by LJ Evans
I looked over to find Tristan watching me.
“My mom hung them. I couldn’t…” She shook her head against the tremble of tears and emotion. “I don’t think I ever would have put them up. But now that she’s done it, I can’t make myself take them down.”
I swallowed the majority of the water bottle before finding a seat in the armchair with Molly. The armchair had always been my spot, even when Darren was still alive. They’d sat cuddled together on the couch like they were one creature instead of two.
“Why are you here?” she asked again, a baby’s sleeper left unfolded in her lap.
“You know why I’m here,” I said.
“I don’t need you to take care of me.”
“Need or not, I owe it to―”
“Don’t you dare say it,” she cut me off, dropping the clothes back in the pile, standing, and marching toward the stairs. “You don’t. Whatever he asked you…he wouldn’t want it to be this. He’d want you to find your own life. Your own person.”
She was crying. I’d made her cry, and the guilt hit me hard. Drunk, I wasn’t as good at holding back the guilt or the emotions I normally held behind my blank mask.
“It should have been me,” I croaked out.
“No. It shouldn’t have been anyone,” she said, tears running down her face. “But it was. We lost all of them, Nash, for some stupid political power move. It can’t be taken back. It can’t be fixed. We don’t get those kinds of do-overs in life.”
She finished her way up the stairs, and I leaned back in the chair, closing my eyes. Molly let out a little whimper and rested her head on my thigh.
Things that couldn’t be fixed. No do-overs.
It was exactly what the commander had said when I asked if he wanted me to apologize for hitting Dainty. I hadn’t realized the kid was so well connected. No wonder he’d made the SEALs with a broken ego. Someone hadn’t wanted to piss off the general.
I was well and truly screwed.
Dani
WARRIOR
“Out of the ashes, I'm burning like a fire,
You can save your apologies, you're nothing but a liar,
I've got shame, I've got scars,
That I will never show.”
Performed by Demi Lovato
Written by Lovato / Goldstein / Kiriakou / Robbins
I woke covered in sweat. Another dream. A nightmare. Ever since the ride in the elevator a week ago, I hadn’t been able to escape it on a nightly basis. It hadn’t been this bad in a while. I’d mostly had it under control. But maybe it was the overall change in my life that was cueing it up like a string of horror movies for my nightly review.
Initially, reliving what had happened with Fenway during the police investigation and the talks with the district attorney had made me feel powerful in a way his attack had taken from me. It wasn’t until later―after he’d taken the plea deal and the news had died down―that the reminders of how helpless I’d been began haunting me.
Had sent me to a therapist.
Like the therapist had told me to do, I tried to push aside the sense of panic and remember that I had gotten the elevator doors to open. I’d escaped, even though the nightmares caused my brain to go to places reality hadn’t. In those dark moments, I couldn’t run at all, and I’d never made it to the bathroom where Mac had found me.
I threw the covers off my bed.
I wouldn’t lie there, allowing my thoughts to spiral. Not again.
I donned my exercise gear, grabbed my phone and my keys, and headed out of the house to the tennis club my family had belonged to since the beginning of time. I’d spend my morning in the fitness room, building my body up and not tearing it down.
Since I’d retreated to my childhood home in Delaware from D.C., I’d spent every morning at the clubhouse. I usually did an hour or two of spin class and weights followed by a round or two of tennis with anyone willing to play. Sometimes it was just me and the ball machine, but it got me up and moving.
I was trying to think of my time at home as a vacation. I was using it to unwind. But the truth was, I was already bored. It was what I got for quitting before I had something lined up to jump into. I just hadn’t been able to stomach another fall at the Capitol.
When I returned home from the club, Mom found me drinking water in the kitchen. I knew almost verbatim what she was going to say, and I couldn’t help the smirk that hit my face when she asked, “Want me to make you something to eat?”
I shook my head.
She’d asked me the same thing every day I’d been home. She knew I couldn’t cook much more than mac and cheese from a box. It had never been my strong suit. That was all Bee. My middle sister was like the offspring of Martha Stewart and Reese Witherspoon combined. Perfect in ways that seemed almost comical. The only thing not perfect about her life was her weasel of a husband.
“You barely eat anything,” Mom said. It wasn’t true. I was eating. I loved to eat. It was more like she felt the need to cook for me, as if mothering me was going to fix all the pieces of my life that were still bouncing around. She took out the cornmeal. “I’m making cornbread for dinner, but I can whip up some cornmeal pancakes if you want.”
It was close to lunchtime, but cornmeal pancakes were comfort food, and I was tempted to let her do it. Then, I shook my head. “Honestly, I’m good. Gabi and Bee have the entire day planned. I wouldn’t want to ruin my appetite for whatever it is they have on deck.”
“I forgot you were spending the day with your sisters. I’m glad.”
What she didn’t add on was that she was glad to see me emerge from the house for something besides working out. What I really wanted to do was lie in bed with my computer and finish binge-watching the new season of Fighting for the Stars that I’d missed while wrapping up things on The Hill. But I’d promised Gabi a girls’ night.
I kissed Mom on the cheek and headed upstairs to shower and get ready.
I stared into my closet, trying to find an outfit that would not only go from the nail salon to shopping to Friday night out but was also in a color that would ward off Bee and her criticisms. It was a lot to expect of one outfit. My phone buzzed.
MAC: Have you heard from Tristan?
ME: Not today, why?
Tristan had come back to Delaware last year after losing her husband, Darren, on a black op with his SEAL team. Even though I hadn’t known her well, I’d given her my number so she wouldn’t feel quite so alone. Having her parents in the same town as her was a blessing and a curse, because sometimes you just couldn’t tell your parents what you were really feeling. Like me with my mom. I would never tell her about my nightmares because I couldn’t put her through the same what-ifs that I lived with daily.
MAC: Nash almost got court-martialed.
My brain stalled, as it always did, on Nash’s name. Thoughts of the dark-haired, green-eyed SEAL were good at raising goosebumps on my flesh. His square jaw and hooded gaze had burned themselves into my brain from the very first moment we’d met. It was completely and absolutely the wrong reaction because, as Mac’s friend, there was no way I could justify a night of hot and heavy with him. Even when a night of steam was exactly what I needed.
I shook my head clear of the tan-skinned warrior’s image in order to focus on the court-martial.
ME: What happened?
MAC: He hit one of his new team members yesterday.
The SEALs were Nash’s life, and if they kicked him out after everything he’d gone through since losing his best friend and teammate, he’d really be a mess.
ME: Did they discharge him?
MAC: No. He has to see a psychiatrist to sign off on his mental state, and they put him back on training duty until a new spot comes open on a team.
ME: Nash actually told you all this?
MAC: No! HE DIDN’T. I’ve been trying to get hold of him, but he hasn’t responded to any of my texts or calls.
The only
place Nash would be was with Tristan.
ME: I’ll text her and let you know what I hear.
I sat down on my bed, thumbing out the message.
ME: Hey, lady. Did you wind up with an unwanted guest last night?
TRISTAN: ** Eyeroll GIF ** How did you know?
ME: Mac is worried about him.
TRISTAN: Tell Mac he can have him.
I knew she didn’t mean it. She loved Nash in her own way. As much as she wouldn’t admit it, I thought he and the baby were the only reasons she’d survived the last year.
ME: Tell him to call my brother before Mac loses his shit.
TRISTAN: Who’s going to keep me from losing my shit?
If she came out with my sisters and me, it would give her a momentary escape from the broody man. Plus, I’d have an excuse to bail when Bee pushed all my buttons.
ME: Is he in any shape to watch Hannah? Or can you get your mom to watch her?
TRISTAN: My parents are in Florida with my sister. I don’t know about Nash, why?
ME: My sisters are dragging me out to a girls’ night.
TRISTAN: Aw. Good. You need to let loose.
ME: Um. You’ve met my sisters. It’s hardly going to be a stand-on-the-bar-and-shake-your-butt-in-a-guy’s-face kind of night.
TRISTAN: ** Falling on the floor laughing GIF ** I can’t imagine you doing any of that.
ME: Come meet up with us. Pleeeeasssseee.
TRISTAN: I don’t really feel up to a night out.
Like this was anything new. I wasn’t sure she’d done anything for herself in the year since Darren had been gone. But I could also, one hundred percent, empathize with it.
ME: Me either! This is why I need you! We can bail early.
TRISTAN: I don’t think it’s a good idea.
ME: I promise I’ll have you home before ten.
No response. I didn’t want to push, but I’d be happy to have her along. She’d be enough of a distraction to keep Bee from harping on me, and that would keep me from saying something I couldn’t take back.
I was in and out of the shower before the response came.
TRISTAN: Okay. But why don’t you come home with me? I want to finish your portrait.
I grimaced. It felt like a steep price—not going home with her, but sitting for a portrait I hadn’t even known she’d started. But I’d do it if it meant getting her out of the house with me. I shot a message to her, agreeing, and one to Mac, confirming the whereabouts of his misplaced friend.
Six hours later, I was on the dance floor with my sisters and Tristan. Gabi and I had dragged the other two with us when our favorite Rihanna song had come on. The dance space wasn’t huge, nor was it overly crowded like the clubs in D.C. It was low-key enough that the four of us, dancing wildly, were drawing a bit of unwanted attention from the locals.
“I need a drink,” I said as the song ended. We made our way back to the table we’d been monopolizing in the corner.
I ordered another round of drinks along with more appetizers to help absorb the alcohol we’d all been consuming with the exception of Tristan. She’d stuck to soda all night. As the waiter walked away, I couldn’t help but stare at his tight jeans, thinking just how nicely they fit his perfectly shaped derriere.
Bee slapped my arm. “Stop staring,” she said with a hiss.
Gabi’s and my eyes locked, and we started laughing.
“He’s got a really nice ass. It’s kind of hard not to stare,” Gabi said.
“You never act this way when Dani isn’t with us,” Bee pouted.
“You never used to be so prudish,” Gabi tossed back. “Do you remember the time you and Zane went skinny-dipping in the pool, and Dani found you?”
“We don’t talk about it, Cheetos Breath,” Bee said, but her lips were quirking slightly, the age-old nickname for Gabi, who’d eaten the snack ‘til she puked, coming easily to her mouth.
“God, Zane had a nice butt,” I said, but it was the wrong thing to say, because Bee’s smile turned into a frown.
“You used to drool all over him,” Bee said drily.
I shrugged. “He was the only one of your friends who was nice to me. Everyone else treated me like a leper.”
“They did not. You were just uncomfortable with your gangly self. You hadn’t grown into your legs, and you’d had to chop off your hair after the whole gum incident,” Bee said with an eye-roll.
It was partly true. I had been uncomfortable with myself in high school. A true ugly duckling waiting to turn into a swan. But most of Bee’s friends had been cruel about it, calling me names like “dorky giraffe,” or “bookish giraffe,” or “giraffe girl.” I hadn’t realized how much of an inner versus outer journey the transition to swan was until after high school. It was part of the reason I hated how the incident with Fenway made me feel. Like I was no longer in control of myself or how people perceived me when I’d fought so hard to create the image I presented to the world.
Thinking of Fenway made me reach for my drink. I deserved to forget him for a few hours.
I turned to Tristan, who’d been watching us all quietly, a small smile on her lips.
“Sorry,” I told her with a shrug.
“Don’t be sorry. My sister, Bailey, and I are the same way when we get together,” Tristan replied. “Right now, she’s no fun because she just had triplets.”
“Oh my God,” Bee breathed out. “How is she even alive? I have one and don’t know how I stay sane.”
It was a lie. Bee was as perfect of a mother as she was at everything else in her life.
“Dani says you’ve been doing a lot of painting?” Gabi asked, turning the focus away from Bee, who would monopolize every conversation if she was allowed.
Tristan nodded. “Yeah. I’m slowly getting back into the swing of it while Hannah is asleep.”
“You should let me promote it on social media for you,” I told her. I had nothing better to do these days.
“I’m not sure I’m ready for that,” Tristan replied just as Bee snorted and said, “That’s not a job, Dani.”
I bit my tongue and my urge to flip her off. Bee would never understand why I’d walked away from D.C. In her opinion, Whittakers didn’t quit; they only moved upward and onward.
“There’s a position open in marketing at DuPont,” Gabi said to me. “If you give me your résumé, I can make sure it gets to the right people.”
My stomach revolted. I had no desire to work with my sisters at DuPont. It would be high school all over again. Me following in their perfect footsteps. No, thank you. I was shaking my head no, but Bee was already all over it.
“I forgot about that position. It’s not entry-level, so I don’t know if they’d take you, but it doesn’t hurt to try,” Bee said.
I just stared at her. She thought I was only qualified for an entry-level position? I was the most senior staff member on Senator Matherton’s team, other than Granddad. I’d helped coordinate his staff, his campaign, and his legislative proposals. I’d juggled speech writers, secretaries, and even the volunteers during the election year. I’d hand-delivered key votes to his bills with my negotiation skills and nothing else.
“I’ll think about it, but it isn’t really what I’m looking for,” I said, biting my cheek because fighting with Bee was useless. My years of saying what I didn’t feel on The Hill paying off when I really wanted to give her a discourse on how much more I’d done than she probably ever would in her job in the DuPont legal department.
“You need something,” Bee insisted.
“I do, but it isn’t like I have to jump at the first job that comes my way,” I responded, getting more irritated as she wouldn’t let it drop.
“Leave her alone, Bee. Dani’s just regrouping herself,” Gabi said gently.
“Wait, is this about the attack?” Bee’s face slackened in surprise as my body cringed inwardly at her words. “Oh my God, that happened a year ago. None
of you would let me sit around wallowing in it.”
Every inch of my body tightened. All the joints that had been loosening themselves up since coming home and doing nothing more than working out and watching TV were back on high alert. She was right and wrong. It wasn’t about Fenway. Fenway had just been the final card to bring the stack down.
“Jesus, Bee,” Gabi swore. “Finish your drink before you say something you’ll really regret.”
Bee flushed again. She didn’t even see what she’d said or done wrong. In her mind, she was just helping her little sister. It had been the way of things my entire life. In the end, I’d be the one feeling guilty even though it was her words that had started it all.
I took a deep breath, in and out. Calming myself. Feeling the smooth surface of the wood table. Feeling the press of my heels into the floor. Holding my tongue. Wanting to storm off. Wanting to tell Bee to go to hell. But I didn’t. Instead, I did what I was good at. I was flippant and sarcastic, and I made peace with a tease.
“Yeah, Bee, drink up. I need to get some new pictures of you singing George Michael’s “I Want Your―”
Bee reached up and covered my mouth. “We don’t talk about that either, Gooberpants.”
Gabi laughed, Tristan smiled, and the tightness in my chest eased. For better or worse, they were my sisters. They loved me, and in their hearts, they were looking out for me—even Bee, in her own twisted way.
Nash
21 GUNS
“When you're at the end of the road,
And you lost all sense of control,
And your thoughts have taken their toll.
When your mind breaks the spirit of your soul,
Your faith walks on broken glass.”
