Chapter 16

Ifeel like Charlotte just dumped a lot on my plate, and I’m not talking about the spaghetti we’ve barely picked at. It’s delicious—everything she makes is—but the information is too heavy to leave room for anything else.

Charlotte lifts her glass, taking a long sip of the iced tea she poured for us before she began her tale. “What do you think?” she asks, like she’s already sure I’m about to bolt for the door.

I say nothing at first, just processing the twists and turns her explanation took. It’s definitely far beyond what I’d expected when I asked about the security guards.

My fists clench in anger that someone would want to hurt her or her friends.

No, her family. More than the people who share her name, these people are her family.

“Sometimes, the people we choose are more important than the ones chosen for us,” I say, and her brows knit together in confusion. I’m not sure where I’m going with this, but I try to tease out the words from the knot in my stomach. “Your family, your Dad, let you down by not being there for you. So you went out and made your own family with Mia and Izzy.”

I look around the room, pointing at the framed pictures Charlotte has, all of them containing her with her two friends. “The family you chose is growing with Thomas and Gabe. And you’re a fierce believer in family, Charlotte, with expectations of what that word truly means. Your own family might not have lived up to that, but you damn sure will yourself. I think you’re doing exactly what a family does, circling the wagons, watching each other’s backs, and preparing for war.”

Tears glisten in her eyes, and she sniffles. “Thank you. I never tried to explain it before, but that’s perfect. I just don’t know why you’d want to get involved with me when I’m literally in the middle of this mess.”

“Because I chose a family once too, and now I’m choosing another.” I reach over, taking her hand, and her soft smile eggs me on. “When I left, I was young and thought I knew everything. I mostly needed to get away, not because my family was awful but because they thought they knew me when I didn’t even know myself. I had to pass through the crucible of the Navy to find out what is really important, though.”

Flashes flick through my mind like an old-school movie projector. Men and women I got to know almost as well as myself, each of us searching for something. A purpose, a meaning, a mission.

Charlotte touches my hand. “I’ve seen videos. Tough isn’t a strong enough word to describe it.”

I shrug. Even those who make it through have their moment in the dark. Mine just happened to actually be at night.

The sound of the bell rings out in the middle of the night. It’s the third day of Hell Week and it’s too dark to see who’s next to you, so I don’t know who just gave up. All I know is . . . it’s not me.

I want to, though. Whether it’s the surf breaking, or the swims, or everything else they’ve thrown at me, I’ve taken it.

But this . . . this is so much. I huddle with my boat crew, our wet bodies pressed together in a futile attempt to stay warm and fight off the hypothermia, but all I can think is . . . whose bell was that?

“Focus,” my closest buddy named Wisenbury says to our boat crew. “Stay steady, one evolution at a time. Right now, our only goal is staying alive till sunrise. Anything after that, we’ll worry about then. Don’t quit, don’t ring the bell.”

He’s right, and I find the strength to shiver a little more.

Don’t quit.

“You’re right,” I admit, coming back to the present. “It was harder than tough, but there isn’t really a word for it. I learned about who I am, and that was enough. I was happy. At first.”

“At first?” Charlotte asks, and I nod. “What happened?”

“Reality happened,” I explain simply. “During training, it’s all artificial to some degree. I mean, they’re never going to intentionally let someone die. Their goal is to push your boundaries further than you think you can go to show you what you’re capable of. And that’s dangerous, but there’s always this sort of safety net that you knew was there. No one on that beach with you actually wanted to kill you.”

Charlotte’s eyes meet mine, horrible realization dawning. “But on missions, they really did want to kill you.”

“The first time I truly felt how real it was, I busted through a door,” I reply softly.

“The door went, and a bullet cracked off the frame six inches from my head. I turned to see the gunman, and I . . . shot. Just like I’d been trained to do. In my head, I was glad I was alive, but at the same time, I realized that the gunman who tried to kill me couldn’t have been a day over sixteen. Not even a man himself.”

The pause stretches out as I get lost in the memories, but Charlotte lets me be, not pressuring me to continue unless I want to. When I look up, she’s chewing a bit of spaghetti slowly.

“I shot a kid. Yeah, he had an AK, and all that him or me justification can run through my head on a loop, but . . . it stayed with me a long time. I’ve seen and done some awful things in the name of my country. It’s left . . . scars.” I swallow thickly, forcing down the memories that threaten to overwhelm me.

“We all have them,” Charlotte says. “You’ve seen every inch of me and know that my greatest damage isn’t visible to the naked eye. It’s here,” she says, touching her heart, “and here.” She touches her temple.

I know exactly what she means. I do have some physical scars, lines where cuts didn’t heal cleanly, nicks from the occasional piece of barbed wire, and even a gnarly one on the back of my left hamstring from an IED.

Luckily, I wasn’t any closer than I was, and even luckier, it hasn’t impeded me in any way. But the deepest, angriest red scars are internal, the ones that pull and pucker, turning me into the man I am now, no longer the ready-to-tackle-the-world dumbass I’d been but something sharper, more careful, more intention-filled.

“I don’t think I can go back,” I whisper, looking down at my hands. I’m used to seeing them chipped, a line of black under the nails, ragged tears along the cuticles, but now they’re clean, trimmed, and soft. The confession pains me. It’s something I hadn’t fully given form to in my mind, but now that I’m home, it’s not only my parents’ desire for me to stay that’s keeping me here. It’s not only the sexy, sweet redhead in front of me either.

It’s me. When I was in the thick of things, training day in and day out, with missions sweeping me around the globe at the drop of a dime, I could stay in character. But now, it’s like those sharp edges have washed away. I’m still hard, but I’ve lost the drive. I don’t have anything to prove to anyone by trying to be a wetsuit cowboy out to save the world. Maybe I can stay right here and save Charlotte’s world, and that can be enough.

“Then don’t. Stay here,” Charlotte says just as softly. Neither of us says that I could stay for us, but we’re both thinking it. I know I’m choosing to focus on her, the curve of her smile from across the table, the flipped-up red hair at the end of her braid, and the way she makes me feel like I’m enough just the way I am.

“I want to stay here with you. See where this goes. I’m not going anywhere, Char.” It’s a declaration, not of love, not yet, but of intention, that she’s not scaring me off with her busy life, her crazy family, or her baggage. I hope she feels the same way about me.

She reverts to humor, awkwardly telling me, “Well, you’re not moving in, if that’s what you’re after. I’m not really the married, two-point-five kids kinda gal.”

I let it fall flat, not letting her escape the deeper truths we’ve been exposing. “Do you really believe you’ll never find that?” I ask with a cocked eyebrow, probing the wound, not to inflict pain but so I can heal it appropriately.

Her shrug is answer enough, her doubt and cynicism revealed in its power. “Guys say they want the whole fairy tale and get you to believe you want the same things, but when push comes to shove, it’s all a pretty lie. A carrot on a string to tease you along.”

I get up, pulling her to the couch to sit beside me. I leave the dishes on the table for later, though it pains my habitual tendencies, but this is more important. I wrap an arm around her shoulders, and she lays her cheek on my chest as she curls her legs beneath her. “Tell me who hurt you, Char. Tell me everything.”

She doesn’t speak for a long time, but the words come.

“Daniel. He was my college sweetheart. We met soon after I started college and were joined at the hip almost from day one. We had all the wedding plans for after graduation, but he wanted to save up for a ring. We had an apartment together, and we both got jobs at Blackwell. It was perfect.”

A tear lands wet and hot on my shirt, her pain hurting me more than a knife would. “Until he started spending late nights with his boss—his older, beautiful female boss. They were doing more than working, obviously.”

“Bastard,” I whisper, and Charlotte nods, probably thinking quite a few other names for him.

“After that, I tried online dating, mostly. Met a few frogs, but I was doing okay. Until I met Ryan. He was a little older than me and divorced. He said he wanted the whole fairy tale, and I bought it hook, line, and sinker. Right up until his wife walked in on us in bed, their baby girl on her hip. They weren’t divorced after all. I’d been the other woman and hadn’t even known it.”

She closes her eyes, like she’s waiting for my judgement, my sneered blame that she wrecked that guy’s happy home. But that’s not true at all. She was an innocent victim of both those guys, of her Dad’s crappy choices, of Blackwell’s plotting. Like a precious stone, she’s been sliced away, shaped and filed into the woman she is now, with jagged edges and flaws deep inside.

But beautiful, not despite that but because of it.

She won’t take her fairy tale for granted when she gets it. She’ll grab it with both hands and never let go, thanking the heavens every day for it. But not until she believes she deserves it, until she trusts her prince won’t go anywhere.

I tilt her chin up with the soft touch of my fingers and look into her eyes. “I don’t like carrots, Charlotte. Dangling or otherwise. And I don’t believe in pretty lies, but I do believe in happily ever afters.”

I lean in and kiss her, letting her taste the truth, hoping she can feel the honesty in my soul.

Forgetting the plates still on the table, I scoop her up and carry her in my arms. In her bedroom, I set her down before slowly, methodically undressing her and then myself. Carefully, I unplait her hair, letting it fall wild and free around her shoulders.

Charlotte looks up at me through her lashes, more vulnerable than she’s ever been. Not because she’s nude, but because we’re both naked, having revealed more of ourselves tonight than I think we have in a long time. Maybe ever.

Pulling the blankets back, I tell her, “Climb in.” She does as I say, lying on her back like she’s ready for me to cover her with my body. I want that too, but not the way she thinks.

As much as I love being inside her physically, right now, we’re so emotionally inside each other that I need to just hold her. I lie down beside her, rearranging her so that she’s curled up, the little spoon to my big spoon. I pet her hair, twirling the ends around my finger. “Get some sleep. I’ll be right here.”

I think she’s going to argue, her sass coming out when I least expect it, but tonight, she gives in, sighing as she settles. Within moments, she’s fast asleep, worn out not only from her baker’s hours but from the energy it took to give so much to me at once.

It’s a long time before I fall asleep too, cocooning Charlotte in my arms, keeping her safe from any threats, inside or out.