Chapter Twenty-Two

Smith

THE SUN IS SETTING. We’re out past curfew and even though Sean and his officers assured us we’d be fine driving to Carina’s house in separate vehicles, I want her to ride in mine. The appropriate badges and paperwork will be with me in my truck. Seeing my unease, Sean offers to drive Carina’s car home so he can make sure she gets home without hassle. I’m mollified when she accepts and even more sick when she hugs him, the white cat meowing between their bodies.

“I want to check one thing before we leave,” Carina tells Sean.

He nods and says he’ll wait for her in the car.

Swallowing down stabbing jealousy, I follow her down a hallway. The dim light from the wall sconces project creepy shadows on the opposite side of the hallway. This house is large. It gives me chills because I know what these walls have seen. They’ll see nothing more. Not where Carina is concerned. I’ll always protect her. Silently, from a distance—or even close if the need arises. She turns into a room, and I follow her in, closing the door behind us. The glow from a bedside lamp shines against her back when she turns to face me. Her features are masked by shadow.

“I need to talk to you. Not here, though. I need to tell you something.”

“You’ve said all you can possibly say,” Carina whispers, shaking her head. She puts Poppet down on the bed and strokes her fur when the cat sits down. The love she has for the cat is visceral. It encapsulates her pain. Does it erase it, I wonder? She stoops down and fishes for something under the bed. “It’s hard to see you, Smith. I wish you’d go.” Her words slice me to the bone. Carina slides a long, skinny safe out from the bed and it comes away in her hands with a click.

“Stupid bastard never erased my finger print from the system,” she says, opening the heavy metal box with ease. “And he didn’t burn my files either.” She scoffs as she pulls out a few manila file folders and tucks them under her arm. She’s so calm in this situation. Any other woman would break down—be hysterical. She’s matter-of-fact, taking the documents she came for and securing the safe back into its place. The practicality is what confuses me.

“I really am sorry, Care.” I clear my throat, hoping to garner a look from her. That sorry is supposed to encompass many things.

She picks up the docile cat and leaves the room. Over her shoulder she says, “I’m going home now. I need to get ice on my face so I don’t look like Quasimodo in the morning. You should go to Megan.”

I should. But I don’t want to. “I need to explain something to you now that I’m not fuming mad.”

“And murderous?”

Oh, Carina. If she only knew my body count for the month. “Please?”

She merely nods and then leaves the house. I follow behind her all the way back, the odd sensation of driving at night forcing me to realize how fucked up everything has become in such a short time. The radio, which is devoid of music for the most part, is talking about how airports will be up and running next week. I tell the radio and the empty cab of my truck it’s a bad idea.

Sean’s friend picks him up once we’ve arrived safely in the driveway and Carina leaves the front door open after she’s entered. Her scent clings to the air and like Pavlov’s dogs, my mouth waters. I close and lock the door behind me. My cell chimes in my pocket, and I know who it’s going to be before I check it. Megan. Asking when I’ll be home. I don’t respond. It feels like cheating. Right now I am home. The cat winds around my legs. “I’ll be out in a second. I need to change and call Teala. There’s some coffee in the pot if you want to warm yourself a cup.”

Sitting on the couch, I stare down at the spot in the center of the living room. I catch sight of movement and my gaze tracks to the end of the hallway where Carina is pulling down a T-shirt over her head. I see the perky swell of the bottom of her breasts and her toned stomach. I avert my gaze back to the coffee table and pray to God I can keep my shit together. It’s harder than I thought it would be. The last time I was in this house, she wasn’t home.

“You didn’t have to pay the rent, you know. I would have told you that, and thanked you, had you, I don’t know…called me over the past months?”

I wanted to take care of her.

“Financially I’m doing well, Smith.”

I took care of her rent for the next two years up-front.

I shake my head and swallow. “It’s the least I can do.”

She sighs and nods, like perhaps she does think I owe her something. I’ve hurt her.

“What did you want to talk to me about? It’s been a long night. I’m probably going to try to go to sleep early. The nightmares will try to keep me from that, though.” She laughs.

“Why are you laughing?” I ask.

She disappears into the kitchen and appears with a cup of coffee and an ice pack on her face.

She offers a sideways grin. “Because a dead man isn’t the worst thing I’ve seen. It should be. A normal person would be affected by it, but I’m so messed up that all I felt tonight was relief and a bit of sympathy for his family. You can tell me how messed up it is.”

“You just described the last few months of my life. How is that for messed up?” I reply. I smile back at her and lean back, away from her and her intoxicating scent and wet, pink lips. She sips her coffee as Poppet jumps up and into her lap. “Are you okay? Your face?”

She strokes the cat on the head and it immediately purrs. “I think I’ll become a cat lady. Maybe I’ll collect white cats.” She laughs, but her smile falls away quickly. “I’m fine. Say what you need to say, Smith. This is hard.”

Making small talk isn’t the only thing that’s hard. My dick didn’t get the memo about Carina taking a seat on the bench.

“How’s the book?” I ask.

She raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Finished. It’s being edited.”

I can’t remove my gaze from her hand as she sets her coffee down. Everything about her turns me on. Even miniscule gestures no one else would ever notice. She folds them in her lap.

“Of course when it’s finished, you will have to okay it.” Her lap distracts me even more than her hands do.

“I need to tell you a story. You might want to grab a pen,” I respond. At this, her face brightens. This is neutral territory—a place we’ve perfected coexisting inside of.

She excuses herself and comes back with the tape recorder.

“Only because you know I can’t help myself,” she explains, shaking it side to side.

“Maybe that’s why I offered it in this way,” I say.

She smiles, and it’s genuine. Nothing else touches it—not the fight with Roarke or the fact that I abandoned her for months. It’s just Carina and Smith. Her questions and my answers. Falling and catching. Loving and leaving.

She hits the record button and the tiny machine whirs to life. A nod in my direction lets me know she’s ready. “Tell me then,” Carina prods. I take several deep breaths and prepare to tell the story I haven’t told anyone. Not even Moose. He got the cliff notes version.

“We’d been planning a mission for days. Not just eight-hour work days, but twenty-hour days for almost a week. The target was clear and we were going to head out the next day and begin the mission that night. Henry and I were in our room, a fact we were upset about at first, because who the hell wants to share a room with another dude for six whole months?” I smile to myself when I think about Henry and his jokes. He always had a way of making me smile while also getting anything he wanted. I can’t look at Carina for fear of losing track. “We were so tired, but he wanted to video chat with his wife and baby one more time before bed. The time difference is always significant, so it’s always a crapshoot when you make calls back home. He got ahold of his wife on the first try. I put on my noise cancelling headphones, like I always do. Out of respect and because it’s an unspoken rule when you have to share a room.”

Carina leans over and touches my hand. At the sight of her fingers on top of my own I close my eyes. “I read a magazine for a few minutes until he tried to get my attention. Henry wanted me to tell her the story about one of the guys and his hair obsession.” I shrug. “Henry always thought I was funnier, so he liked when I told stories, but he was more thorough. I’d pick thorough over funny.”

Carina smiles weakly. “You are funny, though,” she says. “She liked the story you told?”

I nodded. “She did. I saw their little newborn boy sleeping in her arms. The laptop was always a little pixelated because the Wi-Fi is awful at camp, but that night it was so clear, Carina. You could see every hair on that baby’s head. Henry wouldn’t stop talking about how clear Marie looked, how beautiful she was, how her smile was brighter than the sun.” Emotion clogs my throat and I have to stop talking for a moment. I take Carina’s mug of coffee off the table and take a sip, mindful to place my lips directly where hers were.

“I’d say you don’t have to finish, but I’m honestly not sure when I’ll see you again. If you want me to incorporate this into the novel, you’ll have to go on.”

One more sip of lukewarm coffee slides down my throat. “Ruthless tonight, aren’t you?”

Pressing her lips to one side, she sighs deeply. “I’m not sure what to call it. Numb. I guess I’m sort of numb. I know where this is going, so it’s probably a good thing I’ve lost all sense of feeling.” She’s numb because of me, and I’m numb because I can’t have her.

Ultimately, Carina is right. “I want you to know,” I reply. I pass her back her mug. She places her lips where mine just were. She looks at my eyes over the rim of the cup, knowing, taunting.

“Right before they said good night and hung up the call, his wife remembered to thank him for the flowers he sent her the day before. She was upset she didn’t mention it earlier in their conversation,” I say, recalling this memory that’s been buried for so long. “At that point I thought about putting my ear phones back on, but call it curiosity I listened instead. She gushed how beautiful they were and how special they made her feel. Henry was excited that she loved them. He told her he would be home before the roses died.”

I shake my head, and Carina looks out of the large dark window. I have to finish. “He promised her that they were the last flowers he’d have to send. The next gift she’d get to unwrap was him. Marie laughed. A true belly laugh so joyous I couldn’t even make fun of Henry for the lame joke.” I smile when I remember how happy it made him to hear her laugh. Carina wipes a tear from underneath the eye that isn’t wounded.

“Marie laughed so loudly she woke their baby. Henry cooed and told him how much he loved him, promised he would see him soon and rock him to sleep and tell him cool stories about how awesome his daddy was. Marie told him how much she loved him and then spoke a little more loudly to wish me a good night.”

“No,” Carina whispers.

I ignore her. “I told her goodbye, and he hung up the call.”

“Then the mortar hit?” she asks, eyes wide with horrified curiosity.

“No,” I say, giving her word back to her.

“He asked me about Megan. I told him she didn’t like flowers much because they died so quickly. Flowers were best suited growing in the ground. That’s what she always told me. He asked if I was happy. I said I was. He told me the key to happiness was always being completely honest—that’s what makes a relationship work. It made a lot of sense. Henry always made a lot of sense. A young Buddha,” I say. My chest tightens. “He sent Marie flowers because he promised to always remind her how much she meant to him. True to his word. Always.”

Carina is crying, wiping her eyes with the hem of her shirt. It does nothing for my willpower. Her taut stomach is visible. Sucking in a breath, I close my eyes and focus on Henry’s words. It feels like an oxymoron to be here right now telling his story and the reasons for my actions. “He loved Megan, thought we were perfect together. He made me promise to make her happy, Carina. Because our careers would fade away and the only thing left will be the person sitting beside us. Wouldn’t we want to treat the one constant in our world with the utmost care and love? Wouldn’t you honor your words given to the person who will stick by you through thick and thin? You take the moral high road, always. In my career path many men don’t take anything close to the high road with regard to their relationships. They cheat and take what they want. Henry never did that to Marie. He made me promise to never do that to Megan.”

“Oh my God. Just stop, Smith. Stop. Please,” Carina whispers. Her sobs are so loud they’re moving her chest up and down. “I can’t take this.”

“You need to know why I made the decision I did.”

“I don’t. Not at this cost. This depressing, life-altering cost. It’s unbearable to know this. Okay, go be with her. You don’t owe me anything. I get it. I understand now. There was never any other woman for you. It will always be Megan. Even if it’s not. You made a promise to your best friend. You honor your word to a fault. To a deficit even.”

“Carina,” I say. She shakes her head. “I never expected to fall in love with you.”

She stands from the sofa in a brisk movement and paces to the window, her back to me. “Henry told you that before he knew your circumstances,” Carina whispers. “You honestly think if he were here right now he’d tell you the same thing?”

“I sat back in my bed, the top bunk, and closed my eyes. I’d loved Megan for so long that I wasn’t sure what it meant to do anything except that. I would never cheat on her. I thought I was already on the moral high road with my engagement to my high school sweetheart. Watching him with Marie made me question things. To the point where my promises to Henry made me feel like an impostor in my own skin.”

Carina turns from the window, but stays silent, her eyes rimmed with red and the hem of her shirt soaked with tears. I go on. “It was because we had the big mission the next day. I’m sure of it now. He had no idea what was going to happen in mere seconds. He was putting his ducks in a row just in case. Henry asked me to always be an honorable man regardless of circumstance. He used those words, Carina. I never thought much of it because I remembered him saying that after my accident, but it was before I remembered Megan.”

Carina wilts. She sits on the floor, on her knees. She can’t bear my words any more than they sear leaving my mouth. “He doesn’t even know me,” Carina whispers.

“He doesn’t,” I say, holding my hands out to the side and the clasping them over my knees. A clock ticks somewhere in the background and Poppet approaches Carina on the floor, nudging her head into her hand. “And it’s criminal he doesn’t.”

“I love you so much,” she says. “I always will.”

“I agreed, told him to mind his own business. I was joking, of course, and then the mortar careened into the housing trailer,” I say. I lay my head down on my knees. “It was the last thing he said to me. He was my best friend.” Cruel reality seeps in and makes everything inside my body ache. It’s wave after wave of grief and regret. “I promised him.”

“You should go,” Carina says. I hear her quiet footsteps as she crosses to me. I hear her stop the tape recorder. She places a hand on my shoulder. “Promise me something,” she says. This gets my attention. I chance a look up to find her pain-seared face grimacing.

“Anything,” I reply.

She sniffles. She closes her eyes as tears fall gratuitously down her face. “Be happy with her. Truly happy. That’s what he wanted. It wasn’t about honor or morals, Smith. It was about your happiness. Her happiness. I don’t even know him, but I could gather that much from your story. Promise me you’ll be happy with her.”

I want to tell her that I could never be as happy with Megan as I could with her, but I don’t. It seems a moot point in this time and place. It wasn’t a favorite promise, it was about honoring my first promise. My engagement to the woman who first stole my heart. Not the one who holds it now and probably will for the rest of time. “I promise,” I lie.

“As the author of the book about your life, thank you for that. As your former girlfriend, I can’t look at your face anymore. We’ll be in touch.” She walks to the door and opens it as wide as it will go. Carina still has an ice pack in her hand and she presses it to the side of her face.

I leave without another word, my hollow promise lingering in the air like a rotting body.