Havoc (14 page)

Anna, who has her legs folded beside her,
with her fingers, which have changed and saved many lives, buried
in the dirt and her black box-framed glasses running down her nose,
keeps making blowing sounds. My guess is her brown hair is tickling
her nose since it's not pulled back.

“Three bags, right?” The bag drops on the
patio, causing her to look over her shoulder, once more looking
like a classic Hollywood starlet. Think perfection like Audrey
Hepburn in Sabrina. Classically beautiful.

“Right,” Felix speaks up, exiting their home
and onto the porch beside me where I dropped the last bag. “How you
doing, Slugger?”

Folding my arms across my sweat-covered
chest, I nod proudly, “I'm good.”

“Yeah?” he asks, pouring a bit of his
afternoon beer into his mouth. I watch as Felix, an amazing
spitting image of Dean Martin, flops down in a lawn chair.

“Better if Sir had made more progress in
finding who was keeping Haven captive.”

“You know Whiskey's doing his best,
Slugger.”

“I know, sir.”

“From my understanding, it's harder than it
looks trying to find someone who has no intention on being found.”
His face breaks into a short smile as he shoots his wife a quick
look before lowering his tone to a whisper, “I'm sure my wife could
vouch for that being true.”

I nod. I know he's right. I know that, when
Sir and Anna have their minds set on something like this, they
don't stop until they succeed. I know I shouldn't doubt either of
them, but I just want results. Now. It's just like in the field,
though. You have to let your intelligence officers do what they do
best, so when the time comes, you can do what you do best. In this
case, I can't wait to live up to my name.

“And Haven?”

“Oh, yes!” Anna pulls herself up to her full
5' 5" frame, dusting her hands on her garden clothes. “How's she
adjusting?”

“She's . . .” my voice trails off on its own
as images of her curled up beside me, head on my shoulder, chest,
thigh, all start dancing around. I see her brushing her teeth in
the morning beside me, tossing my socks at me that I shed after
running, giggling my name as I pull her into a hug. Then I see that
she’s uncomfortable in a hug. Pulling away from my attempt to hold
her hand. Flinching when my fingers graze her body in unexpected
passings. Softly sobbing when she thinks she is alone. Suddenly,
the heat from outside seems more than I can bare. Coughing in an
attempt to get through it, I mutter, “Adjusting.”

“And you?” Anna pushes the issue, sitting on
the edge of her husband’s chair. “How are you adjusting?”

“Just fine, ma'am.”

“Is that why you readjusted my boy’s head?”
The scolding look on her face prompts a chuckle out of her
husband.

I had hoped Sir or Mindy had done this for
me, that they would have smoothed the topic, but I should have
figured I would need to apologize myself. It is the honorable thing
to do. I was out of line, even if it felt justified, even if I
would do it again without hesitation.

“About that–”

“It's all right,” Felix brushes me off, his
construction-worker hands gripping his wife's waist. An amazing
pair they are. It's his hands, his company, that owned the land and
built these homes, and her hands, her hacking skills, that keep
them safe behind the walls. How they birthed a worthless human
being is beyond me. God's sick way of balance, I suppose.

“With all due respect, Felix, it wasn't. I
wasn't thinking and overstepped a line of respect with the two of
you. My apologies.”

His hazel eyes glance up at his wife, who is
beaming down at him and then back at me. “You're such a remarkable
young man, Slugger. Always polite. Civil. We both know you meant no
disrespect to us. We also know how Howard gets.”

“God, do we.” Anna looks up at the sky,
clearly troubled by something the asshole has done recently. “I can
rewrite everyone's lives from behind a computer, but I can't
rewrite my own son. It's like a sick joke, huh?”

Howard has always been a disappointment. It’s
not bad enough he's a borderline sexual predator, but he has a
drinking problem to go right along with his gambling, the one his
parents are constantly forking over cash for. The only good that
comes from it is that Sir has a constant stream of people to arrest
in attempts to free Howard from the debt he always manages to get
himself into. He was given two parents who would die for him, and
he only thinks of himself. I wish I could bash his face in even
harder.

“All is forgiven,” Felix interrupts his
wife's rant. “Maybe it knocked some sense into him.”

Doubt it. “Maybe. If you'll both excuse me, I
have another couple of bags to deliver.”

“What do we owe you?” Anna nods her head to
the supply.

I give a sarcastic look. She knows that's not
how this system works. That's not why Sir and I do the things we
do. The neighbors are family to us, even if Sir and I are only
related through genetics now. They've taken care of us. They take
care of us. We take care of them. A village helps each other. Maybe
that's the reason I love being in the Marines so much. The bond and
vow to always be there for each other are the same ones I was
raised with.

After leaving Anna and Felix's, I drop off
the last two bags in Mindy's backyard. Anna grows the flowers.
Mindy grows the food. Both require constant, oversized bags of
dirt.

Hustling in through her unlocked back door, I
shuffle into the living room, which gives me a view of two
hardworking women in the luxurious kitchen. Nothing less than the
best for his wife is Doug's motto.

Apparently, I’ve arrived just in time to hear
the tail end of a conversation I know wasn't meant for me to
hear.

“How does he make you feel?”

“A little scared at times. I mean, how can
anyone be that protective of someone he just met? How can anyone be
willing to die for someone he barely knows? And is it because you
care about them, or does it have to do with fear? Or both?”

“I see.” There's a long pause. “And the other
times?”

Her voice changes tone, “Oh, Mindy . . .
Excited! He looks at me like I'm perfect, like I'm the only girl in
the world, like nothing is wrong with me. Like I'm not broken. And
then there's the way he laughs—it's soft and sweet. Then there's
the way he loves to sing Frank Sinatra when we're in the car. He’s
a little off key, but it's adorable. He's so full of life and
determination. It's endearing, amazing really.” And then her
delivery turns again, “I wanna be normal. God, I wanna be a normal
girl who's thrilled to have a guy like that on her side. And I
wanna be able to give back something when it's given to me, you
know?”

“I do.” Mindy pauses.

“I think I want what he wants, but I don't
know. It's all just . . . so hard. ”

There's a twinge in my chest, a familiar
sting in my brain. The two seem to be in disagreement. My brain is
screaming at me that she’s right. I shouldn't be on her the way I
have been, not with what she’s been through. She can’t be ready. It
isn’t right. My heart says don’t give up. Give her time to sort it
all out. Stay calm and keep at it. Keep proving to her you're
worthy of her when she's ready. That's she's already worthy of you.
She just said she thinks she wants what I want. She told Mindy all
the things she loves about me. Even if she didn't use the word,
it's there. I know it is.

Mindy’s voice interrupts my internal debate.
“It'll get easier. All of it. All of this will one day be normal,
your feelings for Slugger included. Wanna hear about how me and
Doug got together? I think you’ll see that Slugger certainly
doesn’t have the market cornered on determination.”

I smile at the thought of the story I've come
to know by heart.

“I was in charge of a catering company. Head
chef. There was a fund-raiser with the mayor. I went to oversee
everything. After all, my name was on the line, and while making my
rounds, I caught his eye.” She takes a slow blink. “He switched his
champagne flute from one hand to the other, readjusted the bobbed
redhead who was on his arm, and couldn't break eye contact with me.
About a week after the event, I got a phone call requesting my
company to cater his law firm's impromptu party. Turns out the only
reason he threw the party was to get a way to talk to me. Wanted me
to know that the woman the night of the party was an expensive
escort. Said guys like him didn't have time to find ladies like
me.” Mindy smirks, getting lost in the memory. “But when he saw me,
he knew he'd find time for me, as long as I’d give it.”

That story is always told the same way. The
same nostalgia waves ride her face, never wavering. If you ask
Doug, the story seeps through his mouth the exact same way, too,
from words to motions. It's as if it’s been rehearsed, even though
I know it's not. I like to think the two of them were made for each
other the same way my Mom swore Sir was made for her. Come to think
of it, to this day, I still have no idea how my they met. In fact,
other than the few memories I have stored somewhere deep in my
head, I don't know much about either of them outside of their
marriage. Mom I never got the chance to—Sir, never had the desire
to.

Interrupting, I say, “Mindy, I finished
loading the bags of soil onto the back patio.”

My eyes settle on Haven, whose back is turned
to me as she decorates cupcakes like artwork. Even from just a
glimpse of the side of her face, I instantly smile. She's
gorgeous.

“Thanks, Slugger,” Mindy brings herself back
to the present.

I take a long whiff of the air, scents
reminding me of my childhood. “Smells like heaven. Working on
dinner?”

“No,” Mindy licks loose frosting off of her
fingers. “I helped Haven get everything ready to make pasta at your
own home tonight. Figured she could give you men a break.”

“Wanted to maybe make a special meal for you
and Whiskey.”

“He's, um, working late.”

She stutters, “So, just us?”

I hope that doesn't worry her too much. I
mean, I'm excited this will be the first meal for the two of us to
have together, not interrupted by neighbors or had with them. I
nod.

Mindy considers, “Regardless if Whiskey gets
to eat it hot or cold, it will be delicious. How about a little
help in here, Slugger? She can't carry dinner and dessert.”

Quickly, I realize that I'm
staring longingly at Haven like she's the first slice in a
pie-eating contest . Damn it. I'm getting worse about it. Shaking
it off, I say, “Of course.” I relocate to wash my hands in the
sink, doing everything I can to not attempt to steal another glance
of Haven. Failing. Miserably.

The minute we head out of Mindy's kitchen, my
stomach grumbles, reminding I skipped lunch today and there's
fresh, warm food in my hands. I ask, “Can I have dessert now?”

“No.”

Playfully, I ask, “Please.”

“No.”

“But, I said please.”

She fights the urge to laugh, “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm sure.”

With a soft chuckle, I ask again,
“Please?”

“No.”

“Just a bite.”

“No,” she finally giggles, feeding the other
appetite of mine that comes from elsewhere—the simple need to see
her smile.

“How about a taste of frosting?”

Placing the only piece of Tupperware she had
been carrying on top of my pile, she relents, “One taste.”

I win! She moves her body in toward mine, and
my heart starts thumping. With a swift removal of the lid, she
touches one of the cupcakes with her index finger in the sexiest
motion I've ever seen in my life. Her hips shift toward me, her
legs straddling mine, my heart now beating down the wall of my
chest so hard I hear echoes. I don't know what's wrong with me.
It's not like we haven't been close before. Hell, we sleep in the
same bed every night. There's something about this movement that
looks sexual, that feels sexual, that radiates sexual, and I have
to do everything in my power not to pop wood right now. She places
her finger on my lips softly. Yeah, there it is. I lick the
frosting off, realizing in this very moment, I've never licked
anything off of someone else before. The fact she is my first is
exhilarating. It makes my dick stiffen against the jean barrier.
She removes her finger, and I feel myself straining to have
control.

“Good?”

Hoarsely, I utter, “God, yes.”

“Clint.” It’s not Haven. My name rings out
from a pair of lips I would staple shut if I could. Just as quickly
as the moment comes, it’s over. My body automatically goes back to
factory default mode, frigid and stern.

Without turning, I greet the owner of the new
voice, “Le Le.”

She shifts her body around in ways to grab my
attention. I disappoint her when she doesn't. You'd think she'd be
used to that by now.

Annoyed, I snap, “What?”

“I called you earlier. Left you a voice mail.
A couple of texts.”

“I saw.”

“And you don't think you should get back to
me?”

“Been a little busy.” I lift up my arms to
display plastic proof of my efforts. “What'd you need?”

“I was just checking to see if we are still
on for Saturday night?” Not receiving a verbal response from me,
she clarifies, “The concert.”

“Right.” The information sinks back into my
brain. I knew I never should've agreed to go. Nothing good ever
comes from making plans with her. I know better. I guess that's my
lesson for trying to take the easy way out. “You know, I don't
think–”

“You can't cancel on me,” her voice
whines.

“Times were . . .” I give Haven, the only
person I want to spend my free time with, a glance,
“different.”

“I'm sure she'll be fine for a few hours,” Le
Le’s jealous tone seeps. Wow. And she was worried I hadn't put the
issue of us behind me.