Havoc (11 page)

Finally, the mission to clothe Haven is
complete, just in time too. Any more walking listening to Mindy
talk about clashing colors and I would clash my head against a
brick wall. She pulls into her driveway and releases me back to
sanity.

“Thanks again, Mindy,” Haven says,
lively.

“You're welcome, dear,” she says, killing the
engine.

“I mean it. Not just for the clothes and
stuff but for everything. It was almost like being . . .
normal.”

Wow. Those words propel me out of the car to
hold Haven's door open for her—another dose of normal, I hope. Out
of the corner of my eye, I catch a black sports car pulling into
the driveway beside my home. Looks like Felix's hopeless offspring
has arrived home too. My attention falls back to the task at hand,
getting Haven’s things back to our place.

“I'll be right back,” I say to Haven, taking
her oversized shopping bags, which are a lot heavier than they
look. “Wait here.”

“Where else am I gonna go, Clint?”

The way she hums my name out like that
soothes me. In ways, it reminds me of better times in my life. It
seems to seep through my pores and into my veins like some
unexplainable drug meant to relax the body. It's crazy.

My face smirks, and I shag ass across the
street, leaving Haven in Mindy's driveway. Once in the house, I
dump the bags upstairs in our room. She can rifle through them
later while I lay in bed reading or, likely, just watching her. And
by watching her, I mean in a non-creepy way.

On my way back downstairs, Sir comes out of
the guest bathroom, buckling his jeans, “Oh. Didn't know you were
home,” he says.

“Just got here, Sir.”

“Where's Haven?”

“Across the street with Mindy. We're bringing
the shopping bags over.”

“Mindy went a little insane, didn't she?” Sir
guesses.

“To put it mildly, Sir. Couldn't even stop
her from buying me a few things.”

Sir chuckles. “So I'm headed to Karen's in a
few. She was wondering if we could have dinner over here with you
tonight since she missed the big party yesterday.”

Not now. I'm not in the mood for this now.
“Can it wait?”

He looks taken back by the statement, all
pleasantness removed. “For how long?”

“Couple of days?”

“Look, Clint–”

“This has nothing to do with not wanting you
to move on with your romantic life, Sir.” I quickly shut down the
notion he's conceived in his head. I never wanted him to be
emotionally cut off from women the way he is. That was his choice.
Part of me used to want it for him in hopes he'd ease up on coming
down so hard on me. Eventually, I just stopped caring the same way
I have about most things.

“Then what?”

“Sir, Haven just got settled last night. She
went through a lot today. I just . . . I just want to ease her into
our lives, and introducing complete strangers–”

“Karen's not a complete stranger.”

“To you,” I correct him. “No one has met her
but you, Sir. So yes, for the time being, she’s a stranger, an
outside danger.”

“She's not a danger, Clint.”

Feeling myself get heated, I adjust my body
language back to respectful, “I understand, Sir, but Haven may not.
Could we please postpone dinner for her sake?”

Sir stares at me long and hard. His blue
eyes, now tinted in gray, are always so uncompromising, yet he
wonders where I get it from. He shrugs. “Fine. I'll call her and
let her know. Couple of days.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

I turn to walk out when I hear his voice
again, “You know, I understand what you're going through.”

Confused, I turn cautiously around, “Excuse
me, Sir?”

“With Haven,” her name comes out of his mouth
again. I grind my teeth. He shouldn't toss her name around like
that. It's not his to be so frivolous with. “The way you're acting.
The way you're protecting her. I know what that's like. I went
through that with your mother.”

The comparison gnaws at me on the inside,
starting in my head and racing downward, blazing a path of rage and
disgust. My fists ball up. I bite my tongue. I don't have time for
an argument right now. I don't have time to stand here and tell him
that he knows nothing about me, my life, Haven, or our
situation.

I swallow the knot in my throat, “With all
due respect, Sir, please leave Mom's memories with Mom.” Sir raises
his eyebrows. “Buried.”

After I nod to dismiss myself, I exit through
the front door, an all-too-familiar need to punch something
coursing through my veins. Where's that sweet angel of mine’s voice
when I need it?

Back outside, I see Mindy and Haven have a
visitor. The driver of the sports car has made his way over. My
attention settles on Howard who, like the sleaze he is, settles his
hand on Mindy’s car. Is he hitting on Haven? That sneaky, snarky
sack of shit just can't help himself from leeching onto every
female that crosses his path. No, he's not like Glove in the sense
that Glove has morals, some standards—not high nor many but they
are there. Howard's the kind of lowlife that, if he had a
stepsister, he would sleep with her if she had a decent pair of
tits. His name alone is usually enough to get my blood pressure
raised to level of annoyance. I swear, if his mother wasn't a
computer genius who just re-hardwired Haven’s a new life, he'd need
a miracle from God himself to be saved from my wrath.

I march hastily across the street, doing my
best to keep calm. Keep rational. Stay focused, Grim. Ignore the
adrenaline that's doing laps around your body. Howard’s hand
reaches to touch my tags around her neck, gently grazing the tops
of her boobs.

At that moment, my mind goes blank. I twist
the asshole's hand to an obvious position of pain behind his back,
while I grab a fistful of his brown hair and slam his head against
Mindy's Audi door. All 5' 11", 165 pounds of him whips around like
rag doll.

“If you ever touch her again, I'll make sure
the only way you can drink is through a straw. Got it?” I bang his
head again, his pale, white skin turning a bit red from the drops
of blood I teased out. God, that felt good. “Got it?”

Howard nods, and I tighten the grip, one
twist away from breaking his damn arm off. How easy it would be
with one little snap–

“Clint!” a voice booms, yanking me out of the
trance like state I slipped into. The voice sounds like a
displeased commanding officer. The words are spoken slowly but
powerfully. “Let. Him. Go.”

My body stiffens, my jaw now throbbing as is
my temple. Shame rains down on me as I stand in disbelief that I
just let that happen. How did I let that happen? I just told myself
to stay calm. I've never lost control like that before. I know
better than this.

The Callaghan’s door slams. Mindy's voice
squeaks as she rejoins the scene, seeing my handiwork, “Seriously?
What could have possibly happened? I only stepped inside for a
minute.”

“Clint!” The strict voice booms again,
leaving Mindy unanswered.

I nod at him, “Sorry, Sir.”

My eye contact fades off into a point in the
distance, preparing for the ass chewing that has yet to commence.
Out of my peripherals, I finally notice the look on Haven's face.
She's frozen, muscles as still as the look on my face, the
exception being her eyes. They dance among all of us. I expected
her to look terrified, at least contemplative that my actions were
harsh or too violent, frightening even, yet she looks at a certain
ease. Maybe now she gets that I won't let anything happen to her.
Maybe now she sees I'll drop anything that I feel threatens her in
the slightest. I do my best to hide my pride. She has to see she
can trust me.

Sir says to Howard, “Shouldn't you be headed
home, son?”

“Yeah, Whiskey,” Howard's finger wipes away
the spot of blood that's coming from his head. I want to smirk at
the sight, pleased with myself. Yes, that may have been the wrong
thing to do, but it felt so right, justified. “Nice to meet you,
Haven.” His eyes shift to me, “Always a pleasure, Clint.”

Sir says, “Thank you and Doug both, Mindy.
For everything. I–”

“Don't mention it,” humphs Mindy. “He's just
like you, Whiskey.”

“That's what I'm afraid of,” is his direct
response before he heads back across the street.

Just like Sir? That's what he's afraid of?
Are they drunk? Did everyone put bourbon in their morning coffee
instead of sugar? We are nothing alike. I may have cut off ties to
everything that could possibly remind me I am human to make me a
better solider, the ultimate Marine, but Sir . . . Sir abandoned
his ability to give a fuck because he's a selfish asshole. He
abandoned me when I needed him the most. I'm nothing like him. The
fact Mindy of all people would even say that not once but twice
makes my skin itch.

The two of us cross the street back home, a
few strides behind Sir. My eyes steal another look at Haven’s face,
searching for anything to clue me into if she feels like I'm a
monster. Or vicious. Hell, dangerous even. Instead, I see a calm
face. Her eyes look into mine, and I see they are soft.
Understanding. God, I'm beginning to think this girl gets
everything about me with minimal effort.

I rush Haven's remaining bags upstairs, while
she lingers in the kitchen in need of a refresher, I'm sure. Hell,
I could use one too. Approaching the bed, I hear the words
reverberate in my head again. He's just like you. Ugh. I try to put
the words out of my mind as I drop off this merchandise next to the
rest. Unfortunately for me, the minute I come rounding out of our
bedroom, Sir is on my tail.

“Why don't you run to the store, Clint? Grab
us some more propane for the tank?”

I gesture toward Haven. We haven't spent much
time just the two of us, and now that we're finally home and can
take a minute, that's all I want. “I–”

“She'll be fine.” He continues on his path of
destruction, straight for the kitchen, once again showing just how
much he doesn't care about anyone else.

Following, I open my mouth to argue, prepared
to go to battle when Haven shakes her head. Her eyebrows rise, and
she offers me the gentlest smile. I feel a little relief.

Demanding for the final time, Sir states,
“Go.”

His voice causes my temple to throb again.
Like an obedient solider, I respond, “Yes, Sir.”

With that said, I grab the tank, the keys to
my black 2014 Charger and head out the front door. Once in the car,
I toss it out of park and peel off down the road, taking my
frustration out on my gears. I hate being so submissive to him.
What gives him the right to think he knows better about her than I
do? And why does he think I need time to cool off, which is what
this bullshit grocery run is. I hit Howard in the head a bit, so
what? It's not like he had to go to the hospital. He should count
his blessings. I should be home with Haven right now, arms around
her, watching her gleefully rip off price tag after price tag for
the first time in only God knows how long she has something new
that belongs to her. Reminding me that women can get expensive.
Reminding me I'm thankful I don't have rent to pay so I can spoil
her like Mindy did. I should be at home thinking about what kind of
place to move us into when I get back from deployment. That's what
I should be doing, not inching through traffic trying to reach the
grocery store.

My cell phone vibrates in my pocket. Hoping
it's Haven, I slide it out of my pocket, key in the password, and
reveal a text from an unknown number.

512-555-8687: Hey, it's me, Amber. I got your
number through a friend. Any interest in hanging out tonight?

I blank out for a second. Who's Amber? I
stare at the number again, wracking my brain for that name and
finding nothing. For some reason, I can't picture this girl's face
or any other girl's for that matter. All I can see is Haven's
smile, her dark-brown eyes glowing at me, her hair shaping her
face, her curves calling my name to touch, to be careful with. God,
when I get the chance, I'll be more than careful.

Temporarily soothed by the idea of exploring
Haven sexually, I delete the message and toss the phone in the cup
holder, not giving the idea of any other female another thought. As
far as I'm concerned, she's the only one who matters now.

It feels like, the minute I put my phone
down, it buzzes again. Bothered since it's more than likely whoever
this Amber chick is, I reach for it, prepared to delete the message
when I finally get it. For once, I couldn't be more thankful to be
wrong. The message is from my angel and is as sweet and simple as
she is. My head hits the back of my gray leather seat as I continue
to stare at it, momentarily satisfied.

Haven: Alpha

Standing in one of the three checkout lines
they have open, I find myself replaying the eventful afternoon in
my head, in particular the incident that got me banished from the
house. It was quick. One blink I was here; the next I was gone.

Glove snickers at his own comment. It's
almost pathetic the way he's the only one who finds himself that
entertaining. Bothered by the fact he thinks no one is listening,
he lightly slugs Lordy in the shoulder, “That was funny,
right?”

Lordy pulls himself out of the depths of his
thoughts. It's like he's forgotten where he is. That we're sitting
in a bar, a very noisy bar. A very crowded one where it should be
impossible to forget the present. His eyes look distant, his jaw
locked. Lines of frustration throb on his forehead. I've seen him
get like this once or twice before.

He prepares to answer when a voice chimes
in—one we all hate. “Hey, Lordy, saw that picture you were gawking
at earlier. That your girl or your sister?” Foster and his buddies
are headed toward the bar.

Foster can't resist picking a fight. I hate
soldiers who act that way. We have enough to fight without this
uncalled-for bullshit.