A SEAL's Heart (5 page)

          “Didn’t we have this conversation upstairs? Were you not informed that I don’t
care
what you want?”

          Fitz glared. “Obviously you don’t if you’re still here.”

          Something flashed in her eyes before she recovered. Shit. He’d hurt her. Reaching out, he tried to grab for her hand. “Z–”

          She snatched her hand away. “Once you’re finished cleaning, we’re going for a fifteen-minute walk.”

          He followed her with his eyes as she moved around the family room. “My knee can’t take that.”

          Zuly stopped, didn’t even look at him when she said, “Bullshit.”

          Fitz’s jaw clenched.

          “I’m estimating there to be around twenty to thirty beer bottles inside of here alone. Not to mention the bottles of whiskey and God knows what else. Which means you leave your bed approximately three to four times a week to walk down the stairs, get in your truck and drive down to the nearest convenience store. The pizza boxes let me in on the little fact that you’ve been well enough to get around the house without a problem. So, yeah, fifteen-minute walk.” She continued on to the kitchen.

          He walked behind her. “I’m
not–”

         
“Twenty minutes,” Zuly interrupted.

          “Z–”

          “Twenty-five minutes.” She turned to him, eyes full of so much anger that he couldn’t even keep his gaze on hers. “For every second you don’t simply say,
‘Yes, Zuly. Okay, Zuly.’
I’ll add another five minutes. You wanna go for thirty?”

          Fitz didn’t answer.

          “I didn’t think so.” Snapping her fingers, she pointed to the dishes in the sink and lining the counters. “Get this shit up and don’t come to me with the martyr act again or I’ll make you sorry.”

          “I already am,” Fitz murmured, grabbing a stack of plates and going for the dishwasher.

          “Did you say something?”

          He knew that tone. That was the tone that said she was giving him a chance to amend whatever had left his mouth. “No.”

          “Good,” Zuly retorted. “Let me know when you’re done in here and you can start on the family room and front porch.” She was silent for a while and he could feel her staring at him for a long time. “If you need help...
ask
.”

          He should’ve been annoyed, should’ve tried to get her to leave again...but truthfully, all he could do was discreetly stare at those goddamn shorts she had on. The rise of her ass was enough to tamp down his ire. Because really, what man in their right mind would be able to keep his eyes off it?

          Even hung over and exhausted from a lack of sleep, Fitz still felt himself stirring with every dip and sway of her hips. It was unnatural the responses she could pull from him. And yet she was completely oblivious to her effect.

          They worked around one another in silence with Fitz occasionally casting a glance over to Zuly, wondering if at some point the innate silliness he was used to would make an appearance. It never did. There were no smiles or jokes. There was no tossing things at his head or calling him
frogman.
There was only the sound of their movements and the tic in Zuly’s jaw.

          It seemed like the more trash they picked up, the more agitated she became. When he grabbed a half-full bottle of whiskey from underneath one of the couches, she snatched from him and headed for the kitchen. Fitz struggled to keep up with her and by the time he hit the doorway, she was pouring it down the drain of the kitchen sink.

          “Hey! What are you–”

          “How many more?” she asked, her tone not surpassing a whisper. “How many more bottles am I going to find?”

Zuly’s eyes held an accusation that almost made him feel ashamed
.
Fitz shrugged. “Who knows?” He scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t always remember where I put them. I just kind of leave them where–”

She held up a hand. “Stop.” Turning away from him, Zuly gripped the counter, head bowed.

He stood there, awkwardly shifting his weight. “You’re angry.”

A snort of laughter left her. “Angry?” She shook her head. “No, Fitz. I’m not angry.” When she turned back to him her eyes were huge and watery. “Anger would’ve kept me at home...away from you. Which is probably where I
should
be but I just can’t...” One hand came up to push her straightened hair away from her face. “I’m hurt,” she said quietly. “I’m hurt because whatever it is you’re struggling with, it’s kept you away from people who
love
you. I’m hurt because you’ve been alone all this time and you won’t put down your fucking pride and talk to me.” Zuly’s gaze put a lump his throat. “I’m hurt because
you’re
hurt. But I’m not angry.” She leaned against the counter, rubbing her arms. “I don’t get how you
still
can’t see it...”

His brows winged. “See what?”

Her head cocked as she stared at him, mouth opening like there was something she wanted to tell him, something heavy. But she simply shook her head again and started past him.

Fitz caught her by the forearm but couldn’t look her in the eye. If he saw disappointment there... “I’m sorry.” It felt like the only right thing to say at the moment.

Her fingers squeezed his own. “Don’t be sorry, Fitz. Just...just let me help you fix it.”

“I don’t think you can.” He finally did look at her then. “I don’t think
anybody
can.” Something wet trickled over his lashes and down his cheek.

Zuly chewed her bottom lip, reaching up to wipe his face right before she tugged him forward and into her arms. Jesus, the moment he wrapped himself around her he felt like he was truly and honestly home. The smell of citrus and vanilla teased his nostrils as he stuck her face into her hair and squeezed her tightly against him. Her warm palms ran over his naked back in soothing sweeps that made him shudder, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from losing it completely.

“You’re gonna be all right, frogman. I’m gonna make sure of it,” Zuly murmured against his chest, and he felt it constrict. With a slow, deep inhale, he got himself under control, still keeping a hold on her; the only thing anchoring him at the moment.

***

          God, how did he not know? Why was it this man still didn’t understand that the very beat of his heart kept her breathing? Why couldn’t he grasp that she
couldn’t
leave him alone? That she’d
never
leave him alone because he was as much a part of her as her own thumbprint?

          Without Fitzgerald Carrigan, Zuly’s existence wouldn’t be nearly as fulfilling as it was. It was something no one had ever seemed to understand, no matter how many times she tried to explain it. Her parents had never gotten it, Kamilah had never gotten it. Nor had his brothers. No one could ever grasp how her love for him surpassed any other emotion she had.

          He made her feel...complete. Standing here right now, with him alive and well, squeezing her, caused Zuly to send up a brief prayer of thanks. She couldn’t imagine her life without Fitz, and she never wanted to try. The last two months had been a testament to how it would feel if he weren’t here.

          “It’s me and you Fitz, remember?” Zuly asked softly. “It’s always been me and you, and it’ll
always
be me and you. No matter what you
think
you’ve done. No matter how badly things may be fucked up, I’m not going anywhere. Because if I don’t have you around...I don’t have very much.”

          Fitz left out an exhale that said he was trying to speak without losing his man-card. “I don’t deserve you...”

She snorted. “No. You don’t. Because I’m awesome. And don’t you ever forget it, you wild-haired freak of nature.”

He leaned back, one brow quirked as he ran his fingers through her own tresses. “And who helped you with this? The archangel Gabriel? Jesus himself decide to do you a favor because he just couldn’t take it anymore?”

Zuly gave an open-palmed slap to his lower back, grinning when he yelped. “No, your reigning lord and master Beelzebub figured he owed you one for your long and faithful service.”

His lips twitched. “I don’t serve the devil...anymore. I leave that to my brothers and their satanic rituals.”

“I thought those were called family get-togethers.”

“You say tomato...”

          Smiling now, she pushed him backwards. “Go put some clothes on, man. So we can walk.”

          Fitz waggled his brows then made his pecs jump, the SEAL emblem tattooed on his torso dancing. “Does my manliness offend you?”

          It was nothing short of a miracle that she didn’t bend over and ask him to... No, no, she wouldn’t go there. Instead she smirked. “Sweetheart, I’ve seen your manliness. It couldn’t offend an Oscar Meyer.”

          When she turned to walk away, all she heard was, “Goddammit, I told you it was too cold to go skinny dipping that night! It wasn’t my fault!”

          “Excuses, excuses.”

          “You aiming for a peek now, Z?”

          That almost made her trip over her own two feet. The man was vulnerable. She couldn’t. Could she? No, no. It wouldn’t be right. Would it? Goddammit! “Keep it in your pants, Carrigan. I’ve heard about you Navy men. You’re whores.”

          Zuly could hear him heading up the stairs. “That’s a horrible stereotype. It’s true but still horrible.”

          For the first time in a long time, she felt genuine amusement.

          “Wait...why are we walking this–aw, Z,
no.
In the twenty years that thing has been here, it’s never held up.”

Fitz groaned as he watched Zuly clear off the infamous hammock. The one that had gotten them more bruises and scratches than the cat he had as a kid. Little demon hadn’t lasted more than a week in the Carrigan household.

          With a smile, she made herself comfortable on that same hammock and patted the space beside her. “C’mon, frogman.”

          He couldn’t have said no if he tried. Having her wait for him in any position shot down all his defenses. Slowly, he took the space beside her, readjusting his weight. Fitz stiffened a little when she rolled, throwing an arm over his waist.

          “See? Armageddon didn’t start,” she said softly.

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he put his nose to her hair. “Only because you control when it happens, don’t you, my little science lab escapee?”

She pinched him and he winced as he started the hammock in a slow rock.

“You
do
know I’m not naïve enough to think this changes anything, right?” Zuly questioned.

His brows lowered but he didn’t answer.

“Everyone misses you, Fitz,” she continued. “
I
miss you.”

“I’m right here.”

“Are you?”

He clenched his teeth. “What is it that you want from me, Z?”

“A lot,” she retorted, and before he could ask what
that
meant she buried her face in his chest and rushed on to say, “But for starters I wanna know why you stopped physical therapy?”

Fitz rolled his eyes. “There are men who lost whole legs. My knee was blown. So the fuck what?” He hadn’t understood the recommendation of physical therapy. It wasn’t like he needed to learn how to walk or do things without the use of a limb. He was still intact...for the most part.