by Dee Palmer
“Did you hear what she said, too?”
“Yes,” he states, and I see the first flash of understanding in his eyes. The silence is choking as we both process what we heard. He isn’t finished with me, though, and the silence doesn’t hold for long. “It’s fucked-up, but it’s still her story to tell, if she ever wants to. How would you feel if she did that to you?”
“I don’t sleep-talk.” My flip remark is low.
“But you do cover up.” He ignores it and is intent on pushing. I know he’s angry; moreover, he knows better than to walk this path.
“That’s different,” I say, harshly and with an air of finality. He lets out a long, slow sigh, and the tension seems to dissipate with the air he expels.
“Keep telling yourself that, brother, and she’ll walk right out the door. We understand, Charge. We love you, but think about it, okay? Don’t fuck this up for us.” The accusation in his words holds no strength, and his tone is more of a plea than any type of reprimand.
“I won’t, but I need more time,” I offer, hoping my resolution is justified.
“Remember: You’re the only one of us who does,” he warns.
“Is that a threat?” I don’t like the turn of the conversation or the returning tension in his statement.
“Never, Charge. Not ever.” He pushes away my suspicions and pulls me into a hug. He slaps heavy fists against my back and releases the connection, his eyes conveying only concern, and maybe hope and something else that binds us as brothers. “Love you, man.”
I make sure I shut the bedroom door tight when I return, although the damage is done. I fucking hate the fact Pink is right. I should’ve woken her. I had no right to intrude on her private thoughts. It’s possible she was dreaming. However, even as I think it, I know that’s bullshit. From the information she has shared about her past, I know in my gut what she said was the painful truth, and that’s why it’s buried so deep, it takes the blanket of darkness to coax it out.
I’m a fucking idiot.
I have to pray she trusts me enough one day to tell me herself. I know I don’t deserve it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it.
IT’S THE TAIL END OF my third week on the farm with the guys, and I have had several full-on, fantastic dates with each of them. Even so, I can’t deny I do love my days off.
The sun is past the full intensity of noon, and its rays are still beating down and warming my body. I’m expecting a call any moment from Hope. I texted her earlier to arrange it. It’s been a strange couple of weeks, and after spending some time with Flick the other evening in the bar with the live band, I find I’m really missing some female company. I have had the entire morning to myself, and apart from a kiss at breakfast time from the boys, I have been completely left to my own devices. I don’t know if they can sense that I needed a little space, but I did. These last few weeks have been wonderful, intense, and a little overwhelming.
I have my iPad perched on the edge of the hot tub, a chilled glass of crisp fruity white wine, and I’m reading some seriously sexy dark romance novel, intermittently watching the sun slowly crest the midday high. It’s so beautiful here, peaceful and stunning, perfect.
I know Chloe said I was going to burn in hell, but I can’t help thinking this feels a lot like heaven.
The ringtone shrills against the quiet backdrop of chirping birds and nothingness. I swipe the screen and see Hope’s sleepy face. It’s only eight in the evening in London, but she’s clearly already crashed, her alarm to prompt her to call me has probably just woken her up. She yawns and shuffles up her bed, plumping pillows and trying to position the screen so we can FaceTime without having to hold the tablet. Her fiery hair is tamed into two braids, and wearing her superman T-shirt and goofy grin, she looks no different from when I first laid eyes on her.
“Hey, Hope! God, it’s good to see you.” I blink back a well of tears that hit me hard and out of nowhere. What the hell?
“Hey, babe. How’s the cock-fest? Cockwork orange all you dreamed it would be? Or are you chafing like a speed walker in the desert?” She grins, and her shoulders shake with her rapid-fire one-liners.
“Cockwork what?” I ignore the rest, but this one confuses me.
“Orange. You said you were in Orange County, and I can only assume with four guys there would be considerable cock-working going on,” she snickers.
“Clever. Did that take you all day to think of?” I arch a brow, unamused.
“Nah, half a day, max.” She shrugs off her lame joke and beams her brightest smile at me. I’ve missed her face. “So, what’s up, baby girl? I miss you like crazy. So if they’re not treating you right, I’m ready to come whoop some arse and drag you back.” Her tone is light, but her narrow, searching eyes are completely serious. I sniff out an incredulous laugh.
“Oh, God, nothing like that! The complete opposite,” I gush. My dreamy tone makes her eyes roll, and I can feel the creeping heat on my neck, spreading quickly to my cheeks. “It’s been amazing.” Her eyes soften at my sincere tone.
Shaking herself, she retorts, “Ah, don’t say that. Tell me they’re all gross and have tiny dicks.” Her pale brows hardly register on the screen, but the deep furrows of disappointment do.
“Why?”
“Two reasons. One, because I’m jealous, and two…” She hesitates, and her eyelids blink rapidly. Her voice drops when she speaks, and I find myself leaning in to hear her whispered words. “And two, it means you might not come home.” I tilt my head, dropping it to my shoulder, knowing if she was here, I’d pull her into a hug.
“I have another week to make my decision.” I offer as a sop, but it really isn’t.
“And?” she pushes.
“And nothing. There’s no way I can make that kind of decision. This month has gone by too fast.” I lift my shoulders like it’s not a big deal, but I feel the frustration and panic arise in my belly, something I get every time I think about my looming deadline.
“I thought your visa was for three months?”
“It is, but we only agreed one month.”
“Can you stay longer?” Even if her tone is filled with reluctance, she still wants me to be happy.
“I haven’t been asked.” I hate the insecurity and pain acknowledging this brings. I feel it like a hard hit in my chest, although it’s the truth. They all tell me every day how lucky they are, how perfect I am, and how much they want me. But not one of them has asked me to change my ticket.
“Hmm…” Hope mulls over my words and doesn’t offer her opinion. Her mind has raced beyond or back to the gutter. “So tell me: How is it?”
“I’m not giving you details.” My tone is a warning she chooses to ignore.
“Are you walking like John Wayne all the time?” She pouts, and I snort with a dirty laugh. I’m still not going to spill. “Okay, tell me what they’re like?”
“They’re pretty amazing, actually. I mean, they are each very different, yet the same in many ways. It kind of feels like I’m dating one guy with split personalities.” It’s not a great explanation, but it fits.
“Hmm… kinky.” She wiggles her none-existent brows, but I get the idea.
“You have no idea.” I shake my head lightly and get that flutter in my tummy when I think of them—all of them.
“I know, and you won’t fucking tell me.” She scolds me, but it doesn’t hold. “So, there isn’t one you prefer?”
“I like them all,” I answer, instantly and truthfully.
“Oh my God, you’ve fallen for them, haven’t you?” She bounces on her bed, and the screen slips. I’m dizzy from the movement, but she quickly rights her device and looks intently at me for confirmation.
“I really like them, but I don’t know them. Not really, not all of them, at least.” My mind can’t help zeroing in on the one I feel is holding back—Charge.
“Are you happy, Finn? I mean really happy?” Her stern tone is coming from a good place, and I return her serious stare with a w
arm and completely sincere smile.
“I am.” Another instant response.
“And you’re being yourself? Not trying to impress, because you know that shit will bite you in the arse.” She doesn’t need to elaborate, and I berate myself for ever letting someone tarnish my shine.
“I think so. I mean I’m being honest. I was from the get-go. All the emails and Skype calls. I never lied, and I was always me.” I do a mental scan of information I exchanged on a daily basis, and I’m happy I have been true to myself. I know when I’m ready, I will share the hard bits too—one day. “I know Charge is still hiding something from me, but I don’t know how significant, and to be fair, I haven’t shared all my dark and scary.”
“You don’t have dark and scary. You have fucked up and unbearably sad, and I understand why you don’t want to share. It’s hard enough to hear, it must be agony to tell, but what do you mean, hiding something?” Hope is the only one who knows everything—well, her and Dave. He was amazing when I told him, even if it did take years. I can’t fault him for that. He said everything I needed to hear and just let me tell my story when I was ready. It all went downhill from there, but I trusted him enough to share the most painful part of me.
“Have you seen Dave?” I ask, the memory of him burning more urgently than answering her question.
“He caught me at your salon. Carlos said he had been popping in on the off chance he would—”
“Did you tell him where I was?” I interrupt.
“Oh, yes, and gave him plane fare to come and visit. Give me some credit, Finn,” she bites out, and I can see in her eyes, my faith or lack thereof has hurt her.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. I just know how persuasive he can be.” She tips her head, and I know she’s accepted my apology. She’s all-forgiving, and, besides, she loves me. “So how did he look?”
“It’s Dave. How do you think he looked?” Her tone filled to brim with derision.
“Good. Really good.” I drag my hand around my neck, squeezing the instant tension even the constant bubble and heat from the hot tub can’t ease. Hope interrupts my wayward and unwelcome thoughts.
“What do you mean hiding?” She repeats the question I failed to answer earlier. I let out a slow, heavy sigh as I try and pinpoint in my head what my concern really is.
“He’s never taken his shirt off, and every time we’ve been together, he makes me wear a blindfold.” The examples don’t really help define what’s missing, I just feel there’s more. Ultimately I want to know what he’s keeping from me and why.
“Oh, kinky.” She grins and I sniff out a laugh.
“You said that already.” I roll my eyes, and she leans in conspiratorially.
“So you think he’s all deformed and gross? Maybe he has a hump?” Her nose wrinkles with distastes and my eyes go for a second round trip in my sockets.
“I’d see a hump, Hope.”
“Ah, good point. So he’s hiding something under his shirt. You said he was hot, so it can’t be that bad.” She taps her fingers on her cheek as if she’s weighing up possibilities. I have done the same, and all I can conclude is he doesn’t trust me enough to share. Why would he? He doesn’t really know me.
“Oh, he’s so hot. God, I can’t even. And I can’t think there would be anything to make me think any different if he was scarred. I hate that he would think I was so shallow, but the fact he doesn’t trust me enough, kinda hurts.” I confide my fear to my best friend and she does what she does best, she comforts me.
“It’s only been a few weeks. Some people carry deep scars they never want to show. Give him time.” Her earnest sentiment makes me feel a little shame. He has been to war. I can’t even imagine what it might mean. It’s unbelievably selfish of me to put pressure for full disclosure for my own peace of mind, especially when I still hold my own insecurities. He must have his reasons, and I need to respect that.
“When did you get so wise?”
“I’m all-wise and all-knowing. So, you love him, this Charge guy.” She states this as a matter of fact, and if I’d had a mouthful of wine, my iPad would be wearing it. I cough and splutter all the same.
“What? No, I never said that.” I shake my head vigorously, and she simply returns my protestations with a wry smile.
“Hmm…All-knowing, remember? So this is the real deal, then. You’re going to marry one of these hotties?”
“That would be the plan.” I trace the rim of my glass absently. The gravitas of the situation hangs, but it isn’t heavy; it’s just unprecedented.
“You don’t sound so sure?” she coaxes.
“I am, but…” I hesitate, and her penetrating eyes bore into me. I try and shrug off my doubt, but the bottom line is like a big-ass red flag. “They haven’t actually asked me to stay, and they know I have a three-month visa. I even told them Carlos said I could go back anytime.” I hate the way my voice wavers, and my nose prickles with pent-up tears and pathetic insecurities founded on nothing more than a lifetime of rejection. Justifiable, but I still feel wretched.
“And instead of asking them, you put two and two together and came up with them just fancying a month of English muffin?” Her tone and flippant retort are full of sass and sweet kindness.
“Something like that.” I shrug off her passive compliment.
“That’s your self-esteem talking. So stop right now and tell me, do you honestly feel like they are playing you?”
“Um…” I chew the inside of my cheek, but she doesn’t give me time to draw comfort from my worrying tick.
“No ums. Hand on heart, tell me what your gut says.” She’s relentless when she has my happiness and the bit between her teeth.
“My guts says I need more time,” I lie. I know I’d stay in a heartbeat if I was asked.
“Then ask for it.” She throws her hands up in frustration and, for the first time, I’m glad I’m nearly five and a half thousand miles away. She would be beating sense into me right about now.
“Maybe…” I squeal as a splash of water covers my back but somehow misses my iPad. “Don’t say a damn word.” I hiss under my breath and watch as Hope’s eyes transform to roughly the size of saucers. Charge rests his head on my shoulder. I’m kneeling facing away from the water, but I know it’s him. I felt him before he even touched me. He kisses my cheek and I hear three more bodies hit the water.
“Who’s this, angel?” Charge’s dark T-shirt is clinging to every bump and bulge on his perfectly defined chest, but he’s still wearing that damn shirt. I shake off the questions clouding my mind, weighing heavy elsewhere in my chest. Be patient.
“Like you don’t know from your super stalking,” I scoff but decide to make the formal introduction all the same. “This is my best friend, Hope,” I say with a bright voice, and then giggle, because something very, very rare has happened—my best friend is speechless.
“Oh, hi, there, Hope. Gonna need to steal my girl away. We have a cookout this afternoon and people will be arriving anytime now.” He drops his mouth to my neck and nibbles all the way to my shoulder. I’m a little speechless myself.
“Hi, Hope!” Pink, Tug, and Toxic gather around, and all our faces squish together to fill the screen. She still hasn’t spoken, although her mouth is wide open.
“Hope, this is Pink, Tug and Toxic.” I point, and each of them in turn flash her a megawatt smiles. Still no response. “Would you like me to send them away, Hope? You seem a little—”
“Holy fucking shit, Finn!” She finally breaks her stupor. “You did not say they were that fucking hot. That’s why you have your days off, isn’t it? So you can reintroduce your legs to each other?”
“Hope!” I cry out, mortified, but the boys all belt out deep, throaty laughs.
“There’s no fucking way I’d want a day off. Just saying…” She fans herself, pulling the top of her T-shirt away from her body to seemingly let out the steam. She’s hilarious, or at least she’s trying to be.
&n
bsp; “Really? I’m right here, and you’re flirting with my boyfriends. Do you have no shame?” I tease, and she levels an incredulous glare at me.
“None whatsoever,” she quips, her tone straight and deadpan. I drop my head in my hands, but a huge smile begins to stretch my lips at her response. Yes, I’m that lucky.
“So Hope, you gonna come visit us?” Pink asks.
“Depends. Does Finn plan on sharing?” She tilts her head with hopeful expectation that I quickly shoot down.
“Finn really doesn’t,” I answer instantly and am rewarded with hot heavy hands all over me, possessively squeezing and stroking my body.
Charge kisses the skin below my ear and whispers, “No sharing, angel.”
“I’m only teasing. Well, half teasing.” Hope gives a little shrug and sniffs with a snicker.
“You’ll come for the wedding though?” Pink asks enthusiastically, and the mention of the W-word renders me mute.
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss that.” Hope’s eyes widen, and she claps her hands excitedly like a demented seal pup. I pick up my wine glass and suck down a large, unladylike gulp. How can he mention a wedding when they haven’t even asked me to stay?
I TAKE A PEEK OUT of my bedroom window, which overlooks part of the porch that isn’t covered, the back garden, yard, and pool. A long table has been set up beside the rustic, brick-built barbecue from which thick grey plumes of mouthwatering smoke rise into the clear sky. From here I can hear the sizzle as the coals react with the juices from the various meats charring under Charge’s attentive hand. Oh, lord, those hands. Stop it, Finn, for God’s sake, stop thinking with your clit for one bloody moment.
People have been arriving in a steady flow for the last half an hour, bringing large plates of food, baskets with home-cooked pies and bread and beer—lots and lots of beer. Pink and Tug brought some extra tables down from the stables earlier and some hay bales for makeshift seating. They said a few friends, but there’s at least fifty out there, and people keep coming. I wonder if they’ve invited the whole damn Navy. I have changed about twenty times, and I know one of them will be up any moment to drag my nervous arse out to meet everyone. The friends I met a couple of weeks ago at the bar were nice enough, very friendly, but the venue was loud and bustling so not really a great environment for chatting or interrogation. There’s a loud pounding on my door, but the handle doesn’t move, and the door isn’t instantly opened, which means it’s not Charge.
