Black and White Flowers (The Real SEAL Series Book 1)

by Rachel Robinson

  I haven’t contacted you because I needed space. You consumed me so wholly that I wasn’t sure who I was anymore. It sounds like pretext, but given my circumstance it bears more weight than the average man giving that excuse. Don’t get me wrong, I love you so fully that I can’t imagine the world without you in it, but I feel I may have taken advantage of our friendship by pursuing more.

  I’m not calling you weak, or saying I have some superhero powers of persuasion, because I know that what you felt for me is real.

  Our love is real.

  Something changed when new 9/11 happened, while I was wondering if you were alive, dead or otherwise harmed. I stopped breathing. I made deals with God. Nothing in this world made sense if you weren’t going to be by my side. It’s so selfish. It’s wrong. All my life my goal was to be a SEAL. Loving you detracted from that goal, I’ve realized. Loving you changed me completely. Loving you is painful. It’s truth. It’s lies. It’s the past. It’s my future. Loving you is always.

  Loving you is immoral, Carina. Because long before I loved you I promised my love to someone else. It wasn’t coerced. I gave it freely and of pure heart, entirely. Megan needs me now more than ever. If I’ve learned anything about the fickle, trivial things of life, it’s that you need to honor your commitments. What else can you do? How else is a man formed except by his word?

  When I proposed to Megan I got down on one knee and asked her to marry me. I told her I would be there for her until the last sunset and the moon refused to rise. I told her I would be her rock in any storm of life—her protector, her guardian, her provider. Most men say these things during their wedding vows. I promised them when I proposed.

  Do you know how horrible it makes me feel? Because of how it must make you feel? You’re not second best. You’re not runner up. You’re the love of my life.

  None of that matters. Sometimes men must sacrifice for the greater good. Sometimes men must sacrifice for honor. I must sacrifice because I can’t in good conscious love you so fiercely and turn a blind eye to my past promises. It would make what we had less. And it’s not less. Quite the contrary. Care, you are everything.

  From this moment forth you’ll be that gentle sunlight that wakes me on a weekend morning. That first scent of fall when the air begins to cool. The smile on my face when I see a couple lounging in the park. You’ll be the wind in my hair when I jump out of an airplane. The stars in the sky as I fall asleep at night. You’ll be that soft second beat of my heart every other moment. The fog during a morning run. Your name will be the first thing I think when I wake up and the very last thing I mouth before I fall asleep.

  Please know that nothing could change this and it really has nothing to do with you. This was the decision I was always destined to make when the time arose. Some may say it’s not fair to Megan to give her the pieces you didn’t claim in her absence, but I know you’ll understand I have to try. I have to make it right in her eyes. I have to honor my word. I have to work to convince her of these things.

  I know you’ll be more than okay because of how amazing you are. The things you’ve overcome don’t define you, they add to your charm—your backbone. I hope one day I can look at you and not feel everything. I hope one day I can think of your face without wanting to curl into myself and die of longing. Mostly I hope you can move on with your life without a backward glance in my direction. If you love me, you will. As soon as you can. It’s my plea. My dying wish.

  I’ll long for you always. I’ll love you even though I shouldn’t.

  I remembered. And it changed everything and nothing at the same time.

  Yours always,

  S

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Carina

  IT SEEMED SO CONVOLUTED and complicated at first glance. Given our difficult histories it was hard to come to terms with how it truly boiled down to something so simplistic—honor. Smith’s honor. I wouldn’t love him as fiercely if he didn’t have it. It’s the single most appealing quality in a man. I think because so few actually have it. It’s poetic because that’s what stole him away from me. I’m trying to move on as Smith asked, but it’s been slow going for various reasons.

  Sean kisses like a wet dog after a swim in a pool. I broke things off with him before they evolved into anything more than friends who kiss. He was upset and in turn it made Jasmine upset. She forgave me when I wrote her a detailed scene of me kissing her brother. I think the words she used were “utterly disgusting.” It’s not easy going into the dating world knowing no one will ever stack up to him. Not ever. Not even close. I haven’t heard from anyone in Smith’s life since the letter either. I can’t bring myself to contact Moose or Megan. The jagged wound he left in my heart is still raw and bleeding. I’m still trying to figure out how you can love a person too much, because that’s what his words boiled down to.

  It’s been several weeks since I read the letter than changed everything. “Come here, Poppet,” I say, then click my tongue. The solid white juvenile kitten jumps into my lap. Moments after I finished reading Smith’s words I heard a tiny meow from the hallway. Smith broke my heart and left the white kitten to mend it. I hated Poppet and loved her in equal measure for a long time. My overall desire for this cat won out in the end and now she is basically the most important thing in my life. She has a red and white stripped collar that reminds me of a peppermint stick. She licks my face and pounces on my feet anytime they’re under a blanket.

  “I’m three months away from becoming Bridget Jones, Teala,” I say into the receiver of my phone. “Can I come over tonight?” I ask.

  “Are you bringing Poppet again? Last time she chewed the handle of my Louis Vuitton and who knows when I can get it fixed.” The mail is still incredibly slow. Mailing the handbag in for repair isn’t an option. I checked into it after my sweet girl teethed on my friend’s bag. “Macs is here right now. Give me an hour or two.” She giggles. I close my eyes at the sound of her happiness. Macs is a SEAL Moose introduced her to when their date didn’t go as planned.

  I clear my throat.

  “I’m sorry, Carina. I shouldn’t have told you that.”

  “Ugh. Stop it. I’m not some wilted flower. A love scorned woman without any prospects,” I reply. “A woman who has multiple book and movie offers about the above mentioned scorn. A woman who has a life.” I lighten my tone and laugh as she groans with each of my points. My work will tie me to Smith for the rest of my life. It’s worth reconsidering and I have several times.

  “And a woman with a bitch cat,” Teala jokes.

  Smiling, I scoff. “Take it back now or I’ll poison your chai.” Coffee shops are coming back into business after the attacks, but the one by my house is still closed. I’ve taught myself how to make a mean chai tea latte. I bring them for my friends when we get together. “Jasmine will be over before me, I think. I have a quick errand to run first.”

  “Finally entering the world. I like the new Carina.” She wouldn’t say that if she knew where I was headed. “Don’t make it so sweet this time. I haven’t been to Boot Camp lately, in case you weren’t aware.” We’re finally at the point where a joke about the sad state of affairs in our world is acceptable.

  “Your ass is too big to fit through the door even if it was open for business,” I say. “We can try that workout video tonight if you want?”

  “Nah. Less sugar. That will take care of the problem,” she responds.

  I smile and agree to make hers with less sugar.

  “Oh, and for your information, I entered the world a long time ago. If you came up for air out of your sex cloud you might notice it.” Macs is with a troop of SEALs that are stationed here in San Diego. Oftentimes I wonder if I would even know if Smith was back here. I’m sure he would try to be, to be closer to Megan. “Will he be here long?” I ask, fishing.

  She giggles again. “He’s here long,” she says. I hear a satisfied male grumble in the background.

  “Oh, ew, Teala. Get out of here with that.”


  She sighs. “Smith is still gone, Care. That’s what you’re asking, right? I don’t know why you just don’t talk to Moose. You said he’s called you a few times. I’m sure he has all the information.”

  I shake my head. “I have to go. Remember I’ll be a little later. Go…have fun,” I say.

  “Drive safe,” she says. “Quit. Stop it.” I roll my eyes at my friend’s obvious daytime romp. I bet she’s naked right now. Lucky bitch. “Remember to just breathe and turn off the radio. It distracts you. Nothing will happen that you can’t find out about when you get here, okay? Pack Poppet some fucking toys, please.”

  I laugh. Because I can’t help but smile when I think about my cat, and hastily agree. With a quick goodbye, I hang up the phone. “Sleepover tonight, Poppet! Let’s pack!”

  I send a quick text to my errand. I’ll be there in an hour. You’ll be home?

  His reply is immediate. Waiting 4 u.

  I get ready quickly and have everything packed and in my car in no time. I head in a direction I don’t typically drive. The security checkpoints are run differently than the ones I’m used to and it makes me nervous. I put Poppet in her carrying case and she hates it. The officer asks me to unzip the flap. I raise a brow, but oblige his request.

  “Curfew is soon, ma’am. Get to where you’re going,” he says, satisfied that my precious cargo isn’t something more sinister. Teala would disagree and show you the handle of her expensive handbag.

  “Of course. I’m almost there,” I say, motioning to the road in front of me that he’s blocking. A car honks behind me and beside me. It’s annoying and it makes me nervous. He waves me through. I turn into the gated community while I talk to my cat about how the politics of the world are a clusterfuck of epic proportions. She listens and doesn’t judge. She even meows back in irritated intervals. I can tell her anything. Talking to my cat distracts me from the stupid thing I’m about to do. Jasmine would kill me if she knew, but I’m determined. Pulling into the driveway sends shivers down my spine, but it’s not enough to stop me. I have everything to prove. The car stays running because I won’t be long. I unzip Poppet’s bag to give her freedom to roam while I run this quick errand. I kiss her on her white fuzzy head and leave a smear of dark pink lipstick.

  The sight makes me smile. As much as I hate to admit it, Poppet is the best gift I’ve ever received. She represents something so dark and painful. If I can love her, maybe one day I’ll be able to love the wounds that accompany her existence. “I’ll be right back,” I whisper. Then I walk up the driveway and ring the ornate doorbell.

  The same doorbell I chose a few years ago. Roarke answers the door. It takes him a long time. He’s finely dressed and presentable, but a bad feeling lodges in my throat. A hint of distrust creeps in and my fight or flight kicks into gear. The car is running, I remind myself. “Carina. Come in. Please,” he says. His voice is clear, in control. Not like the last time I saw him.

  I hold my shoulders up straighter in an effort to portray confidence. “Poppet is in the car. I have to be quick,” I explain, hiking my thumb over my shoulder.

  “Finally got a dirty rat of a pet, did you?” Roarke asks. I slide by him. He stands too close, so my shoulder rubs against his chest as I pass into the foyer. The scent hits me the same time a wave of bad memories does. This place. This horrible, horrible place where an emotional prison sentence was served.

  “Stop it,” I say. You don’t call my cat a rat. “Is my legal file where it used to be?” There’s paperwork I need, that was long forgotten when Jasmine and I moved out of here in a frenzied rush. Roarke eagerly agreed to let me pick it up when I texted him last week. That’s when I was trying things with Sean and I figured he’d come with me to keep things on the up and up. After proclaiming him fish lips I couldn’t very well ask him to escort me here.

  “Join me for a drink,” Roarke replies.

  “Are you drinking?” I ask. My heart pounds out a warning against my chest. This, this is the moment I should turn around and get into my car to leave, but that odd tether that always appears when he asserts control shows itself.

  He cocks his head to the side as he eyes me up and down. “I’ve had a few.” I shake my head and head for my old office. It’s redecorated and my filing cabinet is nowhere to be seen. Roarke stands behind me. Too close for comfort. “Come here, Carina. I’ve missed you.”

  “Fuck you, Roarke. Where is my file?” Spinning on my toe, I face him. He glowers down at me. The scent of expensive bourbon lingers in the air surrounding his body. “Do you even have it?”

  He laughs—a caustic, evil sound. “I burned it. But it was the perfect excuse to get you right where I want you, wasn’t it? And he’s not even here to save you this time,” Roarke says, accentuating each word in a drunken slur.

  I take a step back. There’s a lamp on the table next to his mahogany desk. It’s stainless and solid. Another step back. He follows, leaning over me, trying to scare me. It works, because it’s always worked. “This is how it’s going to work. You’re going to fuck me. The way you used to. Like you love me. Maybe I won’t beat the shit out of you after. I haven’t decided yet. You ruined my life, you know? I can’t forgive that easily. Now, I’m going to make you a drink. Your favorite and then I’ll show you how my girlfriend redecorated the master suite.” I taste the bile. It mixes with hot anger as I watch his back disappear from the room.

  Scurrying like a frightened mouse, I head for the lamp and unplug it. I test the weight in my hand. On a second thought I grab my cell phone and send a text in the group message with Jasmine and Sean back from when they were doing all my errands. I type, Help. At Roarke’s. Sorry. I picture Jasmine’s face as she reads my message. Horror. Anger. This was backup. I’m going to take care of myself this time. I walk out to the wraparound porch out back. The cement is this beautiful lavender color. When he selected the color I thought it was odd, but it’s stunning with the décor, and I do miss this room a little. The Mace is in the pocket of my sweater and the lamp in my hand when Roarke walks in with two martini glasses. The cops are too busy to deal with trivial things like domestic disputes.

  “Don’t be rude. I made you a drink,” he says. “I like your choice of room. Drop your weapon. I told you I wouldn’t hurt you. It’s me, babe. I took care of you all those years. Remember?”

  I want to beat him to a pulp. I want to cry, but the feeling that overrides them all is that of love. I do want to go to his embrace. It’s fucked up and I know it. He set this trap specifically for me.

  “You said you wouldn’t hurt me if I fucked you. That’s not happening, buddy. Not by a long shot. So either you let me go right now, or I’ll use the weapon,” I explain. “I can’t believe I trusted that you’ve changed. Do you beat her too?” How does he do it? Keep women under his control. There’s nothing special about him.

  I need to buy time and make him think I’m not actually scheming. I’m going to kill him. It’s the only way out of this for good. Deep down I think I knew this would happen when I agreed to come over here tonight. That’s why I slipped the Mace into my pocket. My phone buzzes in my pocket. That draws his eyes from my face. It’s a phone call, not a text.

  “Did you call someone?” he asks. His face transforms into something resembling a monster. A dangerous one. He drops both glasses and they shatter on the beautiful cement. A million pieces of glass dancing across the floor where horrible memories call home.

  He springs, and I swing the lamp like a baseball bat. The phone continues to buzz against my leg. It keeps me grounded in this moment—it focuses me on what I need this outcome to be. I hit the side of his arm as he blocks me. Stumbling, I catch myself on the back of a chaise lounge. Swinging once more, I miss.

  Roarke is strong. Much stronger than I will ever be. This is a fact I shouldn’t know firsthand. I have to use my wits to beat him. I take a step back as he strikes out, a clenched fist aimed directly at my face. I cry out, a loud, ungodly noise of fury as I swing
the base of the lamp at his head. It connects this time because my war cry distracted him. He wasn’t ready for a determined Carina. He wasn’t ready for my blood lust. The crack is satisfying and he goes down hard. Blood trickles from a deep gouge by his eye as he brings himself up to his elbows. I’m breathing heavy, adrenaline pumping through my body when he gets to his feet. I’m frozen to the spot as I watch the dark red liquid pour down his face. It doesn’t look like I dreamed it would. My phone vibrates again. He’s incapacitated, so I take it out and look at it. The text from Jasmine says she’s here.

  He sucker punches me. I hear the whiz of his knuckles the second before they crunch into my cheek. I’ve taken worse from him, but I lose my grip on the lamp and it falls down by my feet. I cry out. Jasmine is going to get hurt. Why did I text her? Through the stars and dizzy sensations, I yell for her to stay away, to let me solve my own problems. Roarke kicks me in the ribs like I’m some animal, something not worthy of standing upright. The Mace in my pocket is in reaching distance. It’s my only chance to right the mistake I made.

  The words of rage passing his lips are incoherent at this point. He won’t stop until I’m not breathing. And neither will I. There’s a lull in his abuse, so I’m able to get the small bottle palmed in my hand. I scream out and through searing pain I make a lunge toward him, grabbing his pants with my free hand to help myself up. He can’t shake me off.

  As I’m spraying the repellant in the general direction of his face, Smith is breaking down the screen door on the side of the porch with Jasmine and Sean close behind. He makes light work of the titanium masterpiece Roarke had specially made for this room. I cough on the fumes of the potent spray. “Get the fuck away from her,” Smith roars, charging toward us like a battering ram. I think it’s the blood leaving my body, but time starts slowing down—the moment crystallizes in a dreamy sort of way.

  I can compare it to how I feel when I’m writing a scene. I’m there, but yet I’m not. I have control, but no true power. Smith’s beautiful, tired eyes turn to me on my knees, and the grimace on his face shifts to that of fury—untamed, unmatched, tangible in quality. I could reach out and touch it, taste it, hide from it. Roarke goes down in one solid blow from Smith. I don’t know what he looked like moments before it happened. I wish I could have seen his face as he watched Smith rush him, know what terror truly looks like. But Smith is here. He’s real and he’s alive and there’s no way I can turn away from the sight of him.