Havoc (24 page)

Inside with dinner, my eyes zone in on Haven.
It's the first time I've really gotten to enjoy her presence all
day. I've dreamed about her the whole time I was gone, the way her
hair falls in her face, the way her eyes lighten when she laughs,
the way she fiddles with the ends of her hair when she's giddy.
Right now, none of that is even on the horizon. Her face looks
solemn, her hair pulled away from it, her attention focused on her
plate. She's probably thinking about how much she hates me. I
promised myself I would never be the reason she looks the way she
does right now. A Marine is only as good as his word, so I guess
that makes sense today. Piss poor words. Piss poor Marine.

Sir tries to break the mood. “A meal in
silence?” Neither of us respond. “No one is going to say anything
to each other?”

She finally looks up, and our eyes meet. For
a just a second, I think I see a light at the end of this terrible
tunnel.

“Fine. I'm heading out for the night.”

While he clears his plate, I stutter, “Excuse
me, Sir?”

“While your tiff is one that I would be glad
to referee, neither of you are talking. And I don't have all day to
sit around and wait for you to discuss the problems at hand like
adults.”

I know what he's getting at. He wants me to
tell her the things I told him. He wants me to tell her what's
going on, right here, right now, so he can lend her support, an
explanation that that's how military life works sometimes.

“You wanted this,” Sir's eyes land on me.
“You begged for it. This moment. Right here. This is what
relationships are about. There's more to them than hand holding and
baseball games. Here, Clint. Here is where you sink or swim. Deal
with it.”

My eyes lower at the words I used at him just
a couple days ago. I am an adult. I can handle my own problems
without his help. I've done it for the last eleven years. I sure as
hell can do it now. I can do another thirty if I have to. I don't
need him. Not now. Not ever. Even if it was nice to have a little
perspective from him that I've never seen before.

“I have a date.” Sir heads to the sink. After
the sound of running water hits the dish, he follows with, “And I
will not be home until morning.”

Sir grabs his keys and clarifies, “I do
expect you on speaking terms when I return tomorrow.” He leans
over, plants a soft kiss on the top of Haven's head, like she's the
hurt one here. Like she's had a bad day. Like I'm not here for her
when she really needs me to be. “Enjoy your night.”

The door closes. It locks. Why can't I lock
my brain down the same way? Separate what makes me Grim from
everyone else. That's who he expects me to be. That's who I need to
be. That's the only man who can keep Haven safe. Not the dreamy
hopeful child Slugger, not the absentminded, desperately-in-love
Clint. I just need a minute to sort these things out from each
other. A minute to breathe. A minute to focus. A minute to let the
havoc die down. Just a fucking minute. I pick up my fork with my
eyes planted on my food. Unfortunately, that's when Haven gets up
to put her food in the fridge.

She limps past me, her ankle still hurting,
me still not being able to help her or tend to her needs.

“You're not gonna eat?” I keep my voice calm
and level, doing my best not to show weakness.

“Not hungry.” The words are empty, as hollow
as I'm feeling.

Just like that, she's gone again upstairs to
our room, leaving me alone once more. I slide my empty water glass
over to me. This can't be happening. I can't have my life end up
this way. I've had enough! I've had enough of all this bullshit!
This feeling sorry for myself. Feeling angry about everything being
out of my control. I can't take this river of rage constantly
flowing from head to toe!

Hastily, I stand up and throw my empty water
glass across the room. It shatters against the wall, all the pieces
raining down to the tile. My hands grip the back of my neck as I
look at the mess I've made. Almost an exact replica of the mess
I've made of my life. My personality.

That's when it dawns on me like a knife wound
in the side, sharp. Maybe the answer isn't putting back up the
walls. Maybe it's shattering them. Maybe the answer isn't choosing
to be Grim or Slugger or Clint. Maybe it's about making the tiny
little pieces of my shattered life fit together in a new way. I
can't just be one of them. I have to be all of them. And for God's
sake, I hope that's something I can do. And someone Haven can
love.

After cleaning up the glass, I head upstairs
to face my life head-on. Thankfully, the door is open. Even so, I
knock.

“You don't have to knock, Clint,” she rudely
snaps. “It's your room.”

“Excuse me, miss,” I pause to settle my
emotions. “It's ours.”

She plops down on the bed, still looking at
me.

Come on, Clint. You can do this. “About
earlier.”

“I'm not in the mood to listen to your
excuses. I'm not in the mood to listen to how you just lost it for
a second, Clint! The very first day I met you, terrified beyond
words, clammed up, broken, damaged, you begged me to trust you.”
Her fingers touch my tags. Our tags. “And I did. I have every day
since, but for some reason, I don't get the same from you. I don't
get the same from you! I wasn't even given a chance to speak up for
myself earlier! You didn't even give me the chance, Clint!”

“What do you expect from me?” Her words are
tearing through me like shrapnel. “Tell me, Haven! What do you
expect from me?”

“I expect . . .” She seems taken off balance.
Good. It's nice not to be the only one thrown off guard. “I don't
know, more than you assuming that, because Howard and I are alone,
because I am alone with another male, that I'm sleeping with him!
And even if I was, though to be clear I'm not, what does it matter
to you?”

“What does it matter to me?” God, I hadn't
even considered that she might have feelings for that maggot. It
was never a possibility until she just said it. “What does it
matter to me? What–”

“Yes, Clint. I mean, I may be a little in the
dark about some things, but I'm pretty sure hand holding, night
snuggles, and passionate kisses don't make us a couple. I'm not
even sure if they make us anything.”

“You're not sure!” I shout, dizzy. Another
problem with emotions, once they start spinning, they don't enjoy
stopping. “God, Haven, I haven't so much as thought about another
woman, barely other humans, since you walked into my life. And
you're looking me in the face telling me you're not sure that means
anything to you!”

“I . . . I . . .”

“I'm in love with you! I've been in love with
you since the moment your head fell on my shoulder and I felt a
tear drop on it. I'm so head over heels, kick myself in the ass in
love with you that I don't think straight! I have trouble
remembering orders! I'm certain that, if I don't shut off my brain
when I return to duty because I'm so engulfed with thoughts of you,
I will get myself killed! Do you understand that?”

“I–”

“My world is you.” My body has somehow formed
back into solider mode as if I'm pleading my case to the military
court. To have them understand why I've been making mistakes.
Pleading to my friends why I'm been blowing them off. “My first
instinct is to protect you from anyone and everyone at all costs.
No. What happened today was not rational, wasn't logical. It wasn't
anything any Marine should ever do. Honestly, I've been trained by
some of the best to make sure moments like that never happen. But
with you, it doesn't ever make sense. I act first and think
later.”

Her eyes are filling with tears.

“You're mine,” I simply shrug. “That's it.
And I don't mean that in some sick, perverted way like that bastard
who held you hostage. I mean that, with every bone in my body, as
long as I walk this earth, Haven Davenport, you belong to me.” I
walk straight over to her and throw myself to my knees at her
mercy. “And I belong to you. Anything you want from me, anything
you need from me, any part of me, big or small, is yours, whenever
you call, whenever you ask. And even when you don't.”

My eyes begin to burn. The feeling reminds me
of when saltwater hits your eyes. The stinging is a realization
that, in this moment of weakness, in this exposed-nerve scenario,
my emotions can do more than show. They can do more than thrive.
They can conquer. The tear on my eyelid is their flag of
victory.

She plants her forehead firmly against mine.
“I love you too, Clint.” Thank God. “But I don't deserve you.”

“Haven.”

“No.” Her arms fall onto my shoulders. “I'm
broken. I've been through so much and had so much taken from me.
I'm not even sure I know how to love or that I deserve love, let
alone the love you're willing to give me. I don't deserve this,
Clint.”

“Enough.” I shut her up. Any woman on this
planet who can love the slices of myself, the ones I hate and the
one I tolerate, isn't broken. She's not even earthly if you ask me.
It takes a special kind of soul to love someone as damaged as me.
An angel. How much more proof do you need? “You're perfect.”

Quickly—after all, I've been waiting all damn
day to do it—I kiss her. It's sloppy. Slippery. Hot. Desperate. A
victory kiss. Both of us are winners, our prizes both a little
damaged but perfect for each of us.

Perfect. The day. The feel. The vibe. The
shot. My entire life is perfect.

“I see Grim got his guts back,” Glove gripes,
removing his headphones and lowering his firearm. “Just when I was
getting used to the idea of being the new Grim Reaper.”

I chuckle, “Not in your wildest dreams,
Glove, could you ever do half of what I do.”

“Well, aren't we in a chipper mood?” Lordy
sets his weapon down as well, and the targets move toward us, mine
with all straight shots to the chest and head.

“So.” My shoulders shrug as I admire my own
handiwork. Ever since I confessed my feelings to Haven, I feel like
a new man. I act like one too. Smiling without reason. Obeying Sir
with more ease. Being better about separating duties and
responsibilities from joys and pleasures. My life has order back in
the chaos. I need that order.

“Dry spell must be over,” Glove states,
placing his weapon back in its case. Target practice is done for
the day.

“Why's it always about sex with you?” And,
no, the dry spell isn't over. We've been tongue heavy, making out
like teenagers with chastity belts on. No moves ever make it too
far, no matter how much either of us desires more. I don't want to
rush things with her. We did just admit we love one another out
loud, but goddamn, if I don't taste more of her soon, I might be
breaking glass out of sexual frustration this time.

“Why is it never about sex with you?” Glove
whines as Lordy chuckles, putting away his own gun.

I snap my head at him, “And why do you
encourage him? You know he's like an oversized child.”

“I am. And I like things that bounce and
shake, if you know what I mean.” The description makes me lower my
face as I disassemble my weapon and place it in its case.

“Beer?” Lordy introduces the idea.

“After,” I shut the case.

“After what?” Their question in unison makes
me roll my eyes. Too much time together. They should date each
other.

“I get my tattoo.”

Glove growls, “We're not back to this again,
are we?”

“We're not back to this. This is what's
happening,” I head toward the exit with them behind me.

“This is a stupid idea.”

“Don't start,” I turn around and point a
stern finger.

“And what are you gonna do? Get her name
tattooed on you, show up, and say, 'Look, honey, I got your name on
me, aren't I a romantic?'” Glove's impersonation of me stops me in
my tracks.

“I don't sound like that.”

Lordy chimes in, “He's got a point though,
Grim.”

“Look, her birthday is coming, and I think
it'll make a great gift.”

“Can't you just be a normal guy and get her a
crown or pony or something?” Glove's suggests.

“She's not six, Glove.”

“How are you gonna hide it?” Lordy's question
doesn't seem like he's trying to stop me. “I mean, you see each
other naked.”

Actually, no, we don't. In fact, we don't
even change in the same room. This simple fact has many downsides,
all of which have parts of me turning blue, but I'm a gentleman.
I'm respectful. She's been through enough, and having me hump her
leg like a dog or Glove wouldn't help ease her into a more intimate
situation. Patience is the key, though that key is getting worn as
each hour passes by.

“I'm sure I can sidetrack that for a few
days.” It's bad enough they think I don't get laid enough. There's
no way in hell I'm bringing up my sex life or lack thereof with
them. It's not their place. And I don't have the tolerance for
it.

“Wait–” he cuts himself off mid-thought in
his own head, that part managing to leak out loud. “Did you say her
birthday is coming? Is she having a party? Are we invited? Does she
have any hot friends?”

“Or what Glove really wants to know is does
she have any easy friends? Friends with low self-respect and lower
self-esteem?”

“Is that not what I said?” Glove looks almost
actually confused.

I start toward my car again, “Yes, she's
having a party.”

Lordy stops next to my car. “And are we
invited?”

“If you two can manage to behave yourselves
tomorrow night, then yes.”

“Tomorrow night?” Lordy looks intrigued.

“We'll meet you at Maddox around ten.”
Glove's face brightens up like a child who just got his Christmas
wish. God help me. I close my trunk with the gun inside. “If either
of you (a) upset my girlfriend, (b) hurt my girlfriend, or (c)
cause her any irritation or discomfort in the slightest, I will
break your kneecaps, and you won't be able to attend her party.
Clear?” The look on my face is stern. Unmoving. No bullshit.