Code Name_War 0f Stones

by Natasza Waters

  No fucking more. He wasn’t a little angry, he was out of his mind angry. The nutcase standing there with her arms crossed and a small wicked smile pinched on her lips was going to feel the heat. What he had to say was going to wipe that fucking smile off her face―permanently.

  * * * *

  Sloane drove down the Strand swiping the tears from her eyes. Tears of anger. And they were angry. She was angry.

  “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.”

  Within ten minutes, she parked her car in her parents’ driveway and turned off the ignition. Sighing, she stared at the house she’d grown up in. Pale green accents and white stucco with the heavy wood front door, her family home sat in an upscale neighborhood, but not a pretentious one. The setting sun cast an orange hue against the two story residence and helped her prancing emotions subside.

  She loved her condo, more so because it belonged to her mom when she’d first come to the US, but her family home had always been a safe place. A harbor in the storm of adolescent trials and victories. She closed her eyes for a moment, and then opened them with a start when a tap on her driver’s window startled her.

  The door opened and her father crouched beside her, wearing his jogging pants and teal blue t-shirt she’d given him for Christmas when she was eight. Sweat darkened the front of his chest. He usually ran five miles a day, but sometimes he’d push it to ten. Most of the time he ran in the morning, she was surprised to see him doing it before dinner.

  “Haven’t I told you to drive with the doors locked?”

  “Dad…”

  He stretched his large form and kissed her cheek. “Still mad at me?”

  “Yes.” He grinned and gave her a playful wink. That used to make her giggle when she was six, but not anymore. “I just want to sit here and stew, okay?”

  Her father’s smile slid away and he settled a questioning gaze on her, then he turned to look over his shoulder at the sparkling, clean, white Dodge 250 sitting off to the side of the driveway. It looked brand new, even though it was over twenty years old.

  The vehicle belonged to his old friend, a man she never knew, named Patrick Cobbs. Dad kept the truck in pristine condition as if expecting his old swim buddy to one day rise from the grave and reclaim it. The Cobbs family were closer to them than their blood relatives. Aunt Marg and her kids Kelsey, Rayanne and Cindy had spent every Christmas and holiday with them.

  Patrick Cobbs’ dog tags hung from the rear-view mirror of the truck, and his camo ball cap had a permanent home on the dash. Only one CD sat in the player and no one was allowed to change it. A country and western group that Patrick liked. In her dad and mom’s minds, Patrick was still part of their family and they celebrated his life by keeping his memory alive.

  “You know, when you were a baby and Mom couldn’t get you to sleep, I’d take you for a drive in Pat’s truck. Come on.” Gripping her wrists with one hand, he gently prodded her to follow, whether she wanted to or not.

  “Dad, I don’t want to go for a drive.”

  “Get in,” he ordered.

  “I just want to talk to Mom and say bad things about men. I don’t need a nap,” she said, poking fun at him.

  Her father stilled, the key embedded in the door lock, then he shrugged. “She’d probably agree with you, that’s why you need to talk with me. Let’s go.”

  “I’m not going to be trapped in there for a lecture about Randy. You ran him off, remember?”

  Yarding the door open and jumping inside, he pointed at the passenger seat. “Humor me.”

  She huffed and trotted around the short bed of the Dodge pickup, opened the passenger’s door and scrambled inside.

  When her dad turned the ignition and the V8 Hemi growled to life without a hiccup or backfire, the deep lines around his eyes creased into a smile. She’d seen him do this every time he drove the truck.

  “You miss him, don’t you?” Securing the seatbelt, she settled in the seat. The truck still carried a hint of new car smell.

  Her dad nodded once and backed out of the driveway.

  She’d only seen her dad tear-up once. Last year, he turned sixty-one. Uncle Patrick would have turned sixty-one a few months before. On the night of Patrick’s birthday, Marg and Kels came over. They had a BBQ in the backyard and as the night drifted on, Dad’s old squad wandered in. She wondered if her mom had called them. Before long, Mace, Tony, Caleb, Fox, Nathan, and Clay were sitting around the pool, staring up at the clear night and the stars above.

  Dad had too much to drink. For once, her mom never tried to stop him. Around ten o’clock, her dad rose from his favorite patio lounger, the fabric torn, the arm rests cracked. Mom wanted to throw it out, but dad wouldn’t let her for some reason.

  He raised his bottle toward the heavens. “If I had one wish, I would give up all our accomplishments to have you here tonight.”

  A single tear slid down his cheek and he chugged back his beer then flung the bottle against the SEAL shack in their backyard. It struck the downpipe and shattered into a hundred pieces. She glanced at her mom and saw her holding Aunt Marg’s hand tightly. Both had tears glistening in their eyes.

  The next day, life went on as usual. Nothing more was said. That was the way of a warrior and his family.

  When Dad took the exit for the Cuyamaca Mountains, she knew where they were headed. “Are we going to Julian?”

  He turned his rugged, aging face toward her. “What d’ya say we have apple pie for dinner?”

  She laughed, despite being taken hostage. For as long as she could remember, whenever her dad had been home and not making decisions on saving the world, they’d escape to Julian. Just her and him. The historic mining town drew a lot of visitors each year, and one of the highlights was a little shop that sold huge pieces of apple pie and ice cream.

  An hour later, her dad parallel parked between a dilapidated Toyota Tercel and a sleek, black Porsche along the main street. Waiting for an F350 pulling a long fifth wheel to pass, they sauntered around the trailer and headed for the small, red sign hung out front of the wood cabin façade of the shop.

  Sloane grabbed a seat at a table covered with a red and white checkered tablecloth. While her dad stood in line for their dessert dinner, she texted Mom to let her know what they were up to.

  Balancing two plates and two cups of coffee, her father joined her.

  “There’s only a billion calories in this,” she mentioned, forking her first mouthful onto her tongue and sighing. So good!

  His brows popped good-naturedly as he took his first bite. “Now, you can tell me why you hate men.”

  She chuckled, then sipped on her coffee. “I might have been a little angry before.”

  “Because?”

  Turning the tables on him, she said, “Mom said you were a man whore.” She’d timed it perfectly and laughed when her dad choked.

  He coughed and cleared his throat, then downed a gulp of coffee to clear the block. “Yeah, well, maybe I was.”

  “Maybe?”

  He leveled a fatherly look on her. “Okay, I was.” He paused. “Until I saw your mother.”

  “Why was she different?”

  He laughed out loud. “Have you met your mother?” He laughed again and shook his head. “She’s beautiful. Not to mention complex and didn’t take my shit. There wasn’t a hope in hell I could resist her.”

  Sloane glanced around the restaurant, the tables tucked tightly together and the ever-present lineup at the cashier getting longer. “I’m not talking about your and Mom’s sex life.”

  He choked again and covered his mouth with a paper napkin. “Listen, you know how your mom and I met. It wasn’t an easy relationship. The odds were against us from the beginning, but the truth is, from the second she stepped into Base Command, my mission was clear. My bachelor days were over. I had zero doubts that I loved her from the minute I looked into her eyes, but at the time, still being active in the teams, I lived my life believing I would end up in the ground. I did everything I could
to stop myself from falling for her.” He sat back and gazed with the memories drifting through his eyes. “Your mother and I were meant for each other. End of story.”

  “What made you change your mind? Decide it was her?”

  “Her strength.” He nodded. “She ripped my heart out and served it to me on a silver platter.” He chuckled. “After knowing her, I couldn’t live my life without Kayla Banks in mine.” Her dad placed his fork on the plate and clasped his hands. “Why do you want to know all this? You’re young. There’s no rush, sweetheart.” He winked at her. “Don’t think I’m ready to give up my little girl yet.”

  “I’m twenty-three, legal and long past being your little girl. Besides, you wouldn’t be saying this to Adam.”

  “Already have.” He swallowed his coffee and set down the empty cup. “Think he’s turning out a little too much like his old man when it comes to women.”

  “Adam’s an asshole when it comes to girls, and so are his SEAL buddies.”

  Her father sniffed and sat up straight. “I’d be a hypocrite if I agreed with you, but Randy isn’t a SEAL anymore.”

  “Not talking about Randy.”

  Her father cocked and lowered his head. A sure sign he was looking for answers. Not waiting, he said, “Lieutenant Stone.”

  To Sloane, he almost appeared a little disappointed. She watched him quickly scan the restaurant, probably evaluating every face in a single glance.

  “What happened?” he asked once happy no terrorist lurked behind the display counter with apple cobblers and tarts.

  She shrugged and finished off her last bite. “Doesn’t matter.” Her father raised his brows and a definite look of guilt crossed his expression. “What?”

  “It might, since I invited him to the annual BBQ.”

  “You did what?” she growled, spearing her dad with a look she hoped sizzled his ass.

  Chapter Five

  Sloane pulled up to the front door of Kelsey Cobbs’ condo. A modern, California stucco, five-story building with fountains and manicured gardens. She didn’t have to wait long before the long-legged mirror image of her mother, Margaret Cobbs, sauntered down the walkway and popped open the passenger door.

  “Hey, little sis,” Kelsey greeted, while snapping the seatbelt into its buckle.

  Sloane wasn’t really Kelsey’s biological sister. Kels was seven years older. Navy families had connections a civilian family didn’t. Each family tree sprouted branches that intertwined with other SEAL families. Every holiday, birthday and calamity was shared together. Kelsey had two older sisters as well. Rayanne and Cindy lived in Washington State with their husbands and children.

  “Ready to shop till you drop?” Sloane asked.

  “I guess.” Kels stared out the front windshield with a dazed expression, instead of her normal zeal at the thought of purchasing something silky and expensive off a clothes hanger.

  Making a shoulder check for traffic, she asked, “Uh-oh, what’s up?”

  Kels shrugged. “Mom’s giving me a bad time.”

  “What about?” Sloane asked, pulling back onto the road behind a car carrier with silver Audi’s stacked on the back.

  “Morgan.”

  Sloane might have to agree with her Aunt Marg, and Kels wouldn’t be happy about that. “The guy in the rock band?”

  “Don’t judge.”

  “Not judging. It’s just Aunt Marg is a little crazy protective of you. You’re the youngest. She’s just being a mom.”

  “I’m thirty for Christ’s sake, and a litigator. Think I’ve got things figured out.”

  In no hurry to reach their destination until Kelsey spilled her guts, Sloane took it easy on the gas pedal. “Gonna elope?”

  Kels gave her a get-real look. “He’s a great guy and he’s not Navy!”

  “Hooyah to that,” Sloane said. “I get it, but what do a lawyer and a lead singer in a rock band have in common?”

  “Good intentions. Vision of our future goals. Intelligence. We’re both athletic. He likes what I like, and he’s real, not some guy just looking to get between my legs.”

  Sloane hung a left off North Harbor Road, into her favorite java drive-thru joint and idled behind a red Volkswagen bug, the driver giving the order to a box.

  “Ya did say rock band, right? You’re telling me he hasn’t tried?”

  “Tried what?” Kels asked when they rolled up to the nondescript voice asking for their order from a speaker. “I want it cold, mocha, java and blended with ice cream.”

  Sloane stuck her tongue in her cheek and clarified her first question. “Been between your legs.” She quickly gave her order to the voice, and waited for the verbal salute that she could pull ahead.

  Kels burst out laughing. “I’m a lawyer, not a nun. He’s fucking hot in bed.” She cleared her throat and then bit her top lip. “Last night, things got serious. Morgan asked me to marry him.”

  Sloane plucked a ten-dollar bill coiled in her cup holder and motored up to the drive-thru window. “Seriously? That’s…that’s…Aunt Marg is gonna shit a brick, but that’s great. Or is it?”

  The college-aged girl with her perky ponytail took the ten-dollar bill and offered two coffees in exchange.

  Kels accepted one of the cold drinks and took a long draw on the straw. “I don’t think Mom wants to let go of me or Dad. Think she’s decided no man is ever good enough for either of us.”

  Sloane drove across Harbor Road, and wound her way through the back streets. When Kels didn’t offer more, she finally asked, “Have you told her you’re tying the knot?” She slowed and took a right on Henderson Drive toward her parents’ house.

  Kels shook her head. “Part of me feels guilty. She’ll be all alone.”

  “You have a life to live too. And she’s not alone. Shit, if my mom, your mom, Aunt Nina, Aunt Lumin or Aunt Mattie aren’t within shouting distance every single day of the year, I’ll work for the Navy for free. Besides, maybe this will open her eyes a little. We both know that big movie mogul, Bruce-what’s-his-name, is still hanging around. They’ve been friends for years.”

  “Bruce Pepperhill,” Kels said with a nod. “They’re friends, but not lovers. Bruce has had three wives and he keeps divorcing them. Every time he divorces one, he comes sniffing around Mom. I know she likes him, but for some reason she just won’t take the next step.”

  “Why not?”

  Sloane slowed and the car bumped over the low curb, onto the driveway. She parked behind her Dad’s pickup, which once belonged to Kels’ dad. After turning off the ignition, she swiveled in her seat. Guys drooled over Kels, but what they loved best is what she had inherited from her father―his silver eyes.

  “Not sure, but I like Bruce. I can’t help thinking he divorces those women because none of them are like Mom. When he looks at her, it’s obvious he loves her. Mom told me once he was Grandpa Stines-Foster’s choice for her.”

  “Choice? As in, he wanted Bruce to marry her instead of your dad?”

  She nodded and then leaned against the door, looking at Sloane. “I want her to be happy, but I also want to have a life. Maybe if I get on with mine, she’ll get on with hers. Tough love, ya know?” Kels nibbled on her bottom lip and darted a look at her mom’s Mercedes convertible sitting in the driveway across the street. Fifteen years ago, her mom bought the two-story mini mansion across the road.

  “You’re going to spill the beans now while we’re here, aren’t ya?” Sloane asked, thinking Kels needed a little moral support.

  “I think so. I can’t keep it a secret forever. Just going to have to yank the bandage off.”

  “’Kay, let’s go do it.”

  They sauntered up the tiled pathway leading to the front door edged with yuccas and flowering pots Sloane’s mom planted every summer.

  Before she clamped her hand around the wrought iron front door handle, Kels asked, “I’m doing the right thing, aren’t I?”

  Sloane blinked and released the handle. “Kels, if you have a sing
le doubt, that’s enough to wait a little to see if that doubt goes away. You love him, right?”

  Kels shook her head. “I’m just nervous. Being stupid.”

  That really didn’t answer her question about love. She definitely didn’t want to mention Kelsey’s trust fund. Aunt Marg’s family was very wealthy, and Kelsey had received a sizeable amount of cash when she turned thirty. Morgan was the lead guitarist in a relatively unknown band playing clubs in L.A. and San Diego. Sloane liked him, but she hoped like hell he was in love with Kels, not after her money.

  “You’re sure there’s nothing else bothering you?”

  Kels tsked. “No. Not at all.”

  Sloane pushed open the heavy, wood, front door, and they entered like they had a million times growing up. Aunt Mattie and Uncle Greg, her Godparents, lived less than a block away. Aunt Lumin and Uncle Tony lived two streets west of theirs. Uncle Mace and Aunt Nina only three streets away.

  When they were kids, they’d camp out on each other’s lawns. Ride the road on their bikes like they owned it and had more sleepovers than Sloane could count. Her dad called them “The Posse”.

  The Posse didn’t allow outsiders into their band of preadolescent miscreants.

  Sloane and her brother Adam, Kelsey, Gabs—Aunt Nina and Uncle Mace’s daughter, Gabs’ half-brother Patrick, who they’d named in honor of Patrick Cobbs, Aunt Lumin and Uncle Tony’s twins—Troy and Cash, and of course Aunt Mattie and Uncle Greg’s boys—Trevor and Travis, all had troublemaking down to a fine art.

  Sloane had blood-related cousins too, but her adopted military family had been part of her everyday life. Camp-outs. Disneyland. First cigarette. First kiss, which she’d shared with Patrick at the ripe old age of seven while playing Spin the Bottle. Kels first kiss was with Sloane’s brother, Adam. Her brother had a thing for older women, and she always wondered whether it had started with Kels.

  The Austen home had an open-door policy for not just the immediate family, but many people in and out of the Navy. She and Kels had so many pseudo aunts and uncles it got stupid around the holidays.