No Getting Over You (7 Brides for 7 SEALs Book 2) Page 4

  Britt had visited Terry at BAMC two weeks ago. Although he hadn’t seen him since the day Terry had taken the brunt of the kid’s explosives, Britt had heard updates from brass and from Nick who had visited him over July Fourth weekend. The good news was that Terry had survived and that the intricate treatments were saving his functionality. The bad news was that his all American he-man looks were damaged and the loss had taken its toll on Terry’s stamina and his self-esteem.

  In July, words from Abby and Nick had encouraged Terry to get back together with a young woman he’d been dating before his injuries. After he’d been injured and airlifted stateside, he’d broken up with her because he was disturbed that she’d be appalled by his injuries. But when he’d called her from his hospital bed, Catrina had come to visit him that day. A few weeks ago, he’d asked her to marry him. And when Britt had visited him, Terry was chipper. Ready to venture out into the world, fly to Washington, and witness his sister and his teammate get married.

  And now he wasn’t.

  Britt dug his cell out of his pocket and hit Terry’s number. But he didn’t answer.

  “Fuck that,” Britt said and noticed the woman sitting next to him startled. “Sorry, ma’am.”

  She gave him a forced smile and began to rise. She’d been eating her lunch, and he’d disturbed her.

  “Don’t go. I won’t bite. Honest. Buddy of mine,” he said and held up the phone, “won’t answer. He was injured.”

  “With you?” she asked examining Britt’s scar.

  “The same action, yes.”

  “Army?”

  “Navy.”

  “Ah.” She nodded and passed her bag of potato chips over to offer him some.

  He shook his head. “Thanks.”

  “What’s his problem?”

  “He needs a kick in the pants to get on a plane.”

  “Did he get hit in the face, too?”

  “Yeah. Worse than I did. Much worse.”

  “Stage fright,” she said with a wistful look to her blue eyes. She was blonde, petite, twenty-five, maybe. Dark skirt, white blouse, tweed jacket. Government worker, possibly.

  “Something like that, yeah.”

  “Text him.”

  “Sure,” he said, losing the edge he’d felt minutes ago.

  “Tell him we all wear masks.”

  Britt stared at her. Blown away by her ability to pinpoint the issue in a unique way. “Do we?”

  “Some are protective. Some are unnecessary. Most are temporary. At least, with those we love, they should be.” She lifted her chin in the direction of his phone in his hand. “Go ahead. Do it. I’ll give you some privacy.”

  “Wait. You don’t have to leave.”

  “Sure, I do. Give ’im hell, sailor.” She smiled, dazzling him with her confidence. “Nothing a guy likes better than to have his ass chewed out by his bro.”

  She gathered her sandwich, her chips bag, and her Coke can, stuffed them in her paper bag and aimed it at the park trashcan three feet away.

  Britt grinned. Three-pointer for the blonde with moxxy.

  Turning slightly, she gave him a salute and walked off toward the White House.

  He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, laughed, and then typed, Pick up your damn phone!

  In a second, he received three XXX’s.

  U can’t screw up Abby and Nick’s day.

  They don’t need me.

  U fool yourself, pal.

  No reply came back.

  So Britt wrote, U’ll hate yourself.

  XXX

  This what u do when u r in country? RUN?

  Well, that would fry him. Nothing like a charge of weakness to spike a guy’s ego. Britt could just about hear Terry from here. The guy could peel wallpaper with his foul mouth. A minute passed. Maybe more. Nada came though.

  Just as Britt was ready to hit the keyboard, Terry wrote, U call me coward?

  U faced death, fire, those damn water treatments that make u cry, man, CRY, and u won’t come to ur sis’s wedding?

  Nothing came up on screen. Not a thing.

  Britt cursed. What time’s ur flight?

  Nothing. Shit.

  Britt typed, Where’s Catrina?

  “Here.”

  “So she’s not coming either???? U have stinkin’ thinkin’, buddy bo.”

  “Fuck u, Ace.”

  “Get on damn plane. Do rt thing. LIKE U ALWAYS DO. Cuz ur not wearing a pretty face does not mean u can sit this out. Duty. Honor. Family. Country. Get ur ass on plane.”

  Britt sat for the longest time. His hope of a reply faded. Hell.

  He rose with a curse on his lips and a lead weight in his heart. Walking toward his meeting point at the far corner of the park, he contemplated the burden of failure. Not often had he ever done that. His life, his job was never to consider it. Never to accept it. And yet here was evidence that it happened. Even to a SEAL.

  His phone rang, jingling in his pocket. He dug it out. The name on the screen burst his gloom. “Yeah? Catrina?”

  “We’re getting aboard, Ace. Thanks.”

  “He’s coming?”

  “We both are. He’s pissed.”

  “Figured.”

  “Gonna deck you.”

  “Hope so.”

  Catrina laughed. “Abby told me you’re picking us up.”

  “We are. Call me when you land, okay? I’ll swing around to the front door.”

  “Thanks, see you soon. Love you. Bye.”

  When Viv pulled up in front of him a few minutes later, he climbed in and shut the door with a shit-eating grin on his face.

  “Lift-off?” she asked with triumph written on her happy face.

  “Oh, you bet your pretty ass,” he said and, at once, regretted it. “Sorry, but—”

  She chuckled, her green eyes wide with humor. “Thanks for the compliment.”

  “I mean it,” he said relieved.

  “You’d better.” She pulled out into traffic, but a blush brightened her cheeks. “Okay, so tell me what magic words you uttered.”

  “I insulted him.”

  Viv checked his eyes. “Really?”

  “Only way to make a man run toward you.”

  “Wow. I’ll remember that.”

  “Do.” He exhaled. “On to next mission.”

  “Right. Yours.”

  “Yeah. Time is…oh shit.” Eleven thirty-three.

  “I’ll drive around to front of the club, drop you out at the front door, and you can run in.”

  He cringed. “Won’t work. I have to change my clothes.”

  She let her eyes run down his chest, and he could have sworn she was savoring the journey. “You look good to me. Why can’t you just go in as you are?”

  “It’s the Army Navy Club, and that means a shirt, a coat, and tie. No jeans either.”

  “Only one solution. Strip.”

  He blinked hard.

  “Do it, Ace. I’m a big girl, and what you’re about to show me is nothing I haven’t already seen.”

  “Funny lady.”

  “Take it off, Frog man.” She smiled and stopped at a light. “And hurry.”

  He ripped off his T-shirt and held it to his nose. “Um. Viv? It’s a green light, kiddo.”

  The SUV went nowhere.

  When he glanced at her, she was staring at him. Or rather, she was investigating every inch of his chest, his shoulders, and abs. “You’re missing your chance.”

  “To do what?” she asked like a sleepwalker.

  He guffawed. “To get me there on time?”

  “Sure.” She nodded and took a glimpse out her side view mirror. “Lots of cars.”

  And then her eyes returned to glue to his naked chest.

  His nipples beaded. His cock, which had had a tough time minutes ago, rose like a NASA rocket. “Like what you see?”

  “Oh, yeah. I really do.” She swallowed hard like a teenage girl, locked her gaze on his, and pointed to the street. “I’m going. Foot to the pedal.
”

  He hadn’t been dreaming before when he thought she liked him, wanted him. The rush swept through him like strong whisky on a cold night. The urge to kiss her swamped him. And from the looks of the traffic jam ahead, he had time to act on his impulse. “If you want—”

  “Nothing!” She put up a hand.

  To hell with that. He reached over and took her chin between his fingers. “Look at me. I was going to say, if you want more of this, then you’d better drive fast.”

  “Yeah?” Her cheeks were stained a deep rose, and she was laughing. “How’s that?”

  “The sooner you get me to my interview, the sooner we can check in to the hotel and talk about this need of yours.”

  She went quite still, her eyes on his lips. “Is that what you think I want to do?”

  “I’m not sure, but I have to be.”

  “Why?” she asked in a strangled whisper.

  “Because you’re a sweet lady in a precarious state of mind. I don’t want to offend you, and I’m in a fever to do more, maybe, than I should.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like kiss you.”

  “You could,” she encouraged him with a breathy sigh. “But what’s my precarious state of mind?”

  “If you’re still grieving for your husband and I’ve misinterpreted how we’ve hit it off this morning, then I’ll take a pass. Save it for later. Weeks, months. You tell me how long.”

  “I see.” She nodded, her gaze devouring his lips. “I don’t think you’ve misinterpreted this morning or us.”

  He rubbed his thumb along the edge of her bottom lip. She was satin temptation. “I’m glad. I make my living reading other people.”

  “You’ve done well.”

  “Thanks. I want to read you right every time.”

  “Me, too.” She ran her hand up along his right cheek and into his hair. “Here’s news you don’t have to interpret. I don’t want you to wait weeks or months.”

  He closed his eyes at the feeling of her fingertips stroking his scalp. His cock was now at countdown, and if he kept this up, he’d be stripping her of her clothes and getting them both arrested for public indecency at high noon in the nation’s capital. “Yay for me.”

  “Me, too.” She flowed closer to him, her lips a breath away. “If we start this now, we’ll miss your interview.”

  “And the plane.”

  “Plus eleven dozen cupcakes.”

  He groaned and sank back to his side of the SUV. Then he squeezed shut his eyes. “Don’t change your mind.”

  She inhaled, straightened her seat belt, and widened her eyes. “You don’t know me.”

  “Right.” He had to sit up to pull at his jeans. No ball room was available.

  She chuckled. “What I mean is, once I make up my mind, I don’t change it.”

  “Good.” He cleared his throat. “Can you drive now, or shall I jump you here?”

  She gave him a dark look under her lashes. “Jump me tonight.”

  He shook his head. “A promise. And I always keep my promises.”

  Chapter Five

  Four hours later, Britt once more sat behind the wheel of his rented Suburban as he headed them toward Dulles Airport. Viv gazed at him. He’d been silent, pensive. They’d spent the whole afternoon together. After Viv had picked him up from his interview, they started north to the country club where Abby and Nick were to be married. Although she’d checked in to her room, she accepted Britt’s invitation to buy her lunch in the dining room.

  “You’re quiet,” she’d said, noting his preoccupation. “Is it the interview? The job?”

  “Yeah. He made me a very good offer.”

  “Do you want it?” she asked because he appeared more apprehensive than excited.

  “Not sure if I’m ready to quit the team. Friends, training, a shared past, all make me wonder if I want to leave now. Or wait.”

  “Do you have to respond soon?”

  “Two weeks. Everything sounds good, higher pay, more time off. But you know, I’ve been a SEAL for four years. Grueling work. But I’m a grunt. Have been since I joined the Marines out of college. Two tours in Iraq. One in Afghanistan. Years in deserts and jungles. I’ve loved it all.”

  “But?”

  “You get banged up. I broke an arm last year. This”—He put a hand to his cheek.—”was a surprise. Minor. Only plastic surgery. Not like Terry. He had some bad shit happen to him. He pays for it. His fiancée does, too. I wonder if they realize.”

  “If she does,” she said recalling the fog of her years dealing with Paul’s cancer treatment.

  “What do I hear in your voice?” He reached across the table to take her hand in his.

  She didn’t retreat, his question and comfort welcome.

  “Tell me.”

  She had. The worry of monitoring Paul’s meds, his weaknesses after chemo, his depression with hair and muscle loss had taken its toll on her. To reveal all her memories and emotions to Britt would have been impossible. And unnecessary to burden him with old sorrows. Plus, to be honest, so much of the agony of that last year she’d forgotten. Purposely. She’d summarized and he’d listened intently. His hand covering hers in quiet companionship had been all she needed.

  But as he pulled to a stop in the short term parking lot at the airport, she balked at the idea of facing Terry and Catrina who had the same challenges she once did. A sour taste in her mouth had her swallowing hard on a sudden and unnatural fear. Wincing at the sight of the main terminal, she loathed her cowardice to face Terry. He’d given so much to the service of his country but feared the reactions of people who gazed upon him. Viv hated herself.

  Last July when Abby returned from her visit to Terry at BAMC, she’d described the horrible burns to Terry’s face. The treatments, numerous and painful. The skin grafts. The plastic surgery, which might not ever make Terry whole again. Could she look on him and react as if he were whole and healthy?

  “You don’t have to come in, Viv,” Britt said, facing her.

  “You do read people well,” she said with a rueful twist of her mouth. “I want to do the right thing by Terry.”

  “You’ve been through a lot yourself.”

  “My trauma is over. Paul is gone. But Terry has to endure and flourish. And his relatives and friends have to help him. Not just Abby and Nick and you and Catrina. Terry is more than the sum of his appearance. We all need to pitch in to prove that to him. It’s what he deserves.” Gathering her courage and her determination, she unlocked her seat belt. “Let’s go.”

  Catrina, a tall dark haired beauty, steered Terry to the front of the concourse as Britt and Viv walked through the door. The two men hailed each other like long lost pals, Britt shaking Terry’s good hand and hugging Catrina. Viv welcomed them both to Washington and noticed that Terry’s injuries were not as bad as she’d imagined. One side of his face was the shade of a ripe peach, his eyebrow gone, but his eyes—similar to the amber color of Abby’s—were bright, and his jaw was square and handsome. There was hope he could live well with pride and dignity.

  Yet the struggle with his wheelchair, his disability to get into SUV, and his frustration with his own efforts took a toll on him. Catrina, too, looked drawn and spoke only to be polite. Viv hoped to heaven she covered her own dismay. But the long ride back to the Maryland countryside grew tense. Dark rain clouds rushed in and a heavy downpour added to the gloom in the car.

  At the circular portico leading to the front door of the country club’s hotel access, Viv breathed a shaky sigh of relief. Within minutes, Terry was out of the car with the help of the doorman. Catrina stood by, watching silently, and then politely refused any help from Britt or Viv to register.

  “I can do this, Britt,” Catrina said, her voice firm, her dark brown eyes weary. “See you at the rehearsal dinner later. You need to get those cupcakes.” Then she put her hands on the wheelchair handlebars and wheeled Terry inside toward the reception desk.

  Britt whirled the car away
. Silence reigned between them. Five minutes, maybe more, passed before Britt pulled to the side of the two lane road and pounded a fist into the steering wheel.

  Viv didn’t say anything but sat with her own thoughts, all of them tinged with the memory of the struggle to survive loss.

  Britt rubbed his eyes. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  She hooked her arm over his shoulder and massaged the back of his neck. “He’s coping. He hates it, but he is.”

  “And her?”

  “Her question is, can she love him disgruntled and obstinate as he is.”

  “Or?”

  Viv inhaled and shook her head. “Abby told me that Catrina came running when she learned he’d been wounded. That was love.”

  “Abby and Nick encouraged Terry to call her and tell her, but he didn’t want to,” Britt said. “That was July.”

  “A while ago, yes. But things look different when you’re struggling day to day and you don’t see any big leaps of change.”

  “He is better than he was.”

  “Maybe physically according to his doctors. But what he has to face is…”

  Britt sighed. “The mirror.”

  “And what he reads in other people’s faces when they see him. And since he, too, was trained like you to read other people’s moods, doing that is a challenge with every person he meets.”

  Britt took her hand from his nape, pulled it to his lips, and kissed her fingertips.

  She watched him do it, and her heart melted. “You’re very sweet, Ace.”

  “Oh, no. Another sappy compliment.” He revved the engine, his eyes dancing. “Shall we get those cupcakes?”

  “You bet.” She settled back into her seat and grinned at him. “I might need to eat one.”

  “Hell with that. When we get there, we’re asking for a bottle of Scotch. Three fingers. Neat. I need it. And you deserve it.”

  “Lead on, oh sailor boy.” She crossed her arms. “I am ready.”

  But the irony was, she wasn’t. By the time, they had collected all eleven dozen very pretty, decadently rich chocolate mousse cupcakes, tiered them in the frames in the back of Britt’s Suburban, returned to the country club and had the kitchen staff load them in the refrigerator, Viv had frozen at the idea of seeing Terry again. She’d regressed into a shell. Fearing she’d run at the sight of him. Fearing she’d remain mute in his company. Fearing she’d burst into tears at the sight of him or Catrina. She was a freaking mess.