I lift it so quickly I almost drop it. It’s not a photo like I fully expected.
It merely says, I miss you.
I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until moments after I read her message. My mind is made up to go and visit her as soon as I land. Before I go check on my house or do any of the other million things on my to-do list. Teala telling me, using words, that she misses me, is enough to tear my plans into shreds. I’ll get over her again when I leave. The pain is something I’ll deal with if it eases hers. If she feels a fraction of the mess that I’m dealing with, it’s too much.
When I was a teenager there was a girl I was pretending to date. I was really just fucking her on the weekends and after school in the bed of my truck. She had huge brown eyes with long lashes. People use the term doe eyes too frequently. This girl, though? She was the damn definition. She looked all innocent, convincing everyone I was tutoring her in physics and then tutored my dick instead. For a month or two I thought she could be girlfriend material. I had my eyes set on BUDs and becoming a SEAL, and she wanted to go to San Diego State. Feasibly, it could have worked. I wanted her to be my girlfriend for all the wrong reasons. She could suck a mean cock and would be conveniently local. Oh, the naiveté I carried back then. When I discovered women throw their pussy at SEALs, I squashed all possibilities of Doe Eyes and commitment. Chapter closed. The end.
I want Teala for all of the right reasons. Overcoming a mindset embedded for years upon years was hard in terms of acceptance, but easy because it was her. We’re coming from the same mentality. We met on a level playing field. The game of fooling her friends into thinking we were dating was a farce. We both knew it was more than convincing her friends for a trip to Vegas. We were trying to convince ourselves we could do something hard—almost impossible. The depth this thing burrowed into my world was catastrophic. It changed me to my core. Then, the attacks changed everything else inside me. The importance of things and people shifted.
The phone vibrates in my hand and I see that Teala sent another text message. I’m back at my apartment.
I didn’t tell her I’m on my way back, but she must sense it because I reached out. I feel like an ass for not contacting her sooner. Would a quick text have taken that much of a toll on me? It’s hard to say.
We’re crossing over Los Angeles Stadium right now and the ruins are shocking. It’s black and leveled from one of the more severe attacks. Several car bombs exploded in the parking garage and underneath the stadium. It crumbled up in smoke in a matter of minutes. The air is loud out here, with the blades chopping the sky. It’s a welcome distraction for everyone.
Turning to glance behind me, I see Moose. He’s wringing his hands between his thighs while working his jaw left and right. He’s been on edge since we’ve left. Sitting next to him is Smith. And he’s a ball of sunshine and rage since he broke up with his girlfriend. No one thinks the separation will last just because of how miserable he is. Tahoe breaks the moment by cursing loudly when he loses a level on his game. I text my mom to let her know I’m safe and home and I have no idea when I’ll be able to visit and, no, she can’t come visit me, and when the standard conversation is finished, we’re landing at the compound at work.
Groups of people scurry as we arrive and others rush toward our aircrafts to help unload. When my boots hit the familiar pavement, I sigh. It’s relief tinged with grief and I think that’s how it will always be. Ignoring the buzz of everything going on around me, I find my car in the lot. When I notice blood on my jacket, I remove it. It’s not mine. I start my car and head toward Teala’s apartment, settling in for a drive that is sure to be longer than I want it to be.
Entering her parking garage made me uneasy. Noticing an unfamiliar car in one of her spots forced even more emotions to the surface. I parked in one of the other spots and cleaned myself the best I could given the circumstances. I’m still pretty filthy and could use a shower or five. Our accommodations haven’t been the best over the last few days. It’s feast of famine. We’re either staying in the nation’s finest five-star hotels or we’re sleeping in fucking dirt with one eye open. I’m told it’s part of our charm. The latter is why I just smoothed a deodorant stick through my hair and brushed my teeth using a bottle of water.
My fist is hovering over the doorbell and I’m suddenly struck with a sense of unease—the notion I should have called first. I press the button before I lose all resolve. It’s been a month, and one would assume another minute or two wouldn’t break me, but I feel as if I can’t wait another second longer. My fist is about the slam on the wood when the door opens.
It’s not her.
It’s a man I recognize from our very first dinner out. As a man she described as someone who was a patron at her studio. Yoga man’s face goes through every emotion in the book. Surprise, fear, and then confusion as he takes in my appearance and half-assed uniform. I’m wearing the camo pants, but I left the bloody jacket and hat in the car. I have on a white tee that was probably white when it was issued, but now has chosen to stay a nice shade of dusty gray.
“Hi,” the man says, finally regaining his wits.
I don’t return his pleasantries. “Where is Teala?”
He clears his throat, opens the door further, and I step through. I see her then. She’s coming around the corner from the hallway to my left. She stops cold in her tracks when she sees me.
“Macs?” she whispers, my name a foreign object on her tongue. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?” Her eyes turn down in the corner and I can tell the waterworks are coming and there’s nothing I can do to stop them.
I’m almost too stunned by her appearance to speak. I stutter a letter or two. “I wanted to surprise you,” I say. It’s a lie, but it’s also kind of the truth. I make a point of turning to the side to look at her male friend. “Looks like I succeeded at that.”
“You didn’t reply to my message. I wasn’t sure what to think after all this time. He’s here for a yoga class. I have a few friends coming over,” she says, realizing I’ve intruded in on her new life.
My stomach grumbles and it’s not from hunger. It’s from a fear I’ve never known the likes of.
“I’m not comfortable teaching in my studio yet, but figured it would be okay to start here at home for a class or two per week,” Teala explains using her hands.
I take another step into the room because the kitchen bar is blocking her and I want a full view. I have a better memory than most, but it never quite does Teala justice. She’s the Achilles’ heel even on the subconscious level.
The guy closes the door behind me, and I startle. I’d forgotten about him during my study of her body. I send a quick glare in his direction, and he cowers into the living room, mumbling under his breath. I’d take care of him now if I didn’t have larger things to worry about.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She has deep, dark circles under her eyes. It changes her face drastically. Her hair is shorter. Much shorter. It looks like she took a hacksaw to it—one side more jagged than the other. She’s always had a thin frame, but what I’m looking at now isn’t healthy. “Tay-la,” I annunciate her name to get her attention.
She’s looking around the room. Anywhere but in my direction and it’s so intentional it forces my heart rate to speed. It’s been a while since I’ve had to worry about the nuances of determining a woman’s mood.
“I’m okay.” She smiles weakly.
I’m not unskilled enough to know okay is a trigger word. It’s almost never used when someone is okay.
“Do you mind coming back another day? I’m so sorry,” she says to the yoga guy, her gaze flicking to the guy on the couch.
The awkwardness in the room ratchets up a notch and I’m not used to being the interruption. I’m the interrupter.
Teala tugs the hem of her tank. She looks about ten pounds lighter? More than that? I survey her thin frame quickly so she doesn’t notice. Yoga guy leaves without another word,
and I lock the door behind him, without taking my eyes off her. She reminds me of a caged animal that can’t be trusted. How did I not know what was happening? Why did I assume she was okay these weeks while I was away? She didn’t call me. No contact. The only logical assumption was she was fine. She gestures to the couch, but I shake my head.
I pinch my shirt. “I’m filthy. You don’t want me on your furniture,” I tell her.
Her hooded eyes appraise me very specifically. I recognize desire immediately.
She sits down instead. Running her hands through her hair absentmindedly it’s like a light bulb flicks on. Her hair. Her appearance. The disaster I’m seeing. If playing pretend was ever warranted, right now is when I need to make it count. I ask her what’s going on using a look. Instead of telling me, she cries. Or what I perceive as crying. No actual tears arrive.
“I can’t cry tears anymore. How fucking pathetic is that? I’ve used them all up!” She rattles on and on about inconsequential things she knows I don’t care about to avoid the truth. I recognize what’s happened straight away and my heart seizes in panic.
My body tingles from my toes all the way up to my hair. “Shut up,” I command. I’m not angry at her, but it’s going to come off that way.
Her eyes turn down in the corner and her bottom lip quivers. I run a hand over my face to keep from watching the emotions play across her features. None of them are the ones I was expecting to see right now. She’s not flying into my arms or ripping my clothes off with the desire to love me. She’s looking at me, knees pulled up to her chest like I’m the feral animal in her living room.
Tucking her hair, on the side that’s long enough to tuck, she says, “Do you know what it takes to admit he did this? That he has this control over my life without my permission?”
Her father. I’m able to piece together this disaster one abandonment issue at a time. Mix those with extreme anxiety, wait for a low boil, and watch for explosion.
Through narrowed eyes she spits, “Don’t ever tell me to shut up again.” Teala is there, in her command this time. So be it. Anger is what needs to happen right now.
I sigh, kneeling down in front of her. Gently, I place my hands around her calves. It has dual purposes. The need to touch her is fierce, but she’s so small I could snap her legs like twigs. Has it only been a month that has passed? Is this capable of happening in a month? My erratic behavior mirrors hers. I don’t know how to relationship properly and the one time I fuck up, I cause the worst possible scenario.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
She doesn’t meet my gaze, but her lip trembles again.
“I know you hate apologies that span multiple things, but that’s what that was and you’re going to accept because I’ve missed you.” Pushing my luck, I slide my hand up one leg and graze her face to bring a short chunk of her hair in between my fingers. I look at her and raise a brow in question. “Britney circa 07?” I ask.
She smiles, and it’s painful to watch. “Something like that,” she responds. “Oops I did it again. Maybe, One more time? I was upset and I wanted to control something. Unfortunately I saw scissors and then realized my neck was sweaty. The rest is history.” Her laugh is shallow as she runs her hands through her uneven haircut. She meets my eyes. “You know I can’t be with a man who leaves. It’s glaringly obvious.” She waits for my rebuttal, but I don’t waste my breath. What’s obvious to me is that she’s made up her mind. She continues, “Even if you come back every single time. I can’t. This right here is proof.” Teala motions to her body and face. “I’m not sleeping. Don’t get me wrong. I’m in bed most of the day, but I’m awake not thinking about anything.”
“You texted me,” I say. I want to pull out the phone and shove the text in her face.
Her eyes are wild again. “I told you I miss you. Not come to me.”
I wince. “Ouch.”
My heart is combusting with the magnitude of what she’s saying. She may not be in the right frame of mind, but my pride won’t give her another chance if she does come to her senses and realizes what she’s done.
She stands to get away from me. She walks to the bar and pours herself a glass of vodka.
“Why don’t we get something to eat?” I offer.
“He liked women. Just like you. He was a professional at leaving. It was too similar,” she explains, grabbing her hair.
I don’t know what to say or to respond with, so I ask about food again. She shakes her head and continues her explanation even though I don’t want to hear another complicated word.
“I started yoga all those years ago to combat my anxiety.” Teala laughs and turns to face me. “Fucking men helps too.” She swallows the alcohol in a few large swallows while eyeing me over the rim of her glass.
My fists are tight by my sides and it takes a lot of effort to stretch my fingers out. It’s painful. “I’m not your fucking father, Teala. I can be your daddy if that’s what you really want.” My stomach churns even as my dick hardens. “Have you been fucking other men?” I’ll still fuck her right now if she replies in the affirmative, but it will be for the last time.
Finally, she smiles, and I’m glimpsing a piece of her from weeks ago. Her mind is twisted and I don’t even care. Suddenly I don’t want to know the answer. It would change things even more. I close the distance between us in a few steps and pull her into my arms. The glass in her hands clatters to the ground and shatters. I kiss her and pure vodka sweeps my tongue. There’s no trace of her sweet breath or the sounds of small sighs. Her hands are tight around my neck as she scrambles to climb my body like a rope at the gym. It’s frantic, even for me, who sets a similar pace without realizing it. It’s never been like this with her. I let my lips slide against her neck and close my eyes when a familiar scent hits my system. Now I have something to hold on to. I kiss her neck for a few more moments, leading her back to rest her against the wall.
“Fuck me,” Teala growls. “Right now.”
I haven’t had sex with something other than my palm for a month. I want to fuck her. I didn’t expect it to be like this and I’m surprised by the disappointment. I reach between our bodies and free my cock. Teala moans when she circles her hand around my shaft and pumps. I let her feet hit the floor long enough for her to strip off her pants. I bring up the mental image of her naked body before. This isn’t the woman I’m in love with in my arms right now—she’s frail, weak, and devastated by a past come back to life. She hits her knees, and I have to remind her about the broken glass. She doesn’t heed my warning and puts my dick in her mouth after she removes my dirty pants and boots.
It feels fucking amazing. Then I reach down to guide her with my hand in her hair and I’m spiraling back into reality. When she stands up, her shins are covered in cuts and blood. I clear my throat to bring her attention to the issue, but her mind is only on one thing until her phone rings and she tells me she needs to answer it. Teala is all over the place and I realize I’m just riding some foreign wave at this point.
It’s her friend Carina on the line and I listen to her play nice with her friend for several minutes. She’s different. Normal. After she hangs up, I fuck her against the thick panel of glass. She clutches me as I thrust into her. I don’t have to think about my grandma on a cold wet day to prolong coming. I merely have to think about the woman I love to keep my orgasm at bay. Figures move in the building across the street and it draws my attention, distracting me even further. Teala is screaming out in her release, her fingers laced in my hair and her teeth lightly grazing my shoulder and neck. I come by proxy after several more thrusts.
She collapses against me and makes no move to slide down, so I hold her, her weight light in my arms.
“I missed you so much,” I whisper. I still miss her.
I walk her over to the bookshelf, far away from the broken glass, and set her down. Blood and come are mixing down her legs in a streaking pattern an artist would love.
“Fuck,” I say, closing my eye
s and shaking my head.
“It’s just a little blood,” she says, grabbing her pants from the floor and cleaning her legs in a few swipes. “Never seen it before?” Teala smirks.
I don’t return the gesture. Blood isn’t the issue. I can wear it from head to toe for Halloween.
“Can I use your shower?” I ask.
Teala nods quickly, her gaze darting around the room like she’s not sure what to do next. I don’t want to be in front of the windows anymore.
“You really should get curtains in here or something,” I mumble, heading into the guest bathroom.
Turning the knobs, I let the water get hot and stare at myself in the mirror. What the fuck am I doing? Showering and leaving. I get in and take my time, enjoying the hot water—a luxury I haven’t had as of late. I know when Teala enters because she makes noise wherever she goes. At least that’s the same.
“Did you know sloths aren’t the sleepiest animal? They only sleep for like ten hours a day. There’s a snail that can sleep up to seven years.”
That fucking sloth picture isn’t going to make me smile today. All of my friends participating in a Bukkakalypse wouldn’t make me smile today.
I rinse my body, crank the water off, and slide the door open. “You can’t blow my heart open and then give me random sloth facts, Teala. That’s not the way this works.”
She swallows hard. “Blowing loads, not hearts, Macs.”
I lose all the oxygen in my body in one giant rush and get a little dizzy and dark for half a second. When I gain composure, I raise my brows. “That’s it then? I fucked away your issues for the time being and I’m free to go?”
She bites her lip as she looks in the foggy mirror and uses her hand to clear a portion. “This happened when he left, too.”
Hero Hair (The Real SEAL Series Book 2) Page 21
