by Teagan Kade
Yeah, that makes sense.
Maybe he’s with his mom and his cell on silent?
Of course. That settles it for sure, but through it all there is a nagging doubt, a hair in the soup, so to speak.
I settle back to my desk and call again when Daryl is out.
No answer.
I call an hour later, cursing myself for suddenly turning into one of those needy beings I’ve silently rolled my eyes at for so long.
Come another two attempts at the end of the day and I’m worried.
Doubt starts to quilt its way through my thoughts, threading itself through them until I’m questioning everything.
Yes, he did stay the night, but maybe he’s lost interest now we’ve had sex. Maybe he really is a ‘hit it and quit it’ kind of guy.
Maybe you just weren’t a very good lay.
I gulp hard at this, thinking back to the way he gripped me with his own release, the smile on his face as we lay side by side that first time… and the many times following. Surely that wasn’t an act.
But now I’m not so sure. It seems like he’s avoiding my calls, and I’m running out of reasons why.
I concentrate on work instead, but I barely get anything done. The sun is low outside, cutting across the partitions. The lower it gets, the more I begin to fret and obsess. Calm rationality has never been my strong suit, especially in matters of the heart.
Have a little faith, Shan. Seriously.
I dump the files I have managed to get through on Daryl’s desk while he’s away, shutting down my computer and heading out.
I turn the corner to the elevators and come awfully close to taking Daryl out.
I stand aside. “Sorry, Daryl.”
He smiles, pointing to his office. “You got a second, Shannon?”
I swallow hard again. He hasn’t called me into his office since Gabe’s little visit. I’ve heard barely a peep from him and thought he’d moved on the next brunette in the office.
I follow him into his office and take a seat, pressing my thighs together tightly while he closes the door and comes around in front of his desk, leaning on it with his hands in his pockets.
The sun’s a peachy orb outside. It drops between the buildings beyond the window.
Daryl’s head is hung. He’s quiet.
This is not good.
Finally, he looks up, awfully more subdued than normal. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to let you go, Shannon.”
I freeze, actually turn solid in the chair. “Sorry?”
His eyes flicker around my cleavage before lifting to my face. “You’ll get a severance package, of course, but I’m afraid I have to move you along.”
Move me along?
Shock turns into confusion turns into anger. “I don’t understand. Is this cost-cutting?”
I have no idea where that idea even comes from.
Daryl shakes his head, lips pursed together smugly. “No, I’m afraid not.”
“Is it… me?” I ask.
He pushes off the desk, standing tall in front of me. “Your performance just isn’t where I need it to be for a PA. It’s as simple as that.
“But I’ve been working hard, really hard.”
He taps the files I left on his desk. “You delivered me a faulty report. I can’t let that slide.”
“You haven’t even read that report yet,” I protest.
He smiles and ignores the question, eyes dropping back down to my chest. I want a shower his look’s so slimy and dirty. I want all the soap in the world.
I want Gabe.
“Let’s just say,” Daryl continues, “you’re just not living up to expectations.”
Asshole! I know exactly what he’s saying now.
Perhaps it’s Gabe rubbing off on me, perhaps I’ve finally had enough, but I stand and step forward, facing Daryl, my finger jabbing at him in accusation. “You’re firing me because I won’t, what? Flirt with you? Sleep with you?”
He puts his hands up. “Now, now, let’s not get into nasty allegations here. I’d hate to add a lawsuit into the mix here.”
“A lawsuit!” I stammer, loud enough for the entire office to hear. “Are you serious? You are the one who’s always coming onto me. You don’t think I’ve noticed?”
He looks me up and down. “You’re really not my type. I prefer my women…”
“Submissive?” I suggest.
“Attractive,” he retorts.
If I could summon the strength to kick him in his tiny, Tinkerbell balls, I would. Instead, I stand there with mouth agape while he moves past me and opens the door, a hand opening out. “I think I’ve said everything I need to.”
I turn and stop before stepping past him. He’s not going to have the last word on this.
I go to speak, but stop.
I can see others watching, their heads perched on their partitions, beady eyes soaking in the drama.
There’s no point, I tell myself. He’s not worth the breath it would take to cut him down.
I straighten my skirt. “Goodbye, Daryl,” I state, keeping my head held high as I make my way to my desk and start to pack up my things. It doesn’t take long.
Even once I’ve made it outside into the fast-chilling air, a box of belongings between my feet, I do not allow myself to cry. I’m not going to give that prick the satisfaction.
I take out my cell and call Gabe again.
“Come on,” I plead. “I need you.”
He doesn’t answer, even now in my time of need.
Something’s definitely wrong.
I just wish I knew what.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
GABE
I’m at a The Hole staring across a table at a dead woman. It sounds like the start of a bad joke, but there’s no denying this is Triss—flesh and blood, real as the glass of whiskey before me.
Her hair’s still raven black, her wide-set eyes full of mystery.
The table we’re sitting at is one of those high-back numbers with the bench that goes the whole way around. It reminds me of a poker table.
I notice she has new scars, a deep, jagged line under her left eye. She looks leaner, wilder than she did before, and I can guess why after what she’s been through.
But it’s her civilian clothing that’s really throwing me off. We met in the military, toured in the military, fucked in the military. Here, back home, she’s a stranger.
She taps her nails, filed short, on the table. “I suppose you want to know what happened?”
I take a hit of whisky, wondering if the burn of it will snap me out of this dream, but when I open my eyes, Triss is still there. I place the glass down. “That would be a start.”
“We can get to that,” she says, her voice throatier than I remember. “But how are you? How’s civilian life?”
“It’s fine,” I reply. “I’m fine.” I can’t let it go. “I need to know what happened, Triss.”
She looks up to the ceiling and exhales. Clearly, she doesn’t want to talk about it, but I need answers.
“I thought you were dead,” I tell her. “I saw, watched…” I can’t bring myself to speak the words.
She pushes a Coke and Beam between her hands. “Alright. You want to know? I’ll tell you.”
I try to brace myself for what comes next.
Her amber eyes look deep into mine, casting for a reaction. “After that bitch blew up, I was injured. I was bad, unconscious, buried under rubble. I came to with fucking concrete in my mouth, but I wasn’t out in the open. I was in a cell.”
I shake my head. “Shit.”
“Yes, shit. Suffice to say, it wasn’t Disneyland. Mickey Mouse wasn’t home.”
I don’t know if I’m ready for the details, and it’s obvious Triss isn’t ready to provide them.
“In short,” she says, “bad things happened—to me, to the others that were there. Some didn’t make it.”
I ask the obvious. “How did you get out?”
Her eyes flicker with
life, specks of gold alight. “A mercenary detail raided the place—Eastern European, mostly. I took one of them down with a pencil I stole from one of the guards, almost killed the poor bastard until I realized what was going on. They dropped me off at a hospital, left me a card.”
I pick up my glass again, a sip becoming a gulp. I place it down and turn it slowly with my fingertips. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“I got in touch,” she says. “They’re going back in.”
“The mercenaries?”
“No, the fucking Brady Bunch. Yes, the mercenaries. No one knows I’m alive and I’d like to keep it that way, work as a ghost. I’m sure you can understand the unique opportunities that provides.”
I can.
“These guys operate independently, no red tape or bureaucratic bullshit to weigh them down. They’re fucking lean, baby. No room for fat on a squad like that.”
‘Baby’ throws me, even as I see the burn in her eyes that drew her to me in the first place.
“I don’t want to sit here yapping all day. I want you to go back with me,” she says.
It’s like a sucker-punch to the gut. “You what?”
“Come back with me,” she repeats. “There’s plenty of action, the pay’s fucking amazing, and the chow… They’re living like fucking kings.”
“I can’t. There’s my mother, Matt… I’m done with that life, Triss.”
She laughs in my face, her back straightening. “No, you’re not. A SEAL is never ‘done’ with that life. You can only live out of the ocean for so long before you need to go under again.”
“Triss…”
“Don’t tell me this is about that Shannon girl?”
I’m confused. “How do you know about Shannon?”
“Your mom filled me in,” she says nonchalantly, examining her fingernails, “gave me the full rundown on your recent, and I must say surprising, engagement.” I can’t tell whether she’s going to reach across and stab me in the neck or congratulate me. “Seriously, baby?”
I go to take another swig of the whiskey, but there’s nothing left. Triss wolf-whistles to the bartender and holds up my glass. She’s never been shy.
I breathe slowly. “Look, it just happened, and she’s a nice girl.”
“‘Nice’?” Triss laughs. “Fuck me. Since when do you even use that word? From what your mom told me, she’s like something out of fucking Enchanted.”
The bartender arrives with the whisky, placing it on the table. I look into the glass, Triss reflected in it a hundred different ways.
I’m having trouble consigning myself to the fact that Triss is alive, right here in front of me. I could reach out and touch her if I wanted to.
But I don’t. That’s the cold, hard truth of it.
Triss starts to slide her way around the table. I watch her until she’s sitting right beside me.
“Sorry,” she says, flashing the smile that won me in the first place, when I found her single-handedly changing a tire on a Humvee. Five minutes later we were fucking in the bunker down back, Blackhawks whipping overhead.
A lot’s changed since those days.
“It felt so impersonal sitting over there like a stranger,” she continues, placing her hand on my thigh.
I let it sit there, not sure exactly where’s she going with this.
“Are you angry at me?” I ask her. “Because you should be. It’s my fault.”
She shakes her head. “No, baby. I didn’t join the Rangers for the five-star cuisine. I joined to fight and serve my country, just like you. I knew what I was getting myself into and I was glad for it. I know what happened out there isn’t you fault. I take full, fucking responsibility, you hear?”
I nod once.
Her hand slides between my legs, the palm of her hand pressing tight against my crotch.
Her lips brush against my ear. “Now,” she whispers, “how about we get out here and you can fuck me through the wall like old times?” She bites my earlobe to solidify the message, bites harder than she should. “I knew no civvie girl slice of apple pie could take care of your needs like I can. Is that what you want? Your big, hard cock in my mouth? I know I do.”
There was a time I would have gone for this routine. It wasn’t even that long ago, but miraculous resurrection or not, I think of Shannon and can’t allow myself to head down this road again.
There’s a certain living-on-the-edge madness civilians simply can’t understand. Triss does. That’s what drew me to her—the fine line between life and death overshadowing everything we did. Shannon can never understand it, couldn’t even begin to comprehend what I, what we, have been through.
But does it matter?
I’m fighting with myself for no good reason.
I peel Triss’s hand away and shift to the side. The space between us may as well be a chasm now. “I understand what you’ve been through, Triss, but I can’t do this.”
A biting tone enters her voice. “Can’t or won’t?”
“Look, I’m happy you’re alive, more than you know, but I just need…” I have to take a moment to consider precisely what it is. “Time,” I finish. “I need time to process this.”
I see Triss’s posture relax. She nods. “Fine,” she states, as much life in the word as the concrete walls around us. “I get it.”
She’s obviously hurt, no doubt expected a grand reunion. It kills me to disappoint her, to disappoint anyone, but it’s not right leading her on.
For now, she’s backed off, and maybe it will be alright, I think. Maybe this will work.
She takes my glass and tilts her head back, downing the whiskey completely. She wipes her mouth, her fire-flecked eyes like a lost djinn. “So, tell me about this Shannon chick.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SHANNON
I’m curled up on the couch with a fake mink blanket, a tub of Ben & Jerry’s Jimmy Fallon ‘The Late Night Dough’ ice cream, and the sugar gliders. A documentary on Netflix about a guy walking a tightrope looks interesting, but I’m barely paying it any attention, mindlessly shoveling Jimmy into my mouth.
I’m cozy, yes, but no amount of warmth or chocolate cookie swirl is going to make me feel better. I’ve lost my job thanks to my pig of a boss, and I’ve probably lost Gabe, too. That’s not to say I ever had him in the first place, but I thought I saw light there for a second, a glimmer of hope I’m not going to die a lonely old lady surrounded by her sixty pets.
As if on cue, my cell starts to buzz its way across the table. I leap for it, Jimmy tumbling over onto the floor, the sugar gliders scrambling for purchase on my sweater.
I answer, don’t even check the screen.
Please don’t be a call center. Please don’t be a call center.
“Shannon.” It’s Gabe.
My chest deflates with relief. “Gabe,” I reply. I immediately want to launch in and ask him where he’s been, but I don’t want to come across as overly needy either.
Impossible as it is, I try to let him do the talking.
“I’m so sorry,” he starts. “I know you’ve been trying to reach me.”
Play it cool. I’m angry, I can’t deny it, but I have to temper my tone here. I have to remind myself we aren’t actually together. “It’s no problem.”
“You sure? Because I had a ton of texts and missed calls here.”
I slap my hand against my forehead. “Ah, yeah. About that…”
“No, let me go first.”
“Okay.”
A slight pause. “Do you remember when I told you about my ex, Triss?”
I’ll remember that name until the day I die. Casual now, Shan. “Sure.”
“Remember I said she died overseas?”
“Yes.” I know where this is going, my fingernails raking my knees.
“Well, I was wrong.” Another pause. “She’s alive. She’s here, in town. She went to see my mother.”
I’m not a jealous person, but a green-eyed monster rises so big, so fast I’m actua
lly a little scared of myself. She went to see Julie?
I picture this Triss with her cool Army tattoos and buff body, walking away into the sunset with my man.
He’s not your man, Shan!
It sounds like a damn sitcom tagline. “Wow,” I offer, knowing I lack the necessary enthusiasm the word dictates, “that’s great.”
What, you wish she was dead?
Of course not, but why come here? Why come to Gabe if she doesn’t want him back.
“It is,” replies Gabe, relief clear.
“How did she… you know…?”
“It’s a long story,” he says, “operational stuff.”
This only makes it worse, makes that green-eyed monster into a towering hulk. “Right.”
“I was just so blindsided at first. I still don’t entirely understand how this all happened.”
I swallow a hard lump in my throat down. “Is she going back?”
“To the Rangers? That’s the thing, the reason she came and found me. She wants me to join a mercenary group, a small band working outside of the regular channels—well-paid work.”
I can see him slipping away from me already. “That’s… great.”
“She wanted to catch up too, of course.”
“And you want to go?” I don’t add ‘with her.’
“Honestly, I’m not sure I want to be involved with that life again.”
I dying to, but I specifically avoid asking if they slept together lest my fragile tiny heart shatter completely. Buffy gives an empathetic squeak next to my ear, working her way up onto the top of my head. “I’m just happy your… friend, is alive. It must be such a relief. Look, I was just about to go to bed, so…”
Sensing something’s up, Gabe adds, “Nothing happened between us, Shannon.”
“I know.”
I’m close to tears. God, I have sex for the first time and subsequently turn into a Hallmark movie.
“You believe me, don’t you?”
I let the question hang, thinking about how to reply, tossing and turning over the right answer in my head.
‘Honesty is the best policy’—my father used to drum that one into me a lot.
“I do believe you, Gabe, even if I might have doubts.”
“Shannon…”
