I really hated flying.
“I know you do,” said the man who used to jump off stealth helicopters during rescue missions. Webb was presently lying on the bed with his feet bare.
“I can’t believe I said it out loud.” My back landed on the bed, his arms reaching out for me in an instant. “Don’t tell me you can even hear my thoughts.”
“That’s my superpower,” he said as I felt his shoulders flex underneath the thick gray sweater he had on.
“Oh really?” My brows greeted my forehead. “I thought you had another superpower.”
He was facing me so when he smiled, the twin dimples on his cheeks made an appearance, the full effect was devastating and breathtaking at the same time. Gone was the man who hid behind the cloud of doom. He was replaced with this blue-eyed god who held me at night and caused my world to spin every morning. “I’ll show you my superpower.”
“Now what are you talking about? Which superpower is it?” I knew that voice. It was the voice that made me weak in my knees and become Jell-O between his talented fingers.
Bringing my hands to my face, I tried to shield my lips from falling under the spell of his mouth, but to no avail. I should’ve added his quick reflexes to the growing list of his superpowers.
“Webb...” I reproached even though I was quickly falling into his plan. We’d arrived here in Sweden from LAX after a loonnngg flight of almost twelve hours. Half a day inside a flying tube wasn’t fun, but Webb had tried his best to make our trip as comfortable as possible. First class seats were really roomy, even when there were two people sitting on it. We didn’t join the Mile-High Club, but after we took off, I’d jumped out of my chair and shared his and I cuddled close to him when we watched two romantic comedies on his TV screen. The flight attendants had a handful of prima donna passengers so we were the least of their worries. I’d gone back to my seat during landing, but he’d held my hand and my unnatural fear of being at 38,000 feet was appeased.
“I don’t want to shower again. I’m tired.” My legs got cramped from laying in one position, but I hadn’t really felt it until after the hour-long shower that we took. I was planning on ten minutes, but when he’d joined me, ten became twenty and when he’d lowered me to my knees while he stood and asked me to kiss the sore spot between his legs, the twenty became thirty. Thirty increased to forty when he’d entered me slowly from behind and made love to me under the warm water. My skin was pruned, my entire body limp but quite sated when we got out of the shower.
He sat up and his hands started massaging my legs. He really had a way with his hands.
“Room service is coming then you can rest.” His fingers kneaded my tired bones and I sighed.
My eyes started feeling heavy, “I want to sleep now.” It was 8:20 local Sweden time.
“You have to eat dinner then you can sleep.” He was always nagging me about food. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. I considered cookies as dinner, but Webb didn’t seem to agree.
Three and a half weeks ago, I couldn’t even get him to look at me without him flexing his jaw or clenching his fist. I’d teased him about it and he said that they were because of all the sexual tension he was holding in.
Now we couldn’t get through a day without touching each other. School took most of my days, but the nights were his. We’d made love on every surface of his place. Sometimes tender, sometimes rough. But the endings were all the same – me wrapped in his strong arms and gentle kisses all over my face.
“Can I eat dinner after a nap?” Negotiations with Webb were fun. They always ended up with me flat on the bed or the center of my body flat on his tongue.
“Food’s non-negotiable, babe.” Babe wasn’t a term he used often. Most of the time, he called me by my first name, only with different inflections. He called me babe when he was trying to make a point, sort of in a commanding manner. “If you don’t eat then you won’t have the energy for our sex marathon later.”
“Sex marathon?” I asked, the back of my lids quite an inviting sight because I’d rather go to sleep than eat. “Am I going to win a prize?”
He nudged my shoulders, “Babe, wake up. Just eat a little and then you can get some shuteye.”
“Fine.” I sat up, my arms crossing over my chest, and adjusting my light blue pajama set.
“Good.” He volleyed, and walked to the door. Webb compromised a lot, but not when it came to two things – food and safety.
Unlike me, he wasn’t wearing pajamas. He had on dark jeans that clung low to his waist, encasing the tight butt that I’d held on to for dear life when he was thrusting inside of me. In bed, he wore boxers but since he was waiting for room service, he hadn’t stripped down to the minimum yet.
I loved feeling his body against mine and in the middle of night, he often found his arms around me and didn’t let go until we woke up.
He returned with a small table on wheels that had three trays of food to which my stomach reacted to loudly.
His blue eyes teased, “Thought you weren’t hungry.” But he was already arranging the food on a wooden folding bed tray with laminate top.
“Shhh.” I picked up a fork and started eating the salad with cranberry sauce.
Webb stuffed his burger with lettuce and tomatoes and piled on the mustard and ketchup in between the meat and buns.
I took a bite of the chicken pasta primavera and my stomach rumbled in agreement.
“It’s delicious. Compliments to the chef and to my man for ordering this feast,” I said after finishing half of the pasta dish on my plate. It was all I could eat before I found myself in food coma.
“You’re welcome.” He reached for my hands and I moved towards the edge of the bed where he was sitting and now drinking beer from a can.
“Lemme brush my teeth and then, can I finally go to sleep?”
Kissing my forehead, he whispered, “Okay.”
I went to the bathroom, did my nightly routine, and slid back into the bed. Webb’s head was now against the headboard and he was busy sliding his thumb over his phone. A laptop laid to his left.
He was always working, always doing something. At times he talked about it – the stuff he went through but most of the time, he liked to ask about me.
“How’s your leg feeling today?” I laid my head on his hard abs, a work of art that featured an eight-pack.
“It was throbbing a bit, but it should be fine.” The ice in his ocean-colored eyes was now long gone. “Lauren might have to do some adjustments when we get back to the States.”
Lauren was his orthopedic surgeon and the one who oversaw his rehabilitation.
I hadn’t met her but I really wanted to – Webb said that we’d go together once my schedule was easier to work with. We were on a holiday break right now and we could’ve gone to see her, but my dad was receiving a Nobel so that’s why we were in Sweden. He was arriving tomorrow, early in the morning. We were all on the same flight, but he’d been delayed because he was needed in the labs for final testing.
“You’ve got a lot of superpowers, handsome.” I had so much respect for him. I wasn’t aware of the circumstances that led to him injuring both of his legs, but I knew that it must’ve taken a lot out of him to get to the point where he was now. When he’d shown me his scarred legs, I didn’t know what to say or what he expected from me. I honestly wouldn’t have noticed because he always wore jeans and when he was at the gym, he had training pants on and I didn’t see much of what his legs looked like. And if he thought that his injuries were going to detract from his attractiveness, he was dead wrong. There were men who looked good on a superficial level – they had every limb attached, perfect, intact skin on every extremity, but they couldn’t hold a candle to the tenacity and integrity that Webb had. His good looks ran deep, down to the visceral level where everything inside of him was as beautiful as he was on the outside.
“Go to sleep, beautiful.” He often called me beautiful, and my favorite, sonnenschein which meant sunshine in German.
I didn’t have to crawl up his body to kiss his mouth because he lowered his head so I could taste his lips before I went to sleep.
Tomorrow, my dad would be here.
He would be in the same hotel as the one we were staying in.
Webb and I hadn’t really talked about what to say to my dad yet, especially since he was Webb’s boss.
I had little doubt that my dad wouldn’t understand, but things weren’t often simple.
If we told my dad about our relationship, then most likely Webb would be removed from being my bodyguard. It wasn’t personal. It was the way of the world.
My dad might be Webb’s employer, but he was solely hired to protect me and not to become involved with me. And my dad was a pragmatist as much as he was a researcher. He would understand that Webb and I were together, but he might not be so amenable to Webb continuing to protect me.
His foremost question would be, “How could Webb protect you when he was emotionally invested in you?”
I fell asleep hugging Webb’s hand to my chest, not ever wanting to let go. I would go through the deepest ends of the earth to fight for him. I would defy the orders of the world for him.
Simply because –
I loved him.
“For a simple ham and cheese croissant, I’d travel halfway around the world.” My mouth was still watering from the deliciousness of the simple pastry.
“I’d have to win a Nobel every year then.” My dad commented, his hands wiping the side of his mouth. He was halfway into finishing what the server called smorgas, basically an open-faced sandwich with margarine and cheese, topped with cucumber, tomato, and cold cuts, skinka and notkott, or ham and beef. It was quite a challenge pronouncing Swedish words, but the companion to my right didn’t seem to have any trouble with it.
“Bea-,” His blue eyes widened and stopped himself before incriminating us in front of my dad. It wasn’t a crime to fall in love with a bodyguard, it was actually quite cliché, but Webb and I had decided late, very late last night that it would be best for now not to say anything. At least once everything had settled down. “Athena, we have ham and cheese in the U.S.”
“We do but not like this.” My hands gestured to my empty plate, we were having brunch at a small café two blocks away from our hotel. Dad had called my room as soon as he’d arrived and asked if we could do brunch together. He’d said that he’d tried calling Webb’s room which was adjacent to mine, but he wasn’t picking up. He wasn’t because he didn’t even stay in his room and he was taking a hot shower at my room. I hurriedly said yes before Webb came out of the shower and said something.
Not that I wouldn’t love to eat brunch with my dad, but it wouldn’t have been the best time to divulge our relationship to my father.
“Well, you can learn how to make them,” Dad intoned, his eyes crinkled at the corners.
“Dad, I can’t even make chocolate cookies from scratch, how do I make croissants and stuff them with meats and cheeses?”
“Easy.” Webb vocalized, “You make triangle-shaped dough, place ham on each triangle, put two strips of cheese down the center of the ham, fold in the edges of the ham into the dough, and bake them in the oven for about twenty minutes and boom!”
My eyes were wide and my mouth was hanging open, “How? What in the world?”
Webb, in his red shirt and red and white-striped light jacket and regular dark jeans, sat casually and described how to bake ham and cheese croissants as if he was a homemaker instead of the tough, ex-soldier that he was. He shrugged his shoulders, saying, “Mom used to make them on a regular basis. She stuffed them with cabbage and beef bundles. It’s very similar to bierocks.”
Bie-what?
Dad added, “They’re German-stuffed rolls.”
“Okay dudes. This is the oddest conversation I’ve ever had.” It was. How did I not know that my man could bake these immaculate confections? And that my dad would know what bie-whatever-thinga-majig was?
Dad merely smiled, the grays in his eyes becoming more visible. His hair had turned to the color of age, gray and white in some areas, but to me, he always looked the same. It was sad to think that while he was busy trying to save the world, he was also losing his ability to live life to the fullest. But I glimpsed at the happiness in his gaze, maybe living fully was indeed subjective.
“It’s not odd that I know how to make food.” Webb rolled his eyes. Rolled. His. Eyes. For a man who had three facial expressions – brooding, serious, and tense – he sure was giving me a handful right now.
I took a sip of my hot chocolate and almost snorted, “You don’t make food, you bake.”
Webb lifted his shoulders and kept on eating his fare of sausage and eggs while Dad laughed.
If Dad had noticed the change between the way Webb and I interacted with each other, he hadn’t said anything. Weeks ago, Webb wouldn’t have joined us for brunch, or any time we sat down for a meal. Months ago, Webb wouldn’t be sharing stories with me at a small table inside a Swedish café. I glanced at him and saw the life in his eyes and the warmth in his smile. It wasn’t hard to fall in love with him. I might have been in love with him for a while now. I just didn’t have time to reflect on what my feelings were for him.
My phone dinged to my left and I took my eyes off of Webb.
Stop looking at me like you want to eat me. W
I cracked a smile. How did he even manage to text me when he was busy eating and then he started talking shop with my dad.
He might have changed a bit, but he wasn’t completely changed. Deeply embedded in his core was that of a counter-operative, a man who became a highly decorated SEAL at a young age (I’d found this out when I’d Googled him of course) and because of those facts– he could do things like touch my hands under the table without being noticed by a keen observer and text me naughty stuff while he talked about deliverables and threat analysis.
Dang if that hadn’t made him hotter to me.
“I’m so proud of you, Dad.” The tears in my eyes couldn’t stop flowing. I’d been to several events when my dad was given some sort of award. All of them meant the world to me. But I’d never been to a ceremony like this one – serene and loud at the same time. It was hard to explain. You’d just have to be here.
My dad had stood on top of the “N” in the middle of the Stockholm Concert Hall, where His Majesty, the King Carl XVI Gustaf of Sweden, gave him a diploma and a medal. He’d received others and they were displayed in his two main offices in the U.S., but this was the first time I’d ever felt the magnitude of his contributions to the world. When his colleague, Lloyd Cartwright, gave my dad’s presentation speech, I couldn’t help but tear up. He sacrificed his time and energy to cure diseases and to advance science, but my mind went back to the times when my dad spent nights with me in the hospital. He’d often whisper, “I do everything for you.”
Webb texted me throughout the ceremony. As always, he had to stay close to me, but not with me. He had to have a bird’s eye view of everything. I highly doubted anyone would attempt anything here, but Webb didn’t like to take chances, especially not with me. My dad was also being followed by his own security detail and Webb had told me that they added two more from the previous two bodyguards because there was enough intel to justify the need for more. Two days after the Woman of the Year award, my dad had called me from Miami but the call was quick, he just said that he was going to be back in L.A. soon, but warned me to follow Webb’s orders. It freaked me out, but Webb had assured me that everything was being handled.
I hated living this way. Being kept under close scrutiny because there were imminent threats to my dad’s life. My dad sure as hell didn’t ask for this. And he was in no way to be blamed for bad people wanting to use me against him.
The small scratch on my arm had healed from being shot at with an air rifle, but the scar, the feeling of insecurity remained, and at nights when I couldn’t sleep, Webb was there to help me sort it through.
My dad hugged me, thanking me for being here, “I love you, A.I.” My nose crinkled from the nickname, but it entailed all of my father’s love. A.I., Athena Isabelle, my dad’s favorite greek goddess and his mom’s first name. My mother wanted to name me Karina Isabelle, but my dad had won that battle.
Dad said, “It’s almost done, the results of the preliminary trials are successful. We’re waiting on the last of the clinical studies, but I’m confident that we’ll yield positive results.”
In the middle of this Hall, the place where hundreds have been awarded prestigious awards for advancements in science and literature, he was telling me that his latest experiments, though I didn’t know all of the details, were going to be great. Great meant that he’d be able to help more people because ultimately, that was his goal.
“I’m not sure how this will affect our current,” he coughed, “security situation.”
“What do you mean, Dad?” I thought that when he finished this latest experiment or study, my dad would be free from being followed around, I would be able to go back to my normal life, a life without bodyguards. And maybe, Webb and I would finally be able to do normal couple-y things.
“I don’t want A.I. to be used for evil,” he said hurriedly, his eyes wary and his smile tight as his colleagues mingled about us. We were all waiting to leave the Hall and go directly to the banquet.
“A.I.? You named you research after me?”
“My dear daughter, everything I do is for you.” His voice softened, and my cheeks warmed as the next set of tears threatened to fall.
“Dad…”
“If anything happens to me, your grandma’s place is a place of love.” Grandma’s house, the one where he’d concocted and burned science experiments was in Aberdeen, South Dakota. We used to visit a lot when I was a kid and before I got imprisoned in the hospital.
“You’re freaking me out, Dad.” We were now walking towards the lobby. “I thought everything was going to be over once you finished your research.”
A crestfallen look passed over his eyes, and a slight shove from a person behind us made him lurch forward but just as quickly, he’d regained his balance. “It’s just the beginning, Athena. Now they’re going to want more. I shouldn’t have started this, but there’s no way I could end this without sacrificing everything I’ve got and while I’m figuring things out, how I’m going to contain the after-effects of my study, I need you to continue to enjoy life…just with added protection. For now.”
This man gave me life.
And when my life became a daily struggle because of my disease, he persevered to give me more.
When doctors gave up on me, said that my disease would engulf my immune system until my breath was robbed of me, he refused to listen.
I reached for his left hand, and held it.
“I will, Dad.” It was the best I could offer. It was me saying I understood, that I’d always understand, and then I said, “Thank you for everything that you do.”
He did everything for me but in the process, he’d saved others. Daughters, mothers, fathers, sons, people – who were affected with the same disease that I had or maybe not even close to what I had –but even then, he’d saved lives. Prolonged them. Gave people hope when they’d lost it. He deserved the Nobel laureate because he was the most noble man I knew.