Letting Go: A Contemporary Romance of Snark and Feels

by Abbie Zanders

  (At this point, some of my girly parts tried to incite an internal riot, claiming that I was a full-on liar, but I beat them into submission with reason and common sense.)

  I didn’t need to be a genius to know that anything between Ethan and I wouldn’t end well. Given the way he had already assumed control of my dreams (and quite a few of my waking thoughts) without even trying, I was walking on thin ice. Give him an inch and he would take a mile, eventually breaking my heart in the process. No matter how hot he was, my private fantasies would remain just that -—private. Casual, no-strings hook-ups weren’t my thing, but even if they were, things would become really awkward, really fast with both of us coexisting under the same roof.

  My father needed him way more than I did. I didn’t need him, not at all.

  “You’re hovering again, girl,” my father had said earlier that day as I exchanged his sheets for the fresh set I’d just taken off the clothesline out back. They smelled like sunshine and summer. No scented dryer sheet could ever replicate that.

  I’d smoothed down the end and tucked it under the corner, just as he liked it, tight and precise. “I’m not hovering. I’m housekeeping.”

  He frowned at me, looking even more irascible than usual. My father could teach Walter Matthau a thing or two about proper scowling technique.

  “Don’t you have something better to do?” he griped.

  “No,” I lied, quietly recalling that I’d said similar words to Ethan on several occasions.

  Dad stared me down, his eyes calling bullshit. Okay, so maybe I was hovering a little. Or possibly hiding out. It seemed as though every time I turned around these days a certain blue-eyed Irishman was right there. It was a bit unnerving, really. He was a huge help, though I would never admit that to his smug, handsome face. Dad had taken a liking to him, and I hadn’t heard a single complaint about meds, physical therapy, or any of the other things my father routinely grouched about (which had me searching for more signs of the apocalypse).

  “No girlfriends you want to hang out with?”

  I fought not to roll my eyes. I swear that sometimes he thought I was still sixteen. In a way, it made sense. That’s how old I was when he’d left, leaving me for my grandparents to finish raising. He hadn’t been around to see me grow (I’m referring to my maturity; my height evened out when I was in the fifth grade).

  “Boyfriends? Friends?”

  “No, Dad.”

  “Why not?”

  I blew out a breath. If he didn’t already know, how could I possibly explain it to him? When your dad was in the Army and you moved every year or two, you learned not to get attached to anyone. It hurt too much when you had to relocate. Besides, there were very, very few people I could tolerate being around for any length of time. Most people annoyed the crap out of me.

  My last couple of years on the West Coast were the longest I’d ever spent in one place. If I hadn’t met Stephen, I might have gotten around to having a few female friends (though that’s a big maybe). Then again, probably not. I didn’t get along well with most women. Or males, for that matter. Since I’d moved back here to take care of my dad, it seemed kind of pointless anyway. I had neither the time nor the desire for a social life.

  “I’m too busy, Dad.”

  He scoffed at that. “What about marriage? Kids?”

  I briefly considered pointing out that I needed a man for both of those things, but I didn’t want to go down that avenue again. It was no secret my dad thought I should be settled and have half a dozen kids by now. “I have a career.”

  “Your mother didn’t need a career.”

  “Mom had you, Daddy,” I said, the feels swelling inside of me like lava ready to erupt. “She knew you would always be there to take care of her. Of us.”

  “As it should be,” he nodded. “A good man takes care of his own.”

  He was right about one thing -—that’s how it should be. In some cases, like my parents’, it was. But it was definitely not the norm, not these days. Somewhere along the line, simply running a home or caring for your family had become a luxury, while having the means to support ourselves had become the necessity.

  Don’t get me wrong; I liked being able to take care of myself. I liked knowing that I didn’t have to depend on anyone to provide food, clothing, and shelter for me. But sometimes, late at night, when I escaped into one of those romance novels I secretly enjoyed, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have someone take care of me, just once. What would it be like to have someone I could count on, someone to lean on when I needed him; a man to laugh with, cry with, love with? Of course, it would have to be the right man, and I was pretty sure that I was SOL (Shit Out of Luck) on that one.

  “Face it, Dad. There just aren’t a lot of good men out there these days.”

  He grunted. “I’m sure there are a few.”

  Luminous blue eyes came to mind, as did the casual words Ethan had spoken in the kitchen earlier that cut me deeper than they should have. I closed my eyes, willing the image away. Ethan was eye candy to me, nothing more. It wasn’t like anything was going to happen between us anyway. Sure, I’d seen the way he looked at me sometimes. He might have even thought about the two of us hooking up at some point (he was a guy, after all), but as he’d so eloquently stated, I wasn’t worth the trouble.

  Which meant we were in complete agreement.

  I suddenly felt very, very tired.

  “Maybe,” I said, trying for a smile that I know didn’t reach my eyes. “If you find one, give him my number, will you?”

  Angus

  Hannah was proving to be every bit as difficult as I’d expected. Thankfully, Cal’s boy was turning out to be more than I could have hoped for. He was strong, solid. Good at the core. Exactly the kind of man she needed. He was coming through a rough patch, sure, but I had no doubt my Hannah could fix him up, make him better than new. A good woman could do that, and my Hannah was the best.

  Ethan was reluctant at first, but he was coming around. I didn’t miss the way his eyes followed her, or how he’d find ways to be around her. He was a smart boy. Watching. Observing, Advancing, then retreating. I could see him puzzling her out, growing more and more enamored every day.

  She liked him, too, I could tell. But like Ethan, her trust had been shattered, and she’d closed herself off from new possibilities, even the ones right in front of her.

  Maybe, given time, they’d work it out. But hell, I was on an aggressive timeline here. I didn’t have forever. It was time to give things a nudge.

  Ethan

  The next night the words were still on a constant loop in my head, the look in her eyes haunting me as I lay in my bed, unsuccessfully chasing sleep. Christ, I hadn’t meant what I said and I certainly hadn’t meant to hurt her. In a week—one frigging week -—she’d gotten under my skin with her soft gray eyes and the way her pretty pink lips curved up into a sexy little scowl every time she looked at me.

  Beneath that pretty, prickly exterior was a woman who was playing havoc with my sensibilities.

  It wasn’t the close proximity or the convenience of having her nearby that kept her in the forefront of my thoughts. I had enough free time every day that, if I had wanted to, could have found a woman willing to provide female companionship. The thing was, I didn’t want to. The more I was around Hannah, the more I wanted to be around her. I found myself making excuses to be in the same space, to get her to talk to me, even if most of it was under the guise of ‘the job’.

  The attraction was more than just physical. Admittedly, my primitive subconscious let loose with some pretty vivid nighttime fantasies of me and her between the sheets, but my more evolved, waking brain envisioned so much more. I pictured sitting on the porch in the cool of the evening, listening to frogs and katydids while she told me stories about her life. I wanted to know why sometimes, when she thought no one was watching, sadness haunted those pretty eyes. I envisioned her coming to me in the middle of the night, seeking comf
ort in my arms instead of pacing the floors, unable to sleep.

  That was some scary shit. I’d been lying my ass off when I said staying away from her would be easy, but I don’t think she had been. Oh, I’d caught her checking me out a few times. She might have even had similar thoughts of lusty pursuits. But Hannah was made of some strong stuff, and if I wanted to penetrate those shields she’d thrown up all around herself, I was going to have to earn it.

  Did I mention I love a challenge? Truth be told, I never really had to work this hard with a woman before (again, not bragging, just being honest). Then again, I had never come across a woman like Hannah before, either.

  That was obvious, if shit like porch swings and snuggle time were occupying the same mental space as visions of her wrapping her legs around my face.

  The more I learned about her, the less I realized I knew. She was complex and contradictory. Educated and intelligent, but more down to earth than any woman I’d ever met. Naturally beautiful, though she did everything possible to downplay her assets. She was kind and compassionate and fiercely protective of those she loved -—as proven repeatedly by the care and concern she had for her father -—but she hid that big heart beneath a smart mouth and layers of salty attitude. She was lonely, but she pushed everyone away who tried to get close.

  One thing I did know for certain – whoever finally cracked that tough exterior and won her heart would be one lucky bastard.

  Good thing I had the luck of the Irish running through my veins.

  Eventually my musings morphed into sleep, bringing with it the hope of spending some more quality dream time with Hannah. I was right in the middle of a really good one -—the one where Hannah snuck into my room wearing a smile and nothing else -—when something pulled me out of it.

  The knock was so soft I wasn’t even sure I heard it. I listened closely and sure enough, there it was again. Slightly disgruntled at the poor timing, I rubbed my eyes and looked at the small digital clock display glowing beside the bed. Two forty-five a.m. Zero-dark-thirty. What the hell?

  “Ethan?”

  For one brief, insane moment I thought my dream was coming true. But when she called out again, the worry in her voice cut through the fog, reminding me where I was and what I was supposed to be doing. If she was coming to my room at this time of night it couldn’t be good.

  “Hannah? Hang on a sec.” I slid out of bed, pulling on a loose pair of sweats before opening the door. “What’s up?”

  There was no trace of her usual annoyance with me in her features now. Her big gray eyes fixed on my bare chest as I pulled a white cotton undershirt over my head, then met mine.

  “It’s Dad,” she said, her voice shaky. “I didn’t hear him get up...”

  Without thinking, I put both hands on her upper arms. Christ, she was trembling. “Tell me what happened.”

  “He fell. He won’t let me help him. He wants you.” Moisture filled her eyes.

  I nodded, unprepared for this unexpected show of vulnerability, but some part of me was screaming, Finally! Seeing that gave me a glimmer of hope. “Okay, Hannah,” I said, using a soothing tone. “This is what I’m here for, remember?”

  She nodded. I reluctantly released her and followed her downstairs to her father’s room. The door was open, the bed rumpled and empty.

  “He’s in the bathroom,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  I knocked on the door of the latrine. “Colonel McGinnis?”

  It took a moment for him to answer. “Sergeant?”

  “Yes, sir. Permission to enter?”

  Another long pause. “Granted.”

  I looked at Hannah, who stood beside me, arms crossed around her waist, biting her lip. “Give us a minute, will you?”

  “But - ”

  “Hannah,” I said gently, daring another touch, this time on her shoulder. She seemed so delicate beneath my large hand, but I knew she was anything but. “I’ll come find you in a few, all right?”

  She looked like she wanted to argue, but released the breath she’d been holding and nodded. I waited until she closed the bedroom door before I turned the knob to the bathroom and entered.

  Chapter 7

  Hannah

  What the hell was wrong with me? I paced the length of the large kitchen at least a hundred times before finally settling on making a cup of herbal tea. My dad was lying in the bathroom, probably hurt, maybe bleeding, and all I could think about was Ethan’s bare chest in front of my face, with his big, strong hands on me. Even through that brief, meaningless contact, he’d made my skin burn like a brand.

  That was wrong on so many levels.

  First, he probably didn’t mean anything by it. It was a small act of kindness, that’s all. But damn, it had felt good. His hands were large and powerful and gloriously warm.

  Second, he’d made it quite clear that he was totally onboard with my no-interest policy. Therefore, the look in his eyes was not interest, but compassion. The tender concern I heard in his voice was perfectly gauged for comfort, not seduction.

  Third, I neither wanted nor needed a man in my life. He was here only because my father wanted him here.

  Which brought me to the most important point of all: My father was in trouble and I was crushing like some silly teenage girl.

  I was pathetic. Worse than pathetic.

  I dunked the teabag repeatedly with more force than necessary, determined to get myself back on track. It was time to smother the rampant hormones back into dormancy and concentrate on what was really important. Not blue eyes framed by thick, dark lashes. Not a strong jaw shadowed with nearly twenty-four hours of dark stubble. Not six-feet-four of lean, corded muscle. And definitely not lightly-bronzed skin dusted with just the perfect amount of dark hair and a crisscrossing web of raised, dark pink scarring. No matter how kind, compassionate, intelligent, or funny he was.

  What had happened to him, I wondered? I don’t know why, but the thought of him getting hurt bothered me. It didn’t make sense. As a Ranger, he was trained for battle. Whatever happened was before I ever knew him, and he’d obviously recovered. So why did I have the urge to trace every one of those scars with my fingertips, then with my tongue?

  Gah! I smacked myself in the forehead -—hard -—then twisted the skin on my inner thigh -—harder—as punishment. I heard low murmurs coming from down the hall and forcibly wiped my mind of all thoughts but my father.

  Ethan

  I found Hannah in the kitchen, clutching a mug between her small hands. Her eyes met mine the moment I stepped into the room. They were big, questioning, and hopeful. No longer a dark, stormy gray, but a clear, crystalline smoky quartz.

  “Your father is fine,” I said right off the bat, glad I did when her features relaxed in relief. “He might have a slight bruise where he hit the vanity, but otherwise, he’s okay.”

  She nodded and exhaled. “Thank you.”

  “Listen, Hannah,” I said, feeling suddenly awkward. I was used to snarky, I’m-an-island Hannah. This new quiet, docile Hannah was throwing me off. “Let’s start over, okay?” I stepped closer to the table and extended my hand. “Ethan O’Malley.”

  She stared at my hand for long moments. I was just about to draw it back when she slipped her much smaller one into it. An initial jolt, not unlike a sudden, violent release of static build-up went through me, followed by a slow, warm burn that seeped from her fingers into mine. Hannah inhaled sharply, then quickly reclaimed her hand.

  “Hannah McGinnis. Would you like a cup of tea?”

  I shook my head slowly, trying to figure out if I was just imagining the lingering sensation, or if it was a case of the pins and needles I sometimes got, a grim reminder of the shrapnel that did a near-FUBAR (Fucked Up Beyond All Repair) on some parts of my spine and several internal organs. “No, thanks.”

  I poured my big body into the chair across the table from her, feeling oddly reluctant to go back to bed and leave her down here alone. She looked so sad, so weary. I g
uessed it stung that her father had asked for me while turning her away.

  “Don’t take it personally,” I told her.

  “I know.” She released the words on a rush of air. Her hands were around the mug again, her eyes staring inside, focused on the tiny string that held the teabag. “I get it, the whole male pride thing. I really do.”

  Bingo. “It’s more than male pride. You’re his daughter. He doesn’t want you to see him like that.” I couldn’t say I blamed him. It was a hell of a thing to be caught on the floor with your boxers down. Images of me with my skivs around my ankles exploded in my head, complete with Hannah on her knees in front of me. I had to cough slightly to cover up the choking sound I’d inadvertently made.

  At ease, soldier, I mentally chastised my cock, which had started to rise up in interest. This was definitely not the time or place for that.

  “I get that, too,” she breathed, and it took me a minute to remember what we were talking about. Oh yeah, male pride.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, surprising the hell out of me. I could tell how hard it was for her to say the words. I wasn’t about to make it worse.

  “Don’t be.”

  “I am. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you,” she shook her head, scraping at something invisible on the side of the mug with her nail. “This is what he wants. You are what he needs. It was selfish of me to think otherwise.”

  I shifted slightly in my seat. Maybe I’d misjudged her. Maybe her earlier prickliness really had nothing to do with me personally, but was based on the fact that our fathers had gone behind our backs and set this up. Maybe she was just caught off guard, and going on the defensive was her way of dealing. Lord knew I sure as hell wouldn’t have been happy if someone had sprung something like that on me....