“More like likely.” Lordy shakes his head. “Every time we get some time off, our orders get moved up, but I guess that's what happens when you're in one of the best units they've got, huh? Clint's usually excited. Says he needs all the field experience he can get if he wants to be in Spec Ops.”
My hands are folded together as I stare on at her, trying to gauge some sort of emotion. How mad is she? How bad is this going to be? What's the amount of damage I've done when all I wanted was to savor a few more moments together?
She lets her eyes land in mine, the brightness dulled, the delight I've become accustomed to gone. “I think he'd be a great in Spec Ops.”
“Oorah,” my friends agree in unison.
“That's like super-secret special missions, right? The kind that you have to keep all to yourself and not even your loved ones know the information?” The well-timed and even better-played jab hurts like a bitch and half. Fuck. She's even clever when she's ragingly pissed.
“Something like that.” Lordy catches on, while Glove seems to have become distracted.
“Goddamn, look at that ass in the red dress,” Glove growls out, yanking Haven’s attention away from me.
I turn my head to see what their attention has settled on. Leighyani. I forgot how much she loves this place. Goddamn it. This night was meant to be sweet and meaningful but is just getting worse and fucking worse.
“Now that I might commit to,” he says as they all continue to stare, me with my eyes back on Haven. Damage control. I need to get her out of here. I have to explain myself. I have to make this right even if it means me sleeping on the couch as punishment or her not speaking to me for the rest of the night.
I clear my throat, stand up, and make the easiest excuse to jet, “We're gonna split. We've got plans early in the morning.”
I acknowledge and embrace Lordy first in the process. He leans over and whispers, “You did good, Grim. Real good.”
Lordy pulls Haven over to say good-bye, and Glove leans over to whisper, “I didn't mean to fuck that up for you, man. I figured she knew.”
“I know,” I whisper and shake my head. It's not like it's his fault. It's not. It's mine. There's no one here to blame but me. Only me. And I know what's coming. Believe me. I deserve every bit of it as soon as I can explain.
She hasn't spoken a word to me since we left the bar, and as we head away from the glistening allure of downtown and back toward the submissive suburbs, I can feel the somberness suffocating us.
After I reach for her hand, only to quickly be rejected, I sigh, “I was gonna tell you.”
“When? The day you were packed up and heading out for months?” Her tone raises for the second time—in a way I am proud that she’s comfortable enough to get mad—but I wish to God it weren’t directed at me. “When were you gonna tell me, Clint? It's like you lied to me!”
“I did not lie to you.”
“Whatever.”
“I. Did. Not. Lie. To. You.”
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, getting increasingly angrier.
“I was waiting to tell you.”
“Waiting for what?”
“I didn't wanna ruin your birthday. It's just a few days away. It's important to you. It's important to all of us. I didn't want to take even the slightest bit of joy from that. So, no, Haven. I didn't tell you. I didn't lie to you. I'm not keeping a whirlwind of secrets from you. I would never do that to you.” That's true enough. There are so many things I didn't want those words to ruin. Listing just one seems like justification enough.
“And what's gonna happen to me?”
“What do you mean, what's gonna happen to you?”
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“Our house is your home, Haven. You belong there. I’m getting deployed a month earlier than expected.” The words taste even worse than the first time I swallowed them. “Once I'm gone, you can continue living there in our room, filling your time with whatever it is you decide to. And when I come home, I'm not just coming home to that house, or Sir, I'm coming home to you. You are my home.”
As I glide off the highway and stop at a red light, Haven leans over and plants the softest kiss on my cheek. She doesn't say anything. She doesn't have to. While she's worried about where she's going to be when I leave, I'm worried about the same thing. Sir was right when he told me I needed to let her go and experience her life, so what happens if she realizes that she may be my home, but I'm not hers? What happens to me then? To our lives? That's the underlying horror of facing the fact that, in just less than a month, I have to walk away from my home and possibly never return to it. I fucking hate emotions.
31 Days Till Deployment
Ever since Glove fucked up and mentioned the fact our orders got moved up, Haven has been beside me every chance she gets. I mean, under my arm while we're walking. Both arms around me while seated. It's like hearing the words were some sort of wake-up call that I won't be here for her every day, so suck me up as much as you can in the meantime. It's increased her sexual needs to, which has increased my frustration. She's taken to straddling me during our sessions, clawing at my back with her nails, and moaning softly. Fuck. Just thinking about it has me hard again. Good Lord, I'm not gonna last like this much longer. Might die of a stroke before I make it back to the field.
Strolling over to the solid brown building where Sir is patiently waiting alone, I adjust my navy-blue polo collar that got disoriented in the quick change. I'm glad my check-in on base didn't last as long as I thought it was going to. We needed to be here for Haven, even if she didn't ask.
“Sir,” I greet him properly before looking down and turning off my cell phone.
“Clint.”
Once I'm done, I look up and notice his face looks a little solemn. Something inside of me pushes to ask what's bothering him. Since Haven said what she did about my mother not approving of our situation, I've found myself making slightly more of an effort not to be as cut off from him. After all, he is the one who will be guarding my heart while I'm gone. Besides, if it pleases Haven, the least I can do is try, right?
“Something wrong, Sir?”
With a shrug, he answers, “I decided that Karen and I should stop seeing each other.”
Good. Fucking great. That stripper was such a bitch anyway. And judgmental. Sir is judgmental enough without outside help. Believe me.
“Sorry to hear that, Sir.”
He cocks a smile, “No you're not.” I fight back a chuckle, but once he does, I laugh with him. “She was awful, wasn't she?”
“She was not pleasant.”
“She was a bitch, Slugger.” Hearing him say it forces another laugh out of me.
“You can do better, Sir.” His laughter slows down, and a look of appreciation appears in his eyes. The next words fall out of my mouth in a lower tone and against my will, “And you will.”
I quickly and thankfully turn my head toward the approaching sound of heels clacking, Mindy's announcement to the world she's arrived with the beautiful angel beside her. Haven only gets more beautiful every time I see her. Even in a pair of jeans, a plain, dark-yellow, long-sleeve shirt, and her hair pulled into a high ponytail, she looks like she's missing from a Vogue cover shoot.
Immediately, Haven rushes into my arms and tosses hers around my neck.
“Hey, angel,” I chuckle a bit, squeezing her tightly, my arms flexing like steel bars around her, trapping her in my protection. Cradling this welcome. Adding to the memories that will keep me warm when she can't. “I missed you, too.”
Pulling back, I wrap my hand around the back of her neck, keep the other around her waist, and shove our lips together roughly. Instantly, she invites me into her mouth, a spark on my tongue that, as soon as I touch her, ignites a fire. Now I'm starting to devour her like a slice of birthday cake. Eager. Excited. She pushes against me feverishly, like we haven't been together in years. God, it has been years, hasn't it? Like normal, we forget that we aren't behind clo
sed doors. Haven's hands slide down the front of my shirt, causing a small groan to come out of me.
“Excuse me,” Mindy's voice forces us apart, being the hose to cool down the fire between us. Good thing, too. Wouldn't pan out too well if I pinned her up against the side of the building for our first time together.
Once apart, we wipe the bit of spit that's escaped off the corners of our lips.
“Sorry, ma'am,” I politely apologize, removing my tags and placing them back around Haven’s neck, her parents’ bands already linked with them. She's been leaving them with me when I have to take my tags. I leave them in my car for protection then slip them back together as soon as I can.
“I swear it's like you've never dated a girl before,” Mindy shakes her head and clutches her purse.
I scoot past them, grab the door handle, holding it open, and respond, “She's not just any girl, Mindy.”
Haven thanks me and then turns to Sir, who is cloaked in his work uniform, looking as intimidating as ever. First a man of arms. Now a man of the law. I think Sir enjoys being threatening. Or maybe protecting lives. It's hard to say. “What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at work?”
“Told them I had an appointment and to cover. They'll be all right for a bit without me.”
“But–”
“I'm right where I need to be,” his words are followed by a soft rub across Haven’s back, the kind a proud father would offer to comfort his daughter. The motion is simple and quick but makes her smile brightly. “Supporting you.”
My fingertips find hers as she glances over her shoulder at Mindy, “Thank you.”
Mindy nods. “Thank Slugger, too. If he wouldn't have pleaded as much as he did, I probably wouldn't have arranged them to meet with us.”
Her eyes fall back onto me as I grin widely. “You really think I’d sit on the sidelines for an event like this?”
We arrive at the adviser desk, where we meet the person who will be guiding our tour and answering any questions we might have about the Culinary School or any of the programs. Between the skills Mindy has taught her and her natural draw to baking, I don't know how it didn't hit all of us sooner.
Our guide is a middle-aged woman, slightly heavy set, her navy-blue pant suit with its white blouse underneath not doing her body any favors. Her hair is auburn. It's twisted up in a clip, tightly.
We follow her like lost puppies at the pound, Mindy and Haven at her side, me on Haven's heels, hand never letting go of hers, and Sir on mine. She introduces us to various teachers, most who seem enthusiastic about their jobs. When Haven expresses her simple love of baking, we stop and observe a pastry class for a few brief moments. The entire time she can hardly contain herself. Soon after, we enter an empty classroom, and the guide begins to speak.
“And you're her father?” Mary tries to recall.
“No,” Sir shakes his head. “His,” he points to me. I'm staring at Haven longingly, fiddling with her chain, just utterly infatuated with how this school makes her glow. She's eating up my looks with her giggles, which makes me long for more. Fuck. I know. I'm smitten. This is pathetic.
Sir clears his throat to grab my attention. Once. Twice. A third time, which is when Haven elbows me in the stomach. At that moment, I stop finding ways to make her laugh, stand up straight, and take on the strong stance of a soldier, both hands behind my back, though they’re still linked with hers. Shit. I shouldn't be behaving this way. My eyes catch Sir's as he glares at my behavior, his thoughts written across his face like a billboard. I need to get my shit together. Behave like an adult, not a horny teen, or worse, Glove. I need to be respectful. This is a place of business and Haven's future. He expects better from a man in the Marines. I expect better of myself, but God, sometimes that angel gets the better of me.
“We make choices together as a family,” Mindy chimes in, breaking the building tension between the two of us.
Glad to see Sir and I back to where we were. That only took, what, an hour? Confidently, Mindy lets the next words roll out of her mouth, “I'm her adopted mother. And as you can see, they're practically married. We just want to know we're all on the same page, that we're doing what's best for Haven and her future husband.”
A disapproving look appears on Mary's face. A scowl. A judgment. She politely folds her hands in front of her, “That's an admirable idea; however, we only enroll students who can give fully to their studies, give fully to this life choice, not to be . . . distracted.”
The disdain on her tongue transfers quickly to my own. My body tightens in response. If this were about anyone else, I wouldn't give a shit. I'd let it roll off and remember she doesn’t matter. This isn't about me, though. This is about Haven.
“Ma'am,” I begin politely, a soft southern drawl underneath it all. I hate when that slips out. “With all due respect, there's no reason for concern. While my behavior today may appear as if I'm unable to control my actions, please do not be mistaken. I am a United States Marine, ma'am, returning to duty in about a month. I am not a distraction. I also will not be around to be considered one.”
“Oh.” She's startled. Her face turns slightly pink. She should be embarrassed. “I didn't realize.”
“I'm aware, ma'am. And I understand you care for your school the same as a commanding officer would for his troops. I apologize again if I gave you the impression we aren't taking this seriously.”
She nods at me.
“This matter is one we are not taking lightly. Grave consideration was given before arriving, has continued upon arrival, and will not cease until a respectable decision has been decided.”
Satisfied, she nods at me once more and turns to Mindy, “The application process is simple but taxing. Financially–”
“I would prefer the three of us discuss that elsewhere,” Sir quickly interjects. “Perhaps your office?”
“Lovely idea,” Mindy exclaims joyfully. “Is it OK to leave them here to explore the classroom?”
“As long as everyone conducts themselves in a professional manner, that should be fine.” The thought of tossing Haven on the counter and tearing her top off is appealing. Mary eyes us heavily. Thought backlogged.
“Yes, ma'am,” I nod, and Haven follows suit.
Mary instructs Sir and Mindy to follow her. Once out of sight, I finally relax as Haven strolls away from me, admiring the small classroom with its big glass windows letting in a significant amount of sunlight. I carefully watch, intrigued as she touches the long steel tables considered desks, wishing it was my chest she was grazing instead. There's a stir inside my jeans. Arriving at the sunflowers in a vase in the front of classroom, she leans over and inhales deeply, her chest rising and falling from the simple pleasure. I stifle a groan. God, no wonder I'm acting like a horny kid. Every fucking move the girl makes is sexually beautiful. I need a distraction. I swear, if I don't get my attention on something else, I will end up tangled with her on one of those tables, and it won't stop at kissing.
Sliding open the drawer next to me, I quietly rifle through it until I find something of interest. “This is a big-ass spoon.”
She shuffles quickly back over to me and snatches it away, “That's not a big-ass spoon. It's a ladle.”
“A ladle?”
“It's a utensil used for serving soup, stew, or punch.” She gives a demonstration.
“So, basically a big-ass spoon?” The words make her grin. Hell, I don't know shit about cooking outside of flipping chicken or ribs around on the grill, but I know how much this means to her, so I gotta try to connect. She's made a similar effort about my military career.
“Shut up.” She puts it away and leans her back against the counter beside me. She folds her arms across her chest and looks down at the floor, something clearly gnawing at her. I know because I feel that gnaw in the pit of my stomach. Her pain is mine.
I brace myself beside her, gently touch her arm, and raise my eyebrows, “What's wrong?”
She shakes her head, “Nothin
g.”
“You looked so excited before.”
“I'm still excited.”
“Haven.”
“It's just . . .”
“Just what?”
Her eyes shove back down toward the newly waxed floor, and her mouth remains shut. Normally, if she clams up like this, she just needs a moment to peddle through the muck of emotions all revolving around Old Man Banks.
Defensively, I move my body so it's in front of her and take her chin carefully into my hands, lifting it up. “Talk to me, Haven.”
“You know, a month ago, I never thought I’d live to see my nineteenth birthday, let alone have to face the decision what to do with my life. I didn't have a life. I had heartbeats in a day. Breaths between beatings. Sunflowers in season. No life, and now I have a complete one. It's just so overwhelming.”
I plant my hands on her hips and lean down to make sure her falling eyes lift back up to me instead, “You don't have to make any choices right now. It's all on your own time. We just thought that, since you had made so much progress, you know physically and with the counseling, you were ready, but if you're not, then you don't have to.”
“I know.” Her hands strokes mine. “It's just crazy, you know?” Her lips start to tremble, struggling to continue, “I always thought—I always thought—if—when—I made it this far . . .”
And her voice is lost. Tears clogging the chords. Yanking at my heart.
“Your parents would be here with you,” I finish in a whisper. One of her fragile hands reaches my tags, stroking their rings. “I know what you're going through. My graduation day, they called my name, I went to accept it, my degree with honors and behind me a photo collage Mindy had created to display. But, the most important piece was missing. My mother's face. The pain wasn't apparent to others, but it was nevertheless very real. The lack of her being there, I pushed past it, made quick decisions to keep from having to wallow in the truth of not having a mother. And Sir tried, but it was never enough. Never the right moment. All he wanted was to take a bit of the pain away. All I wanted was her.”
Havoc Page 21
