NEXT TO ME (A Love Happens Novel Book 1) (26 page)

But Ali wasn’t going to let pride stand in her way of happiness. And she wasn’t going to lay low and lick her wounds while Sam forgot about her. She was going to fight for what she wanted, even if she had to get dirty while doing it.

The white envelope was a peace offering. An olive branch. Now all she could do was wait for Sam to take it.

CHAPTER TWENTY

After a hellishly long meeting with Ray Berg and a subdued Dwayne Jackson, who was downright contrite even though Sam stood firm and refused to reinstate his contract, Ash ambled into his office to brief him on the missionary rescue.

Which meant when Sam asked him how things went, he simply replied, “Routine.”

In true Asher fashion, he made himself comfortable leaning back against the edge of the wide window sill overlooking downtown San Diego, preferring to sit near the perimeter of the room instead of the oversized chairs meant for exactly that. The corners of his mouth tipped up at the sides, silently sizing him up, and Sam’s bad mood kicked in. “What?”

Nearly grinning, Ash slowly shook his head. “You look like somebody pissed in your Cheerios this morning.” Not expecting a response, his expression turned pensive as he stretched his legs out in front of him. “Something’s going on with Beck. His focus is off.”

Concerned but not surprised, Sam leaned back in his chair. He’d sent Beckett out an hour ago to repair Ali’s broken back door. After grumbling about running what was clearly a personal errand for Sam, he’d simply nodded and left to take care of it. “Could it just be fatigue? Or do you think it’s more serious than that?”

Ash shrugged. “That might be a small part of it. Never saw him sleep a wink even when there was opportunity. But hell, Sam, we’ve all gone days without decent sleep before and still stayed sharp. He was by the book the entire op, just distracted. And isolated. He’s playing hard at hiding it, but I can see it in his eyes. His mind is getting to him again. If it ever stopped.”

“What’s Nolan saying?” Nolan was the closest thing to a best friend Beck probably had and the two stuck together like glue. If he was talking to anyone, it was Nolan.

“Nothing. Tells him everything’s fine. Tells me that, too.”

Sam felt his concern go up a notch. “Do you think he’s using? If so, we need to have him tested. And sit him until we know, either way.”

A lot of guys returned from combat fucked up, in one way or another. The majority probably had everlasting, negative affects to at least a small degree, but there were those with more severe symptoms. Some chose to seek help, whether that be in the form of various therapies or medication. Some chose to endure it alone, overcoming it through sheer will and a touch of denial, lucky if any of their loved ones were still standing when they did. And some, like Beckett Smith, turned inward and coveted privacy, plowing silently through anxiety filled days and nights while a demon nipped at his heels. Except that they’d all noticed his tendency to have a few too many at the end of the day. Or when he showed up in the morning, always on time and ready to go, but slightly hungover from a private party he’d held the night before. So far, there had been no signs of drug use, but that could easily be Beck’s next outlet.

The possibility was on Ash’s mind, too, but he shook his head. “Naw, I don’t think he’s that far gone. Never saw him take anything or try to hide any of his gear. Might be getting close, though. I’ll have Nolan nose around a bit and report back.”

Sam nodded, but knew there was a fine line between brotherly concern and invasion of privacy. “It’s not a crime to be anti-social, Ash. You, of all people, should know that. Let’s just keep an eye on him for the time being.”

Asher seemed to agree with Sam’s wait and see approach, and didn’t deny his own tendency to isolate. “I’m socially selective, there’s a difference. And I ran into Jason last week. Stopped and talked with him for ten minutes straight. That’s plenty social, if you ask me.”

Jason Reynolds was an active duty Navy SEAL and about the biggest bad ass Sam had ever come across. Hardened to everything, he was worse than Asher when it came to showing emotions and building relationships, and that was saying something. Ash was hardhearted. Jason was plain and simple hardcore. And for some goddamn reason, the ladies loved him. In their younger days, when they all happened to be stateside, they’d hit up a seedy bar for a few games of pool and a few too many tequila shooters. Jason would do his thing, showing little regard for the female attention directed his way. Stalking around the pool table, making bank shot after bank shot, he’d fend off the more aggressive women who dared to approach using only a subtle but unmistakable shake of his head. And some of those women had been damn fine. He drew all kinds, from the leather miniskirt and fishnets type to the buttoned up blouse and low black pumps, repressed kind. More often than not, he left alone at the end of the night, but when he didn’t, it was a sight to see how little work he had to put in, to get a woman to put out. One night in particular had gone down in history, with Sam and Ash watching in awe. Finishing his last beer, Jason had simply tipped the empty bottle toward a brunette sitting at a barstool a good fifty feet away. She’d been watching the table and it hadn’t gone unnoticed, but she wasn’t one of the unlucky who’d approached, only to get the hard brush off from the guy they called Tin Man. Without hesitation, the woman had signed her credit card slip and walked toward the door, waiting patiently while Jason threw down a few bills to cover their tab before walking to the exit, opening the door so the brunette could precede him out and presumable toward a conveniently located hotel. She had accepted his wordless invitation without so much as a how do you do.

Sam’s voice was skeptical. “And? How’s the hard sell coming? I’m sure you worked him over with your good-natured wit and charm. Did you remind him that we offer an extensive benefits package and a war-zone free working environment? At least, most of the time.”

Jason had been making noise about leaving the Navy when his time was up and Ash had been trying to recruit him ever since. With no luck.

“Don’t you worry your pretty head about my tactics. I’m gonna get him. I’m this close,” he said, holding his fingers an inch apart. “Wanna bet me on it?”

“Hell, yeah. I need a new box of Cubans.”

“You’re asking me to bring illegal contraband into the country? Commit a federal offense?” he scoffed, as if offended. As if he hadn’t done it before. “I’m a law abiding citizen, Sammy. Besides, you’re not gonna win this one. Eventually, it’s gonna happen and when it does, I want the beach house for a full weekend.”

“You want my house? For two whole days? I’d ask you why, but I’ve got a pretty good idea and while I’m disgusted by the potential debauchery that would take place in my home, I’m in.” Sam was confident Jason wouldn’t leave the Navy unless his CO physically escorted him to the door or he was zippered into a body bag.

Caroline strolled into his office, interrupting the stakes of their wager to set a soggy bag of tepid take-out and a white envelope in front of him. Lunch had come and gone hours ago, sometime during Ray’s blustery, ass-kissing speech, so even room temperature chicken salad held real appeal.

“The food is from the deli across the street. The other is from a super hot babe wearing animal print and a pretty blush.” Before Sam could get the words out, she answered his question in a sing-song voice as she walked right back out. “It’s not my fault you closed your door.”

Hearing Ash let out a rare chuckle, Sam spared him an irritated look.

“There were boots, too. The kind that went up to her knees. And a whole lotta leg was still showing.” Ash grinned when Sam’s eyes narrowed. “You made the rule, man.”

“I think that wall will stand on its own, if you want to leave now.”

“I’ve exceeded my spoken word count for the day, anyway,” he said, heading toward the door, “and damn, I’m gonna enjoy the hell out of that weekend at the beach.”

Sam didn’t reply, his mind already focused on the surprise visitor he’d missed. Opening the envelope with care, he pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper along with a personal check, made payable to Scorpio Securities, Inc. and written for a sizable amount of money. Five figures and some change. Payment for services rendered.

As much as he deserved this, and had insinuated to her that he expected it, the money was still a punch to the gut. As if he really had been hired to do a job and the last few weeks—which had honestly been the best of his life—were simply the fulfillment of a contractual obligation. Bordering on outraged, he dropped the check down on the desk, telling himself he should cash the fucking thing just to see what kind of rise he could get out of her.

Grabbing the folded sheet of paper, he scanned the words, written in a pretty, feminine scroll that made his chest tighten. Or maybe it was the words themselves that hit him squarely where he was hurting the most.

Dear Sam, You don’t know me, but I know you. My name is Ali Ross. I moved into the house next door to you. I watch you run every morning, just after the sun rises. I would like it very much if you and your dog would come over tonight for a drink. I have never been a very interesting person, but I have a story to tell you. Best, Ali.

They were the words she should have said when she’d called him to purchase her security system. Or when he and Pete had come upon her, on the beach that fateful night of their first face to face meeting. Or a dozen other times since. Her words were long overdue, but damn, they made him feel good, anyway.

They were an introduction. A fresh start. Another beginning.

And Sam wasn’t the least bit surprised when later that evening, just as his bare feet hit the beach and he followed an excited Pete toward Ali’s back door, he instead found her sitting on the sand, in that very same spot. Appearing lost in thought, she stared out at the darkening sky as the sun slipped behind the horizon, the reflection off the water making it look like rippled glass.

Pete and his boundless energy beat him to her. Nudging her with his wet nose, a smile lit her face as she wrapped an arm around the dog, murmuring something that Sam couldn’t hear, but caused a lot of tailwagging. When her eyes met his, he could see the nervousness.

“Hi,” she said quietly, brushing sand off her backside as she stood. “I’m glad you came over. I wasn’t sure you would.”

“I’ve never had an invitation quite like that one. How could I refuse?”

Relaxing a bit at his casual tone, she gestured toward her house and he nodded, enjoying the sexy sway of her hips as he followed her inside.

“Thanks for sending someone to fix my door today,” she said, closing it behind him.

Sam had hastily nailed a sheet of plywood over the broken door last night, intending to send one of his guys out today to repair it for good, although Beckett, who was their best computer expert—no one who valued his junk dared to call him a hacker—hadn’t done it without some bitching. Using swear words like only a former sailor could, Beck reminded Sam that he wasn’t a handyman for hire, although his carpentry skills were being finely honed while he restored a historic but rundown old Craftsman bungalow in the Mission Hills district. Every veteran had his own way of reintegrating back into society after years of non-stop deployments. Thinking of his earlier conversation with Asher, Sam hoped to hell it was only power tools and wood stain helping Beck.

He spared the door a brief glance, noticing the wood only needed a few coats of paint and it would be good as new. He also noticed that Ali didn’t bother to reset the alarm, and that it hadn’t even been set to begin with. A first in his experience.

Standing in the center of the living room, which looked the same as it always did minus the large area rug, Ali bit her lip. “Do you want a beer?”

He shook his head and sat down on the sofa.

Looking toward the kitchen uncertainly, she added, “Do you want wine? Water?”

“Ali. I think you know what I want.”

Dipping her head, she lifted a throw pillow from the corner of the sofa and sat down facing him, hugging it tightly to her. She stared at him and sighed, her pretty blue eyes soft in the shadowed light as she reached out, smoothing a finger over his brow in a gesture so loving it made his gut clench. “I want to tell you a story. It’s not a fairy tale, though. It’s real life.” Her eyes welled and she tightened her lips, smiling uncertainly. “But I have high hopes for a happy ending.”

She sat back, took a deep breath, and in a no nonsense voice, proceeded to tell him her life story. The abbreviated version, he gathered, because she was hitting only the high points. And a few of the low ones, too, even though he knew she was glossing over the uglier details, diminishing their significance. As if it would hurt him less by not knowing the frequency and intensity of her suffering. Sam was no fool, though, and he was well versed at reading between the lines. The longer she spoke, the lower her voice got, and he could feel her embarrassment, along with a healthy dose of despair. It was a palpable feeling and he wanted to reach out and wrap her in his arms. Tell her to stop talking about it, stop reliving it. That he was here to protect her now, to make sure no harm would ever come her way again.

But his beautiful, brave Ali—and make no mistake, she was his—needed to finish this as much as he needed to hear it. It was a purging of the past that once done, would bring forth renewal. And Jesus Christ, if anybody could read his mind right now, they would think he spent his days buffing his nails and watching Oprah show reruns.

“The ironic thing was, I didn’t even want to go to that office party. I wanted to stay home and crochet a blanket. That’s another thing you don’t know about me. I like to crochet.” She let out a half laugh and shrugged. “It’s a lost art. Anyway, Danny said we needed to make an appearance so we went. After a few hours, I was ready to leave. The champagne had given me a headache. He’d disappeared so I went to look for him, hoping he would call a car service and stay at the party without me, but I couldn’t find him. I finally checked his office and when I pushed open the door, I saw him with someone. In a position that, thankfully, he hadn’t had me in, in a long time. And I found out the real reason why he was so angry with me all the time. And himself, too, because he spent the majority of his time being mad.”