Fearless: Complicated Creatures Part Three (42 page)

He reminded himself in that moment how much he disliked Travis. He tried to hold onto that even as Travis said, “Wes, I could be really wrong. Hell,
please
prove I’m wrong,” Travis told him. “I’m only telling you this because I genuinely care about Sammy. I don’t like the idea any more than you do, but if anyone stood to gain in that scenario, it was Rob’s right-hand. Mack shot up from being Chief of Staff to Commander-in-Chief overnight, and everyone knows Sam never wanted that seat to begin with.”

Wes sat back, his forearms lax against the armrests as his earlier hostility against Travis drained out of him in the face of this possibility. Shit, even if Travis was right and Mack had done this to her, she’d never accept it. And Wes didn’t think she’d come back from a betrayal this monstrous. That kind of deception was downright Machiavellian. Maybe it would hurt less
not
knowing.

“You look like you could do with another,” Travis observed, holding out the bottle of Glenlivet.

Fuck yeah, could he.

What a goddamn mess
… was all he could think as he sat in the same office with his once-enemy and yet another man who loved the same girl.

*

April—Early Evening

Wyatt Ranch, Texas

J A C K

“So let me
make sure I understand this,” Dr. Carmichael started from the video call on Jack’s laptop. “You’ve reinserted yourself back into Samantha’s life, and now you’re withholding crucial information about a terrorist, until your father gives you sensitive and top-secret information on your ex-lover’s family’s death? Does that just about cover it?”

“We’re not ex-anything—we just spent the night together,” Jack disputed, though he saw his therapist’s expression of incredulous disbelief.

“We’ll get back to that. Right now, I’m more concerned about the fact that I feel the need to point out that attempting to hold anyone in the CIA hostage is probably a bad idea. No, it’s beyond that. It’s suicidally reckless,” Carmichael told him in his typically straightforward manner.

“Our last session, you compared the way I feel about Samantha to a drug addiction. I think you’ve already established I’m not averse to risks if I believe in what I’m being reckless for. If I need to hold the CIA’s feet to the fire to get the truth for her, then so be it.”

“Whoa, wait a minute,” Carmichael began. “What I suggested during our last session was that you figure out whether you truly loved Samantha, or if you were actually in love with the way your obsession makes you feel. There’s a difference.”

“I’m not obsessed.”

His therapist’s brows shot up. “Is the Skype connection not working? I thought I heard you say you’re not obsessed with the woman you just gate-crashed on multiple levels.”

“Obsession implies I idealize her, which I definitely don’t,” Jack pointed out. “I’m fully aware of who Samantha is and the fact that she’s constantly surrounded by danger—and not the fun, sexy kind. She’s so full of self-loathing, I wonder if it’s even possible for her to forgive herself,” he admitted, giving words to the things he’d thought for so long but hadn’t said aloud. “That said, I’ve never seen anyone cope with so much pain with her level of restraint. It’s heartbreaking. She breaks my fucking heart sometimes because I can’t save her from it. Any of it.”

“Jack, may I suggest for a moment that love—
healthy love
—is not about saving or being saved? Samantha, for all your descriptions of her, may be damaged, but she doesn’t seem to need saving. Nor, frankly—do you. Perhaps what you both need—what you both are looking for—is to simply be understood. To be accepted and loved for who you are, regardless of your badness or your issues or your foibles,” Carmichael pointed out.

“I’m not trying to be her white knight. I’m trying to be her partner.”

“Jack, you bought out her main competitor. Now you’re threatening your own father to get him to comply with her wishes. That’s not partnership. That’s blackmail.”

“What? I’m Italian. I’m one-hundred-percent certain I have mafia blood in my family history,” he quipped, though he saw Carmichael’s point. “But just because I love this woman passionately doesn’t mean it’s unhealthy. You weren’t with her last night. You didn’t see what I saw. You can’t understand the pain she’s in. If I’m in a position to help her, I’ll do it. Besides, she asked me to bring my father to the table with this information.”

Carmichael sighed. “Jack, has it ever occurred to you that having a genuine appreciation for who your partner is and an acceptance of that person is typically effortless. True love, true compatibility, is generally typified not by
your
need, but by the fact that you ‘get’ each other without the urgent,
must-have-you-now
stress that fixation breeds. You’re doing all of these things—falling back into these
I’ll-do-anything-for-you
patterns—because you’re trying to prove your love.”

Okay, so maybe he had a fair point, though Jack wasn’t entirely ready to admit it.

“Look, I can see how this might happen, just given your personality and your approach to life,” Carmichael continued. “Where you’ve been focused and single-minded and driven in the past has been rewarding. Now, I think it may be a blind spot.”

Jack thought about the absolute rush he’d felt at seeing Sam again—holding her in his arms after months apart. The closest thing he could liken it to was a powerful shot of adrenaline coursing through his veins, making his heart pump hard with life and love and vitality. When Jack was with Samantha, everything felt more vivid. He’d felt more acute and trenchant than he had in months. Perhaps Carmichael was right. Maybe Samantha had always been the drug; the ultimate hit he’d been chasing. Because when he was with her, even when she was tearing him apart—he’d rather be with her than separated, he’d rather take whatever she had to give than move through life feeling everything half-measure, restless and apathetic, without really understanding why.

“What matters to me is taking accountability for my actions, which I’d think you would encourage,” Jack responded. “If that means holding my father’s feet to the fire and indirectly, that of the CIAs, then so be it. I’ve never not done what I thought was right at the end of the day. It just took me a bit longer to come around to it this time. As for Samantha—last night felt like a breakthrough for both of us. It was intimacy without sex, which was a first for us. She’s never let go with me—never allowed herself to be that vulnerable with me before.” Jack remembered the way she wept in his arms, the excruciating pain of it, but the release it felt like too, like she was laying down an incredible burden—for once, allowing him to help her shoulder it. Last night meant more to him than he could put into words.

“I think that’s a great step, Jack,” Carmichael told him. “I’m just asking you to consider that your unwavering belief in your own abilities and your guiding principles is what keeps you functioning at a high level of work, but that kind of self-image can create pretty significant blind spots. That single-mindedness may have worked for you in the past; after all, you’ve been able to take great gambles with your Midas stash and make fast-paced decisions with enormous success. That said, there is a difference between not seeing something coming versus seeing it and ignoring that it’s there.”

“What are you suggesting?” Jack asked, increasingly impatient. “That I renege on my promise to Samantha?”

“I’m suggesting you ask yourself whether you’re doing all of this because you love Samantha or if you’re afraid of losing her. Love has a nasty habit of dredging up all that is unloved within ourselves when it’s wielded like a tool or weapon. You can’t
make
this woman love you the way you want. You can’t
make
her stay. She either will or she won’t. Just remember that no matter what you are willing to do—no matter what you’re willing to sacrifice—you can’t buy what you want from her. Samantha will choose you or she won’t. That isn’t your call. I want you to be prepared for that reality, and avoid spinning out if you don’t get the result you’re hoping for.”

Jack’s mouth compressed. “You may be the most depressing therapist I’ve ever had.”

Carmichael shrugged, though his eyes were compassionate. “They don’t call me Dr. Feelgood for nothing.”

“No one calls you that.”

“Oh, alright. You caught me.” Carmichael laughed softly through the pixilation of the screen. “I know I’ve spent the last half hour giving you an earful, but for what it’s worth: you’re on the right track, Jack. The fact that you were kind to Samantha without forcing her into declarations or commitments or decisions last night is a good thing. Throughout all of human history, there are two reasons why people fight: because we demand to have our love proven or we demand to be in charge. Try doing neither for a few days and see what happens. Just love her and let her be. Who knows? She might continue to surprise you.”

April—Afternoon

Wyatt Ranch, Texas

S A M A N T H A

J
ack was doing
it again. Charming the pants off of pretty much anybody and everybody who crossed his path. First Aunt Hannah, then Uncle Grant, who took to showing him what it meant to run a three-hundred-acre Limousin cattle ranch. Jack even got ole’ Gus to crack a smile, while he showed him how to saddle his own horse. At one point, Jack had the old cowboy laughing so hard with his quips, the poor guy was wheezing into his hat.

“That man can’t ride for shit, but he’s a decent shot, and his lasagna is even better than Hannah’s,” Uncle Grant declared as they stood at the edge of the corral, watching the horse trainers showing Jack two new foals. He gazed at them in wonder, running a hand down their velvet softness, his smile brilliant in the late afternoon sun.

Samantha’s look was disbelieving. “You tell
her
that?”

“Ah, hell no, missy,” Grant replied with a chuckle. “Hannah’d kick me in the rear so hard, I’d be into next week. But I think she suspects it’s the truth,” he added conspiratorially.

“You just gave me plenty of ammo,” Sam told him, haughty. “Better not get on my bad side, Uncle.”

“You got any other?” Grant teased back, winking at her.

Sam let out a genuine laugh, surprised at how good it felt. She felt lighter than she had in… well, she couldn’t remember feeling this light in a good long while. Too long. Strange, considering she had more terrible and stressful things going on than she could count on one hand, but there it was. Like a slice of sunlight filtering through the creaks in a tightly shut door. It had been a long time since she felt this warm and good.

Since the night with Jack, a heavy weight had lifted. There were still so many unknowns, so many complications and issues, but for the first time, she was allowing herself the incredible gift of being supported and cared for by the people who loved her most in the world. It was a difficult, late-in-life lesson for a woman who’d never been good at asking for help, but as Sam looked around her, she saw clearly who surrounded her, each person willing to go to the mat for her, no matter what. Her family, her team… her eyes fell on Jack as he laughed at something Gus was saying, his smile bright in the sunlight.

Sam looped her arm under the crook of Grant’s elbow, resting her head against his shoulder. “You like him?” she asked tentatively, his approval suddenly very important to her.

Grant nodded. “He’s a good man, Sammy girl. And he loves you something terrible, poor bastard,” he teased.

She smacked his arm lightly, making him grin. She smiled back, the first genuine smile she’d had in a long time before she pressed her nose against his big arm and breathed in the scent of hay, leather, and saddle soap that reminded her so much of her youth.

“I shouldn’t be listening to the opinion of someone who’s so easily swayed by lasagna,” she said into his sleeve.

“Well, it’s some damn good lasagna.” Grant smiled down at her, blue eyes twinkling. “What else do you need but to be taken care of by someone who knows how to feed ya? Can’t beat that with a stick.”

She laughed softly. “You’re so country, you think a seven-course meal is a possum and a six-pack.”