Last True Hero

by Diana Gardin

  I don’t break the magnetic hold of her gaze, but I need to clarify what she’s just asked me.

  “Where, Berkeley? Where do you want me to touch you? Ask me fucking anything. I’ll do it.”

  My words draw a ragged breath from her, but she keeps my gaze steady in hers. Then I feel her hand moving between us, and I glance down.

  Berkeley is unzipping the tiny pair of shorts she’s wearing.

  Jesus Christ.

  “Touch me,” she says again.

  I will never, ever make her ask me twice again.

  I cradle her head with one hand, trailing the other down her ribs, her stomach, and past the top of her panties. They’re purple, with a lacy front that lets me see everything going on underneath.

  She gasps as my finger draws down slowly, until I can feel the dampness, the heat radiating from the softest parts of her.

  Goddamn. I want this girl.

  I close my eyes, because she just feels too amazing. Dipping beneath the thin fabric, my finger slips inside her.

  “Dare!” She jerks violently, and I lay my lips to hers.

  “Shhhh,” I whisper. “I got you, honey.”

  Her breath is coming in pants as I use the heel of my hand to rub against the bundle of nerves that I know will slowly drive her insane. I keep whispering in her ear, and I keep rubbing, and I keep the finger inside her thrusting until she’s a quivering mess of noises in my arms.

  “I…Dare…fuck,” she murmurs.

  Shit. That statement nearly makes me lose my shit right then and there, but I keep it together. This is about her, not me.

  One more thrust with my finger and she’s falling. Right into pieces in my arms, and I’m there to catch her.

  I always plan to be there to catch her.

  Somehow, bringing Berkeley pleasure leaves my knees feeling weak, my body poised and tensed for more. But we both have some kind of unspoken promise to…wait. Berkeley’s body calls to me like she’s got my number memorized by heart. She fits perfectly into my hands, molds magically into the plane of my chest. My imagination runs away with me. What will she feel like when they’re no barriers between us? Just Berkeley? The thought sends my pulse racing, sets my blood on fire. My body desperately needs to know the answer to that question. My head can wait.

  Later, when we’re snuggled together in a sleeping bag inside my tent, she yawns and her voice is a barely there whisper.

  “Dare?”

  “Yes, baby.” The nickname rolls off my tongue like I’ve been using it forever. In fact, I’ve never used it.

  “How is it possible that you’re making me feel safe and free all at the same time?”

  My breath catches. She’s freaking incredible. I kiss her cheek as her breathing evens and deepens. She won’t hear my answer if I give it, and I know it wasn’t a question she needed an answer to anyway.

  I wish that falling asleep with a smile on my face was a guaranteed way to keep the nightmares away.

  It isn’t.

  18

  Berkeley

  Dare?”

  It’s morning again, and we all know how functional I am at this hour. What hour? Any hour with the letters a.m. directly following.

  So I’m groggy and confused when I feel his body convulsing beside me.

  “Dare?” I say again, louder.

  Holy crap. It’s his PTSD. He’s having a nightmare, and he can’t wake up from it.

  I shove him onto his back from his side and climb on top of him. His eyes are squeezed shut tight, and he’s mumbling in his sleep as his body shakes with violent tremors.

  “Dare!” I scream it now. “Wake up!”

  His arms reach up, and he grabs my shoulders. Hard. I gasp with the force of it, but then use my palm to slap him across the face. Also hard.

  His eyes fly open, wild and panicked. The brilliantly clear green draws me in as his glance darts to his hands still gripping my shoulders. His eyes widen and he instantly releases me.

  “Shit, Berkeley! I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Did I hurt you? Shit.”

  I shake my head firmly, not even considering that there’s a tiny hint of pain where his hands gripped me so firmly. It doesn’t matter. He matters, and so does the pain he’s in.

  “I’m fine.” I shake my head dismissively. “Have you talked about them?”

  He slowly sits up, gripping my hips to keep me seated on his lap. “Talked about what?”

  “The dreams. Did you talk about them when you were in therapy? You must have done some therapy after your injury, right?”

  He eyes me warily, and silence stretches out between us like a rope. I grasp the end of it, pulling myself back to him before he’s able to retreat from my question.

  “They’re not going to stop, Dare. Not unless you share them.”

  I read the panicked look in his eyes and instantly soften my tone. “I’m here. When you’re ready to talk about them. Okay? I can listen.”

  He keeps his eyes locked on me, and then finally runs a hand through his disheveled hair. He nods tiredly. “Yeah. Maybe one day.”

  I tilt my head to the side, assessing him. “One day soon?”

  He hesitates and averts his gaze. When he looks up again, he looks sadly at my shoulders. I glance down to see I have red marks where his fingers gripped me. No bruising will result, and I don’t want him to worry about that. I grip his chin in my hand.

  “Hey,” I say firmly. “You didn’t hurt me, Dare. But you are hurting. Every night in your dreams. And that’s not okay with me. Let me help you.”

  I can see the torrent of emotions as they flicker through his eyes one by one. I know he’s never talked about the things that haunt him at night. He’s gone through something so awful he can’t even spill the words from his lips. But if he doesn’t find a way to expel it, it will consume him. I’m certain of that. And I can’t sit around and watch it happen, now that I know him.

  “I don’t want to drag you into my hell, Berkeley,” he finally says. His voice is soft and sad. It causes a painful ache to spread through my chest that doesn’t even compare to the slight sting in my shoulders. “It’s…they’re my demons to battle, not yours.”

  I reach out and run my fingers though his hair, settling my hands on the back of his neck. Leaning my forehead against his, I say, “Your demons are now my demons.”

  The troubled expression that flits across his eyes gives me pause, but before I can comment it’s gone. Maybe I imagined it.

  “Breakfast?” I say hopefully.

  He nods, pulling me up and out of bed with a devastating, lopsided smile.

  I creep into the house, shutting the door behind me as quietly as I can. I’m not exactly hiding that I spent the night out once again, but my mother doesn’t need to see me coming in the house looking all sleepy and disheveled, either.

  “Good morning, Berkeley.”

  I whip around at the sound of the Admiral’s voice, and my blood freezes in my veins. He’s standing just inside the entryway, his arms folded casually over his chest as he leans against the paneled wall.

  “Oh, good morning, Daddy,” I stutter. His presence is…unexpected. So much so that I fumble for words.

  “You were out early this morning,” he remarks. His tone is still casual, but it’s taken on an edge that alerts me: he knows exactly what’s what. “Or should I say you were out late last night?”

  My face falls, my eyes scanning the ground in front of me, as if I’m an errant child who’s been caught stealing a cookie.

  Then I straighten. I shouldn’t have to feel this way. I’m an adult, and adults don’t need to explain to their parents where they’re sleeping. Even if one of said parents is a scary, all-powerful commander in the U.S. Navy.

  “Since I was out so late, I just decided to wait and come home this morning. No big deal, Daddy.” I attempt aloofness as I walk past him toward the stairs. The small smile that plays on my father’s face nearly brings me to a halt, but I continue up the staircase anyway, wo
ndering what in the world he could be smiling about this morning.

  I’m still thinking about it when I open my bedroom door, because the Admiral should have been way more pissed about the fact that I spent the night out and he had no idea where I was. Maybe Momma told him I’m seeing someone. That seems unlikely, because—

  “So you’re sleeping with him now?”

  The accusatory tone in Grisham’s voice, actually the fact that Grisham’s voice is coming from my normally empty bedroom at all, rips a shrill shriek from my mouth as I enter the rom.

  “What the hell, Grish? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” I clutch at my chest as I stare openmouthed at him.

  His blond hair is falling handsomely across his forehead, and it shifts slightly as he shakes his head. His chiseled face is shadowed, and he frowns at me slightly. He’s not even a little bit apologetic that he just scared the bejesus out of me.

  “Where have you been?” he demands instead. “Your parents said I could wait for you up here when I came to take you to breakfast this morning. But they didn’t have a clue where you were. That’s not safe, Berkeley.”

  I sigh, moving toward the bed and plopping down beside him. “I was safe, Grisham. I was with Dare.”

  “The guy I met the other night? Shit, Berkeley!” My eyes widen slightly because Grisham’s never once cursed at me. “All night? I knew you were talking to the guy, but you’re spending the night with him now? I don’t even understand you right now!”

  I inspect his angry face carefully before I speak. Me spending the night with a guy shouldn’t make Grisham flip out like this. There’s something else going on. There has to be. “What’s wrong, Grish?”

  He turns away from me, toward the window. Then he stands and walks over to it, staring out at the ocean beyond. Agitated, he runs a hand through his hair, and then turns to face me.

  “After next week when I go to San Diego, we’ll be the farthest away from each other we’ve ever been, Berkeley. That means something to me. We’ve been best friends since we were babies. Can you make some time for me? I want to…be with you as much as possible before I leave. Is that too much to ask?”

  My mouth falls open, and then the guilt sets in, tensing all the muscles in my body like tightly wrapped coils. I nod silently, just staring at the beautiful boy-turned-man who’s always been here for me. I could never turn down his request, and I don’t even want to. There’s too much history with Grish and me to leave him hanging now.

  “Of course, Grish,” I say feebly. “I want to spend as much time as possible with you, too. I’m sorry…I haven’t been thinking straight lately. I’m off work today. What do you want to do?”

  A golden smile lights up his face, crinkling his eyes at the corners, and I smile back gratefully in return. Grisham has always forgiven my fallacies as if they were merely sand sifting through his fingers. No matter what happens, how far our parents go to try and control us, I know he’s my rock. I want to be the same for him.

  “I want to go surfing,” he states.

  I sigh. Just imagining the bruises I’ll acquire while trying to remain standing on a long board make me cringe. I am not athletic.

  I repeat, I am not athletic.

  Grisham knows this but takes every opportunity he can to get me on a board. I’m suddenly glad he’s moving to a place where he doesn’t have to lose surfing.

  “Of course you do.”

  He grins. “I’m going to run home and get changed, then I’ll come back and pick you up. We’ll go to that spot I love, behind the Morocoke Dunes. Be ready in an hour. You still have the wet suit I gave you?”

  His smile is infectious, and I can’t help but return it. “Still have it. See you in an hour, Grish.”

  As soon as he leaves my bedroom, I flop down on my bed and groan. I’m happy about spending the day with Grisham, but I wish we were doing something that wasn’t going to leave me black and blue.

  Then I think of Dare. Shoot. I won’t be around all day. Should I tell him that I’m going surfing with Grisham? Judging from the way he reacted when he found me with Grisham at the bar the other night, he wouldn’t be thrilled about the fact I’ll be alone with him all day.

  Oh, well. Dare is going to have to get used to it. Grisham is my best friend. And he’s leaving soon. I’ll have to be around him.

  But I let my phone stay put on the nightstand. I’m not in any hurry to inform Dare of my day’s plans.

  I jump as my phone chimes. I stare at it suspiciously. Is Dare psychic?

  I lean over and read the words on the screen. When I see Mea’s name, I relax.

  Want to meet me at Smash tonight for drinks and dancing? You can bring Dare. Or…Grisham? Girl, I can’t keep up.

  I glare at my phone. Mea is so not funny. My fingers whip across the letter keys as I type my response.

  Oh, you are hilarious. Can you wait a minute while I stop laughing? YES, Smash sounds good. I’ll ask DARE if he wants to come.

  There, that should work. I’m spending the day surfing with Grisham, but I’ll be dancing the night away with Dare at Smash if he wants. Everyone should be appeased.

  Maybe the next week, before Grisham’s departure, won’t be as tough to navigate as I thought.

  19

  Dare

  I put my phone down on the workbench beside me, smiling as I imagine spending the night on a dance floor with Berkeley in my arms. I texted her to ask what she was doing with herself today, but I haven’t heard back yet. She has the day off work, and I hope she’s spending it relaxing and not worrying too much about her parents and their lame expectations.

  Berkeley is such a free spirit. I’ve learned that about her in just the short time I’ve known her intimately, and her parents should be slapped in the face repeatedly for not respecting that. Trying to make Berkeley into something she isn’t is almost criminal, and I’m going to have a hard time keeping my thoughts to myself at that garden party in a few weeks. My mind flies away from me as I think back to the art she’d shown me at her university. She is so damn talented, and everything she touches becomes beautiful and perfect.

  “Oh, God,” says Drake. He slides up next to where I’m sitting on the garage floor on a little red stool. “You’re thinking about Berkeley, aren’t you? Shit, Dare, there’s heavy-ass machinery you’re working with in here. Get your head on straight.”

  His tone is half-teasing, half-serious. “I got this, Drake. Mind your own business. And if you’re jealous of Berkeley, you can just say it. You don’t have to pretend you’re worried about me dropping a Chevy on my head.”

  I shoot him an understanding smile, and he slaps me in the back of the head. “Not jealous. She can keep you, for all I care.”

  “I love you, too, Drake,” I say with syrup in my voice. “Hug it out?”

  He shakes his head as he rolls away to where he’s rotating the tires on a Fiat. “There’s something seriously wrong with you.”

  “I’m getting therapy,” I promise him. “Her name is Berkeley, and she’s hot. Hey, you want to go to some club called Smash with us tonight?”

  He narrows his eyes. “Just you and Berkeley?”

  I shrug. “I bet Chase will want to come. And her friend Mea will be there. I’m guessing some other girls, maybe.” I raise my voice a little. “Hey, Will! Bring me a monkey wrench, will you?”

  Drake cocks his head to the side. “Is her friend Mea hot?”

  Considering, I think of Mea’s light brown skin and exotic, almond-shaped eyes. Her wild curly hair is similar to Berkeley’s, but a dark chocolate brown instead of honey-blond. It’s hard for me to see past Berkeley when I’m with her, but I’m not blind enough to have missed Mea’s contemporary beauty.

  I nod. “Yep.”

  Drake gives me one of his enormous grins, and I picture Mea being blinded by it. It could be good, him meeting her tonight. “Then I’m all over it.”

  “Okay, but you’re not going to be all over Mea, right?” I’m suddenly nervo
us that Drake alienating Mea with a love-her-and-leave-her magic act might be dangerous for my own relationship with Berkeley.

  “Right.” If his grin could get any wider, it just did. Shit. Now I’ll have to babysit not only my wild-card brother, but also my commitment-phobic best friend. The upcoming night is looking less shiny and fun and more tedious already.

  “Can I come?” asks Will from where he’s searching the drawers of the tall tool cabinet against the nearest wall.

  “Fuck, no!” answer Drake and I in unison.

  After work, Drake and I shower, change, and grab a quick bite in the kitchen with Chase before we all head out in my F-250. It means I won’t be able to drink more than a beer or two, but it’s better than folding my long body into the Challenger.

  “You know you’re being ridiculous about my car, right?” Drake flicks a glance in my direction from the front seat. “It’s big enough for your tall ass.”

  I keep my eyes on the road as I reply. “You’re just saying that because you’re short.”

  He chokes, and I reach over and pound his massive chest with my fist. “I’m not short, Dare. Six feet tall isn’t short.”

  I humor him with a smile. “Okay, big guy. Chase, you good back there?”

  Chase has his long legs stretched out behind the passenger seat. I glance in the rearview, and he gives me a thumbs-up.

  “What does Mea look like?” asks Drake, redirecting my attention.

  “You’ll see in a minute,” I reply. “This isn’t a double date, Drake. Be cool.”

  “This is funny. You, telling me to be cool?”

  I ignore him as I pull into the packed parking lot at Smash. I inspect myself before we walk toward the line wrapping around the front of the building. I’ve chosen a plain black T-shirt and dark jeans and a pair of charcoal-colored boots with a light dusting of scuff marks on the toes.

  Chase’s attire is similar, but Drake’s decked out in a long-sleeved button-down with blue-and-white pinstripes and designer, faded blue jeans. His crisp white Steve Madden casual sneakers are accented with navy blue, and the cologne he wears could probably be identified by name by most of the girls in this club. I shake my head at him, amused. Drake takes style very seriously.