a large sum of money to leave their daughter alone.” She turns and looks up at me. “Do you know what happened next?”

  I stare at this woman I thought I knew so completely. This rigid, impersonal woman. I watch her eyes fill with tears. I watch her blink them away. “He took the money,” she whispers, as if the words hurt too much to say too loud. “He left and she never saw him again. She thought he took her entire universe with him.”

  I open my arms to her and she doesn’t hesitate, she steps inside their circle. I lean down and, for the first time since I was a boy, I lay my head on her hair. Her fingers tighten into my back and she just stands there. Vulnerable. I’ve never, not once, seen her like this.

  “I’m sorry.”

  My words break the spell and she steps back, lifts a finger to her eye to catch a falling tear. “Don’t be, darling. I’m the one to apologize. I allowed that heartbreak, the anger I had for my parents cloud my entire life. I married well, grew to love the man I married as much as my cracked heart would allow. Had five beautiful children I loved.” She pauses and inhales deeply. “As much as my cracked heart would allow.” She looks up at me again. “And I do love them. I love you.”

  Emotion seizes my throat. I don’t remember her ever saying those words to me.

  “I’ve been so foolish,” she goes on. “So angry and hurt that I’ve not allowed myself to enjoy everything surrounding me, all I’ve been blessed with.” She lowers her head. “You know how religious your grandparents were. Zealous, some might say. They were so disappointed in me. They never forgave me or let me forget my sins. Eye for an eye, and all that. I believed them. When Jeffrey left, I felt it was my punishment for having premarital sex…” I nearly groan, but hold it in. She looks up with glistening eyes. “For getting pregnant. For the baby dying just a few moments after he was born. For the way he was taken from me so abruptly. For not even being able to say goodbye.”

  My heart squeezes and I pull her to me again. “Oh, Mom.”

  With a strangled voice, she goes on. “I felt I was reaping what I’d sown for reaching outside of my parent’s authority and wishes. I didn’t want my children to be burdened with such heartbreak.” She shakes her head. “So stupid. Such backwards thinking, I see that now. But at the time, I wanted you each to be safe. And to be safe, that meant you followed the rules. You did what you were told to do.” She smiles up at me. “You had me at my wit’s end. You and Camille. So independent. Such risk takers.”

  I smile. I bet we did.

  She turns and begins walking again, surprising me by changing the subject. “Remember when I built the cottage on this end? Remember how adamant you had been that I was wasting the space by building a place strangers would enjoy only a couple times a year?”

  I nod. I remember it well. The beautiful spot on the cliff that could have been so wonderful for family gatherings.

  “When the cottage was destroyed and I believed you had been killed, I remembered those arguments.” We get to the last turn on the path. “It’s not finished, of course. But I decided as I watched the house burn that I wouldn’t rebuild it. I decided to design the area as you had wished so long ago.”

  We turn the corner and I stop. Stare. Far from finished, but I can see her vision of it. Exactly as I’d always thought it should be. Brick patio, gazebos, table, a fire pit. She would add chairs, I know. More plants and greenery. It would become an oasis overlooking the ocean.

  She picks her way along the broken path, to the railing where I was standing the day Grace was shot. I look down and imagine seeing her blood there, but I know it isn’t possible.

  “Here, darling. I think this would be the perfect place for you to marry Grace, if that is your wish. The place where it all began.” She smiles at me. A full, genuine smile. “Follow your heart, darling. Don’t be foolish like me.”

  Chapter 16 – Duffy

  We left the next afternoon on a journey with endless question marks and even I was beginning to have my doubts.

  Was it really Sami in that photo?

  If so, would we be able to find him?

  Would he remember me?

  Want to come home with me?

  Would his sisters?

  Then there were the legal questions. Could we adopt them or would I end up fostering them until they were adults? I was okay with doing that, would do it, but I really wanted to give them the protection of my name.

  The attorneys had decided that, if we found them, we could bring them back to the states under the refugee act since they are children. We would still need to hunt for any remaining family. We would still have to take them back if family were found. I knew it would crush me to do that, but making sure Sami is safe and loved is all that’s important.

  The voice whispers to me … if it’s really him.

  Grace has been a rock. So has Camille. So has Tate. They’re all on this plane with me, joining me on this journey. I’ve even started dealing with the connection Cami and Tate seem to have. Damn, that was a shock. But knowing both of them, their romance will probably be short lived. They’ll probably hate each other by the time we hop this plane back home.

  My dad had been a bundle of energy seeing us off. My mom had been, well, mom. She had pulled back on her mask. She still wore her stiff upper lip. But I saw it now for what it was. A protective cloak. Maybe now, with her secret revealed, she could begin the process of shedding it a little at a time.

  Thirteen hours later, we land in Hungary. Three hours after that, we head out to the first camp.

  It’s terrible. Worse than I could have imagined. Too many people in too little space sharing too few resources in a country incapable of handling this extra burden.

  We spend a few days walking through the camp, showing Sami’s picture. The picture of him and the girls. Heads would shake. I heard ‘la’—no— over and over. I went to bed that first night despondent. The nightmares that night were horrible.

  Day two brought us no better luck. Grace was in the clinic, working a sixteen-hour shift. When I picked her up that evening, she didn’t speak for a long time. The atrocities she had witnessed in just one day left her horrified and afraid for what she was now calling ‘our babies.’

  On day three, even Camille’s eternal optimism began to fade. In desperation, we had taken to walking the street, in the belief that Sami would have left the camp and was seeking out food near richer areas.

  If it is Sami. That voice again.

  On day four, we packed up and left for Lebanon, in the hopes he might have followed a group who had set out that way a week ago. He was a smart kid. I could see him looking and wanting something better for his sisters.
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  Enough aid workers had arrived to staff the clinic, so Grace felt comfortable leaving. Dad was sending supplies to Lebanon too and now that she was a pro, she intended to spearhead the opening of that clinic too.

  On the sixth day of our trip, we scoured Lebanon looking for the boy.

  We did the same on day seven and eight.

  On day nine, I receive a frantic call from Grace.

  “One of the patients recognized him,” she shouts into the phone. “She said she remembered seeing him in the Bekaa valley camp. She watched the little girls while he went in search of shoes for one of them.” Her voice cracks. “Link, he paid this woman to babysit the girls by giving her one of his crutches. She says he’s disabled. Something’s wrong with his leg.”

  I’d already started to run in the direction of the clinic. “Good thing we know an excellent therapist.”

  She laughs and the sound is beautiful through the phone. “Yes. Hurry and get me. I want to go with you.” She ends the call before I can say anything else.

  I shoot off texts to Cami and Tate, letting them know where I’m going. Forty minutes later, I’m at the clinic’s tent, watching Grace bandage a wound on a little girl.

  I wait, impatiently, while she finishes up, but don’t dare leave without her. We’re in this together when we find him.

  If it’s him.

  Fifteen minutes later, she’s taking my hand and we head out for the valley camp. An hour passes. Then two. More.

  Then I see a boy on a crutch, walking far ahead. There are two little girls, tiny things with ropes tied around their waists. It pulls at my heart. He’s tied the three of them together so they won’t lose each other.

  Picking up speed, Grace and I begin to run, but slow down as we get closer. We follow them to a tent, if you can call two sheets tied together a tent. One of the little girls laughs as he flaps one of the sheets, tickling her nose with its edge.

  Grace’s hand tightens in mine and she gives a little sigh.