One Year Home

by Marie Force

  During the short ride to the airport, which is located right in downtown San Diego, I check my messages, reading the one from Rob first.

  This is super f’d up, u guys. They’re coming home bc Ava was dreaming about John (vivid shit apparently) and they r both so upset they didn’t want to be there. WTF?!?

  Even though I already heard this from Amy, Rob’s words further illustrate how high the stakes are in this situation—for everyone involved.

  I vow to stay focused on the job at hand and not on the man at the center of the job. He is just a client, like all the others who came before him and the ones who will come after him. This job saved me after Andy called off our wedding. If I hadn’t had my work to throw myself into, I never would’ve survived the crushing disappointment, the devastation or the heartbreak.

  Under no circumstances known to man do I ever again want to feel like I did in the weeks that followed our breakup, and that’s where I’m headed if I don’t get my shit under control. I’m not a teenage girl caught in the throes of a crush on the captain of the football team. I need to stop this while I still can. The stakes are high, and self-control is the theme of this day.

  When we arrive at the airport, we’re driven directly onto the tarmac, where a military jet stands waiting. A man and woman, both in Navy uniforms, greet us, saluting John and Muncie before they take our bags and usher us toward the stairs.

  I’ve flown private with other clients on swankier planes, but this beats security lines and cramped legroom on commercial flights.

  “This is Petty Officer Matson,” the woman says, “and I’m Chief Petty Officer Schroder. We’ll be taking care of you, and may we say that it’s an honor to have you on board, Captain West.”

  “Thank you both.”

  They offer coffee and orange juice.

  I ask for coffee and so does John. Amy and Muncie want juice.

  “Does the plane have Wi-Fi?” I ask hopefully.

  “It does.” Schroder gives us the password.

  Thank God for small favors. I can keep busy with work during the four-hour-and-thirty-minute flight. I’d go crazy from the effort not to think about him if I didn’t have work to focus on.

  The four of us are seated around a table. Each of our seats has belts that we’re asked to put on for takeoff, after which our drinks will be served.

  Muncie peers out the window. “This is a very civilized way to travel.”

  “Sure does beat the C-141s and C-5s.”

  “No kidding. Those netted seats are the worst for long flights.”

  John laughs. “They’re tough on the ass. I flew ten hours once on a 141 with a coffin on the floor between the seats. We were told not to put our feet on it or otherwise use it as a coffee table during the flight.”

  Muncie chuckles. “Imagine people having to be told that.”

  “I guess they’d had experience with people using coffins as footstools.”

  Though I’m face-first in my iPad, trying to concentrate on my email, I listen to what they’re saying because I’m fascinated by every bit of insight I get into the life he’s led and the things he’s seen. His experiences are so very different from mine, so I suppose it’s only natural that I find it interesting.

  I can feel him looking at me, hoping I’ll make eye contact, but I’m not going to do that. I’m going to do my work and keep my eyes and every other part of me away from him.

  The uniform is devastating, or I should say he’s devastating in it. People are going to fall madly in love with him on this tour. He’ll be a massive star by the time it’s over and will have his pick of companions. Whatever this moment of madness is between us, it’s destined to fail for so many reasons, not the least of which is that his life is about to change in ways he can’t begin to fathom.

  It’s for the best, or so I tell myself as I answer emails about one of my highest-maintenance clients, an Instagram influencer with five million followers who’s driving my colleagues mad with her incessant needs. Welcome to my world, boys, and yes, they assigned two of my male coworkers to take care of what I usually handle on my own. I give them some pointers on how to deal with Drucilla and put them on notice that I won’t appreciate it if they screw up her account. Landing her was the biggest coup of my career before Captain West came along.

  As long as I’m worried about Drucilla and making sure her needs are met, I can avoid interacting with John or staring at him in that sexy-as-fuck uniform. I’ve never been one to go crazy over a uniform, but every hormone I have is on full alert as I fight the urge to drink in the sight of him like a thirsty fool who’s never seen a hot man before.

  My messenger app dings with a text from him. Why are you ignoring me?!

  I feel like I just stepped too close to something hot. It’s all I can do not to jolt as the humming in my ears drowns out the sound of the plane’s engines. I’m not.

  Yes, you are.

  Sorry, just got some other clients needing me today.

  I need you today. I’m freaking out about all of this.

  You’re going to be great. You’re ready and the uniform is… God, how can I say this without sounding like a tenth-grader in heat?

  What? Is something wrong with it? I’m required to wear it when I travel for the Navy.

  There is NOTHING wrong with it.

  He doesn’t reply right away, and I stare at the screen, almost willing him to say something. After what feels like an hour has passed, I see the telltale bubbles that indicate he’s writing back.

  So you LIKE the uniform?

  That’s one way to put it…

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see his face light up with a smile, and it’s all I can do not to sigh. I know this is a very difficult situation, but I want you to know…

  WHAT?! What do you want me to know? My brain goes completely haywire as I wait for him to finish that thought.

  Having you around makes me feel better than I have in a very long time.

  I almost wish he didn’t tell me that. What can I say that would properly convey how those words make me feel? I can’t go there, so I only say, Thank you.

  No, thank you. For everything.

  You might not be thanking me after a few days in NY.

  Nothing that happens there is your fault. I blame the Navy for all the negative aspects of this mission.

  At least it will be more deluxe than the last one. The Navy has spared no expense in putting us up at the freaking Four Seasons. I told Marcie that I could stay at my place, and she said I should do what the Navy wants me to do, so I’m staying at the hotel. It’s probably just as well since there’re always issues to contend with on tours of this magnitude—or so I’ve heard from colleagues who’ve done them. In addition to the primo lodging, they gave John and Muncie credit cards for any expenses they incur, and when Muncie asked what the spending limit was, they said there wasn’t one. That, Muncie told me, is unprecedented in his twelve years in the Navy.

  I receive another text from John. Anything is more deluxe than that was, but you’re right. That part won’t suck.

  You should try to relax and enjoy the adventure. You deserve all the attention and acclaim you’ll receive, and it’s a great chance for you to highlight the ultimate sacrifices your friends made as well as those your fellow servicemembers make on a daily basis.

  Very true. I look forward to that opportunity. Are you going to avoid me the whole time we’re on the trip or just for the flight when your sister is watching you like a hawk?

  I’m not avoiding you.

  Whatever you say.

  What happened last night… I’m almost afraid to put it into words that could be shared, not that he’d ever do that. But I’ve learned to be wary. Can’t happen again. I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t want it to… It’s just very complicated, as you know. My finger hovers over the Send button for a long moment before I press it. Once the words are out there, they can’t be unsaid, or unsent, in this case.

  He doesn’t re
ply, and I’m not sure what to make of that. For now, I decide to leave well enough alone. I told him the truth and intend to follow through. Everything Amy said to me earlier is true. My relationships with my siblings are too important to risk by juggling the dynamite-laden situation this would be with him. Especially since Eric and Ava are having problems related to him and cut short their honeymoon as a result.

  The last thing they need is me making things even more complicated for them by developing feelings for Ava’s ex—or acting on them.

  But if I’m being totally honest with myself—and what’s the point of lying to yourself?—I’d have to say that sometimes being selfless gets old. I’m constantly concerned about the feelings of other people—my clients, my boss, my siblings, my friends. When is it my turn to be concerned about my own feelings?

  Not now, that’s for sure. When I think about what Ava went through as a result of this man and how hard she fought for her happy ending with Eric, there’s no way I can justify the fact that my mouth is dry, my heart is racing, my ears are ringing with that damned humming noise, and all I can think about is how he feels better when I’m around. I do that for him. I give him something he needs, and…

  And I was better off before I knew that.

  After getting to know him, all I want is for him to feel better about the terrible losses he’s sustained. I want him to sleep through the night without the nightmares that plague him. I want him to recover his once-formidable strength and to walk with ease on the prosthetic without the crutches he hates so much. I want him to be happy, because God knows the man has earned the right to as much happiness as he can possibly find.

  I want all that for him, but I don’t want it at the expense of everything else I hold dear, and that would be the price of admission to his life as anything more than his media rep. That’s all I can be to him, and that has to be enough for both of us.

  But when I venture a glance at him across the table, I find those shockingly blue eyes watching me with an intensity that’s never been directed my way by any man, even the one I almost married. I realize that even though I have a plan in place to keep things platonic between us, he’s going to take some convincing.

  Chapter Sixteen

  JOHN

  I haven’t been in New York City in years, but it’s just like I remember—dirty, crowded, congested and vibrant, with the kind of energy you can’t find anywhere else. It’s a madhouse. I take it all in through the backseat window of the car service that fetched us from Teterboro, the airport in New Jersey where we landed.

  “Home sweet home,” Amy says as we cross one of the many bridges that lead into Manhattan.

  I’m not sure which bridge it is, but they would know. I don’t care enough to ask. However, I do have other questions. “How can you stand to live here?”

  “Um, well, it’s home to us,” Amy says. “I love it. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.”

  As I watch the city whiz by, the graffiti, the litter, the chaos, I can’t imagine being here all the time. “I would go mad here after a week or two.”

  “You’d get used to it,” Amy says.

  “No, I wouldn’t.”

  “I don’t know if I would either,” Muncie says. “I get why people love to visit, but I don’t think I could live here.”

  “I didn’t think I could,” Jules says tentatively. “At first. I was so scared to go anywhere by myself for the first six months.”

  “You were?” Amy seems astounded. “You never said that.”

  Jules shrugs. “I didn’t want you guys to think I was a wimp.”

  “Too late. We already thought that.”

  I want to defend her. I want to say she’s the furthest thing from a wimp. She’s fearless, as far as I can tell, but I suspect my defense would be unwelcome.

  Jules laughs and elbows her sister. “Shut up.”

  She doesn’t need me or anyone to defend her. She’s got this. Besides, she’s probably used to her siblings picking on her, even if I’m not.

  “But you do get used to it after a while,” Jules adds.

  “I wouldn’t.” There are few things in this new life that I’m sure of. That’s one of them. Give me the laid-back vibe of San Diego over this zoo any day.

  “I like that you can get anything you want any time you want,” Jules says. “Tacos in the middle of the night? No problem. Sushi for breakfast? We’ve got that.”

  I make a note of the fact that she likes tacos in the middle of the night and sushi for breakfast.

  “And the pizza!” Amy says.

  “To die for.”

  I feel Jules’s shiver of pleasure everywhere, including my cock, which makes me want to shout out a “welcome back to the party” for the second time in as many days. I’ve missed him. That said, I’m well aware that this isn’t the time or the place for him to make his presence known.

  From the minute we arrive at the Four Seasons, I get a firsthand demonstration of what my life is going to be like going forward. Now, mind you, it certainly doesn’t suck to be upgraded to the Presidential Suite with the hotel’s thanks for a job very well done. I can live with that. But the staring, the gawking, the silent screaming, the autograph seekers—that’s going to take some getting used to. Muncie told me the Navy brass figured I’d be left alone if they put me somewhere like the Four Seasons. They figured wrong. Everyone has something to say to me, from the bellman who greets us to the registration desk people to the woman standing next to us at the desk to the guy who brings the luggage up for us even after we tell him we can do it ourselves. They’re not having that.

  We take the elevator to the fifty-first floor, and the luggage guy talks to us the whole way up. I catch Jules’s eyes and roll mine to let her know what I think of the star treatment. I can tell she wants to giggle, but she doesn’t. She’s a consummate professional, as always.

  “Right this way, Captain West.”

  The man is wearing a uniform with brass buttons and flourishes that makes mine look shabby. Maybe I can get a job as a hotel bellman after I retire. I do like wearing a uniform.

  He throws open the doors to a suite that defies description. I’ve never seen anything like it, certainly never stayed anywhere that could compare. I’m astounded by what have to be twelve-foot windows, the baby grand piano, luxurious furnishings and the view of the entire south half of Manhattan. As he gives us a tour of the terraces, a bedroom and deluxe bathroom with a tub that Jules says she could live in, I try not to think about recording Fallon later this afternoon. I’m following her advice to take things a minute at a time and try to enjoy the adventure.

  “You’re welcome to use it while we’re here,” I try not to picture her naked and covered by bubbles in my tub.

  “I may take you up on that.”

  I glance at her in time to see the perturbed look Amy sends her way.

  “I hate to say it,” Amy says, “but I have to go. Back to reality tomorrow. I’ve got to get home and get my act together.”

  “Will we see you before we leave?” Muncie sounds hopeful.

  “Oh, um, sure. We can make that happen.”

  “Let’s do dinner some night soon.” I make the suggestion even though I’m kind of glad Amy won’t be here to keep Jules in check. I don’t like her in check. I like her the way she was last night when she was clinging to me and kissing me.

  “Good luck tonight and with the other interviews, John, and thank you again for what you did for all of us.” Amy surprises me when she goes up on tiptoes to kiss my cheek. “I’ll text you later,” she says to Jules on her way out of the suite.

  “I, um, I should get settled in my room.” Jules grasps the handle of her suitcase. “We have to leave at four for the taping.”

  It’s just after two now, time to take a nap or get in a workout. I’d rather have the workout, but I don’t have time for that and a shower, and I don’t want to go on national TV looking like shit. “Do you want to get some food?” In addition to my libido re
awakening, I’m also actually hungry.

  “We can order room service.” Muncie grins like a loon. “It’s on Uncle Sam.”

  “Sure.” Jules gives a thumbs up.. “That sounds good.”

  “I’ll find the menu.”

  Muncie leaves us alone in the huge bedroom that includes a king-size bed. I glance at it, wishing we had nothing but time and none of the complications that make the most exciting thing to happen to me in a long time also the most impossible thing.

  All at once, Jules seems to realize where we are, what I’m thinking and that we’re alone. “I should put my stuff in my room.”

  “Don’t go.”

  She looks down, takes a deep breath and then seems to force herself to look at me. “Please don’t. I just can’t, John.”

  I hear her when she says she can’t. But I see that she wants to.

  * * *

  JULIANNE

  I’m a mess from that charged few seconds in the bedroom of his suite when I caught him staring at the king-size bed like a man who hasn’t had sex in six years. Surely in all that time, there must’ve been someone… But recalling how heartbroken he was over losing Ava, I’m all but certain there hasn’t been anyone, and that realization does nothing to bank the fire that flares inside me.

  I’ve completely lost control of this situation and can’t even begin to pretend otherwise.

  Two needy, hungry words from him—don’t go—shredded me and dissolved my self-control. I wanted to throw myself at him, wrap my arms around him and give him everything he’ll ever need for the rest of his life.

  I want to give him everything, and I don’t give a flying fuck about all the reasons why that’s the worst thing I could ever do. I don’t care about Eric or Ava or my career or my reputation or anything other than whatever he needs. So, yeah… out of control much?