More, Please (23 page)

~ ALLIE ~

I’m taking the coward’s way out
, I figure as I flick on the turn signal
at my mother’s exit. It’s childish; the bank didn’t want to play nice with me,
so I’m grabbing my dollies and running to my mommy.

How did I even think I was ready to take
on a run-down kennel and turn my fledgling nonprofit into something bigger,
more effective? I’m too young—just like Logan used to tell me.

And it stuns me that he was right. I
am
too young for him. He’s a SEAL—faced down more tragedy in his 32 years
than most people do in their lifetime. I’m just a silly woman with a useless
degree and a dream that is bigger than my bank account. He knew the world would
cut a person like me down to size, and he was right.

I just didn’t think it would be his
family taking the first slice of me.

I turn onto my mom’s street and am
greeted by rows of two-story colonials, each with the same stone and siding
façade. It’s a newer community. I’d almost wonder if it’s a JLS Heartland
development, but I think the houses are smaller here than is their norm.

My mom swings open the door only seconds
after I pull into the driveway, not even giving me a chance to take a breath or
prepare myself to see her again in this house that isn’t my home. It still
feels awkward to me.

She wraps her arms around me in an
embrace that could only come from a mother. As I fight the tears, I’m reminded
of Logan’s mom—how welcoming she was to me, how truly excited she was
about my mission with the dogs. Did Logan tell her what happened, I wonder?

I’ll probably never know.

My mother pulls back from me only inches
and touches a finger to the dark circles under my eyes. “Honey, you look
exhausted. Have you been sick?”

“No. Just tired.”

“Come on in. I’ll make you some chicken
soup, anyway,” she says. Chicken soup can save the world, or at least my mother
believes that. And truly, when she makes it up the way she does, I’m pretty
convinced of it, too.

“New car?” she notes, glancing at the
silver SUV as I pull out my bags.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “A donation to my
organization from someone.”

“They donated a new car?”

She’s checking out the leather seats and
eyeing the dashboard that, to me, still looks more like it belongs in a sci-fi
movie than in a car.

“You must be doing some things right for
those dogs if you’re getting donations like this, Allie.”

Yeah, or spreading my legs for the right
guy
, I think, feeling a
knot of disgust with myself.

“I’m so proud of you,” she continues,
oblivious that her words are rubbing salt in my wounds, and proving to me that
I shouldn’t have come here. I should have just crawled into a hole for a month.
“You’re saving lives, Allie. It’s your dream and you’re making it happen.”

I burst into tears at the mention of my
dream.

“Oh, honey, what’s wrong?” she asks.

I tell her then. I tell her everything,
first leaning against my car in the driveway till she leads me inside the house
and sits me down at the kitchen counter. I’m so grateful that her husband isn’t
home now, and I can have a little time with my mom by myself.

I tell her about the wedding, Logan’s family,
and what happened with the foreclosure. I even tell her about the damn SUV, as
she browns some chicken in olive oil to ready it for the soup. The loud sizzle
and the smell of paprika and pepper soothe me as I pour my heart out to her in
a way I haven’t done since Devin dumped me back in college.

She slices an onion and the scent wafts
my way, giving me a good excuse for the tears in my eyes.

“It sounds like you really love him,
Allie.”

The lump lodged in my throat almost
blocks my admission. “Yes.”

“Have you told him that?”

“No. Neither one of us has said it,” I
answer begrudgingly. “And why bother? We were doomed from the start.”

“Why is that, do you think?”

“He’s never going to stay in Newton’s
Creek. I think he regrets ever moving there—did it on impulse and now
he’s just figuring out his next move. He belongs on the coast somewhere.”

“And you think you belong in Newton’s
Creek?”

I nod firmly.

“Why?”

I really don’t want to tell her the
truth. “I miss Dad,” I say vaguely instead.

She nods, turning down the heat on the
stove and sitting beside me. “And what else do you miss?”

“I miss our house. I miss being able to
feel close to him around every corner.”

She lowers her head. “I moved from that
house for all the same reasons you wanted to stay.”

“What do you mean?”

“We watched you grow up in that house,
Allie. Together. All the milestones you reached were with your dad at my side. You
remember racing down the staircase to see the tree on Christmas morning, but I
remember sitting with your dad watching you race down those stairs. You
remember the swing in the backyard, but I remember putting it together on the
hottest day of the summer with your dad. You remember riding your bike in the
neighborhood Fourth of July parade that ran in front of our house, but I
remember sitting with your dad on the front porch as you rode by. He was always
there for me. For us. And it was such a blessing. I couldn’t face another
moment in that house without him.”

“You really loved him, didn’t you?” I’m
remembering what Logan said now, how he thought my mom might have married so
soon again just because she couldn’t stand the idea of being alone after being
with someone she loved for so long.

“I loved your dad in a way I could never
love another man. He gave me you. He gave me my best memories. He gave me the
best chapter of my life.” Tears are pooling in her eyes. “Don’t get me wrong. I
love my husband now. He’s a good man, Allie, and he showed me that I really can
laugh again and feel a warmth in my heart again. But it’s a different kind of
love for a different phase in our lives.” She takes my hand as it rests on the
counter. “What kind of love do you feel for Logan?”

I shake my head, trying to find words. “Something
so powerful. I know it hasn’t been that long that we’ve even been together, but
when I’m with him, things feel so right I can’t even put it into words.”

“Do you picture your life with him?”

“It’s hard not to.”

“In Newton’s Creek?”

I shrug. “Anywhere.”

“Then it sounds to me you found your
home. Your home is with Logan.”

I sigh. “I don’t know how I’d face his
family again. It’s even worse that they didn’t know. Now I’ll be poor, pathetic
Allie. I don’t want to be that to them.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re a capable
young woman who is saving the lives of countless dogs. There is nothing
pathetic about you.”

“I don’t want their sympathy.”

“Then tell them that.”

“And I don’t want their charity either. I
know it’s crazy, but I feel like Logan throws his money my way too quickly,
like it’s nothing to him. I know him, Mom. His last words to me were that he
was going to fix this.”

“So, let him.”

“That’s not what I want though. I can’t
even stand driving that car because it reminds me of him. I don’t want more
things that I depend on to be somehow attached to him. I’d be just like you
with the house, you know? Unable to get away from his memory after he leaves.”

“You’re assuming he’ll leave then.”

“Yes,” I say without hesitation.

“Allie, you are a passionate person. You’ve
always felt things so deeply. You find a mission and you think you’re the only one
who can accomplish it the right way simply because you feel its weight so deeply
in your heart. You’re so much like your father in that way. I’ve seen all that
you’ve accomplished and it amazes me. It makes me proud. But you’re wrong to
think you’re the only one who feels things so deeply. That you can’t share your
load with someone else.” She pats my hand as she stands. “Take some time. Cry
it out. Lick your wounds. But promise me that you won’t go through life
thinking that you have to do things alone.”

She kisses my forehead, and glances at
her watch. “It’s 5:00 in some part of the world right now,” she says with a
smile. “How about a glass of wine?”

- LOGAN -

Sitting in my car, staring at the unassuming
house with its terracotta tile roof and stucco exterior, my heart rate is doing
double time.

I want to call Allie. I
need
to
call Allie. I haven’t heard from her since she texted me to tell me she arrived
at her mom’s, and I know that hearing from me right now is the last thing she
needs.

What she needs is for me to fix what my
family’s company did to her dream. But everything my brother has been telling
me the last three days is right. I can’t expect him to build an entire
development around a rescue kennel to satisfy a girl I’ve known for a matter of
months. And as much as I’d like to swoop in and buy a couple acres and build
her a new kennel, I know that throwing my money at this problem isn’t what she
wants.

Hell if I can figure out what would fix
this, though.

A breeze gusts through the palms in front
of the house, drawing my eyes to the blue sky above me, streaked with thin,
wispy clouds. I stare into the sky, feeling that there’s a perfect solution
somewhere out there for me. For us. But it’s out of my reach, blocked by the
guilt I’ve used as a crutch these past years, making me weak and vulnerable.

Allie doesn’t need me like that.

Which is why I’m staring at this house
right now, reluctant to see what’s awaiting me on the other side of the door.
Or who, I should say.

I can talk a good game about fixing
things with Allie. But what I really need to fix is myself.

I inhale deeply, and leave the protective
confines of the rental car I picked up at San Diego International Airport. The
warmth of the sun feels differently here than it does in the Midwest. The summer
air is crisp, not as thick with humidity. The scent of a honeysuckle alongside
the front porch reminds me somehow of Allie with its sweetness, and gives me
the determination to rap lightly on the door.

A woman answers it, looking more radiant
than she did when I last saw her as she buried the man she loved.

“Clare. I’m sorry to just show up like
this,” I begin.

“Logan.” She pulls me into a hug. “You’re
always welcome. You know that. Come in, come in,” she urges, letting me in
through the doorway like a lost dog.

“I got Lucas’s graduation announcement,”
I say.

“Amazing, isn’t it? He’s gone and grown
up on me.”

“He looks just like his dad,” I comment,
then wondering if I was right to even acknowledge Torres right now. I don’t want
to make her cry. But her eyes are bright as she looks at me.

“He does, doesn’t he?”

I nod awkwardly. “Clare, there’s
something I wanted to give him. I really hope you don’t mind. But I wanted to
do it in person rather than just send it.”

“Logan, you really shouldn’t have. You
don’t have to get him anything for graduating.”

“I do. It’s something I think his dad
would have wanted him to have.”

She cocks her head, curious, and her eyes
drift slightly, probably remembering her husband. “Lucas,” she calls over her
shoulder. “There’s someone here to see you.”

I hear his footsteps on the stairs and gaze
at Lucas as he enters the kitchen. He’s grown since I saw him last. Not taller,
but broader, stronger. Like his dad.

His eyes meet mine and I see the
recollection.

“Do you remember Logan, honey? He served
with your dad.”

“Sure,” he says, reaching out his hand,
more cordial than his father ever would have been. Torres was more of a fist
bump kind of guy, always joking, playing pranks. His son seems more serious, and
it’s no wonder with what he’s already seen in his life.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Clare says,
retreating to her living room.

“Good to see you, Lucas,” I tell him,
feeling strangely intimidated by this kid who’s so much younger than me. The
guilt swells in my head, and the pain of memories pool behind the dam of my
soul, ready to flood. I clench my teeth together, willing them to subside.

“You, too,” he replies. “I remember you
from the funeral. You were with my dad when he died.”

“Right before he died,” I say, feeling
the need to be specific. “I was about thirty feet away when it happened.” When
he got shot, I want to say, but I think he knows without my saying.

“I wanted to give you something since
you’re headed to college.” I reach into my pocket and pull out a check. I know
it’s a guilt gift and I’m shamed by the knowledge. But I also know he’ll need
the money.

His chin drops when he sees the number
written on the check—not much to a guy like me, but plenty to a young man
starting off in life. He thrusts it back to me. “It’s nice of you, Logan,
really. But I don’t need it. Special Operations Warrior Foundation is covering
my tuition.”

I smile at the knowledge. The group
covers the tuition of the children of fallen Special Ops warriors—SEALs,
Rangers, and the like. I make a mental note to send them a check, too.

I nudge his hand away from me again.
“You’ll still need it. There are plenty of expenses that they won’t be able to
cover. Invest it now, and buy yourself a house later or something. Please. I
insist.”

He nods stoically, and I know right away
he’s not the type of kid to blow it on something foolish. I’m glad for that. I
don’t need him buying a souped-up sports car with it and wrapping it around a
tree. I’ve got enough guilt already.

He sets it down on the counter in front
of him, still looking a little shell-shocked to have a windfall of cash.

 “There’s something else I wanted to
give you.” I pull out a small box from my cargo shorts. “After my last mission
with the Teams, the one right after your dad died, I was awarded the Silver
Star. I never felt right getting it without your dad standing there with us. Your
dad should have been with us on that mission. I want you to have it.” I open
the box.

He’s silent as he looks at it, his finger
tracing its laurel wreath.

My chest broadens as I inhale sharply. “And
I wanted to say how sorry I am, Lucas.”

His eyes dart up sharply from the medal.
“Why?”

“I could have saved him. I should have
saved him. I—”

He cuts me off. “You couldn’t have made
it back to him in time.”

I search his eyes and wonder how much he
knows. “I carried Crosby back to safety first.”

“Because he was shot in the neck. He was
worse off than my dad was.”

Looking at him, I realize he must have
heard the story of those final moments from one of my SEAL brothers. “Crosby died
anyway. If I had taken your dad back—”

“—you would have done everything
that you’re trained not to do,” he interrupts. “You needed to take the most
wounded man out of danger first. He couldn’t fend for himself. My dad knew
that. You didn’t know he was going to get shot again.”

The wisdom this kid has stuns me. “But I
still wish I could have saved him.”

“So do I,” he says, and I think he’s
talking about me until he continues. “I could have had him quit, you know.”

I feel my eyes soften, seeing the pain in
his eyes, pain I recognize too well.

“When I was about fourteen,” he tells me,
“I was pissed he was leaving us again, you know? Going back into the field. I
was playing baseball back then, and was having a really good season. I wanted
him to see me through it. For once, I wanted him to be in the stands watching
me win. I cried and shouted and slammed doors. Finally, he told me what I
wanted to hear. If it was causing me so much pain, he’d give it up. Leave the
SEALs, the Navy, get a normal job like other dads.”

I watch him as he talks, hearing a story
Torres never shared with me.

“I was happy for a while. But I saw him
put on his uniform the next day to head into base, and I couldn’t let him do
it. I couldn’t let him put in his separation paperwork. I knew he loved being a
SEAL too much. And for the first time, I knew he loved me even more than he did
the SEALs. That was all I wanted to know.”

He sits at the counter, his eyes falling
to the Silver Star again. “If I had just had him get out then, he’d be alive
right now.”

I sit beside him, watching his eyes trace
the outline of the medal. “It’s not your fault. You gave him his freedom to do
the work he loved. I can’t even imagine how proud he must have been of you in
that moment.” I feel a lump in my throat at the thought. “Lucas, he was always
so proud of you. The last thing he would have wanted was you thinking it was
your fault.”

A grin inches up his face as his sad eyes
meet mine. “Right back atcha,” he comments.

I lay my hand on his shoulder, a smile
warming my face. The kid is smarter at his eighteen years than I am at my thirty-two.

Damn, he is going to make a hell of a
mark on this world. I can tell.

***

The sun sparkles on the waves as I stare
out at the Pacific Ocean from my perch on La Jolla Shores. The boulder I’m
sitting on is hard and moist from the salty sea spray and even though I can’t
see any sea lions in my line of sight, I can smell them. I can definitely smell
them.

The sand is speckled with footprints of
humans and other sea-loving creatures, and the water washes a few more away
each time it surges up from the ocean to the shore.

I’ve always loved it here, but it’s not
my favorite spot in San Diego. I can’t choose a favorite. There are too many vistas
that have tugged at my soul in the years that I was stationed here. But this is
definitely one of my top five.

It’s the ocean I love the most about this
place, though. I love the idea of it—this vast body of water that somehow
touches so many shores around the world, interconnecting with other bodies of
water and luring beach goers from countless countries and cultures. The people
I see right now, dipping their toes in the sand and diving in between waves,
see the ocean as a place of recreation. Other people, more directly tied to the
seas, see it as sustenance. Some see it as a threat. But we’re all tied to it somehow,
it seems.

My heart feels strangely lighter now,
with yesterday’s visit to Torres’s son behind me. The guilt that ate away at me
seems to have abated, at least for now. And I hope the feeling lasts, even
though I know somehow it will still come to me in the night for many years to
come.

I’ll keep in better touch with Lucas Torres,
I decide with a nod, making a commitment. And I feel free now to come back here
to the place I’ve always believed was my future home, as though the shores here
were constructed by some higher power just to welcome me.

Only it doesn’t feel like home now. Not
the way it used to. And I realize that I need a certain someone sitting beside
me for it to be home.

I need Allie.

Now that I’ve made things right with my
past, I need to make things right for my future.

I pull myself off the boulder and let my
feet sink into the sand below, gazing out to the horizon again and vowing that
I’ll come back one day.

I head to my car and make the tedious drive
to the airport in morning traffic. I was only in San Diego one night, but it
was enough for me, which is an odd thought seeing as I used to say I’d never
get enough of this town.

But the only thing right now that I can’t
seem to get enough of is Allie. She’s still at her mom’s, I’m sure. I’m almost happy
to give her the time she needs to think, because the plan that is brewing in my
head has needed a few days to percolate.

I’m grateful for the Wi-Fi they offer on
flights these days, and I take full advantage of the six hours on the plane to
do a little more research.

The sun is halfway to the horizon by the
time I pull my truck into a space in front of my townhome. A surge of
anticipation fuels me as I prepare to make my brother an offer that might
change the direction of my life.

I open my front door to empty silence,
without the light clicking of Kosmo’s paws on his way to greet me. He stayed
the night at my parents so that I could make my spontaneous trip. My mom said
it’s the least she could do considering what happened with Allie, and from the
look in her eyes I could tell she would rather I chased after Allie than gone
to San Diego.

But I had a mission, and I still do. For
the first time since I left the SEALs, I feel that sense of a mission. It’s not
Allie’s mission, which is why it feels so special to me. It’s my own. It’s
unique and I’m hell-bent on making it happen.

I slap some water in my face and put on
the suit that I might be wearing a lot of in the weeks to come. I hate suits,
but I don’t even mind, if I can get what I want by wearing it.

The sun is lower still in the sky as I
pull up to JLS Heartland. In my suit now, I feel a little more a part of the
place, a little less rough around the edges.

I approach the receptionist and her eyes
widen appreciatively as she gazes at me. I guess suits must work almost as well
on women as military uniforms.