The Charlotte Chronicles (17 page)

I settle in for the night. Tomorrow I’ll shave, put on one of my service uniforms, and throw myself at her feet.

The next morning, a knock at my apartment door while I’m shaving sets my heart thumping. I know it’s not Charlotte, yet I can’t stop hoping.

“From the look of disappointment on your face, I’m guessing you thought I was the pizza delivery guy,” Cabby says. “Want to go for a run?”

I glance at my watch. It’s barely past six and, though the sun is shining, begging forgiveness probably works better if I don’t wake her up too early. “Yeah. Let me finish up, and I’ll be out.”

“You really going to propose to letter girl?” Cabby asks, following me to the bathroom.

“Charlotte,” I say. “And yes. Why not?”

“Because relationships don’t work for guys in the field. You got to have the ability to de-stress yourself in the time-honored fashion of fucking.”

I scrape the soap and hair off my face, tapping my straight edge against the sink. I want to be smooth when I see her again so that if she allows me to kiss her—no,
when
she allows me to kiss her—I don’t scratch one inch of her smooth skin.

“That’s not a problem,” I say.

“Are you fucking serious?” Cabby asks in astonishment. “Have you really gone without sex for nine fucking years? Are you even human? I thought the Monk nickname was a joke. Like calling a tall guy Shorty or the lean guy Fat Bastard.”

There’s no reason to respond. I look at him steadily in the mirror while finishing my business. “More to life than getting your rocks off.”

“I’ve seen you with women. I’ve seen you leave bars with women,” he accuses and trails behind me as I move to the bedroom to pull on shorts and a pair of running shoes. There’s no such thing as privacy around Cab. After spraying myself down with sun screen that will be sweated off around mile six, I grab my keys and phone. “Are you impotent?” he finally whispers.

“Nah, man.” I rub my nose. “It never felt right. None of those girls were Charlotte. I knew I was breaking her heart by shutting her out. Couldn’t compound it by sleeping with another woman.”

“You are a monk. A sick one,” Cabby mutters. “If she doesn’t say yes, will you finally have sex? You’d be a better teammate if you had sex.”

“She’s going to say yes, and fuck you, Cabby. I’ve been the best damn teammate you ever had.”

“No sex for nine years?” He shakes his head and starts the Jeep. Then shuts it off. Turning to me, he cries, “Nine years? I can’t go without for like nine days.”

That’s an exaggeration since some ops take months in a desert where there’s nothing but sand and the occasional wild dog. I just shrug.

He resettles into his seat and starts the Jeep again. “You are the best goddamn teammate I’ve ever had because if you can function with that much sperm backed up in your pipes, you’re a super hero of some kind.”

W
hen Reese arrives
, we head out for some reconnaissance before we hit the clubs to find victim number one. I need to see Nathan. Knowing he’s so close without laying my eyes on him one more time is intolerable.

“This is a bad idea,” Reese says. “Seeing him will only fuel old fantasies. You need to move forward.”

“I promise you will enjoy this.” We stop before we reach the guards who prevent tourists from getting too close to the training sailors.

Spreading a blanket out, I pull Reese beside me. “Pretend like we’re having a romantic breakfast.”

I feel like the biggest perv, but they’re too far away for me to see anything but sweaty flesh and facial hair, so I pull out my binoculars

“Do you see him?”

“No, I . . . wait.” I zoom in, and there he is. Bare chested, his skin glistening in the sun from oil? Sweat? He’s wearing black shorts with a thin white stripe down the side. There are tattoos on his shoulder and arms but none on his chest. His hair is short, but not in the buzz cut so often associated with military men. These were special forces men who needed long hair and bushy beards but his face is completely smooth. There’s his square jaw and his dark brows, furrowed. His lips are slightly open. I wonder if he breathes out of his nose or mouth as he runs. As he moves, his pectoral muscles bunch and release. The binoculars slip lower, and I trace my way down his ridged abdomen to the tops of thighs and down to his feet clad in black boots. I guess he must run in those rather than tennis shoes for training purposes. I want to watch him all day.

“This is a bad idea,” Reese says and grabs the binoculars. He adjusts them and sucks in a breath. “Oh my god, Charlie, I could get into this stalking thing. The guy on the right totally tickles my bear fetish. I thought all the military dudes had to shave. I dated this one Army guy. Baby face. He could’ve used a little facial hair.”

“Special forces,” I mutter as two bare-chested men jog up to the guard, point at us and then run off. “Um, maybe we should leave?”

“I’m not done stalking,” Reese says, pulling away from my hand. Finally he drops the lenses on the blanket and falls back to stare at the sky. “Now that you’ve seen him, are you ready to go out and forget him?”

“I just had to see my Nate one last time.”

“He hasn’t been your Nate in nine years.”

The bucket of water Reese throws on me is ocean cold. With a deep breath, I get to my feet. “You’re right. Come on. Let’s go home. I have so much to do for Peyton and Christian before we go out tonight.”

“Not to mention going to the pedi/mani and blow out appointment I made for you.” Reese bends over to pick up the blanket.

“Leaving so soon?” I whirl around and there’s Nate, not even remotely out of breath, with two other guys standing slightly behind him. I’m the breathless one. In fact, my heart is pounding so strong and loud, I’m afraid it’s going to burst out of my chest. My airways are closing down, and I’m lightheaded. Reese shoots me a worried glance and wraps his arm around me just as I begin to sway. “We’re bird watching, asshole.”

We all swivel to look at the nearly empty sky. “Oh, sure there aren’t any now, but this is the migratory path of the fondue biplatypus, and it only flaps through North America during a very discrete time period. If you’ll excuse us, we don’t want to miss it.” Reese flicks the blanket and sand goes everywhere. I’m the only one who flinches though. Nate and his crew stare impassively at us, arms at their sides as if they’re ready to draw on us, but given their shirtless chests and tiny shorts, I’m not sure what they’d pull out. Reese tucks the now-folded blanket under his arm and then grabs me and starts marching us off. I follow in a daze.

“Charlotte,” I hear behind me. Nate sounds almost . . . anguished.

I turn back, but Reese won’t let go of me. “Come on, Charlie. We’ve seen enough to know that bird is never going to land here. It’s a flightily, stupid bird. We’ve been waiting for it to come home for years, but it never did. It was off in other countries and places feathering the nests of dozens of other birds and has been too busy to fly home. It’s dead by now, and if it isn’t, it should be.”

“Fondue biplatypus? What the fuck is that?” we hear another guy mention.

“Charlotte,” Nate says again, but Reese is right. Nate and my relationship is dead now. And if it isn’t, it should be. I turn away and thread my fingers through Reese’s.

“You’re right. That bird is dead.”

Nathan

Her name wrenches from me like my heart is being pulled from my chest. She turns to look at me, and I see her anguish which compounds my own pain. What can I say? I didn’t mean to hurt you? Intentions are meaningless. Acts matter.

The guy by her side tugs on her hand again. I want to drag him by his neck and throw him into the ocean. Roll a few logs over his face until he is unrecognizable. Doesn’t he know that Charlotte is mine? That she’s been mine since the day she was born? Time, distance, separation, none of that will sever our bond. None of it.

I hold my breath for what seems like forever. She’s more beautiful than I can remember. How long has it been since I last laid eyes on her?

Only seven hundred days, eight hours, and forty-two minutes. Nearly two years.

“I want to see you,” I manage to gasp out. My tone is a mistake. It’s too harsh, and she shrinks closer to her companion.

The boy toy next to her places a protective arm around her shoulder and glares over his shoulder.  Cabby and Bride step up beside me, which is even worse. Three SEALs scowling down at two innocent people. Or one innocent person. The other one—the male—is two heartbeats away from being demolished.

“Is there a problem here?” One of the gate guards designed to keep the public from bothering us while we train wanders over to diffuse what he sees as a tense situation.

“No, we’re leaving,” she says and reaches up to squeeze the man’s hand. Yes, he’s definitely losing that hand first before I dismantle the rest of him.

“I’m on shore leave in two days. I’m coming for you,” I yell after her.

Her gait breaks, and the boy has to reach down and right her. But she doesn’t glance back. Not once.

My best friend, Bride, and some random gate guard are looking on as my woman leaves me on the arm of another guy, but the only burn I feel is from loss, not humiliation. I don’t care what these guys think of me. What matters is that Charlotte is walking away from me with a man who she knows well enough that he answers her phone.

But she’s here, and she’s not doing any goddamn bird watching. There are two types of people who come down to this stretch of the beach. Those who want to run and those who are watching us run. She wanted to see me and . . . that’s as far as I can process why she’s here, given that she won’t talk to me.

“I thought you were confident she’d say yes? Since she’s turning you down, the best option is to get drunk and laid. I say an early evening visit to Flannery’s.”

“She looks good walking away. I’ll say that,” Bride cackles. He makes a slapping motion with his hand against the air.

“Do you want to get drowned?” I say evenly, despite the adrenaline firing through my body. I’ve got aggressions, and I want to take them out on someone. Bride’s a good target. “Because that’s how a guy gets drowned.”

“Not now, man,” Cabby says, recognizing the tenseness in my frame.

“When?” Bride is unhappy we aren’t having fun with each other. Taking the piss out of a team member is our version of a kiss and hug.

“Never,” I answer and start running. The sting is too sharp, and though I run for miles, it doesn’t fade. My legs are tired, my lungs scream for air, but the only thing on my mind is her.

Charlotte

“You look wrecked,” Reese says when we get back to the Del.

“I am. Seeing him in the flesh is heart-wrenching.”

“When did you last lay eyes on him?”

I drop onto my bed and curl into Reese’s warm, comforting body. “Nearly two years ago. He was on leave and visiting his parents. They have this home on Lake Michigan north of the city. I was in the city too, helping Adnan Rabanah move. His wife wanted to see a home next to Michael Jordan’s old house. I popped in to say hi to Aunt Grace, and Nate was there, drinking chocolate milk at the kitchen table.” I smile ruefully at the memory. “He looked up and there was this brown milk mustache framing his upper lip, and he was shirtless, wearing shorts and tennis shoes. I wrestled with the urge to leap over the counter and table to lick the chocolate off his mouth and then start exploring other areas.”

I’m not sure who was more surprised—him or me. He bolted out the back door, saying he was going for a run. I waited there for over three hours, and he never came back. I think that’s when I realized I was waiting for nothing.

“But you still haven’t moved on.”

“I want to.” I stare into the white ceiling of the hotel room, searching for answers. “I don’t enjoy being lonely. Most of the time, it doesn’t matter. I have such good friends. You, Lainey, Nick. There’s always someone who will go out with me. And if I really want someone to get physical with, there are lots of available men. But I’ve felt tethered to Nate since forever, and it’s more than having lost a boyfriend or a lover. It’s losing my best friend.”

Reese sighs. “I don’t believe that three one night stands are going to do it for you.”

“I need more?”

“I think you need to sleep with someone you care about. Maybe Nick?”

“I couldn’t sleep with Nick!” I shudder. “It would be sleeping with my brother. Which is gross.”

“I don’t get how sleeping with Nick, who is not related to you, is incest, but sleeping with Nate, who is Nick’s brother, is not.”

“You don’t have to understand. It just 
is.
”

He knocks his fist against the top of my head. “You need someone like me, but who’s straight. Who loves you and would be invested in making it good for you. Plus if you like him, you’ll feel less like cheating and more like . . . a friendly get together without clothes on.”

“I . . . I actually know someone like that.”

“Who?” Reese thought he knew all my friends, but my relationship with Colin Matthews is quiet. We like it that way because it’s pressure-free for him. But he’d sleep with me. He’d made advances before, and I’ve always turned him down—not because of Nathan, but because I want Colin to have someone who loves him with her whole heart, not just a portion of it.

Could we sleep together without ruining our friendship?

“Just a guy. It’s someone I met when I was in treatment in Switzerland.”

“The LA guy?” Reese says knowingly.

“Yes him,” I admit. If there’s a job in LA, I always take it. Colin and I knock around privately. If you don’t want to be photographed and aren’t really into the scene, it’s easy enough to get around anonymously. Colin would always roll his eyes at the fake outrage by some celebrities when they are photographed eating at the “motherfucking Grove.”

Reese’s eyes are glowing with curiosity, but before he can interrogate me, his phone rings and then mine.

“Charlotte Randolph here.”

“It’s Lainey. Why did we decide to buy a bar? Why?”

“Because it seemed like a fun investment at the time?”

“I’m tearing my hair out. We lost another server because she started sleeping with one of the Mustangs and after he stopped calling, she couldn’t be here when he flaunted his single status. Her words; not mine. Our policy of no sleeping with the customers needs to be better enforced.”

“Should we require them to take oaths of chastity before allowing them to don the apron?” I joke.

“We should have opened a trendy bar somewhere other than here, a place where we serve drinks with umbrellas.”

“Then order umbrellas, and we’ll see if we can drive the Mustangs away.”

“And Nick will start wearing them behind his ear, and we’ll have to put up a velvet rope to keep everyone out,” she grumbled. Lainey and Nick are like oil and water. She says he plays too hard, and he says her inability to smile more than once a week is scarring his young adulthood. Reese and I speculate that it is a sexual attraction, but a lot of the time it does appear that they don’t like each other. Lainey, in particular, doesn’t seem to respect Nick. And Nick, God love him, doesn’t appreciate all that Lainey has gone through.

And if there isn’t any respect between two people, any kind of sexual attraction will leave them both unhappy. I don’t want that for either of my friends.

“Because she quit, I need to stay here and tend the bar, but Nick came in this morning to tell me that there’s a rookie who needs help transitioning. He signed his rookie contract, and he’s got a boatload of family obligations. I can’t really deal with it all, so Reese needs to come home. I gave the rookie Reese’s number.”

I glance over at Reese, who is throwing things into his case, with his phone pressed between his shoulder and ear.

“I think they’re talking right now.”

“Great, and I’m sorry for taking him away from you.”

“No problem. I’m going to get things wrapped up with Christian soon. Maybe a week.”

“I made a reservation for you at Tower23 if you’re tired of the Del,” she suggests.

“Out of the zone of danger?”

“It seems to me that if you’re a recovering alcoholic, you don’t stay next to a brewery.”

This makes me laugh. “The naval base is a brewery?”

“I hear from Reese that they are churning out high-quality products on a daily basis,” she proclaims. I laugh a little more and say goodbye.

“Sorry, honey.” Reese kisses me on the cheek. “Call your LA guy. Go down to the Gaslamp district. Pick up a nice guy, take him to a nearby hotel, screw his brains out, and come back here for the night.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” I say, hugging him back.

“Do something,” he orders. “Don’t stay here. Don’t go to the beach. Get out and enjoy yourself.”

“Yes, dad.”

He opens the door and leans down to give me another kiss on the forehead. “I hate leaving you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine. Call me when you land.”

“I will.”