The Charlotte Chronicles (27 page)

“Sounds like that was a good plan for her.” The light is beginning to dawn.

“Yeah. She asked me to leave the team and come with her. We . . . ah, connected after she returned stateside. I couldn’t stay away.” His anguish and guilt is evident in every line in his body, every syllable of his words.

“Don’t know that you did anything wrong, brother. We all felt for her. If you provided her a little comfort after it was over, it is no one’s business but yours and hers.” That’s not technically accurate, but I’m not going to shovel any more shit onto this poor man’s shoulders.

He ignores my lame attempts at reassurance. “I kept thinking I needed to save more people, like some kind of fucking penance. Then I got the offer to join the Joint Ops program, and I was chuffed about that. So I told her no. I regretted it almost immediately but didn’t get to tell her that because I was shipped off for a mission and didn’t get back for months. But the moment I’m back, I get in my truck and drive up the coast. She lives in Northern California. Found her small town. It was fucking beautiful. Right on the coast. Lots of water access. Trees. It was fucking Mayberry on the ocean. I asked around and found she was living with some other guy. I sat outside the house, saw them go into it together. Saw the lights turn off. I felt like I was living in a stupid fucking country song, so I punched myself and drove back to Coronado.” He rubs a hand across the jaw as if remembering the blow. I kinda think he did punch himself, and it’s not some kind of metaphorical thing. He continues, “And now? Now my life is drinking until I’m too numb to care that the only women around me who are willing to fuck are those who care more about my uniform than the man wearing it.”

I was right that he was broken but wrong about the cause.

In the silence he presses on. “I regret my decision. My career makes a cold lover at night. No one will take the place of her in my mind, and I’ll never have her.”

“Jesus, Ford.”

“Yeah.”

That one word says so much. I stare at him, unable to look away from the torment in his eyes. Is this what I looked like day in and day out? As if I had lost all meaning in life and that putting one foot in front of the other was its own pathetic victory. He nods solemnly and places a hand on the back of my neck. Pulling me close enough that his forehead almost brushes mine, he squeezes hard as if he can somehow impart his message, if not through words, through osmosis. “Don’t become who I am. Who you were.”

“What’s that?” I don’t really have to ask but I can’t help myself.

“Dead man walking.”

“
A
re you nervous
?”

I don’t answer her because the question doesn’t require one. She knows exactly how I’m feeling.

“Why are we flying commercial again?” I ignore the flight attendant who keeps staring at me as I stand in the aisle next to our seats. Charlotte has taken the first class seat next to the window, but I’m not sitting until I absolutely have to. Given that the coach class has a separate entrance and I’m not blocking incoming foot traffic, there’s no reason I have to sit down until the door closes.

“I’m surprised you even asked that. I always fly commercial. How do you fly?” Charlotte is absently flipping through an airline magazine advertising mini mansions for pets and a pillow that doubles as a remote control. Essentially weird, needless shit which I suppose is exactly what you’d buy on a commercial flight. Out the window I can see the baggage handlers arriving with our carts of luggage.

“I can’t remember the last time I flew on public transportation. Usually I can catch a ride on a military transport to just about any place I need to go. And the few times I haven’t, I just chartered a plane.”

“Why, Nathan, you’re kind of a snob.” Her lips purse together hard as she suppresses a laugh.

“Sure, laugh at me. Next time you’re not so hot to do something, I’m going to cackle like an old man.”

“Sir, do you need something?” asks the flight attendant. Her tight smile is about as successful at hiding her annoyance as Charlotte is about hiding her perverse pleasure in my anxiety.

“Scotch, please.” I tack on the courtesy so I don’t go over the line from irritating to insufferable.

“We have don’t have any actual Scotch, but we do have an assortment of whiskeys.”

“What kind?”

“Dewar’s, Canadian, and Jack Daniels,” she recites.

They all sound bad. Charlotte flicks her eyes in warning, which I translate to mean don’t get difficult about the poor ass selection of liquor offerings on this plane.

“Jack, neat.” I sigh and take my seat.

“Anything for you, miss?” she asks Charlotte.

“I’ll have a mimosa, thank you.” As the flight attendant leaves to prepare our drinks, Charlotte turns to me. “For all your Spartan living, you certainly have not forsaken all your expensive tastes. I saw that bottle of aged bourbon in your cabinet. Do your teammates know what they’re drinking?”

I stretch out my arms and legs, not to loosen my limbs but to take a measurement of the interior space. It’s cramped, even up here. I concentrate on taking measured, even breaths. “No. They only know I serve the best booze on the team. Most of these guys wouldn’t know the difference between whiskey and bourbon. What matters to them is that it tastes good and goes down smooth. That the burn is something to savor rather than endure.” As I inhale, a faint floral scent fills my lungs. I lean over and murmur into her pink shell ear. “Kind of like when I’m taking you.”

She flushes lightly and licks her lips, knowing exactly what I’m talking about. The past few nights we’ve enjoyed marathon love-making sessions. About the third round, she’s tender and swollen and, despite my having jacked into her multiple times, very tight. I have to work my way into her cunt. Thinking about her slick, snug walls takes my mind off this tin can and its unknown pilot.

“I know something that would distract me,” I say huskily. I slip a hand behind her neck, and with slow and deliberate pressure, I compel her toward me. Her eyelids begin to fall as if the sexual intent in my eyes is too much for her to look at. Our mouths are a scant inch apart when a discreet cough from the aisle causes Charlotte to jerk back.

“Here’s your drink, ma’am.” The stewardess stretches across me to hand Charlotte a champagne flute and then takes the shorter glass off her tray for me.

“Thank you,” I mumble. The ice cubes clink against the side of the glass. Did I ask for ice cubes? I hadn’t meant to. I swallow the entire contents down and suck one ice cube into my mouth. The interruption irritates me. Just another reason why we should be flying in a private plane. I could have Charlotte in my lap, my fingers in her jeans and my tongue in her mouth without any coughing flight attendants.

“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not going to happen,” Charlotte says and starts thumbing through the magazine again.

“The bathrooms are too damn small anyway,” I grumpily respond as the doors close. The sense of suffocation hits me again, and I dig my fingers into the metal ends of our seats. I need about four more drinks. Maybe she should just bring me the bottle.

“You do dangerous things all of the time. Your job is literally risking your life on a daily basis. You jump out of airplanes and helicopters. You swim across the ocean. You go into situations where people are shooting at you, but you’re a nervous flier?” Charlotte asks incredulously.

“The people who fly me are highly trained professionals. I have no idea about the people flying this plane. They could be former Air Force people, or they could be guys who learned to fly on puddle jumpers.”

She coughs into her hand, makes a strangled noise, and then bursts out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” I snap.

“You! Big bad Nathan Jackson is afraid of flying. You’re so invincible. It’s nice to see you have vulnerabilities.”

“Thanks,” I say sourly. I can feel my own cheeks heat up.

Still laughing, she reaches over the wide console and places her soft hand on my cheek. With a light tug on my T-shirt, she pulls me down to place a warm kiss against my lips.

And she doesn't stop.

Since she doesn’t care what anyone else around us thinks, neither do I. With her lips on mine, it really doesn’t matter who’s flying the plane. It could be a monkey. The rest of the flight goes by fine after she orders me another drink and forces Dramamine down my throat.

N
ick picks
us up at the airport. After a moment of hesitation, he grabs me close for a bear hug. All’s forgiven.

“Good to see you, shorty.” He gives me two back-breaking thumps before releasing me. Turning to Charlotte, he lifts her up and swings her around. “I don’t know why you’d ever want to marry this ugly motherfucker,” he says as he sets her down and then slings her carry on over his shoulder. “I’m taller, better looking, and more successful.”

“It’s a hardship,” she says. “I view it as my act of ongoing charity. When I get to heaven and am asked what I did to deserve entrance, I’ll point to Nate’s picture and say that I had to sleep next to that face for decades.”

“You’re a good, giving woman, Charlotte, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Shaking my head, I grab my own bag and walk ahead of them as they continue to mock me in good humor.

“How was practice?” she asks.

“Good. I like the rookies. There is one wide receiver in particular who could be a great addition and maybe even start. Have you picked out a bridesmaid’s dress for me? I’m assuming I’ll be your maid of honor. Remember that yellow is not my color.”

“Haven’t really thought about it,” she admits.

“Really, what have you been doing?”

She laughs smugly. “If I have to explain to what I was busy doing, then I finally understand why you’re prone to one night stands.”

“Charlie, most women can’t handle more than one night with me. If they spend more than twenty-four hours in my presence, every other man in the world is ruined for them. It’s bad enough that I’m giving them a glimpse of heaven during our one night. To subject them to that pleasure repeatedly and then take it away is just too cruel.”

“I guess we all have our crosses to bear,” she replies with stifled laughter.

“So does this mean I’m an uncle yet?”

“Unless you have a sister we don’t know about who’s having a baby, then no. We’re not ready for that.”

I’m glad I’m front of them so Charlotte doesn’t see my expression of surprise. I shouldn't be surprised. There’s no reason for us to have kids now. We’re both young, and we’ve just reconnected. We have a lot of issues to work out—like where we are going to live and what we’re going to do with our careers.

But the idea of her heavy with my kid? Pretty damn exciting. And there’s this sense of permanency. If we had children, she’d never leave. It’s pure stupidity, but there’s this niggling sense of dread that I want to eradicate. Pumping her full of my seed and seeing her round with my child is one way my hindbrain can deal with the unsettling feeling, but even I know that's no reason to start a family.

“You bringing Nate to meet the guys at the bar tonight?”

“Yes, but I need to talk to Lainey and Reese first,” she says very cautiously.

Nick makes a strangled sound that causes me to turn around. “What’s that about?”

“Let’s just say you don’t have a real fan base here in Dallas,” Nick explains. “Except for me, of course, but those other friends of Charlie’s don’t know you like I do.”

D
espite Nick’s dire warning
, Charlotte’s friends couldn’t be more welcoming. When we arrive at the bar around dinner time, it’s nearly empty. Charlotte explains that the majority of the money is made on the weekends and later, after the single guys are done with practice and realize they either have to cook for themselves or come to the bar.

Charlotte and Nick’s money has gone into big screens on the wall and maybe a new coat of paint. The floors are scarred, and the bar top doesn’t look much better. The dark blue walls are lit up with a smattering of neon signs.

Lainey is a dark-haired woman with an abundance of curves. With her large chest and small waist, she brings to mind the red-haired Jessica Rabbit cartoon. I recognize Reese immediately. Standing a little under six feet with a strong runner’s build, his model-perfect hair falls artistically around his face. Do I feel better that this male friend of Charlotte’s who even I recognize as attractive is gay? Fuck yes.

“So you’re Charlotte’s Nathan?” Lainey asks, but the greeting is warm instead of wary.

“I am.” I give her hand a firm shake.

“We've heard a lot about you,” she says.

“It’s all true —both the good and the bad,” I admit.

She nods her approval. “Aren’t we all made up of good and bad?”

Nick groans. “It’s too early to be philosophical.”

“I didn’t know you read, Nick. I thought you only looked at books with pictures in them,” Lainey shoots back.

“There are books without pictures in them?” Nick responds.

“Gah.” She throws up her hands. The two continue to bicker throughout dinner which consists of damn good burgers, big fries, and several beers. There is clearly a history between the two that I’m going to have to know more about.

Shortly after plates are cleared away, Lainey stands. “I’m glad that you’re here. Charlie is glowing so much that I have to leave because I forgot to put my sunscreen on, and if I stay any longer, I’m going to get burned.”

“So soon?” Charlotte protests.

“Babysitter,” Lainey says as if the one word explains it all. And apparently it does, as murmurs of sympathy go round the table.

“Danny flaked out on you again? I told you not to hire her.” Nick throws down some bills on the table. As he stands, the chair legs scrape across the wood floor.

“What are you talking about? You flirted nonstop with her when I was interviewing her.”

“Exactly. Cassidy shouldn’t be watched by some girl who’s got more interest in getting into my jock.”

“So that’s your test? If they want to sleep with you then they’re not worthy to watch Cassidy?”

“That’s right.” He takes her arm and starts pulling her toward the door. “We don't want Cassidy to grow up to be all about boys. She needs to be an independent woman.”

“Why don’t you just stop showing up for my nanny interviews? Then they won’t have anything to be hungry about,” she retorts but doesn’t pull away.

“I’m going to be around eventually. It’s better to know up front.”

Lainey rubs her forehead as if this is an argument she’s heard before, but by now they’re too far away for me to hear her response.

I look at Charlotte. “How long has he been wanting to sleep with her?”

Reese spits out his beer all over the table, and Charlotte has to flag down a waitress to come over to clean up the mess.

“Lainey and Nick have a complicated history.”

“That’s an understatement.” Reese snorts.

Ignoring Reese, she continues, “She dated a Mustang while she was waiting tables here, and she got pregnant. He accused her of tampering with her birth control and told her that he was not going to support the baby. She hired an attorney to prove paternity because she didn’t have a lot of money, not enough to support a child and herself.”

“The guy turned out to be an asshole?”

“Worse. The player then had a change of heart and said that if she was going to pursue paternity against him, he would challenge her for custody. And since she was an out of work waitress who slept around with football players, who was the judge going to side with?”

“So what happened?”

“I met her when Nick was drafted. We kind of bonded, and we all pitched in to help her. So, well, when the bar came up for sale, Nick and I bought it and hired her back. She runs the bar and helps with my business.”

“What’s with her and Nick?”

Reese must have kicked her under the table because she yelps, “Ow!” Frowning at him, she reaches down and rubs her leg. “He’s Nick’s brother and my future husband. I’m not keeping secrets from him.”

“This is Lainey’s secret,” Reese hisses.

“Nate’s not going to say anything to Nick.” She turns to me. “Promise me you won’t say anything to Nick.”

“Charlotte, baby, you know I can’t promise that.” I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

“You will once you know the whole story. Nick sees Lainey and totally falls for her. He pursues her hard during his rookie season. This was before he knew of her circumstances.”

“So where's the player who knocked her up now?”

Reese gives Charlotte a hard look which she ignores. “He’s the quarterback coach now.”