Chapter 23

 

- LOGAN -

 

 

Sitting in my car, staring at the unassuming house with its terracotta tile roof and stucco exterior, my heart rate is doing double time.

I want to call Allie. I need to call Allie. I haven’t heard from her since she texted me to tell me she arrived at her mom’s, and I know that hearing from me right now is the last thing she needs.

What she needs is for me to fix what my family’s company did to her dream. But everything my brother has been telling me the last three days is right. I can’t expect him to build an entire development around a rescue kennel to satisfy a girl I’ve known for a matter of months. And as much as I’d like to swoop in and buy a couple acres and build her a new kennel, I know that throwing my money at this problem isn’t what she wants.

Hell if I can figure out what would fix this, though.

A breeze gusts through the palms in front of the house, drawing my eyes to the blue sky above me, streaked with thin, wispy clouds. I stare into the sky, feeling that there’s a perfect solution somewhere out there for me. For us. But it’s out of my reach, blocked by the guilt I’ve used as a crutch these past years, making me weak and vulnerable.

Allie doesn’t need me like that.

Which is why I’m staring at this house right now, reluctant to see what’s awaiting me on the other side of the door. Or who, I should say.

I can talk a good game about fixing things with Allie. But what I really need to fix is myself.

I inhale deeply, and leave the protective confines of the rental car I picked up at San Diego International Airport. The warmth of the sun feels differently here than it does in the Midwest. The summer air is crisp, not as thick with humidity. The scent of a honeysuckle alongside the front porch reminds me somehow of Allie with its sweetness, and gives me the determination to rap lightly on the door.

A woman answers it, looking more radiant than she did when I last saw her as she buried the man she loved.

“Clare. I’m sorry to just show up like this,” I begin.

“Logan.” She pulls me into a hug. “You’re always welcome. You know that. Come in, come in,” she urges, letting me in through the doorway like a lost dog.

“I got Lucas’s graduation announcement,” I say.

“Amazing, isn’t it? He’s gone and grown up on me.”

“He looks just like his dad,” I comment, then wondering if I was right to even acknowledge Torres right now. I don’t want to make her cry. But her eyes are bright as she looks at me.

“He does, doesn’t he?”

I nod awkwardly. “Clare, there’s something I wanted to give him. I really hope you don’t mind. But I wanted to do it in person rather than just send it.”

“Logan, you really shouldn’t have. You don’t have to get him anything for graduating.”

“I do. It’s something I think his dad would have wanted him to have.”

She cocks her head, curious, and her eyes drift slightly, probably remembering her husband. “Lucas,” she calls over her shoulder. “There’s someone here to see you.”

I hear his footsteps on the stairs and gaze at Lucas as he enters the kitchen. He’s grown since I saw him last. Not taller, but broader, stronger. Like his dad.

His eyes meet mine and I see the recollection.

“Do you remember Logan, honey? He served with your dad.”

“Sure,” he says, reaching out his hand, more cordial than his father ever would have been. Torres was more of a fist bump kind of guy, always joking, playing pranks. His son seems more serious, and it’s no wonder with what he’s already seen in his life.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Clare says, retreating to her living room.

“Good to see you, Lucas,” I tell him, feeling strangely intimidated by this kid who’s so much younger than me. The guilt swells in my head, and the pain of memories pool behind the dam of my soul, ready to flood. I clench my teeth together, willing them to subside.

“You, too,” he replies. “I remember you from the funeral. You were with my dad when he died.”

“Right before he died,” I say, feeling the need to be specific. “I was about thirty feet away when it happened.” When he got shot, I want to say, but I think he knows without my saying.

“I wanted to give you something since you’re headed to college.” I reach into my pocket and pull out a check. I know it’s a guilt gift and I’m shamed by the knowledge. But I also know he’ll need the money.

His chin drops when he sees the number written on the check—not much to a guy like me, but plenty to a young man starting off in life. He thrusts it back to me. “It’s nice of you, Logan, really. But I don’t need it. Special Operations Warrior Foundation is covering my tuition.”

I smile at the knowledge. The group covers the tuition of the children of fallen Special Ops warriors—SEALs, Rangers, and the like. I make a mental note to send them a check, too.

I nudge his hand away from me again. “You’ll still need it. There are plenty of expenses that they won’t be able to cover. Invest it now, and buy yourself a house later or something. Please. I insist.”

He nods stoically, and I know right away he’s not the type of kid to blow it on something foolish. I’m glad for that. I don’t need him buying a souped-up sports car with it and wrapping it around a tree. I’ve got enough guilt already.

He sets it down on the counter in front of him, still looking a little shell-shocked to have a windfall of cash.

 “There’s something else I wanted to give you.” I pull out a small box from my cargo shorts. “After my last mission with the Teams, the one right after your dad died, I was awarded the Silver Star. I never felt right getting it without your dad standing there with us. Your dad should have been with us on that mission. I want you to have it.” I open the box.

He’s silent as he looks at it, his finger tracing its laurel wreath.

My chest broadens as I inhale sharply. “And I wanted to say how sorry I am, Lucas.”

His eyes dart up sharply from the medal. “Why?”

“I could have saved him. I should have saved him. I—”

He cuts me off. “You couldn’t have made it back to him in time.”

I search his eyes and wonder how much he knows. “I carried Crosby back to safety first.”

“Because he was shot in the neck. He was worse off than my dad was.”

Looking at him, I realize he must have heard the story of those final moments from one of my SEAL brothers. “Crosby died anyway. If I had taken your dad back—”

“—you would have done everything that you’re trained not to do,” he interrupts. “You needed to take the most wounded man out of danger first. He couldn’t fend for himself. My dad knew that. You didn’t know he was going to get shot again.”

The wisdom this kid has stuns me. “But I still wish I could have saved him.”

“So do I,” he says, and I think he’s talking about me until he continues. “I could have had him quit, you know.”

I feel my eyes soften, seeing the pain in his eyes, pain I recognize too well.

“When I was about fourteen,” he tells me, “I was pissed he was leaving us again, you know? Going back into the field. I was playing baseball back then, and was having a really good season. I wanted him to see me through it. For once, I wanted him to be in the stands watching me win. I cried and shouted and slammed doors. Finally, he told me what I wanted to hear. If it was causing me so much pain, he’d give it up. Leave the SEALs, the Navy, get a normal job like other dads.”

I watch him as he talks, hearing a story Torres never shared with me.

“I was happy for a while. But I saw him put on his uniform the next day to head into base, and I couldn’t let him do it. I couldn’t let him put in his separation paperwork. I knew he loved being a SEAL too much. And for the first time, I knew he loved me even more than he did the SEALs. That was all I wanted to know.”

He sits at the counter, his eyes falling to the Silver Star again. “If I had just had him get out then, he’d be alive right now.”

I sit beside him, watching his eyes trace the outline of the medal. “It’s not your fault. You gave him his freedom to do the work he loved. I can’t even imagine how proud he must have been of you in that moment.” I feel a lump in my throat at the thought. “Lucas, he was always so proud of you. The last thing he would have wanted was you thinking it was your fault.”

A grin inches up his face as his sad eyes meet mine. “Right back atcha,” he comments.

I lay my hand on his shoulder, a smile warming my face. The kid is smarter at his eighteen years than I am at my thirty-two.

Damn, he is going to make a hell of a mark on this world. I can tell.

***

The sun sparkles on the waves as I stare out at the Pacific Ocean from my perch on La Jolla Shores. The boulder I’m sitting on is hard and moist from the salty sea spray and even though I can’t see any sea lions in my line of sight, I can smell them. I can definitely smell them.

The sand is speckled with footprints of humans and other sea-loving creatures, and the water washes a few more away each time it surges up from the ocean to the shore.

I’ve always loved it here, but it’s not my favorite spot in San Diego. I can’t choose a favorite. There are too many vistas that have tugged at my soul in the years that I was stationed here. But this is definitely one of my top five.

It’s the ocean I love the most about this place, though. I love the idea of it—this vast body of water that somehow touches so many shores around the world, interconnecting with other bodies of water and luring beach goers from countless countries and cultures. The people I see right now, dipping their toes in the sand and diving in between waves, see the ocean as a place of recreation. Other people, more directly tied to the seas, see it as sustenance. Some see it as a threat. But we’re all tied to it somehow, it seems.

My heart feels strangely lighter now, with yesterday’s visit to Torres’s son behind me. The guilt that ate away at me seems to have abated, at least for now. And I hope the feeling lasts, even though I know somehow it will still come to me in the night for many years to come.

I’ll keep in better touch with Lucas Torres, I decide with a nod, making a commitment. And I feel free now to come back here to the place I’ve always believed was my future home, as though the shores here were constructed by some higher power just to welcome me.

Only it doesn’t feel like home now. Not the way it used to. And I realize that I need a certain someone sitting beside me for it to be home.

I need Allie.

Now that I’ve made things right with my past, I need to make things right for my future.

I pull myself off the boulder and let my feet sink into the sand below, gazing out to the horizon again and vowing that I’ll come back one day.

I head to my car and make the tedious drive to the airport in morning traffic. I was only in San Diego one night, but it was enough for me, which is an odd thought seeing as I used to say I’d never get enough of this town.

But the only thing right now that I can’t seem to get enough of is Allie. She’s still at her mom’s, I’m sure. I’m almost happy to give her the time she needs to think, because the plan that is brewing in my head has needed a few days to percolate.

I’m grateful for the Wi-Fi they offer on flights these days, and I take full advantage of the six hours on the plane to do a little more research.

The sun is halfway to the horizon by the time I pull my truck into a space in front of my townhome. A surge of anticipation fuels me as I prepare to make my brother an offer that might change the direction of my life.

I open my front door to empty silence, without the light clicking of Kosmo’s paws on his way to greet me. He stayed the night at my parents so that I could make my spontaneous trip. My mom said it’s the least she could do considering what happened with Allie, and from the look in her eyes I could tell she would rather I chased after Allie than gone to San Diego.

But I had a mission, and I still do. For the first time since I left the SEALs, I feel that sense of a mission. It’s not Allie’s mission, which is why it feels so special to me. It’s my own. It’s unique and I’m hell-bent on making it happen.

I slap some water in my face and put on the suit that I might be wearing a lot of in the weeks to come. I hate suits, but I don’t even mind, if I can get what I want by wearing it.

The sun is lower still in the sky as I pull up to JLS Heartland. In my suit now, I feel a little more a part of the place, a little less rough around the edges.

I approach the receptionist and her eyes widen appreciatively as she gazes at me. I guess suits must work almost as well on women as military uniforms.

I hope Allie likes the look of me in a suit.

“Hi. I’m here to see my brother,” I tell her, waiting to see if she remembers who my brother is. She obviously does, because at the press of a couple buttons, Ryan’s assistant is striding down the hallway toward me.

“Hello, Mr. Sheridan. Was your brother expecting you?”

“No, he’s not,” I say. I guess I should have called, but I’m hoping the element of surprise works as well on Ryan as it does in an enemy attack.

“He’s just finishing up a conference call. Can I get you some coffee while you wait?”

“No, thank you,” I reply, taking a seat in the chair she offers me. In my head, I’m spelling out the points I need to make, practicing as though I’m readying myself for a job interview. It’s ridiculous, of course. It’s just my brother, and the company name bears my own initials. I already know there’s a place for me here, but I’ll be asking a lot in return.

Ryan opens the door to his office, his eyes nearly popping from his head at the sight of me in a suit. “Logan. Come on in.”

He shuts the door behind me. “So, a suit? Are you reporting in for work or something?” His tone tells me he’s joking.

“I might be.”

His eyebrows raise now, as he sits at his desk. “Are you serious?”

“It depends. Ryan, I’ve done a lot of thinking about what happened a few days ago. And you’re right. I don’t know anything about this business. I’ve always been more of a field guy. I don’t even know why you’re suddenly buying up land here in Newton’s Creek, when the company’s been hell-bent on being a nationwide presence.”

“It’s for Dad, Logan. You know how he needs to keep his toe in the business. It keeps him alive. But he can’t travel to job sites like he used to. I thought we’d start a few projects locally so that he can still feel a part of things.”

I nod, having figured that out for myself. “Dad can’t travel right now, and you’ve got a daughter who is moving in with you this month. You’re not in any position to be traveling to job sites and making sure our name isn’t attached to bad developments.” I inhale. “But I can. I don’t even blink at travel. God knows I’ve done enough of it during my time in the Navy. And I may not know much about the paperwork and legal aspects of our business, but I can tell when things are going right and wrong on a job. And I’m a good leader. I’ve got plenty of people who will vouch for that. I can make sure we’ve got good teams working for us, keeping our brand strong.”

Ryan looks stunned. “Logan, that would be—”

“Wait.” I hold up my hand. “Before you get all warm and fuzzy, there’s a lot I’m going to ask for in return.”

He eases back in his leather chair and steeples his fingers. “I’m listening.”

“First, I want JLS to be a leader in caring for the people in our communities. I want to set up a foundation.”

“A foundation?”

“Yep. And in every development we have, I want to be able to offer a handicapped accessible house to a wounded servicemember living in the area. We’ve got developments in 32 states. We can really make a difference, Ryan.”

I can’t read his face as he looks at me, so I barrel on. “The government offers some assistance to veterans disabled in the line of duty. But it’s not enough to set them and their families up in a house where they’re not struggling to do the simplest things, like making a meal or brushing their teeth. We build houses, Ryan. We can do this without even blinking.”

He waits a moment, maybe to see if I have anything else to say. I do, but I decide I need some feedback from him first.

“It would make us look good.” His eyes are thoughtful. “We do get some publicity problems, buying up tracts of land like we do. We’ve got our share of enemies.”

I grin. “Then what better friends to make than the military?”

He nods slowly. “I like the idea.”

“There’s one other thing I need,” I quickly add.

His gaze drops to his hands, as he reaches for a pen to toy with the same way he did back in high school, spinning it around the top of his fingers. “Why do I think this next part has to do with Allie?”

“Because you’re my brother and you know I don’t do wrong by people. I can’t leave things the way they are. I’m not asking you to give her the old run-down kennel, though.”

“Thank God for that.”

“I did a little looking online and saw you bought up forty acres off the highway.”

He nods. “Yes. We’re putting in some more affordable housing.” He narrows his eyes on me. “Because some people seem to think we only build houses for the rich.”

I want to laugh, but I can’t afford to miss a beat in my proposition. “I want five acres of that land adjacent to the highway.”

“For what?” he asks, even though I know he knows.

“For a rescue kennel. I want it built by JLS Heartland Foundation, a donation to our community. Something big enough for not just dogs, but cats, birds, the whole gamut. The acreage next to the highway isn’t best suited for homes anyway. It’s too noisy. You stick a bunch of middle class homes there and you’ll look like a tyrant—saving the good land—the quiet land—for the rich. But a bunch of animals aren’t going to care about the noise, and the extra traffic will only help get them homes faster. You use that land to build a rescue organization, you’ll look like a fucking hero.”

“Five acres? Allie’s plot that we bought in between the farms was only two.”

“Five,” I say adamantly. “Enough so that there’s a noise buffer between her and the development.”

“You drive a hard bargain. And I suppose you’ll be negotiating your salary next?”

I smile, knowing he’s going for it. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

He laughs. “But enough to care for a wife and a few kids down the road, if things work out the way you’ve planned, I’m betting.”

“Maybe so,” I answer.

If I’m lucky.