“All right,” Zuly’s sibling drawled. “Tell me why you suddenly look like a Disney woodland creature that’s lost its mom.”
With a resounding click, Zuly closed the door to her home and leaned against the hardwood, shrugging. “Not feeling too great today.”
Understatement. Zuly hadn’t felt great for a long, long time and the reason for that was somewhere up the mountain, wallowing in misery and drinking himself to death. God, just the thought of him up there in that cabin all alone made her chest ache. How was anyone supposed to help him when he’d suddenly decided to go all Phantom of the Opera?
Hands clenching at her sides, Zuly stepped away from the door, resisting the urge to run out and get into her truck, just to drive miles up the mountainside and have a door slammed in her face yet again. The fuck was that about, anyway? She’d seen Fitzgerald Carrigan drunk enough to almost piss himself, had watched him clear his stomach of a week’s worth of food and was there to wash his hair after that one awful incident at the carnival. So why was he acting as though she’d recoil in horror at the sight of one injury?
Then again, maybe his injuries weren’t just physical. How many soldiers had come home completely different from the way they left, hearts and heads bruised from seeing the pits of hell over and over again?
If that were the case, if that was what was hurting her frogman, why wouldn’t he just say it? Why wouldn’t he simply open his mouth and tell her he needed her, needed anyone?
“You’re thinking about him again,” Kamilah noted, following Zuly as she walked from the front door to the living room and into the kitchen, determined to keep her hands busy by making something.
Zuly paused at her spice cabinet. “Don’t.” She didn’t want to talk about Fitz--didn’t want to think about him anymore. Didn’t want to wonder if he were eating properly or staying off his knee. Didn’t want to leave him another container of food just to drive by and find it had been ravaged by the small game near his cabin instead of eaten by him.
There was only so much rejection a person could take. And yet, if he showed up on her doorstep now with that crooked-toothed smile and messy hair, she’d let him in without hesitation. She missed her friend; missed the person who seemingly understood her better than she understood herself. Zuly had a gaping hole of loneliness forming without him around but stubborn pride wouldn’t let her admit that something felt off without him.
If he wants to be alone. I’ll fucking let him. She snatched down a box of cake mix harder than necessary and continued to her fridge, able to feel her sister’s gaze following her. Kamilah had been coming up to Zuly’s more and more often lately. She briefly wondered if her family had her on suicide watch. Did they really think she was that pathetic? That she couldn’t survive without Fitz?
Zuly chewed the inside of her lip. Maybe she was pathetic. They’d been joined at the hip from the moment he rescued her from the clutches of a wolf spider. The second he’d smashed it on the playground and she finally calmed down enough to stop screaming, their eyes met and she’d been lost. When eight-year-old Fitz had puffed out his thin chest and said with all the pride in the world what his full name was, Zuly’s face had scrunched up as she repeated it.
Instead of making fun of her lisp he’d grinned like her voice was the greatest thing in the world and nodded, hair flopping into his face. There was something about that movement that caught her attention, made her feel an instant kinship to someone who apparently had no more control over his locks than she had over her own at the time.
From that day on he was always rescuing her from something. Whether it was boring family functions or idiotic classmates, Fitz was always there, ready to make her shoot milk out of her nose laughing. Zuly could recall every weekend spent camping out at the cabin he now owned--hours swimming around the small lake on the property. She could remember the time they spent the night in a makeshift canopy because they thought they heard a bear growl. She could remember waking up before him in their tent, staring at the way his dark lashes fanned out on his cheeks, covering eyes so blue they reminded her of the sky.
Where had those days gone? Where had that Fitz gone? Was she selfish for needing him? For wanting him to need her too?
“I don’t need you. I don’t need anybody. Just fucking leave me alone, ‘kay? Understand now?”
Those words would never be forgotten. The look of fear and anger in his irises would never fade from her memory. Neither would the way she cried afterwards. How she’d stayed in bed for days on end, praying he’d pick up the phone and call her, ask her to come cook for him. Fitz never had. And every day that went by Zuly felt like someone was twisting a scalding knife deeper into a wound that formed the day he left for boot camp fifteen years ago.
She’d wanted to stop him then. Beg him not to leave her, but it was his dream.
“I’m gonna be a Navy SEAL someday, Z. One of the biggest heroes to walk the planet.”
Even now she could hear the echo of his twelve-year-old voice telling her how badly he wanted to join the military, how he’d save so many lives. What kind of bitch would ask him to give all that up?
So Zuly had sent him off like the rest of his family, secretly praying every night that he’d come back to her whole and able to see how much she loved him. She couldn’t pinpoint when it had happened exactly, but one day she’d looked up and suddenly noticed how the curve of his jaw had gone from baby fat to granite. How his shoulders had gotten broader, stronger. How his lean muscles had begun to slowly transform his body into that of a man’s. How the roughness of his palms and the baritone of his voice rolled over her skin in ways her adolescent body shouldn’t have noticed.
It felt like she’d wanted him forever. And she’d had every intention of having him when he returned to her. Zuly had plans. Plans that would’ve included telling him all the different ways she loved how his chest rose and fell with every inhale and exhale. But her plans had been shot to hell and her frogman had returned damaged. She hadn’t given a royal fuck about anything aside from him coming home safe and sound.
Fitz had done that and so much more. But he didn’t want her. Apparently, he didn’t need her either. What was she to do? How could she heal a man who refused to take it? As a RN she’d seen her fair share of patients with injuries that surpassed just the physical, yet she had no idea what to do here.
Zuly simply wanted Fitz near her. Wanted to run her fingers across his scalp, curve her hand around that granite jaw, let him know he was loved. Over the last two months she’d begun to differentiate between the howls she heard and now understood which ones were mournful, lonely.
Why wasn’t it that easy for them? Why couldn’t they simply communicate with a sound?
“God, Z...” Kamilah murmured, suddenly standing in front of her with a paper towel, wiping her face. “You’ve got to stop doing this to yourself.”
She sniffed; hadn’t even realized she’d been crying until her sibling pointed it out. “Sorry. I’m just having a weepy moment. It’ll be better in a second.”
Kamilah hugged her close, running a hand down her back in the same soothing motion she used to use when Zuly would run home crying about how other kids in class were calling her bush head. That had stopped when Fitz had come around, of course. “Oh, baby,” she murmured against Zuly’s temple. “He’ll come around. He’s in pain right now.”
She nodded against Kamilah’s shoulder. “I’m so stupid. I’m sobbing and he has to be–”
“Don’t,” her sister warned. “Don’t undercut your feelings. He’s in pain, yes. But that doesn’t mean his hurt cancels out your own. When you truly love someone you’re connected on a level that defies logic. And you two have always defied logic. Howling weirdoes.”
Zuly snorted as Kamilah kissed her forehead and pulled back to brush her thumbs just under Zuly’s eyes. “You’re a Hines woman, Z. You don’t take no for an answer, remember?”
“I may just have to,” she whispered.
Kamilah
shook her head. “No. You really don’t.”
Something about the steely look in her sibling’s eyes sparked something within her. Did she? Did she really have to take no for answer?
Chapter Two
“Carrigan! You handle this shit delicately!”
He would. He’d be as delicate as fucking possible. There was no other choice here; not when he was staring into the face of the devil, and the devil had a hold on a child. With unerring calm, he rolled his shoulders, desperate to beat down the anxiety thumping in his pulse, the words of his chief ringing in his head.
“Jafar. Let her go.” Arabic wasn’t needed here. Jafar Akeem Hamal was well versed in at least ten different languages and had enough terrorism under his belt to grasp the tone of Fitz’s voice. The message was clear. Jafarould either put the girl down or die. Something flashed in the man’s eyes as he stepped just that much closer to the cliff they stood near, his insanity becoming a palpable thing as he challenged Fitz to come closer without even speaking a word.
“Put her down now.” Fitz was trying to stay focused, keep his gaze off the pleading eyes of the child staring at him with so much hope. The sick fuck had snatched her from her bed in his own compound as the rest of the place was raided and taken down--the daughter of one of his own men. He would risk her if he had to--use her as he would a shield. Fitz had followed him here, aware that Jafar could and would do anything necessary to protect himself, including killing the girl in his arms.
Fitz’s stomach roiled. He wouldn’t let that happen. Not tonight. Not ever. It had taken six years to track one of the Middle East’s greatest threats and now that Fitz’s team had him in their grasp, they would not let go.
“Let me go. I let her go,” Jafar replied in a lilting accent, his calm radiating in waves.
Fitz could smell the scent of salt water, hear the crashing waves below. Just a little longer, sweetheart. I swear. His hands clenched at his sides, aching to reach for the M9 on his person, but any sudden moves could cost the girl her life. Besides, he knew Donnelly had a M107 trained on Jafar somewhere close by. Jafar wouldn’t escape this intact if something happened to that girl.
Fitz was well aware of the sound of the girl’s father crying out to their god in the distance, that his will would be done. Fuck that. The only will Fitz was following tonight was that of the US Navy SEALs.
“Why are we talking?” Donnelly’s voice crackled through Fitz’s earpiece. “I can take the prick down now and we can be done with this.”
“Because if you propel him over the edge, she goes with him. That’s why,” Fitz growled back. “Don’t make a move until I say otherwise.”
Donnelly had been unraveling lately, impatience making him reckless on the last three missions. He wasn’t just making jokes to push Fitz’s buttons anymore. The sniper had begun to voice the fact that he didn’t believe Fitz was a strong enough leader, that he was too soft. What he didn’t understand was that Fitz had some self-control and that Donnelly ought to be grateful for it, otherwise he would’ve gotten fucked up a long time ago.
“This is bullshit. He needs to be taken down.”
“I. Said. Don’t. Move.” Fitz locked eyes with Jafar. “If you let her go now, we can make a deal with you. Don’t make this harder.”
Jafar’s eyes narrowed as his lips curved. “I’ve no deals to agree to with you, my friend. There’s nothing you could offer me aside from my freedom.”
Jaw clenching, Fitz tried again. “Just put her down.” He made the mistake of glancing at the girl. She couldn’t have been more than six, with riotous hair and golden eyes that looked all too familiar. His chest seized. God, please.
“No,” Jafar answered.
“We’ll kill you,” Fitz said.
The man smiled. “Impossible.” He took another step back. “You know what amuses me the most about your American soldiers?”
Fitz watched him closely.
“How much you value the most insignificant lives; how much you weigh on honor.” Jafar’s grin began to widen sadistically. “But we look at the bigger picture. We look at what our deaths will come to mean. What our deaths will come to...honor. If I die physically tonight, it will end nothing. My men will continue on. Like a poison I’ve touched far more than you could ever hope to reach. And like a poison, I will have lasting effects.”
“Fuck this. Move, Carrigan. I’m taking the shot!” Donnelly shouted.
“I said don’t!” Heart hammering now, Fitz roared, “Just put her down NOW!”
“Move, Carrigan!”
“Jafar...” Fitz tried again but he only took another step backwards, now standing dangerously close to the murky waters of the Mediterranean.
The girl in his arms whimpered.
Fitz looked from her to the other man. “Please...”
He appeared to almost be considering it, the expression on his face one of clear thought, but then something fast and hot whizzed past Fitz’s cheek, missing him by scant inches and planting itself into the forehead of Jafar, sending his body into a recoil that threw him right over the edge...
“NO!” Fitz’s roar echoed around his bedroom as his whole body clenched then released, jerking up beneath the sheets on his mattress. Harsh pants left his mouth; his shoulders tensed, hands fisted at his sides as the same nightmare that had haunted him for so long replayed over and over again. The look of horror that flashed across the girl’s face right before she was hurtled off the cliff and into the depths of the water below.
“Fuck!” His hands slammed down against his bed before he used one to grip his recently grown-out hair and tug. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
Fitz lay back down, his chest heaving with the exertion to breathe normally. Each time he closed his eyes, all he saw was that one last stare of lost hope. The stare that called him a failure a million times over. There had been many casualties during his stint as a SEAL. But none of them a child and none of them by his hands.
He’d always wondered if he should’ve told Jafar that he could go; always questioned if it would’ve hurt as much had the girl not reminded him of Zuly.
“Jesus Christ.” With a groan, he rolled over, tried to get the moisture to recede from his eyes as he scooted out of bed and grabbed his cane, hobbling toward the bathroom
He couldn’t keep doing this to himself. Couldn’t keep running over the what ifs. Fitz stared down at his knee. Remembering the terror-filled scream of the girl’s father. How something had snapped inside Fitz, and he’d gone for Donnelly with everything he had. His team member was on the ground within seconds, Fitz’s fists hammering into him non-stop, no real rhyme or reason to his blows, just months of frustration and sporadic rage boiling over into a culmination that just about had Donnelly beaten to death.
Fitz had finally been pulled off by a few of the other men, and as he was dragged away, the man who played a part in the death of a child actually drew his Beretta and fired at his own team leader. A clean shot went through Fitz’s shoulder, and the other shattered his knee cap before Donnelly was wrestled down, the screams of the girl’s father playing as a backdrop. The agony in the man’s voice as he condemned Fitz’s team and Jafar to eternity with Satan would be etched on his memory forever. That curse would never be forgotten.
His hands slapped against the tiled wall of his shower as he turned the water on in an icy blast, punishing himself.
“You need to see a counselor, Carrigan. Fuck. I think we all do.”
The words of his lieutenant commander had been taken with little value. The hell was a counselor going to tell him that he didn’t already know? He was fucked. He’d always be fucked.
Fitz had no interest in parking his crippled ass in some shrink’s chair for hours on end. Combing through his sunny days as a kid, looking for something that wasn’t there. He knew what was wrong. He’d failed. Not just as a SEAL but as a son, a brother, a potential husband. He’d failed himself when he edged away from the help offered. He’d failed Zuly when he told her he didn�
��t need her. He did need her. Fitz needed her now. But he didn’t deserve her. He was a coward. A coward who needed the comfort of a woman’s arms. The whispered voice against his ear to tell him it wasn’t his fault. And he’d never get it. That was his fault.
***
Determination had Zuly up and out of bed before eight a.m. After spending most of the night thinking about what Kamilah had said, a frustration smoldered within her. Fitz was so very, very wrong. He did need her. And she needed him too. So she’d be damned if she sat back and watched him wither away to nothing, his pride causing him to stay in the comfort of having his head up his own ass.
Enough was enough. Two months was far too long for someone to stay away from family and friends, to miss the growth of their nieces and nephews, to forgo the tradition of family barbecues and camping out. Zuly was, in a word, fed up. This shit ended today.
Showering, she tossed her hair up into a ragged bun, threw on cotton shorts and a tank and slipped her feet into a pair of sneakers that she hadn’t worn since she bought them. On the way out the door, she grabbed a thermos of coffee and started for her truck. Her shift at Grant Memorial didn’t start until seven so she had plenty of time to tell Fitz exactly how she felt.
Hands tight around the steering wheel, Zuly took the back roads she knew toward Carrigan Mountain, land owned by Fitz’s family that had been passed down from generation to generation. It was usually the first male born into the Carrigan household who inherited the mountain, but the honor had been given to Fitz after his brothers all passed it up.
As a girl Zuly used to believe his cabin door was going to be the threshold he carried her across on their wedding day. She’d thought out the designs of the rooms and nurseries for their little ones. She’d thought they’d spend more nights under the stars. Wow. That was fucking sappy.
A SEAL's Heart Page 2
