Through some unspoken agreement, they’d fallen into a routine. Verna would spend all day sewing or sketching and he’d do whatever. Then, around dinnertime, maybe a little after, he’d call or come over and drag her to his place, where they’d share dinner, one that she usually prepared, her chiding him for the “totally illogical” way he’d set up his kitchen. At one point, she’d gotten fed up looking for something, and she’d spent three hours rearranging things to her satisfaction. But he hadn’t minded, because he’d had a chance to tease and stroke her, watch the fire of arousal light in her eyes as she’d tried to maintain her huffy exterior.

And then he’d gotten to make love to her right there in the middle of the kitchen. She still blushed when she looked at the spot on the floor where he’d stroked her with his tongue until she climaxed, an expression that made him want to do the same thing again and again.

In fact, he was still constantly surprised by how amazing sex with Verna was. It was dickish, he knew, but he’d kind of thought he’d be with her a few times, and then she’d be out of his system and then be free to move on, leaving him to do the same. But nothing could be further from the truth. Sex with Verna—he struggled mightily to keep himself from thinking of it as making love—was as combustible as the woman, sometimes funny, sometimes sweet, sometimes shy, and even pissed off on occasion. He feared he was fast becoming addicted to it. And to her.

And it scared the crap out of him.

Sure, some bedroom games with a friendly enemy were one thing, but somewhere along the way, it’d become something more than that, at least to him. He craved her, not her body, but her, the way she chattered, the way she swore, the way she asked a million questions about everything. Having Verna around had made him realize that he’d been so lonely for so long that he’d lost sight of what it was like to have someone in his life. Not that there’d ever been someone like her. There hadn’t. Ever. And that scared him even more, as did the way his thoughts strayed to her no matter what he was doing, and the way that he had to forcibly restrain himself from asking her to stay over at night.

She hadn’t slept over since the storm; he figured she didn’t want to wear out her welcome, so at some point during the night, whether they’d made love or not, she’d gather her things and leave, and he’d watch her walk across the lawn and into her house, biting his tongue not to scream at her to stay. He’d never even suggested it, and to his shame, preferred she think he didn’t want her over to having her find out the truth. He could barely believe it himself, but he wanted nothing more than to again hold her in his arms all night, wake up to her smiling eyes in the morning.

He’d also ignored her gentle overtures at spending time together outside of the house. She was subtle, well, as subtle as Verna could be, casually mentioning this movie or show or some place in Charlotte she wanted to check out. And while Joe hadn’t rebuffed her, he hadn’t shown any particular enthusiasm for the ideas either.

He couldn’t. In the confines of his home or hers, they were just Verna and Joe, but going out with her would give things a different dimension, one he wasn’t sure he was ready to confront. Which made him the world’s biggest asshole, as Verna had often proclaimed. He’d taken her virginity for God’s sake, knew her body and mind more intimately than he’d known any other woman’s, but something as simple as dinner scared the crap out of him.

He told himself he was doing it to protect Verna, that he wouldn’t want her to get the wrong idea, but that was a laughable lie. He was trying to protect himself, didn’t want himself getting the wrong idea, any more so than he already had. Because the truth was, he was completely adrift, didn’t know where he was headed, and Verna deserved someone who was sure, knew what he wanted to offer to the world. And that wasn’t him.

The irony of it was not at all lost on him. He could vividly recall Verna’s awful drunken words as she castigated herself for being a failure, but it was he who didn’t know what he would make of himself. And to make no mention of the guilt he felt. If another man was treating Verna as he did, he’d kick the guy’s ass happily and without question. He knew he was wrong, that she deserved more, but despite how wrong and unfair he knew it was, he hadn’t been able to let her go and didn’t know if he ever would.

Move it, Verna.

Case in point, he thought as he texted her. He should just let her be, maybe take a night off, especially considering the thoughts swirling in his head, but he’d dismissed the idea before it had fully formed. It had been almost eighteen hours since he’d last seen her, far too long in his book.

He walked from his kitchen to the front door at the sound of the bell and then let her in. He’d told her to come in whenever, but she hadn’t availed herself of the opportunity yet, and she still always rang the bell whether it was three in the afternoon or three in the morning.

“What took so long?” he asked as he ushered her in.

She swept into the living room and settled in her preferred spot, sighing dramatically.

“It was a tough day in the thread mines, Joey. Have you any idea how hard it is to execute the perfect slip stitch?”

“Don’t even know what that is,” he said, “but maybe this will make you feel better.”

He leaned down and covered her lips with his, thrilling at the way she opened to him automatically, let his tongue in to taste and tease her. When he pulled back, her eyes were bright and her breath a little more rapid than before.

“It’s a start,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“I live to serve,” he said. “And soup’s up in five.”

He headed back to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner. A few minutes later, he heard her walk up behind him.

“Hey, Joe, what’s this?” she asked.

He turned quickly, his gaze zeroing in on the paper she held and just as quickly, he turned away again. The silence stretched for a few moments, and then she cleared her throat.

“Sorry to pry,” she said, and then he heard the rustle of her clothing as she started to walk away.

“It’s okay,” he said, and then louder he repeated, “it’s okay. You’re not prying. I left it on the coffee table; it was practically an invitation to read it.”

He glanced at her and caught her quick smile, his heart stuttering at the sight.

“Have a seat,” he said, inclining his head toward the table. “I’ll explain in a minute.”

He could have talked as he worked, but he needed the time to consider what to say. Poole was the only person he’d discussed the topic with, and he still wasn’t sure how he felt about it, so he hadn’t wanted to share it with anyone else. But maybe this wasn’t a bad thing. Verna would be honest if nothing else, and she might have some insight that hadn’t occurred to him or his friend.

Plates in hand, he walked to the table and set one in front of her before taking the seat across from her. The paper that she’d brought from the living room sat on the table beside her, but she didn’t mention it.

“Thanks, Joe,” she said and then began eating.

“So,” he said after a few bites, “I’ve been thinking about changing jobs.”

She nodded, but didn’t speak.

“But I’d still be in the military.”

She stayed quiet.

“Except I’d be a teacher of sorts.”

“What? Like a drill sergeant?”

“No,” he said, “more specialized. The idea is that I’d train new SEALS, teach them how to execute maneuvers and stuff. I’d still be active though.”

She nodded again.

“So…?” he said.

“So?” she parroted.

“What do you think?”

“Is that what you want to do?” she asked.

He felt his frustration rising; if he knew the answer to that question, he wouldn’t be asking.

“I don’t know but that’s not the question.”

A quick glance revealed that she looked a little taken aback, so he lowered his voice.

“Sorry,” he said. “I just…I mean… Do you think I’d be good at it?”

He kept his gaze lowered for a moment and then, finally, looked at her.

And was floored by the luminous smile that met him.

“You’ll be the best!” she exclaimed, her voice full of enthusiasm and underscored by complete certainty. “I said ‘school for badasses,’ and that’s kinda what this is. Sounds like the best of both worlds in fact. You’ll get to blow shit up and beat up on newbs but get to chill a little and not go on so many missions or whatever the technical term is.”

She looked at him for confirmation, and he nodded.

“Great idea, Joe.”

“You sound very sure,” he said.

“’Cause I am. Your…foibles aside, I know you’ll give it your all and do everything you can to make the people you teach better soldiers. I can’t think of anyone who’d make a better tactical instructor.”

She said the last with a saucy little lilt in her voice that made Joe smile. The humor faded soon though, and he glanced over at her. Her expression sobered as she returned his gaze, and then, after a few moments of heavy silence, he spoke.

“I hate this, Verna,” he said.

She gave him an encouraging nod of the head, an unspoken statement to continue, so he did, hating himself even more as the words sprang from his mouth and looking away because he found it too difficult to look at her as he exposed the depths of his uncertainty and the weakness that lay under it.

“It used to be easy, you know? I lived for the excitement, thrived on it, in some ways needed it, but now I just don’t. And when I look at the new guys, who get younger, stronger…better, every day—I don’t know. I just feel so…old.”

There, he’d said it, shared something he hadn’t revealed to his closest friends, not in so many words anyway. He glanced back at her, unsure what to expect, that feeling only intensifying when she peered back at him, her face a blank mask.

With that same almost hollow expression in place, she started speaking. “I have to confess, Joe. I can relate.” Verna bowed her head and then continued, voice solemn. “In the summer of my tenth year, I was Thornehill Spring’s double Dutch champion for two months. It was an unofficial title, but everyone acknowledged my superiority. I can remember it like it was yesterday, the fearsome pride, the unshakeable belief that I would reign forever.” She shook her head. “I was so young, so naive…”

He bristled with offense. “Verna, I just shared some deep shit with you and you’re laughing at me?”

Verna raised her head abruptly, her face now sporting an of-course expression. “Yes! Joe, I’m laughing at you and your pain because you and your pain are ridiculous.”

Joe scowled, but Verna just swatted a hand at him dismissively. “Oh, don’t look so hurt. Are you listening to yourself?” She threw her arm across her face and leaned back dramatically. “Oh God, I’m one percent less awesome than I used to be, which means I’m only nine hundred ninety-nine percent more awesome than every other person on earth. I can’t live like this!”

She slumped down farther in her chair, and Joe couldn’t stop his grudging smile.

“Whatever, Verna. I’m not that dramatic.”

“No, you’re worse. Dude, Father Time is undefeated. And it’s not like they’re giving you a gold watch and sending you on your way or shipping you to the glue factory. In fact, they want you to actually teach people. You’re gonna be like the Johnny Appleseed of badassery, sprinkling Joe MacDermid awesomeness in your wake, and you’re too busy thinking about whether this makes you soft or useless or old to see how great this opportunity is. Get a grip, O.J.”

He raised a brow in question.

“That’s your new nickname. It stands for Old Joe.”

“You better not ever call me that again,” he said, voice low, not that Verna seemed alarmed by his tone.

“Fine, Grandpa, but do you get my point?”

He wanted to, desperately, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of failure or the feeling that he was quitting.

“Ohh, I know. Let’s look at this ‘objectively,’ to borrow a phrase,” she said, eyes bright with glee. “You can acknowledge that even ‘well-oiled machines forged in the fire of battle’”—she scoffed and then continued—“like yourself are still subject to the laws of physics, right?”

He nodded after she paused.

“And you’re still entirely capable.”

He nodded again.

“You just would rather do less supersoldier shit, so your totally awesome consolation prize is that you get to teach supersoldier shit instead.”

He didn’t nod this time, and instead just stared at her, considering her words.

When he finally spoke, he said, “Maybe you’re right—”

“Of course I am,” she said, cutting him off.

He leveled a hard glare at her and then continued. “I get what you’re saying, Verna, but I’m just…I don’t know…”

Her face went soft, and she reached across the table and captured his hand with hers. “Joe, you’re human, as much as you might wish otherwise; you don’t have to know everything all the time or be sure all the time. That doesn’t mean you suck. And no one said you had to do the same thing or want the same thing forever.” She stroked her thumb against his. “Change is good or some such fuckery like that, right?”

He laughed and then pulled his hand away, the comfort that he felt from her touch almost as scary as the emotions whirring through him.

“Okay, Verna Love, spiritual guru. Let’s finish dinner.”

And like that, the tension that had been building inside him abated, though the uncertainty remained. They left the topic and moved on to other things, but Joe couldn’t shake the strange mix of melancholy and happiness that had come over him.

He still felt much the same later when he lay in bed, Verna curled against his side, her warm weight against him giving him some measure of calm. He wanted to drift off with her like this, wanted her to stay, but he steeled himself for her departure, not looking at her when he felt her move.

“What’s wrong, Joe?” she said, her breath brushing against his side.

---

Verna kept her face pressed against Joe’s hard abdomen, the steady rise and fall of his breath lulling her. She didn’t quite know how she could tell, but she knew that something was still bothering him. There was no physical sign; Joe was loose-limbed and relaxed, but she felt his angst all the same.

And then a horrifying thought occurred. What if he wanted her to leave? She always tried to make herself scarce, didn’t want him to think she was clingy or invasive, but she’d lingered tonight, feeling that he might want the company. But she might have been mistaken. That thought in her head, she tried to slide away, but his grip on her upper arm stilled her.

“Did you mean what you said earlier? About me being a good teacher?”

His voice was a raspy whisper in the darkness of his room, but there was no mistaking the uncertainty in it. She rested her head on his side and lay a hand on his opposite side, hoping that the contact would help her convey the vehemence of her belief in him.

“I did, Joe. Don’t know that I’ve ever meant anything more. I know fuck all about the military, but I think I know a little bit about you. And I know you’ll be the best damn instructor the Coast Guard has ever seen.”

He laughed, the action sending vibrations rippling through his midsection and into her body.

“Navy, but I appreciate the sentiment,” he said, his voice rumbling through her as his laughter had.

They fell silent, but Verna stayed where she was, idly stroking her hand up and down his side, the tight, smooth expanse of skin and the muscles underneath begging for her touch. She couldn’t pinpoint when, but at some point, the air in the room changed, got denser, more charged, and Verna felt Joe stir, heard the shift in his breath and felt herself responding to his silent call. With each stroke, she moved her hand lower and lower, sweeping over the muscles of his abdomen, rasping over the hair that covered it and lower, down to where his rapidly stiffening cock rested against his thigh.

As she wrapped her fingers around him, slowly at first and then with increasing fervor, she glanced up at his face. Though she couldn’t make out his features in the darkness of the room, she felt the intensity of his gaze, and the encouragement in it emboldened her. She gripped his shaft tighter and slid her hand up and down, the way he further hardened in her grasp drawing a sigh from her. Breaking his gaze, she looked down and realized that she’d moved lower too and was now almost eye level with his cock.

The sight of his flesh in her hand was like a siren song, and pulled by an urge she neither understood nor could deny, she leaned forward, the brush of her breath against her hand and the shivers that it created proving how sensitized she was. At the first contact of her lips against his cockhead, they both exhaled. He was fully erect now, and at the second swipe of her lips, a clear drop of fluid pushed from his tip.

Verna had never loved him this way, nerves having held her back, but as she faced him now, his warm, hard flesh in her hand, the uniquely Joe scent filling her nose, and her lips still tingling where she’d touched him, she couldn’t imagine why she’d held back and couldn’t imagine anything she wanted more than to have him in her mouth.

So, driven by her need, she leaned toward him again, running her lips over the velvet skin of his shaft and then up over his crown, sighing at the feel of the moisture that had gathered there against her lips. On an exhale, she parted her lips and sucked him inside, the shape of him in her mouth and the texture of him against her tongue an amazing mixture of sensations, both hard and soft and strange and wonderful. Something she wanted more of. Without releasing her hold, she lifted herself so that she was centered over him, and as she moved down, his tip now fully inside her mouth, a portion of his shaft following, she settled between his spread legs and gripped his hard thighs in her hands, the tension in his bunched muscles making her smile around the flesh cradled between her lips.

Verna pulled back and then sucked him in again, deeper this time. She moved her tongue experimentally, scraping across his slit and then down over the veins that lined his shaft. He choked out a moan and then rested his hands on her shoulders. She could sense the tension in his touch, feel the way he restrained himself, the slight tightening of his hands betraying his need.

On instinct, she looked up and her gaze clashed with his. His eyes were shadowed in the darkness, and despite the tremor of nerves that sprang up in her stomach, she couldn’t look away. The raw intimacy of the moment left her vulnerable, exposed, but she wasn’t alone.

Joe had revealed parts of himself she’d never expected to see, but never more than he did now and for maybe the first time, she felt that they were on equal footing, that maybe, possibly, she meant as much to him as he’d come to mean to her. And that feeling was headier than any touch could ever be.

Spurred by that new awareness, she increased her efforts, working her jaw and tongue in an attempt to drive him wild. She was probably doing something wrong, but Joe responded nonetheless, his hold on her shoulders increasing as his breaths did. He went even more rigid against her tongue and on a choked-out moan, he panted out her name.

“Verna…” he said, his voice tight.

He wanted her to let go, but she murmured her denial and increased her efforts, sucking as much of him into her mouth as she could and stroking at the flesh that remained exposed with her hands. The first spurt of his hot seed against her tongue had her widening her eyes in surprise, but she welcomed the next and the next, the feel of his essence against her tongue sending her own arousal into overdrive. She stayed there through his climax, licking and sucking at him until he started to soften and whispering her own displeasure when he pulled away from her touch.

They stared at each other for a few long moments and then, suddenly feeling awkward, Verna went to get up.

“Stay,” he whispered into the darkness, his voice low and gravelly, and then he pulled her up the length of his body and turned her so that she nestled tight against his chest.

Wrapped in his arms, feeling more safe and satisfied than she ever thought she could, Verna drifted off to sleep.