Cross My Heart

by K. D. Friedrich

  “And you don’t? I see the way you recycle those cheerleaders.”

  “That’s different.”

  “How, because he’s a jock and you’re a gangster wanna be?”

  “I don’t lie to those girls. They know what’s up. He manipulates to get what he wants. Besides, you’re different, damn it, way better than any of those girls.” He moved closer.

  “Maybe I don’t want to be different. Maybe I want to be treated like every other girl for once.”

  Didn’t she realize her unique worth? She would never be like anybody else, not to him. “You want to be treated like them, used like some slut?”

  “Maybe I do. It would be better than being avoided like the plague.”

  Anger erupted in him. How dare she think so little of herself? He pressed her against the truck behind them, forced his hardness between her legs. “Is this what you want?” He kissed her hard. Ground his pelvis into her. “To be treated like this?” The sounds of their deep breathing echoed across the dark empty street. “You deserve so much more, Cara.” He pushed away, disgusted at his behavior and hers.

  Cara slid down the side of the truck until her butt hit the ground. She pulled her knees to her chest as a flood of tears flowed from her eyes. “You ruined everything. I hate you. I hate you, Pete Cross!” she shouted.

  Silence stretched between them. Out of nowhere, a horn blasted. John skidded to a stop beside them and rolled down the passenger window. “Get in, you two. Word is cops are on the way. Stan and his little pals ratted everyone out.”

  Pete was surprised to see an unknown girl in the front passenger seat. “Who’s she?”

  “This is Jade. I’m giving her a ride home.”

  Pete lifted a brow as if to say, sure…a ride.

  “Just get the fuck in.”

  Pete offered Cara his hand. She swatted at him like a cornered cat. “Don’t touch me.”

  He shivered from her cold glare.

  Cara pulled herself up. She stumbled over to the John’s car, and climbed into the backseat, slamming the door behind her. Pete stood there and breathed a heavy sigh.

  “Is she okay?” asked Jade. Pete didn’t respond.

  “Hey, you coming, brother, or what?”

  Pete nodded, jogged over to the driver’s side, and opened the door. “Get out. I’m driving.”

  John didn’t argue. He hopped out and ran to the front passenger side. “Looks like you get to ride on my lap, pretty lady, because I’m not sitting back there with drunk girl.” Jade lifted up her butt enough for John to slide under her.

  Pete jumped behind the wheel with Cara’s taste clinging to his lips, and her last words piercing his heart.

  Chapter 1

  Present day

  “John needs a swift kick in the pants. No, a tire iron to the temple. No freaking jury would convict me,” Cara Sands grumbled as she weaved her beat-up 1972 Pontiac Firebird through afternoon traffic.

  Heavy bass crackled over blown speakers, mixing with the purr of a well-tuned engine. She glanced at her Star Wars Jedi watch, which swung from the rearview mirror. Crap, Pete’s plane landed ten minutes ago and another five miles stood between her and the airport exit. John drove her insane. If he weren’t her brother, she would have abandoned his sorry butt years ago. Knee-deep in grease and he made her drive all the way across town to pick up a man who hadn’t bothered to talk to her in six years.

  Noticing her stained fingers, she rolled her eyes. Great, my nails look like I swam in the bottom of a tar pit. She could have had the local garage change her oil, but Cara trusted no one with Old Yeller. Besides, Dad spent hours teaching me basic automotive maintenance, might as well put his tutoring to good use and save a few bucks.

  Examples of late spring bloomed all along the interstate; groups of purple and gold wildflowers swayed in the wind, dancing for joy as rays of sunlight broke through the dense clouds, a sharp contradiction to her present state of mind.

  She hit the gas pedal harder. She didn’t want to see Pete Cross.

  Wait, she wanted to see him, longed to see him, but…ahh, she wasn’t ready.

  Six years had passed since she last melted into his sea-green eyes. Six years of hoping and praying, he’d call to say hello. Countless nights lying in bed dreaming of his kiss, his taste, the strength of his arms. She nearly told John to forget it when he called and asked her to get Pete. Let him take a taxi, she almost blurted.

  No amount of time would ever erase the embarrassment that horrible June night caused or the words that had passed between them. Those words had destroyed a friendship she cherished more than life itself.

  Her brother never knew about the life-changing kiss. Pete kept quiet and so did she, her silence brought on by Pete’s rejection, and his by regret or some misguided sense of betraying John’s trust. A ridiculous notion, considering she was the one who kissed him. He merely responded and holy moly, what an answer. One single smacker from Pete Cross set the standards for every embrace since. No one had come close, and she feared no one ever would.

  Though Pete stayed in contact with John through phone calls, texts, and emails, he never sent her one message. No calls or letters, nothing to let her know he still considered her a friend. In her eyes, Pete had severed their association.

  So why are you going out of your way to get him? She rolled her eyes and groaned at her thoughts. Frustration became a certainty when thinking of Pete.

  The day after all that craziness transpired six years ago, she had sprinted to his house, prepared to fall to her knees and beg for his forgiveness. She had acted like a jerk and she knew it.

  When his mom answered the door with her usual scowl and told her Pete had already left for South Carolina, Cara stumbled her way home, sobbing. Without so much as a “See you later,” he’d caught the morning Greyhound, leaving a day ahead of schedule.

  Later on, she discovered that he had said his goodbyes to John, but not her. He left her without a word, ripping her heart out in the process. Yes, she had acted like a drunken idiot. Yes, she had shouted some things she didn’t mean, things she regretted. Did one night of stupidity deserve such a frozen shoulder? Cara sighed.

  At least John kept her up to date on Pete. She worried about him each time he went overseas. He had completed three deployments and was in the middle of his fourth when he got hurt. Her brother remained tight-lipped about the extent of his injuries. Pete lived and to her, nothing else mattered.

  She weaved around a Cadillac, squinting from the sun’s reflection off the chrome rims. Seeing the sign for Buffalo International Airport, she flicked on the signal and took the exit. Once she cleared the curve, she hit the gas and continued up the road. Twenty minutes late, not too bad, considering she lived forty minutes away.

  Cara brought her car to a skidding halt right in front. A uniformed security guard came running. “You can’t park here.”

  Cara possessed a charm most men found intriguing. Not a charming prissy approach; she never fluttered her lashes or shook her butt to get what she wanted. She chose to appeal to their sensibilities. Plain and simple, she understood them. Judging by his thick, cropped, gray hair and the large American flag pinned above his heart, this man was a patriot.

  Perfect.

  She jumped out of the front seat and jogged over to him. “Please, sir, I’m picking up a friend. He’s a United States Marine, a hero in my book. He came back from deployment a few months ago after being injured. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in six years. I’m already late. I’ll be one minute. I swear.”

  The guard rubbed his chin. He glanced back and forth. “Go on. Be quick.” She didn’t wait for him to change his mind. She took off toward the entrance. “Ten minutes or it’s getting towed,” he shouted behind her.

  “Not a problem.” She reached for the door, ripped it open, and smacked her face into a rock-hard chest. “Ouch!” She rubbed off the pain. “You’re a big one, aren’t you?”

  “Cara,” the man whispered.
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br />   She glanced up to discover a haunting pair of blue eyes. “Pete.”

  His surprised expression shifted. “Where’s John? I’ve been texting him for a half hour.” No smile. No joy.

  “Good to see you, too.” After all these years, he offered her a frown similar to his mother’s. Cara hid her disappointment, refusing to let him see how much his contempt hurt her. “He got caught up with some emergency at the precinct. He’s trying to make sergeant or something, so he’s been working like crazy. He called me. I happened to have the day off work today, so here I am. I can leave if you’d like. I have heard that the bus offers a very comfortable ride.”

  Dressed in military-issued fatigues and black boots, he stared down at her. He held a large pale green duffle bag in one hand and a cane in the other. An oversized pack clung to his back. The scent of soap and sandalwood filled her senses while the memory of his taste exploded in her mind.

  His eyes were harsher than she remembered, as if life had rubbed them raw. Scars peeked out from underneath his collar. Most of his weight leaned against the cane held tight in his fist, though he maintained an opposing presence. He’d kept his hair short and neat, not at all like the messy mop he used to walk around with in high school. The new style made him appear older and rugged. The biggest difference, however, was the lack of his wide smile. Pete used to cast a grin capable of making any girl swoon, but not anymore. His mouth remained straight, rigid to the point of pain.

  His gaze dropped to her breasts, narrowing on the quote sprawled across them. “Where’s your car?”

  “Come on, grump. It’s right over there.”

  *

  Pete followed Cara, ignoring the sharp pain shooting down his leg, and the sudden swelling between his thighs. She looked amazing. Her legs, long and lean, her curves, though fuller than he remembered, filled out her shorts as if she were born to wear them. The quote, Chefs know what’s cooking was scrawled across the thin cotton, covering her full breasts. Dipping low, her collar revealed an attractive swell of cleavage. She wore no make-up and her dark chocolate-colored hair cascaded over her shoulders, the gentle curls free of gels and chemicals. Her lips held a slight gloss. The aroma of cherries confirmed the cause. Damn lip balm. He tasted it for weeks after their kiss back in high school, scented the sweet, tart fruit in his dreams whenever he closed his eyes. Her ass swayed with an enticing, confident strut, the same sensual swing that had won the lead in every one of his teenage fantasies.

  For six years, Cara Sands had invaded his thoughts on a daily basis. A silent obsession, he locked it away in a place no one touched but him. Having her less than a foot away charged his fixation as well as his desire. Harder than steel and strung tight enough to snap at any minute, he stared, unable to pull his gaze off her.

  He’d called her a dozen times during his first year at the base, staying on the line long enough to hear her sweet voice. After her second hello, he’d hang up, stifled by fear of rejection and ashamed about what he had allowed to happen at the senior party. They hadn’t simply drifted apart. They had sprinted in different directions. Far enough away from each other, he doubted they would ever find a way back to one another.

  He messed up. He should have stopped her before her lips touched his. Consumed with the feel of her in his arms, the jealousy surging through his veins, and the taste of her on his tongue, he’d lost control. Succumbed to his need to have her. If those blessed headlights hadn’t pulled him out his aroused haze, he might have taken her against the rear door of that car. No girl, then or now, had managed to fill him with such a burning lust. He grew harder thinking about her soft body flush to his chest, her lips molding to the shape of his own.

  How can something so right be so fucking wrong? She’s John’s sister, you bastard. That’s how.

  She deserved better, even more so now. He had nothing to offer her but a bum leg and a lifetime of pain. He continued to eye her with a frown as she stepped up to the trunk of an old beat-up Pontiac Firebird. The back lid opened with a loud creak.

  “What is this?” The car possessed more dings and miles than he did.

  “What is what?” she countered. Cara straightened and propped her hands on her hips with a defiant pout.

  Shit, he’d missed her spunk. He almost flashed a grin—almost. Instead, Pete lifted an eyebrow. “Pop lets you drive this thing around?” he asked, surprised her protective father would allow her to own such a metal dinosaur.

  “This is my baby. What he lacks in looks, he makes up for in brawn.”

  Pete shook his head.

  “So this is your Marine?” asked an aged security guard as he walked up next to them. Pete cringed. He wasn’t hers. The assumption made him want things he had no right to have.

  She nodded. “That’s him.”

  “Welcome home, son.” The stranger offered his hand.

  Pete dropped his duffle bag and took his palm with a firm grip. “Thank you, sir.”

  Cara bent over, reaching deep into the trunk, her position offering everyone an unobstructed view of her amazing backside. Things clanged and clinked. The guard let his glasses fall to the tip of his nose. His gaze followed her curves all the way down to her ankles. He glanced at Pete and waggled his brow with a huge grin. Dirty old man, Pete thought with a slight twitch of his lip. Pete leered at her assets. Did he blame the guy? Shit, no. She did have one fine ass.

  “I think…it will…fit…now,” she said as her hips swung back and forth.

  “Don’t worry, darling. It’ll fit.” Shit, did I say that out loud?

  “What?” Cara peered over her shoulder at him. “Hey, are you staring at my butt?”

  He snapped his gaze off her perky cheeks. “No. Can we get out of here now?”

  She straightened. “Your bags should fit now, and you’re welcome, grump.”

  The guard gave a chuckle. “You two have a good day. Take care of this one, missy.”

  “I will. Thanks.” Cara offered him a salute.

  The old man went back to his patrol, his eyes moving with the stealth of someone half his age. Pete recognized the training and diligence of a soldier. It showed in the way the old man carried himself.

  “Let me get that.” Cara reached for his bag.

  He bent quickly and yanked it back. “I got it.”

  He worked through the spasm tightening his muscles, hiding the discomfort each shift caused. He might need to watch the way he moved or suffer, but he’d rather walk a thousand miles riddled with bullets than let Cara lift his bag. His pride refused anything less.

  She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She mumbled something under her breath, which sounded a lot like, stubborn, grumpy jerk.

  Pete tossed the duffle into the trunk, ignoring another sharp jolt stabbing his hip. He slid the strap of his backpack off one shoulder and twisted to drop the other, when pain exploded in his back, traveled along his spine, and simmered behind his thigh. He cried out and fell against the car.

  “Pete, are you okay?” Cara rushed to his side.

  “I’m fine.”

  Fine …he used the word as often as he used his cane.

  Now a cripple, Pete doubted he would ever be fine again, but he’d be damned if he let Cara see him weak. He gritted his teeth, fisted the handle from his loaded pack, and with a quick lift, tossed the bag in. Hiding the searing pain his arrogance had cost him, he slammed the trunk shut. Cara flashed a concerned look, but he ignored her uneasy glance as he limped over to the passenger door. Let her keep her sympathy. He carried around enough shame and dishonor of his own, he didn’t need to bear the weight of her pity as well.

  He quickly jumped in and slammed the door shut. She followed a few seconds later, sliding her backside into the driver’s seat.

  The ride from the airport remained quiet except for the radio cranked up to ten and Cara’s incessant attempts at singing. He stared at the Yoda bobble head nodding to the music.

  “How long you here for?” she shouted over the bass.

&n
bsp; “For good.”

  “What?”

  “I’m staying for good!”

  “What? Did you say you’re staying?”

  His head snapped around. This woman punched his buttons like no other. “Maybe you’d hear me,” he shouted, “if you turned off the damn radio!”

  The music softened. “Did you say for good? I thought you came in for Darlene’s wedding and were heading back to the base right after.”

  That had been the original plan. Although Darlene’s wedding invitation came as a surprise, he’d decided to attend. Seems she invited the entire senior class of 2008, turning her wedding into a high school reunion as well. Odd, but inventive. Cara’s best friend and he had come to blows more than once in high school, but they did agree on one thing. Cara needed and deserved the best. They based their acquaintance on that fact.

  He shifted his gaze away from her questioning stare. “Plans change.”

  He refused to tell her about his medical discharge. Honorable, he wanted to laugh. He found nothing honorable about three men dying because of his failure. Sharing their fate would have been honorable. Instead, he came home in a stretcher and they arrived in a box. His body tensed. The thought of those wooden crates draped in the red, white and blue speared through his brain.

  “So…uhm…I’m dropping you at your mom’s, right?”

  He nodded, his mood lost in a cloud of dark memories.

  “I don’t want to miss the turn.” She pulled onto the ramp and headed west toward his neighborhood. “You sure you want to go there? If I recall, you nicknamed your stepdad The Jerk Off back in high school.”

  God, he despised his mother’s husband. The lazy, drunk piece of shit cheated on his mother whenever the chance presented itself and smacked her around when she dared to complain. “Don’t have much choice.”

  “If you ask me, he’s even more of a creep now.”

  She shifted in her seat, passing him several sideways glances. Being in the military and excelling in interrogation practices, he didn’t miss her change in pitch.

  He turned on her. “What did he do?”