Military Romance Collection: Contemporary Soldier Alpha Male Romance (152 page)

              Jack tightened his grasp around her waist so she didn't escape. “Let's just take her to the vet's, instead.”             

* * * * *

              The surgery would take about an hour; they'd call his cell when the procedure was done. Jack led Carrie down the steps and opened the door of his pickup for her. She climbed in and stared straight ahead. “Three thousand dollars,” she moaned softly to herself. “And the cost of a new phone.”

“You can use my phone if you need one.”

She turned and looked at him, still with that deer-in-the-headlights shocked kind of look. Maybe worse, now that she'd had to pay the vet. “I don't need to use your phone. I need…I need… Oh, God.” She leaned back against the headrest. “My whole life was in that thing, Jack. Everything. And how are people going to reach me? My editors? My entire network of jobs.” She closed her eyes. “At least the neighbors won't be able to contact me when she runs away and destroys something. That's a good thing…”

“I know what you need.” He put the truck into gear and started for the beach. It was a perfect summer's night, clear, with a cooling breeze coming in off the bay. The dusky sky was still pink with the promise of a hot day tomorrow, and he knew a walk on the cooled sand would be therapeutic for both of them. When he parked in the lot by the town beach, she didn't argue.

              Without speaking, they got out and before long walked in sync on the hard-packed sand on the water's edge, carefully avoiding the ebb and flow of the waves. They walked without speaking. The hiss and shush of the water meeting land filled his head with a soothing rhythm, while the dull thud and boom of the waves farther out was like a heartbeat.

A dog raced by, barking happily as its owner tossed a stick into the water, bouncing out into the surf and practically dancing on the surface until it had to swim. Even then, the dog's goofy smile was visible. Jack thought it should close its mouth before it drowned, but it was too happy.

“Too bad Ellie's not here,” he mused.

“Her fault. If she hadn't eaten my phone, she might have been. Then again, it's probably a good thing—she’d destroy the fishing fleet and I can’t afford to buy boats.”

Jack grinned.  “I haven't dealt with many Irish wolfhounds, but the ones I've known have been great. Do you know they call them 'gentle giants'?”

“Giant pains in the ass, if you ask me.”

“She's just untrained, that's all. She needs discipline. Generally, they're pretty calm. And they're patient. Great with small kids, small dogs… If they weren't so huge, I think more people would have them for pets.” He stopped and watched the dog swim into shore with the stick, shake itself off, and run down the beach after its person. “Where did your grandmother get Ellie?”

“Hell, probably. That’s the only place that dog could have come from.”

He turned to look at Carrie. She was so bitter. So different from the girl he'd known. Though, he supposed, she had a reason to hate him. And the dog.

“An Irish wolfhound is an unusual choice for an elderly person.”

              “Nana was unique,” Carrie said. “She wasn't like most elderly people. Look at how she—died. Not many seniors go skydiving.”

              “Still…” He bent and picked up a small conch shell, with a spiral in its center. He brushed the sand off it and handed it to her. She studied it, tracing the spiral with her fingertips.

              “I finally got in touch with her lawyer tonight. Before—before El Beast ate my phone. He said he had no idea the dog existed. It was like she fell from the sky. Just like Nana.” Carrie sounded sad. “Or erupted from The Pit.”

              “Come on, Carrie. She's not that bad. Is she?”

              Carrie fixed him with a hard stare; it showed her age. Not that she looked aged, but all her life's experiences were in those silver eyes. She wasn't the girl he'd known, any more than he was the boy she'd left. “We just dropped her off at the vet's because she ate my phone after destroying half the neighborhood. And you say she's not that bad?” She bent, picked up a rock and flung it into the waves. “Are we talking about the same dog?”

“If we worked with her, she'd be fine.”

She shook her head. “I've used almost all of the money Nana left me, paying for the damage this dog has done in only two days. If she does anything else, I'll have to go into my own savings to pay for it. I don't have that much to start with. I don't know if I'm even going to have enough to get even a quarter of the work done.” She shoved the shell into her shorts' pocket and started walking again.

Jack fell into step beside her.               “Do you like living in Texas, Carrie?”

“It's all right. I've got friends, an apartment.”

“Anyone special?” He tried to keep his voice neutral, though a sharp flair of jealousy pierced his heart at the thought of Carrie with any other man.

“No. Not really.” She turned to look at him. “I'd rather not talk about that, if you don't mind.”

“Fair enough.” He too picked up a rock and skipped it out over the water. “I've read the articles you wrote, you know. Michelle Googled them and printed them out, or tracked them down at the library and made a scrapbook.”

She stopped. “Michelle? Did that? Why?”

He took a deep breath. “The night of the prom. I never got to tell you what happened—”

              “I'm not sure I want to know, Jack. I felt used and dirty. I thought you loved me, but I was wrong, and I felt stupid. But that's old news, now. I'm over it.” She spun to face him, holding up her hand, palm out as if guarding herself from a harsh blow, and he knew she wasn’t over it at all, no matter how much she insisted she was.

He'd waited eighteen years for the chance to discuss this with her, and he wasn't going to let one flat palm stop him. This might be the only chance he got.

He reached out, grasped her hand with his and brought it to his lips. She struggled, but nipped her knuckles gently and then pulled her against him, once again amazed at how well she fit against him, like she belonged there. Carrie fought him—a bit—but not as much as he expected. Maybe she could feel that they belonged together too, no matter how much she wanted to deny it. Would it be possible for him to tell her what had happened without revealing everything? He owed that to Michelle.

              But he owed an explanation to Carrie, too. He took a deep breath. Sorry, Becks.

Chapter Six

              Carrie didn't want to be leaning against Jack's long, lean body, pressing against him as intimately as if they were having sex with their clothes on. But she didn't not want to be, either. Damn you, Jack Gavigan, she thought. But she said nothing. She just leaned away from him. He let her move away—though he didn't release her hand.

              She started walking, his warm fingers enveloping hers as neatly as she remembered. It felt right, even though she didn't want it to. It hurt so much to be so close to him; it hurt just as much to pull away. She sighed. “Okay. What? You and my best friend had a relationship behind my back. What more do I need to know? You played us both, like the jock you were, because I was leaving to go to school in Texas. And you married her. So, tell me something I don't already know.”

              His fingers tightened around hers, and he took a deep breath. “Okay. I will. The night of the prom, Mike O’Hare raped Michelle in the parking lot.”

Carrie had heard it said that a person could feel sideswiped, or that the ground could shift under their feet, but she hadn't ever experienced that for herself. Until now. Her knees sort of gave way, and she fell onto the sand; it was cold. So, so cold. Jack sat down beside her—he lifted her up, pulling her against him, with his arm around her. “You okay?”

              “Michelle was…raped?” She thought of how Michelle had been clinging to Jack in the hallway, how he'd sort of huddled over her, like he was protecting her. She'd run the scene through her head a million times already. It had seemed like he was shielding Michelle from her. But if she really had been raped, then it made sense. Except she couldn't quite believe it; it seemed too convenient. After all, Michelle was dead. She couldn't verify the story. “Why didn't anyone find out about it?” Always the journalist, she realized. Cynical. Asking questions. Looking for the hook, or the loophole. Even with this. Stop. Don't ask. Just listen.

              Beside her, Jack shifted. “I wanted to take her to the hospital right away. I suppose if I had, you and I wouldn't be having this conversation right now.” He sighed. “We probably would have been married and…well, anyway. I did what she wanted instead of what I knew should be done. I took her to the motel—she was supposed to go to that after party. Remember that?” He shook his head. “Instead, I took her to the motel room I'd already rented as a surprise to share with you—and she took the longest shower I'd ever seen anyone take.”

We would have been married. Carrie couldn't get those words to stop revolving in her mind. She tried to listen to what Jack was saying, but it was as if she were watching her entire life—a different life—unfolding before her eyes. Married. To Jack. She'd have children. She'd have the family she'd always wanted but had shoved aside along with the rest of her childhood dreams, the night of the prom.

Jack kept talking. “You know, my dad was a cop, my grandfather was a cop. I knew that we should report Mike, that Michelle's shower was washing away all the evidence. I also knew that she'd have to be poked and prodded and go through all kinds of invasive shit. It would probably go into the paper, and everyone would know. Don't forget—eighteen years ago, people weren't as sensitive to the rights of rape victims as they are now. She probably wouldn't have dealt with a female officer and a social worker. She would have been questioned by a middle-aged, jaded cop who would have made her feel like it was all her fault, saying shit like, 'Why'd you go out into the car with him if you didn't want sex?' I knew that.

“I also knew that Michelle's parents didn't make a lot of money, but Mike's did. So who would have the better lawyers? The high school athlete whose father was the CEO of a corporation, the kid with the Ivy League college scholarship, or the pretty girl whose father worked in a local factory, the curvy blonde with plans for cosmetology school? You know people would have said she was doing it to get money out of Mike, seducing him with her looks and making up a lie, or some shit like that.”

Something struck Carrie—even though she'd told herself to listen and not be cynical. “You thought all that? A kid of eighteen?”

His dark eyes met hers, boring deep. She knew then. He had. That was Jack. It had always been Jack. He had a cop's sense, the ability to put himself in other people's shoes and know what they were going to do. He’d known the system because he’d grown up surrounded by it. He understood people and how to work with them, like he had as a captain on the ice, or on the field. He had realized what was going to happen to Michelle, and he'd done what she wanted because he’d understood she couldn't handle it otherwise.

He also had the willingness to take on others' problems as his own and try to help them. And try to save them. Especially if they were people he cared about. His friends. Like Michelle had been hers, she’d been his friend, too. He’d do what he had to, to keep them safe.

Even marry them, if necessary.

Stupid bastard. Stupid, heroic bastard.

Saving people and keeping them safe was as natural to him as breathing. Saving dogs, too. Saving anyone. It was who he was.

A deep sense of shame engulfed her. Knowing that about Jack should have proved that he also would have been the last person to cheat on her, especially with Michelle. She should have realized and trusted him, no matter how things appeared.

Instead, she'd made things worse, running out, getting a ride home, and making the gossip mill churn about what had happened. If she hadn't taken off, then no one would have noticed if Jack and Michelle never showed up for the after party, and people wouldn't have assumed he dumped Carrie for her. And he and Michelle would never have had to work to hide Michelle's secret.

It was me. I was the one who failed. Not Jack, not Michelle. Me. I should have trusted him. Trusted them. I should have been there with her, too.

Bile rose in her throat; she pushed her knuckles into her mouth, biting on them as tears filled her eyes.

Selfish. I was selfish!

“I'm sorry,” she choked. “I'm so…I didn't…”

“You don't have to say it,” Jack said, and she realized that even now, he was saving her the way he saved everyone. Damn him for being such a hero!

She wanted to hit him.

She wanted to hug him and never let him go.

“Oh, Jack,” she whispered and put her arms around him with her cheek pressed against his shoulder, fitting up against him like the other half of a broken whole. Where she belonged.

Maybe knowing he'd been married to Michelle had been her penance. If she'd done the right thing, she would have been married to him, and all would have been the way it was supposed to. But she hadn't, and—she wasn't.

He'd married Michelle instead, only three short months after the prom.

Three short months.

Three months.

Something nagged at her, poked at her mind, even though she tried hard to shut off the journalist in her head. Asking questions was as much a part of her personality as saving others was Jack's. She'd spent plenty of time wondering why people behaved the way they did. So why would Jack and Michelle get married so quickly after the prom and graduation when they both had plans for college?

The truth hit her like a bug on a windshield, and she straightened. “Oh my God! Mike got Michelle pregnant!”

Jack snapped his head up. Damn, she'd figured that out quickly. “How do you know that?”

              She shrugged. “If you said you loved me as much as you did, then why else would you have married her so fast?”

              “Good point.” He let his shoulders slump. It felt good to let the secret out after all these years. It was something he and Michelle worked hard to cover up; thank God Samantha was all Michelle and no Mike at all. “Sammy doesn't know. And she's not going to.”

“You've never told her?” Carrie turned her silver eyes to his; they were wide, incredulous.

“Why? All it would do is cause her pain. She doesn't need to know she's the product of rape. As far as she's concerned, I'm her dad, I knocked up her mom and that's that.” He fixed her with his best pack-leader stare, the one he used with dogs and people who were about to go against him. Not that Carrie would go against him, but he wasn't about to chance it. Not about this. “And she's not going to find out the truth.”

Carrie stared back, but after a moment, she dropped her gaze. Submissive. For now, he realized. “Okay,” she said.

“I'm serious, Carrie. This is important. I know my Sammy. It would kill her to know what happened to Michelle. It was bad enough she was only eleven when her mother died. She doesn't need to know the only reason she's here is because of a bad prom date, a lapse in judgment and an asshole.”

“Okay.” Carrie lifted her eyes to his face again. “I'm sorry, Jack. It must have been so hard for you both, Michelle's getting sick and dying. Can I ask…what happened?”

He kicked at the ground with his toe. “Ovarian cancer.”

Carrie hissed. “I'm so sorry.”

“Me, too.” He looked out across the ocean. Sailboats scudded over the dark blue water, their white sails reflecting pink in the setting sunlight. A few surfers caught the last few waves of the day farther up the beach. Flocks of seagulls settled on the sand for the night, moving only slightly when people jogged by. He took a deep breath. “Michelle loved being on the beach, too. When she got too weak to walk, she'd ask me to bring her here. I'd wrap her in a quilt and she'd sit on a folding reclining chair, just watching the water. She said it was funny how it changed all the time, yet never changed.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “She was so brave about dying. I was the one who fell apart when we learned she only had a short time left. It was hard.”

“You must have loved her very much, Jack.”

He turned his gaze to Carrie. Her hair, caught by the ocean breeze, blew in thin dark strands across her cheeks. He pushed them away with his fingertip, tucking them behind her ears, and he mused on how her looks had barely changed. How he'd dreamed of her. The curve of her small nose, her pink, kissable, pouty mouth, the long line of her neck… He still wanted to kiss the place where it met her collarbone. She'd always liked that—his mouth on her neck, his hand on the swell of one of her breasts, one hand on her hip. She'd always arched up into him when he nipped her there. It had been her secret hot button, and only he'd known about it.

“Damn it, Carrie,” he said. “I never loved Michelle, not like I loved you. Always you. That's why I fell apart. Because even as she died, I could never love my wife the way I loved you. I felt horrible. I felt guilty. Especially when I asked myself if I was happy she was dying, because maybe—maybe then I'd have my chance with you.”

              “That's a horrible thing to say.” Carrie gasped and pulled away from his warmth, leaving herself feeling cold.

              “It's a horrible way to feel.” He nodded. “I wanted to love her the way I loved you. But I didn't. I couldn't.”

She didn't want to believe it of him, but his eyes held the truth of his words. “Oh, Jack,” she whispered, her heart clenching. “You didn't love her at all?”

              He tilted his head and a lock of his thick, dark hair fell over his forehead, ruffled by the breeze. He shook his head, falling back onto the sand with his forearm over his eyes. He was wiping away tears, she realized.

              “Michelle and I were friends,” he said. “Get me right, we had a physical relationship too, but it was more like two people scratching itches no one else could reach.”

He moved his arm and looked up at her. “It feels weird talking about this to you, but I guess you should know. Overall, Michelle and I had a good marriage. We started as friends and then we were lovers. We loved each other very much. But—there was no…passion, I guess. More like…I don’t know how to describe it.”

Carrie sat in the sand beside him. “Like a slow fire instead of a flame?”

Jack gave her a slight smile. “I should have known you’d have the words for it. You’re such a good writer. Michelle and I always loved reading whatever you wrote.” He nodded, then turned his head to stare up at the sky. “That was it. A slow, steady flame. Nothing very intense, but it was still good. Michelle was the best wife a guy could hope for, really. Other guys on the force bitched about their wives all the time, but me?” He shook his head. “Nope. My wife was pretty, gentle, and kind, and she made a good home for Sammy and me.” He sighed. “We had a nearly perfect life, really. Except—she knew that I always held you in my heart. And you know…she never begrudged me for that.”

Carrie’s heart clenched. “Jack, I’m so sorry. If—”

“Sorry for what?” He rolled onto his side and propped his head on his elbow so he could look at her. “If you hadn’t left, she would have probably given Sammy up for adoption. We used to talk about that. And we were actually grateful that…well, not that you’d left the way you did, exactly, but that it gave us the opportunity to be parents to an amazing kid. She’s awesome, Carrie. Smart, funny, sweet, and now—she’s gorgeous. Just like her mom.” He grinned. “So thank you, Carrie-da, for that.”

“You’re welcome.” She wondered if that was the right response. Apparently it was, because Jack kept talking.

“We tried to give Sammy a sibling. But we never conceived. At first, we thought it was me, because Becks had gotten pregnant successfully the very first time she…well, you know. At the prom. So we went to a fertility specialist, and Michelle's cancer was discovered. They gave her a complete hysterectomy, then chemo. But the cancer spread, and that was it.”