Chapter 5

I’ve never been a man to daydream much. I’ve seen too many things. Dark, horrible things. Things that scar a man’s soul. Things that can give the most hardened badass nightmares for the rest of their existence.

So I don’t daydream because those are the memories that take the opportunity of a wandering mind to force their way to the forefront.

“Sir?” he asks me, and I know he wants the truth I can’t give him. Not now when hope is all he has to hang on to. I won’t take that away.

“It’s just a scratch,” I tell the badly wounded man. “You’re gonna be on your feet in no time.”

“Bullshit, sir.” His brown-smudged face is covered in the very dirt he’s talking about through choked swallows. Sweat and tears run rivers through the filth, making mud on his cheeks as the beat of the chopper blades fills the air.

A sudden burst of adrenalin shoots through him, and he grips at my shirt with surprising strength. “Don’t die out here like me, man. Go and live your life, not someone else’s. I should’ve been home with her.”

His eyes swirl, unfocused on the shades of brown around us - brown dirt, brown buildings, brown uniforms, only the bright blue sky a relief. His voice is getting weaker. “Do one thing for me?”

“You can tell her yourself,” I reply, knowing he’s thinking about his young wife and the baby daughter he hasn’t even met yet. He could have taken leave. I would have put the paperwork through in record time and the Commander would have stamped it no problem, but he didn’t want to leave his brothers holding the bag on this shitstorm. Now, he’ll never meet the babe.

He smiles, taking my hand. “Just... tell her about me?”

“I will,” I promise, knowing that I’m admitting the truth... but I think he deserves to hear it.

His smile is pain-filled. “It was an honor, sir.”

Tears burn my eyes, and I clasp his hand tightly. “The honor is mine.”

He tries to say something else, but before he can, his breath hitches twice, the last exhalation exiting his lips without the heroic battle cry of a movie or the dramatic swell of music you grow up expecting. Instead, it’s like a sigh, a tired, exhausted man at the end of his labors, setting down his load for a final time, never to pick it up again.

“Hooyah.” I fare the body well just as the chopper starts to descend. Thirty seconds later, we’re on the deck, and I have to let him go. There are other men under my command, under my care. And right now, they need me.

But I take one split second to look to the sky, promising that I’ll tell that little girl all about her father, the man who faced death with honor and died as a hero.

Back in my bed, I shake my head, fighting the memory down and locking it in the box with so many others. I breathe slowly and deeply, remembering where I am. It’s weird to even think about this as a bed. I’m so used to a rack, or a bunk, that even the term ‘bed’ feels foreign. But there’s no way anyone would ever call a king-size memory foam mattress like this a rack.

I flop onto my side, and a sparkle on the bedside table catches my eye, along with the alarm clock. I’d purposefully not set it, hoping for a little extra shut-eye after the late night at the gala. Seems instead of my usual six AM wakeup for PT, I’ve managed to sleep in until almost seven thirty. Not bad for a civvie.

But the gold bracelet is what changes my mood from the dour dredges of my dreams, transporting my mind to the happier memories of last night.

I pick it up, holding the dainty bracelet in my hand and remembering the redhaired spitfire who wore it and the way she set me spinning. She’s taking the world by storm, making her own way, despite her family and the odds against her. That takes guts.

And sometimes, guts are enough. Whether kicking in a door when you know there are half a dozen men on the other side ready to fill your body with bullets, or standing up to everyone and everything else to open a simple bakery . . . guts are guts.

And Charlotte Dunn has them in spades. I remember her smile, her sass, the smell of her skin, and the surprising feel of her lips on mine. She’s the kind of woman my buddies and I would dream about back in BUDs, a fantasy woman who would make all the hell we were going through worth something. A scarlet angel, strong and innocent and ready to soothe our souls and tell us everything would be okay, despite the violence and ugliness we’d wrought.

A voice in my head says to me, she’s no angel.

But I can’t help but think of the way she moved against me, her lush curves dimpling beneath my grip, her ass cradling my cock as she arched, asking for more. And now, like last night, I’m rock fucking hard again.

I stare at the bracelet, a link near the clasp broken, and imagine her wearing it once again as her soft hands wrap around my shaft, the light twinkling as she works me up and down. I can’t help myself. I slip my hand beneath the sheet and palm my thickness. A few massage strokes later, I’m delving into my underwear, pulling my cock and balls out and kicking the sheet out of the way.

I hold the bracelet, eyeing it as I jack myself with long strokes, mentally replacing my hand with hers. I rub over the head, wishing it were her lips, and the thought of her sucking me has me damn near the edge. A filthy thought takes root, and I wrap the delicate bracelet around the crown of my cock, just below the ridge. I thrust into my hand, careful to not break the bracelet further, and watch the monogram charm dangle against my skin, faster and faster in time with my heartbeat. I can barely breathe as I come in spurts, white-hot jets covering me and the gold links as I spasm, growling her name through gritted teeth, “Char...lotte.”

Spent, I carefully unwind the links from my cock and wipe them on my underwear, promising myself to clean it properly. I wait for my breathing to return to normal, thinking sweeter thoughts about Charlotte but wondering if she went home hot and bothered last night too.

I’d wanted to track her down, but family obligations had gotten in the way, and I’d had to help a tipsy Cody into the family limo.

But today is mine. And so is Charlotte.

I get out of bed, energized by the thought of tracking her down to continue our conversation from last night. I shower and dress in a Navy PT shirt and shorts, taking a minute to soap and water wash Charlotte’s bracelet before placing it into my sock drawer for safekeeping while I work out.

I find Hamilton in the kitchen, a carafe of coffee in his hands. “Mister Lance, good morning.”

“Hamilton, I don’t suppose I could convince you to not call me Mister Lance, could I?” I ask, smiling and taking an offered mug. “I mean, I couldn’t like, slip you a fifty once a week or something, or duct tape your shoes to the floor if you don’t stop?”

“Hardly, sir. And duct tape would just damage my shoes. But I would enjoy the cat and mouse game. It would provide an entertaining diversion from my day to day duties. Beware, though. I would retaliate.” He narrows his eyes, which would probably be threatening if he wasn’t grey-haired and so thin a strong wind could knock him over.

I laugh, nodding. “I learned long ago to never, ever mess with someone who is involved with laundering your underwear. Not every threat is so easily seen. The most dangerous opponents aren’t the bigwigs but the little guys because they’ve got nothing to lose.”

Hamilton nods, like I’m saying something quite wise, even going so far as to rub his nails on his lapel, like he’s buffing them proudly at what he’s capable of. “A wise lesson, sir.”

“So, what’s Chef whipped up for breakfast?”

“I’m afraid it’s her day off, but I’d be happy to, ahem, whip you up an omelet, if you’d like. I’m quite adept, making them for your father regularly.”

“I think I’ll just grab some toast. No worries. Where is dear old Dad this morning? Figured he’d still be in bed after the late night.” I glance around, listening and not hearing evidence of anyone but Hamilton and me.

He moves closer, almost whispering, “I’m afraid Mister Jacobs had a rather late evening, filled with discussions with Mrs. Jacobs. You might do well to make a run for it, but if you’d rather chance it, he’s on the back patio. Wanted breakfast by the pool today, sir.”

I wonder what my parents could’ve been up to all night. Well, I don’t wonder, because I don’t want to think about my parents having sex. I’m still partially convinced that I was delivered via stork and Cody was a medical experiment gone wrong.

But the conversation part of the evening is interesting. They’re probably celebrating my interest in Charlotte, my mom strutting around like a peacock that she was right and already planning a wedding and baby shower.

I make a quick slice of toast, adding a dab of peanut butter for some protein, and head out back. Dad is by the pool as Hamilton said, his plate empty and eyes staring sightlessly at the rippling water. His face is stormy enough that The Weather Channel could make a report about it, probably give it an old-school name, like Storm Bishop. I smirk, laughing at my own joke of Dad’s unusual name.

“Good morning, Dad.”

He doesn’t even look to me, just points to the chair across from him and says sternly, “Sit down. I want to talk to you.”

“Sure,” I agree, surprised at the tone but not wanting to start the morning with a fight. Based on his mood, his late-night conversation with Mom must have been about my brother, not me, and I wonder what the hell Cody did now. He was fine when I laid him in bed, still in most of his tux because I was only taking off his shoes and jacket. “What’s on your mind?”

Dad takes a sip of his coffee, not seeming to stall but more as a power play. Against his own son? What the hell is going on?

“Your behavior last night was . . . embarrassing. Honestly, something I’d expect from your brother, not you. The way you treated Sabrina Dunn...” He tapers off, tsking under his breath like I’m a disappointing wayward child.

I pick up my toast, taking a bite as I digest his words. I’m not going to be baited into backing down like I used to, because I’m not the little boy he once knew.

I realize with a start that he doesn’t know me at all. I’ve been gone for years, only able to make quick trips home for holidays and the occasional leave. He hasn’t been able to bear witness to my growth as an officer, as a man, as a human being with his own wants, needs, and plans. That’s going to change.

“I made it abundantly clear to both Mom and you that I had zero interest in being fixed up. I turned down setup after setup as you two tried to get me to meet every debutante you thought met your standards, but you refused to listen. Instead, you kept setting me up and somehow expecting me to sit down like a good little boy and do as I’m told. That’s not who I am. That’s not who I’ve been for a very long time now. And I won’t let you and Mom box me into something I don’t want.” I lean back, having said my piece.

“You didn’t even give the girl a chance!” Dad complains, and I can hear my mother in his words. I thought she’d been happy watching us dance last night, probably feeling victorious this morning. But I guess not.

Apparently, my shunning a vapid bitch was way more worthy of late-night discussion than Cody’s overindulgence. “She’s a fine young woman from a good family. She’s a good match for you.”

“In other words, she’s willing to lie back, take enough doses of jizz to get her knocked up two or three times, be arm candy otherwise, and spend money like it’s water the rest of the time,” I rumble.

I swear I think my father’s heart just stopped beating, “You will not use such crude language. It does not befit a Jacobs.”

Realizing I might’ve been a bit crass, even if what I said is true, I take a breath. “I’m not looking for that type of woman, or any woman.” Even as I say it, Charlotte’s face floats through my mind. “I came home to help our family. That’s it. Anything else is on my own, not your concern, and not Mom’s either.”

“I can’t accept that, Son,” he argues, shaking his head. “I’ve spent my whole life taking care of this family, and to be honest, I can’t keep doing it by myself. I need you to step up, lean in, and pull your weight so we can keep it going. This isn’t the Navy, Son. There isn’t a constant line of people who will kiss your ass. This is the real world, and it’s a reality I think you’ve lost touch with.”

“Out of touch with reality?” I ask, my pride pricked and my anger rising a little. “Dad, I hate to tell you, but I’ve been learning more in the past ten years than you seem to realize. I was learning what true sacrifice is, what leadership should be. You think I was dicking around, playing cops and robbers or something?”

It’s hard to talk about, and my words falter. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell him how I was learning lessons he’ll never understand, lessons engraved in blood, sand, and cordite. And those lessons tell me that his expectation that I’d come home, fall into line, marry the idiot of his choosing, and start popping out babies is not the way to success.

Dad sputters, seeming lost at my words. “I’m not trying to hold you back. I’m trying to help you move forward. I’m sure you did learn a lot in your service, but I know a thing or two myself. Things that I had to learn the hard way, because I found out almost too late that family is everything. I sacrificed too much to the office and missed too many days with you, your mother, and Cody. Lance, I want you to be happy. And everything in my experience, my heart, my gut, tells me you need a wife and kids to do that. Something to ground you when the going gets tough.”

I sigh heavily, knowing he’s not evil, just a man who’s probably getting the first real sense of his own mortality. But I’ve understood mortality in ways he never has, both by taking lives and having men die in my arms when their lives had barely even started.

“Dad, I’m not saying I’ll never get married. I’m just saying let me do it my way. I want someone . . .” I pause, not sure what I want because I’ve never had to put it into words because marriage always seemed like a far-off, nebulous idea.

“I want a wife who is smart, capable, a partner who is damn well ready to support me but can also pick up the reins and lead herself if something happens to my ass.”

I see a handful of women’s teary faces flash through my mind. Not every guy I knew in the service was married, but I’ve been to enough funerals to see the power it takes to be a military wife, always wondering and worrying and one day, getting the call you prayed would never come. But those women, with black clothes and ramrod-straight backs, served their country just as well as their husbands, who made the ultimate sacrifice. I need someone that fierce and fiery.

Dad gets up, his words clipped. “Be that as it may, we have a family dinner with the Dunns next week. Abe, Priscilla, and Sabrina,” he says, pointedly looking down his nose at me, well aware that he’s leaving Charlotte off that list.

He hasn’t said one word about her in this whole tirade, but I can tell just from that look what he thinks of her. “And you will attend, you will be polite, and you will smooth things over with them for your egregious behavior, especially the so-called dancing you engaged in with Charlotte.”

Without giving me a chance to reply, he brushes past me and goes into the house, already yelling for Hamilton. I watch him go, my fists clenching at my sides.

What the hell just happened?

I told them both I wasn’t interested in dating. Honestly, if Dad’s so worried about me finding someone, why isn’t he excited about me showing interest in Charlotte? I told Dad specifically that I wasn’t interested in Sabrina, but he expects me to sit at some family dinner like some sort of an arranged marriage? Fuck that.

I take a step toward the door to chase Dad down and tell him in no uncertain terms that I’m not smoothing things over with anyone, least of all the shallow, gold-digging Priscilla Dunn or her brainless daughter.

But then I remember Charlotte.

And I realize that I don’t have to go full-frontal attack on whatever this deal is my parents are planning. It’s not like they can force me into liking someone.

Especially when my interest already lies elsewhere. I’m doing things my way, whether anyone else likes it or not.

I smile to myself, decision made. I yank my shirt over my head, kick off my shoes, and execute a perfect dive into the pool. I hold my breath, powering through lap after lap underwater, wanting to keep my skills fresh. But I finally emerge, taking in oxygen carefully as I recover.

To hell with it. I’ve got plans today. I’m going to track down Charlotte Dunn. And maybe eat a cupcake.