Here And Now (American Valor 2) (7 page)

I love you.

I don’t understand why you left.

Please come back home.

There it was, a prime example of the up-and-down roller coaster he’d kept her on for nine months.

She opened the contacts, scrolled to his name, and selected the option to block, then did the same on her Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram accounts. Then she finished strong by deleting every picture of him from her photo gallery, effectively erasing him from her past.

But the text messages she kept, a perfect reminder of a mistake she didn’t want to repeat.

Chapter Seven

L
UCKY ALWA
YS LOOKED
forward to his Thursday morning breakfasts with his dad. It was a chance for the two of them to talk and catch up about things they typically didn’t talk about in the company of others. Like his mother or his time in the 75th. For Lucky, this one-on-one time with his dad was the best kind of therapy session, a time when he could say anything without someone passing judgment or twisting it into a political argument. His dad just listened. And if there were times when Lucky couldn’t find the right words or needed to change the subject, his father happily took the lead.

But this morning, the conversation was light as they sat in their regular booth against the front windows. His father was looking to buy a RV, something he and Brenda could use for travel since she had a fear of flying. While she thought a small trailer that could be hitched to their truck would suffice, he was looking at something bigger. Something more along the lines of a luxury motorcoach.

“You do realize you could buy a couple vacation homes for the cost of one of those?”

His dad smiled and shook his head in disbelief. “You’re starting to sound like Brenda.”

Lucky was taking a drink of his coffee when the bell on the front door jingled and a flash of red caught his eye over the rim of his cup. At first he thought his eyes were deceiving him, that it wasn’t really her at all. Then Rachel pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head and smiled a polite smile at the woman standing behind the register.

“Dad, would you mind if I . . .” He watched as the hostess grabbed a single menu and led her to an empty seat at the counter. Before he finished asking the question and before his father could even answer, Lucky was waving his hand in the air.

Duke twisted around in his seat. “Is that the Dellinger girl?”

“It sure is. You don’t mind, do you?”

His father might have answered, he didn’t know, didn’t care, because Rachel smiled the moment she saw him. Lucky rose from his seat, watching as she made her way through the maze of tables.

“Dad, you remember Ethan Dellinger? This is his sister, Rachel.”

His father slid from the bench seat and held out his hand. “Duke James. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” she said, shaking his hand. “I’m sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but I wanted to thank your son again for helping me move.”

Lucky avoided his father’s eyes, knowing that he was secretly having a heyday about that little piece of information. Especially since he had avoided telling his dad exactly why he needed to borrow his truck.

“Well, look at the time.” His father pulled his wallet from his back pocket and tossed a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “Rachel.” He gave a slight nod of his head. “It’s nice to meet you. Good luck with your new place.” And then he turned to Lucky. “I’ll be seeing ya.” He gave a quick pat to his shoulder and headed out, leaving them standing in the aisle.

She watched his father leave, then turned back to him. “Are you on your way out, too?”

“I’ve got another hour before I have to leave for class if you want to sit down.”

She slid in across from him and Peggy quickly arrived, clearing away his father’s dishes. Rachel spent the next few minutes perusing the breakfast menu, talking to herself, maybe to him, as she discussed the finer points of both pancakes and waffles. This amused him because, really, weren’t they the same damn thing? But he liked watching her chew on her bottom lip, fiddle with her hair, tap her finger against the menu.

When Peggy returned to take her order, he waited in almost breathless anticipation to see which breakfast she would ultimately choose: pancakes or waffles? And the answer was . . . a ham and cheese omelet with fresh fruit and a double side of bacon.

Satisfied with her decision, Rachel tucked a strand of her now reddish blond hair behind her ear and blew across the surface of her coffee, a slight smile on her face.

“Your dad has the best name,” she said out of the blue.

Whiplash.

This woman gave him conversational whiplash since he could never predict just what she might say next. It was a trait that reminded him of his friend Gibby. Only she was far prettier and smelled a helluva lot nicer.

“Duke is a nickname. His real name is John Wayne James.”

“Huh.” She narrowed her eyes at him while taking a careful sip of her coffee. “Now I have to ask—is Lucky a nickname or your real name?”

“Real name.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Named for my grandfather.”

The waitress returned with Rachel’s breakfast and Lucky drank the last of his coffee, watching in silent fascination as she drowned her eggs in Tabasco. “How was your first night?”

“Quiet. A little creepy, I have to admit,” she answered between bites. “I slept with the bathroom light on like a little kid.”

“It’ll be better once you get some furniture.”

“You’ll be happy to hear I actually have some furniture now,” she said, waving her fork in the air. “After you left, I went to Walmart. I was wandering around in there eleven o’clock at night intending to only buy sheets, pillows, and an air mattress, but I ended up buying a television and two camping chairs, too.”

“Camping chairs, huh?”

“You know the kind that come in their own little bag? They’re hot pink and have a built-in drink holder.” She tore a piece of bacon in half as she spoke. “I bought two in the event I have a guest. That way they’ll now have a place to sit besides the bar stools.”

Peggy was back, topping off his cup of coffee.

“What classes do you have today?”

“Modern Humanities and Freshman Comp.”

“Sounds . . . exciting.” When he didn’t react, she quickly added, “That was sarcasm by the way.”

“I was hoping it was.”

“Do you have to write a research paper?” When he nodded, she asked, “What’s your topic?”

“Women in combat.”

“Should be an easy
A
for you. And what are your thoughts on the subject, Mr. James?”

“It’s a research paper, not an opinion piece. I’m just listing the facts.”

“For instance . . .”

“That a dozen of our allies have had women in combat roles for over a decade or even longer. Sweden. Canada. Germany. Israel, of course. The US already has women out there in the middle of it, but they’re classified as ‘enablers’ and attached to combat divisions rather than assigned to combat divisions to skirt the whole ban on . . .” Catching himself in mid-diatribe, he stopped. “I don’t really want to talk about this.”

“Okay, then. Talk about something else.”

“You changed your hair.” It wasn’t quite the fiery red-orange color of her youth, but the bleached look was gone. “Did you get that at Walmart, too?”

A pink flush crept across her cheeks as she smiled, her hands immediately going to her hair and smoothing over the long strands. “I did it yesterday, between unpacking and loads of laundry.”

“It looks nice.”

“I like it. Far more than I did the blond. Curtis would always tell me I was beautiful, but that I would be even more beautiful as a blonde. So I changed it to make him happy.” And like before, her smile disappeared and her demeanor changed in a heartbeat as she spoke about him. “But then he’d find something else to change. He even told me he didn’t like women who talked too much, so . . .” She dropped the fork on her plate and scooted the plate a few inches away from her. “Pathetic, now that I think about it. Embarrassing, really. I shouldn’t even be telling you all of this.”

The more she talked about this guy he’d never met—this . . . asshole—the more he wanted to go back to that apartment and pound his face in. “Have you heard from him?”

Just give me one good reason. . .

“He texted me a few times last night. Nothing major.”

Out of habit, he twisted his neck, trying to relieve the growing tension in his spine and shoulders.

“Okay. Here’s the deal.” He leaned his forearms on the table and lowered his voice so only she could hear. “I need you to be completely honest with me, for my own peace of mind at least. I need to know how much of an asshole this guy is. Is he a ‘get a restraining order’ kind of asshole or a proximity asshole?”

She mimicked his posture and whispered, “What on earth is a proximity asshole?”

“The kind of guy who is an asshole whenever you’re around or easily accessible via phone or text, but is too fucking lazy to actually go out of his way to be an asshole.”

Here he was being serious and the corner of her mouth lifted as if she were on the verge of laughing. “I’m pretty sure he’s not the restraining order kind.”

“So . . . no chance of him showing up at the hospital or following you home from work?”

She shook her head slowly. “No. Like you said, he’s too lazy. I think he’ll move on to someone else pretty quickly.”

“You’re sure?”

“Why? What were you planning to do?”

“Become your personal bodyguard. Drive you to and from work. Spend the nights sleeping on your living room sofa with a loaded gun.”

Now she didn’t even bother trying to hide her smile. “But I don’t have a sofa, remember?”

“I would have bought one.”

And that made her laugh, which made him feel like a superhero of sorts. Especially after the head games this guy had obviously played on her.

Without warning, she reached across the table and touched his wrist. “What time is it?”

Damn. He had about twenty minutes to get to class when he could easily spend another hour just talking to her. Hell, he’d be happy to just sit there and listen to her talk the entire time. “Unfortunately, it’s time for me to go.”

When the waitress brought the check, he insisted she let him pay; after all, she had kept him company until it was time to go to class. They walked out of the diner together, stopping just outside the doors when they realized they were parked in opposite ends of the lot.

“Any classes with Brittany today?”

“Not today. Thank God.”

She smiled at him while slipping on her sunglasses. “Well, if you’re ever in need of a bodyguard, feel free to give me a call.”

Then, with one last goodbye and a little wave from her, they went their separate ways. And he knew he’d be counting the minutes until he saw her again.

A
FTER
HER UNEXPECTED
run-in with Lucky at the diner, Rachel found herself singing along with the radio as she drove to her parents’ house. She couldn’t remember the last time she was in such a good mood.

There was just so much to like about the guy. For one, he was nice. Two, he was protective without being controlling or overbearing. Three, well . . . he was really good looking without even trying. His dark hair was a little long and could use a trim, but it worked with the not-quite-a-beard thing he had going on. And then there were those hypnotic dark brown eyes. During breakfast, she had to make a conscious effort to not just sit and stare at him the entire time.

But as good looking as Lucky was, as nice as he was, she’d made a promise to herself to not immediately jump into another relationship and she was going to stick to it this time. Of course, it wasn’t like he was offering anything aside from friendship to begin with.

Just before noon, Rachel pulled into the driveway of her childhood home just blocks from Lucky’s house. Hidden from the street behind a row of cedars, the hundred-year-old two-story was worlds apart from his when it came to appearance. At first glance, most people would assume it was abandoned. The paint had peeled years ago. Cardboard and duct tape covered the cracked windows. The chain-link fence that bordered the property gaped and sagged in places, rendering it completely useless. In the yard there was a collection of rusted-out vehicles her father had hauled home over the years with the intention of fixing them up and selling them. Of course, that would have required him to be home to actually work on them or have money to buy the necessary parts.

Once Ethan joined the army, life should’ve been easier for her parents with no extra mouths to feed, except her father injured his back while working on one of his many cars. Now, with both of them having a host of medical problems, between the doctor’s visits and their prescriptions, her parents were in a financial rut from which they’d never escape.

With plastic grocery bags dangling from her fingertips, Rachel climbed the dilapidated front porch, careful to avoid the rotted boards. She knocked twice on the front door of her parents’ home and waited a moment before shouldering it open and going inside. Instantly she was greeted by the smell of stale cigarette smoke and a blaring television. She wasn’t surprised to find her father sitting only feet away in his broken-down recliner, his attention held by the local news station’s fishing report.

“Hi, Dad. How are you feeling today?”

Her father tore his gaze away from the television for only the briefest of moments to look at her, then went back to watching without saying a word.

Some would consider Rachel a glutton for punishment coming here week after week, caring for a father who did his best to ignore her and a mother who often had her walking on eggshells. But as the only child still living within shouting distance, not to mention being the only daughter, the responsibility naturally fell upon her shoulders.

“I picked up your prescription along with some other things I thought you might like.”

She settled the bags on the small kitchen table and couldn’t stop herself from holding her breath while listening for a response. Again, nothing.

“Just so you know, I’m not living with Curtis anymore,” she told him, even knowing her father didn’t care one iota. “I’ve moved out on my own. I’m renting a place off old Highway 70. It’s a mobile home, but it’s nice and fairly new.” After putting everything away she stepped back into the living room. “It’s not in a trailer park, it’s . . .”

The chair where her father had been sitting was now empty and the door to her parents’ bedroom closed.

Rachel could only shake her head in wonder.

For as long as she could remember, there had been an underlying tension in their home. Rachel always assumed it had to do with money, how her father was always going from job to job, sometimes being gone for weeks or months at a time. Meanwhile her mother worked odd jobs all around town in an effort to keep the electricity on and food in the cabinets.