The call came before he found the will to move from the window. Before the aftermath of her visit could be properly assessed and compartmentalized to the back of his brain.
Less than an hour after Liv’s dramatic departure, the team was on a plane bound for Mogadishu, Ash leading the pack.
That was seven days ago.
Could’ve been seven months or seven hours, considering his state of mind. He’d been running high on nothing but sheer adrenaline and the burning desire to see her again. Sparring with Liv was always fun. Almost as fun as fucking her. Almost as fun as loving her.
Gathered in the conference room, he was a spectator as Sam debriefed the group on their mission, both satisfied they’d met their objective—recovering the traumatized woman before she ceased to exist. Timely, given her critical condition at retrieval. Bloodied, bruised, and unable to stand, she’d latched onto Sam like he was an angel of mercy wearing desert camouflage and a state of the art brain bucket. Ash’s partially exposed face was the last thing on earth her captors ever saw, and he’d walked away pleased he’d never fired his weapon.
There were times when a 7-inch carbon blade so sharp it could slice through cold butter was your greatest ally, and Ash was BFF’s with his. It was quieter than the suppressor on his modified M-4 assault rifle or the .45 caliber strapped to his belt, but the cleanup was a bitch.
The team was ready for some downtime after the intense mission, flanked by twenty-hour flights each way, and oddly enough, so was he. Thanks to a renewed pep in his step, the dread that usually dogged him when it came time to go home was suspiciously absent.
It was amazing how your attitude improved when you had a reason for living.
Anxious to wrap it up, the guys had been clock-watching for a half hour, aware of the three women who’d recently arrived but waited respectfully in the lobby.
Nolan and Beck were thick as thieves, both retired Navy SEALs rather than dyed in the wool Army like the rest of them, but of the two, only Beck had a serious significant other: Hope Coleson, Ash’s little sister. A bitter pill he was still choking down.
Grady was a serial dater looking for Mrs. Right, Nolan was all about Miss Right Now, Mike and Carrie celebrated double-digit anniversaries and upped the population on the regular, and Sam was head over heels for Ali.
That left Ash the odd man out when it came time to declare a relationship status.
It wasn’t anybody’s business what he did on the side. A private life was exactly that. But now that Liv had made her presence known, he’d been getting the hairy eyeball from Sam and inquisitive looks from the rest. His junkyard dog bark wasn’t going to hunt much longer.
Sam wrapped things up with a verbal pat on the back for each man, then stretched out in his chair, pinning Ash with a pointed stare.
“Can we let these slackers go or do you have anything enlightening to add over there?”
Five faces stared at him, waiting to get their gossip on.
“Yeah, before the curiosity kills one of you, I have something to address.” Shifting on the sill, he stretched his neck muscles. “The woman who came here last week is my—”
His what? Wife seemed an overstatement, despite the accuracy. World, maybe? His had certainly revolved around her when The Unit allowed, but that seemed too poetic, not to mention emasculating. In reality, Liv was his past. And, as of seven days ago, his present.
But his future? Stamp that yet to be determined.
“Her name is Olivia,” he said instead. “And yes, as Carrie plainly stated, she’s my wife. We’ve been married for six years.”
Well before he’d retired from The Unit and started Scorpio Securities.
Sam’s mood visibly shifted, his fingers tapping the armrest. Scorpio was three-years-old. And a wife was a helluva secret to keep from somebody you had a legal partnership with, particularly in the form of a business netting seven figures a year.
But putting an age on it told the group what Ash was unwilling to say out loud. This was no sham. No one-night stand gone horribly wrong when the condom broke. No weekend bender in Vegas that started with Jell-O shots and ended in a tacky wedding chapel a block off the strip.
It had been a lightning-fast courtship, there was no doubt.
But it had also been the real deal, meet me at the altar, promise to forsake all others till death did us part, kind of marriage.
A few of those vows held up. A few hadn’t lasted long at all.
“I’m not elaborating beyond that,” he continued, the men waiting for more. “Except to say, I know what you’re all thinking, and to make it crystal clear, I’ll be blunt. I don’t cheat on her. I think we’re done here now.”
Whether they believed him or not, Ash didn’t know, but they were too loyal to question him on the truthfulness of his statement anyway.
Grady broke the tension. “Ah, a chronic masturbator, huh? That explains a lot. The bad moods. Surly attitude. Crazy insane work ethic.” His dimpled grin was infectious as he tore open the first of three granola bars clutched in his fist, eating half in one bite. “No worries, sir. We’ve all been there, haven’t we, boys?”
“A little arm cardio never hurt anybody,” Mike chirped in. “That’s what Carrie tells me. I just know it never gets anybody knocked up, and that’s all the incentive I need.”
“Speak for yourselves. I have options,” Nolan said, zipping up his range bag after a quick check of the contents. “You can’t paint yourself into a corner where it’s either one specific woman or yourself. It’s too much power for her to have. My junk is equal opportunity, non-exclusive property.”
“Jesus, I hope you’ve had all your shots.” Sam shook his head, gesturing for him to open the door. “You do any more slutting around and you’re gonna catch your death.”
“Did someone say slut?” Carrie asked, walking into the room with a pregnant Ali Gleeson right behind. “Because this woman clearly had sex recently. I’d bet more than once, too.”
“Guilty as charged,” Ali declared with a laugh, hugging Sam as tightly as possible given the protruding belly between them. “I’m a total hussy when it comes to this man. Can’t say no to anything.”
“Even freaky stuff?” Carrie gasped, a hand over her mouth. “Do tell.”
“Ladies, please, keep it clean,” Grady interrupted. “People are trying to eat here.”
Nolan elbowed him. “Shut up, dude. It was starting to get good.”
“Where are my children?” Mike asked, looking for his three sons, all under the age of five. “Their bedtime isn’t for another hour.”
“With your mother. We have tonight and most of tomorrow alone.” Kissing him, Carrie pointed at Sam and Ali, seven months along with their first. “If all goes well, that will happen to us tonight. And you better make sure it’s a girl this time. I’m not pushing a bowling ball out of my vagina for another boy.”
“Jesus!” Grady and Nolan chorused in unison, covering their ears in horror.
“Hey, maybe there’ll be another baby crawling around here soon,” she said, looking Ash’s way. “Wouldn’t it be nice if you and Sam had kids close in age? They can go to school together and be best friends. We could set up a daycare in the extra conference room.”
“No, we couldn’t,” Ash shot back, contemplating a sprint to the parking lot. Anything to put an end to this conversation.
Hope strode in at that exact moment, stopping dead in her tracks and saving his ass in the process.
“Hi, pretty girl,” Carrie said, ignoring his scowl. “We’re talking about getting pregnant. Do you want in on this? I asked Ash if we could have our own daycare, and he said he’ll think about it.”
Hope’s wide-eyed gaze landed on Ali’s belly before darting to Beck. “Do not let me drink the water in this place.”
“Honey, don’t drink it,” he said, serious as the day was long. “Don’t fucking drink it.”
“You don’t want me to drink it?” she asked with a pout, dropping down into his lap. “But maybe someday I’ll wanna drink it.”
“Someday, yeah. Not today.” Beck glanced cautiously at Ash. “And you know we’re saving ourselves for marriage. I don’t wanna be murdered in my sleep today, either.”
“Oh, right,” she agreed, catching on. Her chastising voice sounded phony as she kissed his cheek. “No lovin’ for you, buddy.”
Just as Ash felt his ears start to bleed, she hopped up and moved in his direction. Her hug didn’t feel as awkward as it used to. “I heard about Olivia’s visit, Ash, and I’m so happy for you. You two belong together.”
Accurately assuming Beck was the source of the leak, he glared at the former SEAL and got a helpless shrug in return. Hope was a category five hurricane disguised in a petite package. She’d swept up the struggling sailor and, through an iron will and tough love, righted his ship.
“Not sure what the hell you’re so happy about,” Ash replied. “Nothing’s changed.”
End of subject.
Tugging on her ponytail, he shooed her back toward Beck. “What’s with the braids? You look like you’re ten.”
She had messy French braids circling the top of her head like a halo, meeting a bushy ponytail in back. Reaching up, she tightened the band. “Do you like it?”
Her question was for Beck, and he nodded, ignoring Ash’s death stare. “Reminds me of a naughty cheerleader looking to get laid.”
“Rah-rah, baby. Let’s go home and sis-boom-bah.” Grabbing his hand, she hoisted him from the chair, giving Ash a glare of her own. “You had him for seven days. Now I get him for the next two, no matter what you say. I hope you fed him his Wheaties. It’s time for some mattress Olympics.”
“Christ, I don’t need the goddamn details,” Ash muttered, waving them out the door. “Just take him and go.”
“For the love of God,” Grady shouted after them, “practice safe sex.”
Signaling his own exit with a dismissive nod, Ash escaped to his office across the hall, the ambient glow from idle computer monitors the only light in the room.
This was his usual MO. Stick to the perimeter, watch from the sidelines, go it alone. He spent more time in this sterile office than he did his warm, cozy condo, where touches of Liv were everywhere.
The candle she’d been burning the day before everything changed, still sitting on the kitchen counter, the flowery scent long dissipated.
The grocery list she’d been making, her scrolling handwriting like fine calligraphy, stuck to the refrigerator under a wine cork magnet.
The dog-eared paperback on the nightstand, spine cracked and pages tagged, her bible for months. She’d never left the house without slipping the book into her purse, every spare minute spent studying it. She’d asked him to read it, too, tucking a new copy into the front pocket of his duffel during a brief visit home.
With a long kiss goodbye, he’d agreed.
Another promise he’d broken.
Staring out the window, he scrubbed a hand over his face, wondering for the hundredth time why he hadn’t read the goddamn book when she wanted. Instead, he’d read it after. When it didn’t matter. As personal punishment, he’d memorized each chapter, as if a quiz would follow. As if a hands-on, real-time event was still in the cards.
Ash spent hours reading that book. Reading and drinking and punching walls. And leaking from the eyes.
The truth was, being at home hurt. Then and now.
The leather sofa adjacent to his desk had been his bed many a night since Scorpio’s inception. Sleep came sooner when there wasn’t an empty spot next to you in the bed your wife picked out. The quiet was less deafening when you weren’t ignoring the contents behind a secondary bedroom door.
On the nights he decided to face his failure head on, he’d drive home on autopilot, loneliness along for the ride.
When they’d first set up shop—and the wound from losing Liv was fresh and bleeding—he worked nonstop, using his contacts in every branch of the military to build their client list. He took jobs from all corners of the globe, welcoming the distraction.
When there was no assignment to occupy him, he’d found another way to survive.
During those desolate months after The Unit, when the book was memorized and the reality of life without her seemed an unbearable fate, Ash reduced his existence to three steps.
Work. Gym. Sleep. In that exact order.
The first day had gone well, with twelve hours spent buried in work, followed by four in the gym. His blistering CrossFit routine left puddles of sweat on the mat, guaranteeing him six hours of dreamless shut-eye.
That’s when he’d added a fourth step. Repeat.
It was a damn fine system, too, and working like a charm until seven days ago.
White light flooded the office, and he whipped around, swearing at the intruder. “Christ, you’re gonna get yourself fucking shot.”
“You’ve gone soft in retirement.” Sam set a bottle of Gentleman Jack on the desk. “You used to hear footsteps a quarter of a mile away.”
The outer offices were dark, everyone gone. “Why aren’t you headed home with Ali? I didn’t realize she was so far along, Sammy. You need to stick close to home from now on. No more field trips for you, and that’s non-negotiable.”
“Talk,” he ordered, breaking the seal on the whiskey, ignoring Ash’s instructions. Ice chinked as he filled two crystal cut tumblers. “And not the bullshit shorthand version of talking you’re so keen on either.” Dropping down in the chair facing the desk, he tipped his glass in Ash’s direction. “Here’s to feeling this in the morning.”
Sipping the whiskey, he waited.
“There’s not much to say.” Ash palmed his own glass, holding it up. “Here’s to feeling nothing at all.”
Sam barked out a laugh. “Oh, there’s plenty to say. Starting with”—he circled the air around him—“do you have a prenup or can she get her hands on a piece of this place if and when you divorce her?”
Taking a swig, Ash savored the burn in his windpipe.
“There’s a prenup because she wanted one, not because I did. In fact, it pissed me off that she was thinking about an end game before we even pushed the start button.” Leaning back in the supple leather of his executive chair, he stacked his booted feet on the desk, resting the tumbler on his flat belly. “She didn’t want people associated with the winery thinking she was a gold digger. The name opening more industry doors for her than the money ever could wasn’t something we talked about. That was before Scorpio, so it’s not included as a protected asset.”
“Fuck, Ash.” Sam’s concern was justified, but unnecessary. “Did you add it as an addendum?”
“No need. I consulted my attorney when we set up the partnership, and it’s guarded. There’s no personal guarantee on either of our parts, so creditors can’t hold us financially responsible on an individual basis, even if we go tits up bankrupt tomorrow. The firm is separate from any personal marital assets. Did you have Ali sign a prenup?”
He turned the tables, but Sam didn’t answer. Ash didn’t care anyway.
Legal mumbo jumbo aside, the lawyer had advised him Scorpio was safe because Ash could prove abandonment prior to the company’s inception. Under the eyes of the law, Liv had been the spouse to abandon the marriage when she’d moved out of their home. Awesome for Scorpio. Not so awesome for him. He’d laughed his ass off at the time, then spent the night with Jose Cuervo and the next morning puking him back up again.
Relieved knowing his fifty percent was safe from divorce court, Sam whistled. “Just because she can’t assume any ownership in the business doesn’t protect you personally. She can collect a windfall of alimony every month based on our profits.”
He lifted a negligent shoulder. “So could Ali.”
“Naw. This is forever.”
It was said with such confidence, Ash felt a tinge of anger. And a ton of jealousy. “Forever can come a helluva lot sooner than you plan. Trust me.”
“Gotta tell ya, I figured you’d say this was a quickie marriage resulting from a bout of epic sex and an annulment was already in the works. Instead, it turns out you’re an old married guy. Six years is a long time to hide a wife.” Adding more alcohol to his tumbler, Sam’s casual tone turned serious. “Can’t believe you kept this quiet on me.”
Trust was of utmost importance in their business. It was implicit in what they did, and how they did it. If you couldn’t trust the guy next to you without question, then running life-and-death operations with him was a surefire way to find yourself six feet under. Ash’s omission bordered on questionable.
“It’s”—he smirked—“complicated.”
“Un-complicate it,” Sam said dryly. “Break it down into one and two syllable words that I can understand, and I’ll try my best to follow along.”
“I wasn’t hiding her. It’s more the other way around. She’s not too fond of me right now. Hasn’t been for about…” He looked at his watch. “Almost a good four years now.”
“Yeah?” Sam’s brow shot up. “Keep talking. I can’t wait to find out what you did.”
“You’re assuming it was my fault?” Tapping his chest, Ash’s mouth twisted. “If I had a heart, that would hurt me real bad, Sammy.”
Sam wasn’t amused. “Tell me I’m wrong then. Tell me what she did to make you so heartless.”
After another sip, Ash sighed in resignation, wanting to get this over with. The ending was too ugly, so he started with the beginning.
“Whenever I could string together a few days leave from The Unit, I’d hightail it out of North Carolina and head back here, happy to sleep in my own bed for a night or two.”
On paper Ash was stationed out of Ft. Bragg, though he’d spent the majority of his time deployed. The seedy underbelly of the world was where he really lived, but he’d kept a condo in Mission Bay as his home base, knowing he’d return to San Diego after retirement.
“During one of those weekends, I stopped by the winery to check on Hope, planning to be in and out in under twenty minutes. Instead, I met a Georgia peach on a California vineyard.” He ran his finger around the rim of the glass, remembering that moment as if it were yesterday. “And the minute I saw her, I was toast.”
“Just like that?” Sam emptied his tumbler. “I’d call bullshit if something similar hadn’t happened to me.”
“Just like that,” he confirmed, refilling their glasses. “The blink of an eye.”
They hadn’t fallen in love slowly. They dove in head first, falling hard and fast, and well before reason and logic—and geography—could be accounted for. Before the vastly different worlds of two career-driven people who lived on separate coasts could stop them.
The beautiful, ill-fated love story of Asher and Olivia Coleson had begun the instant their eyes connected on the patio of his childhood home.
And it had ended there, too.
“So, let me get this straight. You’re telling me that not only are you an old married guy, but you’re also a love-at-first-sight guy?” Sam sat forward in the chair. “Who the hell are you?”
“Definitely a different man when I was with her.” Not a son who wasn’t good enough. Not a soldier who was too good. Just a man. A better man than he’d ever hoped to be. At least, for a time. “But honestly, we were apart more than together. For me, The Unit came first. For her, the vineyard.”
“I imagine it was damn inconvenient considering your address was on the opposite side of the country, not to mention the nonstop deployments. Where’s the winery fit in with all of this?”
Sam knew the generic details of his family history. All it took was a Google search to see the headlines from almost two decades ago.
Marshall Coleson, owner of Coleson Creek Winery and patriarch of the family, lost both his wife and mistress on the same day, each under suspicious circumstances. Inez Arenada, the morally bankrupt, selfish young woman who slept with her boss and bore him a daughter named Hope, met her maker before noon. Claudia Coleson, a pill popping, wealthy socialite who was both a walking billboard for the Just Say No campaign and his indifferent mother, had been dead by sundown.
Based on little evidence and no eyewitnesses, the police deemed it a murder-suicide.
The only people who knew the true events of that day were the father and the son, and neither were talking. That included to each other.
Joining the Army instead of the family business had been Ash’s first strike with Marshall. The circumstances surrounding Inez’s death had been his second. Marshall all but disowned him at that point, vowing revenge on his only son. Marrying Olivia had been his third strike, severing any vestige.
“Yeah, well, there’s some real poetic justice in this story because as it turned out, she worked for my old man. Still does to this day.”
That was classic Olivia. Loyal to Marshall, no matter what.
“Holy shit.”
“We made it work, though. And we were happy. So goddamn happy.” Looking toward the window, he saw only his office reflected back. “I’d come home whenever The Unit allowed, and she’d drop everything. We’d lock ourselves in the condo, getting to know each other again. It felt like a normal, healthy marriage. If you didn’t count the long absences.”
“So, what happened?”
Sam didn’t need the devastating details. Not when he and Ali were so in love, expecting a new addition to their family. That was a story for another bottle of liquor. When Liv’s sudden appearance wasn’t so fresh. When Ash could tell the tale without breaking down and bawling. After Sam’s baby was born.
“What happened?” Ash repeated, stalling, searching for the right words. Giving up, he laid it out like it was, only summarized. “I fucked it all up.”
“Was there somebody else?” His delicately phrased question was shot to hell when he added, “Away from the wife for months at a time. Women at the ready no matter what state or country you’re in. That’s a lot of free and clear temptation. Makes it easy to slip in a little extra on the side. If you could find the time, that is. The demands of The Unit must’ve taken a toll.”
Ash hesitated, debating an outright lie, but the look in Sam’s eyes held only curiosity, not judgment. And he told him the truth. “Yeah. There was someone else.”
Shock replaced curiosity and the air crackled. Sam was a stickler for rules.
Holding up a hand, Ash stopped the lecture before it started. “But not in the way you think.”
“Well, that’s cryptic,” Sam muttered. “And about as clear as mud.”
“You’re gonna have to trust me on this.” He shrugged, releasing the tension from his shoulders. “It’s all I can give you right now.”
Different divisions of the military, but on the same team with the same goal, he’d run multiple black ops missions with Sam, a former Army Ranger and sniper in the 75th Regiment. Their mutual respect was hard-earned and unbreakable. Because of that bond, Sam accepted his vague explanation without further question.
Running a hand across his unshaven face, Ash’s lips quirked. “And you know The Unit prefers married operators over single. Something about a stable private life and less chance of being compromised by a female unfriendly in the field.”
“Oh, that’s right. The military would rather its soldiers keep their female unfriendly at home.” A minute of silent drinking passed before Sam broke it with a grin. “What are you gonna do with your female unfriendly, Coleson?”
“Same thing I’ve been doing. Nothing. Like I said, she isn’t too keen on me. If you asked her, she’d tell you I reside somewhere just below pond scum.”
“Doing nothing isn’t exactly your style.”
Ash stared into his glass. “I’ve tried drinking. Did that for a while without success. I switched to sober, but that only works some of the time. I’ve glued my happy ass to this chair and buried myself in work, and that seems to be the best solution, long term. I’ve done everything I can to move on. Everything I’m supposed to do.”
“Except one,” Sam said bluntly. “People get divorced every day. Why haven’t you? Why are you still married to her?”
Good question. “Can’t seem to shake her.”
“Why?”
“What the fuck, Sam? Are you a marriage counselor on the side now? Brushing up on your interrogation techniques?” The growl in Ash’s voice was a warning. “I have my reasons.”
“They must be pretty damn good for you to let a woman string you along for four years, during which I’ll assume there were no marital benefits.” Sam shook his head. “I can’t believe you’ve been on the bench that long. It surpasses any reason I can come up with.”
Draining the whiskey, Ash set his glass on the desk, spinning it like a top. “Because I still miss her.”
Sam nearly choked on his tongue. “That’s all you’ve got? You miss her? Of course, you do, you grumpy, backed-up bastard.” He jerked his head toward the door. “The guys and I put that together the moment she walked in here. Way to get in touch with your feelings, though.”
“I miss her some days.” He grinned, splashing more whiskey into his glass. “Maybe every day. Maybe every minute of every day.”
Sam reached for his chirping phone, tapping out a quick return text before leaning back in his chair, assessing him. “It’s strange how we complicate things, just to avoid how we feel. And when I say we, I actually mean you.”
They sat in silence, Ash working up the guts to admit what he knew was true. “Because I still love her.”
“Now that seems a more logical reason, don’t you think?” The words were pure sarcasm.
“Logic, hell. I need my fucking head examined.”
“You have heart trouble, my friend, not head trouble.” Sam chuckled, draining the last of his watered-down whiskey. “And you’re one of the smartest people I know. A hell of an operator, too. Which is why I’m shocked as shit it hasn’t occurred to you yet.”
“Okay.” Ash dipped his chin. “Fill me in on what I’m missing.”
“You haven’t divorced her yet because you still love her. And after all this time, she hasn’t divorced you, either.” He gestured toward the whiskey with a raised brow, capping the stubby-necked bottle when Ash shook his head.
Meandering toward the door with his liquor in hand, Sam’s parting question reverberated in Ash’s mind well into the night. “You ever wonder if her reason is the same as yours?”