Barefoot in White (Barefoot Bay Brides) (18 page)

“Ahh.” She smiled and finally sat up to sip her beer. “So not everything is autobiographical.”

“I told you, Willow, it’s fiction. There’s some stuff that is taken from my experience, but it’s a novel, not a memoir. I swear.”

The beer was cold and a little bitter in her throat, which was surprisingly dry. She took a second sip, then put it down on the table and fell back on the cushions. “Okay, let’s forget the fiction for a minute. Let’s go totally IRL.”

He frowned. “Not a military acronym.”

“In Real Life.”

“Isn’t a muse supposed to stay focused on fiction?” he asked.

“I don’t know, I’ve never had the job before, but if you don’t tell me what happened with this woman, I’m going to scream.”

He gave in to a slight smile. “Are you jealous?”

“Indescribably,” she shot back. “You never did tell me if you were in love with her or not.”

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I thought you were being facetious. You
are
jealous.”

“Were you?”

“No.” The straightforward, simple honesty of the syllable was as cooling as the drink of Bud. “I liked her. I was fascinated and frustrated by her. I admired her. I was even a little in awe of her, but it wasn’t love.”

“Well, it sure sounds”—what would it be like to be fascinating, frustrating, awe-inspiring to a man?—“like more than a casual fling.”

“Obviously that works for a book, but IRL, as you say, it wasn’t even a fling. I would never risk my military career by being that stupid. She was completely my responsibility, and that would have been a gross misuse of my position. So, no. No
flinging
.”

She smiled at the euphemism, which she was pretty sure was not in the Navy SEAL slang handbook.

“But we had feelings for each other. That much was real.”

“So what happened, Nick?” She leaned up, her own feelings of attraction fading as she imagined this admirable, adventurous woman with a gorgeous, protective SEAL lost in the dust bowl of Iraq. He was right about one thing. It made for a compelling story.

“We were headed into a blind mess that came up out of nowhere. Sniper fire trapped some Marines searching for weapons caches in a farmhouse, and they called in for SEAL help. Trust me, that doesn’t happen unless shit is getting real.”

He shifted in his seat, his grip tightening. Willow’s whole body grew cold at what she imagined she might hear next.

“We had to go in, and all hell was breaking loose. They needed every one of us, which meant leaving Charlotte at the COP, the combat outpost, we were using. As we were scrambling to get out of there, we got another report that another band of insurgents, including suicide bombers, were coming up from the south, planning to cause some damage to the outpost while it was undermanned.” His voice got very soft, and then trailed off completely as he stared ahead.

For a long, painful minute, he didn’t talk.

Very slowly, Willow sat up, waiting.

He swallowed, forced to let go of her ankles as she repositioned. “I made a bad decision.”

It wasn’t what she was expecting. “What do you mean?”

“She could have gone on one of three helicopters out of there. I picked the last one, stealing those additional few minutes with her. She wanted me to, but I’m not blaming her. I took a chance to have more time to say good-bye.” He turned to her, his eyes misted. “She was certain I was going to get killed. For some reason, she was just sure of that, and she didn’t want to leave until the last possible minute. So we put her on the last bird, and…”

In the silence, all Willow could hear was the thumping of her own pulse.

“It got shot down.” He whispered the words. “I saw the fireball in the sky. I saw it. The other two helicopters made it out in one piece. If only I’d put her on one of those.”

She reached for him. “That wasn’t your mistake. It was bad luck.”

He closed his eyes. “I kept her longer than I should have. I…I…” He dropped his head forward, letting it thump into his upturned palms. “I should have put her on the first one.”

“Other people made the same decision and got on that helicopter,” she said.

“But I made it for selfish reasons. And I rationalized it because I thought that’s what she wanted. One decision. One choice. One…woman’s life, over.” Clearly, the decision still haunted him.

She reached out to comfort him by placing a hand on his arm. “Anyone could have made that decision.”

He whipped around to face her. “But
I
made that decision, and
I
was charged with protecting her, and
I
fucked up.”

“Any of those helicopters could have been shot down.”

“I know.” He pressed the heels of his hands against his brow. “And that’s why I want to rewrite history.”

“You think that’s going to free you from this guilt?”

He didn’t reply, his head still down.

“It might,” he finally said.

“But it might not.”

After a second, he pushed up to stand. Without a word, he strode out of the room toward the French doors and disappeared out onto the patio.

Willow didn’t move, stunned by his sudden exit, and still humming from the details of his story. She stared at his open laptop, the screen dark now, and imagined the woman who made him feel all that pain.

The woman or the decision? She wasn’t sure where the source of his misery lay, but all she wanted to do was help him get rid of it.

* * *

Damn it.
Damn it!
Nick marched out into the night air, sucking in a lungful and eyeing the pool, looking for a place to hide. Why did he tell Willow that? Not only did he sound like a man who second-guessed himself—which he was, and he hated it—but now she’d want to make him put the truth in his story, and he wasn’t going to do that.

He turned away from the dark hole of the pool to face the west, looking out to the Gulf of Mexico, nearly black now, but for the white streak of moonlight down the middle. That’s where he wanted to swim, not this bathtub. He wanted to go deep and dark and stay under until he couldn’t stand the pain in his lungs.

That always got rid of the pain in his heart.

“I know a little about changing history.” The sound of Willow’s voice pulled him back to the moment, making him turn to see her silhouetted in the doorway. “My approach is to try to delete it completely rather than rewrite it.”

“And that’s working for you?”

“More or less. It’s a shaky strategy, though. Especially when”—she took a few steps onto the patio—“someone from said deleted history shows up and makes you remember that the past is never really gone. Some memory is always lurking right around the corner.”

He had to get off his secrets and on to hers. “So, your turn.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Mine will really kill your mood.”

“Precisely. I’d like this mood killed.”

She took a few steps closer. “I think that writing it out is really smart and will help you. You need to see that you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s no different than if you take an extra ten minutes to say good-bye and then get into a car accident. Would it have happened if you hadn’t taken that time? It’s just…what happened. You need to let go of your guilt and, honestly, I really think in the process of telling this story, you’re going to realize that.”

Was he? He didn’t know yet, but he wanted to think Willow was right. Standing there in the moonlight, her eyes soft, her heart full of compassion, her words soothed him. “Thanks,” he said. “For not judging me too harshly.” He reached for her hands and pulled her closer. “Now, won’t you let me return the favor?”

She thought about it for a second, then slowly shook her head. “Tonight’s probably not the best time.”

He eased her closer. “It’s the very best time. Plus, you promised.”

Lifting a shoulder, she let out a laugh that was supposed to be casual, but he knew better. “Nah, my secret is so…mundane.”

“Because no one died?”

“Yeah. No one died.” She gave his hands a squeeze. “Thanks for the beer and secrets, Lieutenant. I appreciate both.” She tried to drop his hands, but he clasped tighter.

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. You need to write. You know exactly how to fix your problem now. You can tell the truth, and the story will be that much stronger. A total tearjerker. My muse advice is always going to be the same: Tell the truth.”

He shoved the advice away and pulled her closer. “You promised me a secret.”

“My secret won’t help you.” She gave a soft, wry laugh. “Just the opposite, I’m afraid.”

Curiosity burned. “I have to know,” he admitted, releasing his hands to let his fingers walk up her arms and settle on her shoulders, already knowing there was another place he could hide from the pain. In Willow’s arms. “And you’re going to tell me.”

She bit her lip and gave her head a little shake, and that only made him want to know more.

He tunneled his fingers into her hair. “You are breaking a promise.”

“I didn’t swear to tell you.” She shrugged into his touch, laughing as he got her closer. “And you can’t kiss it out of me, either.”

He angled his head one way, then the other, planning the kiss. “I can try.” He didn’t wait for her to respond, taking the kiss easily. At first, she stiffened, but after a few seconds, he felt her whole body soften into his.

“Tell me your secret, Willow,” he murmured into her ear.

“Mmm.” She let her head fall back enough to entice him to her throat, peppering her silky skin with light kisses. “No.”

He laughed lightly and worked his way back up to her mouth. After a long, sweet, wet kiss, he lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “Okay, you don’t want to tell me. I get that. But will you tell me why? Even after I promised you I’d never tell anyone or tease or ever, ever use your secret against you?”

“Oh, I know you won’t ever tell anyone or tease me, and you’d never use it against me because…” She nibbled that lip again, this time like she was trying to keep the words trapped in her mouth.

“Because why?”

“Because you happen to be the reason I have this secret.”

He froze for a moment, his mind blank. “What? How is that possible? I haven’t seen you in more than ten years.”

She stared at him, one eyebrow slightly raised, the message clear: He should know. He forced himself back to the past to figure out
what
he should know. They’d been casual acquaintances who lived in the same dorm, he remembered. They had a few conversations, mostly about her father. And then she’d kissed him one night and asked him to…

“You’re figuring it out, aren’t you?”

Not even close. “I don’t know how I could cause you to do anything or…”

“Or
not
.”

He frowned, still blanking out. “Willow, what…”

“Or
not do anything
,” she said slowly, as if trying to give him a really obvious hint.

Not a clue yet. “Just tell me.”

“I can’t say it out loud.”

“What?” Her secret that
he’d
caused was so bad she couldn’t say it out loud? “What did I do? I didn’t touch you, Willow.”

Again, he got a raised eyebrow that would only be directed at an idiot, which he no doubt completely deserved. “That’s your secret? That I…” He didn’t want to say it. He’d already explained and apologized. “I turned you down?”

She sighed into a soft laugh. “Yeah, that’s my secret. I never tell anyone that horrible story.”

“Which means it is
not
a secret from me.” He wrapped his arms all the way around her. “So there must be something else, right?”

“Let’s forget it, okay?” She tried to step away, but he still had her in his arms and moved with her like they were dancing. “You should write. You do your best work at night.”

“Do you really think there’s any possibility of my writing a single word while I’m trying to figure out what your secret is?”

She tried another step, this one taking them closer to the edge of the pool. “You have to.” She moved again, and he came with her. “You have a month here and you’re going to finish”—one more step for both of them—“your book.”

He glanced at the pool, now less than a foot away.

She immediately read his mind. “You wouldn’t.”

“I might.”

“Oh, no, you don’t!” She jerked away, but he was too fast, scooping her right off her feet to cradle her in his arms.

“Nick!” she shrieked with a laugh and a powerful kick. “Don’t!”

He easily subdued her, taking the last step right to the deep end. “Tell or swim.”

“Nick!” She dropped her head back, laughter caught in her chest. “Don’t you dare!”

He leaned over her and peeked at the water. “You have a cell phone?”

“It’s in my purse, but Nick…” She tried to wiggle out of his hold, laughing too hard to have any strength, clinging to his neck.

“Wearing a watch?”

“No, but I swear to God, Nick, if I go in, you go in.”

That made him laugh. “Have you met me? I’ve been dying to get wet with you for days.”