Fighting for Arielle (13 page)

Arielle

T
he weather is particularly beautiful this Saturday afternoon, with the trade winds in full force and not a cloud in the sky.  I've been dying to visit Ford Island because I’ve been told that many of the original plane hangars that survived the attack on Pearl Harbor remain there with bullet holes still in them.  I've also been drawn to the red and white striped tower featured in the movie
Pearl Harbor
that stands higher than the other structures on the island.  

With my head still clouded with confusion and guilt fro
m the unexpected, sweet, but very emotional, kiss with McCrary the other day.  I’ve been avoiding him ever since, but according to Macy’s daily reports, my efforts have not been necessary since apparently he’s been avoiding me and not coming to the gym.  

I decide to combine my historical tour with an ov
erdue, long, and cathartic jog.  Ford Island is a very small piece of land that has a perimeter of under 6 miles.  As I jog around the land, I think of what it must have been like to have been here those many years ago and witness such a heinous act of war.  

Lost in my thoughts, I approach the side of the island that is closest to the
USS Arizona
memorial.  I marvel at the simple beauty derived from a highly complex design.  I pause for a moment to take in not only the site of the stark, white monument against the blue water, but also in remembrance for all of those involved and affected by such tragedy.  

Watching the serene water ripple against the shore, I think I hear someone call my name.
 The island seems to be fairly calm and unoccupied, outside of a few housing complexes.   

"Arielle, is that you?"
 

This time, I am positive of the sound I hear as it is louder and closer.
 I look over my shoulder and see the shirtless, sweaty, and tan specimen that is McCrary Ashby.  Moving toward me, I see sweat beading down his acutely formed pecs to his ripped stomach, which causes my breath to hitch a little.  His skin literally shines in the tropical sun- not in the silly teenage vampire way -but in a sexy, hard-working, and fit adult way, which not only turns me on but makes my heart literally skip beats.

I smile and wave at McCrary, very su
rprised but happy to see him.  "We always run into each other in the most random of places."

Returning my smile and salutation he says, "This isn't really random for me.
 I live here."

I continue to watch him as he closes the gap between us.
 

"You live where?"

"Here, on Ford Island.”  

He’s standing a few inches from me now, and I don’t really know how to act when you see someone who kissed you and you
wanted to kiss back, but then pushed them away when you got scared.  

“What’s your excuse?" he asks me.

"There are houses here?"  

I look around,
and indeed there are a limited number of houses around me.  

"I was so enthralled with my self-guided tour, I didn't even notice I was in the middle of another housing complex.
 I decided to go for a jog and take in some of the history here.  You know, kill two birds and whatnot."

We stand in the sun, both sweaty, staring at one another in an awkward pause.
 

McCrary breaks the silence.
 "Would you like to sit and have a glass of water or something?"

Water
sounds wonderful right now as does the invitation to a tour and view of McCrary’s personal life.  

"I
would more than like to have a glass of water; I would freaking LOVE a glass of water."

McCrary’s face fill
s with excitement and relief.  “Great.  Come on over.”  

He gestur
es to the house behind us that has lawn mower sitting in a yard of halfway uncut grass.

I follow McCrary
’s lead over to his house.  He invites me to sit at the table outside on the lanai, which is what you call a covered patio in Hawaii, as he goes inside to get some water, but I opt to stand until he returns.  When he comes back outside, I can see that his eyes are still drawn to the faded purple and yellow hues that adorn the bridge of my nose.  His tense jaw and the steel in his eyes tell me that he is still as affected seeing the wound now as he was a few days ago.   

McCrary places the glass of water on the table and motions for me to sit down.
 I happily oblige and take a large gulp of the ice cold liquid.  The refreshment it brings to me is wonderful.  It cools my mouth as it washes down my throat and into my stomach.  

"This is wonderful and just what I needed.
 You, sir, are my hero of the day."

McCrary lets out a hearty laugh.
  "That was always my life's ambition.  Goal met.  Life complete."  

He is so adorable to me when he is playful, and I love our banter.
 

After a few laughs, we sit together in a comfortable silence, but I can feel the need to discuss our last encounter making its way to the front of my thoughts.
 I choose to push it back a little longer so I can remain relaxed.  

“It is positively gorgeous here.
 You have a million dollar view from your back porch.  How long have you lived here?”

He studies my face with light
in his eyes, and he curls the right side of his mouth up, exposing that dimple I’ve come to know so well.  

“I’ve been stati
oned at Pearl Harbor for about eight months.  Before that, I was in Djibouti.”

He really has lived all over the world.
 I am not well-versed in geography, but I at least can name most countries on a map.  

“Is that where you learned to speak French?”

“Indeed.”  He nods and slowly blinks his eyes.  

“Just hearing the word ‘Djibouti’ makes me snicker.
 I can’t help it.”  

He smiles warmly
, and his chest rises and falls as he chuckles at my confession.  

“It’s true.
 I also feel like it should be the punchline to a joke.  You know, like ‘Knock knock.  Who’s there?  Booty.  Booty who?  Djibouti.’”

He laughs heartily a
nd says, “That has to be, hands-down, the worst knock knock joke ever.”

His face is the most stunning
to me when he is at ease and gleeful.  I want to take in this look even longer, but I belt out a laugh and bend over the table slightly.  

Waving my hands abou
t, I playfully defend myself.  “Don’t hate on my creativity.  It’s a work in progress.  Plus, I never claimed to be great at improv.”

He pauses, places my hands in his
, and his face becomes earnest.  “I could never and would never hate anything about you.”  

My breath hitches
, and I wonder how he continues to have the same effect on me.  It very well may be of a medical concern soon, if he continues to affect me like this.  

He continues, “Arielle, I cannot express to you how angry the thought of anyone hurting you physically or emotionally makes me.
 The moment I saw you the other day, I pictured what it must have been like for you.  I thought about how you must have felt in the moment- as if you somehow deserved it or that you were helpless.  I told you I wish I could have been there to help you, and I still feel that way, but I also have the utmost respect for you and your ability to get up, face the next day, and keep fighting.”

“I’m not brave nor am I strong for dealing with it.
 More importantly, as I said before McCrary, it’s not your fault and you couldn’t have known.”  I feel so bad for dragging him into my drama-filled world.

“No, I couldn’t have predicted that particular incident, but I should have protected you...somehow.
 If maybe I had given you more resources.  If maybe I had given you more confidence.  Or if maybe I had just tied you up and kept your hard-headed self away from that situation, I could have prevented it.”  

His brow furrows and eyes look hardened.
 I see the pain and true remorse he feels, and I feel guilty that I caused some of it.  I reach up and place my hand on his warm, smooth cheek.  Leaning into my hand, he places his over mine, which completely covers it, and sends a spike of that very pain coursing through my veins.  He closes his eyes and inhales deeply.

Reassuringly, I say, “I know I’m hard-hea
ded, and I know it’s difficult to take a step back and watch someone potentially set themselves up for harm, but I’m fine, McCrary.  Really, I am fine, and now Brody’s gone for some time out to sea, so now I can get my life together and figure out my next step.”  

He opens his eyes with a look of expectancy.
 

“Plus,” I add, “I may have enjoyed you tying me up more than I should.”

He grins at me mischievously and says, “It really would have been only under the guise of protection.”

I feel a sense of urgency, only this time, it’s from deep within.
 I stand up with my hand still wrapped in his, and move to him until we are face to face.  Looking into his wide, brown eyes, I feel a need to have him.  I need to feel his lips on mine.  I need to feel his hands on my body.  I need to be wrapped in the warmth and security of his being.  

“Kiss me, McCrary.”
  

His breath stalls.
 

I’m desperate for him now.
 

“I need you to kiss me.”

McCrary immediately crashes his mouth into mine and pulls my body into his, wantonly.  He uses his lips to open mine and our tongues meet for the first time, yet we already seem to expertly know each other’s mouths in the most intimate of ways.  His arms envelop my body, and I feel loved, appreciated, and safe.  I crave more of him and attempt to show him my need with each caress of his tongue with mine.  He seems to read my silent language clearly, because before I realize it, I’m swept up in his arms, and he’s carrying me inside.  I forget about the world outside, the fact that my nose is bruised, and the fact that we are both covered in sweat.  In fact, I think I revel in that last fact.

He gently places me back onto my feet once we are inside, but his mouth doesn’t leave mine for several minutes.
 

When he pulls back, I see wonder in his eyes.
 They sparkle, and his pupils are wide.  He looks positively breathtaking.  His lips are slightly parted as he searches for what he will say next.

“Would you like to have a glass of wine or something?
 You will love watching the sunset over the water.”

I rejoice that he asks me to stay around him a little longer, because if he hadn’t invited me, he may have had to call someone to
come drag me away.  Seeing him here and relaxed, plus kissing him, makes the pull to him I’ve been feeling since we met, grow ever stronger.  

I look down at my running shorts and very sweaty top and am
sharply reminded that I probably stink. I also don’t have any other clothes.

As if readi
ng my thoughts yet again, he asks, “Would you like to take a shower?”  

A shower with him?
 That’s awesome, but he really is a bit of a stranger to me.  Plus, I’ve attempted to take sexy showers that turned out to be so not hot due to a lack of space and a need to scrub-a-dub.  

Furrowing my brow, “Will we both fit?” I inquire.
 

McCrary laughs a
s if my question is a silly one.  “Oh...you wanted us both to get in?  I thought I might get in and let you watch.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I grin back.
 

I think I might actually prefer that option.
 I’d get to see him naked and lathered AND I stay clothed.  It’s a win-win for everyone, really.

“I thought I should
let you shower alone.  If I don’t, you might consider me a bit forward.”

“I have no personal space issues, but since I’m p
retty sweaty and smelly, I think I should go it alone this time, in the hopes I might get invited over again sometime.”

I can’t believe that I not only pretty much forced myself on him, telling him to kiss me earlier, but now I’m assuming that I will be invited back.
 I don’t know who or what has invaded my body, but I kind of like this boldness I’m showing.

McCrary bites his lower lip
and lifts an eyebrow as if he realizes the implication of what I just said as well.  He laces his fingers in mine and guides me through the house.  

We stroll down the hall toward the
master bathroom.  

“Is this the grand tour?” I ask as he leads me to the back of the house.

He squeezes my hand, looks over his shoulder, and says, “My lady, THIS is the VIP tour.”

I squeeze his hand in retu
rn, which feels very natural.  “I feel so special.”