The Heart of a Hero (10 page)

“Slow or stubborn?”

“Take your pick.” She grinned at him over her shoulder.

Across the street, white caps dotted the dark blue water, the only evidence a breeze existed on this hot day. As she watched the caps turn to waves and foam, Zoe stretched her arms and summoned her resolve. “So…” She swallowed the tremor in her voice. “I was thinking about that Flag Day ceremony.”

Behind her, she heard the crackle of plastic, and imagined Jake squeezing the bottle in his fist. Gulping back another tremor, she plunged ahead. “I was thinking maybe you should reconsider attending.”

Took less than half a beat for him to respond. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

“Jake—”

“Zoe. I thought I made it clear the other day, there’s no way in hell I’m going to that damn ceremony.”

“But it might—”

“Might what? Help me find closure? That what you’re going to say? Save the argument for one of your columns. I’ve heard it a thousand times. Standing around admiring some freaking piece of art isn’t going to give me closure.”

“Neither is shutting yourself off from the world.”

“It’s worked so far.”

“Has it?” She scrambled to her feet, confronting him. “You had a flashback in a hardware store, for goodness’ sake. You freaked out at a campfire. How may more times does that have to happen before you admit the truth?”

“I don’t have to admit anything.”

No, he’d much rather the emotions stayed tamped down so they could eat him alive. “You can only keep things bottled inside for so long before they explode.”

Up to that point, Jake had remained stock-still, plastic bottle cracking in his fist as he stared at a point beyond her shoulder. Now he tossed the bottle over the edge and turned back to his work area.

Zoe’s frustration boiled over. “You can’t keep walking away from this,” she snapped at him. “Sooner or later you’re going to have to deal with what you’re feeling.”

“I have work to do, Zoe. I don’t have time for this discussion.”

“And when your work is finished? What then?”

Stepping toward him, she let her hand come to rest on his shoulder. The muscles beneath were tensed to the point of shaking. Concern twisted in the pit of her stomach. He couldn’t keep fighting his own feelings.

“Why won’t you let me help you, Jake?” she asked his back.

“I’m not some animal you can rescue, Zoe.”

“No, you’re a flesh-and-blood man who’s been through way more than I can ever imagine.”

The breath he let out sounded somewhere between anger and disgust. “I never should have told you.”

“But you did, and if you expect me to take a page from your book and pretend it never happened, you’re wrong. I can’t sit on the sidelines knowing you’re in pain. I can’t. I care about you too much.”

“Well, don’t!” The cry echoed through the ocean air. Whirling around, he grabbed her by the shoulders with such ferocity Zoe gasped. His fingers dug into her flesh, holding her in place. Her own hands splayed against his broad chest. Beneath the cotton she could feel his heart racing, certain her own beat as violently.

“Don’t,” he repeated. His eyes glittered hard and brilliant.

Beneath the hardness, however, she saw his conflict. She saw caution and fear and, dare she say—longing? In that moment, her desperation to help him grew tenfold.

“You think you have to shoulder this burden yourself and you’re wrong. You’re not alone, Jake. You’re not.”

Taking a chance, she cupped his cheek, letting him feel the compassion she offered.

His eyes clouded and the grip on her arms softened. “Why can’t you leave me alone?”

His protest lacked conviction. “Because that’s not my nature.”

“Don’t you mean you’re a sucker for sob stories?”

“Yes, I am.” But this time… This time didn’t feel like her usual reaction. This time her insides swirled with a host of sensations that went far beyond sympathy. Hot, frantic sensations as if she were the one needing him and not the other way around.

Jake’s breathing grew harsher. Or was that hers? When they were close like this it was hard to tell. If only she could prove to him how much she cared.

“You’re not alone,” she whispered again.

“Zoe.”

His resolve was breaking. She could tell by the crack in his voice. She ran the back of her hand across his stubble.

“There are so many people out there who want to help you. Me. Kent—”

“Kent?” Big mistake. Jake shoved her aside. “You told Kent?” He looked her up and down, apparently noticing for the first time she’d scaled the ladder in
a golf skirt and sleeveless blouse. “That’s where you were this morning, isn’t it?”

Crap. She knew going behind his back was a bad idea. “We had breakfast and you know what?” She rushed to fill the air before Jake could shut her out. “He had a lot of good information. He understands what you’re going through. He’s been there. If you would just talk to him—”

“You had no right,” Jake spat at her. “No right at all.”

“Maybe not, but someone had to start talking. I—”

“Get away.” She tried reaching for him and he put his hands up, blocking her path. Erecting his barriers. “I knew it was a mistake to tell you anything. What happened over there is between me and my men.”

“Your men are dead!”

She couldn’t help herself. His words had kicked her in the stomach and she wanted to lash out. From the way he stumbled back, she couldn’t have hit him harder if she physically struck him.

“Don’t you think I know that?” he growled. “Not a day goes by that I don’t regret the fact I’m here and they aren’t.”

“Really? Because it looks to me like you’re trying to bury them all over again, only this time you’re trying to forget they ever existed in the first place!”

Jake’s shoulders flinched, and his eyes flashed so
that she feared she’d finally pushed too far. But with all his other feelings, the outburst she expected never came.

“I’ll be done with your roof in a couple hours,” he said. His voice was flat and controlled. “After that, I think you should look for another handyman. I’m sure your friend Javier can recommend someone.”

Inside, a piece of Zoe crumpled. The barriers had slammed firmly in place, thicker than they’d ever been. She felt helpless, useless. Worst of all, she felt…alone. More alone than when she arrived on the island.

Anger welled up inside her. This was what she got for getting involved.

Jake heard the screams.
“Ayúdame! Ayúdame!”

Flames surrounded him. Hot stickiness covered his legs. When had the ground turned red? He dragged himself forward, toward the truck. His body wouldn’t move.

Why couldn’t he move? Ignoring the pain, he dragged himself onward. Yet every time he looked up he was in the same damn place.

“Ayúdame!”
Ramirez’s cries rose above the gunfire. “Don’t forget me!”

“Hang tight, Ramirez! I’m trying.”

“Don’t leave me, Captain!”

“I won’t.” But as he looked up, the truck was far
ther away than before. The fire rose, ready to engulf the vehicle. Inside, his men were screaming.

“Captain! Don’t forget us, Captain!”

Breath tearing from his lungs, Jake sat up. What the hell?

He peeled off his sweat-soaked shirt and stumbled to the window. Next door, Zoe’s bedroom light shone, its soft yellow glow the only brightness on the moonless night. A yearning—fierce and overwhelming—rose up inside him, forcing him to squeeze the windowsill.

No,
he scolded himself.
You can’t go there.

Don’t leave me.
Ramirez’s disembodied voice rang in his ears.
Don’t forget us.
The helplessness and self-hatred he always felt following a dream engulfed him. God, but he wished things could be different. If he’d been a minute sooner, moved a foot faster, he might not have this emptiness. Instead of standing alone with his nightmares, he could be seeking solace in a pair of warm arms. A pair of lemon-scented arms.

But things weren’t different, were they?

His pain pills were by the bed. Ramirez’s cries still in his head, he stumbled to the night stand. As he reached for the bottle, his fingers brushed the photo propped against the lamp. There was no need to turn on the light for him to see it. Like so many others, the image was burned into his memory. Sergeant Bullard—Bulldog—had taken the shot with his cell phone a few days before. To remember their ugly
faces, he said. Bullard had been lucky. He’d shipped home that afternoon. Some place in Arkansas.

Don’t forget us.
Like he ever could.

Ramirez’s voice morphed into another. A soft gentle voice that promised comfort and light. “Don’t bury them, too,” the voice said. He wasn’t.

Or was he? Was that what he was doing? Was he burying his men’s memory?

He washed his hand across his face. “Dammit, guys,” he whispered to the photo. “I’m so sorry.”

“O
W, OW, OW!
Crap!”

It was the second time Zoe had sworn in fifteen minutes. Her project wasn’t going well.

Jake did his best to ignore her. Whatever she was doing, she could handle it herself. He focused on the account books in front of him.

“Arrrgh!”

Jake threw his pen down. Yesterday’s nightmare, a repeat of the nightmare he’d been having for the past three days, had given him a headache, making concentrating difficult enough. The last thing he needed was the racket next door.

“Son of a—”

Oh, for crying out loud! Jake combed through his hair. Time was he could sit in the backyard and balance his receivables undisturbed. Then again, time was his backyard was quiet. B.Z.
Before Zoe.

What on earth was she doing over there anyway? And since when did he start measuring his life in terms of Zoe’s arrival? For that matter, since when
did he start measuring his life, period? He was a day-to-day existence guy. And yet…

His eyes drifted toward the fence. A flash of orange caught his eye, causing his chest to constrict. He hated the sensation. For days now, the same damn feeling kept creeping up on him, catching him off guard. Bad enough he had Ramirez haunting him every night. He didn’t need to spend his days riding some kind of emotional tidal wave where one minute he was fine, the next he couldn’t catch his breath. The fact he’d been having these “incidents” since that night on the beach meant nothing. Nor did the fact that their frequency had increased since he’d finished Zoe’s roof.

“Give me a break!”

The sound of a falling ladder crashed into his thoughts. Jake sighed. He was never going to get these books done.

He found her standing beneath the pine tree in her backyard wearing her bright orange T-shirt and a pair of blue gym shorts. Pine needles littered her hair.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, ignoring the way his heart lurched at the sight.

“I’m trying to hang the bat house,” Zoe grumbled.

Of course. Ever the problem solver, wasn’t she?

“Is it necessary to kill your ladder in the process?” Not to mention trampling all over his psyche.

“Stupid thing fell over when I was positioning the bat house.”

Jake surveyed the ground. No wonder. Exposed roots burst through the grass-barren area.

Grabbing the ladder, he walked it outward to a flatter section of the ground. “Give me the bat house,” he said, putting a foot on the bottom rung.

She refused. “I can hang the damn thing myself.”

“Obviously not, based on the racket you’re making. Now give me the house so I can get back to my work.”

He waited while she contemplated his request. Finally she must have decided pride was less important than getting the job done, and she shoved the wooden box in his direction.

“Here,” she muttered, refusing to look at him.

He should be glad she didn’t. Her eyes would only churn up his already jumbled insides. But as he made his way to a spot fifteen feet up the trunk, he couldn’t help feeling their absence.

He still felt the loss when he finished. Or maybe it was the chill in her voice that left him cold.

“Thanks,” she said when he stepped off the ladder. “You can add the charge to my invoice.”

“Zoe—”

In the process of walking away, she stopped. He’d been better off when she wasn’t looking at him, Jake
realized. There wasn’t a speck of brightness in her eyes.
You did that,
he reminded himself.

Zoe folded her arms across her chest. “What?”

“I—” What indeed? Was he going to tell her he forgave her for speaking with Kent? Even if he did, saying so would only make her think they had some sort of relationship again. Which they didn’t. Couldn’t.

This was what he wanted. Distance. Lack of attachment. Best to leave things the way they were.

“No charge for the bat house,” he told her.

The heavy feeling in his gut was not caused by the flash of disappointment he caught in her eyes. Nor was the emptiness in his chest because she walked away without a word.

This, he reminded himself, was what he wanted.

Tossing her glasses on the kitchen table, she rubbed her eyes. Beneath her feet, a low whine could be heard. “Don’t start, Rey. You know perfectly well I’m right.”

A knock on the front door interrupted their conversation. Instantly, Reynaldo emitted a low growl. Zoe frowned. “What’s with you this morning? You mad because Jake didn’t stick around and scratch your ears? Get over it.” Whatever “it” she and Jake had had going on was over. If “it” had ever begun in the first place. The sooner Reynaldo accepted the fact, the better.

The knock sounded again. A little louder this time. Whoever the person was, he or she had a heavy hand on the brass door knocker. “Come on, Rey, we better see who it is before they bang a hole in the wood.”

Undoing the bolt, she opened it a crack and peered out. A perfect tan and a set of perfect teeth smiled down at her.

“Hey, babe.”