Chapter Fourteen
SHANNON
Eleven months ago
“What’ll it be?” Riley asked.
His shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows and his collar was open at the throat, and he seemed truly content tending the makeshift bar in Patrick and Andy’s apartment on Christmas Eve. The glassware was arranged in neat rows, his lemons and limes were beautifully segmented, and all the bottles were lined up like an army of liquor.
“I’d like to shed some brain cells tonight,” I said.
His fingers tapped the bottle tops for a moment. “Who’s getting you home?”
I scowled. “I can get myself home, thank you.”
“Hmm,” he murmured, grabbing the rum. “Sounds like someone isn’t feeling the spirit of the season.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and sank further into my scowl. “Nope,” I said, “not really.”
He continued pouring liquids into the stainless steel container, and asked, “Didn’t want to spend the holiday on the beach?” I looked up from his rhythmic shaking with a frown. “I figured you’d be seeing Captain America since you’ve been spending most holidays with him recently.”
What happened to not seeing anything?
“Be a good boy and stop talking about things above your pay grade,” I said, wincing.
Spending Christmas in Mexico with Will and his parents, Wes, Lauren, and Matt was crazy and out of the question. I wanted Will time. I didn’t want to deal with Lauren’s knowing grins or Matt weirding out, or focusing my energy on not swearing my ass off in front of his parents. And it seemed so sudden and public and official, all the things I wasn’t convinced I wanted right now.
This was scheduled sex. Easy, uncomplicated, not an issue-for-me-to-manage, along-for-the-rollercoaster-ride scheduled sex.
I liked the vague, gelatinous nature of things with Will, mostly. I didn’t love sneaking around and I was nearly at my breaking point when it came to the secrets I was keeping from my brothers—or not keeping, in Riley’s case—and Tom and Lauren, but there was something wonderful about leaving this off the books. It was as if we had something no one else could interfere with. As long as it stayed between us, it was our little insults-and-hate-sex bubble, and that was kind of perfect.
Of course, those feelings changed every time I was alone in my bed, missing him and beyond desperate for a steady stream of affection.
And dick. Let’s not pretend I didn’t appreciate the easy access to dick.
Riley pointed to his nose. “Next time you see him, you should tell him it still feels a little out of whack.”
Glancing around the open floor plan, I noticed Sam helping Andy in the kitchen, Patrick and Nick talking with some of their marathon training group friends near the television. No one was close enough to hear us.
“How are you always creeping on people like this? Do you get a sixth sense for it?”
Riley laughed as he handed me a glass. “I know I’m not the smartest guy in the bunch, but I’m pretty sure I know what I walked in on last summer,” he said. “And you’re a little obvious in your refusal to discuss your recent travels. The lady doth protest and all.”
“Great,” I mumbled around the straw. “What is this?”
“Comfortably Numb,” he said. “And like I said, I never see anything.”
“I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing or not,” I said. “I’m getting a distinctly extortionist vibe from you right now.”
Riley wiped his hands on a bar towel, and draped it over his shoulder. “I don’t have the attention span for those shenanigans.” He waved me off, saying, “Go sit in a corner, and be Grinchful. It’s not Christmas without somebody trotting out the melancholy.”
I sagged into a chair near the fireplace, scowl still intact, and sipped my drink. I wasn’t melancholy; I was a masochist.
Will went a little spastic when I told him I wasn’t interested in the yuletide festivities. He seemed to believe we wouldn’t have to explain anything about our relationship to anyone, and I called bullshit on that proposition. There was no way in hell that I could show up in Baja without getting a beat down from Lauren. She’d want the Complete History of Shannon and Will, or at least she’d give me sweet, smiling gazes and say she was happy for us, and that was basically the same thing. It would be a topic of discussion at our regular Saturday lunch outings, a thing open for collective analysis. And later, when Will and I stopped scheduling secret weekends, she’d look at me with sympathetic eyes and promise not to mention him, and I couldn’t deal with being the object of pity and concern.
But more than anything, I wasn’t willing to share him. There was never enough time, and I knew his family got even less, but I still wanted him all for me.
Will wasn’t interested in acknowledging any of my reasoning for this, though. All he heard was that I wasn’t going to Mexico. Over the course of nine days, we argued about the whole holiday mess via text. I knew he’d turn on that firm, demanding voice and make me tell him how my pussy felt if we talked, but sending his calls to voicemail only annoyed him. Neither of us got what we wanted, but a bouquet of plum calla lilies appeared in my office later that week and I texted him a picture of my (mostly covered) boobs and it was over.
We weren’t back to normal—or whatever qualified as normal for us—yet either. Will had been tied up most of the week, and I hadn’t heard anything more than a quick text since he arrived in Cabo San Lucas last night.
I spent the evening tucked beside the fireplace, drinking away my brain cells and picking at the food Andy repeatedly forced in front of me.
“There are too many depressed people here,” she muttered. “Tonight’s supposed to be fun! Joyful!”
“How did I not know that you were a secret holiday fanatic?” I nodded at her crimson trousers. “I don’t think I like this. I prefer Andy the ice queen.” My phone started vibrating in my pocket, and she arched her eyebrows when I yanked it out to see my surfer on the shore. “I’ll just take this…somewhere else.”
I handed the plate back to her, and ducked into the bedroom. “Hello?”
“Shannon,” Will said. He stretched my name out into a long, rumbling sigh, all kinds of “Stella!” and A Streetcar Named Desire. “You aren’t in Mexico.”
There was a party on the other side of the door, with music and laughter and people happy to spend time together, but I didn’t want to be there. I moved deeper into the bedroom, and headed for the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind me. “Are you drunk?”
“Yes,” he drawled. “My sister ordered shots. Lots of shots. Like, all the shots. I can’t believe I taught her to drink tequila. And you know me. I can’t let a little girl drink me under the table.”
“Of course not,” I laughed. “If this is the state you’re in, how’s she holding up?”
Will laughed. “She grabbed Matt’s dick and said a few things I never thought I’d hear out of my sister. I kept drinking with the shady hope I’d forget the whole experience.”
“Oh yeah, she’s a dirty bird,” I said, settling on the edge of the tub.
“Please don’t tell me those things,” he said. He grunted, and if I listened closely, I could hear waves crashing.
“Are you on the beach?”
“I’m looking at the Pacific Ocean and my ass is in the sand,” he said.
“It’s a rough life,” I said, threading my necklace between my fingers.
“I hate you right now. You know why?”
I laughed. “I believe the tequila will tell me.”
“Because I’ve spent eleven days with you in the past eight months and that’s all it took for me to fall for you. Because I’ve sent you over five thousand texts and called you two hundred and eighteen times and you know what I have to show for all that? I fucking love you, and you’re there and I’m here and that’s why I hate you.”
The necklace was wrapped tight around my fingers, the delicate gold chain digging grooves into my skin that bit enough to keep those words from hitting my heart all at once. “The tequila isn’t going to remember this conversation tomorrow, honey.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Tequila never forgets,” he sighed. “You were wrong. You should have come.”
“That’s where we still disagree,” I said. I wanted it to sound pleasant and light, but it came off harsh. Cold.
“You should have come,” he repeated. “My parents would probably fight over which one of them liked you more. They’d just chop you to pieces and eat you because you’re so perfect. And this place…I could’ve taken you out sailing or diving. Or shots. You’re a fun drunk. And there’s a huge bed in my room, too. I can’t look at it without thinking about you.”
I stayed quiet. He was drunk and rambling, and he didn’t mean any of this. It didn’t matter whether those words—the ones I didn’t want and certainly didn’t need—were wrapping me in a painfully sweet embrace right now, or that a thick, confused blob of emotion was pulsing in my chest.
“I’m tired of secrets, Shannon. You’ll either fuck me in public or you won’t fuck me at all.”
“What?”
“That didn’t come out right,” he mumbled. “Shannon,” he continued, almost too low to hear. “The only thing I wanted was to wake up next to you and stop this fucking game where you don’t want anyone to know that you’re fucking me, and it’s not about the sex. I just want to be with you.”
I dropped my head to my hand and gulped back a groan. “Will. I couldn’t go.”
That wasn’t completely accurate, and we both knew that, but I couldn’t cobble together any further argument tonight.
“There’s a bell,” he said, “on base, in Coronado. In the middle of the courtyard. Regular old brass bell. Almost two-thirds of the guys who go through SEAL training ring that bell. They bow out. Drop your helmet, walk away, no questions asked.”
He sighed, and fell silent for several minutes. I heard his heavy breaths and the ocean, and I had to work hard to avoid imagining myself on the beach with him, his arms around me while his lips tattooed those words—still didn’t need them, still didn’t want them—on my skin.
“Why don’t you go back to your room?” I asked. “It doesn’t seem like a good idea to pass out on the beach.”
A laugh burst across the line. “Peanut, I’ve been surf conditioned. Drown-proofed, too. I can stay underwater for more than four minutes before coming up for air. I have Poseidon’s trident over my goddamn heart. The sea reports to me.”
“I’m sure it does,” I said, smiling.
“Shannon,” he started, “I’ve seen that bell, and it’s never once crossed my mind to ring it.”
“And that’s what makes you good at what you do,” I said.
“No, I’m not talking about the teams,” he said. “I’m talking about you. I’m warning you now: I know how to fight and I’m not giving up.”
I stayed locked in the bathroom, perched on the edge of the tub, long after we disconnected.
There weren’t many decisions I regretted, but in that moment, I regretted everything about Mexico. We didn’t get enough time together, and even if I had to tell Lauren—and everyone else—that none of it was up for conversation, I should have gone.
When I emerged, the crowd had thinned to only Patrick, Andy, Sam, Riley, and Nick. They were sprawled on the sofa while a muted soccer match played, and I settled into the space beside Nick while Riley prepared his next round of cocktails.
“Haven’t seen much of you recently,” Nick said.
“That’s largely due to me avoiding you,” I said as I accepted an Irish coffee from Riley.
“You are nothing if not consistent,” he murmured.
“Ri, this is strong enough to tranquilize a rhino,” Sam said.
Nick sipped his drink and glanced at me. “Do we want him sedated tonight?”
“Probably not,” I said, rubbing my brows.
I fucking love you.
He didn’t mean it. Couldn’t mean it. Even big, tough, drown-proofed SEALs got drunk and spouted off nonsensical things.
“It really isn’t,” Nick said, turning back to Sam.
“Dude, if you get hammered and piss on my wall, I’ll kill you,” Patrick said.
“Your tolerance is off,” Riley murmured. “You haven’t been hard drunk in months.”
I’d digested just enough of the conversation to add, “That’s positive. Is that something you’re working on now?”
“Are you looking to start something with him? Jesus, woman, I didn’t sign up to jump on your grenades tonight,” Nick said under his breath. “Can you do us all a favor and not talk to him like he’s five? So his lady has some fire-breathing dragon moments. So do you. Oddly enough, no one’s tried to run you off.”
The scowl returned as I shifted to face Nick. “I don’t recall asking your opinion, so why don’t you do me a favor and tuck it away with your little dick. Okay? Thanks.”
“We don’t need any more Walsh factions on our hands,” Nick hissed. “And I don’t appreciate this ongoing slander of my dick. I’ll drop trou right now and remind you.”
“Ugh, don’t be horrible,” I whispered. “Keep your pants up and your dick down.”
“Does anyone remember the year we changed all the labels on the presents?” Patrick asked. “For the life of me, I can’t figure out when that was, but we managed to peel all the tags off and rearranged them.”
I stared into my coffee, blinking as that memory blew over me. It brought a dozen more with it, and if I thought about it hard enough, I could remember the way the kitchen smelled while my mother baked during the holidays.
“At first Mom was really confused but then she was pissed,” he continued. “She figured it out within a few minutes and she was steaming mad.” He pointed at me as I sucked in a breath to will back the tears prickling my eyes. “She gave us that exact look, that awful face-melting look you just gave Nick, and stared us down until we cracked.”
Sam sat up and gestured to himself. “It was Matt’s idea, but he blamed it on me.”
“Yes,” Patrick laughed, pointing at Sam. “And he did it because he knew Mom was going to beat his ass with a wooden spoon but she’d never get mad at you.”
“Do you remember when we hollowed out the cake?” I asked. “It was this big, beautiful layer cake that she made for one of those holiday parties we always had, and we cut a little piece and then scooped out the inside. We filled it with something—what was that?”
“Leftover stuffing,” Sam said, and the room bubbled with laughter. “Even at seven, Matt was very concerned about preserving the structural integrity.”
“Such a fucking nerd,” Patrick muttered. “But God, when Mom cut into that cake and realized what we’d done…shit, we’d never run so fast in our lives.”
“Why do I remember none of this?” Riley asked from the bar.
“You were two or three,” I said. “You were a baby. You wouldn’t have remembered.”
Those memories simmered around us, and as I studied my siblings, I felt that tug of home, the one that kept me in Boston despite the admirable persistence of a certain sailor. I wanted to be here, but I also wanted to be with Will, and there was no clear middle ground.
“Come on,” Nick said, tapping my elbow. “Let’s get out of here.”
I followed him without question, and though we hadn’t been on the best of terms since the wedding and we’d snapped at each other tonight, we were still friends. We found ourselves at Sullivan’s Tap, sitting side-by-side and sipping whiskey with the other lost souls long past last call.
“Where’s Erin these days?” I asked.
Nick lifted a shoulder as he regarded his glass. “Not here,” he said. “That’s all I know.”
“Consider it a gift,” I said. “She’s too young for you anyway.”
“That’s a fucking miserable thing to say,” he murmured. “And the thing about age is that it stops mattering around the time you hit twenty-three or twenty-four. Definitely when you hit twenty-five.” He gestured for a refill, and I slid my glass over for the same. “It’s also my position that Erin knows no age. The eight years between us are—” He held out his hands as if reaching for something. “They’re nothing. She’s lived more lives than I have, and she knows more of the earth than I do, and—”
I wrapped my hand around his wrist to slow his motions. “If this is where you tell me how she’s captured your heart, I’ll need to say goodnight and walk out the door because I cannot handle that right now.”
“That’s not quite how it went down,” he said, laughing. “No, but I’d like to point out that you’ve been operating under the assumption you know what happened with me and Erin that night, and believe me when I tell you that you’re wrong.”
I gave him my best you can’t bullshit the bullshitter glare, and said, “Right, so you had your hand under her dress because…what? Checking for ticks? Trying to find the ‘mute’ button?”
He folded his arms on the bar and leaned forward, glancing at me. “It’s not what you think.”
Shaking my head, I said, “I don’t think I want to hear any more of this. Not tonight.”
“Good. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
We didn’t say anything else. It was a lonely way to spend the earliest hours of Christmas morning, but it was better than being alone.