by Hart, Taylor
His heart melted. Dang, the woman was beautiful: the sun shining down on her, her red hair cascading around her shoulders, her pretty eyes all tearstained, her slender figure radiant in the flowing white dress. “You know the best stories are the ones that have these characters that don’t ever do the right thing at the right time.”
“Check.” A smile crossed her lips. “The hero pretty much sucks right now.”
“I know, but doing what’s right doesn’t always mean doing what’s easy. I’d rather do things the right way than the easy way.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sure you would. Isn’t that like a SEAL motto or something idiotic?”
He laughed. They just held each other, people passing by them. “Will you do something for me?” he asked her, feeling emotion thicken in his throat.
Tugging back, she squinted at him. “Are you crying?”
He laughed through his tears. “Do you practice emasculating men a lot?”
“Stinking Blaine Hammerton, don’t cry. What do you want me to do?”
He took her by the shoulders. “Pray. When you feel really lost or sad or like no one is there, I want you to pray, and I want you to ask God for help, because I know He’ll show up for you.”
She frowned at first, but then nodded. “Okay. For you, soldier, I’ll do it.” She pointed at him. “But you know that our story, our love story, will not be a famous love story, right?”
“It won’t?” He was confused.
“No, because Romeo and Juliet die. All famous love stories are tragic, and we’re not tragic. We’re not going to die. We’re going to be that cheesy book where everybody lives happily ever after, okay?”
He saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”
Chapter 16
Two weeks later
Elena jolted awake. Her heart raced, and she was sweaty. Throwing back the covers, she stood, checking the neon clock next to her bed. Three in the morning.
Dang. She padded to the kitchen, hating that she hadn’t been sleeping well since she’d parted ways with Blaine in Vegas. Nothing felt normal anymore. She hadn’t been able to sleep or eat or do anything. She knew Blaine would hate that she wasn’t taking her blood sugar seriously and eating at regular intervals, but how could she? He wasn’t here to remind her.
She thought about the long emails she’d written him and now regretted because she wanted to punish him for not responding. She hadn’t heard back from him for two days, and it felt like forever. Where was he? Was he safe?
Taking out a glass, she filled it with water and downed it quickly. She grabbed her phone by the charger on the counter and went to her email. Still no word from him. It bugged her enough that she couldn’t stop checking her email. It was a compulsion, wanting to hear from him and be reassured that he was all right.
She ignored the five texts from Antonio. He hadn’t quite known what to do when she’d shown up for that stupid speech. He’d blatantly stared at her engagement ring, but he’d been too stunned to say a word about it.
Her father had done the photo op for the camera and whispered to her that he was pleased she’d come and the funds would be in the account. And that had been that. When she’d asked her father if they could talk later, he’d politely explained to her that he had dinner arrangements with important people.
Whatever. At least she still had the gallery. It didn’t feel like the triumph she had thought it would.
Focusing back on her ring, she rushed toward her painting patio, adrenaline still pumping through her. Flicking on the lights she used when she had one of her insomniac episodes, she stared at the canvas she’d started the morning after she’d met him.
She’d finished it yesterday. Warmth filled her chest as she looked at it. It was Blaine Hercules. She laughed, wishing he was here to see it. Imagining how satisfied he would look in that cocky way when he saw it.
It’d taken a long time to get just the right intensity in his look, the same look he’d given her before he’d decided he wouldn’t marry her. Dang, that man was honorable through and through. It would have hurt her that he wouldn’t marry her if he weren’t so stinking sincere about doing things “the right way.”
Tears brushed down her cheeks, but she ignored them. Having Blaine gone had put her on an emotional roller coaster. She’d cried more in the last two weeks than she’d cried in her entire life.
“Dang you, Mr. Hammerton,” she whispered at the painting. She took a step closer, inspecting the lines of his eyes. Yes, it was perfect. Reaching out, she lightly traced his face, wishing with everything inside of her that he was here. So she could press her hands to those high cheekbones. So she could have one more night to hold him.
She thought of being with him in Vegas. They’d gone out to the balcony of the room at the Wynn, and he’d just held her, whispering sweet nothings in her ear and gently kissing her.
She giggled now, another round of tears washing down her cheeks, loving the memory of being in his arms, feel of his body against hers. Loving the idea of telling him he’d treated her like a turkey he was basting. She grinned, thinking he might take that to heart and thoroughly kiss her even more. “Just get home to me,” she whispered, not sure how she would survive another two and a half months.
Taking a step back from the painting, she stared at the simple diamond engagement ring on her finger. Princess cut. Half carat. They’d bought it at a jewelry shop in the airport before going to the Chapel of Love.
She wondered at how she could need him this much. Her knees wobbled, and she staggered back for the door that led inside, turning the lights off. She rushed to her computer, sitting and checking her email again.
Her heart pounded with excitement. It was there! An email from Blaine. Quickly, she opened it.
Dear Elena—
First, please know that I love you. Know I will never quit loving you.
Second, I’m sorry, but I have to end our relationship.
Every part of Elena turned to ice.
I’m so sorry, Jules. But the risks going into this mission are too high, and I can’t, in good conscious, stay engaged to you.
Elena let out a cry and stood, the chair toppling over behind her. “What?” she asked out loud as she kept reading.
This is the hardest letter I’ve ever written.
Still, Elena didn’t believe it. “No! No!” Adrenaline spiked through her, and she hit reply before reading the rest of the letter, her vision already blurring with tears. No way, Blaine! This is not funny! She sent the email.
Her hands trembled. She’d known it was dangerous, but he’d been communicating with her, and she’d quit asking about details because he could never answer her. She stabbed at the reply button again. If you are messing with me I’ll never forgive you! She hit send and waited.
And waited.
“Answer me!” she yelled at the screen, her hand clenching into a fist.
Bitterness made her stomach curl in on itself. No, no, no, no, no.
He’d broken up with her? The memory of him in her arms assaulted her, and she stood and held her arms out as if he could run back into them. “No!” she yelled, and pain knifed her in the center of the chest. “No!”
Time stilled, and she dropped to the floor, the pain bleeding into her soul. Her body was wracked with sobs.
“No!” she sputtered, salty tears drowning her voice. She put her head down and pummeled her fist into the floor. “No!”
It couldn’t be. Flinging herself to her feet, she went back to his email and found where she’d left off reading.
Elena, I want you to be happy. You’re so talented, and I want you to … find someone else and be happy, please. Live a full life and be happy!
“No!” she yelled at the screen again, more tears falling.
I put all my affairs in order. It isn’t much, but I do have some money that will be transferred into your account.
“No.” She held her hand out to the computer screen, touching the words, wishing she could fight with
him over this. Wishing she could deny it.
The truth is, I have that feeling … and you’re better off without me. I was always too dangerous to keep ties with. I’m so sorry!
Thank you for taking me back to your place for pancakes. You changed my life forever, but please find someone else and be happy. Please.
Love,
Blaine
“No!” She grabbed her phone next to her and pressed her father’s number. It rang and rang. She’d gone to Washington and done his little event. He should answer. But he didn’t.
Not caring how mad Antonio was at her, she called him next. She was that desperate. Her hand shook as she pressed his number.
He answered on the third ring, his voice sleepy. “Elena?”
“Antonio?”
“What? Elena?” He sounded confused.
She bit her lip, regretting this already. What could she say? What could she ask? “Do you know anything about Blaine’s unit?”
“What?” He shouted. “Are you really asking me that?”
Her heart raced and tears fell down her cheeks. “I shouldn’t have called.” She hung up and dropped the phone, collapsing back onto the hard cement floor. “No! No!” How could he do this? Why would he do this to her? Her whole body shook with sobs.
* * *
She didn’t know what time it was when Antonio came though the elevator into her apartment. There was sunlight streaming through the windows. Her eyes squinted against the light, but she made no move to get up.
“Elena?” He rushed over to her. “Are you okay?”
She didn’t say anything. It felt like every part of her had died. More tears welled up in her swollen eyes, and she began sobbing again, just like she’d done before she’d fallen asleep.
Antonio’s arms were picking her up, and he was whispering to her. “Shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay.”
Her limbs felt like noodles, and she could barely hold on to him as he set her on her bed. She heard him rush to the kitchen, heard water running in the sink. Then he was back, holding her head up, pressing the glass to her lips.
She drank and fell back, turning on her side, hating that Antonio was here. Hating that he was running his hand softly down her hair. Hating that she felt so weak. Hating that she had to ask. “Do you know?”
Giving her a hard look, he took the water and shook his head. “From what I could gather, they lost contact with them.” His frown deepened. “Right now the whole team’s reported Missing In Action.”
More tears fell down her cheek and she turned onto her side, feeling the first stages of numbness taking over.
Softly, Antonio put a hand on her shoulder. “I know you’ll never love me like you love him, Elena.” His voice was quiet. “I want you to know I can love you enough for both of us. I already do.”
Chapter 17
3 Months later
US Base, Kuwait
Blaine stared at Dawkins, his commanding officer. His whole body ached from the pounding he’d taken from the guard Quasimodo in order to make sure all his SEALs got out. They’d gotten captured and it’d been more then hell.
But he didn’t care about the pain. All he could think about was Elena. Getting word to Elena. Calling Elena. Seeing Elena.
“Mr. Hammerton, I know you took a severe beating to enable your team to escape. I know you’re not comfortable and you have personal business to attend to, but I have to go over a couple of the details of your capture.”
“Sir, can this debrief wait until I get word out to my girl?”
Dawkins’ frowned. “Sorry, Hammerton, you know protocol, answer the questions.” His voice was rough and held no pity.
He had to get out of here and call Elena. The torture of waiting to contact Elena was as bad as anything his captors had put him through. For the first time in three months, he had freedom, yet here he was, captive to more questioning. “Yes, sir.”
Dawkins consulted his notes. “We know that your team acted to save a Syrian woman from a man about to kill her, and your cover was blown in the process?” Dawkins’ asked.
Blaine nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Who made the decision to act early and take out the target rather than keeping your cover and waiting for the main target?”
“It was unanimous, sir.” Blaine vowed to give short answers, hoping it would speed up the interrogation, but he knew Dawkins wouldn’t be done with him until he was done. He put up with follow-up questions for an excruciating fifteen minutes.
Finally, Blaine couldn’t take it any longer. “Can I please be done, sir? I’ll write a full report.”
Dawkins nodded. “I’m releasing your team. When you walk out the door, there will be phones and computers for you to contact those closest to you. There are showers and food and clean clothes. We have a press conference scheduled in two hours, which you may attend if you like. Tomorrow, we will get you a ride anywhere you want to go.”
Blaine was up before Dawkins finished his speech, feeling like a bird about to take flight. “Thank you, sir.”
Rushing down the hall, all he could think about was calling Elena. Hearing her voice, apologizing to her. From the moment they’d gotten out until now, all he wanted was to get word to her he wasn’t dead, but he knew the stakes at hand: full debrief before any contact, and clearance before they could be released back to the public. There would be more questions and he had a lot of paperwork to write, but right now, he had to talk to Elena. He had to explain.
Walking into the platoon dayroom with computers, he saw Maddox and Creed in front of the two computers. “Shh,” said Maddox to Creed.
After being held captive with these guys for three months, not to mention serving for years in the same platoon, Blaine knew their every movement, every nuance. “What?” He tried moving in on Maddox’s computer.
“Let me tell him,” said Creed.
“Tell me what?” Blaine demanded, stomping over to Creed’s computer.
“I’m sorry, son, but …”
Blaine gaped at the monitor. What he was looking at couldn’t be real. Someone was punking him, and Blaine was not amused. Or maybe his swollen-shut eye was deceiving him.
An engagement announcement stared him in the face, Elena standing next to Antonio.
“This isn’t real,” said Blaine. “She’s my fiancée, not that piece of crap Antonio’s.”
“Not fiancée, dude,” said Creed with real sympathy, scrolling to the part of the announcement that had the date. “Wife. The wedding was three weeks ago.”
White-hot pain, the kind that had been used on Quasimodo’s red-hot welding stick to torture them and sear his back, now lit up inside of him.
Elena was gone. She had married Antonio? The idiot jerkface.
Image after image of Elena and those precious, sacred days they’d spent together flashed through his mind like scenes of a movie. Scenes he’d pulled up every day—every hour, sometimes—in the last three months. Scenes that had helped him survive and escape.
If he’d known this back in Syria, he never would have had what it took to escape. Shoot, if he’d known this would happen, he would have gone AWOL from the SEALs three months ago and stayed in New York to marry Elena. She was the reason he’d stayed sane, the reason he’d taken the beating so the SEALs could escape. And now, his reason was gone.
Blaine’s hand trembled, and he removed it from the computer.
“Are you okay, man?” asked Maddox.
“I’m fine.” He stood, giving the picture of her and Antonio one last, hard stare with his one good eye. Whirling on his team, he hissed, “We never speak of this again. From this moment on, I don’t want to hear her name, see a picture. I don’t want to know anything about her.” He took one of his guys on the team, Jace, by the scruff of the neck. “Got it?” he yelled into his face.
Jace cursed and pushed him away. “Got it, dude, chill.”
There was no way Blaine could chill. A million thoughts were running through his mind. Elena pai
nting, Elena’s soft hands on his face. Elena crying when he told her they had to wait to get married.
Turning, he rushed from the room. Rushed from the building, pushed past the security, pushed out into the compound. When he was finally outside, he broke into a sprint. All he knew was he could run forever and it wouldn’t be enough to get her out of his mind. Finally, he was free, but the one place he wanted to run to was no longer an option for him.
Chapter 18
Blaine sat in a lawn chair on Sutton Smith’s beach. It’d been a month since his team had come home and he’d left the SEALs.
All he could think about was her. Them. The connection they’d shared.
When that one person who connects you to the world is ripped away, what happens then?
Blaine had no answers.
Blaine sat on the beach, gripping his temples, wishing he could take some serum to erase her from his brain. Erase the pain. Erase the way he loved her.
Because not having her was going to kill him.
The whole platoon had been recruited to San Diego to work for Sutton Smith, billionaire extraordinaire. In some circles, Sutton was known for getting results when no one could, including the United States. A couple of the other guys were still enlisted or wrapping up loose ends, but Blaine had come straight to San Diego. What else did he have in his life?
Sutton recruited ex-Navy SEALs to work for his Warrior Project, a vigilante justice operation, saving American civilians from sex trafficking and catching drug lords, along with protecting and funding individuals who need a helping hand.
Truthfully, Blaine hadn’t been doing much. He’d been out surfing that morning. Really, he’d let the surfboard go and just floated, wishing for death.
Now, he lay on the lawn chair on Sutton’s perfectly manicured beach with perfectly matching furniture. He’d dragged it closer to the water. His eyes lay heavy in his sockets, like rocks. He’d rinsed off, but not enough. He didn’t care.
