Chapter Six
Fred Fitzgerald.
Holden barely managed to swallow back a snort of disgust. What the fuck kind of name was that, anyway? Sounded like a trust-fund brat…or maybe an insurance salesman.
Whatever the case, Holden hated his guts already. Which was pathetic, considering the poor bastard was probably in the same spot he, himself, was right this minute.
Crazy for Avery Forrester with almost no chance of having her.
Sure, he’d had her in the biblical sense—he refused to wonder whether or not Fred Fitzgerald could say the same—but having Avery and holding her were two totally different things. But today was the day. Today, he was going to make his move. Win, lose, or draw, it was worth the risk. Then he’d finally know, for sure, how she felt. Worst-case scenario? She’d shoot him down, and he could comfort himself with the fact that at least he’d gone out swinging. Best-case scenario?
He wouldn’t even allow himself to think about it.
“Wait up,” he called after her, lengthening his stride until they were side-by-side again. “Jesus, Avery, where’s the fire…other than in my mouth from those hot wings?” he asked with a laugh.
Good. Keep it casual. And the best way to do that was to disarm her with small talk. Keep it light and then, BAM! Drop it like a bomb before she knew what hit her.
“Oh Lord, you’re such a baby,” she said, shoulder checking him gently as they walked. “Hey, if you still can’t take the heat, I can give Fred a call and tell him to bring his firehose—”
“Nope,” he answered sharply. “It’s all good, I was just kidding.” Because fuck Fred and his firehose. His blood instantly went hot at the second mention of the fire captain, and it took him a minute to get his head right as they walked in silence.
He’d just mentally put together the opening to the speech he’d been working on for the past twenty-four hours when she let out a gasp.
“Wow, check it out!” She ran ahead again, and he followed her path with his gaze.
A dozen yards away, the form of a massive turtle made out of sand covered an eight-foot section of the beach. Avery slowed as she reached it and turned back, shooting him a wide grin over her shoulder.
“It’s amazing. Hurry up, slow poke.”
Despite his irritation at yet another interruption, he had to admit she was right. The display of sand art was definitely expert level. The shell was massive and looked so lifelike, he wanted to reach out and touch it. Best of all was the animal’s face. It looked like the turtle was smiling, which clearly delighted Avery to no end.
“This must have taken hours,” he said, not sure what was more compelling, her ecstatic face or the sand sculpture. It was hard to stay irritated with her when she looked so goddamned beautiful.
“It probably did, but I bet whoever did this had a blast.” Her green eyes snapped with fire as she closed the distance between them and tugged him off the dry sand over to the cooler, sea-soaked shore. “We still have a solid hour until sunset, so let’s make our own sand sculpture. Look, there’s an old cracked bucket right there,” she said, her face as animated as a kid’s on Christmas morning. “And we can use some big shells to scoop the wet sand into it.”
He eyed the cruddy yellow bucket as she picked it up and shook his head slowly. “I’m pretty sure they had better tools than that when they made the turtle,” he replied with a chuckle.
“Maybe, but who cares? Ours will still be cooler. Come on, Holden, don’t poop on my party.”
Her voice had taken on a slightly desperate edge that had him searching her face for clues as to what he was missing. She either really wanted to make a sand critter, or she was having some sort of nervous breakdown. In either case, he found himself nodding in agreement and scanning the beach for shells.
But as he watched her scurrying ahead of him, her feet kicking up sugary sand as she ran, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d somehow tipped her off to his plan. She’d been acting strange all day. Earlier, at the restaurant, the impromptu wing-eating contest had made conversation near impossible. Even now, his lips burned from the heat of the sauce. Then, afterward, she’d been babbling a mile a minute, as if her constant chatter would hold him off or something.
Not going to happen.
A welcome sense of calm overtook him, and the steely resolve he usually reserved for battle settled into his bones. If she was on to him and thought he was going to be sidetracked, she was sadly mistaken. He’d let her squirm away from the truth for far too long. He was a man on a mission.
And Holden Morris never failed a mission.
“Okay, so what’s the plan? Did you want to make an animal or—”
Avery’s whole body seemed to relax as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind one ear and rolled her eyes. “I don’t know about you, but that’s beyond my skill level. What about a castle? It’s probably the easiest thing to do, and we can get it done before the tide comes in.”
Maybe waiting a little longer was for the best, anyway. She was twitchier than a Marine in a minefield today. At least once the sun had set, they wouldn’t be in the harsh light of day, able to see every emotion, every thought, passing over one another’s faces. If she had to let him down, it would be easier for her if she didn’t have to see his face. Because the last thing he wanted to do was make her sad.
He threw himself into the task at hand, managing it like he did any other. Unfortunately, Avery did her version of the same, so for every perfectly calibrated, even turret he formed with their broke-ass bucket, she was right next to him making one that looked like it had come out the backside of a grizzly.
“Are you kidding me?” he asked, as she lifted the bucket up to reveal yet another malformed mound of sand. “What kind of castle could that foundation possibly support? One little siege or dragon attack and the whole frigging thing is going to come down. And besides, you just plopped that shit-pile right on top of my moat.”
She laughed, propping one hand on her slender hip. “Oh my God. Could you really be that much of a control freak? You seriously need to get a grip, soldier boy.”
“Fine.” He eyed the dilapidated castle and cocked his head, taking it in, in all its pathetic glory. “I’m going to think of it as abstract, then. Art over function,” he said, shooting her a wink. He snagged the bucket from her and filled it, then dumped out a second pile, just as fucked up as hers. “See, I can adapt.”
She gave him a thumbs-up of approval and began collecting more shells for decoration.
“Myla and I built a sandcastle one time on a trip to Puerto Rico. Actually, scratch that,” she said with a laugh. “We built half a sandcastle. Then, we got super drunk from sucking down mojitos in the sun and wound up pretending we were Gulliver and stomped all over it and the Lilliputians hiding inside.”
Her smile was soft with the memory, but her tone held a hint of sadness.
“Is everything okay with you guys?” he asked, pushing a spiral shell into place on the face of their castle and then wiping the sand off his hands.
“Yeah, we’re great,” she said, a little too brightly. She paused and lifted one shoulder. “I mean, we don’t get to see each other as much as we used to. She and Oliver are falling all over each other. New love and all that, but that’s the way it goes, you know? I’m so happy for her. They’re a great couple.”
He could tell she really believed that, but there was no doubting she missed her friend.
“So, what do you do for fun when I’m not here to drag around the city?” He wanted to cut his tongue off for a second, because he was just begging for more tales of her sexploits with Fred Fitzgerald. Luckily, she let him off easy.
“Well, Rodrigo and I have grown extremely close. He’s my TV binge buddy. As long as I’m willing to scratch him behind the ears, he’s willing to sit on the couch and pretty much let me see any show I want. So, we watch a lot of the Travel Channel. I actually made a corkboard map with little pushpins of all the places I’d like to go,” she said, her cheeks growing a little pink at the admission.
“Traveling is the best,” he agreed. “It’s one of the best things about the military. I’ve gotten to see so much of the world already.”
She shot him a questioning look and opened her mouth to say something but then snapped it shut, turning her attention to the scallop shell she held in her palm.
“What?” he asked. “What were you about to say?”
She chewed on her lower lip for a second before meeting his gaze. “Do you love it?”
He eyed her thoughtfully and let the question roll around in his head. “The military?” he asked, to buy some time.
“Yeah. Like, is it your true calling? Do you feel like it’s what you were born to do?”
He faced the rolling waves for a long moment and then nodded. “I love the camaraderie, needed the discipline, and I appreciate the experiences I’ve had. My calling? I think it is.”
“I’ve always wondered,” she said softly. “I mean, I know you’ve made it a positive experience, and you’ve thrived there. But if your family hadn’t pushed you so hard to enlist, do you think you’d have chosen that path?”
He didn’t know how to answer that. It wasn’t a question anyone had ever asked him, and one he’d never bothered to ask himself. He’d joined the Marines like his father and his grandfather before him. It wasn’t a choice, it just…was.
He watched her closely as she plucked a seagull feather from the sand and stuck it into the top of the highest turret.
“What do you mean? Do you think I should’ve done something different with my life?”
The question hung between them for a long moment, and the air seemed to grow thicker. It felt like a crossroads, one where they would set aside the jokes and the casual banter and get to the meat of something. Maybe they’d even have their first argument. It was twisted that he almost looked forward to it. Because it meant she cared, and that they had something real, something worth fighting over.
Something worth fighting for.
“I don’t really have the right to say, one way or another.” She shrugged.
“Don’t you?” he asked.
She looked up at him through thick, dark lashes. “I don’t know what you want out of it, I guess. I just always thought it was for them.” She frowned at the idea of his parents, and Holden hesitated. It seemed like the perfect moment to tell her. And even if it wasn’t, he had to get it off his chest.
“At first, I wasn’t sure, either,” he hedged. “I had to sit down and do some serious thinking about what my life would be. So, I put together a list.”
“A list?” She raised her eyebrows. “Very practical.”
“It’s more of a plan. A ten-year plan, you know? How long I want to stay in the service, what I want to do afterward, what I want my personal life to be like.”
“Whoa, heavy stuff.” She focused on the sandcastle, straightening a leaning turret.
“Maybe. But I’m closer to thirty now than twenty. It’s time to grow up, think about marriage, children. Everything.”
“And those are the things you want? Marriage and children?” Her tone was lofty, and she still didn’t look at him, but he knew all of her attention was focused on what he’d say next.
“Yeah, I think it is. What do you think about that?” he asked.
“Well…it’s your life, and—” She broke off and let out a squeal as the tide rushed over her bare feet in a foamy wave.
“Our masterpiece,” she yelped as the water continued on, lapping at their shoddily constructed castle, dragging half of it back into the ocean as it receded. “Aw, man. Well, it was cool while it lasted,” she said with a shaky smile. “But your shoes are soaked now. We should probably go…”
He glanced down and noted his damp boat shoes dispassionately. He hadn’t even felt the cool water. He was too busy absorbing the casual shot to the heart she’d just delivered.
Because she’d finally answered the question that had been burning inside him for years without him even having to ask. It was his life. And she obviously had no interest in sharing it with him.
Fuck.
…
The expression on Holden’s face made her want to throw up. He looked like he’d been punched in the esophagus. And the worst part? She was the one who’d done the punching. This whole day had been a clusterfuck, and there was only one person to blame.
She aimed internal, invisible thumbs in her direction. This girl.
She was acting like a full-on psycho, talking nonstop one second and then running off like a golden retriever after a squirrel sighting. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself. Even now, looking at his stricken face, the panic crawled up the back of her neck. She wanted to go to him, curl her arms around his neck, and pull him close. Comfort him and tell him it was all right.
Hold him all night long.
And it was exactly that feeling that had her feet slapping through the shallow water as she ran.
“Race you back to the pier!”
Wind whipped through her hair as unshed tears stung her eyes. This was wrong. So damn wrong. He deserved better than this, but what could she do when she didn’t have better to give?
She still hadn’t found the nerve to turn back and see if he was in pursuit when a stabbing pain shot up her leg.
“Shit!”
She slowed to a hobble, her breath coming in pants.
“What happened?” Holden asked, pulling up alongside her, his brows knitted in concern.
“I stepped on something,” she said slowly, lifting her foot and peering down at the injured extremity. A large piece of sea glass jutted from her heel, and she groaned as blood welled around it.
He leaned close, steadying her by the arm as he examined the injury. “It’s pretty deep,” he muttered, straightening. “You don’t want to be walking on it and getting dirt in the cut. Let’s get you back to the apartment, and then we’ll remove the glass and clean it up.”
He didn’t bother waiting for her response. One second she was standing on one foot, and the next, he’d swung her into his arms and was effortlessly cutting a path across the beach. Like the sexy, amazing, hero soldier he was.
She blinked back her tears and stared miserably in front of her. It wasn’t like she didn’t have her reasons for trying to keep him at a distance. Whatever was going on in her heart, she needed to sort it out before she ruined their arrangement forever. Before she ruined their friendship. It was just that her reasons seemed less and less rational the more time they spent together. But maybe that was just her way of fooling herself into thinking things would be okay if she let go.
She listened to the even, steady beating of his heart as he carried her, resisting the urge to bury her head into his shoulder and give in. Let it all go and just let her body and heart do what they wanted and melt into Holden Morris.
“We have to bandage this up good so you don’t bleed all over me tonight,” he murmured.
She stiffened, ignoring the sublime feel of his chest rubbing against her breasts with every step. There was no way he could sleep over tonight. Not when she was feeling this vulnerable. She had to throw up one last shield if she stood any shot of withstanding this onslaught.
“Yeah, um, about that. I’ve been having night terrors.” She kept her eyes glued to the horizon so he couldn’t see the lie in them. “So, I thrash around a lot. I’m basically a danger to myself and others. In fact, I gave Fred a black eye not three weeks ago. He still hasn’t forgiven me.”
He craned his neck to stare down at her, his dark eyes as solemn as a preacher’s. “Is that so?”
“Yup.” She swallowed so hard, she thanked the gods for the whipping wind that sucked the sound away. “And I’ve also started snoring. Loudly. Even Rodrigo won’t sleep with me.”
“If there’s one thing I learned how to do in the Marines, it’s catch some z’s when and where I can. It won’t be a problem. Unless it’s a problem for you?”
What could she possibly say when he’d been nothing but amazing to her? She had no good reason to keep him from her bed besides the truth.
That she was terrified of falling in love with him and losing herself in the process.
And that wouldn’t do at all.
She forced a smile and shook her head. “Nope. Fine with me.”
She would let him carry her the rest of the way home, and then sit there while he lovingly tended to her cut with the same care and meticulousness that he did everything. Then she’d lie next to him and pretend that sleeping with Holden was the same as sleeping with Myla. And she’d just have to say a prayer that, in the morning, she’d wake up with her heart intact.
Fat chance.
His steps slowed as they reached her apartment, and she cursed her clumsy feet. But even as she had the thought, the deepest part of her slapped back with a most uncomfortable truth. It wouldn’t have mattered, really. Because something told her, no matter how far she ran, no matter how fast she went, Holden would be there waiting when she got to the finish line.
And that scared the shit out of her.