Geri Krotow - Navy Rules

Still, did forty-two have to feel so old?

“Nothing out of the ordinary. I did have a conversation with someone who knew me before.” His voice cracked on before and he cleared his throat. “It’s the first time I’ve seen her since I was, well, since before I went to war.”

“How’d she act toward you?”

“Fine. No different, really.”

“Can I ask, boss, is this a former girlfriend? A wife?”

Max forced a smile. “You know I’ve never been married. And Winnie, well, she’s my best friend’s widow. We lost Tom five years ago—EA-6B Prowler crash. I was the CACO.”

Miles shook his head and let out a low whistle. “Sorry, boss. That sucks.”

“It’s part of our business, isn’t it?” Max rubbed his chin. “It did look like there might be something between us a while back. But it was just a lark.” Images of that Air Show weekend had been flashing across his mind ever since Winnie drove off with that dog.

“How long ago was that?”

“Ahh, let’s see. That was the summer before I took the squadron on deployment, so…” His mind leaped onto an unexpected tangent with lightning speed.

No way.

“Boss, you okay?”

Not possible.

“Yeah, I’m…just figuring something out.”

One of the condoms broke. Did you forget that?

Miles’s strong hand wrapped around Max’s upper arm. “Buddy, you sure as hell don’t look okay.”

How old is her daughter? What’s the timeline?

“I think I’ve done it again, Miles. I’ve been shoving so much down—”

“And now your gut’s spewing emotions everywhere, isn’t it?”

Max couldn’t help laughing. It eased the tightness in his chest, a tightness that had nothing to do with bench presses and everything to do with what Winnie had revealed to him.

And what she hadn’t revealed.

“Yeah, you could say that.” He wrapped his towel around his neck. “I’m good, Miles. Thanks for sitting with me. Now I’ve got to go burn this off in a healthier way. You’re right about that.”

“Anytime, boss, anytime.”

Max walked out of the weight room with a feeling he hadn’t had since before the suicide bomber leveled the spirit he’d taken for granted. He didn’t have to report to anyone else, didn’t have to ask what he needed to do. He knew his next move.

He was going to Winnie’s. He’d get her address and if it was unlisted, he’d drive through Coupeville house by house if he had to.

Winnie had some explaining to do.

CHAPTER FIVE

“STOP IT, MAEVE, THOSE ARE my chicken nuggets.” Krista’s tone resembled a mother’s more than an older sister’s as she chastised eighteen-month-old Maeve, who had a penchant for stealing food off her older sister’s plate.

“Mine!” Maeve’s baby voice was irresistible to Winnie but annoyed Krista.

“No, these are mine.” Krista covered her plate with her hand and pointed with the other. “And those are yours, on your Fancy Nancy plate.”

“No!” Maeve screeched the word and her lower lip jutted out in warning.

“Krista, knock it off. We use our dinner manners now. Right, Maeve?” Winnie fought to keep from smiling as she stared at Maeve.

Maeve’s huge blue eyes reproached Winnie and, not for the first time, Winnie felt Max’s presence reach out through his daughter’s eyes.

You blew it today. You should’ve told him.

She had told him too much about her life—without telling him what she should have.

She tried to convince herself that she’d wanted to avoid his questions until he wasn’t so upset. That she thought it was better to wait.

That was all crapola and she knew it. Not only was she betraying Max, but each day she kept him from the truth, she kept Maeve from knowing her daddy.

Maeve.

Maeve needed her father, a father who wasn’t dead like Krista’s. He’d survived a war, for God’s sake, and was living and breathing just a drive up the road.

You are a class-A chicken.

“Maeve, don’t look at Mommy like that. You have to be a good girl and eat the food on your own plate, not Krista’s.”

Maeve’s expression reflected her inner-toddler struggle. Winnie knew she was hungry, and the cut-up chicken nuggets on her Fancy Nancy plate were just as tasty as her sister’s. But it was so much fun to annoy Krista and to get her attention. Tears shimmered in Maeve’s luminous eyes and her chin worked frantically to keep her lower lip in a pout.

No doubt due to Maeve’s hunger, sanity prevailed and she picked up a nugget from her own plate and shoved it carefully in her mouth.

Winnie expelled her breath. It’d been a long afternoon with both girls arriving home in cranky moods.

These days she was never sure who’d have the bigger fit after school—Maeve or Krista. At thirteen, Krista had started wearing a training bra this past summer and she’d shot up three inches since Christmas. She wore the same shoe size as Winnie, although Winnie didn’t think that would be for long. Krista was going to be long and lean, as Tom had been.

Maeve, however, was Winnie’s “mini-me,” except for the shape and color of her eyes and her mop of straight brown hair—clearly inherited from Max.

He’s going to know she’s his the minute he sees her.

“Krista, how much homework do you have tonight?” Her voice shook and she knew that her anxiety wasn’t going away. Not until she came clean with Max.

“I already told you when I came in, Mom. I finished it on the bus.”

“Good.” Krista probably had told her, but Winnie had been distracted since she walked through the door. Her thoughts had stayed in Dugualla Bay… .

The same sense of inevitability she’d had once she’d started labor with each of the girls filled her stomach with dread. Now, just like then, there was no escaping the pain to come. No going back. Then, it had meant the baby was on her way out; now it was the truth emerging.

With no guarantee of a happy outcome as far as Max was concerned.

Life doesn’t come with a warranty.

She’d betrayed Max, the one person who’d seen her at her best and her worst, from her and Tom’s life together, through the crash and then her short stint as a psycho-widow, when she’d tried to pick up an addiction. Any addiction—she hadn’t been fussy.

Drinking, men, shopping, whatever would take “hold” she’d tried to cling to. But Max had stepped in before anything could consume her and tear her from her life with Krista. His words to her the night he’d dragged her out of an Oak Harbor bar and dumped her back in her house had ended her quest for self-destruction.

“You can abuse yourself all you want—the hurt will still be there, and Tom won’t. He’s not coming back, Winnie. You have a daughter to raise. This isn’t the time to let Tom down.”

He’d left her alone in her empty house. Her parents had taken Krista for the weekend, which was the pattern for the first several months after Tom died, to give Winnie a break and Krista time with other family. Instead of using those free hours to heal, Winnie had been hell-bent on dousing the firestorm of pain.

Max had saved her. Ultimately, he’d saved Krista, too.

He’d never mentioned that time again. Wouldn’t comment on it if she brought it up, either.

Even today, when he was spitting angry at her stupid comment about his being a charity case, he hadn’t reminded her of when she’d been in need of charity.

Of all the people to deceive, she’d picked Max.

Crap on a cracker.

“Okay, Krista, could you play with your sister for a few minutes while I get the dishes done?”

“C’mon, Maeve, do you want to play kitchen?” Krista expertly unsnapped Maeve from her booster seat and lifted her down to the hardwood floor. Maeve took off with a squeal, her bare feet slapping the oak planks.