Bidding on the Bodyguard Page 10
“A missile launcher sounded in the distance. We figured we were dead on the spot. The streak of fire arced from the mountains and took out the helicopter that had dropped us. It and the pilot were obliterated. We aimed up at the hills, firing at any motion we saw. We hunkered down behind the makeshift bunkers carved into the hillside by the special forces troops who were God knows where. Probably dead or imprisoned.”
He released a disgusted sound. She ran to her suitcase, riffling through the overstuffed contents to find a t-shirt she pulled on quickly, not wanting to miss a word. She stood near him, giving him space to recount the horror on that fateful day.
“They’d taken our guys and left an ambush. We never figured out how they did it,” he said, his jaw tight. “No remains were found. And once you leave the lines, no one tells you anything.” He banged his palms against the sink ledge. “You never get closure.” His voice faltered with emotion. “What happened? That’s fucking classified.”
Emma ventured closer to stand beside him. “Did others in your unit survive?”
He huffed a hard exhale. “We were saved by another brave helicopter pilot who broke protocol to come retrieve us. Later he received the same medal as me and Mike and Donnie—who got his after he returned home in a casket.” He shook his head. “It’s insane that true heroes defy orders, take brutal risks, and face impossible odds no one ever talks about, until you lose a body part, or you lose your life. Then you get a speech dedicated to your ‘bravery’ and a shiny keepsake to put behind glass and hang on your wall. Cold comfort most nights, when the nightmares hit you and drive stakes of doubt through your mind as you’re lying in bed alone, replaying every second and what you could’ve done differently to save a life.”
When she tried to imagine herself in the same situation, terror sheeted through her.
He steepled his fingers over his nose, taking a few deep breaths. “I didn’t mean what I just said. That was bitterness showing through, and I don’t regret serving my country. We’re all on the same team, on the same side, proud to serve.”
“The truth is safe with me,” she whispered, holding his waist from behind.
At her words, he hung his head and reached his arms out to grip the sides of the sink. Sorrow for all he’d lost gripped her. She rested her cheek between the ridges of muscle along his spine.
Tipping his head back, he stared at the ceiling for a few tense moments. He released a heavy sigh.
“You want the truth?” he asked. “Donnie Laster was my best friend from kindergarten through graduation.”
Donnie. Shane said he’d received a medal posthumously. She mentally pulled the pieces together. Oh, my God. The Mrs. Laster Shane had encountered on his mom’s doorstep had been Donnie’s mother. She knew this story wouldn’t end well, and she inwardly grieved for the painfully awkward interaction she’d witnessed between the two.
Heartbreaking, she thought, wishing she’d known. Now she understood Shane’s anguish on a new level.
“We taught ourselves how to ride bikes together, me and Donnie. We hung out in his bedroom after his mom yelled at us to turn off the lights and listened to the ham radio his dad left behind, talking to truck drivers. We learned more about life from those guys than anyone taught us in school.” He swallowed hard. “Both our dads left our moms the same year. My mom let go easily, no grudges, and she never said a bad thing about my dad. But Donnie’s mom became a shadow of herself, wounded, leaning on her son to be the man of the house way too soon.”
Wanting to comfort Shane, but not sure how, she ran her hands along his back. She gently grazed her nails along the ribbed fabric of his undershirt. She remembered her mom had done that when Emma had needed reassurance the times when they reunited, before a new man came along and Mom stopped coming to her room to rub her back and tell her bedtime stories.
The tension in his shoulders eased a fraction. “That feels good,” he murmured.
She continued the soothing motions. “Tell me more about Donnie.”
“That string-bean kid was braver than me, even though I towered over him by fifth grade.” Shane let out a humorless laugh. “Our moms didn’t know it, but sometimes we played down by the quarry at the edge of our neighborhood. Older kids went there to smoke or drink beer they stole from their dads or a neighbor’s garage fridge.”
“He sounds like a great best friend.” Was that a trace of envy she heard in her own voice? I never had a best friend growing up.
She recalled the uncertainty and outcast loneliness from her childhood. She remembered desperately wishing for that depth of connection with someone in her class, but kids could be cruel without intending to be, and her scars reinforced her isolation. They made her different, scary, as if the one person who dared to befriend her would socially contract a careless mother who would leave them scarred, too. That’s why she’d sworn when she went to college and hesitantly dipped her toe into the dating pool, she would never rely on a man to provide her sense of worth, never trust words over accountable action. That’s also why Therese’s unconditional friendship meant the world to her now.
But this was Shane’s moment to reflect, not hers. She pulled herself out of her thoughts and back into the present with him.
“I remember one summer, Donnie read It by Stephen King. Fearless, I swear, he wanted to travel up the sewer caldron that emptied into the quarry and confront the monster hiding there. I hung back, terrified of clowns, scared of the dark. Not Donnie. The scrawny redhead went deeper into that sewer system than I dared to go. When he didn’t find It, I had to guide him back out of the cement maze using our walkie-talkies. He blinked at the sunlight with rage in his eyes and threw his baseball bat into the river, disgusted he couldn’t take down an infamous bad guy.”
“What else?” she asked, rubbing his shoulders.
Shane smiled. “He was a gearhead—he fixed broken bicycle chains and could change a tire on a bike or a car in five minutes flat. Starting in eighth grade, all the moms in the neighborhood brought their cars over for cheap oil changes. I helped, but barely. His mechanical ability upgraded to more complex fixes, like spark plugs, hose leaks, eventually brakes and transmissions. Donnie could repair it all. He was great at everything except sports. That’s when we clashed, because I was a jock, while he was the scrappy jack-of-all-trades. I landed cheerleaders, and he was surrounded by goth-girl groupies.” He shook his head. “Our differences faded when we both signed up for the Marine Corps.”
Ah, the connection, Emma thought.
Shane inhaled sharply. He grabbed the giant skillet on the stove and shoved it into the right side off the deep sink. “Shit. I burned the eggs.”
Swaying her hip, she nudged him aside. “I’ve got this.” She scraped the burned eggs into the disposal. Glancing at the bacon pan that rested on the metal counter, she noticed a skein of fat still sizzled under the crispy strips he’d taken out of the oven. “I can live on bacon alone.”
An amused sound vibrated from his throat. He kissed the top of her head. “You don’t have to say that.”
“We’re a team, remember?” She grinned up at him, then checked the egg carton. “It looks like we have two left.” She hunted for a smaller pan, set it on the stove, and cracked the remaining eggs into its basin. “I’ll fry these up, and we’ll be all set for breakfast.” She took the spatula from him. “So, you and Donnie joined the marines together?”
A nostalgic expression slid like a shadow of memory over his handsome features. “Yeah, we went through boot camp hell together. Side by side, like the good old days. Our differences fell away. We were one against the enemy.”
“Is that how you knew the greatest achievements come from being part of a team?” She recalled his words from the day before, when they’d tackled the obstacle course together.
He winked. “Nothing gets past you.”
She shook the eggs in the pan, testing the liquid yolks. Then she ventured a guess. “You mentioned Donnie had…earned a medal. Was he with
you during the recon mission in Afghanistan?”
He hissed out a breath. His broad hands encompassed the edges of the sink, six fingers curling, thumbs cupping the underside. The muscles in his arms rippled with tension. “Yeah, he was.”
Flipping the eggs, over-medium, she felt waves of rage radiate from him. “What happened?” she asked.
“They’d buried explosives. The sand was so smooth, no footprints. I should’ve known.” His chest flexed when he inhaled.
“You’ve couldn’t have known, Shane.”
“I should’ve known,” he snapped.
She removed the pan and turned off the burner, letting the yolks settle in the residual heat. “You were on a mission to touch base with a special forces troop. You didn’t anticipate an ambush.”
“Why would we?” He blew out a sigh and hung his head. “A bomb went off beneath our feet. Donnie, with his fearless fucking bravery, set off the first one. It blew him apart.” Shane wiped a hand down his face. “I didn’t think. I grabbed him, dragged him away. His shrieks of pain…God, I can still hear them.”
She rested her hand on Shane’s arm. She wanted him to know she heard him—in the same way he’d made her feel heard when she’d told the story of Jerry and her mom, the fire, and the scars on her back.
“I remember blood spurting across rocky sand. Shouting. My ears ringing. Arms waving at me to stop.” He swallowed hard. “A second bomb exploded. Donnie’s half-broken body turned to ashes in my arms.” He stared at the missing fingers on his left hand. “Donnie is the reason I’m alive today. He’s the reason I survived—I carried him over that second bomb.”
Tucking herself under one of Shane’s outstretched arms, she encircled his waist. “I can’t imagine the terror of that moment.”
“I wouldn’t want you to,” he murmured, his shoulders bowed in a posture of defeat.
She nudged him. “What if your roles had been reversed? If you’d exchanged places, would you regret giving your life for him?”
“Hell, no.” His voice sounded as if it had scraped across sandpaper in his throat.
“You would’ve given your life for him. From what you’ve described of your friendship, I believe he would’ve done the same for you, without hesitation. The guilt lingers because he did give his life. But you’re not to blame.” She squeezed him. “Would Donnie want you to stand here, reliving the past, hating yourself for what you should or shouldn’t have done?” She put it another way. “If you’d died in his place, would you want Donnie to stay stuck in regret?”
He gazed down at her with endearment that touched her heart. “Dang, pretty girl.” He gave a weary half-laugh. “You know how to flip a shit situation around to see the bright side, don’t you?”
Her breath hitched, and her eyes stung, before she glanced away. “I might have a little experience with that.”
He pulled her tighter, then rubbed his unshaven jaw across the top of her head. Strands of her hair caught in his bristle. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?”
Despite herself, she laughed. “We are. I’m okay with that.”
“I am, too.” He nudged her chin up with his forefinger. “What are we going to do about it? Because I’m not about to walk away from this weekend and never talk to you again.”
A shy smile on her lips, she lowered her gaze. “I wondered if you’d say that.”
“I am saying it.” His voice carried palpable sincerity. “We have two more hours left this morning, before I have leave for the airport to catch my flight. We’ll finish up the self-defense training because that’s what I promised. You bid on me, and I will deliver.”
Lifting her eyebrows, she sent him a sultry glance. “Oh, you delivered.”
He pressed their hips together. “That’s not what I meant. And I want more than sex,” he stated, his expression serious.
This is where she needed to draw some lines. “Shane, you’re free to go back to your life and remember this as a fun fling. I won’t be insulted. It’s reality. We live thousands of miles apart.”
Shock registered on his features. “Well, I’m insulted. How could you think what we shared means nothing to me?”
She rested her palms against his chest. “I’m saying, I don’t hold you to anything. This was incredible, amazing. You’ve given me so much this weekend. I’ve discovered things about myself I didn’t know. That’s what I wanted when I bid on you.”
He kissed her with passionate investment. “I want more.” He tilted his head. “What will you do with that, pretty girl? Deny a man his right to pursue the woman of his dreams?”
She tried to extract herself from his embrace. “I’m no one’s dream.”
For a moment, his arms froze like bands of steel around her. “You’re mine,” he said with startling weight and finality.
Then, releasing her, he turned to face the stunning wreckage of their passionate night together.
She watched him scoop the strewn sheets into a laundry bag, along with their towels that he’d promised Mick he would deliver to the place where the school’s linen service picked up every week. He rearranged the bunkbeds and restocked the mattresses where they belonged.
She made a futile gesture to the eggs and bacon, now cold. “Do you want breakfast?”
He paused, and his silver gaze seared her soul. He let the bag of trash he’d collected drop to the floor. “I want you, Emma. This weekend isn’t a one-time deal, not for me.”
“Then what do you want, after today?” The part of her terrified of abandonment reared up, demanding she cut this off here, now, before he left her with only disappointment and broken promises. But with Shane, she wanted to hold out a glimmer of hope, because he was nothing like the losers and users her mom always brought home.
“I want to talk.” He shrugged and sent her an aw-shucks, southern-boy smile that melted the coolness sheltering her deeper emotions. “I want to know I can see you again when our schedules sync.”
“I won’t rule anything out. Okay?”
His frustrated sigh said he wasn’t thrilled with her response, but he would accept it. “Look, I’m going to call you. I’m going to text you. I’m going to keep needing you the way I need you right now. Are you good with that?”
Overwhelmed by his honesty and dedication, she nodded, worried but wanting to take a chance on him. “I’ll give it my best shot.”
“Thank you.” He slid his arms around her. “If you want proof of how much I want you in my life, I’ll give you that—whatever you need, until we’re together again. And we will be together again, Emma. I promise you that.”
Having heard the line before—from the endless string of men who had woven in and out of her mother’s life for years—she tucked a shimmer of wistfulness under the shield she wore over her heart. “I hope so, Shane.”
When he kissed her, she tasted the sincerity of his promise. It tasted like solid trust and warm hope. If she dared to believe.
Chapter Nine
Monday, one week later…
“WILL YOU STOP wearing that ‘I’m the happiest person alive’ smile?” Therese shrugged out of her light raincoat and slammed her coffee mug down on the counter. “It’s barely eight o’clock in the morning, and you’re still grinning ear to ear. Before coffee,” she added with a scowl.
Emma shrugged. “The pot’s half-brewed. Why so grumpy?”
That seemed to lift Therese’s spirits a little. She snorted. “Why? Because I’m the woman in the restaurant sitting next to Harry and Sally, after she does her fake orgasm thing, asking the waiter if she can have what Sally’s having.” Therese threw her a dour look. “Only it isn’t on the menu.”
“Sorry,” Emma said, trying to appease her friend, but her guilty grin spoiled her attempt.
“You’re not sorry,” Therese grumbled, nudging Emma. “I’m not sorry, either.” She forged a smile. “C’mon girl, I’m not sorry at all—but there needs to be a lottery or something, where other girls have a shot at what you’ve got.”
“Does he have a brother?”
“No, a sister.”
“What about a cousin? Even a second one, twice removed?” Therese sighed. “I’d take a fraction of the fun you’re having, if it’s divided among the male genes in his family.”
Emma laughed. “I have no idea.”
Honestly, she still knew very little about Shane from a practical standpoint. She’d met his family, who’d embraced her. She had discovered why he didn’t want to move back and learned the reasons for his awkward encounter with Mrs. Laster.
She hadn’t asked Shane, but did Mrs. Laster know the details? Did she know the guilt Shane carried, because Donnie’s half-demolished body had deflected the second bomb that had saved Shane’s life? The two mothers had remained friends in their small town, but Emma supposed no knowledge, however clinical and accurate, detracted from the loss of her son, no matter Shane’s dedication in trying to save Donnie’s life. Nancy got to see her son, hold him and hug him, and Mrs. Laster didn’t.
“Where did you just go?” Therese asked.
“Something Shane told me, about his time as a marine overseas.”
“Care to share?”
“It’s not my story to tell,” Emma said, though sadness infused her.
Therese’s features softened. “I get it. Sorry I bitched about your happiness.”
Emma shook her head. “It’s okay. Shane is a complicated man, a little haunted.”
Removing the coffee pot when the last drip had fallen, Therese poured it into their waiting mugs. “Aren’t we all?” she asked, matter of fact.
“I don’t know, Therese.” Emma sighed, running the tip of her finger around the rim of her mug. “What if two people, who come together by chance, are too broken to make something worthwhile last?”