Major O

A Bad Boy Military Romance

She’s never had an orgasm and I’ve never failed a mission.  

I spent 12 years going through hell as a major in the marines.
But hell itself wasn't enough to make me forget Abby Greenwood. 
I left her without a word one night 12 years ago. 
But I had a good reason... 
I also swore to myself that I would never set foot in this town again. 
Yet here I am... and there she is. 
With her perfect body and alluring eyes, begging me to take her.
I never got to taste her before I left.
But now I've got a second chance.
And this is one mission I can't fail... 

I’m the only one who can give her what she needs,
even if it takes me all night.  

Chapter One

I admit it – I’m not very good at my job. I let myself get easily distracted. But then, most guys in my place would be easily distracted too. Having a woman face down in your lap, blowing you in the front seat of your car can be more than a little distracting.

In my defense though, when you're sitting on a long, boring-ass stakeout for hours on end, you need to find ways to distract yourself. At least, I do. Maybe I've got that ADHD or some shit like that.

Fortunately for me, I've gotten smarter about how I do things. That's my deal – working smarter so I can enjoy a few of the perks that go along with the job. Perks like Sarah here, who is working my shaft like an absolute pro. Although she pretended to be this shy, demure, inexperienced little thing when we met, I can tell by the way she's sucking my cock that this is most definitely not her first rodeo.

I have my hands in her hair, pulling on it gently as she slides her tongue up and down my shaft. She has a firm grip on my cock and is stroking me at the same time. I let out a small gasp as she takes all of me into her mouth, tightening her lips around me and starts bobbing her head up and down fast and hard, using her hand to cup and squeeze my balls.

I throw my head back against the headrest of the driver's seat and moan. It feels damn good.

“Jesus, Sarah,” I groan.

She immediately stops and looks up at me, a flash of anger in her eyes. “It's Sabrina,” she scowls.

I give her a dry chuckle and a lopsided smile. “Right. Sorry,” I say. “You're so good that you're obviously scrambling my brain a bit.”

She gives me a small smile, accepting what I said as truth. Probably only because she wants it to be true – doesn't want to think she's that disposable or faceless to me. But the truth of the matter, she is. I've got no plans to see her again after we finish up here. What is the point? I'm not looking for a relationship and even if I was, I don't really think I exactly qualify as “boyfriend material.”

All I want is a little fun to pass some time while I wait for my target to make his move. Well – that and to get laid, I suppose.

Apparently, she's satisfied so Sarah or Sabrina – or whatever the hell her name is – goes back to work, sucking and stroking me like she's auditioning for a porn. She's a nice enough girl, I suppose – early twenties, body that won't quit, sexy as hell. She's toned, tight, and best of all, eager to screw. As far as qualifications go, she's checked off every box on my list.

We met at the bar across the street from my target's office. I figured I'd have a drink while I kept an eye on things. I honestly hadn't intended to hook up with Sarah – I actually only wanted a beer while I waited. But she struck up a conversation, one thing led to another, and the next thing I know, we're out in my car and I've got my cock in her mouth.

Yeah, it's times like these when I enjoy being a PI the most.

I let myself get so caught up in Sarah's blow job though, that I didn't realize my target was on the move. Not until I hear the soft beep coming from my laptop, anyway.

“Shit,” I murmur.

Sarah looks up at me with a curious and concerned expression on her face. “You okay? Did I –”

“No, you're fine,” I say. “Sorry, it's work.”

I can tell by her expression that she's disappointed, thinking that we aren't going to be able to finish our little tryst. But I know the device I'd planted on my target's car has a GPS device, so I'd be able to pick him up again later – like I said, I'm working smarter.

But it's a small transmitter with a limited range, so I need to finish up with Sarah pretty quick if I'm going to finish this job up tonight. And I really want to finish this job up tonight. Sarah though, is looking at me like I'd just kicked her puppy and stole her candy. I give her a soft smile.

I know I can be an asshole sometimes, but I'm not that big of an asshole. I'll make sure she has a good time. Besides, I really need to get off now too.

“Let me guess,” she pouts, “you have to go.”

I shrug. “I do, but I still have a few minutes.”

I jump out of the car and hurry around to the passenger side – glad I'd had the foresight to park in a dark, secluded corner of the parking lot. Pulling open the door, I get her to her feet and give her a long, passionate kiss. The girl melts in my arms and kisses me back, taking my cock in her hand and give it a good, hard squeeze.

She gives me a sultry little smile and I know she's still up for it. Turning her around, I bend over the passenger seat and lift her skirt up, pushing it up around her waist. I take a look around to make sure nobody's watching us – more for her sake than mine, I really don't give a shit if they do – and when I see we're alone, I drive my cock deep into her.

Sarah gasps and I feel her body tense up as I enter her. But as I grab on to her hips and slowly start to move my cock in and out of her, I feel her relax and loosen up a bit. As I start to pump my hips, slamming myself into her harder and faster in a steady rhythm, she begins to moan. Sarah pushes back against me, taking me deeper into her as she moans even louder.

She so tight and feels so good, I know I'm not going to last very long. Sarah is moaning louder and her breathing is becoming a little ragged as I pump my cock into her hard and fast. I reach up and grab a handful of her hair, giving it a solid pull as I drive myself even deeper inside of her.

“Oh, yes,” she groans, “Yes, baby, yes.”

I grunt and grit my teeth, determined to make sure she gets off. Like I said, I'm not a totally selfish asshole. I move my hips, pumping into her even harder and I can feel that pressure building up inside of me. I hope she's close because I know I don't have much longer.

The girl's body tenses up beneath me and her breath catches in her throat. She lets out a low moan that sounds more like a growl than anything. And then all at once, it feels like her entire body locks up for a moment before she begins to shake almost uncontrollably.

Her voice breathy and ragged, she calls out my name as her orgasm tears through her. She's loud, so I quickly survey the parking lot, glad to see it's still deserted. I may not care if somebody sees us, but the last thing I need is for the cops to roll in – they might care a little bit.

Sarah looks back at me over her shoulder, biting her bottom lip, and gives me a lascivious little smile. I take that as my cue and drive myself into her even harder. She gasps, but moans as I bury my cock into her as deep as I can go. I thrust myself deeper and harder, the pressure inside of me building to a crescendo.

And then the dam burst.

With one final, deep thrust, I bury myself deep inside of her and let out a groan. Throwing my head back, I let the sensations ripple through me as I unload my seed in a big, wet burst. My body trembles as I come and my fingers dig into the flesh of her ass.

A moment later, my cock growing limp, I pull out of her and quickly pull up my pants. Sarah stands up and turns around, smoothing her dress down and looks at me with a sweet smile on her face. I hear my laptop beep again and look to it, growing a little anxious to be on my way.

“That was incredible,” she says.

I nod distractedly as I zip up my pants and buckle my belt. “Yeah, that was fun.”

Sarah traces her fingertip down my chest. “We should do that again sometime,” she says. “Soon.”

“Yeah,” I reply. “That'd be great. Listen I gotta run. Duty calls and all.”

I walk around and get in behind the wheel of my car. Sarah leans in through the open window and hands me a piece of paper. I look at it questioningly.

“It's my number,” she says. “Call me.”

I give her my best thousand-watt smile. “Yeah, absolutely,” I say. “I had fun tonight. Thanks, Sarah.”

Her smile fades immediately, and an annoyed look crosses her face. “It's Sabrina.”

“Right, Sabrina,” I reply. “Sorry. I'm terrible with names.”

I start the car up and back out of my space, giving her a wave as I accelerate out of the parking lot. Even as I turn out onto the street, I imagine that I can still see the look of anger and disapproval on her face. Sabrina. Not Sarah.

Oh well, it wasn't like I was going to see her again.

“Yeah, that could've gone smoother,” I say to myself.

Stopped at a red light, I lean down and grab my laptop, setting it on the seat next to me and open it up. The tracking program is already up and running and I can see the little red dot that marks my target's car. It's stopped a little way up the road from where I am.

I breathe a little sigh of relief that he hadn't gotten out of the transmitter's range. I'd be there in a few minutes, get what I need to wrap this job up, and move on to something else. Hopefully, something a little more interesting.

Chapter Two

I pull to a stop at the far end of the parking lot, kill the lights, and shut off the engine. I look at the flashing neon sign that proudly proclaims this fine establishment to be The Starlight Motel. It looks like the type of joint that rents out rooms by the hour.

“Classy as hell, man,” I say.

My target, one Richard Barrett, has apparently been having an affair for the last few months. And his wife, Margaret Barrett – my client – is apparently none too pleased by it. Which is why she hired me to get some incriminating photos of Mr. Barrett in the act with his mistress – who, after a little light digging, I found to be one of the clerks at the local grocery store.

At least, he isn't banging his secretary and becoming that tired, old cliché.

I grab my bag of equipment and get out of the car and walk across the parking lot. I stop by his car and take a look around before removing the tracking device I'd planted on it. Those things aren't cheap and I'm not made of money, after all. As a freelancer, I'm responsible for all my own gear. If I lose or break something, it comes out of my pocket. So yeah, I'm careful with my shit.

Tucking the tracker back in my bag, I look at the motel. All the doors face the parking lot with large windows beside each one. I scratch at the stubble on my chin and try to figure out how I'm going to figure out which room he's in. I can see a dozen rooms with the lights on behind drawn curtains, which tells me that he's probably in one of those. Which doesn't do a whole lot to narrow down the possibilities for me.

I can smash his car window and set of his alarm. But if I do that, he could be pissed enough that it ruins his evening with the clerk. Which means that I don't get the photos I need to close this case and move on to something else. And seriously, the last thing I want to do is spend another night tailing this guy around town.

I take a look at the motel office and decide to see if I can get the intel I need from the clerk. I slip my hands into my coat pockets and walk across the parking lot. There is an electronic chime as I step through the door. Closing it behind me, I step to the counter and wait.

A couple of minutes pass by and still nobody comes to the counter. I'm getting irritated and impatient, and bang on the bell sitting on the desk a couple of times.

“Hello?” I call.

A door behind the counter opens up and a man stumbles out. He's slovenly and completely disheveled. He can't be that much older than I am, has got a large beer gut, brown hair that's already thinning, and skin that looks pale and greasy. A thin film of sweat makes his face glisten and I can hear the distinct sounds of porn coming from the back room.

As if noticing the sound of moaning and groaning filling the small lobby suddenly, the man quickly closes the door and clears his throat. He's not looking me directly in the eye when he finally looks up and his face is turning a shade of red not found in nature.

“What can I do for you?” he asks, a forced chipperness in his voice.

He holds out his hand and I look at it. Knowing what I know – namely, what he was doing in that back room – there is no way in hell I'm going to touch that man's hand. He looks at me, clears his throat and blushes again. He finally lowers his hand, as if he knows what's going through my mind.

“Need some information,” I reply.

The man cocks his head at me as he uses a handkerchief to dab at the sweat on his face. “Information?”

I nod and flash him my credentials. To the unobservant – which, this man clearly is – it might appear to be a police badge and ID. What it was though, was my PI creds and a badge I'd bought on Amazon to use in situations like this. I never claim to be a cop – because that would be a crime. I just flash them and let them make their own assumptions.

And when I was dealing with morons – as this guy clearly is – flashing them usually has the desired effect. His eyes widen slightly and his mouth falls open.

“W – what kind of information are you looking for?” he asks. “Is something going on here I need to be worried about?”

“No, nothing to be worried about,” I say. “I'm just looking for somebody.”

“Who?”

“I need to know who's checked in over the last few hours,” I say. “Do you have a register I can look at?”

The man nods and slides a book over to me. Taking a look at the names listed, I find the one I'm looking for. I tap on the name.

“Darla Whitlock,” I say. “What room is she in?”

“That nice lady? What could she –”

“Room number,” I say gruffly.

“Uhhh – room 231,” he replies.

“Thank you,” I say. “Now, feel free to go back to your porn.”

The man's face turns red again and he looks like he wants to crawl into a hole and die. I chuckle as I turn and walk out of his office, letting the door close behind me. I find my way to the stairs that lead up to the second floor. Room 231 is down on the end of the building and as quietly as I can manage, I make my way to it.

I stand beside the window and start taking some of the equipment out of my bag. Through the window, I can hear the sound of a woman giggling, some moaning and groaning, as well as the familiar slap of flesh against flesh. Yeah, there's no question about what's going on in there.

I duck down a bit and move to the door. I probably didn't need to be so cautious – the couple inside was obviously distracted and not likely paying attention to the door and window. They probably should have though. Or at least, they should have been a little bit smarter about having their little affair. Hooking up with somebody from the store you and your wife regularly shopped, in a motel halfway between your office and your house – not very smart. I would have expected more from ol' Richard Barrett, attorney at law.

But Richard Barrett, attorney at law, is obviously more interested in nailing a girl half his age than he is in being smart about it. His problem, not mine. I'm there doing the job I'm being paid to do. What comes after that is all on him.

Kneeling down in front of the door, I take the small camera unit with the fiber optic lens out of my bag. I slide the long, tubular lens under the door and move it around until I have it in position. Once I have a clear view of them on screen, I start to record.

Barrett is a middle-aged man with a thick head of salt-and-pepper colored hair. He has a little bit of a paunch, but he looks like a man who tries to take care of himself and stay in shape. He's a man whose been married for twenty-five years and is going through a mid-life crisis, obviously. A mid-life crisis minus the sports car – Mrs. Barrett told me she'd already nixed that idea.

The woman he's with has bleach blonde hair and from the looks of things, is far too thin for my liking. She's almost skeletal. But, to somebody like Barrett, the fact that she's young – looks to be just out of high school, honestly – is reasonably attractive, and willing to bang him anywhere at anytime, is all he needs.

I have no doubt he told her he is going to leave his wife for her, that they're going to have a long, happy life together when all she is to him is a piece of ass. He just seems to be the kind of guy who'd do something like that – promise his side piece that she means the world to him and they're going to live happily ever after. He may not be a cliché entirely, but he's a sleaze.

I hope Mrs. Barrett takes his ass to the cleaners in the divorce.

I continue watching the screen, admiring the effort the girl is putting into things. She's really going to town on Barrett and the look on his face says he's in total bliss. His wife isn't a bad looking woman at all and honestly, I'm not sure what this girl he's currently fucking has on her.

Maybe it's because she's new, different, and exciting. Maybe after twenty-five years with one woman, things got a little – stale. I don't know and honestly, have no desire to find out. I'm not exactly a one-woman kind of guy. After all, variety is the spice of life, as they say. And I want to taste everything on the buffet of life – tasty little morsels like Sabrina earlier.

Yeah, it figures that I'd remember her name now, well after the fact.

Now that I'm out of the service, I'm just kind of enjoying my life as it is. Yeah, maybe my job isn't the most glamorous thing in the world. I know that some people view my line of work with disdain. PI's get a bad reputation for being bottom feeders – for being the kind of scum who exploit failing marriages for a paycheck. I do more than just catch philanderers in the act – but to be fair, that is the bulk of my work.

But hey, my attitude is that if you're not doing something wrong to begin with, I'm never going to know who you are, let alone be sitting outside your hotel room videotaping you banging some piece of ass. That shit is on you, not me.

I like doing what I do mainly because it's a bit loose and relaxed. And after twelve years in the Marines – ten of those in Force Recon – I feel entitled to a little time to do something loose and relaxed. Something not so rigidly structured. And even though there was an element of danger now and then, it wasn't like my time in the Corps.

And after going through hell for a dozen years in some of the shittiest places on the planet, I feel entitled to do a job where my life isn't on the line every single minute of every single day. No, it's not glamorous, but it pays the bills and I get to enjoy my life and a lack of responsibility a little bit.

Barrett and his girlfriend finished up with a screaming, groaning finale – and if he couldn't tell she was faking, he was an even bigger moron than I thought. But given that they were done, I removed the camera tube, rolled it back in and tucked everything away. I'd take some stills from the video for the file and turn those and the video all over to Mrs. Barrett to use in her impending divorce proceedings. I only wish I could see his face when she drops the file on him – he was obviously oblivious to the fact that I'd been tailing him for two weeks.

But, my part in this play is over and my job is done. Time to move on to the next.

Chapter Three

Abby

“So then, Mrs. Morris forgets that her glasses are on top of her head and nearly panics...”

I nod and laugh at his story – as I always do. But the truth of the matter is that I'm bored out of my skull. James and I have been dating for about eight months and it's pretty safe to say that he's more into this relationship than I am. He's a nice enough guy, but he's just so – predictable. So regimented. Everything is on a schedule and by the numbers.

And while I'm certainly not a hair-on-fire wild woman, I do like a certain amount of spontaneity in my partner. I like to be surprised sometimes. And James, although he's sweet, doesn't surprise me. Ever. With anything.

Truth be told, I should have ended our relationship months ago. But, I didn't want to hurt him. And honestly, it was nice to have companionship – even if it was often boring. I'd moved back to Sheridan Falls – my hometown – after I'd grown tired of living in New York City. Not to mention a failed marriage – one I never should have gotten myself into to begin with.

But honestly, it was the constant hustle and bustle, everybody in a hurry and rushing about. It was fun and exciting for a while. But it can be exhausting. Everybody told me that I was going to hate New York. That I wasn't cut out for big city life. But after four years at Columbia, getting my degree in Psychology, I laughed at them. I was proving them wrong.

I had a moderately successful marriage counseling practice, was living the big city life, had a good man for a husband, and for a while, I thought I was happy. But when I found out that my husband wasn't the good man I'd thought he was and that he was cheating on me with my best friend, things started to go south very quickly.

Shortly after I'd moved out and filed for divorce, the city life began to wear on me. Things that I'd found charming before suddenly became annoying. I was constantly on edge. Irritated. And worst of all, I was lonely.

It was then that I decided it was time to come home. The pace of life in Sheridan Falls was slower. Easier to manage. It wasn't so compacted and congested. It wasn't so busy and frantic. I felt like I could actually breathe.

It was a nice change of pace.

Still, I felt like I had to slink back into town with my tail between my legs, ashamed that I'd been proven wrong. It's not like anybody was actually judging me – other than me, anyway. On some level, I feel like I'd failed. That I wasn't able to hack it in the big, bad city.

Honestly though, I had to admit that what they'd said before I left was true. I'm not a girl who's cut out for big city life. It was a fun experience for the most part and I'm glad I tried it, but the only thing it did was make me appreciate Sheridan Falls that much more.

Sheridan Falls isn't a big city, by any stretch of the imagination. But it's not a small podunk middle-of-nowhere town either. We have a population that's a little over two hundred thousand now, and it's growing. It's an idyllic little place in the northwest corner of Washington that a lot of folks have figured out is a nice place to raise a family.

“Abby?”

James' voice cut through my thoughts and pulls me back to the present. I look at him and realize I have absolutely no idea what he was talking about. I shake my head and give him a sheepish grin.

“Sorry, I zoned out for a minute,” I say. “Long day. What were you saying?”

He looks a little annoyed, but reins it in quickly. “I was just asking you how your meal was?”

It is fine. It's always fine. We are sitting in Davina's Cucina, James' favorite Italian restaurant – just like we do every Friday night. Honestly, I'm not a huge fan of Italian food, but I deal with it for him. Over the months, I found a couple of things I liked, so I usually ordered them.

James though, he orders the same thing every single Friday night. He's been doing it so long; the waitress knows what he wants before we ever sat down. The only reason why they still even bother with menus is because I sometimes change things up and order something different – something that seems to irk James a little bit every time.

Like I said, he's a man of routine. A never, ever, ever, varying routine.

“It's delicious,” I reply.

He nods. “Oh, it's just that you're kind of picking at it,” he says. “Usually, if you order the eggplant parmesan, you don't pick at it so much. So, I was just thinking maybe you didn't like the lasagna or something.”

“Oh no, I like it just fine,” I say. “I guess I'm just a little tired and out of it or something today. Not all that hungry after all.”

He looks at me for a moment and then nods, as if he somehow needs to process my answer before accepting it. I have to restrain myself from rolling my eyes. I usually enjoy James' company – he actually is a good conversationalist, a smart man, and we have some terrific talks about any number of things. But for whatever reason, tonight isn't one of those nights.

Tonight, I just want to go home, put on some pajamas, curl up on the couch with a tub of ice cream, and binge on Netflix all night.

But, it's Friday night. Date night. And if I decide to alter our routine, it's going to throw James into a tailspin – something I had a little firsthand experience with. James doesn't like surprises or changes to his routine we didn't talk about first – to give him a little time to prepare – and so, I always do my best to avoid springing anything on him out of the blue.

“You sure?” he asks, looking at me curiously. “Everything okay?”

I reach across the table and give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Everything's fine,” I say. “Promise.”

He nods and goes back to eating, apparently satisfied with my answer. Truth is though, I'm not fine. I just feel – off. A little unsettled, perhaps. Why I'm feeling this way, I haven't the first clue. It's just something that's becoming more and more persistent in my mind and in my heart.

But it's nothing I can point to or identify. And until I can figure out what's bothering me, there's obviously nothing I can do about it.

The waitress comes by and clears off our plates a little while later. She gives James a smile, knowing the routine very well.

“Tiramisu coming right up,” she says and James beams back at her.

I groan inwardly. I hate tiramisu.

Chapter Four

We get back to my place and I think that there's enough time to kick James out and binge on a few episodes of something before I fall asleep on the couch. Which sounds fantastic to me. But I know better than that. I already know what's going to happen.

And like clockwork, after I hang my sweater in the hall closet, I feel James' arms on my waist as he nuzzles my neck from behind. Friday night date means Friday night sex. It's the routine, after all.

James kisses my neck, running the tip of his tongue from my ear down to my collarbone. I lean back into him and smile, enjoying the sensation. I can feel his hard cock pressing up against my ass. If there is one thing I know with certainty, it's that James really likes me.

I turn around and clasp my hands behind his neck, leaning in and kissing him deeply. Passionately. Our tongues swirl and dance in my mouth and he slides his hands down my back, squeezing my ass. Our kissing grows more passionate, more intense, and I reach down and stroke his stiff cock through his slacks. He throws his head back and moans softly.

James looks at me, a look of absolute hunger in his eyes. And I feel the fire between my thighs grow even hotter. I'm suddenly feeling a little frisky and want to change things up a bit. He gives me a curious look as I step back from him, looking him in the eye, and bite my bottom lip seductively. I crook my finger, motioning for him to come to me. He cocks his head as if he's not sure what's happening, but obeys me.

When I get to the couch, I turn around and bend over the arm of it, hiking my skirt up around my waist. Looking back over my shoulder at him, I smile lasciviously.

“Fuck me, James,” I purr. “I need you inside of me right now. I don't want to wait another minute.”

I can see the desire in his eyes, but it's at war with his natural order of things. Of how things should go and should be.

I feel the stab of disappointment in my heart as he pulls me up and takes my hand.

“Let's go to the bedroom,” he says. “Where we'll be more comfortable.”

The goddamn routine. Always the goddamn routine. Sex on Friday nights. Never on Thursdays, every other Saturday, but always Friday. And always in the bedroom. James' idea of getting frisky was turning the lights on – and it had taken me the better part of three months to convince him to do that.

I sigh to myself and push down the irritation that had bloomed in my chest, letting James lead me into the bedroom – noticing that he flipped the lights on with a flourish and doing my best to not roll my eyes.

Standing at the foot of the bed, James pulls me to him and kisses me again. It's a deep, fiery kiss and despite my annoyance, I feel myself growing wet. If there's one thing James does well, it's kiss. He knows exactly how to use his mouth and he does it well – my only wish was that he used it more.

He pulled me to him and I could feel his hard cock pressing against me. Despite myself, my irritation from a moment ago evaporates and I lose myself in the moment. I feel his hands slide down and unzip my skirt, letting it fall to the floor. I kick off my heels as James unbuttons my shirt, letting it join my skirt in a pile at my feet.

He runs his hand over my body, setting my skin on fire. I kiss him back as I work at his belt. I finally get it undone and then unzip his pants, pushing them down. James steps back and takes them off, followed by his shirt, and then drops them atop his shoes – neatly, of course. I move over to him and take his thick cock in my hand, squeezing and stroking it while we kiss.

James moans softly and then pushes me down to the bed, positioning me on the edge. Kneeling down, James leans forward and puts his mouth to good use. He licks and sucks on me, teasing my opening with the tip of his tongue before he plunges two fingers deep inside of me.

I gasp and then moan as he works his fingers in and out of my pussy, all the while, he licks and sucks on my clit. I arched my hips upward, trying to take his fingers deeper inside of me, but he pulled them out and instead, slid his tongue in. I cried out as the rush of sensation was powerful as he licked me deep and hard. I felt the pressure building low in me and tried to encourage him to keep going.

“James –” I moan softly. “Yes, baby. Don't stop. Please don't stop.”

But he did stop and I can't help but feel disappointed. I wanted him to keep going, to keep doing what he'd been doing. But, he didn't. Instead, he has me scoot up the bed and he climbs up on top of me. I wrap my legs around his waist and kiss him as James drives his cock deep into me. I groan as he fills me up and begins to pump his hips, setting a smooth, easy rhythm.

I arch my back and dig my nails into his shoulders as he drives his cock into me again and again. I try to move, to switch to another position, but James holds me fast, keeps me pinned down on my back, and keeps fucking me. Missionary is his favorite position – in fact, most of the times we'd slept together, it was the only position we did it in.

Pushing aside all negative thought, I close my eyes and give into the sensation coursing through me. James feels amazing as he drives his cock into me again and again. My body is warm and my breath catches in my throat. I look up at him and he's looking down at me, staring deeply into my eyes.

“You feel so good, baby,” I say. “I love it when you're so deep inside of me.”

James grunts and thrusts his cock into me but says nothing. He never does. Outside of some grunts and groans, he's pretty much silent during sex. I raise my hips, taking him deeper into me and revel in the waves of pleasure rolling through me.

He sheaths himself deep inside of me, taking slower, longer strokes, and I know that he's getting close. I close my eyes and try to summon my own orgasm. I grip his arms tight and grit my teeth, trying to squeeze every last ounce of pleasure from him as he pumps himself inside of me.

He squeezes his eyes shut and quickens his pace. I know James is done for. His body shudders and he moans as he unleashes his seed deep within me. A flood of warm, sticky come fills me up and James collapses on top of me, his breathing labored.

He gives me a smile and plants a kiss on my forehead before rolling off and laying beside me.

“That was incredible,” he said.

I smile but make no reply – because it hadn't been incredible. Not really. Not for me anyway. Not that it ever is. It was fine and I enjoyed it, but I never really enjoyed it. It's not James' fault. To be fair, I'd never been able to get off with any man before. The only orgasms I'd ever had in my life, I'd given to myself.

It's not all that long before James' breathing became low and steady. He's asleep, of course he is.

I get out of bed and turn off the light, heading out to the kitchen for a glass of water. As I stand at the sink, looking at the moonlit world beyond my window, I sigh. Sex with James is fine. It's enjoyable. But I can never say that I'm satisfied. I usually have to finish myself off later. But I'm not in the mood to even do that tonight.

I'm frustrated. Not just sexually – though, there's plenty of that mixed in – but emotionally, mentally, and even spiritually. Because hell, why not? I loved being back home and away from the city, but at the same time, I felt restless. Incomplete. There was something missing, some void in my life and for the life of me, I can't figure out what it is.

You'd think that being a trained psychologist, I'd have a better handle on my own thoughts, emotions, and mental well-being. You'd think I'd be able to zero in on exactly what the problem within me is. But for some reason, the answers to the questions in my mind and in my heart, continue to elude me.

It's because I'm too close to things, obviously. You can hardly ever see the problems when they're within you, right in front of your face. Not as easily as it is to see and point out the problems other people are having, anyway.

But it is what it is, I suppose. To be fair, things aren't so terrible with James. They're just not as exciting as they could be. As I'd like them to be. But I know that can also be just as much my fault as it is his. Like I said, I'm in a weird place in my head and in my heart, and I'm not sure how to make sense of anything.

I finish my water and put the glass in the sink before going back to bed, my mind and heart still troubled by the endless questions and the persistent feeling of being unsettled.

Chapter Five

Caleb

“You sure you're up for this?”

I look over at Tony and give him a smirk. “Of course, I'm up for it,” I reply. “Why wouldn't I be?”

Tony shrugged and grinned at me. “You just look a little hungover, that's all.”

Truth is, I am a bit hungover. But I don't want to tell Tony that. He's relying on me to be his backup for this job. But I'd gone out the night before and although I didn't mean to, I'd tied on one a little too hard. Woke up in some random girl's bed with my head pounding like a son of a bitch.

I didn't remember much from the night before, but getting a good look at that tight little ass in bed next to me told me that it had been a good night indeed.

Of course, I spent the day hydrating and trying to recover knowing that I had to meet Tony tonight to nail down his bounty. I don't usually do a lot of work chasing down bail jumpers, but I did a little now and then. When there weren't a lot of soon-to-be divorcee looking for dirt on their significant others or missing people to track down, bounty hunting filled in the financial gaps.

Tonight, is Tony's bounty though – I'm just there for the added muscle. He and I go way back – I'd done a couple of tours with him in Afghanistan. Tony is a stand-up guy. A good man. I'd put my life in his hands more times than I can count, and he's done the same with me.

When I finally rotated out of the Corps and came back to the States, it was Tony who helped me get set up as a PI and a bail bondsman. After everything we'd seen and done over there, he knew better than anybody that a nine-to-five office job wasn't going to work for me. He knew that you couldn't adjust to life in a cubicle after spending years on a battlefield.

“I'm good, man,” I said.

“You read the file, yeah?”

I give him a thumbs up. “Of course, I did.”

He looks at me and I can see the skepticism in his face. Tony knows me pretty well and knows my disdain for paperwork. But he also knows that he can count on me when he's up against it. Knows I'll always have his back.

“You read the whole file?” he presses.

I start to nod before stopping myself and flashing him a crooked grin. “I may have – skimmed – certain parts.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Of course, you did.”

“Don't worry, man,” I say. “It's going to be fine. We'll get your bad guy and then go out for a beer.”

“It might not be the walk in the park you –”

“Come on, man,” I cut him off, “he's a twenty-four-year-old dope dealer. He's not some hardass criminal mastermind. And he's definitely not any more dangerous than some of those shitheads we dealt with over in Afghanistan.”

“True, but –”

“He's armed,” I say and tap on my chest. “I know. Got my vest on already.”

Tony chuckles and shakes his head again. “Just make sure to keep your eyes open and your head on a swivel, dude.”

“You know me,” I reply. “I'm always ready for anything.”

“Yeah, you're gonna need to be.”

We get out of the car and head toward the small duplex. The neighborhood is run down, dirty, riddled with crime. There are bars on the windows of most every home and the place is infested with drugs and gangbangers.

In other words, it's the perfect place to find the scumbag we're looking for.

“Okay, here's the plan,” Tony says. “I'm going around back. This dude is a runner and is probably going to bolt at the first sign you're there. You flush him out and I'll be waiting to scoop his ass up.”

“Easy peasy,” I say.

“Yeah, well, just remember to keep that head on a swivel like I said,” he says. “And keep your comms open.”

I snap him a quick salute. “Yes, sir.”

I watch him trot around toward the back of the house. I check my earpiece and make sure my comms are open so we can keep in direct communication with one another. Plans are great things to have, but they seldom went exactly as you laid them out. And as long as we can communicate, we can adjust to whatever wrench gets thrown into the works.

After giving Tony a couple of minutes to get into position, I head up the front walk and up the three crumbling brick steps to the porch.

“At the door,” I say softly into my comm piece. “You ready?”

“Roger that,” Tony's voice comes back to me.

I nod to myself and pound on the door as forcefully as I can and shout. “Recovery agents, open the door.”

Much to my surprise, as I'm beating on the door, it flies inward, crashing into the wall behind it. With my gun in hand, pointed at the ground, I step inside, my eyes scanning the entire room. It's empty. I strain my ears and listen, my body tense and poised to fight.

The inside of the house looks a lot like the outside – dirty, cluttered, disgusting. There are empty pizza boxes, beer bottles, and dirty dishes covering every surface I can see – even the floor. The stink in this place is unbearable. I've been in porta-potties in the middle of a heat wave that have smelled better. It's all I can do to avoid gagging.

“Caleb, sitrep,” Tony's voice came to me through my earpiece, asking for the situation report.

I keyed the mic open. “He's in here,” I say quietly. “I know he is. Just gotta flush him out.”

“Head on a swivel.”

“Roger that.”

I have plenty of experience crashing houses like this – I've been on more than my share of raids back in Afghanistan. And because of that, I developed an almost sixth sense about things – and that sixth sense is telling me that I'm not alone in the house.

“Recovery agents,” I call out. “Come out now.”

I stand statue still in the center of the room, extending my senses our as far as they can go. I know the guy is in here, I just don't know where. Moving slowly and quietly, I head toward the doorway that looks like it leads to the kitchen.

Gun drawn and held out in front of me, I step through the doorway and that's when all hell breaks loose. There's a flurry of movement as a man – our target – burst out of hiding and headed for the back door.

“Target's on the move,” I called into my comm. “Rabbiting your way.”

I caught the movement out of the corner of my eye a split second before things could have gotten really bad. A woman – all five foot two and ninety pounds of her – who I didn't see upon coming through the doorway, was swinging a cast iron skillet directly at my head. I managed to get my arm up a moment before impact, deflecting the worst of the blow – from my head at least.

My forearm went numb immediately after the skillet made contact with it, making me drop my weapon. Though I took the worst of the blow on the arm and made the skillet alter its trajectory, it still managed to glance off the side of my head. I see stars briefly and there is a high-pitched ringing in my head, but I manage to remain on my feet.

Good thing too, because the ninety pound hellcat is just behind her skillet – on me before I had a chance to recover. She's screaming, hissing, and clawing at my eyes. If it wasn't a situation that could go really badly in the blink of an eye, it would be funny. As it is though, I need to get the little hellcat off me before she gets herself hurt.

My arm is throbbing in pain from her skillet maneuver, but I don't think anything was broken. It's likely going to leave one hell of a nasty bruise though. I grab the woman by the back of her neck and pull her off me. She's tenacious and tough as hell, but because she weighs next to nothing, I manage to break her hold on me pretty easily.

I toss her to the side where she lands on her butt with a grunt. Seeing my gun on the floor, the small girl scrambles for it, but I'm far quicker than she is. I snatch the gun up and point it directly at her face.

“If I were you, I'd stay down,” I say menacingly. “You've already pissed me off. You don't want to make things any worse.”

She spits on my shoe and curses me out in Spanish. But she's smart enough to remain seated on the dirty ass floor. My gun still trained on her, I key open the mic on my comms.

“Tony, sitrep,” I say. “You okay?”

“Situation is green. Asshole in custody,” he replies, a chuckle in his voice. “What the hell is going on in there? Sounds like a catfight.”

The chuckle in his voice told me he knew what would be waiting for me in there. Knew that the biggest hassle was going to be the girlfriend, not the target.

“You're an asshole,” I say, shaking my head, unable to keep myself from laughing. “What do you to do about princess here? We baggin' her too?”

“Nah,” Tony replies. “No bounty on her. Leave her and let's split. Just – don't turn your back on her.”

“Yeah, thanks for the heads up,” I say. “Could've used that about five minutes ago.”

All I hear is Tony's laughter before he keys his comm closed. I look down at the girl who's staring back at me with pure hatred in her eyes.

“Why you always hasslin' Angel,” she spits. “He's only tryin' to provide for his family.”

I shrug. “Yeah, well, maybe he wants to consider doing something other than selling drugs.”

“Yeah, like it's easy as that.”

“Listen lady, it's not my problem,” I say. “He broke the terms of his bail. That's on him and has nothing to do with me. I'm just doing my job.”

“Yeah, well your job sucks, puto,” she curses. “And you suck. Get out of my house, asshole.”

I keep my weapon out, but lower it to my side. “Fine,” I say. “I'm going. But it'd be smart for you to remain sitting where you are until I'm out the back door. Got it?”

“I said get out!” she shouted.

Not wanting to get hit with another skillet or saucepan or some shit like that, I back toward the door, keeping my eyes on her. She remains seated, staring daggers at me the whole way. When I finally get out the back door, I close it tight and turn around to find Tony standing there looking at me, laughing his ass off. Angel is sitting at Tony's feet, his hands locked together with zip ties behind his back, looking like the most miserable man in the world.

I laugh. “I'm seriously gonna kick your ass for that,” I say. “She damn near broke my arm.”

Tony shrugs. “But hey, she didn't,” he replies. “So, it's all good.”

We haul Angel to his feet and march him out to the car, our work for the night done.

Chapter Six

Abby

“Why do you stay with him?” she asks.

I'm sitting in the Daily Grind with my best friend Dana. The Grind is our usual haunt – good coffee, good pastries, and with plush couches and chairs, is a comfortable place to sit and chat. Dana and I get together every Saturday to hang out and talk. We're both busy, and though we get together for dinners now and then, our Saturday morning ritual is something we very rarely ever miss.

“He's a good guy,” I say. “He treats me well.”

“As long as you stick to his precious routine,” she says and laughs.

I sip at my coffee, a faint smile touching my lips. She's right. To James, the routine is everything. But then, don't I have my own routines? Coffee with Dana every Saturday morning. I usually got up for work in the mornings and followed a routine – cup of coffee, shower, dress, second cup of coffee – my mornings were pretty well regimented. A lot like James' life.

“We all have our routines,” I say quietly.

“Don't get me wrong,” Dana says. “He's a nice guy and he's pretty sexy. But he's – weird.”

I laugh. “Weird?”

“Just his whole routine thing,” she says. “And the fact that he gets all weirded out if you try to break it at all.”

I flash back to last night and know what she's talking about. But being a psychologist, I somewhat understand it and can empathize with him.

“He's got some very serious OCD tendencies,” I reply. “I don't disagree with that. It's something we're – working on.”

Dana laughs. “Working on?”

I nod and take a sip of my coffee to avoid saying too much. The truth is, I hadn't worked on it with him. He didn't even seem inclined to work on it, honestly. For James, he is who he is. And although I felt unsatisfied, I can't sit here and say it's a horrible relationship. He doesn't beat me. He doesn't degrade me. Overall, he treats me very well. He'll send flowers for no specific reason. Bring me little treats just because. It's sweet.

“Tell me something,” Dana leans closer and pitches her voice low. “Has he given you an orgasm yet?”

I feel my cheeks grow hot and know they're turning a shade of red not found in nature. I laugh and shake my head. I'm not shocked by Dana's question, but it's still embarrassing nonetheless.

“Well?” she persists. “Has he?”

Still blushing, I can't even bring myself to answer. So, I just shake my head instead.

“And why do you think that is?” she asks.

I can't get the embarrassed smile off my face. “I don't know.”

“You're the therapist here,” she says. “Diagnose the problem.”

The problem – aside from Dana knowing all of my intimate details – is that no man has ever given me an orgasm. And I don't know why. I've enjoyed sex with the men I've been with – not that there have been all that many. And I know I've gotten close to orgasming with a couple of them. But for whatever reason, I've just not been able to get over that hump. I've never been able to let loose and just give myself over to the pleasure entirely.

I don't know why. All I know is that it's frustrating as hell.

“I really don't know why,” I finally admit. “It's something I've thought about, but I'm too close to the situation.”

“Have you talked to somebody else in your field?” Dana asks. “Sometimes even a shrink needs a shrink.”

I laugh. “No, I've not seen anybody about it,” I admit. “It's a little too personal and embarrassing.”

“Babe, you really need to get over that,” she says. “How would you feel if your clients said the same thing to you? What would you tell them?”

“Probably what you just told me,” I say. “That they need to get over it if they want to really fix the problems.”

“Exactly,” Dana replies and takes a sip of her drink.

We both fall silent for a little bit – I, consumed with my thoughts, and Dana watching me. These are questions I've wrestled with in my own mind for a long, long time. But I'm no closer to answering them today than I was when I started asking them years ago. For whatever reason, I am completely unable to orgasm with a man.

“Want to know what I think?” Dana asks.

I grin at her. “I have a feeling no matter what I say, you're going to tell me anyway.”

“Damn right,” she laughs. “I think you're holding yourself back. You're like – stuck. In a holding pattern.”

“Holding for what?”

She shakes her head. “Damned if I know,” she says. “But there's some mental block there. Something holding you back and not letting you be with somebody completely.”

“That's not entirely true.”

Dana gives me a look that says she's definitely not buying what I'm selling. Yet another problem with knowing her as long as I have – she knows when I'm bullshitting. Even if I don't entirely know it myself.

“Honey, as long as I've known you, you've always had one foot out the door when it comes to your relationships,” she says. “You never let yourself fully commit to them. To anybody. Hence, you're orgasmically constipated.”

I laugh out loud, and narrowly avoid spitting out my mouthful of coffee. I manage to swallow it all down and regain my composure, doing my best to avoid the odd looks other patrons were casting my way. Dana just sits there smiling, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

“Orgasmically constipated?” I ask.

“I'm afraid that when you finally do get off, the release is going to be so powerful, you might just explode and set your house on fire.”

“There is something so wrong with you,” I say as I giggle and shake my head.

“Yeah, but you love me for it.”

“Most of the time,” I say.

Dana takes a sip of her coffee and sets her glass back down, her expression growing a little more serious and thoughtful. “Think about it though,” she says. “You've been in committed relationships, sure. But you've never really committed to them entirely. Why is that?”

I pursed my lips together. She was right. I know I've told her as much. I look at her and smile though.

“So, now you're going to play armchair psychologist?” I ask.

“Hey, I took two or three psych classes as an undergrad,” she replies with a smirk. “I think I'm qualified. So, stop deflecting and answer the question.”

“Oh, deflecting,” I tease her. “There's a good psychology word.”

“You're doing it again.”

I smile, but sigh. “I suppose I just haven't seen a real long-term future with any of the guys I've been with.”

“But why is that?” she presses. “What's holding you back?”

“I honestly don't know,” I answer. “When we start out, things seem great. I can even trick myself into thinking that yeah, maybe we have something that can last...”

As my words tail off, Dana looks at me and tries to urge me on with her eyes.

“But?” she finally asks.

“But eventually, that feeling fades and I'm just kind of left treading water,” I say.

“And waiting for the inevitable end of your relationship.”

I shrug. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“That's why I'm saying you're stuck in a holding pattern,” she says. “What is it keeping you from being fully there with them? What's preventing you from fully committing?”

I laugh. “If I knew that, we wouldn't be sitting here having this conversation right now.”

“I know,” she replies smoothly. “This is all just food for thought.”

I sit back in my seat, turning everything she said over in my mind. Obviously, I know there's some sort of mental and emotional block in me that prevents me not just from orgasming, but from having a deep connection with anybody. I mean, I have connections with my boyfriends. I just haven't had the sort of deep, lasting, soul-consuming connections one should have in a relationship that has a future.

“You know, for having only taken a few classes,” I say, “you're pretty good at this psychology stuff.”

She smiles. “I do my best,” she says and glances at her watch. “Listen, I have to run. I'm meeting with a client today.”

“On a Saturday?”

She shrugs. “His trial is next week and he needs somebody to hold his hand a bit,” she replies. “Besides, I kind of want to go over his testimony now just to make sure we don't have any surprises when we get him on the stand.”

“That's my girl, always meticulous, always prepared.”

She smiles at me. “What are you going to do today? Clients?”

I shake my head. “Not today,” I reply. “I'll probably finish up my coffee and then head over to help Brooke at the shop.”

She grins. “Why don't you guys just hire some more people?”

“That's what I keep asking,” I say. “But you know Brooke. She likes being the one in charge.”

“True enough.”

Dana stands up and leans over, giving me a quick peck on the cheek. “Call me later, okay? We should do dinner this week.”

I nod. “Of course.”

“And think about what we talked about.”

“What you talked about,” I correct her and laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, semantics,” she smiles back. “Seriously though, think about it.”

I snap her a quick salute. “Aye, aye, captain.”

“Love you, bitch,” she says.

“Love you too, whore,” I reply, completing our little ritual – a ritual we'd had since high school.

I sit back in my seat and think about things. Am I really all that different from James? I have my own routines and rituals – just as he does. Sure, I don't schedule out our sex down to the very last minute and prefer to have a little spontaneity in some things – but, truth be told, there is some comfort in the expected. The familiar. At least with the expected and familiar, you don't find yourself getting smacked upside the head by something out of the blue.

That line of thinking of course, inevitably leads me to think of him.

And although there is still a dull ache back in the deep recesses of my heart when I think of him, it's nothing like it used to be. I've learned to cope a lot better than I knew how to before. Now, there is a whole lot of anger mixed in with the sorrow.

But, thinking about – him – isn't doing me any good or serving any purpose. I push those thoughts back into the box where they belong and lock them up in the attic of my mind – that place where all of the dark and depressing things are stored – again. Finishing up my coffee, I stand and head out to help my sister at the shop.

Chapter Seven

Caleb

“Dude, you're such a dickbag,” I say and laugh.

“Not my fault,” Tony replies. “You didn't do your homework. Like always.”

I take a drink of my beer and set it back down on the table. We're sitting in McGill's , a bar in Huntington Beach, winding down after having gotten Angel processed and over to lock up, where he'd remain until his trial. Once you jump bail, you don't get a second bite at that apple. Dumbass.

“You could've given me a heads up.”

Tony takes a long swallow of beer and nods. “Yeah, I could've,” he says. “But then, we wouldn't have this awesome story of you getting your ass whooped by a ninety-pound girl.”

“A ninety-pound girl with a frying pan and a home run swing like Barry goddamn Bonds,” I reply.

Tony shrugs. “But still, a ninety-pound girl.”

“Fuck off,” I laugh and take a drink of my beer.

The crowd in McGill's is loud and lively – typical of the place on a Saturday night. Though the large crowd of obnoxious as hell frat boy types annoys me, I can't help but admire the crowd of sexy sorority girl types that come with them. The atmosphere is filled with electricity, the sound of laughter and music, and of course, the aroma of expectation.

Most of the guys who come into McGill's are looking to go home with somebody by the end of the night. It is a well-known hook up joint in Huntington. Which is why I particularly liked the place.

“How's your arm?” Tony asks.

I flex it and rub the spot she'd clocked me with the frying pan and smirk. “I've had worse,” I say. “But I'm telling you, with a swing like that, that chick could probably play DH for any club in the Majors.”

Tony chuckles and shakes his head. “You know, if you'd read the file, you would've seen that Angel had a girlfriend with a temper.”

“Or, you could've just told me,” I repeat.

“Now, where would the fun in that be?”

“Asshole,” I smirk at him as I take a drink of my beer.

I look around the bar and notice a small group of girls clustered together at a nearby table. They're laughing and giggling, a couple of them looking over at Tony and me. Obviously checking us out. They're cute. Early twenties, long hair, tight bodies, perky tits – this would probably be too easy. Tony and I are big, fit, muscular guys. We're in great shape and I'd go so far as to say, we're pretty good looking.

And when the chicks find out we're Marines and ex-Special Forces, they usually can't get their panties off fast enough. God Bless America. I should be ashamed to say it's a card I've played to get laid on plenty of occasions – but I'm really not all that ashamed about it.

“You ever going to settle down?” Tony asks, noticing the group of girls checking us out.

I laugh. “Please,” I say. “Why in the hell would I do something stupid like that?”

Tony smirks and I give him a lopsided grin and a shrug of the shoulders.

“No offense, man,” I say. “Marriage looks good on you, bro.”

He laughs. “Yeah, you should probably stop digging and quit while you're already behind.”

“All I mean is, I'm not the marrying type,” I say and nod toward the girls. “I mean, how in the hell can I pass that up?”

Tony takes a long sip of his beer and looks at me. “You know,” he says, setting his bottle back down, “you're one of the bravest assholes I know.”

I tap my bottle against his. “Damn right.”

“You'll charge your ass into the middle of a firefight without a second thought or hesitation,” he says. “And yet, whenever the subject of marriage – or hell, even a committed relationship – comes up, you turn white as a fuckin' ghost, man.”

I laugh. “That's bullshit.”

Tony shrugs. “Just tellin' you what I see, man.”

I look over at the girls and give them a smile and a nod. “All I'm seeing right now is a couple sweet pieces of ass,” I say. “And if you're not going to take one for a spin, I may just need to take 'em both out for a ride.”

He laughs again. “Hey, I'm not judging,” he says. “Just making an observation. But I've known you a while now and it just seems like you have some sort of aversion to anything that lasts more than a night or two.”

“Life is a wonderful buffet, my man,” I reply. “And I want to sample everything before I die.”

“Well, you certainly do seem to be making your way down the menu,” he says. “Seriously though, haven't you ever thought about settling down?”

I finish the last of my beer and signal the bartender for another round. “Not really,” I reply. “Not really my style.”

The truth is, there was one time in my life when I could actually picture myself settling down and being happy. But that was a long time ago in a completely different lifetime. That day had passed and I had no desire to revisit it. My life is different now. And I'm enjoying the hell out of doing what I do. And as the girls flash me a shy little smile, I smile back, enjoying who I'm doing it with.

Tony shrugs. “Fair enough,” he says and looks at his watch. “Speaking of which though, I should probably get my ass home.”

I laugh. “Just one of the many reasons I'll never get married, bro,” I say. “I don't like curfews.”

“Yeah well, it's really not so bad once you get used to it,” he replies. “It's actually kinda nice to come home to the same person.”

I give him a mischievous smirk. “I'm sure it is,” I say. “But it's not nearly as nice as banging two sorority girls and never having to see them again.”

He laughs. “Well then, happy hunting,” he says. “And thanks for the backup tonight. I appreciate it.”

“Anytime, man,” I say and shake his hand. “I mean it. Anytime. I've got your back.”

“I know you do,” he says. “And I got yours.”

Tony walks out of the bar, leaving me alone. The brunette watches him go and I can see that she's bummed out. She'd obviously been hoping to hook up with him. But the blonde gives her a nudge and they walk over to where I'm sitting. I turn to face them as they stand there, smiling.

“I'm Kayla,” says the blonde. “This is my friend Michelle.”

“So, is your friend coming back?” Michelle asks.

I give her a small smile. “He actually had to go home,” I say. “To his wife.”

I can see the regret in her eyes, but I can also see that she would have screwed him knowing he was married anyway.

“That's too bad,” Michelle says.

“But hey,” I say, “I'm still here. Nothing saying the three of us can't have a drink or two together.”

“Nothing at all,” Kayla says, her smile mischievous. “Sounds fun to me.”

They sit down next to me and although Michelle looks a little more hesitant than Kayla, I can tell that she's game for it. My kind of girls. I wave to the bartender to get us a round of drinks and then turn to them, already counting down the minutes until I can get them out of the bar and into a hotel room.

“So, you were in the military, huh?” Kayla asks me.

I nod. “Twelve years in the Corps,” I answer. “Ten of them in Force Recon.”

“What's Force Recon?” Michelle asks.

I give her a smile. “Special forces.”

“Kinda like Navy SEALS or something?” Kayla asks.

“Something like that,” I say.

“Cool,” they respond in unison.

I can already tell their panties are halfway off. Now, it's just a matter of sealing the deal. Usually, throwing a few war stories out to them did the trick. There's something about war stories that seem to charm the panties right off the ladies. Don't know what it is and don't really care, actually. It does the trick and that's all that really matters to me.

The bartender sets three shots of tequila down in front of me and I hand one to each of the girls. Taking my shot glass, I raise it up.

“What are we drinking to tonight, ladies?” I ask.

“New experiences,” Kayla says, giving me a salacious little smile.

“What do you think, Michelle?” I ask. “New experiences?”

She hesitates for a moment before looking at me, a devilish grin tugging at her mouth. “Absolutely.”

“Excellent,” I say.

We toast each other and then down our shots. I'm in the process of signaling for another round when I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. I pull it out and look at the caller ID, recognizing the number instantly. And it sends a jolt through me.

“Sorry, ladies,” I say. “I've got to take this. I'll be right back, okay? Just sit tight and have a couple of drinks.”

I step away from the bar and answer the call. “Hold on,” I say. “I need to get somewhere I can hear you.”

I walk out of the bar and walk down the sidewalk a little ways, trying to get away from all of the music and noise.

“Mikey,” I say into the phone. “Long time, man. How goes it?”

“I'm good, man. It has been a long time,” he says.

I don't know what it is, but I know he's about to deliver some bad news. I can sense it. Hear the slight flutter in his voice maybe. I can't explain it, but just like I know when I'm not alone in a house, I know when somebody's about to drop some bad news on me.

“So, how you been, brother?” I ask.

“Been good,” he replies. “Wife, kids, all good.”

“That's good, man. But I know this isn't a social call. I can hear it in your voice,” I say. “So, go ahead and lay it on me. What's going on up there?”

I hear him sigh. “It's Rick, man,” he says. “He's – he died, Caleb.”

Although I knew he was delivering bad news, I hadn't expected – that. The news hit me like a sledgehammer to the gut and left me winded for a moment.

“You okay, Caleb?”

“How?” I asked. “How did it happen?”

“Car accident,” Mikey replied. “He got clipped by a drunk driver.”

“When?”

“Couple of days ago,” he says. “Cassie wants you to be a pallbearer.”

I looked up to the sky and felt my head spinning. Death is a part of life – and God knows I've seen my share of death. You'd think I'd be used to it by now. But when it's somebody close to you, no, you never really get used to it.

“Will you come?” Mikey asks. “Come be a pallbearer at Rick's funeral?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, “Of course. Tell Cassie I'll be there.”

“I'll email you the details,” Mikey says. “Just let me know your flight information and we'll have somebody waiting to pick you up.”

“It's okay,” I say. “I'll grab a rental. I'd rather be able to drive around on my own.”

“Cool,” he replies. “I wish it were under better circumstances, but it'll be good to see you again.”

“Yeah, you too man,” he says.

I disconnect the call and sit down on the curb, staring off into the darkness of the ocean across the street. I've lost a lot of people in my life – war does that. But very few who are as close to me as Rick is – was.

“Shit,” I say.

I stand up and walk back to my car lost in memory, all thoughts of the girls inside gone. I'm just not in the mood anymore.

Chapter Eight

I step out of the SeaTac airport and make my way to the rental car lot. There's a nervous flutter in my stomach as I realize I'm back in Seattle and headed back to my hometown – a place I'd put in my rearview mirror a long time ago. A place I'd vowed I'd never set foot in again.

Yeah, death has a way of fucking up even the best laid plans.

It's not that I have all bad memories of growing up in Sheridan Falls – there are some good ones too. Unfortunately, the bad outweighed the good and one conversation a long time ago was all it took to make me realize I needed to go. Needed to move on.

Deep down, I know that what he said to me was all shit I already knew. He simply confirmed it for me. Convinced me that it would be in everybody's best interest if I just – disappeared. He convinced me that nobody would miss me and my disappearance would go unremarked upon. That I was nothing and had nothing to offer the town of Sheridan Falls.

Of course, the fact that the conversation was had with the father of my girlfriend at the time – a man who hated me to his very core – should have made me think twice about leaving. Should have – well, it should have done a lot of things. Set off a lot of bells in my head.

But the truth of the matter is that I was in a bad place. I was – vulnerable. Hell, maybe I was even looking for a reason to get out. To start somewhere new. Fresh. To be somebody different. God knows my home life sucked. I had two drunks for parents – a father that regularly kicked the shit out of me and had a reputation as a no-good drunk around town. And a mother who not only didn't give a damn about her husband kicking the shit out of me, but had a reputation around town of her own – she was the town whore. Of course.

My lovely mother had been responsible for the breakup of a couple of marriages I knew about because she didn't really care who she slept with or the consequences of doing it. Not that my father was any better about screwing around. About the only thing that could be said for him was that at least, he didn't actively pursue married women.

So yeah, I came from a real white trash family. And my girlfriend's dad only confirmed those things I believed about myself. Those things that deep down, I always feared were true. I did my best to be different – I got decent grades, played sports, had a lot of friends. I tried to be – normal. But I was never able to outrun the shadow my family's reputation cast over me.

So, I'd taken what he'd said to heart and left quietly in the middle of the night. I'd just turned eighteen, enlisted in the Corps and the rest is history, more or less.

There are very few people I kept in contact with after leaving Sheridan Falls. Rick is – was – one of the few. He'd been my closest friend in high school and I probably spent more time at his house than I did my own. His family knew my situation and they treated me like one of their own – and never made me feel strange or bad about it.

Rick was the one person I always confided in. The guy I knew I could spill my guts to and never have to worry about it being used against me. There are only a few regrets I have about leaving Sheridan Falls, leaving everything and everybody behind, and he's one of them.

And now he's gone.

I've been so lost in thought, the hour and a half trip from SeaTac to the outskirts of Sheridan Falls passed in the blink of an eye. I've been gone a long time, but somehow, some way, I found my way back without having to think about it too hard. Apparently, some memories never fade – no matter how hard you try to scrub them from your mind.

I turn off the main highway and followed the directions on my GPS. There's a stop I need to make before I get into town.

It doesn't take long before I come to the site of the accident – a narrow stretch of road with thick forest on either side. Miller's Road. Flowers, candles, stuffed animals, and a wide array of personal gifts are gathered in a cluster on the side of the road. I pull off the road and stop the car. Staring through the windshield, I look at the colorful display. A lot of people paid tribute to Rick. Rightly so. He was a stand-up guy. One of the best I ever knew. And I'm going to miss the hell out of him.

With a sigh and a heavy heart, I get out of the car and walk over to the memorial display. There are pictures, handwritten notes, and little mementoes that marked Rick's life. I sit down next to the display and pull a flask out of my pocket. Twisting off the top, I raise it high.

“I'm going to miss you, brother,” I say.

I take a long pull of the liquor, wincing as it burns its way down my throat. It's a cheap whiskey – not my usual drink of choice anymore. But it's what we used to drink back in the day, so it seemed only fitting to imbibe the cheap old stuff. I smile at the memories that come floating to the surface of my mind.

I've seen Rick a bunch of times over the years I've been gone from Sheridan Falls. We kept in touch and met up somewhere to hang out more than a few times. Even into adulthood, we remained as close as we'd been back in high school. Losing Rick is leaving a huge fucking hole in my heart.

“That's a little disrespectful, ain't it?” he says, shattering my reverie. “Drinking to honor somebody who died in a drunk driving accident?”

I look up and see a man in a Sheridan Falls sheriff's uniform. I'd been so caught up in my own head, I hadn't even heard him pull up – but a quick glance showed me the cruiser parked behind my car. I know I recognize the voice, but it takes me a minute to place the face. And then it hits me.

Arnold Walker.

Arnold and I were in the same grade back in high school. He and I had never exactly been – friends. Truth is, I never liked him one bit. Always thought he was a bit too prissy and stuffy. Arnold was the kind of guy who always thought he was better than everybody else. He was the rule following, brown nosing kid who seemed to live for making others look bad.

Which is why I don't find it all that surprising that he became one of the town's cops. It's just another way for old Arnold to lord his supposed superiority over other people. His voice is slow, high-pitched, nasally, and annoying as hell. Some things never change.

“Just toasting an old friend,” I say.

As I sit there, I wonder if he recognizes me. I know I've changed quite a bit since high school. I've filled out a lot more. I was always a fairly muscular kid back then, but after joining the Corps, I seriously bulked up. I sported a thick, dark beard these days and I thought I just looked a little harder. A little rougher. War can do that to a man.

I know with absolute certainty that I don't look like that fresh-faced eighteen year old that left Sheridan Falls in the middle of the night.

“You ain't been around in a long time,” Arnold says, which tells me that he recognizes me after all.

“Nope,” I reply. “I haven't.”

“Where ya been?”

“Away.”

Arnold nodded as if that answers his question entirely. Although Arnold was always one of the smarter kids in school – something he seemed to enjoy holding over people – he wasn't exactly a deep, critical thinker. In a lot of ways, he's a simpleton.

“Back for Rick's funeral, I assume?” he asks.

I look pointedly at the memorial I'm sitting next to. “Yeah. Looks that way.”

Arnold looks up one side of the small two-lane highway and down the other. There's no traffic coming in either direction – Miller's Road isn't exactly a major thoroughfare.

“I could cite you, you know,” Arnold says. “You ain't supposed to be drinkin' in public like this. Especially not when you're drivin'.”

I shrug. “So, cite me, Arnold,” I say. “Do what you have to do.”

He looks at me as if he's actually considering citing me. But then shakes his head a moment later.

“Nah, I ain't gonna cite you,” he says. “But just cut it out. Put the flask away.”

I do as he says and put the flask back into the interior pocket of my jacket. “Done,” I say.

“Okay then,” he says. “Just be careful on the road now. Last thing I want to see is another memorial on the side of the road.”

“I'll do my best not to clutter up your town, Arnold.”

“I'd appreciate it.”

I shake my head as he walks back to his car. I stay where I am as he drives off, giving me a brief honk and a wave as he goes.

“What a fucking putz,” I mutter.

Taking the flask back out of my pocket, I twist off the top and take one last pull as I look at all the photos on the memorial that show Rick through the years. I get to my feet and dust myself off. It's starting to get late in the day and I need to get a room somewhere.

“Okay, buddy,” I say to the memorial, “I'll see you in town.”

I turn and walk back to my car, climbing in and taking one last, long look at the memorial – and realize I'm simply stalling at this point. I never intended to set foot in Sheridan Falls again, and yet here I am.

With a sigh, I start the car and pull back out onto the road. It's not far from town now, so I need to suck it up and get my head right. I take a deep breath and do my best to steel myself as I emerge from the wooded road and get my first sight of Sheridan Falls in more than a decade.

Chapter Nine

Abby

Finished with my last client of the day, I lock up my office and head down to the garage. It's only two, so I figure that I'll swing by the shop and check in on Brooke. I hop in my car and head over to Greenwood's, the old family store started by my grandfather and passed to my father. And now, it belongs to my sister and me.

Because I have my practice, Brooke ends up doing most of the day to day work in the store. But she seems to enjoy it. In fact, most days when I show up, she shoos me out the door. It's a completely different Brooke than the one I'd left when I went to school and live in New York.

Back then, Brooke had been something of a party girl. A wild child. She liked going out, getting drunk, and screwing around with whatever boy tickled her fancy at the time. But when I came home, I came home to a whole new Brooke. One who is responsible, works hard, is pretty straight-laced, buttoned down, and serious about the business of running a business.

Sure, she still likes to go out and have some fun from time to time, but her idea of a good time these days is completely different than it was back in the day. She's happy to go out, have a couple of drinks with a few girlfriends, and call it an early night.

The turnaround in my sister is shocking to me. But I actually kind of like the change. I like seeing her grown up and mature. I like seeing her shed her good time girl skin and be something more. I think it suits her.

I pull into the parking lot behind the shop and punch in the code that unlocks the door. I make my way inside.

I greet Rhonda – one of our three part-time employees – on my way to the back office. I have to admit that Brooke is really on top of things at the store. She's hired our staff and I love them all. They're hard workers, great with the customers, and genuinely nice people. The store is always clean and orderly, well-tended to, the shelves always stocked, nothing in disrepair.

It's a testament to my sister. As much as I love my father, he tended to let things slide and the store didn't always look its best. But under Brooke's surprisingly steady hand, the store looks great and is flourishing.

And though we're both technically co-owners, the store doing so well is all Brooke.

“Hey,” I say as I step into the back office.

Brooke looks up from the computer screen and gives me a wide smile. “Hey there,” she replies. “I didn't expect you in today.”

I drop into the seat across the desk from her. “Light day,” I say. “I only had a couple of clients. Thought I'd come in and help you out.”

She leans back in her seat. “Kind of a quiet day here too,” she says. “I don't know that there's much for you to do, honestly.”

I give her an even look. “Come on, sis,” I say. “You're making me feel bad. You do all the work around here and I just sit back and collect checks.”

“You've got your practice to concentrate on,” she says. “You're doing important work and lots of people need your help. Besides, you do a lot around here.”

I laugh. “Yeah, not really. I'm hardly ever here,” I reply. “Maybe we need to think about changing how the profits are split.”

She waves me off. “You want to do something?”

“I'd love it,” I say.

She slides a clipboard across her desk to me and smiles. “Okay then, go inventory the beer and wine, please,” she says. “I've got to place an order soon.”

“Done,” I say as I pick up the clipboard. “And I expect that you'll have some other tasks for me when I'm done. I'm not above sweeping the aisles, you know.”

Brooke laughs. “Okay, I'll come up with something for you to do then.”

“Excellent,” I say. “I appreciate that. It's about time I start contributing around here.”

I look at my sister and smile, still struck by the difference in her. She looks down at her desk, but not before I can see the color rising in her cheeks. She's not comfortable with me staring at her like I am.

“What?” she finally asks with a nervous giggle.

I shrug. “Nothing. I'm just proud of you, Brooke,” I say. “Can't I be proud of my little sister?”

“There's nothing to be proud of,” she says. “I'm just doing my job.”

“And you're doing it incredibly well, sis,” I say. “Better than me. Hell, better than Dad ever did.”

“That's not true.”

I nod. “It's absolutely true. And he'd be the first person to say it,” I say. “You know that.”

She didn't dispute the statement any further and judging by the look in her eye, she knew it was true. Our father was definitely aware of his shortcomings and was honest enough about them. He would have absolutely no problem praising Brooke for the job she's doing.

“I – I guess I just want to make them proud,” she says softly. “After they passed, I...”

Her voice trails off, but she doesn't need to finish her statement. I know what she's going to say. It's a feeling I know all too well. And ever since my marriage fell apart and I came back to Sheridan Falls, I felt like I'd been living under a cloud of shame and failure. I felt like I'd somehow let them down and that if they were alive, that they'd see me – differently.

Once upon a time, I'd been the Golden Child. I was the one who could do no wrong. I was a good student. Didn't get into trouble. Had a plan for my life and was working hard to achieve it. And somehow now, it felt like the roles had been reversed. Brooke was the responsible one. The hard worker. I had no doubt that if they were alive, they'd be beaming with pride when they looked at her. And it's a thought that makes me happy.

My only fear though, is that if they were alive, they wouldn't look at me that same way anymore. That they'd see me as less than. Or maybe I'm just projecting my own feelings about myself onto them. I have no idea.

All I know is that I'm proud of my sister and whether she's comfortable with it or not, I'm going to make sure she knows that every chance I get. Brooke gives me an awkward smile and I can tell that she wants this praise-fest to end. I decide to let her off the hook – for now.

“So,” I say. “I guess I'll get to the inventory.”

Chapter Ten

I put on a sweater and head into the cooler. I figure I'm going to get this part out of the way first and then count what's in the store room later, and give myself a chance to thaw out. I'm nothing, if not practical.

Clipboard in hand, I step into the cooler and start counting. It's cold as hell and my breath is coming out in steamy plumes, but I'm going to suffer through it. Even though it seems to make her deliriously happy, I can't let Brooke do everything around here.

Counting inventory is a tedious and monotonous task – one that I don't really need to have my brain fully engaged in. Which, of course, gives my brain plenty of time and space to wander off.

My brain immediately shifts to the conversation I'd had with Dana at the coffee house. About the mental and emotional block inside of me – or as she so colorfully put it, my orgasmic constipation.

And of course, as I replay the conversation over and over again, my mind immediately goes to – him.

There is hardly a day that goes by that I don't think of him in some form or fashion. It took me some years, but I finally managed to take away the sting and hurt his memory always wrought inside of me. For the most part, anyway.

I know that after all this time, bearing even the slightest sting is probably silly. Most people would have probably gotten over it and moved on by now. And for the most part, I have gotten over it and moved on. But I'd be lying if I said there wasn't still a hole in my heart because of him.

He was my first love. The first man who ever made me feel whole and complete. The man I really thought I'd be spending the rest of my life with. Most people would say I'm ridiculous for actually believing that. Young love never lasts, they'd say. They'd tell me that your first love is usually not the love you end up growing old with.

But they didn't know us. They didn't know our feelings. Our thoughts. They didn't know our bond. We weren't like other young, immature couples when it came to love. There was a connection between us that was deep and abiding. It was the kind of intense, passionate connection that usually only couples who'd been together forever talked about. There was something about the love we shared that wasn't the normal, angst-filled infatuation of teenagers. When we talked about being together forever, we'd meant it.

And then he was gone. Like a ghost. Like he'd never been.

And I was left to pick up the shattered pieces of my heart and my life, wondering what I'd done to drive him off. To make him disappear from my life without a reason, without so much as a goodbye. Why he'd chosen to sever that connection between us so thoughtlessly. So cruelly.

That bond had been so intense and so real, that when he took it away – the way he took it away – I felt myself break. The hole inside of me was more immense than the Grand Canyon. For so long, I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. It seemed like all I could do was sit in a dark room and cry.

As ridiculous as it seems to me now, there were more than a few occasions when I thought about ending my life. I'd gone so far as to steal a bottle of sleeping pills from my mom with the intention of climbing into a warm bath and taking all of them.

But, I obviously hadn't. As painful as life was, I realized that I didn't want to die. But I knew that if I wanted to live, I was going to need to find ways to cope with the hurt and the loss I was feeling. Find ways to overcome my grief and depression. I knew that I was going to have to find a new way to live all over again.

In a way, he was why I'd become a therapist. In seeking to find answers for myself and ways to put my heart back together, I'd come to love the field. I'd come to want to help others in crisis, as I had been. As others had helped me.

As I sit there and think about it, I begin to piece a few things together in a way I hadn't before. This blockage within me – this orgasmic constipation as Dana so eloquently calls it – could it be because of him? Could he be the source of this holding pattern Dana believes I'm in? Because of the feelings still within me?

Of course, the problem went well beyond not being able to orgasm with a man. It was that I could never let myself fully commit to somebody. I could never give myself over to somebody entirely – heart, body, and mind. Dana was right about me always having one foot out the door in any relationship I'm in. I don't mean to and I really do try to commit myself to them. Sometimes, I've even managed to fool myself into thinking that I had.

But then, reality always sets in and I find myself listless and treading water again. It never fails. I know it's not fair to them. Hell, it's not fair to myself. But, it is what it is. That's where I'm at right now. Deep down, I know myself well enough to know I haven't gotten all the way beyond him. Not even after all these years. But I also know that I've found ways to cope. To deal with it.

Once upon a time, whenever the mere thought of him crossed my mind, it was enough to reduce me to a puddle of heartbroken tears. Now though, there are days when there is still a dull ache in the very center of me – but those have become increasingly rare.

Thankfully.

“How's the inventory going?”

Brooke's voice cut into my thoughts and gives me a start. My pulse quickens and I spin around quickly.

“Sorry,” she says. “Didn't mean to startle you.

I shake my head. “No, sorry,” I reply. “Just lost in my head. I didn't hear you come in. Inventory's good. Just about done.”

I quickly count the last couple of cases and jot it down on the clipboard and hand it over to my sister. She glances at it and nods – and I get the impression that she already knew what she needed to order and was simply giving me some busywork to appease me. But, that's fine.

“Great, thanks,” she says. “Listen, there's really not a whole lot to do here. Rhonda's super-efficient and kind of didn't leave much for you to do. And we close in a couple of hours anyway, so you can go ahead and knock off if you want.”

I look at my watch. “Wow, after a whole hour, huh? I think you're working me too hard, boss.”

Brooke giggles. “Shut up,” she says. “I'm sorry, I know we both own this place and I've just kind of taken over everything here –”

I shake my head and cut her off. “No, Brooke,” I say. “I'm actually really happy to see that you've just kind of – flourished here. I mean, before I left for school, I was kind of worried about you. About your future.”

“Yeah, I didn't take a whole lot very seriously back then.”

“But now – look at you,” I say. “You've really turned things around and have gotten yourself together. You've really blossomed, Brooke.”

Her cheeks turn a bright shade of scarlet and she looks away quickly. We're a lot alike in that we don't take compliments or praise very well. But knowing that we're a lot alike, I know that deep down, it pleases her immensely.

“Mom and Dad would be really proud of you, sis,” I say. “Really, really proud.”

She looks at me and her eyes are shiny with tears. Stepping forward quickly, she pulls me into a tight embrace, so I squeeze her back. After a moment, she steps back, wiping her eyes as she tries to gather herself.

“Thanks, Abby,” she says after a moment. “That means a lot.”

I reach out and give her hand a gentle squeeze. We stand together in a silence that's a little bit awkward, but full of emotion.

“Well,” I say. “I guess I'm going to take off then.”

She nods. “Sounds good.”

“Call me,” I say. “If you can squeeze me in, let's have dinner soon.”

“Definitely,” she replies. “There's a new sushi place that opened up and I'm dying to try it.”

That's just another of the many changes in my sister. I remember a time when she would have rather died than try sushi. She used to say that she'd rather eat warm cat vomit than raw fish. It was a stance she refused to budge on even after I explained that not all sushi was made up of raw fish.

Just another example of my little sister growing and maturing.

“Oh hey,” she said. “Are you going to Rick's funeral on Saturday?”

I shrug. “I don't know,” I say. “It's not like we were good friends or anything. We didn't run in the same circles. I feel like I might be intruding if I show up.”

“It might be weird if you don't show up,” she says. “Maybe you weren't good friends, but you were still friends.”

“Rick was friends with everybody in town,” I say. “I really doubt my attendance is going to be noticed one way or the other.”

She shrugs. “Sheridan Falls may be growing, but we're still a small town,” she says. “People notice things like this. You don't show up and that's when all the rumors start. You know how some of these old biddies are.”

That much was true. Sheridan Falls had almost doubled in size between the time I'd left and the time I'd come back. But it still retained that small-town feel. And one of the big features of small town life was everybody being in everybody else's business, gossip, rumors, and innuendo. It was entirely possible that if I didn't show up, one of the town gossips would conclude that I'd been having an affair with Rick and couldn't bear to be there at the same time as his wife.

Rumors don't need to be logical – or even accurate. They simply need ears to listen and mouths to pass it along. Which, some people were more than willing to do. But then, the other factor was that I didn't really care what people thought of me.

“I don't know,” I say. “I might.”

Chapter Eleven

Caleb

I crest the hill on Miller's Road and get my first glimpse of Sheridan Falls as it is today. A dozen years had passed since I last set eyes on the town and it's barely recognizable to me now. I see some of the old landmark buildings, of course. I still recognize large parts of the town I grew up in. But now, it's easily two or three times the size it was back then.

Sheridan Falls has quite obviously boomed while I've been gone.

Miller's road lets me off onto the appropriately – yet incredibly cliched – Main Street, which cut through the center of town. Back in the day, Main ran from one end of town to the other. Sheridan Falls wasn't dinky, not even back then. But it certainly hadn't been a major city. Not that it is now, but it's much larger than I recall. And with all the new growth, I can't say for sure where Main ultimately leads to now.

I drive slowly down Main, looking at all the new shops that line the street. There had been a time when everything on Main was a Mom and Pop shop. All local stores owned by local business owners. And while there were still many local shops, Main was now littered with a lot of the big-name chains you see anywhere else in America.

Granted, I no longer have a dog in the fight here, but I hate seeing Sheridan Falls go corporate. Part of the charm of living in this place was the small town feel of it. Back then, it seemed like one of the only places in the country the corporations hadn't been able to infest. So, seeing the big-name chains replacing some of the small-town stores, was a little bit depressing. No place was safe from the infection of corporate America.

I hate to admit it, but as I drive along the street and take in some of the old scenery, there is a part of me that misses Sheridan Falls. A small part of me, anyway. It's sometimes tough to recall, but I do have some good, fond memories of life here. They're buried under the avalanche of terrible memories, but they're there.

Turning down a small side street, I pull to the curb and kill the engine. I sit for a minute, just reflecting on life in Sheridan Falls – and still not believing I was back. Especially after vowing that I never would be. But then, that brings to mind the reason I'm here – and I suddenly feel my heart grow heavy once more.

“Dammit, Rick,” I say softly. “You know I don't want to be here. Especially if you're not.”

I get out of the car and make sure to feed the meter. I figure that since I'm back, I might as well soak in the town a bit again. I have plans to meet up with Mikey and some of the guys, but that's not until later. I sort of want to get acclimated to the place again. Not that I'm going to be here all that long or anything. But as long as I'm here, I figure that I might as well take the nostalgia tour.

I walk down Main and peer in some of the shop windows, glad to see that there are still some old places I recognize. Across the street is the burger place I used to hang out at after school and after games. I smile as I remember that I had my first kiss in that joint, actually – freshmen year, after a football game. I strain my mind but can't come up with her name though.

Still, it's a fond memory and I can't help but smile at the thought of it.

I stop in front of Douglas' Sweets Shop – my favorite ice cream shop in all the world. Honestly, I haven't found a place with better ice cream or dessert treats. And frankly, I'm surprised it's still around. Old Man Douglas was pushing seventy when I still lived here. He had no kids – none that I knew of, anyway. Maybe there was some other family member I didn't know about who took over the shop. Hell, for all I knew, maybe Old Man Douglas was still alive and running the store.

One way to find out. The old bells over the door still tinkle when I stepped inside – just like they had way back when. And just like it had back then, the shop was filled with the most delicious aromas imaginable. My mouth was watering just standing inside the store – just like it had all those years ago.

I look around the shop in wonder. Barely anything has changed. It's like Douglas' was preserved in a time capsule or something. It has the same dark wood, the same glass cases, and of course, the same outstanding array of sweet treats.

Talk about a wave of nostalgia smacking you in the face

A young woman with a dark ponytail, soft pale skin, and a t-shirt that's probably a couple of sizes too small, comes out of the back and flashes me a warm smile. She's probably either still in high school or just out of it. She was about the only thing that was different inside the store – that and the rock music playing over the speakers. Old Man Douglas always believed that kids shouldn't be working – that they should be out having fun being kids. And so, he very rarely hired anybody still in school.

“What can I get you?” she asks.

I look around at the cases, stuffed full of amazing looking goodies and realize that I've been so caught up in my reverie that I wasn't really paying attention. I give my head a small shake and look at the girl again.

“You okay?” she asks.

I nod. “Yeah,” I reply. “Sorry. I used to live here and was just kind of taking a trip down memory lane.”

She nods as if she understands, though she's so young, I doubt she can actually relate. For her, a trip down memory lane isn't likely going to go any further back than her prom or something like that.

“The man who used to own this shop – Mr. Douglas,” I say. “Is he still around?”

The girl gives me a soft smile. “No, unfortunately, he passed away about five years ago,” she says. “Before he did though, he sold the shop to my dad.”

I nod and feel a twinge of sadness about the old man's passing. He could be gruff sometimes, but he was a good man. Honest. Kind. He frequently handed out treats to the kids for one reason or another. I know I'd been the recipient of the old man's treats on far more than one occasion – probably because he felt sorry for me. It's not like I had some mystical bond with the old man or anything, but he was always pretty cool to me and I appreciated him for that.

I motion around the shop. “But you guys didn't change anything in here,” I say. “It looks exactly like it did back in the day. Even the name.”

The girl shrugs. “My dad said it was best to not screw up a good thing,” she says. “He said that the shop had thrived for forty years, so there was no need to fix something that wasn't broken.”

I chuckle softly. “Your dad is a wise man.”

“Sometimes, I guess,” she says and smiles – and I can tell that she might put up a front, but she's an absolute daddy's girl.

“Well,” I say. “How about a double scoop of mint chip ice cream on a sugar cone?”

“Comin' right up.”

I walk around and look inside some of the cases as the girl gets my cone ready. I can't help but smile as the memories come flooding back to me. Memories of good times. With good friends.

“Cone's up,” she says.

I pay for my cone and thank the girl before heading back out onto the street. I taste the ice cream and laugh out loud – making a pair of elderly women passing by give me a strange look. The ice cream is every bit as good as I remember.

“It's the simple things in life, ladies,” I say to the old women. “The simple things.”

They shake their heads and mutter to each other as they hurry on by. I continue walking down the street, munching on my treat, letting the nostalgia and memories wash over me. It's surprising to me – all of the fond recollections. When I left, it was with a sour, bitter taste in my mouth and nothing but anger clouding my mind. I was sure there was nothing for me in Sheridan Falls but hurtful, painful memories.

Maybe time does heal wounds. Not all of them, of course. But some of them. Maybe that time and distance away from Sheridan Falls has allowed me to heal and discard those things that hurt me. Angered me. Filled me with a dark, abiding rage I was certain would be with me forever.

At least somewhat. I still have some issues with my past, but I chose not to dwell on them. My life is very different from what it was. I am very different from who I'd been. I've been so determined to make a clean break from my past, from my life here, that I honestly, haven't spent much time rehashing those memories. Have actively avoided dwelling on the past. It serves no purpose.

Of course, getting shot at and nearly blown up on a daily basis for the last decade certainly proved to be a very suitable diversion from my thoughts and feelings.

Still, it's surprising to me that after everything I'd endured here, everything I'd gone through, that my first thoughts and feelings upon setting foot in the place I swore I never would again, were a fond nostalgia.

“Caleb? Caleb Tirico?”

I turn quickly at the woman's voice and feel the smile spread across my face almost instantly as I recognize her – which surprises me after all these years.

“Becky Larson,” I say. “How in the hell are you?”

“Griggs now,” she corrects me. “Becky Griggs.”

“You and Bobby ended up married,” I say. “That's terrific. Congratulations.”

“Married for eight years and two kids later,” she says with a laugh.

Bobby and Becky had been together all throughout high school and it's not all that surprising they ended up together. They were part of our group during our high school years and I remember that while not exceptionally close to either of them, I did like them.

“That's great, Becky. I'm happy for you.”

“Thanks,” she says and a touch of sadness enters her voice. “You back for Rick's funeral?”

I nod and choke back the emotion that was welling up within me. “Yeah.”

She reaches out and gives my hand a squeeze. “I know how close you guys were,” she says. “This must be hard for you.”

“I'm sure it's hard for all of us,” I say. “Rick was one of the good ones.”

She nods. “He was.”

We stand in a deep, sad silence for a few minutes before she clears her throat and puts on a smile – one that doesn't quite reach her eyes. Rick's death is obviously hitting a lot of us really hard.

“So, where have you been all these years, Caleb?” she asks. “You're one of Sheridan Falls' greatest mysteries – the man who vanished.”

Rick is the only one who knew about my life after I left. I honestly didn't feel the need to keep up with anybody else because I figured I'd never see them again anyway. At least, that's how I'd intended for things to be. Now, standing right in front of a face from my past, I have to decide how deep I want to let myself go. How much I want to reveal.

Given that I'm only going to be there until just after the funeral, I tell myself that I can reveal a little bit. But not too much. Just enough to hopefully stop the questions.

“I – I joined the Corps,” I said. “Spent a little more than a decade there.”

“Wow,” Becky replied. “So, right after graduation, you just ran off and enlisted?”

I gave her a smile. “That's about it, yeah.”

She shook her head. “That's – crazy. Wow.”

I laugh. “Yeah, so I've been told.”

Her cell phone rings and she grabs it out of her bag, looking at the display and frowning. She holds up a finger, telling me to give her a minute. I nod and she connects the call.

“Hey, honey,” she says. “Give me just a minute, okay?”

She holds the phone to her chest, an apologetic look on her face. I just smile and give her arm a gentle squeeze.

“Don't worry about it,” I say. “Duty calls for you.”

“Listen,” she says. “Tomorrow night, we're all getting together down at the Wagon for a few drinks around eight. Kind of give Rick a sendoff. Everybody's going to be there. Why don't you come? Please?”

I give her a smile. “I'd like that,” I say. “I'll be there.”

“Great,” she gives me a warm smile. “I'll see you then.”

I watch her walk off, the phone pressed to her ear. I turn and walk down the street the other way, soaking in the apparently new and improved Sheridan Falls. So much has changed and yet, I can already see that so many things have remained the same.

Chapter Twelve

As usual, I was up before the sun and had gone out on my daily five-mile run. It's a habit I picked up in the Corps and one I enjoy. I like running – it gives me some solitude, some quiet time in my own head, to sort through what's up there and either file it or discard it. Having that time alone clears my head and allows me to focus on the most pressing tasks at hand.

And this morning, there is only one task I feel is most pressing. I have a visit to make and it's one that while I'm not dreading it, it's one I'm not entirely looking forward to either.

I hop in the shower and wash away the sweat, letting the nearly scalding hot water cascade down over me. It's little things like hot water that I used to take for granted and really missed when I was overseas. Ever since I came back home, I relished a good, hot shower in a way I never did before. Like I told those two old ladies yesterday – it's the little things in life.

After toweling off and getting dressed, I walk out of the hotel room and drive back down to Main Street. I know there are now shops and restaurants all over town, but I don't know the new Sheridan Falls well enough yet to go venturing out. All I want is to grab some breakfast and go do what I need to do.

When I took my little walking tour of Main yesterday, I was dismayed to find that the Bluebird Cafe was long gone. In its place now, is a Starbucks. Of course, it's a Starbucks. Those things crop up like cancer cells – fast and everywhere. The Bluebird was awesome and I hated that it was gone.

I did find a place that looked like a reasonable substitute though. I park on a side street, get out of the car, and head for the Sunny Side Up Cafe. Honestly, it looks a lot like the Bluebird did. Which means, it looks like a greasy little hole in the wall – which is exactly what I want.

I step into the place and it's half-full of people getting their morning dose of grease and coffee – a terrific American tradition.

“Sit anywhere you want, hon,” the waitress calls to me from the counter where she's pouring a cup of coffee for an older gentleman.

I give her a wave and take a seat in a booth near the back of the diner. The morning crowd is a mix of what looks like the typical old timers who like to have a cup of coffee and a chat in the morning and business professionals who were stuffing their faces before heading in for their nine-to-five grind. Yeah, so glad I avoided that pitfall upon coming back to the States. PI work may not be glamorous, but it wasn't soul-sucking like cubicle life can be either.

I take the menu and give it a once over – not that I don't already know what I want. I just want to make sure the place isn't some secret vegan restaurant and my only options would be tofu-flavored gruel, brussel sprouts, or whatever it is those people eat.

“What's it gonna be, hon?”

The waitress has a kind face and genuine smile. She just looks like the kind of woman who laughs a lot and finds a lot of joy in life.

“How's your chicken fried steak?” I ask.

“Best in the state of Washington,” she replies.

“Sold,” I say. “Hash browns – crispy. Two eggs over easy, a short stack of pancakes, sausage, and a cup of coffee, black.”

“A man who knows what he wants,” she says with a mischievous grin. “I like that.”

“When it comes to food, I don't mess around.”

“Clearly not,” she says with a laugh. “It's a good quality to have in a man. I like a man who knows how to eat.”

I laugh and give her a smile as I motion to the ring on her hand. “A quality I'm sure your husband must have in spades.”

“That he does,” she chuckles. “Believe me, that man can eat.”

“Judging by the smile on your face, I have no doubt about it,” I say.

The woman cackles and blushes, shaking her head at me. “I'll go grab your coffee, hon.”

She leaves the table and returns a moment later, setting a mug of coffee down in front of me. She's still laughing and shaking her head, unable to speak, so she just walks away. I grin as I pick up my mug and take a sip, savoring that first splash of coffee on my tongue.

A few minutes later, she brings out my food – and I'm almost dismayed by the size of the portions. They're huge. My stomach grumbles though, letting me know it's not going to be a problem.

“Can I get anything else for ya, hon?” she asks.

“Not at the moment,” I say. “But I may need a forklift to haul me out of here when I'm done.”

“Good thing we've got one out back for those kinds of emergencies,” she says. “Give me a holler if you need anything.”

I nod. “Will do. Thank you.”

Digging into my mountain of food, I grunt with pleasure. The food is good – maybe even better than the food had been at the Bluebird. Whoever's in the kitchen knows what they're doing back there.

I devoured almost everything and when I finally push my plates away from me, my stomach feels ready to burst. I didn't normally gorge myself like that, but I was hungry and it was amazingly good. The waitress came back and cleared my dishes, nodding in approval at the cleaned plates.

“My compliments to the chef,” I say. “It was incredible.”

“You gonna need that forklift?”

“I think I might be able to roll myself out,” I reply. “But thanks.”

“Anytime,” she says and gives me a wink. “Really, anytime.”

She laughs and drops the check on the table as she walks away. I pull my wallet out and pay the bill, leaving her a generous tip. Feeling bloated but satisfied, I waddle out of the diner and look at my watch. It's a little past eight in the morning. Meaning, it's time.

With a sigh, I climb back into the car and pull away from the curb. I may not know where everything is in this new city, but I know how to get to where I need to go right now.

Chapter Thirteen

My stomach is actually in knots as I stand on the porch, facing the door. It's a door I know well – one I've passed through thousands of times. But as I stand there, it suddenly feels alien to me. There's no real reason for it – the people beyond that door have been nothing but loving and supportive of me – but still, that feeling persists.

I take a deep breath and let it out, reaching out and pushing the doorbell button before I can think about it anymore. I hear the chime sound inside and I wait. A moment later, I hear footsteps approach the door and after a brief pause, it opens.

A middle-aged woman looks back at me with confusion in her eyes for a moment. And as I stand there silently, I see the light of comprehension dawning in her face.

“Caleb,” she says softly.

“Mrs. Turner,” I say. “It's been a while.”

“I'll say,” she says, holding a hand to her chest. “It's been a very long while. How are you, Caleb?”

I nod. “I'm doing okay, thank you,” I reply. “How are you and Mr. Turner doing?”

She nods and gives me a small smile, but I see the tears shimmering in her eyes. She sniffs and wipes at her eyes, refusing to let them fall. Rick's mom is made of some tough stuff, but I can see the pain of her loss is weighing heavily on her. I reach out and give her a reassuring squeeze.

“I'm very sorry, Mrs. Turner,” I say softly. “I came as soon as I found out.”

“I know this can't be easy for you. For many reasons,” she says. “But I'm glad you're here. Thank you for being here.”

“Of course,” I reply.

“My husband will be glad to see you, but he's out on the lake fishing this morning,” she says. “He needs some time alone to process it all.”

“That's understandable.”

She ushers me inside. “Come in, let's have a cup of coffee.”

“I'd love to.”

I follow her through the house and down to the kitchen I knew so well. Though they'd done some minor work in the house, changing small things here and there, it looked much the same as it had back when I was practically living here.

I take a seat at the kitchen table and Mrs. Turner pours us both a cup of coffee, setting them down on the table before taking a seat across from me. I wrap my hands around the mug and stare down into the dark liquid, not even sure how to begin.

“You've been gone a long time,” Mrs. Turner said. “Not that I don't understand your reasons.”

I nod. “I thought I needed a fresh start somewhere.”

“Of course,” she says. “Richard kept your confidences very well, but he did mention that you had joined the military.”

The Turners are the only people in Sheridan Falls I feel completely comfortable opening up to and know I can tell them anything without fear. Although I can't tell them everything I did overseas because of the classified nature of some of our ops, I feel like I owe them an explanation. They'd been so good to me and had always treated me like one of their own – that I up and disappeared on them like that is a constant thorn of guilt in my side.

“I spent twelve years in the Corps,” I said. “Ten as a Force Recon sniper. Spent a lot of my time running ops mostly in Afghanistan and Pakistan. But we did a couple of jobs elsewhere in the Middle East as well.”

Her eyes widen slightly at my admission. “I had no idea,” she said quietly. “That must have been terrifying.”

I give her a grim smile. “It had its moments, that's for sure.”

“Are you still serving?”

I shake my head. “No, I rotated out about a year ago,” I reply. “Thought about going career, but honestly, I woke up one day and realized I was done. I'd seen too much. Had done too much. The never-ending stream of death and destruction was taking a toll on me. I didn't see that we were accomplishing anything anymore and I finally hit that wall. Pulled the pin.”

She gives me a soft smile. “I'm just thankful you made it home, Caleb.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Turner,” I say. “I'm glad to be home.”

I take a long draw of coffee and swallow it down. There's a long moment of silence between us and I find myself at a loss for words. There's a lot I need to say. A lot I need to express and make her understand. I don't know why, but it's important to me that Rick's parents know and understand what their whole family has meant to me. But I'm having trouble finding the right words.

“Richard was so proud of you,” she says. “He was proud of everything you were doing, Caleb. I think it's important you know that.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Turner,” I say. “That means more than you know.”

The tide of emotion is rising within me and I feel a lump in my throat. I take a minute to collect myself before I speak. I don't know if it's the right words that popped into my head, but I know I need to say something.

“I just want to say thank you, Mrs. Turner.”

She cocks her head and looks at me. “For what?”

“You know what I came from. You know – my story,” I say. “And your family took me in. You guys treated me with respect. You didn't owe me anything and yet, you treated me like one of your own. Being here – with your family – it helped me in ways you don't even understand. And I've always regretted skipping town the way I did – without word or explanation to you. I owe you so much and I think it’s important for you to know that.”

She gave my hand a gentle squeeze and gave me a soft smile. “You certainly don't need to thank me or apologize for anything, Caleb,” she says. “I understand why you left the way you did. And honestly, I'm so glad you got out. If you'd stayed – I shudder to think what might have happened. But you got out and you made something of yourself. You became something so much greater than your circumstances. And for that, I'm as proud of you as Richard was.”

I stand up and pull her to her feet, wrapping her in an enormous hug. “You're the family I wish I'd had.”

“We are your family, Caleb,” she replies, her voice thick with emotion. “Always have been and always will be.”

We embraced for a long moment, both of us letting the emotions sweep over us. When I finally step back, I wipe the tears from my eyes and she does the same. We give each other an awkward smile and sit down at the table again.

We spend the next couple of hours talking and catching up on each other's lives. There is a lot of laughter and good feeling, but hanging over our heads, is the dark cloud of what brought me back to Sheridan Falls in the first place. It's the elephant in the room and the thing we can't escape from. Rick's death. It casts a pall over our little reunion. How could it not?

“I should probably get going,” I say, getting to my feet. “But thank you for sitting and talking with me for a while.”

“No, thank you for coming by, Caleb,” she says. “And for coming back to Sheridan Falls for Richard. I know how difficult that must have been for you.”

“Like you said, we're family,” I quote her words back to her. “And for family, you sometimes need to be willing to do or sacrifice anything – especially, your own pride and comfort.”

Her smile is soft and warm as she embraces me again. “We'll see you again soon,” she says. “I know Mr. Turner will want to say hello to you.”

“I'd like that.”

I left the Turner home, glad that I took the time to see Rick's parents. Or his mom, at least. But it felt good to get that thorn out of my side. To apologize to them for vanishing and to give them some sort of explanation.

I'm not the kind of guy who enjoys wading too deeply into the emotional waters though. In fact, I'd probably enjoy a colonoscopy without lube about as much as I enjoyed sharing my feelings. But Rick's parents deserved it. They deserved an explanation.

Sharing that much though, left me feeling awfully thirsty and feeling like I need a little liquid therapy. I climb into the car and point it back toward town. All I want in that moment is to have a drink and be alone.

Chapter Fourteen

The bar is quiet and a little seedy – exactly what I was looking for and exactly what I need. I'm feeling a little overwhelmed by all the old faces I'm seeing, not to mention that marathon emotional purging session I just had with Rick's mom. It's something I'm really not used to and something I really don't dig very much.

Yeah, it's not quite noon yet, but fuck it, I need a drink.

I sit at the bar, looking at the flat screen TV hanging on the wall across from me. It's muted so I can't hear what the two anchors are saying, but I don't need to. I don't really care. I'm content to just sit there, sip my drink, and watch the silent highlights from all of last night's sports action.

Not that I'm particularly a huge fan of sports. I just want to shut the brain back down and stuff all of that emotional garbage that leaked out back into its box where it belongs – deep in that dark attic in the back of my brain.

There's another stop I want to make today – one that I'm dreading beyond words. But one I almost feel obligated to make. And for that, I think a little liquid fortification is probably wise.

At this time of the day, the bar is pretty much empty. Just me and a couple of old guys sipping beer and arguing loudly about everything from sports to politics. Yeah, I'm sure they're a blast to have at a party.

I glance at my watch and realize I've been sitting there nursing my beer for the better part of an hour. I know I'm just trying to put off the inevitable. And I ask myself once more why I feel like I have to go run this errand. And once again, I have no answer for that question other than I feel compelled to do so. No logic, no reason, no nothing other than it just feels like a loose end I have to tie up.

With a sigh, I push myself off my stool and drop some money on the bar. I nod to the bartender as I wander out into the early afternoon sunlight. The sunlight is bright, so I slip on a pair of sunglasses and walk back up to Main Street. If there's one thing I love about Sheridan Falls, it's that even on bright, sunny days, the temperature is mild. Unlike Southern California – when the sun's out, it's usually pretty damn hot. And personally, I had enough of the heat back in Afghanistan.

I'm walking down Main and see a cute little blonde heading in my direction. She's about five foot two and has some curves that are sexy as hell. There's something about her that rings that bell of familiarity in my head – it's faint, but it's there.

I quickly write it off though – being back in Sheridan Falls is throwing me for a complete loop and I'm seeing familiar faces everywhere. Even though I realize the city has grown so much, I know far fewer people than I think I do.

Still, there's something about the blonde that I can't quite shake. She's looking at me though and I start to think that maybe she could be a very good distraction for me this afternoon. Something to pass the time with until I'm supposed to meet everybody at the Wagon later this evening.

We're within ten feet of each other and the blonde is giving me a serious up and down look. I'm pretty sure this one is in the bag already. I figure all I have to do is smile real nice, throw a little charm her way, and those panties will practically fly off.

I figured that at least, until she stops right in front of me and speaks.

“Caleb?” she asks, her voice filled with disbelief. “Caleb Tirico?”

I look at her and can't place her. Instinct – or maybe, just a keen sense of self-preservation – told me to deny that was my name, turn around, and walk the other way. But a morbid sense of curiosity in me wanted to find out who this hot little blonde was and how she knew me.

“You don't remember me, do you?” she asks.

I frantically run through names and faces from my past in my head. And nothing is coming to me. I'm drawing a complete blank. A complete and utter fucking blank.

I give her a big grin. “I'm sorry, doll,” I say. “I haven't been in Sheridan –”

“For about twelve years now,” she says. “I know. And yeah, call me doll again and I'll stab you right in the eye.”

I laugh and shake my head. The girl is feisty. Another quality I like in a woman. But for the life of me, I can't place her. She looks at me with an expression that is somewhere between amusement and irritation. You'd think I'd remember somebody like this.

“To be fair,” she says. “I was a kid the last time you saw me. I was what, thirteen or so?”

And when she says that, I suddenly realize who she is and feel a jolt of adrenaline course through me. Holy shit. I know exactly who she is.

“Brooke?” I say. “Brooke Greenwood?”

She nods and gives me an uncertain smile. “In the flesh.”

“Wow,” I say, looking her up and down. “You – grew up.”

“Yeah, that happens as the years pass.”

“Still a smartass I see.”

“Like that's ever going to change.”

I mentally smack myself for giving her the once over again. I know she's an adult now, but there's something about sexualizing somebody you knew when they were a kid that just feels wrong. Perverse. She's grown into a gorgeous woman, no question about it. But learning who she is suddenly killed the desire to get her into the sack.

I remember her being a kid – a young, goofy kid who had ears too big for her head, a chest flatter than a table top, and a complete disdain for boys. But looking at her now, I can see that she's – well – blossomed. Blossomed very well, actually.

I mentally kick myself again, pushing all of those thoughts out of my head.

“So, how have you been?” I ask.

I force myself to look her in the eye, trying like hell to keep my gaze from wandering down to the full, perky tits straining against her shirt. It's a Herculean fucking effort though. Brooke has an amazing body – as much as I want to kick my own ass for thinking so.

“I'm doing good,” she says. “Running the store now.”

“Wow, you're the big boss, huh?”

She nods. “Yup. Sure am,” she says. “But that's not really the important question right now. The important question is – where in the hell have you been for the last twelve years?”

I cleared my throat. “I've been – away.”

“Yeah, obviously,” she says. “But where?”

I scratched at my beard. I wasn't here for a lot of reunions. I was here for Rick's funeral and after that, I was getting the hell out of Sheridan Falls again. I didn't owe anybody any explanations. I didn't owe anybody shit. Least of all, Brooke Greenwood.

But I also know that if I blow her off, she's going to keep annoying the piss out of me. That's how she'd been as a kid and I can tell by her attitude, that she hasn't changed all that much.

“I – joined the military,” I finally say.

“The military?” she asks. “As in – the army or something?”

“Marines, actually.”

“And you couldn't call, couldn't write, couldn't do – anything like that?”

I shrug. “I just thought it would be better that way.”

“Better for you maybe.”

I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “Look,” I say. “I'm just back here for Rick's funeral. Sorry if my going away caused you any sort of hurt – not that it should have. I needed to do what was right by me and I don't owe you an explanation, Brooke. But don't worry, after the funeral, Sheridan Falls is in my rearview mirror again.”

She gives me a long, level look. “It's not me you need to apologize to,” she says. “It's Abby.”

“Yeah, well, that's a little difficult when she's in New York.”

Brooke gives me an inscrutable expression, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. She looks smug. Like she knows something I don't and is lording it over me.

“What?” I finally ask.

“You really don't know?”

“Obviously not, Brooke.”

“Abby moved back about a year ago now.”

I look at her, completely dumbfounded. The adrenaline that shot through me before seemed like nothing compared to the absolute stream of it tearing through my body at that moment. Abby is in Sheridan Falls? Fuck. She is about the last person I want to run into while I'm here.

“She is going to shit herself when she finds out you're back,” Brooke says.

“I'm not back,” I say, my mind racing in a million different directions. “I mean, I am. But only for a couple of days.”

She shakes her head. “Do you even know what you vanishing like that did to her?” Brooke asks, her eyes narrowing, her face a mask of anger. “Do you even fucking care?”

“Of course, I care,” I say – or at least, I did care.

“You absolutely devastated her,” Brooke says. “She was wrecked for years, you insensitive asshole. You may not owe me an explanation, but I think – no, I know – you owe her one.”

I can't believe what I'm hearing. The last I'd heard – the last thing Rick had told me – Abby was married and living in New York. I figured she'd moved on with her life and was happy – and that's all I ever wanted for her, to be happy. And happiness was something I knew she wasn't going to have with me. Her father had made that abundantly clear.

After finding out she was married, I never asked about her after that. But I would have thought Rick might have mentioned the fact that she'd moved back to Sheridan Falls.

“Listen, Brooke,” I say, still trying to gather my thoughts, “she can't know I'm here. Please, don't tell her.”

“What, you don't think she's going to see you at the funeral?”

“She's going?”

Brooke gives me a look of pure contempt. “Yeah, probably. Rick was her friend too, you know.”

“Great,” I say and run a hand over my face.

“Maybe it's time you man up and give her an explanation, Caleb.”

I look to the sky, at the white, fluffy clouds drifting by overhead. If I hadn't already spoken to Rick's parents, I might just pack up and go right now. Maybe I could talk to them, explain the situation, and slip out of Sheridan Falls anyway.

I didn't want to face Abby. Not after what I'd done. The last thing I want to do is cause her any more pain than I already had.

“Yeah, maybe you're right,” I say, trying to buy myself some time to figure out what I'm going to do. “I owe her an explanation. But, can I ask you for one favor?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, that look of contempt still on her face. “You can ask.”

“I just need a little time,” I say. “You're right, I owe Abby an explanation. And I'll give it to her. Just – let me do it in my own way. Just don't tip her off that I'm back in town for now. Please.”

She let out a small snort of disgust. “She's my sister, Caleb –”

“I know,” I reply. “But don't you think she's been through enough already? Don't you think that dropping something on her like that might hurt her? I think it's better if I talk to her face-to-face.”

Brooke shakes her head. “Yeah, maybe,” she snaps. “Fine. I'll keep your secret. For now. But you had best talk to her, Caleb. Before the funeral.”

“I will,” I say. “I promise.”

She looks at me for a long moment and shakes her head. “Unbelievable,” she says.

Without another word, she turns and walks off, shaking her head in disgust the whole way.

“Yeah, that went well,” I mutter to myself.

My mind is awash in emotion and I'm having a hard time sorting through it all. Honestly, I don't even know where to begin. With a sigh, I turn and head for the car. Focus on the task at hand – and that's completing this errand I have even less desire to take care of now.

Chapter Fifteen

I'm standing at the two small, simple headstones that bear the names of my parents. Obviously, they hadn't been able to afford anything nice – not the polished marble or smooth granite headstones that filled the cemetery. No, my parents were off in a corner of the graveyard, their headstones small and unremarkable.

It was rather fitting for how they lived their lives, actually.

I squatted down before the two headstones and looked at the names and the dates of their deaths that had been carved into the rough, coarse stone. I hadn't been here when they died – I'd gotten word while over in Afghanistan, of course. I was offered bereavement leave to come back for the funerals, but had declined. What was the point? It wasn't like I had any special affection for either of them.

My father had been a drunk – a vicious drunk at that. He'd often used me and my mom as a punching bag whenever he felt wronged by life. And he felt wronged a lot. My mom hadn't been as vicious as he was. At least, not physically. My mother's particular skill was using her words – and she could use them in a way that made me wish for a physical beating from my father instead.

Cuts and bruises healed – the impact of my mother's words had a longer lasting effect.

I looked around at the other graves and noticed that most of them had flowers or some small token from a loved one. There were obvious signs that the people who resided in those graves were missed. When I looked down at the plain plots that housed the remains of my parents, I saw that there was not one flower and not one token placed upon them. They quite obviously, were not missed. By anybody.

“To tell you the truth,” I say to the two graves, “I don't even know why I'm here. It's not like we ever got along. And it's not like we ever had a family bond or anything.”

Honestly, I really have no idea why I'm here. Maybe, it's to confirm the fact that they really are dead. Maybe, this is some way to provide me with some sense of closure in my life. Back in the Corps, I'd met with a shrink a few times. He'd told me that I would never truly be able to move forward in my life if I hung on to these things from the past – these things that caused me pain. Namely, the relationship with my parents.

It was his belief that I needed to confront my past, make some effort to come to terms with it, and then let it go. He said that I needed closure on that chapter of my life. Only then, would I be able to move on from it and move forward unhindered.

Yeah, my relationship with the shrink didn't last very long.

I preferred life in the military. It was simple. Orderly. I knew what was expected of me. I could just go out and do my job. I didn't have to worry about stupid concepts like closure or moving forward. My job was simple – see the bad guy, shoot the bad guy. It doesn't get any easier than that.

But for whatever reason, almost the minute I hit the town limits, I felt compelled to visit the graveyard.

“Maybe, that shrink was right,” I say. “Maybe, I did need to see this. To know for sure that you're dead, gone, and not coming back.”

I stand up and turn to leave, but then pause. I look out at the sea of headstones, at the riot of colors from the flowers placed on those graves. And although there is a part of me that feels badly that these two people had so little impact on the lives of others that nobody bothered to even put a flower on their grave, the other part of me feels somehow satisfied by it. Part of me feels like in death, they are getting what they deserve for what they wrought in life.

I turn back to the two graves. “Actually, before I go,” I say, “I just want to get a couple of things off my chest.”

A soft gust of wind blows across the cemetery, sending dry leaves skittering across the grass. The sudden breeze made me think the spirits in the graveyard – my parents in particular – were trying to communicate with me. Although, I don't know what my parents would be trying to communicate. Would they be asking me for forgiveness? Or would they simply be launching another verbal assault from beyond the grave.

Knowing them as well as I did, I suspected it would probably be the latter.

“I guess I just want to say that I hope you two are rotting in hell,” I say. “For eighteen years, you made life beyond miserable. You twisted me in knots that I'm still trying to untie. Believe me when I say that you two fucked me up but good. I'm glad you're both dead.”

I stare down at the graves as if expecting an answer. Obviously, none is forthcoming. Which is fine. I have a little more to get off my chest and I hate being interrupted.

“As parents and as human beings, you both failed. Miserably,” I say, “The fact that they dumped you two out here in the corner of the boneyard, all by yourselves – it says a lot about the both of you. All of it well deserved. I made something of myself, you assholes. You did your best to tear me down. To make me a useless piece of trash like the both of you – but you failed at that too. I did something with my life. Unlike the both of you.”

I open my mouth to speak again but find that – I'm done. I'm surprised to find that I have nothing else to say. It strikes me as incredibly odd given that I had so many years of rage built up within me. So many years of pain. And because of that, I thought that I'd be standing there throwing verbal grenades at them for hours.

But the desire to do that simply – evaporated.

Maybe, that's what closure feels like – the need to exact a pound of flesh simply disappearing. I'd said my piece and maybe now, it's time to move forward.

The only problem is that I've lived so long with that weight on my shoulders and that rage within me bubbling just below the surface, I'm not quite sure how to live without it. That dark anger – in a way – defined me.

It's one reason I was so effective in the fields of Afghanistan – I could actually kill without the barest shred of remorse. My anger and my rage made me a better soldier. And if the anger that had sustained me for so long did simply vanish, I wasn't sure how I was going to manage to live without it.

But, that's a discussion better left for another day. I'm so screwed up in the head right now that my old familiar companion – the rage – might still actually be somewhere deep down inside of me. Might not have gone away at all. Who knows?

All I do know is that I said my piece to my folks and I was now done with them. Totally and completely done. And I feel pretty damn good about that.

Chapter Sixteen

“And after we got the doors open, we loaded that skunk into that beat up old VW bus Mr. Teller drove,” I say, laughing. “Closed it up and went on about our day.”

“Dude, I remember that,” Eric replies. “I remember he smelled like shit for about two weeks after that. Made that class more unbearable than it already was.”

The crowd around us erupted in laughter. The prank we'd pulled was legendary – kids still talked about it to this day. Rick and I were known around school as pranksters – but locking our old math teacher in his bus with a pissed off skunk was one of our best.

“I had no idea that was you two,” Jessica Mendoza says. “Figures though.”

I nod and raise my beer mug. “It was all Rick's idea,” I reply. “A brilliant one, I might add.”

The bar we're in, the Rusty Wagon, has been around since before the dawn of time, it seems. It's just always been a part of Sheridan Falls. Generations of people have sat on these very stools over the years. Growing up and having a few at the Wagon is like a time-honored tradition in this town.

The place is packed – mostly with all of us holding Rick's wake. For lack of a better word. And I have to admit, as I look around the room and see so many familiar faces – it sort of feels good. In a lot of ways, even though a lot of time has passed, it feels like some things haven't changed. I'm holding court among people I was friends with back in the day, we're all talking and laughing – it really feels like old times.

Of course, the biggest differences are that Rick is not here holding court with me and the stories we're sharing have changed – somewhat.

The conversation goes on around us as other people share their stories about Rick. Some of them serious, some of them funny – all of them evoking fond memories. I lean back against the bar, take a long drink and listen. I'm enjoying listening to other people's memories of Rick, hearing stories that I didn't know – stories from my time away. Although we kept in touch and remained close, I know there is a part of Rick's life I don't know. And I'm glad to hear about it.

I'd had to field a few questions about my disappearance, but I think that the people who know me best, know the hell I lived through and understood my reasons for getting the fuck out of Dodge as soon as I could. All I tell them is that I joined the Corps and they're content to leave it at that. Nobody really seems to feel the need to pry. Which I appreciate.

The music is loud and the air inside the Wagon is saturated with the aroma of stale beer and cigarettes. Smoking indoors is technically against the law, but the current owners – like the past owners – don't really seem to give a damn. Smoking in the Wagon was legal back in the day and as far as they're concerned, it's legal now.

“So, Caleb,” Jessica says, moving closer to me. “Twelve years in the Marines, huh?”

I nod and take a long pull of my beer. “Yup,” I say. “Twelve years.”

“Must have been dangerous.”

I shrug. “It had its moments.”

“I'm glad to see you again,” Jessica says, stepping even closer to me.

I look down at her and smile. Back in high school, she and I had flirted with one another, but it never went anywhere. There was always something there between us, but the timing was always off – either she was dating somebody or I was. And after I got together with Abby – well, I didn't have eyes for anybody else.

But as she looks up at me, I can see that there's still something there. She looks at me like she did back then and there is definitely still a heat between us. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested. Time's treated her pretty damn well and it's obvious that Jessica takes care of herself. Long, dark hair falls to the middle of her back. She's got wide, dark eyes, smooth, olive colored skin, full lips, and a tight little body.

“Yeah, I'm glad to see you too,” I say. “So, what's your story? Married? Kids? Boyfriend?”

She shrugs. “Divorced,” she says. “One kid. No boyfriend.”

“Where's your kid tonight?”

“With his dad,” she says – and then adds, “Until tomorrow morning.”

“Good to know.”

She gives me a flirty little smile as she takes a drink of her beer, her eyes twinkling and shining. I nod and take another drink of my beer, liking where this seems to be headed. The stories and laughter go on around us for the next couple of hours as Jessica and I get reacquainted with one another.

“So, tell me something,” Jessica says, “What's up with you and Abby? Seen her yet?”

Just the mention of Abby's name is like a kick in the nuts. My stomach churns a bit and my mouth runs dry. I take another swig of beer and then clear my throat. I haven't yet tracked her down to have that talk I promised Brooke I'd have with her. In fact, I'm still debating whether or not I can go to the funeral and get out of town without seeing her.

Finding out she's here, in Sheridan Falls, was a nasty surprise. One I wasn't prepared for. But all I can do is take one step after another, stay on mission, and figure it out as I go. And right now, my only mission is seeing some old friends, paying my respects to and honoring the man who was closer to me than a brother, having a few drinks, and maybe, just maybe, getting Jessica into bed.

“There's nothing up,” I say. “She moved on. I moved on. It's all good. And nope, I haven't seen her yet. I figure I'm going to have to talk to her at some point.”

Jessica grins. “Yeah, you probably should,” she says. “From what I hear, she was pretty fucked up after you left.”

“Yeah, so I'm hearing,” I say.

She shrugs. “It's not my business or anything though,” she says. “It's not like she and I are friends or anything like that.”

There's something that hadn't changed. Jessica and Abby had been good friends when they were kids. They'd been close. But for one reason or another, they'd had a falling out somewhere along the line. By the time they got to high school, they were pretty bitter rivals.

“You guys still haven't buried the hatchet, huh?” I ask.

Her laugh is high pitched and bitter. “After all this time, I'm pretty sure it's safe to say that's one hatchet that's not going to be buried.”

“That's too bad.”

“Meh,” she replies. “It is what it is. I don't lose any sleep over it.”

I finish my beer and set the mug back down on the counter. I look over the crowd and see it's thinned out a bit since the beginning – parents needing to get back to their kids and all. Gone were the days of staying out all night and getting trashed.

Well – for some. I still managed to squeeze a few of those in now and again. Being child-free and unattached came with certain perks and privileges.

“What do you say we get out of here?” I suggest.

Jessica gives me the kind of smile that would make lesser men weak in the knees. Good thing I'm not lesser men.

“I was wondering when you'd get around to asking,” she says.

The fire is already burning inside of me and I'm counting down the minutes until I get her back to my hotel room. I can tell she's going to be one hell of a lot of fun.

We say our goodbyes to the crowd and I promise to hook up with some of them for drinks or dinner after the funeral. More than a few of them give me a pointed look, their eyes traveling down to my hand – the hand Jessica's holding onto tightly. I just give them a shrug and a wink.

Jessica finally manages to pull me away and leads me to the door. And I can't say I'm not glad to see how eager and enthusiastic she is about getting back to my room.

We step out of the Wagon and into the cool night air on Main Street. The moon is high overhead in a crystal-clear sky and there is a soft, chill breeze in the air. It's a perfect night. Jessica smiles at me and I wrap my arm around her shoulders.

We turn and start to walk to where I'm parked and I stop dead in my tracks. I feel Jessica's body tense up beside me and the smile quickly falls from her face. The churning in my stomach kicks into overdrive and I suddenly feel lightheaded.

Standing on the sidewalk right in front of me is Abby Greenwood – the woman I once loved more than life itself and had been planning a future with. The woman I'd completely ghosted.

She looks at me with an expression of pure disbelief – which quickly gives way to one of hurt and anger. Abby clutches at her stomach and looks like she might throw up all over the place. I can see that her legs are wobbling and fear that she might just fall over.

“Dude,” I say to the douchebag holding her hand. “She's going to fall. Do something useful and hold her up.”

The man looks at me, his face a mask of confusion. But he does what I said and puts his arm around Abby's waist, keeping her standing upright.

Abby looks from Jessica to me with eyes that are glistening and her lower lip quivering as if she's about to burst into tears. As I look at her, a splinter of guilt the size of a fucking two-by-four drives itself straight through my heart. She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out.

“I – we should probably go,” I say.

Abby looks at me, imploring me with her eyes to stop and talk to her – but I can't bear the sight of her. I grab Jessica's hand and pull her around Abby and who I assume is her douchebag of a boyfriend. We walk quickly down the street, find my car, and take off as quickly as we can.

Chapter Seventeen

Abby

“Who was that?” James asks as we walk to the car.

“Ummm – nobody. Just an old friend from high school,” I say, my body tense, my heart and mind choked and clouded with emotion.

I somehow manage to feel both numb and overwhelmed by pain, all at the same time. This didn't feel real. It feels like I'm in a dream – or rather, a nightmare. A terrible, horrible nightmare. I cannot believe that twelve years after he vanished like a goddamn puff of smoke on the wind, I run into Caleb Tirico on the streets of Sheridan Falls.

“Just an old friend?” James asks, opening the car door for me.

“Yeah,” I say blankly.

I slide into the passenger seat of his BMW and just stare blankly ahead, looking out at the street beyond the windshield without actually seeing anything. I'm almost afraid to look around, afraid I might see Caleb again. And God knows, I can't handle that right now. There is no way in hell I can handle it.

James walks around the car and gets in the driver's side, but instead of starting the car, he turns to me, an inscrutable look on his face. I refuse to look at him, sure that if he sees my face, he's going to know I'm lying. But the silence between us lingers so long, things inside the car are growing awkward. Finally, I turn to him and sigh.

“What?” I demand.

He shrugs. “I'm just wondering about that guy,” he says. “Because I'm picking up on something that feels like he's more than just an old friend from high school.”

I sigh again, feeling irritated on top of every other emotion coursing through my body. “Fine. We used to date. Back in high school,” I say. “I just – well – I never thought I'd see him again honestly.”

“I see,” he says quietly and turns away from me.

James starts the car and pulls from the curb, accelerating down the street in silence. I can tell something is bothering him, but I figure that he's just processing everything like he usually does. He's not saying a word and neither am I, content to brood in the darkness of the car. I know what to expect once we get home though, and while I normally can find some desire for sex in me, this run-in with Caleb really has thrown me for a loop.

James parks outside my house, and as usual, he opens the car door for me and we walk in together, hand-in-hand. He still hasn't said much else about Caleb, and I pray to God he doesn't. I'm just not even close to being in the right head space to talk about that. Not with anyone – but most of all, not with him. Not right now. Maybe, not ever.

As we step into the house, I put my jacket away, and as expected, I feel James pressing himself against me from behind. He kisses my neck, and instead of leaning into him like I normally do, I pull away. I turn around to explain to him and find him staring at me, a look of surprise and hurt on his face.

“Listen, I'm not really in the mood tonight,” I say. “Can we just watch some TV and go to bed instead?”

James' jaw is clenched tight. I can see he's struggling, internally, with what I just asked him – as if I'd just asked him to put the moon and stars in my hand. It's like he was having trouble coming to grips with the fact that I'd just broken the sacred routine and had turned him down. I half expected him to just start saying, “does not compute, does not compute.”

But instead of agreeing or disagreeing with me, he surprises me. He leans forward, grabs hold of me, pulling me to him and kisses me. At first, it's a chaste kiss, but quickly, he presses his tongue into my mouth and pulls me closer to him, making me feel that he's already aroused and ready.

Again, I pull away and take a step back. “James, did you hear me? I'm not in the mood tonight?”

“But it's – our time together,” he says. “It's our date night.”

“Yes, it's our date night, but that doesn't mean it always has to end with sex,” I say. “We don't always have to do everything by the numbers, James.”

I feel myself trembling with emotion – anger being the primary one. The emotion of seeing Caleb is still sweeping through me. The emotion of running into him again after all this time. After what he did to me. But I can't explain any of that to James. Instead, I do the only thing I can do – lie.

“I'm not feeling well,” I say. “I think something at dinner is disagreeing with me.”

“No, I don't accept that, Abby,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief. “Because you had the eggplant. You always get the eggplant and never have any issues. You love the eggplant parmesan.”

Love was a strong word for how I felt about that particular dish, but I'm not going to stand there and argue about something so stupid and trivial.

“Okay, maybe I have a flu coming on then, I don't know,” I say. “All I know is that I feel sick and would rather not –”

A flash of anger crosses James' face as he looks at me. His eyes darken and a flush creeps into his cheeks.

“This isn't about you feeling sick,” he says. “This is about him, isn't it? That guy we ran into on the street? The guy you used to date back in high school?”

“What are you –”

“I saw the way he looked at you. And don't think I didn't notice the way you nearly fainted when you saw him,” he says. “This is all about him, isn't it?”

His voice rises and is tinged with heat. With anger. And I'm taken completely aback by it. It's something I hardly ever experience with James because he is usually always so even keeled, put-together, and buttoned up. He doesn't have emotional outbursts like this. Not all that often, anyway. But when he has had an outburst, they've never, ever been directed at me.

Not until now, anyway. And as much anger as seeing Caleb had stirred up within me, James was doing a pretty damn good job of stirring up even more.

“Really? You're going there?” I snap. “You're going to yell at me because I said I'm not in the mood?”

Yes, I know my boyfriend has issues. I know he sticks to a routine and is pretty rigid about it. And I also know that by breaking that routine, we were likely going to argue about it. But there is absolutely no way in hell I can have sex with him tonight. Not after seeing Caleb in the flesh for the first time in twelve years. Not with all the memories and emotion it dredged up within me. I'm so busy trying to hold myself together that I didn't have room for anything else at the moment. I certainly don't have any desire to have sex tonight.

At one point in time, seeing Caleb would have excited me beyond imagination. Seeing him now though, is an absolute libido killer.

“No, I'm yelling at you because you still have feelings for him,” James spits. “You do, don't you?”

“What?” I scoff, turning away from James so he can't see the lie I'm sure is painted all over my face. “You're being silly, James. I haven't seen Caleb in twelve years. And after what he did, after everything he put me through, why would I? How could I –?”

“Oh, so that's Caleb, huh? The infamous Caleb?” he asks as comprehension dawns upon his face. “Brilliant. I should have known.”

“James, you're being ridic –”

He cuts me off by grabbing my arm, forcing me to turn around and look at him. He's holding me tight and squeezing, his fingers digging into my flesh, making me cry out in pain.

“Let me go!” I shout. “You're hurting me, asshole.”

He lets go of my arm and a look of horror crosses his face. I can tell he didn't realize what he was doing and feels bad about it. James isn't an abusive man. I know that he'd never hurt me intentionally, and I can see that he feels guilty.

“I'm sorry, Abby,” he says, his voice quieter this time. “You know I don't handle things like this well. I don't handle – change well.”

“No, you don't,” I say, my body still filled with rage.

I want to cry so badly. Or maybe punch something. There are so many different and conflicting emotions swirling around in me that I can't even begin to keep up. I'm trembling with rage, but not because of what just happened with James – but because of everything.

Seeing Caleb brought so many memories rushing back to the forefront of my mind and heart. Memories that I quite obviously hadn't dealt with as thoroughly as I'd hoped. Memories that should remain buried. Forever.

But it was too late to worry about what I did or didn't do. Should or shouldn't have done. All I could do when things got really sticky for me was – as my therapist counseled me time and time again – to deal with what was on my plate right in front of me.

“But your inability to handle change well isn't my problem, James,” I hissed. “My problem is that I shouldn't be forced to fuck you simply because that's what you're used to. Because that's what you expect thanks to your precious little schedule and routine.”

Yes, what I said is harsh. Yes, I used the F-word – a word I know James hates with a fiery passion. It's a word I don't often use, but this time, I used it on purpose. I did it to bother him – and for that, I know I should feel bad. But I don't. Not even the slightest twinge of guilt. And it's because in that moment, I realize that I'm done. I'm done with everything – his routines, the date nights that bore me to tears. Done with the sex that leaves me unsatisfied and yearning for more.

After everything I've been through, I know that part of the reason I stay with guys longer than I should is simply because I fear I might end up old and alone one day. I always find some rationale for not ending a relationship when I know it's not going anywhere.

But in that moment, as I stare at James, an important realization hits me. In that moment, I realize that I'd rather end up old alone than here. With him. Or with anybody who makes me feel the way James makes me feel. It's not all his fault, I know that it's my own baggage coming into play, but I just can't keep doing this, day after day. I can't keep putting on a fake smile and pretending everything is okay when I'm screaming inside. I can't.

I won't.

Once upon a time, my life was fun. My life had been fulfilling. I remember a time when I enjoyed myself and my life. I experienced new things, tried new foods. I'd go on spontaneous date nights and was always surprised and happy with our impromptu little adventures. Once upon a time, I wasn't afraid to try new things and I certainly never settled for less than what I thought I deserved because I was afraid or complacent.

Of course, that old life – that sense of optimism and wonder – had been when I was with Caleb. Back then, I truly believed that was how our life – our life together – was going to be. I was realistic enough to know that not every day was going to be sunshine, roses, and fireworks. But I also knew that together, he and I could have a fun, happy, and fulfilling life.

But then, he vanished and everything changed. My world – the vision of the world I thought we were building together – came crumbling down. It lay there in a fiery heap and I was forced to pick through the wreckage. Which I did. Or thought I did. I thought I had myself handled. Squared away. And under control.

But seeing Caleb again reignited something inside of me. Maybe it woke me up from that years long nightmare I'd been trapped in. And between the emotions seeing him again stirred, as well as everything that's happening with James right now, it brought me to several powerful realizations. I'm not happy. I'm settling for less than I want. Less than I deserve. And I'm tired of it. Tired of settling for less because I'm scared of my own shadow. And something has to change.

I might find that sense of optimism and wonder I used to have again. Maybe, someday. Not with Caleb certainly, but maybe with someone else. Somebody worthy of me. And if I don't find it? I guess I'm going to have to get used to being happy with my own company.

Because I deserve to be happy. And right now, I'm about as far from happy as a person can get.

I look at James and can see the mixture of confusion, frustration, and fear on his face. He's so used to everything going by the numbers, that now that I've gone completely off script, he's not sure what to do with himself. And like he said, he doesn't handle change well.

“I'm done, James,” I say softly as I walk into my living room. “I'm done. This – thing – between us isn't going to work out. It's over.”

“I'm sorry,” he says, a flutter of panic in his voice. “We don't have to have sex tonight. And moving forward, I can be more – flexible. I'll learn to adapt to change better. I can do that, Abby. I can do that for you.”

I can tell that me breaking up with him pains him greatly. He's absently picking at his fingernails – something he never does – and he looks stressed to the max over the change in plans. Over the change in our relationship status. But he's trying. God, he was trying.

But it's not enough. It's – as the old saying goes – much too little, much too late.

“No, I'm done. I'm sorry, James,” I say, turning to look directly at him, to let him see the finality in my eyes. “We're done. I'm breaking up with you.”

“No,” he says, fidgeting with his hands now. “No, we can fix this, Abby. You can't break up with me –”

“I can. And I am,” I say at last. “I'm sorry, James. But you deserve better. And frankly, so do I. We're not happy and we're not very good together.”

“I'm very happy,” he says. “And I think we're great together.”

I know that in his mind, he is happy. Because to him, settling down and following the same routine day after day was what made him happy. Comfortable. Change is the enemy and rigid routine is the friend that needs to be tightly embraced.

God forbid I want something else – something more – right?

“But the truth is, I'm not happy, James. I haven't been for some time now,” I say. “And I'm sorry to hurt you. That's the last thing I want. But believe me when I tell you that this is for the best.”

“No, Abby,” he says, shaking his head. “I won't let you. No, you can't do this. You have to be a part of my life.”

“I can do this, and I am, James” I say. “Please, show yourself out.”

I turn to walk away from him, done with the conversation and done with the entire evening. All I want in that moment is to soak in a hot tub and have a glass of wine or twelve. But before I get very far, he grabs my arm, this time tighter than before. He squeezes, a look of pure rage in his eyes and suddenly, I'm afraid of what he might to. I struggle in his grasp, fight against him, trying to break free. But he's strong. Stronger than most people would believe.

“Let me go, James,” I say, trying to make my voice as cold as possible. “And please, leave before I call the cops. Because I will. I swear to God I'll call them.”

I'm shaking with fear, but also with a healthy amount of anger. He's just not getting it, and it's like he somehow feels entitled to me. Like I'm his property. His possession. Like I somehow owe him something. All of which washes away any sense of guilt I might have over upsetting his routing by breaking up with him.

“We'll talk about this, Abby,” he says, letting go of my arm. “Please, let's talk about this. This can be fixed and everything will be okay.”

I just want him out of my house, so I appease him by nodding. I agree with his demand even though deep down I know it was over. I am totally and completely done.

“Fine. Whatever you want, James,” I say. “Can I please just be left alone for now though? I'd really like some time to myself.”

I know it's hard for him, but he leaves my home without another word. As soon as he's gone, my heart breaks. But it doesn't break for James. Oh no. It breaks for Caleb.

He's here. In Sheridan Falls. And he didn't even call me. Didn't even try to give me the answers or explanations that he owes me. Tears fill my eyes, and all the hurt about the way he vanished, dropped out of my life, all those years ago comes rushing back to the surface again like a horde of malevolent spirits bent upon my mental and emotional destruction.

I crawl into bed and turn off the light, enjoying the peace and quiet – not to mention the knowledge that I'm free from James. Free from his mundane, rigid routines. Yet, even though on some levels, I'm celebrating the end of my relationship, I'm mourning the loss of my relationship from all those years ago.

It almost doesn't seem fair. It certainly doesn't seem right.

Chapter Eighteen

Caleb

I'm still feeling a little rattled by running into Abby on the street like that. Maybe, I should have anticipated it. Planned for it. But honestly, I didn't think running into her in a town as large as Sheridan Falls had become, was even really a remote possibility. Which was obviously, more than stupid on my part. Clearly, I'd let myself get so caught up in the nostalgia of the place and the unexpected wave of good vibes, I'd let my guard down. Big time.

Honestly, the only thing on my mind was having a few drinks, a few laughs, and maybe snagging a piece of ass for the night. And as I looked at Jessica – at the gorgeous woman she'd become – at least I could say, “Mission Accomplished” on that bit of it.

Jessica sidles up to me, pressing her firm body against mine, and clasps her hands behind my neck. She looks into my eyes and gives me a lascivious little smile.

“You okay?” she asks.

“Yeah, I'm good,” I say.

Compartmentalize. Focus on what's in front of you and everything else – shove it off to the side to deal with later. Focus on the task at hand – and only the task at hand – Marine.

My inner dialogue is working hard again, trying to get my mind sharp. That inner dialogue is the voice of my instincts and it had seemingly fallen silent once I stepped back into Sheridan Falls. And for some reason, I hadn't even noticed. Not until now, anyway.

Losing my instincts is a dangerous thing. Makes me sloppy, unprepared. More likely to get caught flat-footed and with my goddamn pants down around my ankles. Which is exactly what had just happened out there. In combat, that shit would have gotten me killed a hundred times over.

Thankfully, the streets of Sheridan Falls aren't a battlefield. And the only dangerous thing out there is a scorned ex-girlfriend. Though – I know her dad taught her how to shoot, which kind of, sort of makes her dangerous if she's of a mind to take my head off.

Jessica looks at me, giving me an inscrutable expression. “You sure?” she asks. “I mean, if you're trippin' out about Abby, we don't have to –”

I cut her off with a long, deep kiss. Our tongues swirl together and I feel her melt against me. Her firm tits and tight little body feel terrific pressed to my body. I run my hands through her hair and down her back as we kiss and she lets out soft moans of pleasure.

She claws at my back as I pulled her to me even tighter, letting her feel my hard cock pressing against her belly. She slides her hand down and starts to stroke me through my jeans. I make a low moan of approval and she squeezes me harder.

Picking her up, I set her down on the desk that sat against the wall across from the bed. I lean in and kiss her again, running my hands up under her skirt and up her thighs. Her breath catches in her throat as my fingertips graze the warm, wet center of her beneath her panties.

Pushing them aside, I slip a finger into her, sliding it as deep as I can possibly go. Jessica moans and bites her bottom lip as I start working my finger in and out of her. A second finger joins the first and I start banging her a little harder and a little faster.

Jessica digs her nails into my shoulders and grinds herself against my hand, forcing my fingers deeper into her.

“Caleb,” she gasps. “Oh yes, baby.”

She's stroking me through my jeans, grasping and squeezing at my hard cock as I work my fingers in and out of her. She's dripping wet and her breathing is already growing ragged. Seems like it's been a little while since she's seen any action.

She kisses me hard and I feel her body tensing up. A moment later, she throws her head back and moans loudly as an orgasm tears through her. With my fingers still inside of her, Jessica is trembling, lost in the waves of pleasure that are washing over her.

She catches her breath a moment later and looks me in the eye, biting her bottom lip, a mischievous look on her face. She climbs down off of the desk and drops to her knees in front of me. As she works at my belt, she looks up at me and smiles.

“Back in the day, I would have given anything to do this for you,” she purrs.

“Back in the day, I would have given anything for you to do it,” I laugh.

“Well, I'm glad we can finally make this happen then.”

She leans forward and traces the tip of her tongue around the head of my cock. I moan as she slides it down one side of my shaft and then back up the other. Her hand is wrapped tight around me and she's squeezing me hard. It feels good – better than good – as she starts to stroke me up and down.

I moan as she leans forward again and takes the head of my cock into her mouth, licking and sucking at the same time she's stroking me. Jessica removes her hand and takes the entire length of me into her mouth. I groan and run my hands through her hair as she starts moving her head up and down, harder and faster, cupping and squeezing my balls at the same time.

God, she's fucking good at this. The way she's using her mouth and hands is driving me absolutely insane. Not wanting her to get me off too quickly, I step back and pull her to her feet. I give her a long, fiery kiss and then push her down on the bed. I drop to my knees and pull her to the edge, putting her legs up over my shoulders.

“You naughty boy, you,” she purrs.

“You have no idea.”

I lean forward and bury my face deep between her thighs. I run the tip of my tongue along her lips, making her shudder. Then I tease her clit with my tongue, licking and sucking gently. Her breath catches in her throat and she winds her fingers in my hair, groaning as I slide my tongue deep inside of her.

I relish the taste of her, love the feeling of her juices upon my lips. I lick the warm, wet center of her harder and faster, drawing moans and groans of pleasure from her.

“Jesus, Caleb,” she cries. “Don't stop. Please, don't stop.”

I hadn't planned on stopping anyway. I take her clit into my mouth, sucking on it nice and hard at the same time I slipped two fingers back inside of her. I move my fingers in and out, slamming them nice and hard as I suck on her. Jessica cries out, calling my name as she grabs the back of my head and pushes me down onto her harder.

Jessica's body locks up for a moment and she sucks in her breath. A second later though, she explodes, crying out, her body shaking and trembling as another orgasm shakes her. This one seemingly stronger than the one before.

“Christ, Caleb,” she says through ragged breaths. “That was amazing.”

I give her a smile and push her up onto the bed. As I climb on top of her, Jessica wraps her legs around my waist. I lean down and kiss her hard. I kiss her neck as I unbutton her shirt. She sits up and practically rips it off of her, unhooking her bra and flinging to the side as I pull my shirt up over my head and toss it to the floor.

My need is too great and it's burning bright, so I don't bother with her skirt. I simply push it up around her waist as I lay her back down. She wraps her legs around me again as I drive my cock deep into her. Jessica gasps as I fill her up, her eyes growing a little wider. A moment later though, as our bodies adjust to each other, she gives me a salacious little smile.

“Fuck me, baby,” she purrs. “Give it to me, Caleb.”

Needing no further invitation, I start to pump my hips, sheathing myself deep inside of her hard and fast. She rakes her nails down my back, making me grimace and suck in a breath. Jessica just smiles at me.

“A little bit of pain makes the pleasure that much sweeter, doesn't it?” she coos.

I've never really been one for pain personally, but hey, whatever floats her boat. I grab her hands and pin them down above her head as I settle into a nice, steady rhythm. She bites her bottom lip and groans, her eyes rolling back as I drive myself into her hard and fast.

“You feel so good, baby,” she moans. “We should have done this years ago.”

My rhythm falters slightly, but I manage to cover it up and go on. Years ago, I was with Abby – and most definitely not balls deep inside of Jessica. Nor would I have been. But she makes me think of Abby again – and of seeing her face outside of the Wagon.

Honestly, it's all I can do to keep going – I can feel my cock starting to grow a bit soft as I lose a little steam. When I look down at Jessica, I see Abby's face – and not the face I'd fallen in love with all those years ago – the tear streaked face with the expression of pure hurt upon it.

I squeeze my eyes shut and grit my teeth, willing the images away. Abby was not my problem. Not anymore. I didn't owe her anymore than I owed anybody else. We'd had our time and that time had passed. Yeah, the way I vanished was pretty fucked up, but I was a kid. And I needed to get out of Sheridan Falls. If Abby loved me the way she said she did, she would have understood that.

“You okay, baby?”

I shake my head and look down at Jessica, who is looking back at me with an inscrutable expression on her face. Without realizing it, I'd let go of her hands and had stopped moving entirely. She looks at me as if she's not sure what's going on. To tell the truth, I have no idea what's going on. I clear my throat.

“Yeah, sorry,” I say. “I just – I don't know. Just sort of got distracted, I guess.”

“Should we stop?” she asks. “I mean, if you're –”

I shake my head again. “No, of course not. I'm having fun.”

A slow smile spreads across her face. “Good. Me too.”

She puts her hands on my chest and pushes me upward. She guides me so that I'm laying on my back, staring up at her. I reach up and cup her full breasts, running my thumbs around her stiff nipples. She shudders as I give them a light pinch and then smiles.

Jessica reaches down and takes my cock into her hand. She gives it a rough squeeze and strokes me nice and firmly. With her hand on my cock and a look of pure hunger in her eye, she manages to drive all other thought out of my head.

She gets me nice and hard again and then straddles me, guiding my stiff prick to the wet center of her. Jessica gasps as she puts me inside of her, sliding down my shaft inch by inch. I slide my hands up under her skirt, squeezing her ass as she slowly begins to rock her hips, sliding up and down on my cock.

Jessica looks down at me and plants her hands on my chest for leverage. Then she begins to move again. Harder and faster, slamming herself up and down on my cock. She's tight and feels incredible. I sit up slightly and take her nipple into my mouth, sucking and nibbling on it as I cup her tit with my other hand.

She puts her hands on my chest again and pushes me down roughly, a devious little smile playing upon her lips. Jessica is grinding on me, slamming herself up and down on my prick hard and fast. I lean my head back on the pillows, awash in the sensation of her.

“Fucking Christ, Jessica,” I moan.

I can feel the pressure inside of me building up, feel my balls growing tighter as she continues to fuck me. I know I'm not going to last very much longer. She reaches down behind her and gives my balls a little squeeze, smiling at me as if she knows.

Jessica quickens her pace even more, her bouncing up and down on me becoming almost violent. But damn, is it hot.

Like a wave rising up as it approaches the shore, I can feel it coming. The pressure is growing and my body starts to tense up. I grit my teeth, trying to hold back, not quite ready for this to end just yet. Jessica rakes her nails down my chest, that mixture of pleasure and pain shooting through my body again.

Her breathing is ragged, but she's smiling. “Let go, baby,” she says. “Come for me. I want to feel you explode inside of me.”

I try to hold back, but it's no use. As she drives herself down one last time, I feel my body shudder and a moment later, I blow my load deep inside of her. I cry out and dig my fingers into her ass as I fill her with my seed.

She collapses on top of me and we lay there, our bodies intertwined for several long moments as we catch our breath. Jessica finally rolls over and props her head up on her hand, staring at me without speaking for several long minutes.

“That was incredible,” she finally says.

I nod. “Yeah, it really was.”

“And to think, we waited all these years to do this,” she grins at me.

I shrug. “Bad timing all the way around, I guess.”

“Yeah. I guess,” she replies. “How long you in town for?”

I feel a jolt of nervous energy shoot through me. The last thing I want is for her to think that maybe I'm going to stick around. I have no intention of doing that. As soon as I can manage it without looking like a complete douchebag, I'm putting Sheridan Falls in my rearview once more. The last thing I want or need is for Jessica to think that maybe this is the beginning of something. That moment passed and that ship sailed a long time ago. Yeah, she's fun as hell in the sack, but I'm not looking for anything. Maybe, I should have made that clear up front.

“Look,” I say, “I don't want to come off sounding like a total asshole or anything –”

She laughs. “Usually, when somebody says that, it's because they're about to say something that makes them sound like a total asshole.”

I give her a grin and a shrug, not sure what to say to that. Jessica smiles and shakes her head as she climbs out of bed. She looks around and picks up her shirt, slipping it on.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

She gives me a small grin. “Going home.”

“You don't have to go home, Jess,” I say. “You can –”

“Look, no offense, Caleb,” she says. “You're a great guy, but I'm not really looking for something serious right now. Just got out of a relationship, blah, blah, blah. Know what I mean? No need to make this all weird or anything.”

Not sure what to say, I just nod. Jessica finds her panties on the floor and slips them on, hiking up her skirt as she slips them around her waist and then letting it fall again, smoothing it out with her hands.

“Anyway, I was hoping that maybe, you know, we could get together and do this again before you left town,” she says. “I'm assuming you're leaving town anyway, right?”

I scratch my beard and nod. “Yeah, I'm not planning on sticking around long.”

“Cool,” she says and flashes me a smile. “Then let's talk about getting together for drinks and a little more of this before you go.”

She digs into her purse and takes out a business card, dropping it on the nightstand next to the bed. Then, she leans down and gives me a quick kiss on the lips before standing up and heading for the door.

“That's my number. Give me a ring,” she says and then turns back to me. “Oh, and thanks for tonight. I had a great time.”

“Yeah, me too.”

She opens the door and leaves, the door closing quietly behind her. I stare at it and then fall back onto my back, staring up at the ceiling and laughing to myself.

I just got used. Now, I know how some of those girls I hook up with and bail on must feel.

As I lay alone in my room, the quiet suddenly seems oppressive. I'm alone with nothing but the thoughts in my head – and those thoughts inevitably turn to Abby. Seeing her out on the street like that rattled me. More than I was comfortable admitting. Even to myself.

I didn't expect her to be in Sheridan Falls – I was under the impression that she was still in New York. Seeing her again after all this time – it brought up a lot of memories. A lot of feelings. And I wasn't really equipped to handle either at the moment.

I get out of bed and head into the bathroom. I'm going to take the hottest shower I can stand and try to push all of these thoughts out of my head. I need to get my head on straight and figure out what my next course of action is going to be.

Chapter Nineteen

Abby

The day of Rick's funeral is cold and gloomy. It seems rather appropriate, actually. I had serious reservations about going, but ultimately decided that even though we weren't the best of friends, I still owed it to Rick to pay my respects.

But the instant Caleb walks by with the other pallbearers, carrying Rick's casket, I regret that decision. Just the sight of him sends wave after wave of emotion washing over me. They're strong and powerful and threaten to pull me under. It's as if all those years of therapy and all the work I've done to get over and move past goddamn Caleb Tirico, are suddenly wiped away.

Once again, I feel like I'm a wreck. That same quivering puddle of goo I was when he disappeared from my life.

Brooke takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, as if she could intuit my thoughts. Maybe she can. She's my sister after all, and knows me better than anybody.

“You okay?” she whispers to me.

I give her a tight smile and a small nod. “Yeah, I'm okay.”

“You're not a good liar.”

I shrug. “If you want an honest answer, maybe you need to ask a different question.”

She gives me a small smile but doesn't press me on the matter. Not yet, anyway. I know that a full grilling is going to come later. But she's aware enough to know that this isn't the appropriate setting for the discussion I know she's dying to have.

The truth of the matter is that the instant I saw Caleb on the street, I felt something inside of me shift. Break loose. Something I thought I'd had under tight control. I thought I was going to pass out then and there, but somehow managed to keep myself upright. Small victories.

Brooke and I are standing at the rear of the crowd at Rick's grave site. The mood is understandably somber – a mood that matches my own perfectly. Caleb is standing with the other pallbearers just behind his parents who are seated next to the casket. The priest is delivering his sermon, which is supposed to be uplifting and inspirational, but I'm not really finding anything uplifting or inspirational about it.

All I can do is try to avoid fixating on Caleb. He looks so different than the boy I'd fallen in love with all those years ago. He's older, but that age has only served to make him more handsome. He's bigger than he used to be, has a dark, bushy beard, and his dark hair, once worn down to his shoulders, was now cropped close to his head.

He'd always been a big guy – he was a football star, after all. But now, he is massive. He has arms as thick as my thighs, broad shoulders, and a thick chest. He also has a hard edge to him now – one he didn't have before. There's a cynicism and sharpness in his face, not to mention a darkness in the air about him that's new. In a word, he looks – dangerous.

He looks so different and yet, somehow, the moment I saw him on the street – the instant our eyes locked – I knew. Knew it was him.

I heard through the grapevine that he'd joined the military shortly after leaving Sheridan Falls. At the time, I'd pressed for details but didn't get any. I knew Rick was still in contact with him, but he wasn't giving up any information. I did my best to pry it out of him – I yelled, screamed, and even cried. All to no avail. He just kept telling me that he was sorry and that it wasn't his story to share.

Back then, I so desperately needed to understand why Caleb had run out on me – on us – the way he had. Needed to understand if it was something I did and if so, what that something was. For the longest time, I wandered through my life in a self-loathing haze, sure I'd done something to drive Caleb away. I was a wreck and had so many questions and yet, no answers to those questions.

It was only after getting into therapy that I started to get my mind right. I sat with my therapist four days a week, doing intensive work. It wasn't until I went away to school and put some physical distance between me and Sheridan Falls that I started to feel even remotely better. More in control of myself and my life.

But now I know, it was all just a facade. That all of the work I'd done, all of the progress I'd made had been a sham. I knew because the moment I saw Caleb Tirico again, all of those walls I'd worked so hard to build came crashing back down again.

At least, for the most part.

I'm hanging on to my walls and defenses by my fingertips. And although I feel like I'm on the verge of breaking down completely, I'm managing to keep standing. Somehow. I feel like falling apart, but there is something inside of me still holding me together. So, at least I have that going for me.

I don't even realize my gaze is locked on to him until he looks up and our eyes meet. He holds my gaze for the longest time and I can see something in his face I didn't expect to see – uncertainty. He almost looks – scared.

What does he have to be scared about? It's not like I'm going to kill him or anything. Although, smacking him a few times across the face sounds incredibly appealing right now.

Caleb gives me a small, almost shy smile, and I feel the anger, dark and abiding, boiling up within me. It's taking everything in me to not run over there, get in his face, and demand some goddamn answers.

I feel Brooke squeeze my hand again. “Time and place, sis,” she says. “Time and place.”

She's right of course. I'm here to pay my respects to a friend. Not berate Caleb Tirico. I tear my eyes away from him and look down at the ground, trying to concentrate on the eulogy the priest is delivering. I'm finding it hard to focus though. Even though I'm not looking at him, my mind is still spinning with thoughts of him.

For the next hour, I listen as Rick's closest friends – everybody except Caleb, interestingly enough – stand up and deliver their own eulogies, say goodbye in their own words. I think it's a nice touch and I'm glad Rick's parents can hear how much he meant to everybody. It's cold comfort, I know, but at least they can know that their son was loved.

Eventually, the last of the speakers step back into the crowd and the service comes to an end. The crowd slowly disperses as they filter out of the cemetery and out to the parking lot. I linger for a moment and watch as Caleb stands next to the casket, speaking with Rick's parents.

I'm too far away to hear what they're saying, but I can tell by the body language of the older couple that he's giving them some sense of relief. Some sense of comfort.

Brooke gives my hand a squeeze and nods toward the parking lot. “Come on,” she says. “Let's get out of here.”

I nod absently, hearing her voice, but not hearing what she was saying, my eyes are still focused on Caleb. For whatever reason, I can't seem to turn away. There is something in me that feels drawn to him. Compelled by him. It's stupid. It's ridiculous and dangerous, but I can't control the tide of emotions rising inside of me.

“Abby, babe,” my sister says. “Don't even think about it. Seriously, don't even think about it. We gotta go.”

I snap out of the daze I was in and look at her. “What?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “I said to not even think about it,” she says. “Don't even look at that son of a bitch. He's not worth your time, your tears, or your heartache. Haven't you learned that by now?”

I had learned it, yeah. It was a painful, years long lesson, but it was one I learned. Still though, seeing him standing there – I couldn't help but notice that he'd gotten even more handsome than he'd been back in the day. And judging by the way Rick's parents were holding on to his hands and speaking to him with smiles on their tear streaked faces, I had to believe he still had some shred of his humanity. Of the personality that had made me fall in love with him all those years ago.

“Seriously, Abby,” Brooke snaps. “Pull your head out. That guy is poison. You hear me? Absolute nuclear poison. Now, let's go before I kick your ass.”

I give my sister a small grin. She's young but feisty. And she always has my best interests at heart. She knows what I went through when Caleb left. She saw my daily struggles and the torture I put myself through. She'd been too young back then to really do anything to help me, but now, she's my chief protector. Or at least, she tries to be.

“It's not that I don't appreciate you taking care of me,” I say. “But shouldn't the big sister be taking care of the little one? Shouldn't this thing be the other way around?”

Brooke shrugs. “We take care of each other,” she says. “Believe me, there are plenty of times when you're the one picking me up.”

I take one last look back at Caleb, still standing with Rick's folks talking, before turning and letting Brooke lead me to the parking lot. In the distance, I see somebody standing among the headstones, well away from Rick's gravesite. The man is just standing there – staring at me. And then it dawns on me.

“Oh, my God,” I mutter.

Brooke looks over and sees what – or rather, who – I saw. “Yeah, because that's not totally creepy or anything.”

James apparently watched the funeral from a distance. Or more likely, was watching me from a distance. The sight of him standing out there, silently watching me, sent a cold chill down my spine and I couldn't suppress the shudder that passed through me.

“I need a drink,” Brooke announces. “And so, do you.”

I glance at my watch. “It's only three in the afternoon.”

She shrugs. “After the shitstorm these last few days have been, we deserve it,” she says. “And you probably deserve a double – or twelve.”

Chapter Twenty

Abby

The Wagon is bristling with people when we walk in. It's tough to find a seat, but we manage – a booth near the back. Something about a funeral – even when you don't know the person all that well – that drives people to drink. It almost seems like a rite of passage or something.

And the fact that the Wagon is stuffed to the gills with people is grimly ironic and maybe even a little tasteless, given the fact that that Rick was killed by a drunk driver. Which is also why I asked for a lemonade instead of alcohol. My way of paying respects to the deceased. It's a small, useless gesture, but it's all I can do at the moment.

Surprisingly – given that coming out for a drink was her suggestion – Brooke follows my lead and orders a Coke.

“No Captain Morgan with that?” I tease.

“Ha, no,” she says, rubbing her temples. “I have a busy day tomorrow at the store and I don't want to be hungover. Besides, it seems a little – distasteful to be drinking after Rick's funeral, considering the circumstances and all don't you think?”

“I couldn't agree more,” I say, sipping my pathetic excuse for a lemonade.

I grimace as I take a long swallow of the stuff. It's pretty much just lemon-flavored water – calling it lemonade is a pretty big stretch. But then, what do I really expect from a bar? Most people here only drink the lemonade when it's mixed with something stronger anyway.

“I'm proud of you, sis,” Brooke says suddenly. “I didn't think you were ever going to get rid of James, but you did. And I'm glad. You deserve so much more.”

I give her a little smile. “Thanks,” I reply. “If not for running into Caleb like I did – well – running into him not only pissed me off, but it really made me open my eyes and come to a few realizations about things.”

Brooke's eyes soften as she reaches across the table and takes my hands. “So how are you doing, sis?” she asks. “I mean, how are you really?”

“I'm fine,” I say. “All things considered, you know. I did just attend a funeral for a friend who died too young, but –”

“Not that,” she groans. “You know what I mean.”

I do. I know all too well what she's talking about. She wants to know how I'm doing in regard to seeing Caleb. And honestly, I'm not entirely sure how I'm doing in regard to that.

I stare down at my lemonade and think about the question. How do I feel? It's a complicated question, one I don't even have the answer to just yet. When I saw him, I immediately felt all those old feelings again – hurt, betrayal, and sadness.

When I saw him, I was angry and filled with rage. I wanted to kick him in the balls, smack him across the face, and maybe even punch him in the nose. But I also wanted him to walk over to me, wrap me in those big strong arms and kiss me, apologizing for all the years we'd missed because he'd been a total and complete jackass. That he'd done me wrong.

It was a small part of me that wanted that – a very small part – but I'd be lying if I said it didn't exist.

But I had no idea how to really communicate any of that to my sister. There is still so much I'm sorting through and processing and I have no idea exactly what I'm feeling. I'm a mess at the moment.

“I honestly don't know,” I say, giving her a shrug.

I meet Brooke's gaze and notice she's staring at something behind me. Part of me freaks out, assuming it's Caleb, but then she leans forward and whispers, her voice sounding urgent.

“You did break things off with James, didn't you?”

“Yeah, why?” I ask, slowly turning and looking behind me.

Brooke didn't even need to answer me, because when I turn around, James is standing right there. And he's walking this way with a large bouquet of flowers in his hands.

“Unbelievable,” I mutter under my breath. “Just unbelievable.”

Planting my face in my hands, I lower my head. I just want to hide. I have no desire to deal with him today. Especially not today.

“Hi Brooke,” James says quietly. “And Abby, I'm sorry about your friend. I came by to pay my respects.”

Brooke raises an eyebrow and looks over at me, waiting for me to respond.

“Yeah, thanks, James,” I say with a polite smile.

I'm hoping that maybe he's just going to say his piece and then leave us alone afterward. But no, of course he doesn't. He stands there awkwardly.

“Here, I got these for you,” he says, handing me the flowers.

I look at the bouquet and shake my head. It's filled with some of my favorite flowers – lilies. He knows me well. And he obviously thinks he can manipulate me with them.

“Uh thank you,” I say, placing the flowers on the table. “Listen, James, I really don't feel like talking right now –”

“But – why not?” he asks.

“Because I just left the funeral of a friend and now just isn't the time, James,” I say.

I look at Brooke for some help. She catches on a moment later and jumps in to save me.

“Yeah, not only that, we're having a little sister time,” she says, “So, if you don't mind –”

“I do mind, actually,” he says. “I have something to say and it's only going to take a minute. Abby, we really need to talk about what happened, and it can't wait. I'm sorry, Brooke, but your sister and I really need to hash some things out. Whatever problems you seem to think exist can be worked through. I'm not ready to have things end like this.”

“Well, you don't have much of a choice, James,” I say. “Because I am ready. I've ended things, and that's that, so –”

He grabs my hand and yanks me to a standing position before I even know what's happening. I try to break free from his grasp, but he has a tight grip on my wrist and I can't pull away. I look at him with fury in my eyes.

“No, Abby,” he says. “We need to talk. Now.”

His voice rises to nearly a shout, and he didn't even sound like the man I knew. Not at all.

“James, let go of me,” I say, my own voice growing louder and almost everyone at the Wagon is stopping their own conversations to stare at us.

Brooke stands up and tries to reason with him, “James, let her go,” she says. “It's time to move on. She's not into things with you anymore. You can't do this –”

“Like hell I can't,” he growls, his eyes full of rage as he looks over at Brooke. “Come on, Abby. We need to talk. Somewhere private.”

He's trying to pull me away from the table and toward the door, yanking my arm so hard I'm afraid he's going to pull it from the socket. I'm fighting the entire time, hoping that I can either break free or that maybe he will come to his senses and let me go. People are staring at us, but nobody is stepping into intervene. Nobody is stepping in to help me.

And suddenly, I'm afraid. Very afraid. James never gave me reason to suspect he was anything but a quiet, boring pharmacist. He's always been a nice, sweet, and for the most part, a considerate and kind man. But now, I was seeing a different side of him. A side that frightened me.

“Let me go now, James,” I say. “Or I'm going to press charges –”

We reach the door of the Wagon and I continue to struggle. And before I know what happens, someone steps in, coming in from out of nowhere to block it.

It's Caleb. I stop fighting against James’ grasp and stare at the large man in front of us, my heart literally stuttering in my chest as I meet his gaze.

“You heard the lady,” Caleb says. “Let her go, now.”

“Who do you think you are?” James argues. “Waltzing into this town and disrupting everything? You have no right to –”

“Let her go,” Caleb repeats. “Now. Before you make me force you to let her go.”

James holds on tight, yanking me closer to him almost defensively. I half expect him to claim me by saying, “She's mine. Mine. All mine!” but he doesn't.

Instead, he stands firm, staring at Caleb with a look of pure hatred upon his face. He doesn't believe Caleb will do anything to him. Not here. But he didn't know Caleb and James was making a very grave tactical mistake. Even the old Caleb – the one without the size or the military training he was rumored to have – would have been hard pressed to let someone get away with something like this.

And I'm right. He still won't.

Caleb moves forward, stepping up so that he's chest to chest with James. Caleb is bigger and broader than James, so he's literally looming over him. James isn't a short man, not by any means, but Caleb made him look like a midget. James also worked out, was in pretty decent shape. But then, as fit as he is, he's nothing compared to Caleb, who looks like he was simply carved out of granite.

“Are you seriously going to walk in here and treat Abby like this?” Caleb asks. “Not only treat her like this, but then turn around and think you're going to get away with it?”

“It's personal,” James says. “This is between Abby and me. So, you should probably butt out of our business.”

“Uh huh, well it looks to me like Abby doesn't want to go with you,” Caleb says. “And shouldn't she get a say in this?”

James doesn't say anything else, he merely tries to push his way past Caleb. Big mistake. When James makes contact with him, Caleb grabs hold of the smaller man's shoulder and stops him in his tracks. And when James turns around, throwing a wild haymaker at him, Caleb easily sidesteps it and laughs.

It's effective though. James, his face a mask of rage, drops my hand, steps up and takes another wild swing at him – and misses again. He's trying to bait Caleb into a fight – but all Caleb does is stand there and laugh, letting James look like a fool with his wild punches. After a few moments and several missed punches, James stops. He stares daggers at Caleb – who gives him a wide smile in return.

“My turn,” Caleb says.

He steps up and with one punch, to the right side of his face, Caleb drops James right there on the floor of the Wagon.

My ex-boyfriend falls to the ground, clutching his nose. There is blood oozing out from between his fingers, and he's moaning in agony – and looking at me with intense hatred all at the same time. Other than what looks like it'll probably end up being a broken nose, he otherwise looks okay. I look up at Caleb and he looks back at me, a smirk on his handsome face.

“Hey, Abby,” he says. “Nice to see you again.”

I am speechless. Utterly speechless.

Chapter Twenty-One

Someone escorts James from the bar and I stand there, staring at Caleb, still unable to speak. There's so much anger bubbling underneath the surface within me, so much I want to say to him – but I can't even form a coherent thought, let alone form intelligible words.

Brooke comes up behind me. “Thank you for the save, Caleb,” she says. “That bastard needed someone to knock his lights out. What a douche.”

“Happy to help,” Caleb says, shooting a shy smile in my direction.

Brooke looks at me, then back at Caleb, and smiles. “Would you like to join us for a drink, Caleb?”

No, no, no... I think to myself. At the same time, I'm hoping he doesn't, I'm arguing within myself because there's a part of me that's thinking yes, please join us . My thinking – not to mention my judgment – seem to be impaired and I can't make up my mind.

Caleb looks at me, as if waiting to see what I say. I shrug and try to appear nonchalant about it.

“It's the least we can do after you stepped in and saved me.”

His smile grows wider. “Then I'd love to.”

Great , I think to myself as the three of us go back to our table. Brooke shoots me a look that seems to ask if I've gone out of my mind. But, Caleb grabs a chair and pushes it up beside me, and I can't stop staring at him. He's just so gorgeous. More so now than he was even way back then. He's filled out a lot and his boyish face has been replaced by one with more curves and angles. He's no longer the cute high school boy – he's a gorgeous, fit and incredibly sexy man.

Brooke, thankfully, gets the conversation going. “So, Caleb, why don't you tell us where you've been the last twelve years or so? Inquiring minds are dying to know.”

She winks at me as if to say she's got my back, but I scowl. Not at her though. I'm so conflicted, confused, and upset, that I'm scowling at just about everything right now.

Caleb looks over at me. “Well, I uhhh,” he stammers, then looks down at his hands. “When I left, I joined the Corps. I spent twelve years in the service and afterward, I settled down in Southern California for a bit.”

“So, you just up and vanished without a word to anybody,” Brooke says. “And you enlisted in the Marine Corps?”

He nods. “Yeah,” he says simply. “That's about it.”

“That sounds insane,” she says.

“I just needed to get away from this place, you know?” he replies.

“Oh yeah?” I say, finally finding my voice. “Sheridan Falls that horrific of a place for you?”

Brooke nearly chokes on her soda, staring at me with a mischievous smile and a devious look in her eyes. She set the table and she thought I was moving in for the kill.

“You left it too,” he says with a shrug. “Can't be all that wonderful if you're willing to move all the way to New York City. Speaking of which, how's the old man? Heard you got hitched.”

I flinch as if someone had slapped me across the face. The pain of seeing Caleb was all too real, but the added burn from his comment about my failed marriage didn't help matters any. It's as if he wants to take a shot at me every bit as bad as I want to take a shot at him. As if he's the injured party here. Please.

“I wouldn't know how he is,” I say. “He's still in New York City. Haven't talked to him since the divorce was finalized.”

This time, it was Caleb's turn to cringe and look abashed. Almost ashamed. Score one for me.

“I'm sorry,” he says softly. “I didn't know. I heard –”

“Don't be sorry,” I say with a dry laugh. “It is what it is. I just wanted to get out of here and move on with my life after – well, after. And Brett was the first person I met after school and moving to New York –”

I stop before I finish that sentence. Brett was the first man I dated after Caleb ran off and left me. But I don't want him thinking he hurt me that badly. Or that he meant so much to me that I'd just go and marry the first man I met to rid myself of his memory. I didn't want him to think that because obviously I didn't mean that much to him. Not if he could just leave me like that. Without an explanation. Without so much as a goodbye.

“Abby, seriously, I'm sorry,” he says, his voice softening, a sheepish look on his face, “I had no idea you were divorced or I wouldn't have said that. I know I can be an ass, but even I have limits.”

“Do you?” I ask, biting my lip as I stare at him. “Because I don't think you do. I mean, you did ghost a girl you claimed to love and never bothered to tell her why. So honestly, I don't know what you're actually capable of or what your supposed limits are.”

Caleb doesn't say anything. He stares at his beer and remains quiet, almost as if he can't find the words. But Caleb has never had a problem with finding words. He could talk until the cows came home. His has always been more of a problem trying to find the right words.

I look over at Brooke, suddenly remembering she was still there. I feel bad for dredging up the past and making things at the table tense and awkward. This is supposed to be sister time, after all. She takes my hand in hers and gives me an encouraging smile. I think she knows that after all these years, I'm entitled to some answers for the hell he put me through.

“I think I'm going to head home,” she says. “I have to be at the store early, and it might be nice to let the two of you reconnect without having a third wheel around.”

Part of me wants to urge her to stay. Or to even leave with her. But I don't budge from my seat. I'm on fire, burning up inside and I want some answers. I want to know why Caleb did what he did.

“Alright, sis,” I say, squeezing her hand. “I'll stop by the store tomorrow and help out. Drive safe.”

She nods and slips away as quickly as possible, leaving me alone with Caleb. As I stare at my lemonade, I'm suddenly wishing I had something stronger. I'm just about to wave down the bartender and order something that will dull all these feelings when Caleb reaches out and takes my hand.

“I mean it when I say I'm sorry, Abby,” he says. “What I did was fucked up. I know that. But believe it or not, I had my reasons. You know my family. Know what my life was like here. I hope you can understand why I needed to escape –”

“But couldn't you have escaped with me? Couldn't we have left together?” I ask. “Like we always talked about. You and me starting a life together. Staring somewhere new. Fresh.”

He lets out a long sigh. “You know how fucked up I am, Abby,” he says after a few moments. “I couldn't do that to you. You deserved better than I could ever give you. You still do. Honestly, I feel like I was doing you a favor by not burdening you with my bullshit.”

“And it was up to you to decide what I needed in my life?” I ask.

Caleb didn't answer me. I hate to admit, but sitting here next to him, I'm finding it harder and harder to remain angry at him. This was Caleb – my Caleb – the boy I loved with every last shred of my being. The boy who is the one I measure all others by. The boy who devastated me by vanishing. And yet, here he was. At last.

But I hold on to my anger. It's a righteous fury. One I've earned. One I'm entitled to after what he did. I deserve answers. I demand answers for why he broke my heart and my spirit.

“Like I said, I know I'm an ass,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “What else do you want me to say? I've apologized. I feel bad for hurting you. I really do. But it's the past, Abby. It's ancient history.”

“And I should move on and get over it all. Got it. Thanks,” I say.

I've heard that same line of thinking from so many people over the years and it never failed to infuriate me. Just move on, they'd tell me. As if I can control my emotions that easily. If it were that easy to let go of Caleb, don't you think I would have? It's not like I enjoy being hurt all the time. It's not like I enjoy being an emotional train wreck.

But then Caleb surprises me. “No,” he says, “You have every right to be pissed at me. I just hope maybe we can move past this. And that maybe one day, you can find happiness with somebody. Because you deserve that, Abby.”

Happiness. Huh. What an abstract concept in my screwed-up life. Staring down at my hands, I decide to change the subject.

“How long are you going to be in town?”

“Only as long as I have to be,” he says. “Maybe a few more days, at most.”

My heart aches at the thought of watching him walk away and losing him all over again. But I nod, knowing that there's no way Caleb and I can be together. He's no longer my Caleb and when he leaves, it's not like I'm really losing him all over again – I never had him to begin with.

Caleb leans forward and takes my hand in his, setting my heart racing and making me look up and meet his gaze once more. Everyone else at the bar disappears in that moment. As I stare into his eyes, there is no one else at the Wagon but Caleb and me. And as I stare into those gorgeous, dark eyes, I feel like I'm back in high school all over again. All of those feelings I carried for him – that connection we shared – it all came rushing back with a vengeance. I was awash in feeling. In memory and nostalgia. And it's taking everything in me not to lean forward and kiss him.

“How have you been, Abby?” he asks. “You know I've worried about you. I've thought about you a lot over the years. But I heard you went away to school and then got married. I thought – hoped – you were living the dream and were deliriously happy, so I didn't want to bother you. I didn't want to disrupt your life.”

“You'd never bother me, Caleb,” I say, feeling the tears stinging my eyes. “How have I been? That's a really strange question, but I guess I've been okay. I'm back home, obviously. Back in Sheridan Falls for good, most likely. New York City was just too much for me – especially once my marriage fell apart. I just needed to be somewhere comfortable again. And so, here I am.”

“I'm really sorry it all didn't work out like you'd hoped,” he says.

“I'm not,” I snort. “I wasn't happy there. I fooled myself into thinking I was for a while, but the truth always bubbles to the surface eventually.”

“And now?” he asks. “Now that you're home, are you happy with that douchebag who tried to haul you out of here earlier?”

I laugh, a choking sound that sounds almost like a sob. “We broke up,” I say. “A few days ago. He's not taking it well. I think he's stalking me.”

“I can tell he's not dealing with it well,” he says. “Seriously, if he's stalking you, then you need to let somebody know. You need to nip that shit in the bud right now.”

“Yeah, I will,” I say. “I think he's harmless for the most part. And he wasn't like that before, I swear.”

“Well, all I can say is that I'm glad you're not with him anymore,” he says. “The fact that he was a dick to you is part of it.”

“Only part of it?”

My heart swells in my chest. Don't get your hopes up, Abby, I tell myself. But it's hard not to. But I quash the feelings blooming within me and give myself a swift mental kick. I can't afford to let myself feel for Caleb again. Especially knowing he's leaving town again soon. I need to hold on to that anger. He was the son of a bitch who ghosted me, after all. He doesn't deserve my affection – he deserves a kick in the ass of his own.

Caleb gives me a half-smile. It's a shy smile – almost like he's ashamed to say what he's about to say.

“Part of it's because he's a dick to you,” he says. “And part of it is because maybe – I was a bit jealous too.”

I look down and realize that he's still holding my hand. I look at our fingers that are intertwined and I'm again struck by a wave of nostalgia, recalling all of those feelings from the past. His large hand encompasses mine completely, and he gently strokes my fingers – just like he used to do all those years ago.

“Jealous? Of James?” I feel my cheeks start to flush. “Why on Earth would you be jealous of him?”

“Because he has you,” he says softly. “Or rather, had. Past tense now, thankfully.”

“So, there's still some small part of you that cares for me, huh?”

I find myself smiling – and find it more difficult to hold on to that righteous anger I've been nursing. The idea that he still cares for me, even a little bit, fills me with a thousand different emotions – joy among them.

“Abby, I've always cared for you. I didn't leave because I didn't love you,” he says. “I had to leave because I did love you. And in my own way, I never stopped loving you – which scares the living shit out of me.”

My heart skips a beat – maybe three or four of them – as I process what he just said. He still loves me. After all these years. He still has feelings for me.

We stare at each other for a long moment, and I dream of kissing those soft, luscious lips. But that dream is ripped away when a drunk falls onto our table, spilling his beer all over the front of my shirt. Caleb's bottle goes flying and shatters when it hits the floor. And my lemonade glass meets the same fate.

I stand up, in shock and to prevent the drunk from rolling off the table and onto my lap. Caleb, on the other hand, yanks the man up from the table and into a standing position.

“Fuck, man, I'm sorry,” the drunk says, his speech slurred, his eyes glassy, and a goofy grin on his face. “My bad.”

“It's not me you should be apologizing to,” Caleb says, his face darkening with anger as he turns the man to face me.

“I'm sorry,” the man says. “I didn't mean to.”

“It's okay,” I say, trying my hardest to dab off the beer that has already started soaking into my blouse. “Just be more careful next time.”

Caleb lets the man go, but the moment was ruined. I feel tears in my eyes again as I thought about everything we could have been. But he was leaving town again soon and I know I can't get attached. Not again. I'm not going to set myself up for more heartache. I tighten my grip on that righteous anger within me – and pray that I can keep hold of it until he leaves.

“Let's get out of here,” Caleb said, dropping some cash on the table.

“Where to?” I ask.

“Somewhere we can get you a clean shirt,” he says.

“I can just go home.”

Caleb shakes his head. “I'm only in town for a few more days,” he says. “I'm not letting you walk away that easily. I think we have a lot to talk about still.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Because I need a new shirt, we go back to my place. I'm nervous as hell when I open the door to my home because here I was letting Caleb back into my life. The man who destroyed me all those years ago.

But we're older, wiser, things are different now. We've grown, matured, and moved past things. Or so I tell myself.

Besides, I can't let him go that easily either. I want to catch up and hear about his life. I want to get to know the man that he's become over the years. He's obviously grown-up, a lot. And so have I. And most of all, I want to know why he thought running away to join the Marines was a good substitute for the life we'd been planning together.

“Nice place,” he says, looking around as we step inside.

“Thanks.”

I hang my coat in the closet and think of James – half-expecting to feel him pressing himself against me from behind. Being free of that routine is so freeing, and I can't help but smile. Not just because I was free, but because Caleb was here with me too. It's like a missing piece in the puzzle of my life has finally been snapped into place.

Turning to Caleb, I ask, “Would you like something to drink? A glass of wine? A beer maybe?”

“Nah, I'm good,” he says. “But thank you.”

Suddenly, I realize how close he's standing to me. He's staring down at me and I look up, realizing that this is my Caleb. I just want to reach out and touch him, to make sure he's real. I want to kiss him, to feel him kissing me. But I take a step away and resist the urge.

“Do you remember our senior year?” he asks. “That Homecoming when we –”

I finish his sentence for him. “When we skipped the dance and sat by the river instead? My dad was so pissed at us.”

When I mention my father, I can see Caleb tense up very visibly. His face grows darker – a little more somber. I see a genuine anger in his eyes. I have no idea why he'd have such a reaction. But then the moment passes – and just like a cloud passing by the face of the sun, Caleb's face brightens a bit again.

“Yeah, I remember you were grounded for a month,” he says. “All because Jessica told her mom, who told your dad and, well, the rest is history.”

“She's such a bitch,” I say, rolling my eyes, but laughing just the same. “Speaking of Jessica though – did you really go home with her the night I saw you on the street?”

He looks away and I see color flaring in his cheeks. It's confirmation of what I already suspected.

“Seriously?” I ask. “You slept with Jessica?”

He gives me a small shrug. “Just kind of happened.”

“Yeah, just kind of happened,” I say. “Right.”

Sometimes, looking back on the past made things sting less. Like Jessica's betrayal. Not that night, but the first time Caleb and I went out. It was almost like she was trying to break us up from the start. She was always going to my parents and snitching on us.

“It's not like we had sex or anything,” I say, thinking back to that night by the river. “I tried to tell him, but my dad wouldn't believe me.”

Caleb and I never slept together in the traditional sense back then – even though we both wanted to. I was a virgin, scared and unsure of myself and the whole idea of sex. And he wasn't about to pressure me into doing something I wasn't ready to do. And so, it never happened. We never consummated our relationship.

It's a fact I regret every single day. And for a long while, part of me wondered if perhaps that wasn't the reason he left – because I didn't sleep with him. It sounds crazy as I think about it now, but back then, it seemed like a very legitimate question.

“Why did you look so pissed off when I mentioned my dad?” I asked.

It was a curious reaction from him and it made me curious. And since we were working on being honest with one another, I thought it was a fair question.

Caleb sighs and scratches at his thick beard. “Your dad hated me, Abby,” I say. “He said he knew my type inside and out. Said I'd amount to nothing and would lead a sad life anyway. He said I'd do nothing more than bring you down and ruin your life. He told me that you deserved more. Better than I could ever give you. Said I wasn't good for his little girl. He was probably right.”

I reach out and grab him by his shirt. “No, he wasn't,” I say. “My dad didn't know you. He knew your family, but he didn't know you.”

I can't believe what I'm hearing and it makes me feel sick to my stomach. I cannot believe my own father had done that. For so long, I thought it was something I'd done or said that had driven Caleb away. Come to find out, it was my own father. I'm in shock and can't believe it. But in a way, it makes a lot of sense.

“Maybe, I dunno,” Caleb says, running a hand over his head, much like he used to do when he had hair. “I thought you'd be better off. Honestly, he was just saying things I already thought about myself anyway. He was just confirming my own feelings. I did believe you deserved better than I could ever give you. Still believe that.”

“And you were wrong,” I say softly.

“Was I though?” he asks. “Who knows what could have happened.”

“Exactly, who knows? But I do know one thing – my life isn't all that great anyway, and I can't see how you'd have made it worse.”

Caleb looks around. “Seems like you're doing pretty well for yourself, Abby.”

I sigh. “Career-wise, sure,” I say. “But happiness-wise? Relationship-wise? My life is a mess. A total and complete disaster.”

“I'm sorry,” he says, placing his hand softly upon my cheek.

I lean into his touch and close my eyes. We still haven't left my foyer and I don't know why.

“We should go have a seat –” I start to say, but Caleb cuts me off with a kiss.

When his mouth touches mine, I feel a surge of electricity tear through me. And then I feel like I'm floating. His soft lips feel the same as I remember them. And when his tongue pushes past my lips and into my mouth, it's like he literally takes my breath away. I feel like my knees might go out on me, but Caleb is there, holding me up with his strong arms as he kisses me deeply for the first time in twelve years.

When he pulls back, he smiles. “You have no idea how badly I've wanted to do that,” he says.

I'm a stammering fool with wide eyes and weak knees, but I manage to say, “The feeling is mutual, Caleb.”

He leans down and kisses me again, this time a softer, more lingering kiss as he presses me against the wall. My hands move over his chest, feeling his firm muscles beneath his shirt. He filled out nicely in the Marines, and I am dying to see the tight, toned body beneath his clothes. It's killing me – the yearning – but I know I have to be careful. Having some fun with him is one thing. Having a one-night stand is another. But I can't let myself fall for him again.

He kisses down the length of my neck as I work at the buttons on his dress shirt one-by-one, my fingers stumbling as I struggle to undo them. My hands are shaking. But then, I realize that my whole body is, actually. I'm nervous as hell and I know that this is a bad idea. Nothing good is going to come of sleeping with Caleb. And yet, I can't seem to stop myself.

Caleb presses himself against me, and I feel his erection through his pants pressing against my midsection. He's most definitely hard and ready to go. I slide my hand down and rub him through his pants. Even though we never had sex back in the day, we still did some things. And for some reason, his cock feels larger than I remember it being. So large, so hard, and so ready to go.

His shirt finally falls to the floor once I remove the last button. After that, I move down to his pants. But Caleb grabs my hands, pulling them away. I stare into his sultry eyes.

“We shouldn't do this,” he says, whispering the words I'm hearing echoing around all too clearly in my own head.

“No, we shouldn't,” I say, biting my lip. “But I want you, Caleb. I want you so badly, I don't know if I can wait any longer –”

He kisses me long and hard again, holding my face in his hands. When he pulls away this time, he smiles at me.

“And I want you, Abby. God, I want you – but seriously, this is a dangerous game. I'm leaving in a few days, and I don't want to hurt you anymore than I already have.”

“I appreciate that,” I say, nodding my head.

Deep down, I know he's right. We shouldn't do this. But damn it, I've been dying for some closure or some answers – or something – for so many years. And now, here we are – finally able to be together. Maybe for the last time, but at least I'd know what it's like to make love to him. That's something, right?

“I appreciate your concern for me,” I say. “But I'm a grown woman, and I can handle it, Caleb. I've already been through so much and survived, whatever happens between us will be okay. Just give me this night, please? I think you owe me at least that.”

His eyes soften as he stares at me. My hands move down the length of his chest, sliding down to his belt again. As I unbuckle his belt, my hands graze his hard cock and his breath catches in his throat. I give him a salacious little smile. I kiss his chest, the tattoos that cover it, licking the scars along his collarbone. I'm sure there's a story there, one I'd love to hear one day, but for now, I'm content just kissing and exploring that amazing body – that body I never had a chance to experience all those years ago.

“Please just fuck me, Caleb. Please?” I beg. “Don't worry about anything but right now. This moment.”

“I'm afraid –”

“You? Afraid?” I laugh. “You don't seem like the type to be afraid of anything.”

“I'm not. Except when it comes to certain things. Feelings and women tops among them,” he says.

“I promise, I don't expect anything from you after this,” I say.

“That's not what I'm afraid of,” he says.

“Then what is it?”

But he doesn't answer. Instead, he lifts me up off my feet and I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me, kissing me and holding me firmly against his body. He carries me out of the kitchen and out into the living room – and for a moment, I expect him to carry me into the bedroom. Which would be fine, but part of me yearns for something different. Something wild. And Caleb is just the man to give me what I want, I know it.

Although I expect him to, Caleb doesn't go to the bedroom. Instead, he lays me down on the plush rug in front of my fireplace. He's so gentle with me, even when he lays down on top of me, kissing my lips, my neck and down my collarbone. My legs are wrapped around his body and I feel him pressing into my body. So close. So very close. There's just a small strip of fabric separating me from him.

“Please, Caleb –” I beg. “Please.”

I reach for his pants, sliding my hand down under the waistband until I feel his cock swelling in my hand. I gasp at how thick he is and surprise washes over my face. He gives me a knowing grin as he slips his pants off the rest of the way.

Caleb takes his time removing my clothing – which drives me crazy. I want him – need him – inside of me so badly, the ache down below is almost too much for me. But he takes his time. It's almost like he's savoring the moment – or is just enjoying tormenting me.

He slips my blouse off over my head, then removes my bra, exposing my breasts. He'd seen them way back when – once when we got frisky and fooled around, not long before he left – but they are rounder now. Fuller too. He takes my nipple between his lips and sucks on it, making me arch my back, thrusting my chest upward toward him.

My head rolls side-to-side and I'm moaning as he teases my nipple. He's not touching any other part of me but that and I'm already moaning and my body aches for him. The pressure between my legs is growing by the second and I so badly want him inside of me.

But Caleb isn't rushing things – and it is nice.

He slips my panties down, and hikes my skirt up, exposing me to him. Lowering himself between my legs, I gasp when his mouth touches my most intimate parts. Slowly, he circles my clit, teasing it with his tongue and I'm taken aback by the intense pleasure I'm feeling.

He slips his tongue deeper inside of me, making noises as if he's savoring the taste of me. My hands are in his hair and I'm pulling hard on it as he licks me up and down, teasing my clit and then burying his tongue deep inside of me again.

“Caleb,” I moan softly. “Oh God, Caleb.”

The sensations ripping through my body are intense. Unlike anything I'd ever felt before. His tongue is moving harder and faster and my heart is thundering within my chest. I grind myself against his mouth, taking his tongue deeper into me. I feel the pressure building up low within me and I grit my teeth, determined not to give into it just yet.

Knowing I'm not going to last much longer if I let him keep going, I pull Caleb up so that he's on top of me. He looks down at me, the question in his eyes more than clear.

“Yes,” I say, my voice breathy. “I want this. I want you.”

He leans down and kisses me deeply as he slides his cock inside of me. I gasp and feel my eyes grow wide as he fills me up and stretches me open. My every nerve ending feels like it's on fire and my body is buzzing with sensation.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I nod. “Yes, baby,” I say. “Don't stop.”

He slowly begins to move his hips and with each thrust of his glorious cock, a wave of pleasure goes rolling through me. I dig my nails into his shoulders, eliciting a gasp from him. I wrap my legs around his waist and try to take him deeper into me. Caleb responds by thrusting his cock deeper and deeper inside of me. I'm so warm and so wet that he's sliding in and out of me with ease.

“Yes, baby,” I gasp. “Yes.”

He increases his rhythm, driving himself even deeper into me. His body is starting to tense up and I can feel his cock swelling inside of me. I know he's getting close.

The pressure inside of me is building – and building quick. There's a strange feeling in my stomach and I'm feeling sensations I've never felt before. Caleb moans, softly calling my name as he thrusts himself deep into me over and over again.

And that's when all hell breaks loose inside of me.

My body starts to shake and tremble. I cry out, nearly screaming Caleb's name as my body is spasming and an orgasm – a powerful orgasm – tears through me. I'm quivering and the warm, wet center of me tightens around Caleb's cock. He grunts and a moment later, I feel his warm seed shooting into me, filling me up.

Tears fill my eyes and roll down my cheeks. I've just had my first orgasm and it was intense. Far more intense than anything I'd ever felt. It's like finally uncorking that bottle seemed to make other bottles overflow – like my emotions.

I've lived a life free of orgasm. Not for lack of trying, but I was always bound up – orgasmically constipated – as Dana said time and time again. But Caleb is obviously, the missing piece. The key that unlocks the box that has been holding me prisoner. He somehow managed to punch through all of the barriers and walls I constructed and was the first man who sexually satisfied me.

And Jesus Christ, it felt amazing. I'm so happy – so relieved that he brought me to orgasm – that I'm crying.

Caleb collapses beside me on the floor, his face dripping with sweat. But he's smiling and has a look of pure happiness on his face.

“Wow, I can't believe I've been missing out on that all these years,” I say, still stunned by the intensity of the sensations that had just rocked me.

An orgasm with a toy is one thing. But an orgasm from sex was something else entirely. And I am still high from it all. My body is still shaking as Caleb pulls me close.

“Well, truthfully, it probably wouldn't have been that great if we'd done it back then,” he says with a cocky grin. “It would have been good, but I'd like to think I've learned a few things over the years.”

He doesn't understand. And I don't think he ever will. For so long, I've been holding myself back from experiencing true pleasure with a man. Obviously, because of Caleb. Perhaps now that we've talked, cleared the air in some respects, I can move forward with my life. I can let myself commit to somebody both physically and emotionally.

I know it won't be Caleb, since he's leaving. But perhaps, even though he's gone, he'll leave behind the key to unlocking my heart and my mind.

I still can't believe how good it feels though. I can't believe it's taken me this long to finally experience a powerful, earth shaking orgasm.

I am still stunned that I'd actually had an orgasm – with a man. But it wasn’t just any man. It was Caleb. Maybe that's all it took for me to finally let go – having closure with him. Or maybe he was just really, really good – which I can't argue, he was. But there was something more to it than that.

Something much more.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Abby

We sit in a booth at the one of the few diners that remains from our high school days the next morning. Something is bothering me about something he'd said the night before and I want to know more. He's hesitant to tell me at first, but eventually, he lays out the whole story about my father. Specifically, about what my father said to him that precipitated him leaving Sheridan Falls.

“He really told you that?” I ask, feeling my jaw fall to the table. “I'm so sorry, Caleb. My father could be so protective of me, but that's ridiculous. You deserve better than that.”

Caleb stares at his coffee cup for a long time. “He was right, Abby,” he says, looking up at me. “He was only trying to protect you from me, and he was right. I'm not a good guy.”

“Bullshit,” I say, shaking my head. “You're not your father. Nothing like him.”

“Yeah? Well I've never been in a relationship long enough to find out for sure,” he says. “And some might say I'm no different than my mom – except I'm not breaking up marriages while I'm whoring around.”

“That's a lot different,” I say. Though the idea of him whoring around bothers me a bit, I push that out of my head and smile at him from across the table. “My father was wrong, Caleb. I mean, look at you. You made something of yourself – you served our country. You're a Marine and you got out of Sheridan Falls. Things my father would never have imagined.”

The waitress comes over to refill our coffees and to tell us our food will be right out. Which, of course, derails the conversation entirely.

“Do you remember,” Caleb says, grinning from ear-to-ear behind that bushy beard he's sporting, “when we'd come here after games. You, me, a few of the other guys and their girlfriends?”

“I do,” I say. “We drove the wait staff crazy. We were obnoxious back then, weren't we?”

“Nah, we were just kids,” he says, playing with the empty sugar packet in front of him. “But those were the days alright.”

“Yes, they were,” I say, feeling the wave of nostalgia wash over me. “Not much has changed here either. It still looks pretty much the same – except for the new booths.”

“The old ones were getting pretty ratty,” he says, looking over at the corner booth we used to sit at. Pointing at it, he asks, “How about that time I got a little handsy and you smacked the shit out of me? Right over there, wasn't it?”

“Oh God,” I say, covering my face. “I forgot about that. You tried to grope me with our friends right there, and I was so embarrassed. But wanna know something? I secretly liked it.”

“Oh, I know,” he laughs. “I knew you wanted my hands all over you. You were just too shy and scared.”

The waitress brings us our food, and as I look over, I realize Caleb ordered the exact same thing he used to always order.

“Not too much has changed apparently,” I say.

“Yeah, well, at least I'm not trying to grope you this time.” He winks at me as he loads his hash browns up with ketchup. Just like old times.

“Well, even if you did,” I say. “I wouldn't slap the shit out of you this time. Probably.”

We dig into our meals. Like always, I get the pancakes with a side of bacon. And just like the old days, Caleb reaches over and steals a bite of my pancakes and gives me a piece of his sausage in return. I smile, taking a bite of the sausage. It all feels so normal, so natural. Almost like nothing had ever happened and no time has passed. It's as if we were preserved in time and finally released back into our daily lives.

Except, this time, I know it's trap.

“So, when are you heading back to Cali?” I ask.

Caleb cringes. “People hate when it's called Cali,” he says with a laugh.

“Fine,” I groan, “California. When are you heading back to California?”

To be an ass, I enunciate every syllable, sounding it out slowly to make a point.

“I don't know,” he says, giving a half-smile as he piled a forkful of hash browns in his mouth. “I'm thinking I might stick around a bit longer than I'd originally planned. It's been nice getting back up here, and God knows when I'll make it back again. Maybe never.”

That last bit stings, but I force a smile. “A few more days then?”

“Maybe?” he shrugs. “Or maybe a couple weeks. Who knows? That's the nice thing about what I do – I can make my own schedule, work wherever I want.”

Which reminds me – I know very little about his life at the moment. “So, what is it you do exactly? Now, that you're not a Marine and all.”

“I'm uhhh,” he scratches his beard. “I'm a PI. Not the most glamorous of gigs, I know. But it pays the bills.”

“So, what does that mean? You follow cheating husbands around? Catch them in the act and send proof back to the wives?”

He laughs. “Pretty much,” he says. “Infidelity is one of my biggest money makers.”

“Sounds like the two of us could work together,” I say. “Being a marriage counselor and all.”

“Oh yeah? I knew you were a counselor, but didn't know what type.”

“Yeah, I help repair people's marriages. But couldn't even salvage my own,” I say. “Ironic, huh?”

I give him a weak smile as I pick at my pancakes, suddenly finding myself not very hungry.

Caleb reaches across the table and takes my hand. “I have no doubt that if you'd wanted to repair that relationship, you could have. But some things are just not meant to be.”

Yeah, like him and me, I think. I push my plate away, losing my appetite altogether.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Abby

I lock the door to my office, done for the day. It had been a pretty heavy afternoon schedule of clients and I feel bad because I don't think I gave them my full attention. I'm not sure I did a lot of good for them today. I should probably just issue everybody refunds, to be honest. But then, I don't want anybody losing confidence in me, either. I'll just have to get my head straight, buckle down, and do right by them next time.

In my defense, it's not entirely my fault though. I'm kind of caught up in my own stuff at the moment. Having spent a lot of time with Caleb, really talking, and really connecting with him, I'm starting to feel pieces that have been missing inside of me falling into place. Some of them, pieces I didn't even know I was missing.

Reconnecting with Caleb has been terrifying. But in a lot of ways, it's also been amazing. By allowing myself to be open enough to talk to him rather than just shout him down, I forced myself to step outside my comfort zone. Allowed myself to be vulnerable.

Those weren't things that came easily or naturally to me, but it was the only way I was going to get the answers I wanted. The answers I needed for so long. And in a way, spending the time I've been spending with Caleb, getting back inside his mind and getting truth and honesty from him have done more to heal me than all my years of therapy.

I'm meeting Caleb for dinner tonight and I find that I'm actually looking forward to it. There seems to be such an easy air between us. I never thought it possible, but I feel so comfortable around him again. It's like two pieces of a puzzle snapping back together again and I don't want to rush things or read to much into anything just yet, but it feels – right. And I know he feels the same way too.

I walk around the parking lot behind the building that houses my office, pulling my keys out of my bag, and press the button to unlock the door.

“Hello, Abby.”

James' voice stops me in my tracks, sending a lightning bolt of fear shooting through me. I turn around to face him and he's standing just five feet from me, a strange little smile upon his lips.

“What are you doing here, James?”

“I came to see you,” he says calmly. “To talk to you.”

“I thought I was pretty clear that we have nothing left to talk about.”

“Oh, see, but I think we do.”

He takes a step forward and I take one step back. But I bump into my car and realize I have nowhere else to go. I look around quickly, hoping there's somebody around who can help me. But I'm alone – with him.

The look on his face is disturbing and sends a chill through me. There's something in his eyes that sets my nerves on edge. That scares me.

“Fine,” I say evenly. “What is it you want talk about then, James?”

“First of all, I want to talk about us,” he says. “About getting back together.”

I shake my head. “That's not going to happen, James,” I say. “I was very clear about that.”

A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Is this because of him? Because of Caleb?”

“It has nothing to do with Caleb.”

That's not entirely true. The night I broke up with James, starting anything with Caleb again had been the furthest thing from my mind. I was awash in emotions that night, but there were absolutely zero romantic feelings for Caleb. Things had changed since then, obviously.

But that's not the point.

The point is that if Caleb had anything to do with my breaking up with James, it was only in that I was so overcome with emotion that I finally hit my breaking point. It made me realize a lot of things – things that honestly, were a long time coming. I needed to take control of my life, my sanity, and my happiness back – and that's exactly what I did.

Not that James was going to understand that.

“No?” he asks. “If it has nothing to do with Caleb, why did you fuck him the other night?”

His question made my breath catch in my throat and my blood run cold. How in the hell could he have possibly known that I slept with Caleb? Unless –

“You're stalking me,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper.

“I'm looking out for your best interests,” he corrects me, his voice full of emotion. “I happened to see you come home with him. I peeked in your windows to make sure you were okay and saw you screwing him, Abby.”

“You've got to be kidding me.”

That he could rationalize stalking me that way is more than just creepy. It's terrifying. And it shows me that James is dangerous. I don't know what's going through his mind, but I know that if he's stalking me, it can't be good. I need to get out of there. Get away from him.

“Look, James,” I say, doing my best to keep the nervous flutter out of my voice. “It's been a long day and I want to go home and get some rest. Let's get together later in the week to talk about everything. I'm open to hearing –”

“I'm afraid it's too late for that, Abby,” he says. “That bus has already left the station.”

“What are you talking about, James?”

His cheeks flare with color and he looks almost ashamed, but he pulls his hand out of the pocket of his windbreaker and he's holding a gun. The adrenaline pours through me, making my head almost buzz with its intensity. My heart is pounding in my chest like I'd just run a marathon and my eyes widen as I stare at it.

“What are you doing, James?” I ask, my voice cracking with fear. “Why are you holding a gun?”

“Because you're not thinking clearly, Abby,” he says. “And I need to protect you. Get you away from here. Away from him. Allow you to relax a little and get your head back on straight.”

“James, don't do this,” I say. “You don't want to do this.”

“I'm not doing anything,” he replies, his voice smooth and calm. “I only want to keep you safe. Protect you. Even if I'm only protecting you from yourself.”

I shake my head. “I don't need to be protected, James,” I say. “I just need you to put the gun down.”

He looks at me and I can see the resolve in his face. He's committed to this course of action and there's nothing I can say or do that's going to change his mind. The only thing I can do is call for help. Or run. Either of which very well could earn me a bullet.

“I don't want to do it this way, Abby. Believe me,” he says. “But we were happy. And then all of the sudden, this guy shows up and we're not? It's obvious to me that you're not yourself. That you're not thinking or feeling clearly. As a trained therapist, you should know yourself well enough to know that.”

“James, I –”

He waves the gun in my direction without pointing it at me. “We have to go now, Abby,” he says. “Get into the car. Please.”

“This doesn't have –”

“The car, Abby,” he says. “Get into your car now. You're driving.”

I look around frantically, looking for somebody, anybody who can help me.

“Abby,” he says, finally raising his gun, but keeping it pointed low. “Please don't make me ask again. Please get into the car.”

With no other options available to me, I reluctantly open the door and get behind the wheel. James comes around quickly and gets into the passenger seat. He keeps the gun in his hand, but it's pointed away from me.

“W – where are we going, James?”

“I want you to drive down to the marina,” he says. “We're going for a little pleasure cruise.”

“Where are you taking me, James?”

“To my cabin,” he replies. “It's quiet. It'll give you a good space to think. To clear your head.”

“Please, I –”

“Start the car and drive, Abby,” he says, his voice suddenly ice cold. “I don't want to hurt you. I've never wanted to hurt you. But you need to do what I say now, so I don't have to.”

The tone of his voice tells me that he's serious. That something inside of him has snapped and he's gone off the deep end. And I know that if I don't do what he says, he's going to kill me. Maybe he's going to anyway, I don't know.

All I do know is that as long as I do what he says and play along with him, I'll stay alive. And if I'm alive, there's hope for escape. For rescue. For something. I know that it's not going to be long for people to realize I'm missing, and once they do, they'll be out looking for me.

I just need to stay alive until they find me.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I pull into the lot of the marina and find it all but deserted. If I don't do something now, find some way to get away from him, I'm going to be in real trouble. If James gets me on that boat and gets us to the Canadian side of the water, nobody is going to be able to help me. I'm going to be completely on my own with a madman holding a gun.

Which means, I'm pretty much as good as dead.

“I know what you're thinking, Abby,” he says as he gets out of the car. “And all I can say is please don't do it. Don't run. I don't want to hurt you. I love you, Abby.”

I shake my head. “You don't love me, James,” I say. “If you did, you wouldn't be doing this.”

“It's because I love you that I'm doing this,” he says. “Don't you see? We were happy together. We were content –”

“You're wrong,” I say. “I was never content. I fooled myself into believing that I was – but that was early on. The truth of the matter though, is that I stayed with you as long as I did because I was afraid of being alone.”

He looks at me a long moment, a flash of anger passing through his eyes. But then his face smooths out and an eerie calm descends over him again.

“We both know that's not true, Abby,” he says. “Now, come one. We need to get to the boat.”

When I hesitate, James comes around to the driver's side of the car and grabs me by the arm. His fingers dig into me and I cry out in pain as he squeezes hard. He practically drags me down to the docks where his boat is moored and I'm frantically searching for somebody to help me. I spot a few couples sitting on the deck of their boats, some drinking wine, some barbecuing. James pulls me close and puts the barrel of the gun against my ribs.

“Don't make me do something terrible, Abby,” he says. “Please don't make me.”

I've been on his boat with him a number of times and the people at the marina are used to seeing me. Which is why they wave and shout their greetings as we pass on by. They obviously can't see the terrified look on my face or the fact that James is holding a gun on me. To them, we apparently look like a couple in love, taking a stroll down the dock to their boat.

I climb onboard James' boat and he starts untying the lines holding us to the dock.

“Start the engines, Abby,” he says as he tosses me the key.

I look at the key in my hand and wonder if I can get the boat started and get away from the dock before James gets back on board. He's smiling at me as if intuiting my thoughts and I know it's a plan that isn't going to work.

“Start the engines,” he says again, his voice a little lower, a little colder.

I climb the ladder to the bridge and do as he says. He's shown me how to pilot his boat before, so it's a simple matter. When the engines are running, James casts off the bowline and climbs aboard, quickly scaling the ladder and taking the seat next to me.

I look out across the water, a plan starting to come together in my mind. The Strait of San Juan de Fuca, the body of water that separates Washington from Canada is only about ten or eleven miles wide at the point we'll be crossing. I'm a strong swimmer and think that if I can get overboard, I can probably get back to shore fairly easily.

James guns the engines and we quickly maneuver out of the marina and onto the open water. The sun is slipping toward the horizon and the air is cool. Ordinarily, a sunset cruise like this would have been a nice way to end a long day. But having somebody kidnapping you, threatening to kill you, kind of takes the shine off of things.

I watch the water around us. There's a breeze up and it's a little choppy, but I know I can make the swim. My biggest obstacle would be avoiding James in his boat. Once I go overboard, I know he's going to turn and search for me. But maybe that's where the choppiness of the water can help – I won't be so easily seen among the small whitecaps.

It's a plan that can work. I just need to pick the spot and wait for my moment.

“Abby,” James calls over the roar of his engines. “I want you to know that if you throw yourself overboard, if I can't find you, then I'm going to go pay a visit to Brooke. You won't like what happens after that. And Brooke most definitely won't like it.”

My heart sinks into my stomach and a feeling of despair washes over me. I'm trapped. Completely fucking trapped. How in the hell did I end up with such a psychopath? How could I not have seen the signs? Or had I simply ignored them? I've been so busy settling and believing I deserved no more, that maybe he had exhibited all the usual worrisome signs and I just – missed them.

The trip across the Strait takes a little less than an hour. Once we tie off at the dock, James guides me over to the car he keeps in the marina on this side. The place is deserted and there's nobody around to help me.

James drags me to the car and roughly tosses me into the passenger seat, hurrying around to climb behind the wheel. Without speaking, he starts the car and drives off into the rapidly approaching night.

~ooo000ooo~

The road winds through a dense forest and by the time we arrive at James' cabin, full dark has fallen. I get out of the car and look around. There's a chill in the air and the sound of wildlife all around us. I've never been to his cabin before – didn't even know he had a cabin, to be honest. And almost immediately, snippets of ten thousand horror movies I've seen flash through my mind.

“It's not what you think,” James says.

I look over at him. “What do you mean?”

“This isn't like where I bring women to kill them or something,” he says with a nervous laugh. “I'm not like a serial killer or anything.”

I look at the large, dark, looming cabin and a shudder passes through me. “If you say so.”

“I do say so, Abby,” he says. “If you have to know –”

“I don't,” I say, holding up my hand. “I really don't.”

“This cabin belonged to my father,” he says, ignoring me. “It's where I come to get some peace. When I want to be alone to think or just hide out from the world. This is the one place where everything is orderly and is exactly how I expect it to be. It's my place of solace.”

“Great,” I say. “And now it's your place of holding women against their will.”

He sighs and waves the gun again. “Let's go,” he says. “It's getting cold out here.”

I walk to the cabin and up the steps to the porch, James' gun on me the whole time.

“If you're afraid I'm going to run off,” I say. “Don't be. I have no idea where in the hell I am and if I run off into the woods, I'm likely going to die out there.”

He shrugs and opens the front door, ushering me inside. “I don't want to take any chances,” he says. “Because I'm serious about the work we're going to do here.”

“Work?”

He flips on the lights, revealing a modestly furnished cabin. It's a little bit rustic, but with enough soft touches to make it feel a bit homey. With the number of animal heads mounted on the walls, it was obviously a hunting cabin at one point in time. I knew James wasn't a hunter at all, so the soft, homey touches were obviously, his additions to the place.

It was odd, but I can see why he'd come here. It's quiet. It's peaceful. You can sit and hear yourself think. I can definitely see the appeal in having a hideaway like this. I'm just not too keen on being held prisoner in one.

“Yes, the work,” he says. “We're going to work on our relationship. You're a therapist, use your skills to fix this thing between us.”

“James, there's nothing to fix,” I say. “There's nothing between us anymore. Our relationship ran its course. I'm sorry if that hurts you, but it's the reality of the situation. It's better for both of us if we just move on.”

He shakes his head. “I don't accept that,” he snaps. “And I'm not moving on. Neither one of us are leaving this cabin until we're happy again. Do you hear me, Abby? We are staying here until we're happy and whole again.”

“James, there's nothing –”

He slams his fist on the table, knocking over the candlesticks that sat upon it in his fury. They roll the floor and fall with a clatter. The sudden noise made me jump and sent a fresh dagger of fear through my heart. He was unraveling and if I kept poking him, it very well might be the end of me. I had to play along for now.

I took a seat at the table in the dining area, trying to defuse the situation. “Okay, James,” I say. “Let's talk.”

As he looks at me, I realize that he never bothered to take my phone away from me. It surprises me, but then I realize that he's not a criminal mastermind or anything like that. He's a guy with issues. Plain and simple.

All I need to do is wait for an opportunity to make a call or send a text – something to let somebody know where I was, that I was in trouble, and needed help. All I had to do was play along, be patient, and I'd get my chance sooner or later.

That and pray that I'd turned the ringer on my phone off earlier.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Caleb

I check my watch again for what feels like the ten thousandth time in the last ten minutes. But I'm nervous. Fidgety. It's not like Abby to be late. That's something she's always been a stickler about – punctuality. But as I look at my watch again, I see that she's twenty minutes late.

Taking my phone out of my pocket, I check – again – and find no missed calls, no voicemails, and no text messages.

“Can I get you another beer?”

I look up into the smiling face of the waitress. She's been flirting with me ever since I walked through the door, but I'm actually not interested. If she'd flirted with me a week ago, I can guarantee I'd have her out in the car, banging her brains out right now.

But things unexpectedly changed. Very unexpectedly.

“Yeah, if you wouldn't mind,” I say. “That'd be great.”

“Comin' right up.”

She walks away, putting an extra swish in her hips for my benefit. I admire her ass as she walks away, but then catch myself doing it and put a stop to it. I shake my head and scratch my beard.

“What in the hell is going on with me?” I mutter to myself.

Things with Abby have taken a turn I never saw coming. We've spent a lot of time together over the last few days and have reconnected – something I never thought would happen. Not in a million years. I never intended for any of this to happen. My only intent was to get into town, say goodbye to Rick, and get the hell out again.

Obviously, nothing has gone the way I intended.

It's not necessarily a bad thing though. I have to say that being able to open up to Abby, to answer all of those questions that have been troubling her for so long and maybe, help give her a little sense of peace is a good thing. I know it's helped her work through some of her long-standing issues. And strangely enough, it's even helped me work through some of mine.

I honestly feel closer to Abby now than I did even way back when. I feel like there's something deeper at work between us. I'm not sure if she feels that way or not – we've not had a conversation even remotely close to addressing that – but it's how I feel.

When I first saw her out on the street, my heart almost stopped. I was sorely tempted to skip town. But I'm glad I didn't. For a lot of reasons. I don't know where things with Abby are headed. I don't honestly know if they're headed anywhere. But I find that I really want to walk down that road, see how far it goes, and then take it from there.

It was unthinkable a week ago, but I really want to see if there actually is something still there between Abby and I, or if we're both just caught up in the nostalgia of the past.

“Here you go.”

The waitress set a fresh bottle of beer down on the table in front of me.

“Thanks,” I say and pick up the bottle.

“You know, I get off in about an hour,” she says.

I give her a soft smile. “Thanks, doll,” I say. “But I'm waiting for somebody.”

“You've been waiting an awful long time,” she said, trailing a perfectly manicured fingertip across my shoulder. “A girl shouldn't keep a man like you waiting.”

I laugh softly. “Maybe another time,” I say.

“Well, just in case your mystery girl doesn't show,” she purrs. “I'll be off in an hour.”

I give her a smile and just shake my head. “I'll keep that in mind.”

She saunters off and I check my watch again – simply for lack of something better to do. I grab my phone again and punch in her number. I hold the phone to my ear as I take a quick pull of my beer. The phone rings three times before her voicemail picks up the line.

“Hey, Abby,” I say. “It's me. I'm down at the Wagon, just kind of wondering where you are. Call me.”

I take another long pull of my beer and start to wonder if maybe this is her grand payback. If this is how she's punishing me for vanishing all those years ago – by standing me up. There is a sinking feeling in my stomach, but then I reel it back in. That doesn't sound like Abby. She's not that petty of a person. As I think about it, I honestly don't think she'd just stand me up to spite me. Even after all that we've gone through together, that doesn't seem like something she'd do.

I know it's only twenty minutes, but I start to grow concerned. Something just feels – off. Call it intuition, a sixth sense – call it whatever you want – but something doesn't feel right to me. Maybe, I'm making too much of it. Maybe, she got hung up somewhere and hasn't had a chance to call. I don't know, but the fact that she's late and hasn't called or texted me – it has alarm bells ringing in my head.

Especially knowing her ex-boyfriend is out there and has been stalking her.

I'm almost about to call her again, but figure that's going to do no good. So instead, I call over to Greenwood's. The call is picked up on the second ring.

“Greenwood's,” Brooke says. “How can I help you this evening?”

“Brooke, it's Caleb.”

“Oh,” she says, her voice growing a little frosty.

Although things between Abby and I seem to be going well, Brooke has been less than receptive to my coming back into her sister's life. I can't say I blame her or don't understand. Only now, do I fully understand and appreciate the damage I did leaving the way I had. How badly I'd hurt her.

But we were working through those things. We were starting to heal. It was going to take some time, but Abby was going to be okay. We were both going to be okay. Whether or not this rekindled thing between us went anywhere? That was anybody's guess.

Hopefully in time though, as Abby healed and grew stronger – assuming I remained in the picture – the ice between Brooke and I would thaw.

“What can I do for you, Caleb?”

“I was actually wondering if you'd seen or talked to Abby?”

“No, not today, why?”

“We were supposed to meet for drinks tonight,” I say. “And she hasn't showed up.”

“Sucks, doesn't it?” Brooke says. “When somebody just ups and disappears on you?”

I sigh. “Look, I get it, Brooke,” I say. “You're still pissed. Fine. But she's not responding to calls or texts. She's not here. And you haven't seen her. So, can you drop the attitude for a minute and help me out here? This isn't like her.”

“Fine,” she says. “Give me your number. Let me make a couple of calls.”

I give her my number and disconnect the call. I take a long pull of my beer, my concern starting to grow. And with each minute that passes by, that concern grows even more. Ten minutes later, I'm on the verge of ordering another beer when my phone rings. I snatch it up and connect the call.

“Yeah,” I say.

“She's not answering my calls either,” Brooke says. “And she's not answering her home or office phones.”

“Does she ever just disappear like this?” I ask. “Is this normal?”

“No,” Brooke says. “She never just drops out like this. Communicating is kind of a thing with her.”

I recognize the jab she's taking, but don't take the bait. I don't take it because I can also hear the concern in Brooke's voice. Hearing that slight quiver of fear makes my adrenaline rush because I know it's real. She's genuinely worried.

“I'm scared, Caleb,” she says. “I don't know where my sister is.”

I need to defuse the situation. The last thing I need is for Brooke to go off the rails. I don't know anything just yet, least of all that there is an actual reason to be worried. For all I know, Abby is sitting at home watching TV and drinking a glass of wine, congratulating herself for sticking it to me.

“Don't worry, Brooke,” I say. “Let me look into it and I'll get back to you. The important thing right now is for you to not stress yourself out. Abby could very well just be sitting at home to make a point to me.”

“If that were the case, she would have answered when I called, Caleb.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But maybe not. I'm going to go over to her house and see if she's there. Just sit tight and try not to worry.”

“Yeah, I'll go ahead and stop the sun from rising too while I'm at it.”

“More power to you.”

I disconnect the call and throw some money down on the table. The waitress gives me a disappointed little pout, so I just shrug my shoulders and leave the bar.

I drive a little too fast over to Abby's place, but my intuition is telling me that I need to get there quickly. I jump out of the car and hurry up to her front door, knocking and ringing the bell. The lights are all off and the house is dark – making those alarm bells in my head ring even louder.

I always keep a lockpicking kit in my coat pocket, so I pull it out and go to work. I have the door open in less than ten seconds. The house is completely silent as the door swings inward.

“Abby?” I call out.

I wait a second but get no answer. Flipping on lights as I go, I search her entire house and find that it's as empty as it looked from the street. She's not there.

I back out of the house, making sure to lock the door behind me and then walk back to my car.

“Where in the hell are you, Abby?”

I drive quickly over to the office building where her practice is and find that she's not there either. Abby has just fallen off the face of the planet. I run a hand through my hair and try to quiet my mind. I need to think. Need to have my head clear. Need to come up with a plan of action.

I lean against my car and take several deep breaths. As I do, calm descends over me and I'm able to start thinking a little more clearly again. If Abby's batshit crazy ex wasn't running around out there, I might not be so worried. I get the appeal of some time alone. The necessity of it.

But the fact is, her batshit crazy ex is running around out there. And has already proven that he can't stay away from her. Had already proven – to me, at least – that he's dangerous. Which is why the alarm bells in my head are ringing so hard.

The first thing I need to do is find out where she is. Once I do that, I can assess the situation and see if there's any reason to panic. Her location might tell me whether she's been taken or whether she's just taking some time to herself.

I punch in a number and put the phone to my ear. The call is connected during the second ring.

“Long time no hear,” Tony says. “I assume by the fact that you're still up there, the homecoming's gone better than expected?”

“Yeah, in some ways,” I say. “But listen, I've got a situation I need your help with. I don't have my equipment with me and I need to track a cell phone.”

“Situation serious?” he asks. “Need me up there?”

“No, I can handle it, but thanks,” I say. “I just need a twenty on the cell phone.”

“Roger that,” Tony says. “Give me the number.”

I give him Abby's cell phone number and wait a few minutes while he does the work on his end. A couple of minutes later, he gets back on the line.

“Looks like she's on the other side of the Strait,” Tony says. “She's in Canada, man.”

“Canada?” I ask.

“Looks like,” he says. “There's about ten miles of water between Washington and Canada – she's on the other side of that water. I take it that she's not supposed to be there?”

“No, not at all,” I say. “Can you send the information to my phone?”

“Already done, brother,” he says. “And listen, if you need help, I'm on the next flight.”

“Thanks, Tony,” I say. “Appreciate you doing me a solid.”

“Any time at all.”

I disconnect the call and then punch in Brooke's number. Now that I know where Abby is, I can go about formulating a plan. Brooke picks up on the first ring.

“Brooke,” I say, not waiting for her to speak. “We've got a problem. I need your help.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

It took a lot of doing – not to mention both Tony and Brooke calling in some favors – but about two and a half hours later, I'm squatting in the thick foliage of the treeline with a clear view of what I assume is James' cabin. A cabin Brooke wasn't aware he owns.

Not that it matters who owns the place – I could see James in there through the windows. And because I'd had Tony ping Abby's cell phone again, trying to narrow down the location, I know that she's in there too. He apparently hadn't been smart enough to confiscate the phone – or if he had taken it from her, he hadn't been smart enough to turn it off.

Either way, it works in my favor. And shows that he's not too bright when it comes to kidnapping somebody. Another point in my favor.

I make sure the brightness display on my phone is turned all the way down and screen myself with some bushes to avoid being seen. I'd been on enough night missions to know how to avoid detection – and dealing with an amateur like James was making my job even easier. But I wasn't going to take any chances.

With my phone on dark, I punched in the number and held it to my ear. I needed to give her an update because Brooke was half out of her mind, threatening to call the cops and send in the army to save Abby. I needed to keep her calm. The cops wouldn't be able to help. They'd only get in the way and if they came storming in here, they'd more than likely get her killed. No, I needed to handle it. I had the training and the experience and could get the mission done. Get Abby home safely.

Reluctantly, she agreed to hold off and let me handle it. On the condition that I kept her updated every step of the way. Which was fine. She deserved to know what was happening. Brooke picked up the line halfway through the first ring.

“What's going on, Caleb? Is she okay?”

“I don't have a visual yet,” I say quietly, making sure to keep my voice pitched low. “I'm outside the cabin. I can see the target through the window. But I do not have eyes on Abby.”

“You need to get in there now, Caleb,” she's almost screaming.

“Stay calm, Brooke,” I say. “I know she's in there and I know she's alive.”

“How can you possibly know that if you can't see her?”

I hold the scope up to my eye again and see James pacing around, talking. He's agitated, but I know he's talking to Abby.

“Because I can see him through the window,” I say. “He's having a conversation – with Abby.”

“Please, Caleb,” she pleads. “Go in there and get her out of that cabin. Save her, please.”

“I have to be careful,” I say. “If I go in there guns blazing, Abby could get hurt. I'm going to get her out. I promise you that. But I'm going to be cautious about it.”

She sniffles and I know she's crying. “Please save her, Caleb. Please, please.”

“You have my word, Brooke.”

I disconnect the call and drop the phone into my pocket. I look through the scope again and see James pacing – he's moving a little faster, clearly a little more agitated. I need to move. The more agitated James gets, the more likely he is to do something rash. Something stupid. And that could be bad news for Abby.

“Play along with him, Abby,” I say quietly. “Don't wind him up. Keep him calm.”

I know she can't hear me, but I'm hoping that somehow, some way, my thoughts will get through to her. She can't afford to push him over the edge. He's already on the hook for kidnapping – who knows how far he'll go.

When he turns away from the window, I move from the treeline to some dense bushes closer to the cabin. I survey the area, trying to find a place I can breach without putting Abby in the crossfire. I see that there's a back door that opens up to a mudroom or something. It looks to be offset from the main room where I can see James through the windows – which is good.

That's my point of entry.

I quickly and quietly move across the yard, silently ascending the three steps that lead to the back door. Peeking in through the window, I can see the kitchen and the main room beyond. James is still pacing back and forth, entering and exiting my field of vision.

I creep over to the door and kneel down. Slipping my lockpicking tools out of my pocket, I get to work, moving as quietly as I can. A moment later, the lock disengages with a soft click. I put my kit back into my pocket, pull the weapon out of the holster on my hip and slowly turn the handle.

I grit my teeth when a soft squeak sounds as I push the door open and find myself in a mudroom off the kitchen. James' voice is booming from the other room, so I doubt he even heard it over his screaming. He obviously found out that Abby and I had slept together since he was railing on her about that. Nothing I could do about that now.

Moving silently through the kitchen, I stop at the doorway. Using the reflection from the window, I see that he's standing just on the other side of the doorway. I need to move on him, but I need to give Abby a little warning first. She needs to know I'm there and to move when I tell her to move.

Knowing James' back is to me, I lean out just enough to see. He's still standing there and I can see the pistol in his hand he's holding at his side. I can see Abby's feet and lower legs beneath the table – but he's blocking my view of her.

I lean back and wait until I hear his footsteps on the wooden floor before I lean out again. Abby's eyes widen when she sees me and I immediately put my finger to my lips, telling her to keep quiet. She cuts her eyes quickly back to James, paying attention to his ranting and raving. But I can see her sneaking quick peeks back at me.

James enters my field of vision again and I know it's time to make my move. I creep out of the kitchen, moving quickly. James' back is to me, but he feels my presence and starts to turn around, raising his gun at the same time.

“Abby, get down now,” I shout.

I raise my weapon and point it at James' face. His eyes open almost comically wide when he sees me. Abby dives to the ground and crawls away from the table, taking shelter behind the sofa.

“Drop your weapon,” I say in my most commanding voice.

He hesitates, but doesn't drop the gun. I can see by the look in his eye that he's calculating his chances of coming out on top of a shootout with me.

“Don't do it, asshole. I don't want to kill you,” I say. “But I will kill you without a second thought.”

James obviously thinks he can get the drop on me because he tries to raise his gun hand quickly. I lower my weapon and squeeze the trigger, putting a round through his thigh. He screams in agony, as if it's the most intense pain he's ever felt – which, it probably is. His weapon clatters to the floor and I kick it away from him, sending it spinning across the room.

James falls to the floor, clutching his wounded thigh while he sobs uncontrollably. I see Abby peeking over the back of the couch at me and I feel a dark rage descend over me – rage at what he'd done to Abby. At how he'd terrified her.

I lower my weapon but step forward and deliver a vicious kick to his midsection. The air whooshes out of him and he's suddenly gasping for breath. I squat down beside him and grab a handful of his hair, wrenching his neck so that he's looking up at me. Making sure that I have his full attention.

“Here's what's going to happen,” I say. “We're going to call the cops. They're going to take you away. Eventually, you're going to get out of jail. And when you do, you are going to leave Sheridan Falls. Forever. You are to put the city in your rear-view and never come back. Ever. If you do, I'm going to kill you.”

He gasps and tries to say something, so I use the butt of my gun to rap him across the forehead nice and hard. He winces in pain and groans – but he stopped trying to speak, at least.

“You are not to contact Abby ever again,” I say. “You're not to even think about her. If you do try to contact her in any way, shape, or form, I'm going to kill you. Just nod if you understand.”

He opened his mouth and started to speak again, so I rapped him over the head again, stopping him short.

“Just nod if you understand.”

He looks deflated. Defeated. But nods anyway.

“Good. We have an understanding then.”

Keeping my weapon at the ready, I hand Abby my phone and tell her to call the police. She does and we sit down on the couch, I pull her close to me. She's trembling and crying, so I wrap my arm even tighter around her, holding her closer.

And as we wait for the cops to arrive, she calls Brooke to let her know that she's okay.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Abby

It's really late by the time we got home and I am exhausted. I've never been through an ordeal like that and I hope to never go through one again. I'm physically and emotionally drained. I sit down on the couch and pull Caleb down next to me. I lean against him and lay my head against his shoulder.

“You came for me,” I say.

“Of course, I did,” he replies.

I can't believe the turn of events over the past few days. I've gone from believing I'd never see Caleb Tirico again to having him sitting next to me – after having had him just save my life. It was all so surreal.

“I never knew James was that –”

“Unbalanced? Unhinged? Batshit crazy?”

I laugh softly. “Yeah, I can sure pick 'em, can't I?”

A wry grin touches his lips. “Yeah, if they're not kidnapping you, they're disappearing on you.”

I look up at him, afraid I'd hurt his feelings. “No, that's not what –”

He puts a finger to my lips to stop me. “I deserve it, Abby. I can't ever make up for what I did or how I did it. Just know that I'm sorry. From the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry.”

I don't know what to say, so I remain silent. Instead, I lean forward and kiss him. It's a soft, sweet kiss, one that I hope conveys how grateful I am to him for everything he did for me tonight. When I pull away, he's smiling.

“What was that for?” he asks.

I shrug. “Just because.”

“Well, thank you then.”

We sit in silence for a moment before I stand up. “I need to take a shower,” I say. “I want to wash this night off of me.”

He nods. “I should probably get going anyway.”

I look at him and smile softly. “Actually, I was hoping you'd stay.”

Not waiting for his response, I take his hand and lead him toward the bathroom. Once inside, I strip off his black t-shirt and kiss his chest. He smiles and then unbuttons my shirt, letting it fall to the floor. He reaches into the shower and turns on the water and it's not long before the steam is filling the bathroom.

We finish stripping each other down, not saying a word, just enjoying the companionable silence between us. He takes my hand and leads me into the shower, shutting the door behind us. Beneath the cascade of hot water, he pulls me to him and kisses me deeply. Passionately.

The exhaustion that had permeated my bones when we got to my place suddenly fled. And I am filled with nothing but heat, consumed by desire. The fire in the low center of me is burning bright. I want this man. Need him.

I kiss Caleb and slide my hands all over his well muscled body, slick with water. He presses me up against the shower wall, his hard cock pressing against my belly as we kiss. I slide my hand down and wrap it around his thick shaft, stroking it slowly, teasing the head of his cock with my fingertips.

Caleb moans softly as I tighten my grip and stroke him a little faster. He leans down, planting a line of soft kisses down my neck, down my chest, finally taking my breasts in his hands. He teases my nipples with the tip of his tongue and my breath catches in my throat.

We look deeply into one another's eyes – a look that conveys so much emotion. So many thoughts and feelings that we didn't even need to say. We just knew.

Caleb kisses me deeply and picks me up, pressing me against the shower wall. I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around the back of his neck. I gasp as he slides his thick cock inside of me, filling me up and stretching me open.

He slowly begins to move his hips, sliding himself in and out of me. I bite down on his shoulder as a wave of sensation ripples through me. Maybe it's the ordeal I went through tonight. Maybe it's that I feared that I was actually going to die. I don't know what it is, but my senses seem – heightened. The pleasure I feel as Caleb moves his cock inside of me is intense. It's powerful.

Caleb has a firm grasp on my ass as he starts moving a little faster, sheathing himself even deeper inside of me. I cry out, my voice echoing around the tiled bathroom. Our tongues swirl and dance as we kiss and I'm overcome by wave after wave of pleasure.

I dig my nails into his shoulders and feel the pressure building up low within me. He feels so good inside of me, making my every nerve ending feel like it's on fire as he moves his cock within me. I arch my back and thrust my hips forward, trying to take him even deeper into me. I tighten myself up around his cock, drawing a gasp from him. He gives me a small smile and thrusts himself a little bit deeper, making me moan and call out his name.

Our bodies are moving in a nice, easy rhythm, our moans mixing together, echoing around the bathroom. It feels like electricity is crawling through me, making me tingle. Making everything that much more intense.

Caleb's body is tensing up and his breathing is becoming a little more ragged. I know that he's not going to last much longer. But then, neither am I. The pressure inside of me is building and building in intensity. As he kisses my neck, licking and nibbling on it, I close my eyes and lean my head back against the tile, reveling in the sensation of having his hands and mouth on me.

He starts to drive himself into me in long, slow strokes and I know he's trying to hold off.

“Don't hold back,” I moan. “Lose control, baby.”

He looks me in the eye as he thrusts himself as deep inside of me as he can go. And that's when the dam burst for me. The sensation that tears through me was more intense than anything I'd ever felt before and I felt like I'd had the wind knocked out of me. I'm struggling to catch my breath as my body quivers and jerks, the warm, wet center of me tightening and spasming. I'm awash in sensations so intense, I never believed it was possible.

A moment later, Caleb groans and I can feel his cock pulsing inside of me as he is filling me with his seed. We shudder together, each of us relishing the feeling of climaxing together.

Once we've caught our breath and the trembling in our bodies fades, Caleb sets me down. Pulling me to him in a loving embrace, we stand beneath the spray of the warm water. With the steam billowing around us, I lean my head against his hard, toned chest, feeling – satisfied. Content. Never wanting this feeling to end.

Epilogue

Abby

“What time do you need to be at the station?” I ask, looking up from where I'm sitting on the couch with my book.

Caleb had walked into the room, dressed and ready for work already. Which seems strange to me since I don't think he's working until later that evening.

“I meet with Lt. Daniels at four,” he says. “But wanted to make sure I looked alright for the job. So – what do you think?”

I can't help but stare at my sexy boyfriend in his sheriff's uniform. I always had a thing for a man in uniform, and Caleb was no exception to the rule. In fact, if anyone was born to wear a uniform, it was him. Especially one that hugs his body the way this one does.

“You look more than alright,” I purr, putting my book away.

I stand up and walk over to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. Standing on my tip-toes, I plant a kiss on his lips, feeling the soft skin against my face.

“Though I miss the beard, I have to say.”

“Do you?” he grins. “I just wanted to make a good impression. Clean up a bit. Not look so rough and scraggly.”

“I know, I know,” I say, “But maybe one day you can grow it back? For me? We live near a forest and lumberjacking is a thing. You'll fit in with a beard like that.”

“Anything for you, Abby,” he says.

In one swift movement, he lifts me up into his arms, causing me to squeal in delight, laughing as he spins me around a bit with ease.

“Anything, huh?” I say, giving him bedroom eyes.

“Anything, baby,” he says, kissing me as he carries me off down to our bedroom.

Yes, our bedroom now. It's only been a few days since we made it official, but the idea of Caleb living with me still fills me with so much joy. Not only did he move back to Sheridan Falls and take a job at the local Sheriff's department, we were now an item. A serious item at that. A serious item that's now living together.

And I can't possibly be happier.

Caleb lays me down gently on our bed, smiling down at me. I motioned for him to join me on the bed, but instead, he slowly starts undressing for me.

“No, leave it on,” I purr. “Just take off your pants, but leave the shirt and badge on while we make love. It'll be hot.”

“Dirty, dirty girl,” he says, pulling my feet so I'm now sitting at the edge of the bed.

He hesitates for a moment, but doesn't argue. Caleb slowly unbuckles his belt and slides his pants down, letting them pool at his feet before stepping out of them. I smile as I stare at his cock, long and hard and ready for me.

He steps forward, but before he drops to his knees to eat my pussy -- something he does with delight almost every single time we're together – I pull him toward me, taking his cock in my hand.

“Officer, I'm sure you can overlook my speeding ticket, can't you?” I tease, stroking him with my hand as I stare up at him with wide eyes. “I'll make it worth your while.”

I guide his cock into my mouth, sucking just the tip at first. Caleb groans as I tease him, sucking and licking him, tasting the pre-cum and savoring every delicious inch of his cock.

I take him deeper into my mouth, inch by glorious inch, until he's touching the back of my throat. I try hard not to gag, but it isn't easy with a man as large as him. Using my hand, I make up the difference and stroke him while I move my head up and down on his shaft, glancing upward at my sexy man as I suck his cock.

His head is thrown back at first, but then he looks down at me and that look – the look of a man who's in love with you and desires you more than anyone else in the world – is painted upon his face. And it's a look that is amazingly hot. I cup his balls in my free hand, sucking him harder, teasing him until he cries out.

“Fuck, Abby. I need you to stop or else –”

I don't want to stop, though. I want to keep sucking him until his come fills my mouth.

Caleb, however, has other plans. Pulling my hair nice and firmly, he yanks my head back away from him and then pushes me down on the bed. He pulls my pants down and yanks my body to the edge of the mattress, then drops to his knees in front of me. All without saying a word.

His tongue lashes out at my clit, taunting and teasing me, causing me to squirm on the bed. His tongue splits my lips, sliding upward until he's at my clit once more.

“Please, Caleb,” I say, arching my body upward, yearning to feel his mouth on my pussy.

With a devious grin, he goes to town, sucking and licking me, fucking me with his tongue as well as his fingers. Damn. He is so good with his mouth that I scream out in pleasure. Too good. All those years I went without orgasm, and here I was, already on the verge of coming from him using his mouth alone.

I grab his head, pushing his tongue deeper inside of me, as I writhe on the bed. The orgasm hits me hard and fast, taking me by surprise. I scream out his name over and over again, “Caleb, yes, Caleb... Oh God.”

My entire body is spasming, and I feel like I'm in heaven. Never before has a man brought me such pleasure. I'd been so tightly controlled that I never let myself experience the amazing pleasure of sex. And now, Caleb makes making me get off easy look easy. He can make me come over and over again, several times in a row, all while making it seem like it's nothing.

And this time is no exception. Wave after wave of intense pleasure moves through my body as he eats my pussy. I wrap my legs around his head, locking him in place as I grab onto the bedding around me.

“Caleb, please – make love to me,” I beg.

Caleb stops what he's doing, and for a moment, I assume he's going to climb on top of me. But with a mischievous look in his eye, he pulls me to the end of the bed and flips me around so I'm face down.

With his hand in my hair, he pulls my head back and presses his cock against my opening. Wiggling my ass, I try to take him inside of me, but he gives my hair another pull to show me who's in control here. He guides himself into my pussy, pressing between my lips and sliding inside of me. We both groan as our bodies unite, becoming one. I take him inside of me, writhing in pleasure, grabbing onto the bedding for dear life as he fucks me from behind.

Caleb moves inside of me in a way that drives me crazy from the start. His hips grind into me, going deeper and deeper with each thrust, stretching me open and filling me up until I can't possibly take anymore. His hands hold my ass in place, his nails dig into my flesh as he grips me tight.

I thrust back, taking him deeper and deeper inside of me. He's fucking me in a nice, steady rhythm and it feels amazing. I look back at him over my shoulder and give him a devious little grin. I cry out as he buries his cock particularly deep in one long thrust.

I can feel the pressure building up low within me again and I shudder with anticipation of my next orgasm. I can't get enough of them now that I've had one.

His cock is sliding in and out of me, his pace quickening as much as his breathing. I can tell he's getting closer by the sound of his grunts and moans. He grips my hip hard, his fingers digging into my skin as he pounds himself deep inside of me.

I feel my own pulse firing rapidly, my heart thundering like I just ran a marathon. And the pressure is building low within me.

“Yes, Caleb,” I moan.

“You feel so good, Abby,” he says.

His moaning is growing louder and more insistent as he pounds himself into me. I know he's on the brink. Just as I am. I arch my back and press myself backward, tightening up the muscles inside of me so I can grip his cock as he fucks me. The added tightness must agree with him because Caleb moans loud and clear.

I feel my body start to quiver and the pressure – which had been a slow burn – is suddenly a raging inferno. My body is tingling and my heart is stuttering in my chest. I see Caleb throw his head back and moan loudly. I feel his come spurting deep within me, filling me up with his hot seed.

The sensation of his seed shooting deep inside of me pushes me over the edge. I cry out, screaming his name as my own body lets loose. I shudder, tremble and moan as my orgasm tears through me. My breathing is ragged, but the waves of sensation are intense. As we both come together, the pleasure is beyond amazing. It's overwhelming.

Eventually, we catch our breath and stop shaking. We're laying on the bed, our bodies intertwined. I look over at him and smile.

“Good thing you have another uniform, Officer Tirico,” I tease, kissing him on the tip of his nose. “Because this one just got dirty.”

“Mmm, but it was worth it,” he says, pulling me close.

“Yes, yes it was.”

I will never, ever grow tired of climaxing multiple times during a lovemaking session. Only Caleb seems to have the power to do that to me. Thinking back to just a few months ago, I never would have imagined I'd enjoy sex this much.

Especially thinking back to James, where everything was so boring, routine, and by the numbers. James would have never been able to conceive of the midday quickie Caleb and I had just enjoyed. Pity for him.

With Caleb, nothing is ever boring. He likes to take me every which way he can – and everywhere he can. We've done it on the kitchen table, in the living room – hell we've even had a very, very hot time out on our back patio. We've managed to christen the house, breaking in almost every room and every surface in it. And Caleb still always manages to surprise me. He is such a generous and giving lover – always looking to please and satisfy me.

“I love you, Abby,” he says, saying the words I'll never grow tired of hearing him speak.

“I love you too, Caleb.”

And to think – not all that long ago, Caleb swore he wasn't the relationship-type. He said that he'd never settle down with just one woman. But the way he looks at me now – it makes me feel like I'm the only woman he has eyes for.

Good thing too. Because God knows, I'd never stopped loving him, and I doubt I ever will. Sex with Caleb is amazing. But loving him – and allowing myself to be loved by him – as we plan our life and our future together, makes it even more wonderful and amazing.

Every morning I wake up to see him in bed next to me, I thank my lucky stars we both got a second chance to do something right. Something great.

THE END