by Jillian Neal
The ending of that sentence was unnecessary. He didn’t understand me. Hard stop. I attempted yogic breathing I’d learned in the one class Rachel had managed to drag me to. It proved unsuccessful. Clearly the instructor was no match for the general.
“Does she want me to go with her?” He glanced at a nearby table that a couple had just abandoned. Grabbing a clean napkin they’d left behind, he handed it to me. “You still have ice cream on your nose, little one.”
Grinding my teeth, I scrubbed my face. Little one. Ugh. My accomplishments never seemed to matter. To my father, I would always be a clumsy little girl with wet shorts, squishy sandals, and ice cream on my face. I had to concede that some things would never change. “I get the feeling Mom wants to do this on her own.”
“Understood. And you’ll be on leave next week?”
I considered his question. If I went through the mental gymnastics of trying to explain that civilians called it a vacation, I would only have to be there longer, and I had a pedi appointment in a half hour. “Yes.” There. One syllable. Precious little to fuss over.
“And you think traveling unaccompanied is a good idea?”
Translation: traveling unaccompanied was not a good idea and insisting that it was would only be further proof that I didn’t make good decisions. “I’ll be fine, Daddy.” Hopefully, I wouldn’t be unaccompanied for long. In just over twenty-four hours’ time, I’d have placed my bid on the man I intended to spend the rest of my life with no matter what my father had to say about it. However, I suspected telling my father I’d be with a well-trained, highly-skilled weapons sergeant from the Green Berets would be ranked several steps worse than traveling alone.
“I worry about my girl.” And just like that I melted.
“There’s no need for you to worry. I promise. I’ve been out there a bunch for work lately. Remember?”
“Yes, but I felt better knowing people there were expecting you. You never really explained what happened with you and First Lieutenant Simpson. Perhaps he could escort you. He seemed ready to settle down. He’s an officer with a promising career ahead of him. For several weeks, you two seemed quite happy together.”
I shuddered at the mere mention of the last asshole my father had set me up with. The truth was, I’d endured a half-hour of our date before I got Rachel to send me the standard fake emergency text so I could leave.
I’d told my father I liked him, however. Proof lying will almost always blow up in your face. I’d endured my lie for a few weeks and it had ended up hurting Griff. Definitely not worth it. He’d stopped calling right about the time my father had informed my brother that I was getting serious with Marc. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Smith must’ve mentioned something about it to Griff. “Yes, well, I got tired of not being allowed to order my own food and of him referring to himself in the third person. ‘First Lieutenant Marc Simpson class of 2015 would like to order a filet medium rare and my date will have a salad.’ I’m begging you, Dad, stop trying to fix me up.”
Concern deepened the light wrinkles on my father’s face. “Did you want the salad?”
“No. He never asked me what I wanted.”
That earned a noncommittal grunt. Standard army-speak for there must be another side to this story. There wasn’t but that didn’t matter. “Getting through West Point is quite an accomplishment. He should be proud of his work. But if you don’t care for a Point grad, another friend of mine from the air force is stationed over at Nellis. Maybe I’ll just let him know you’ll be in town. Perhaps you could have dinner with him and his wife. His son just came out of the Air Force Academy. He’s back home on leave as well.”
“No!” The awkward glances from people walking down the street let me know I’d been a touch too adamant. The very last thing I needed was one of my father’s old buddies to keep tabs on me and to try to fix me up with his bratty air force officer son, while I was on a mission all my own. I cleared my throat and attempted to summon patience. “No, Daddy. I really do not need the entire air force tailing me on vacation. I’ll be fine. I swear.”
My father eyed me curiously. Shit. Suspicion furrowed his thick brows, more gray than black now. “You’ll be aware of your surroundings at all times?” His questions were always ninety-five percent commands.
“Yes, sir.” I knew how to play the game.
“Are you meeting a man I don’t know out there, Hannah?”
“No, sir.” Since Griff had no idea I would be there, we weren’t technically meeting, and Daddy definitely knew him. He just also hated him. Still, it wasn’t a complete lie. Unfortunately, my conscience layered a dose of guilt on top of the ice cream I’d consumed thicker than the chocolate syrup I’d forgone.
“And you will not let anyone order a drink on your behalf or provide you one you did not watch the bartenders prepare?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is all of that going with you on your leave?” He gestured to the lingerie bags at his feet.
“You don’t really want me to answer that do you?” I broke form.
“You will return to your room alone each night of your R and R?”
“Daddy.”
“I had to try.” He stood and planted a kiss on top of my head. “Be careful and maybe call your old man next week and let me know you’re okay. Both of my girls are deploying. I don’t much care for it.”
I offered him a grin. Maybe I was too hard on him. “Now you know how Mom and I felt every time you and Smith left.”
“Believe it or not, I felt the very same way every time your brother went out as well, little one. Have a nice leave.” He waved as he walked away.
5
Hannah
The next morning, filtered light from the expansive windows I paid a fortune to call my own taunted my eyelids. Whimpering, I rubbed my eyes. I should’ve smelled coffee. I’d methodically set that stupid coffee maker to start at five. Of course, I’d never actually gotten that timer thing to work right. Realization took a split second but then panic shot me up out of the bed.
“No, no, no! There cannot be light. Light is bad.” I jerked my phone off of the bedside table yanking the charging cord from the stupid little box that connected it to the plug. “Fuck!” The battery was dead. No battery no alarm. The familiar hum of the fridge and my bathroom fan were missing.
“Oh no!” Bolting toward the bedroom door, my freshly manicured toes collided with the footboard. “Ouch! Dammit!” Pain seared from my feet all the way up to my eyeballs. Gripping my foot, I hopped on the non-injured one and made it to the door. Flinging it open, I hobbled to the kitchen. “Ouch, ouch, ouch, ugh, ouch.” I flipped on light switches as I went. Nothing.
I spent one split second cursing Denver Energy, my apartment complex, my throbbing toe, and the lack of coffee in the darkened maker. I grabbed the battery powered clock Daddy gave me last year for Christmas from my junk drawer. Seven thirty. “No!”
I headed to my front door still clad in my favorite torn pajama pants and the Maroon 5 tank top I’d owned since long before Adam Levine had moves like Jagger.
My neighbor, Mrs. Lipscomb, was in the hallway staring up at the sun blazing through the atrium windows in the entrance. “We pay a small fortune every single month to live here. Why is the power out again?” I screeched.
She offered me a sympathetic smile. “Looks like they still haven’t worked out that issue with the substation. I have a percolator. I can make some coffee once I light the stove.” Without my glasses on or my contacts in, her face was a little fuzzy.
Remembering that my sweet neighbor had nothing to do with our constant power issues, I shook my head. “I have to be at the airport in an hour. I have to be in Vegas this afternoon.”
“I saw that article about the hotel you redid out there. So sexy. I told George we really ought to book ourselves a weekend trip.”
Every single one of my meticulously made plans was going to evaporate into thin air if I missed my flight. I forced what ha
d to be a pained smile. “You and George should definitely go. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Lipscomb, but I’ve got to get out of here. Griff’s waiting on me in Vegas only he doesn’t know that yet.”
“Is Griff that handsome young man who used to be in the army whom occasionally visits you and stays for breakfast?” She edged close enough for me to see the mischievous grin painted on her features and the shimmer of the sunlight in her eyes.
“Yes. That’s him.”
“Well, honey, you better go. I know true love when I see it. I used to send my George a letter every single day sealed with a kiss when he was over in Vietnam. My best friend, Margie and I had a plan for the day he finally came home. As soon as they lined up to get off the boat, she started shouting at the MPs holding the barriers that protesters were breaking into cars. They took off to stop the non-existent break-ins, and I took off toward George. Met him on the gang plank. He swept me up in his arms and kissed the heck out of me. When he finally set me back on my feet he asked me how I’d managed to get up there. I’ll tell you this, it was my scheming that impressed him enough to propose that very night.”
A genuine grin replaced my forced one as she stared just past my head as if that precious moment in her past was painted on my apartment door. “Breaking through the barriers is precisely my plan.”
“Well, if you need someone to distract the MPs, so to speak, I’m your woman.”
“You have no idea how badly I might need something just like that. Thank you for the offer.” Racing back into my apartment, I flung off my pajamas and simultaneously yanked on the jeans I’d thrown on my floor the night before all while wiggling out of my tank top. My hair got hung in the balance. I fell forward onto my bed and had to slow down to untangle myself.
“I’ll have a few hours before the dinner auction after I get there. I can shower and get ready then.” Having no time to contemplate my own sanity since I was in fact talking to myself, I crammed my makeup bag into the toiletry bag I’d packed the night before and shoved my glasses on my face. Grabbing my contact case, I stowed it in my purse, threw on my favorite old bra, a pink long-sleeved T-shirt, and gathered my luggage and my courage. I sprinted out the door. As long as there was no traffic on Peña, I might just pull this off.
When I stumbled under the weight of my luggage as I made it back into the hallway, Ms. Lipscomb grabbed two of my bags and headed down the stairs towards my truck. “You go get your man, honey. We’ll be here cheering you on.”
“Thank you.” I threw my arms around her just before I threw myself in the driver’s seat. It was almost eight in the morning and who the heck was I kidding thinking there might not be traffic on Peña Boulevard? Flooring my jet black GMC Canyon pickup, that was my prized possession, I whipped around a Cadillac whose driver clearly didn’t have places he needed to be.
I also pled with the universe. “Please, please let me get on that plane. I swear I’ll volunteer more at the food bank, and I’ll do that Siblings of Soldiers thing Mom wants me to do, and I’ll donate all of those clothes I know perfectly well I’m never going to be able to fit back into to the church.” I made good time until I hit the onramp construction at Tower. Tapping my left foot and my hands on the steering wheel, I willed the Buick in front of me to move it.
Twenty minutes ’til takeoff. My empty stomach seized. My heart beat out a frantic S.O.S. And my stupid brain finally rushed the one detail I’d been refusing to confront to center stage. If I wasn’t there to bid on Griff that night at the auction, someone else surely would. He was kind, and gorgeous, and funny, and brilliant. But in terms of a bachelor auction, it was that faded scar just above his gorgeous hazel eyes, the way he looked like he’d been carved out of solid steel and chiseled with a blade, and that half-smirk he frequently sported that said he was thinking something dirty and would likely say it if given the opportunity, that had me worried. I wanted to cover the man in ice cream with chocolate sauce and lick it off of every square inch of him slowly and thoroughly, and any other woman would want to as well.
He’d be required to spend a week in the company of some other woman, and it would all be my fault. Frustration and devastation went to war in my empty stomach. Bile shot to my throat burning a path through my chest. It was laced with my own stupidity. The power in my building went out at least once a month. I should have made a contingency plan. This was why my brother was the Beret and not me.
Never surrender, Hannah. There is always a way. This time, my father’s voice bolstered me instead of irritating me. There had to be a way.
I drove up over the curb and sped through the grass to pass a Budget bus carrying passengers from the rental car lots to the airport and flew toward the east terminal.
Not caring in the least how much I’d end up paying for taking up a space in the closest lot for an entire week, I threw my truck into park, hoisted my bags out of the back, and sprinted to the ticketing counter.
Thrusting my phone into the dude-at-the-counter’s face, I gasped for breath. He looked like a twelve-year-old. Maybe he was some kind of Doogie Howser of the airlines. There was a stitch in my side from my sprint, but I’d have to get over it. “I have to get on this flight. Now,” I demanded of the man-child running the ticketing counter. “I’m TSA pre-checked.”
Counter dude, complete with a man-bun, spent thirty precious seconds taking another sip of his coffee then licking his lips. He took another ten to give me an incredulous glare. Bastard. With the speed of dial-up internet, he took my phone and held it under the ticket scanner. “It leaves in ten minutes.”
“I’m aware of that. But I have to be on this flight.”
He shook his head. “There’s no way you’ll make it through security that fast. Seems you’re another example of why blonde jokes are always right.” Another sip of coffee was taken. I resisted the urge to throw it in his face.
“I don’t have to go through security. As I just mentioned I’m pre-checked. You have no idea the kind of planning this required. Have you ever tried to get a Green Beret to do something without them knowing it? Have you ever tried to convince someone that even if your family would be impossible from now until forever that doesn’t mean you can’t be together? No, you haven’t, because if you had, you’d let me go so I can get on that plane.”
That was when my morning went from shitty to all out fucked up. Still stuck in his molasses routine, it took him entirely too long to lift the phone on his station to his ear. He dialed three numbers. “Security, we have a potential threat at ticketing.”
6
Griff
“’S’pose I should be thankful for small favors,” I muttered to myself as I shoved my laptop bag in the compartment over my seat. T had sprung for first class. Rescuing the Sports Illustrated and Major League Magazine from the bag before settling into my seat, I surveyed the plane.
Besides space to extend my leg, the reason T had probably gone for this seat, first class afforded me the opportunity to keep an eye on the boarding passengers. A couple with twin toddlers attempted to manage the kids and their bags in the barely existent aisle. One of the kids was already wailing. The guy offered me an apologetic glance as he passed my seat.
“Hey, if people can’t handle a screaming kid on a plane, they need to man the fuck up,” I offered. It was possible the conditions I’d lived in had slightly altered my version of discomfort, but I was trying to be a better human.
“Thanks,” the guy nodded. “If all else fails, we have cookies for them.”
“Solid plan.”
No amount of me trying not to be an ass made the whole thing more palatable, however. On top of everything else, I wasn’t a fan of commercial flying. I’d jumped out of more planes than I could count. Frankly, I’d much prefer to have been given an oxygen mask and a chute when I’d boarded. Nothing like being dropped into the unknown without a pack or pull cord.
Every time I sat on a plane as it ascended to the skies, the ghosts of my past stormed through my head. The rolling lif
t. That momentary lurch. The manufactured quiet. Military aircraft never gave a fuck about your comfort. They were loud enough to drown out thoughts of where you were headed and what might greet you when you arrived.
Every time I flew now, breathy memories shoved their way into my lungs when the fuel-laced air was forced in through the exhaust system right as the wheels were tucked into the plane. I couldn’t stop them. I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to.
A backpack almost collided with my face. “Watch it,” I snarled to the idiot-owner of said pack. He stopped with his pack in my face, blocking the way for everyone trying to board behind him. For some bizarre reason, he was talking into a hand-held camera.
“No worries. I have arrived on my flight, and Vegas is anxiously awaiting my arrival. I know you’re all asking yourselves why your man, Gig-splainer is doing a video on Saturday but just let me tell you. It’s because I’m going to Vegas, bitches! Click the subscribe button so you can keep up with my trip, and if you haven’t purchased my autobio, what are you even doing with your life? Get your copy of Gig-splainer Does Life All the Way to Paradise. Catch you later, my gigs! Don’t forget to subscribe. Click that button. Buy my book. Merch link is in the description. Subscribe!”
He panned the camera, much to the irritation of the forty people behind him all waiting to get to their seats, and then settled in the seat beside me. Great.
The way I saw it I had two options. I worked for a top-level government security firm. I could not be on camera, so I could block my own face from the lens or I could rip the damned thing from his hands and stomp it into the floor of the plane. I went with an altered version of my second choice, only removing the camera from his grip but not crushing it under my boots…yet.
“Oh, are you a fan?” He offered me his hand.
“A fan of what?” I snapped the lens cover on the device, turned it off, and shoved it in the side pocket of my own seat. He would not be taking it out again on this flight.
