Rachel Gibson - Rescue Me

“A biker said that?” She would have thought bikers would defend military guys.

“It was Seattle,” he said as if that explained it. “Washington is filled with some crazy liberals.”

Now might not be a good time to tell him she’d voted for Obama.

He reached into the side pocket of his pants and pulled out his cell phone. “You drained my energy and I’m starving. Chee-tos aren’t going to cut it.” He ordered a pizza, then helped Sadie to her feet. “If I keep eating junk and hanging out with you instead of working, I’m gonna get fat.”

She stood in front of him and put her hand on his flat belly. “I don’t think you have to worry about it.”

“I’m out of shape.”

“Compared to who?”

He moved into the apartment and she followed him to the kitchen. “Compared to when I trained every day.” He tossed her hat from the top of a box on the kitchen counter. “My sister sent me old photos and crap when she sent me my tax information for the past five years.” He reached inside the box and pulled out a handful of photos. He tossed several onto the counter, then handed her one.

She looked at the young man with the clearly defined chest muscles and wet shorts. “Goodness.” She hadn’t thought the guy could get any more buff. She looked from his wet pecs in the photo to his face. “You look so young.”

“I was twenty. That was taken the day I passed drown proofing.”

She was afraid to ask what that meant and picked up a photo of Vince on one knee in front of a bullet-ridden wall, a machine gun by his side and decked out in full camo and black scruffy beard. In another he was clean-shaven and doing push-ups with two scuba tanks on his back. “How much do those weigh?”

He turned his head and glanced at the pictures. “About eighty pounds. I didn’t mind pushing out reps. I hated ‘get wet and sandy.’ ”

They’d already established that he loved the water but hated the sand. She reached for a different photo of the younger version of Vince with his arms around a woman and a red-haired teenage girl. He wore a white sailor suit with a black neckerchief, white hat, and a huge smile.

“That’s my mom and sister at BUD/S graduation.” She could see the resemblance to his mother somewhat. To his sister, not at all. “What exactly does BUD/S mean?”

“Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL.”

She could also see the pride in his mother’s eyes. If her daddy had a son like Vince, he would have been proud. May have even given him three pats on the back. “Was your father there?”

“No. I’m sure he had something more important to do.”

From the little bit he’d said about his father, she wasn’t surprised by his answer. But what could be more important than your son graduating from SEALs training? “Like what?”

He shook his head. “Don’t know.”

“My father didn’t attend my high school graduation.” But at least she knew what had been more important. “He was branding cattle.” She thought of the events of the day and all the Clive stories. Good and not so good. The last time she’d seen him, they’d made more of a connection than they had in years. She got a glimpse into her father that she’d never seen before, but it had no way been the big emotional connection she’d always longed for. “Your father is still alive, maybe he’ll change.”

“I don’t care.” He looked into the box and pushed stuff around. “I don’t think people change unless they really want to. No one changes just because someone else wants it. And even if he does, it’s probably too late.”

She didn’t think that was true, but who was she to argue? She’d never made true peace with her father. Not the kind of big, satisfactory Hollywood ending that would have tied things up in a nice bow for her. If he’d lived another ten years, she probably never would have gotten that from him. She looked in the box and pulled out a blue helmet with “Haven” written in white on the front and “228” on the sides. “What’s this?”

“Second phase BUD/S helmet.” He took it from her hands and set it on her head. It fell to her brows. “It matches your eyes.”

She pushed it up. “It covers my eyes.”

He took out a gold medal from a velvet box and pinned it to the T-shirt. “You look really hot in my helmet and Trident.”

“Really?” She chuckled. “How many women have you let wear your helmet?”

“That particular helmet, none.” He lowered his mouth to the side of her throat and said against her skin, “You’re the first woman to touch my Trident.”

She didn’t know if that made her special or not, but his warm mouth against her skin did special things to her insides. “I don’t have anything for you to touch.”

“You have lots of things for me to touch.” He slid his mouth to just below her ear. “Soft things. Things that feel good.”

“You’ve already touched those things.”

“I want to touch them a lot more.” She tilted her head back, and his helmet fell onto the counter. “I like touching you,” he said between kisses across her jaw. “I love going deep.”

He loved going deep, but that didn’t mean he loved her. In the past, she might have gotten that twisted around in her head to mean that this emotionally unavailable man loved her. He didn’t, and she could never let herself have any deep feeling for him.

The doorbell rang and Vince lifted his head. His brows lowered, his eyes a little glassy. “Who could that be? No one but you knows where I live.”

“Pizza guy.”

“Oh yeah.” He blinked. “I forgot.”

Together they sat in the middle of Vince’s empty living room and chowed down on double pepperoni and drank Lone Star. Sadie was surprised by how much she ate, given her own house was filled with funeral casseroles.

“I don’t think pizza is energy food. I feel like a slug now,” she said as she leaned back on her elbows and stretched out her full stomach. “If I keep hanging out with you, I’m the one who’s going to get fat.” At the moment, there was no place she’d rather be. There was, however, someplace she needed to be. “I should probably get home.”

“I should probably show you my air mattress first.” Vince washed down his last bite with Lone Star and set the bottle on the empty box.

“Why?” She’d seen the air mattress and double sleeping bag when he’d shown her around the apartment. “Does it do something extra special that other mattresses don’t?”

“It will once I get you on it.”

“Are we gonna spoon nekkid?”

He nodded. “Nuts to butts.”

Her soft laugh turned into a yawn. “You’re so romantic.”

Something was wrong. Sadie sensed it before her lids fluttered open. For several disorienting seconds, she couldn’t remember where she was. She heard a thump and looked about the dark room. She was at Vince’s. In his sleeping bag on an air mattress. She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, but it was full dark now. She turned her head and looked across at the empty pillow next to her.

“Roger that!”

Sadie rose and grabbed Vince’s brown T-shirt off the floor. Another thud and she threaded her arms through the shirt and moved toward the hall. It sounded like he was fighting an intruder.

“Fuck it!”

“Vince!” She had a fleeting thought of grabbing something to help, but she knew there was nothing.

“Kill all those goat-herding fuckers!”

Light from the kitchen stove worked its way into the hall. One darker shadow moved within variegated light. “Vince?”

“Oh God.” He panted hard, like he’d been running for ten miles in the blazing heat. “Oh fuck!… Wilson.” He moved a few steps back. “Hang on, buddy… Shit. I’ll fix you up.”