Hold My Heart (21 page)

He frowns and scoffs at me but I continue, “And you won’t say a damn word to anyone, because you’ll have to admit to your buddies and your prick father that a girl half your size kicked your ass. Twice.”

He scoffs again, more insecure this time, but yanks my arm toward him. “You got lucky the first time. I’d love to see you try again.”

As I start to rise from my seat, he chuckles arrogantly, still gripping my arm. “I didn’t think so, I bet—”

As the words leave his mouth, I kick his shin under the table as hard as I can. He lets go of my arm and I knock the coffee cup right into his lap. Before he can react, I grab the back of his head with whirlwind speed and slam it against the table. It takes mere seconds.

His blood-curdling scream gets the attention of the entire diner. By then, I’m already standing and motioning over the nervous waitress. She comes running. I address her while Robert is still sitting there, mumbling my way unintelligibly, his hands covering his face.

“Oh dear, I bent over to tie my shoe and when I came up, I bumped his nose with my head!”

The whole place is looking at us now, and I’m going all in, acting flustered and asking the waitress to get us some napkins. As soon as she turns, I fuss loudly over Robert while others watch. His face covered in blood, drips crimson between his fingers and down his knuckles. When he finally looks up, his eyes are wide in shock and realization. I broke his nose, like I said I would.

Leaning into his ear, I whisper, “You have control of what you do. Remember what I said. Don’t make me track you down again.”

The waitress returns with some towels and I take them from her and hand them to Robert, mumbling my fake apologies. Once she retreats, I make my exit.

Getting in his line of sight, I pin him with my stare. “Goodbye, Robert.”

We reach an unspoken agreement, but his eyes remain wide with worry and astonishment. He got my message loud and clear: I mean business.

I walk away from the booth, feeling like my work here is done.

I leave the diner defeated, feeling like I just signed my death sentence.

Chapter 20

Tommy

I don’t wait for her call. I’m working my way through traffic and heading south as fast as I can.

Almost eight years. That’s how long I’ve loved her. And she has no damn clue.

From the first time I laid eyes on her, I wanted her. Then a few days later, I went to meet my new boss and what do you know. Fuck my life. I can’t have her. So, I do my job, get to know her, and find out her outsides don’t do her justice—she’s even more beautiful on the inside.

After the Army, she goes for the FBI. Of course, selfish prick that I am, I can’t let go so I follow along. She’s the only reason I chose the FBI in the first place. The FBI also has a non-fraternization rule, but by then, I just wanted her in my life. I couldn’t imagine not having her there to keep me honest, to believe in me, to keep me grounded.

Here I am, all these years later, drowning my sorrows in clubs surrounded by nameless, faceless women while the woman I love is sleeping alone. I hate that. I hate every time she meets someone new. Because each time she does, I’m afraid he’s the one who’s going to take her away from me forever. That he will be the one to make her dreams come true, the one who will make her happy. Why did it take me this long to figure this shit out?

She goes out with these douchebags who don’t appreciate how fucking amazing she is. They don't know that she has to have her Grande Mocha before going into work, that red wine makes her blue, and shots make her flirty. They don't know her smiles. How good she smells, like lavender and vanilla even after a round of kickboxing first thing in the morning. How cute she looks when she’s embarrassed and her neck and ears get all red. How she doesn’t like wearing makeup or sexy clothes, afraid she’ll attract male attention. That her bitch of a mother kicked her out after that bastard tried to rape her. That she graduated college at twenty. How she’s funny when she thinks no one is watching, and she makes me laugh. And, without knowing it, she’s made me cry. She’s ballsy, brave, and stubborn. And best of all: she doesn’t put up with any of my shit. Ever. She lets me have it, whether I like it or not.

A few nights ago, she was out with Rick, now the ex-douche. I kept glancing at my phone, hoping she’d call to nag me, tell me to go home and sober up. To tell me they broke up, that it didn’t work out. After a few girls had hit on me that night, I couldn't resist and called her even though it was two in the morning. It took her a while to pick up the phone. I remember almost wishing she were dead rather than fucking that bastard Rick. When she finally answered, she was so pissed.

I know she deserves better than me, so I'm really trying. I don't get laid near as much as she thinks I do. She just assumes it. I did tell her I was sorry about her boyfriend, but deep down I’m not. I’m a selfish prick and I want her for myself. My father was right. I’m garbage. But worst of all, I’m a coward. If all goes well tonight, I’ll tell her the truth.

Lil, I fucking love you. You’re mine, and thinking of anyone else other than me touching you drives me to drink and fuck until I feel like the undeserving piece of garbage that I am.

I wonder if she knows the reason I call her Lil or Lily. The first time was an accident. We were fighting about some bullshit and I was so pissed off, it just slipped out. But once she told me no one called her that, well, that was it. I decided if I couldn’t have her, then at least I’d have my own name for her. She finally stopped giving me dirty looks, and quit correcting me. I think she likes it now. My Lily. It’s my name.

Once while hanging out outside of work, Charlie called her Lil. I calmly waited until he went to the restroom and followed him. I threatened to break Charlie’s legs if he ever called her that again. I wonder if she knows about that. I gave him the look I give all guys around her. Guys have a whole unspoken dialogue only we understand. I know Charlie saw it in my eyes. I call it my
fuck off, that’s my girl
look.

Heading down I-55 leaving Chicago behind, I smile when I think of yesterday morning at her apartment. She might not think I noticed her staring at my chest, but I did. Her face turned red, like when we first met. Back then every time I took my shirt off, she turned crimson. I’m glad she handed me my T-shirt. I wonder if she saw the new tattoo above my heart. She’s seen my bicep tattoo, but this one is new. This one is for her. It’s a flower. A Lily.

As I stood in front of my dad’s coffin, Lil held my hand and kept me grounded. All along, she's been the pillar I cling to in the shit storm that is my life. She’s the lighthouse that keeps me from crashing into the rocks. She stood there, holding my hand in both of hers as I buried my father. That son of a bitch ruined my life. He killed my mother and killed me, leaving me to think I was worthless.

Until I met Lil. He couldn’t touch her. She brought me back from the dead.

That’s why I want to surprise her with this new tat. After we talk tonight, if things go the way I hope, I’ll show it to her. I’ll apologize because all this time, I should have fought harder for her. Instead, like the chicken shit that I am, I settled for having her in every way except the one way that counted because I’m a fucking coward. I was scared that if I took that leap, I might lose her. I’m not scared anymore. I know Lil, and I know I won’t lose her.

Because even if she doesn’t want to be with me, she’ll still hold my heart as long as I need her to. Fuck policy and all the rest.

I've just hit the Lexington welcome sign, the morning sun beaming down. I reach for my sunglasses when I pass a few fast food places and think of Lil. She’s probably stuck at the scene with a caffeine headache. I reach for my phone to call her. She might be hungry; she gets cranky when she’s hungry. I grin like an idiot just thinking about what she’ll say once she sees my tattoo completely finished. Right now, it’s just a Lily. The next sitting will be the phrase by the flower, in Farsi. I chose Farsi because I only want her to know what it says.

I want to see her smile when she reads it. If she feels the same way, I’m going to drink her in like she’s my oasis in the desert, and bury myself inside her until we both collapse from exhaustion.

The Bluetooth continues to ring, and her voicemail kicks in. Once her greeting plays out, I leave a message.

“Lil, I’m on my way back, just wanted to see if you’re hungry. Call me back, bye.” I hit the disconnect button on my steering wheel.

Fifteen minutes go by, and she hasn’t called me back. This is very weird. The woman sleeps with her damn phone. Hell, she might shower with it. I try her again, and this time it goes straight to voicemail. Maybe her battery is dead. Who am I kidding? The woman has a backup charger for her battery.

“Lil, it’s me, Tommy. Where are you? I’m assuming you’re busy or something so I’m gonna pick you something up to eat, okay? More coffee and one of those coffee cakes you like. I’ll see you soon. Bye.”

As soon as I hang up the phone, I call Nelson. I don’t know why, but I have a bad feeling I can’t shake.

After two rings, he picks up. “Nelson.”

“Hey, it’s Colton. Have you heard from Harper?” I yell over the Bluetooth.

“Not since early morning, why?”

“It’s probably nothing. I just can’t get a hold of her. I’m almost there. Are you at the scene?”

“No, I’m home with Chris, you want me to ask her if she’s heard from her?”

“No, that’s okay, but can you check with Charlie, see if he’s heard from her?” Why am I freaking out like this?

“Will do. He’s on his way to pick me up.”

“See you there.” I press end as I pick up speed. I can’t get there fast enough.

Chapter 21

“No way!” Colton yells at Martinez. “There’s no way you hooked up with those two!” The two platoon Casanovas are once again swapping conquest stories.

We are doing one last sweep for Intel after receiving reports of insurgent activity last week. The bombings have increased, and we might have found the source of it. Insurgents are becoming bolder and more creative as weeks stretch into months and months turn into years. I can’t wait for this war to be over, even though deep down I know it will never be over. But for now, all I want is to get the soldiers in my platoon home in one piece. Two more months left of our tour, and we go home. Just two more months.

“Colton! Martinez! Could you two just cut the shit for once and focus on the task at hand, for fuck’s sake!” I scold the squad sergeants under my command.

I hate this part of the job. Not only am I responsible for keeping them safe, I have to treat them like children. In this case, like horny, out of control teenagers. They should know better. This mission is frustrating as hell. They’re carrying on as if nothing is happening, while we have about a dozen women and children sitting on the ground, waiting patiently for us to search them and their homes. Today mostly female troops are present, searching the women since male troops are prohibited from touching female suspects. At the request of the town elders, we female soldiers were ordered to remove our helmets and wear a burqa scarf to cover our hair and neck. I don’t like that it leaves us unprotected, but the order comes from the top. Not much I can do.

“Sorry, LT,” they both murmur under their breath.

“Stay frosty. The sooner we finish, the sooner we can get out of here, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Colton replies.

“All right, let’s put this shit to bed!” he commands his squad, and so does Martinez.

I’m interviewing the women along with an interpreter. There’s something very unsettling about this village. It is comprised entirely of women and small children. There are no men to be seen. Not that it is normal to see men, but there should be at least a few men around. Everyone is eerily quiet. Even the little kids are keeping their distance from us. In most villages, the little kids cannot stay away from us, shouting “GI!” and “Candy!” They love to get candy bars. With dozens of Afghan women and just a handful of female troops, I’m also helping with the female searches. I just want to get out of here.

Colton approaches me as he senses my unease. My heart is pounding harder and harder the longer we remain in this village. I don’t know if it’s just the bright, unforgiving sun beating down on us, but I have the feeling something bad is about to happen. My body can sense it. I just don’t know what it is.

“What’s up, Lieutenant?” Colton quietly asks, casually standing next to me. He’s scanning the perimeter, his eyes hidden by his sunglasses.

“Don’t know yet. I just wanna get out of here.”

“Copy that,” Colton says quietly and then yells at his men, searching a nearby residence. “Talk to me, people!”

Behind us, I hear a woman’s voice, quietly pleading in the native language. As I turn, I see her. She’s wearing the traditional burqa, only her eyes showing. They’re sad and haunted, predicting our fates. She stands up, leaving the search lineup, and starts walking toward Colton and me.

I shout at her in English.
“Stop and put your hands up!” while Colton yells simultaneously “Stop!” his weapon up, pointing at her.

“Don’t shoot!” I instruct Colton, my weapon down. She’s walking toward us—toward me—clutching her stomach. Then I notice her belly. Her pregnant belly. Christ.

My heart drops and I’m filled with dread. My breathing increases, a rush of adrenaline hitting my body. I shouldn’t have gotten out of bed this morning.

“Get back, now!” I yell at my female troops and they start to retreat, guiding the rest of the local women.

I want some distance, now. All the troops’ weapons are raised on the woman while the rest of the village looks on. Two small children are crying and pleading. I assume those are her children. If she doesn’t stop, I’ll have to shoot their mother right in front of them. If these people already hate us, that would give them a good reason to hate us even more, and the cycle of hate will never end.

I’m trying to figure out what she wants. “Stop!” I helplessly glance at our interpreter as he yells and pleads with the woman in Dari, their native dialect. She continues to approach, ignoring our commands. Yelling in Dari, she moves two, three steps closer…

“LT, what’s the word?” Colton yells beside me, his sights on the woman. He’s freaked out, his usual cool demeanor cracking.

“Stand down!” I say again, realizing the closer she gets, the more jeopardy I’m putting my troops’ lives in.

“Everybody back—Now!” I want my troops as far away as possible.

At this point, blood is pounding in my ears, and everything slows down. I know what I have to do. It’s either this woman or my platoon. Suddenly, Colton moves forward, putting himself between the woman and me in an attempt to halt her progress.

“Colton, no!” I yell, tackling him, and all hell breaks loose.

The woman goes from standing there one second, to an explosion of skin, meat, and bones the next. She’s there, and then she isn’t. I manage to knock Colton down as the smell of burnt flesh fills my nostrils, and a searing pain in my right thigh keeps me from getting to my feet. I look down and there’s a bone sticking out of my thigh. A bone that isn’t mine—

“No!” I spring from the bed, sweat covering my forehead.

My heart is pounding so hard I think it might actually burst this time. The ringing in my ears won’t stop. As I try to shake the feeling of panic, someone rushes into the bedroom.

It’s dark, and I can’t see who’s in the room. My entire body tenses as the small lamp by the bedside table goes on, filling the bedroom in a soft, yellow glow. Will hurries to my side and sits at the edge of the bed, his features contorted with deep concern.

“It’s all right. You’re all right,
shh,
” he whispers soothingly, as his strong hands caress my arms. Taking in my expression, he cradles my face in his hands.

“Look at me, Ileana.” His voice is hypnotizing, and I stare into his eyes. “You’re home now,” he says.

Home
. The word hits me like a bucket of cold water.

Flying off the bed, I almost knock Will off of it.

“I need my clothes, where are my clothes?” I say through clenched teeth, frantically looking around the bedroom. I’m wearing one of Mary’s nightgowns and my hair is in complete disarray. I refuse to wrap it with those fabric strips that act as makeshift rollers like Mary does. “What time is it?” I ask, brushing my curls back away from my face.

“It’s around midnight.” Will gets off the bed, eyeing me worriedly.

I’m pacing frantically, grabbing the old work boots in the process. Some inexplicable urgency has taken hold of me. It’s like waking up to find you overslept for the final exam that will determine your entire future.

Will eyes me with a questioning look. “They’re right here.” He hands me one of Mary’s dresses; the one I wore for dinner.

I haven’t said a word to him since I returned from meeting Robert. I finally glance his way and notice he’s wearing nothing but his trousers. His massive frame swallows half the room. His hair is mussed and a slight dusting of stubble outlines his strong jaw.

“No!
My
clothes!” I yell at him in exasperation. “The ones I came here with!”

“Why?” Will asks in a flat tone.

He doesn’t look happy, but I don’t care. All I know is that if I don’t get to the field right at this minute, I may never go home.

“What are you doing?” He just watches me as I put Mary’s boots on. I can’t even think straight I need out, now.

“What does it look like?” I’m downright freaked and I’m losing it. Something is very, very wrong. Terror is seeping through my entire being, taking over everything.
Time’s up.

“I gotta get out of here,” I mutter, my voice breaking. I’m drowning, suffocating. I need to jump out of my skin. I need to go. Now.

“Mary told me about this morning.” He’s so calm and rational it does nothing to appease me. Instead, it has the exact opposite effect.

“Also, Doc told me Sue was the girl at the factory—”

“Get out of my way. NOW!”

Will remains stoic as he blocks my path to the door, flinching mildly at my scream. His calm demeanor is unnerving. He’s talking to me like I’m a crazy person, as if I'm irrational for wanting to dress and leave.

He stays put, eyeing me defiantly. Will’s large frame blocks the doorway, preventing me from seeing anything but his wide chest and thick arms. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t move a muscle.

“Fine.” I run past him and grab the dress I wore that afternoon. I put it on over the slip I was wearing as Carol appears in the doorway wearing a button-up robe, her blonde hair loose down to her shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” Carol’s quiet but alarmed voice gives me pause.

Shit, I woke her. I try to calm my nerves, pushing down the searing panic, if only to appease her. Last thing I want to do is upset her, after everything she has done for me.

“It’s all right, Mom. Lily had a bad dream, but she’s fine. We’re just going to get some air,” Will says, giving Carol a reassuring smile. “Go back to bed.”

A look of silent understanding passes between them, and she retreats to her bedroom.

As soon as Carol is gone, I take off flying past Will, but he grabs me by my elbow, stopping me once again. His touch sears my skin, and a spark of static electricity hits us both, repelling him away. My body is humming as the ringing in my ears increases.
Go
.

“I don’t want to talk, so do me a favor and leave me alone,” I hiss, full of rage.

He’s looking at me with pity, making me feel like a charity case. It’s the same look other moms used to give me when I was a kid and they found out who my mom was. Pity. Fuck pity. I can’t stand him looking at me that way.

“What are you doing here anyway, you don’t live here. Go home, Will.” I don’t want him around me right now. Something is building inside me, ready to explode at any moment, like some invisible timer that’s about to run out if I don’t get back to the field.

“Ileana, stop,” he pleads as I rush down the stairs and through the living room, the kitchen, and straight out of the door and into the night.

The cold air hits me but does nothing to calm my temperament. I remain undeterred, walking as fast as my legs can carry me. I don’t belong here. I have to go home right now, or I might be stuck here forever. I don’t know how I know, but I can feel it.

“Where are you going?” he yells from behind me.

“Home!” I scream, without slowing down.

“Wait!” Will calls, but I keep going, walking out into the dark as fast as possible toward the field. That specific field. I ignore his pleas for me to stop, to listen to reason.

“Please, let’s talk about this,” he urges, but I forge ahead without looking back.

“Could you just hold your horses?” Finally catching up with me, Will grabs my forearm and turns me to face him. “Talk to me, Ileana,” he implores as his gaze caresses my features.

Our eyes lock, his fierce gaze stopping me in a way I can’t explain, but I can’t let it get to me. His large calloused hands grab my shoulders gently, his unbuttoned shirt and unlaced boots evidence of his crumbling resolve.

But I have to stay strong. I have to make it back home.

“I just need to go! Please, Will, I just want to go,” I beg, leaning back as I look into his dark, stormy eyes.

I’m so tired of everything. Why does my life have to be so fucked up? Why did I end up here, of all places, to witness my demise at the same time as I meet this amazing guy? I was right. I am cursed.

“Where, Ileana?” My name on his lips sounds like a prayer. “Tell me where you need to go.”

I answer quietly, fighting for composure. “The field, where I woke up. I have to go right now.”

I look away from his face, out into the darkness. I can't keep eye contact with him, or I will falter. Rationality and composure are not even on the table. I’m compelled to go. I’m about to break down into a million pieces when he finally speaks up.

“All right, but I'll take you there. You're not going out there on your own.”