by RC Boldt
“You can admit it. I won’t tell.” Doc’s tone was hushed. “He’s a pretty funny dude. But I’ve always noticed that look in his eyes.”
Turning his way, curiosity etched her features. “What do you mean? What look?”
He fell silent for a moment, as if searching for the right words. “My job in the Teams required me to be able to focus on certain things. To be aware of something that might have seemed off. Different.” He paused. “Not saying Laws is off, but I saw that look in his eyes from the start. It’s this little something that happens when he witnesses a moment between Raine and Mac, or one of the other couples.
“It’s not a blatant look of longing or anything like that.” He shook his head. “It’s quick and easy to miss. But I’ve seen it. The look where he wonders …”
She felt herself lean in, waiting for Doc’s words. “Wonders what?”
“He wonders if he’ll ever get that.”
Huh. She turned to face the window, mulling over her coworker’s words. As the two of them drove in silence, her mind raced, thoughts rapidly flitting through it.
He wonders if he’ll ever get that kind of love. I wonder the same thing.
I tried to have that kind of love and it nearly destroyed me before. I can’t try it again. I’m too scared.
Langley Ford shouldn’t ever be afraid.
I’m not sure I deserve that kind of love.
“You deserve it, too, you know.” Doc’s words sent a jolt of shock through her, turning her head slowly to stare at him.
Was he a mind reader?
“I told you, I read people. I study them.” He shrugged. “It’s an old habit that won’t die.” There was a brief pause. “But you deserve it, Ford. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.” His tone was firm and there was an unspoken don’t argue with me kind of undertone.
“With my past, I don’t—”
“Fuck your past.” He flashed her a quick stern look, before returning his attention to the road. “Don’t let your past determine your future. Ever.” Letting out a sigh, he pursed his lips. “I’ll tell you a little story that not many people know. It doesn’t leave this vehicle, got it?”
Nodding slowly, she answered, “Got it.”
“I was in a relationship for a little over six years. Granted, much of it was when I was deployed. But we’d been going strong. She had a job that kept her busy and we did the whole email and Skype thing whenever we could.
“Fast forward to a few years ago when I flew in early to surprise her. The ring had been pretty much wearing a hole in my pocket. I was going to do it. I was going to surprise the hell out of her, she’d jump into my arms the way she always did when I came home and I’d drop to one knee.” He nodded slowly, rolling his lips inward for a moment, falling quiet.
“Didn’t quite happen that way?” she asked gently.
“Nope.” His jaw worked. “Not at all.” Letting out a sigh, he steered the truck onto the off-ramp for the exit they needed. “Thing is, as much as it still pisses me off that she was cheating on me, as much as it hurt then, I know one certainty. And the certainty is that shit went down because it wasn’t meant to be. She and I weren’t meant to be. And hell if I’m going to let some woman whose moral compass suddenly stopped pointing due north affect me enough that I close myself off from something—from someone—amazing. Hell if I’m going to let my past and a screwup dictate me not finding happiness again.”
Studying Doc’s profile, she let his words wash over her, gathering her thoughts before she spoke. “So what you’re saying is, I shouldn’t let my past affect things with Lawson.” This came out as a statement rather than a question. He confirmed it, just the same.
“Roger that.”
“Easier said than done,” she mumbled as they approached the gate guards for the large Naval base. Handing over each of their military IDs to the gate guard, Doc either hadn’t heard her or didn’t plan on answering.
Until, of course, they’d passed through the gated entrance, driving along the road leading them to their destination. That was when her coworker remarked, “When you’ve seen and done everything we have, Ford, it’s tough. Tough for those who haven’t had the same experiences. Because the average person doesn’t experience or witness devastation ten-fold, isn’t usually faced with death, whether their own or someone they know, on nearly a daily basis. We know how that can change a person. Whether we want it to or not. And anyone who says otherwise—anyone who says it hasn’t changed them in some way—they’re straight up fucking liars.”
She eyed him carefully, waiting him out. Everything he said was spot on. Yet she knew he wasn’t finished, felt as though she knew where he was leading the conversation next.
He pulled the truck into a parking spot nearby the building they were to enter shortly. Putting it into park, he left it running, staring ahead for a moment before turning to face her.
“This crew—our crew—is an odd bunch. No one can argue that,” he said with a brief chuckle. “But what sets them apart—Laney, Zach, Raine, Lawson—what makes them unique is the fact that they have such an intense respect for others. They are genuinely good people. What sets them above the rest even more is that they somehow, without ever experiencing it first-hand, understand our sacrifices and that we’ve witnessed some really fucked up shit. They manage to recognize and understand this, have compassion and, most importantly, respect it. Respect us.”
Regarding her carefully, gaze intent, he softly stated, “Laws reminds me much of my buddy, Hendy. Always the one delivering the laughs, keeping things light. However, one thing is certain about those two that many dismiss or don’t give a second thought to. And it’s the fact that,” he lowered his gaze, somber expression, “those two men have layers. The side they regularly show everyone isn’t the only one they have. They have an added depth to them, they are far more complex men than meets the eye. And I’ll tell you this without any hesitation.”
Doc fixed his piercing green gaze upon her. “If Laws were in the military, if he were on the Teams, there isn’t a doubt in my mind that he’d be one of the best guys out there. That he’d be one of my first choices—quite possibly my very first choice—for the guy I’d want by my side.”
She felt her own eyes widen at Doc’s declaration. Because she knew he wasn’t merely saying those words; wasn’t spouting off randomness for shits and giggles. No. When a former SEAL sniper said he’d willfully choose someone to be by his side in a career where your life was on the line as frequently as it was in Special Ops? That was some serious shit.
And it spoke volumes. Volumes.
Exhaling loudly, he smirked. “That fill your quota of heart-to-hearts for the year?”
“Decade’s more like it,” she tossed back, puffing out her cheeks like she were about to vomit.
Doc’s laughter trailed after her as she exited the truck, sliding out and closing the door. As he fell into step with her, he nudged her shoulder with his own.
“You know, being a former sniper means I’m pretty badass, right?”
Amused, she remarked drily, “Is that so?”
“Indeed. Not to mention the other guys—Vaughn, Kavanaugh, Windham. Which means that we’re ready to lay the smack down on anyone who messes with our little sis.”
Flashing him a look, she shook her head. “You’ve got to be kidding me right now.”
“Come on, Ford. You know we’ve got to stick together. Special Forces brotherhood and all that.”
“No one’s going to be messing with me, so don’t worry.” They were only a few feet from the entrance to the building.
“Don’t get all touchy,” he told her with hands raised in defense. “Just saying that if needs be, we’ll take care of Laws.”
“What is with everyone and their talk about ‘taking care’ of people?” She threw up her hands in exasperation.
Doc seemed impressed. “The ladies already brought it up?”
“Yep.”
“Huh.” He reach
ed for the handle of the door only to pause and glance at her. “It’s how we show our love, you know.” He winked. “By tossing out the offer to ‘off’ people who hurt our own.”
With that, he opened the door, waving a hand for her to enter first. As she walked into the building, approaching the receptionist’s desk with Doc by her side, she couldn’t help but reflect on how much her life had changed over the last few months since moving to Fernandina Beach. She had moved to a place with no friends or family. Had moved with nothing but material belongings, and even that wasn’t much to speak of.
And now, while she had those same material belongings she’d arrived with, she felt as though she actually had … more.
She had people whom she’d refer to as her friends. She had people who actually cared about her.
Langley Ford actually had people who worried about her.
And hell, if that didn’t create a warmth that rolled through her, slowly seeping into the cracks of her own decrepit heart.
C
HAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Hutber’s law: Recommends the elimination of unlikely explanations for a phenomenon.
Langley’s take: Like the fact that Lawson Briggs is consistently worming his way past my defenses? Because, trust me. That’s quite the phenomenon in my book.
~
HE WAS GOING TO DO it. Lawson Briggs was going to actually do it. He was going to pop his own cherry.
Ew. He cringed at the phrasing. He should be more specific. He was going to pop his own cherry … when it came to stalking.
Shit. That still sounded crazy in his head. So, maybe not stalking like, ‘Oh, yeah, why did you order a vanilla latte when you normally order a plain Americano whenever I watch you with my binoculars from across the street in my car?’
No. Not like that. At all.
He was merely planning on casually running into Lee along the route she normally took. And he only knew this because he had interviewed—he preferred that word—Pearce.
Pearce had said it was an interrogation. He called it an interview.
Meh. Semantics, schemantics.
There was only one teeny, tiny, pequeño problemo with this plan. Okay, maybe it was a grande problemo. And, no, he hadn’t a clue as to why he was suddenly channeling his old tenth grade Spanish teacher, Señora Gonzalez. Regardless, there was a big problem with his plan.
He hated running.
And, no, we’re not talking hate as in I hate broccoli unless it’s baked in a casserole of cheesy, melty goodness. Nope. Uh-uh. He. Hated. Running. It was the part he always dreaded when he taught his classes at the gym.
Running: he haaaaaaated it. It was up there with prostate exams. Not that he’d had one, yet. But still. The idea of someone reaching up inside his ass and feeling around?
G to the r – o – s – s.
Yet, here he was. Getting ready to run. Because he wanted to run with his Lee.
Plodding down the steps of his house, he paused at the bottom of the stairs, getting a good, deep stretch of his calf muscles. After feeling sufficiently warmed up, he crossed the road separating his house from the ocean front homes, walking toward the beach access.
“She always includes the beach in part of her run, but only at low tide when she can run on the packed sand, of course,” his ‘informant’ had told him.
Okay, okay. Pearce had told him that.
He had checked the time schedule for the tides of the Atlantic and figured he’d be good if he showed up at about six thirty that morning. It was a Saturday and hardly anyone was on the beach. It was unbelievably peaceful and he instantly wished he were sitting there with a large coffee in his hand instead of preparing to torture himself by running. Oooh, a coffee and one of those awesome bagels from the place down the street would be good, too. They baked them fresh and they were always so g—
His tongue literally felt as though it was lolling around, out of his mouth. Because, one moment, he was fantasizing about coffee, bagels, and not running, and the next … Well, the next moment he was in fear of swallowing his own tongue. And not because the sight that greeted him was perfect. It wasn’t.
It was perfect to him, though.
He saw Lee as she ran, her hair twisted back into a ponytail, one of those Under Armour sweatbands clearly failing at what she was putting it through. Her dark hair appeared even darker closer to the roots from the sweat, and her eyes were concealed by some sporty-looking sunglasses. She wore a sports bra and dry-fit tank top over it paired with simple black shorts, running shoes on her feet. Her tank top had sweat marks … no, that wasn’t right. He could probably pinpoint the areas that appeared dry rather than the sweaty sections. And that was maybe two small places, max.
Her shoulders and the top of her chest glistened, her toned, muscled arms moving as she ran. Upon nearing him, he realized that he was standing there, gawking. Because, even though this woman was covered in sweat, to him, she was utterly beautiful.
Perfection. Real.
Reaching up to slip out an earbud, she slowed upon approaching him. Even though he couldn’t see her eyes, he swore he could feel her giving him that look. You know, the one that exuded sarcasm and said something like, Oh, just out for a stroll along the beach, huh?
Stopping before him, thankfully not doing that whole jogging in place shit because he swore that screamed pretentiousness. Because, really. Like your body was suddenly going to forget how to run if you paused for a few seconds?
Not likely.
It appeared as though she were checking him out, taking inventory of his attire. “Don’t look like you’re ready for a day at the beach.” Pause. “Looks more like you’re planning on … running?”
“Yep.”
“Oh? Who are you planning on running with?” she asked in mock confusion, glancing around.
“Ah, we’ve got a comedian on our hands, do we?”
Her lips curved up. “I learned from the best.” Raising the hem of her tank top to swipe at the sweat on her face, she granted him a glimpse of her firm, toned abs.
Fuuuuuck. He didn’t need to be getting all excited below the belt right now. Not while wearing workout clothes which didn’t exactly help in concealing certain things.
“Quit checking me out.” His eyes jerked up to see her smirking. “Now, are we running or not, Briggs?”
He made a face. “Not?”
She shoved him playfully but, hell, she didn’t realize her own strength. Rubbing the spot on his shoulder that would likely be bit sore the next day, he let out a dramatic sigh.
“Be gentle with me. I am but a new butterfly spreading my wings—”
“Yeah, all I heard was blah, blah, I’m shelling out lame excuses already, blah, bla—” Her smart response was cut short when he grabbed the waistband of her running shorts, giving them a strong tug toward him. Her hands flew to his shoulders to brace herself and he cupped the back of her head, pressing a quick kiss to her lips.
“Laws, I’m disgusting.” She reached up as if to wipe off her sweat from his upper lip, which had been transferred to him during the brief kiss.
Moving out of her reach, he playfully swatted at her hand. “Please. Think of it as leaving your mark on me. Kind of like dogs peeing on trees. You’ve just marked me with your sweat.” He shook his head in mock sadness. “No other woman out there in this world will be able to have me now. I’m allllll yours.”
She stared at him for a moment. “Sometimes, I wonder about you.”
He shrugged. “I get that a lot.”
“Are you ready yet?”
“No,” he answered quickly before letting out a long sigh. “But, here goes nothing.” Holding up his index finger, he added, “I’d like to say that, should I not survive this, I would like to leave behind my guitar to Kane, my favorite coffee mug to Zach, and my porn stash to you.”
Turning away, about to replace her earbud, she muttered, “Of course you have a porn stash.”
“Lee, I don’t have a porn stash. It w
as a joke,” he told her, rolling his eyes.
“Riiiight.”
“Lee.” His tone was serious. “Truth?”
He felt the weight of her gaze, even beneath those dark sunglasses. “Truth,” she said, slowly.
“I don’t have one. I don’t like that kind of thing.” Head cocked to the side, he smirked. “But if you want me to tell you about the other night when I fantasized about this really hot, gorgeous, badass former PJ doing some naughty things to me—”
Her hand shot out as if to stop him. “I don’t need to hear your fantasies about Pearce.”
He laughed. “Damn it. Now you know my secrets.”
“Laws.”
“Lee?”
“Time to run.” With that, she put her earbud back in, signifying the end to their conversation.
Of course, that tiny little twitch at the corners of her lips didn’t slip past him. Nope. Sure didn’t. His Lee thought he was funny.
After he slipped in his own earbuds, and started his playlist of music, they began running along the packed sand on the beach, side-by-side, taking in the beauty surrounding them and the peacefulness of the morning. It was then that he had a sudden realization.
While running was still not something he thoroughly loved or enjoyed, this running—with Lee beside him, both of them plodding along, lost in their own minds, listening to their music—was something he enjoyed. And if he had to take up running on a regular basis with her, he wouldn’t hesitate to do so. Because right there on that beach that morning, he felt closer to her. Felt like he could get used to doing this with her.
Always.
Just a man running with his Lee.
Okay, that was über cheesy, but still. The point was made.
He could put up with having to run if there was one particular person by his side.
His Lee.
C
HAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Segal’s law: An individual with one watch knows the time. An individual with two watches is never quite sure.
