Once and For All: An American Valor Novel (6 page)

The boxes continued to stack up, many of them filled with stuff she didn’t really need. But Danny insisted she’d feel more at home if she brought more than just the essentials. Since he had plenty of room for her things and her move was indefinite, she might as well bring everything they could haul.

“Okay you two, I’m outta here,” Mike said, making his way to the front door.

“Want to run in the morning, or do you think you’ll be out too late?”

“If it’s anything like the last time I went out with Hatton, I’ll be in bed before eleven. Give me a call at six. If I don’t answer, go on without me. ’Night, Bree.”

Mike waved goodbye and pulled the door closed behind him.

“How is he going to get home?”

“Walk. He lives on the other side of the complex.” Danny pointed in the general direction before disappearing down the hallway.

Bree made her way to the front window that looked out over the courtyard. Sure enough, there was Mike, duffel thrown over one shoulder, golf clubs over the opposite, walking across the grass to an identical building just beyond the pool. At least he was nearby if she ever needed someone to talk to other than Danny.

For now, it would be just the two of them.

The two of them.

The full impact of what that meant hit her like a Mack truck and she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d just traded the frying pan for the fire.

Chapter Seven

B
RE
E FELT LIKE
a fool, arms wrapped around her middle, her insides a giant ball of nerves. Standing in the center of the living room, unsure what to do or what to say, it reminded her of once when she was a teenager and left alone for the first time with a boy who wasn’t a MacGregor brother.

Oddly enough, never in their past had she felt this kind of nervousness. When they were teens, they somehow skipped right over all the awkwardness that comes with a new relationship. Probably because they were too stupid to feel any differently.

“Bree, can you come here a sec?”

She followed the sound of his voice down the single hallway. The first door she came to was a small bedroom, now filled with boxes of her things, along with a mountain bike, golf clubs, and a few boxes of his own. Across the hall, louvered doors hid what she assumed was storage or laundry. Then came the only bathroom. Through the last door on her right was where she found him.

She watched Danny stretch across the king-size mattress to pull free the last bedsheet corner. “That’s a pretty big bed,” she said once he noticed her standing in the doorway.

“I’m a big boy,” he said, adding a wink.

Instantly, her stomach knotted. Knowing Danny like she did, he’d put it to more than good use. As teens they’d put backseats, sofas, twin beds, sleeping bags, all through their paces. He was probably one hell of a showman with that much floor space.

And why was he stripping the bed? To rid the evidence of his last encounter?

“The answer is no.”

She tore her focus away from the bed to find him standing directly in front of her, sheets and pillowcases bundled in his arms.

“You were saying?”

“I’m not washing the sheets because I just slept with some chick before going back to Myrtle Beach.”

“I wasn’t thinking about—”

“Yes, you were,” he said with a devilish smile. “You forget who you’re dealing with.” He stroked the furrow between her brows. “This always appears when you’re considering the worst. And this—” he lowered his hand to touch the hollow of her throat with his fingertip “—this place right here always turns beet-red when you’re thinking about sex.”

“That’s not true.” Instinctively she lifted her hand to bat away his touch and hide her neck from view. For the second time in a day she could feel the heat coming off her skin.

“Whatever you say.” He pushed past her into the hallway, pulled open the louvered doors to reveal the washer and dryer. “The ugly truth is I didn’t wash them when I got home after the last rotation so they have roughly six months’ worth of dust on them. It didn’t bother me to sleep on them a couple of nights once I came back since I spend the majority of my life in the sand and dirt and mud. But what’s good enough for me shouldn’t be good enough for you.”

She cleared her throat, needing to change the subject. “So is that why you called me? I thought I made it clear I wasn’t going to be your maid.”

Danny chuckled. “Hardly. I made some space for you in the dresser if you want to unpack some of your things.”

He disappeared down the hall and soon returned with her suitcase in tow, hefting it onto the mattress. “I’ve got nothing in the fridge. We can either go out to eat or have something delivered. Any preference?”

Since Mike begged off, they’d be alone together either way. At least if they stayed put she could always find an excuse to distance herself from him. But trapped in a restaurant or in the car, there would be no escape. “Do you mind if we eat in?”

“After the long day we’ve had, I’d actually prefer it.”

“Chinese?”

“Can do. I tell you what, there’s a place just down the street that’s great when you go inside for carryout, but shit if you have it delivered. Doesn’t make any sense, but there you have it. So I’ll run out and grab it. Anything else? Beer? Wine?”

“Just water. Or whatever you’re having is fine.”

“Okay. Make yourself at home. I’ll be back in a bit.” He pushed away from the door frame and headed down the hall. Over the hum of the washing machine, she heard the jangle of keys followed by the turn of the dead bolt.

The empty drawers he’d designated for her use were left pulled open. Bree unzipped the largest suitcase and placed T-shirts and yoga pants in the bottom drawers, her lingerie and smaller items in the top. Out of curiosity, she pulled open the drawer next to hers and found rolls and rolls of—were those shirts or boxer briefs?

Bree picked up one soft cotton roll and studied it a moment before placing it back in its spot. Every bit of his clothing had been rolled and tucked and shaped to the size of a toilet paper roll. Bree looked back at her drawer, how a few items were neatly folded but for the most part things were just tossed in there. She quickly closed both drawers, embarrassed by her lack of organization.

In the closet she found an extra hanger for her winter coat. His things didn’t fill half of the walk-in, but what he did have was neatly arranged. She ran her hand over half a dozen button-down shirts, a dozen or so golf shirts. Only one other time in her life had she gone through this process, sharing a space with a man. A month after graduating from college, she met Brandon when he moved into the apartment next door. Tall, blond, and lanky, he was Danny’s opposite in almost every way, from his CPA to his plaid button-down shirts. They began dating a few months later and when his lease came up for renewal, he moved in with her since it only made good financial sense. For a long time she convinced herself she could love him enough to make it last and that he could be a good enough man for her.

Until he proved himself not.

But this would not end like that. Danny was loyal to a fault. When this marriage ended, it would be on her terms and not because of something he did. That she knew for certain. Because he said so. She could trust in that. And that idea of control, of being able to call all the shots, should have left her with a feeling of empowerment. Instead, thinking of a day when all of this would come to an end a second time, left her feeling a little sad.

She sat on the end of the bed and stared at the ring he’d placed on her finger earlier in the day. Not until the judge said “until death do you part” had the idea of not making it to a divorce ever crossed her mind. And whether or not Danny realized it, the odds were stacked against them. She’d battled cancer twice. Came out the other side a little bruised and battered each time, but she’d made it. The next time, if there was one, she’d probably not be so fortunate.

And then there was Danny. She didn’t know exactly what his job in the army entailed, but her father had hinted it was a dangerous one. They were both like cats who used up one life after another. The only question that remained was which one of them would use all nine the quickest.

But worrying about tomorrow didn’t do any good. All she needed to do was get through today. And the next day. Then the next one. Sooner or later she’d find out where they ended up. Until then, she was just going to keep on living.

Deciding a hot shower was in order, she gathered a change of clothes and toiletries and headed into the bathroom. A clean towel and washcloth were stacked on the counter as if Danny knew even before she did that a shower would be on the agenda. The lights were bright, the mirror large, spanning the length of the counter. There would be no hiding here.

She studied her reflection, the cut of the wig, the color of it. No matter how many people said to her they thought her wig looked real and natural, all she ever saw was something completely fake. But it got the job done, hiding her away from the outside world.

With one hand she pushed it off her head and laid it upon the counter. Today had been the longest she’d worn her wig in months. Her hair was coming back, slower than it had the previous time, which was nothing out of the ordinary. Short, baby-fine strands of brown hair covered her head. In some places, the strands were dense enough her scalp barely showed, whereas in others, it was as bare as a baby’s bottom.

If there was one perk to chemo, it was that it made showering quick work. No need to shave legs, arms or bikinis. No need to lather, repeat then condition. Just a quick wash and done.

However, after the shower, that was when the real dilemma came. Put the wig back on or just go as-is? She’d never been one of those women who rose early to put on a full face of makeup before facing the man she lived with. So how was this any different? Despite her trying to convince herself it wasn’t, she knew the two reasons were worlds apart. After all, it was when she lost all her hair the first time that she lost Mr. Good Enough, as well.

D
ANNY P
ATIENTLY WAITED
in the living room, having heard the shower turn off ten minutes before. In the meantime, he’d tossed the sheets into the dryer and set the table. He’d give her another five before asking if she was okay since the last thing he wanted was for her to think he was hovering. One reason they married was to help her escape that.

He clicked on the television to distract himself. Two more minutes and he’d check on her. Surely that would be okay. Just then the bathroom door opened and she darted across the hall, registering as a little more than a blur in his peripheral vision. But one thing was for certain; the wig she wore all day was in her hand and not on her head.

“Dinner’s getting cold,” he called. That should work. Just a way to let her know he was back in case in her rush across the hall she hadn’t noticed him sitting there. He rose from the chair and headed into the kitchen where she appeared before him all soft and warm-looking.

“I hope you don’t mind that I changed into my pajamas already.” Her fingers fiddled with the mousy brown strands, twirling the ends between her fingers just as she used to do as a girl then as a teenager.

“Don’t mind at all.” While he placed the containers of food on the table, he noticed the thick, fuzzy socks on her feet. “Is it warm enough in here for you? I can turn the heat up.”

“I’m fine. Just my feet are cold, really. And my hands.”

He chuckled. “Not much has changed there. Your feet were always like a block of ice, even in the middle of summer.”

The dinner conversation remained in the safe zone as they stuck with topics like their parents, old friends from high school, and places they’d each like to visit. In silent agreement they avoided speaking of Michael, the war and her remission status.

“ ‘Doing what you like is freedom. Liking what you do is happiness.’
Seems fitting,” she said, handing him back the small slip of paper from his fortune cookie. “You should keep this one. Play the lottery numbers on the back. It’s probably good luck.”

“What does yours say?” he asked around a mouthful of cookie.

“Nothing really. It’s stupid.
‘A new job opportunity awaits you.’
”

“You should save that. Could prove lucky.”

Bree rolled her eyes. “I was diagnosed with cancer, lost my job, and was forced to move back in with my parents all in the same year. If it weren’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all.”

“Yeah, but you’re married to me now. Maybe your luck is changing?” He waggled his brows and flashed her his signature heartbreaker smile.

Bree mumbled under her breath, something suspiciously sounding like “arrogant asshole” before she wadded up her small fortune and bounced it off his forehead.

God, she was fun to mess with.

“Do you have room for dessert?” he asked while shoving his chair back from the table. “There’s a bakery next door to the Chinese place so I bought a little something.”

He went to the refrigerator and pulled out a pale pink pastry box. From a drawer he grabbed two clean forks and a knife before returning to the table and placing the box in front of her. “For you.”

She raised a brow. “If it’s for me then why did you bring two forks?”

“Touché, smart-ass.” He laughed. “If you don’t want to share, fine. But I really doubt you can eat the entire thing. Especially not in one sitting.”

“I’m kidding,” she said as she lifted the lid. Instantly, her face softened, her eyes welling with tears. Her sarcasm gave way to a soft gasp.

“Don’t cry, please?” he begged. “I didn’t buy it to make you cry. I just thought you deserved a little something nice. You know, since I didn’t get down on one knee and all that.”

She lifted the small cake from the box, holding it at eye level. He didn’t know squat about wedding cakes but was glad she liked it. Initially, he’d been unsure about all the fake little pink flowers on top, even if they were edible. And the sides looked like a puffy quilt with little polka dots where the lines crossed. The baker assured him Bree would love it and damn if it didn’t look like she was right.

“Where did you get this?”

“Like I said, there’s a bakery next to the Chinese place. I told them my wife and I eloped today and I wanted a nice cake that would go with dinner. They gave me that.”

“It looks like a real wedding cake,” she whispered.

“I think it is. Or the top of one, at least. There were several women working on these big cakes in the back and when I told this little white-haired woman working the counter what I was looking for, she disappeared into the back room and brought this out. She patted me on the cheek and told me to take it home to my bride.”

She smiled at that. “The good ol’ Danny MacGregor charm. Still have women young and old eating out of the palm of your hand, huh?”

All of them but one.

He sliced them each a piece and Bree squealed when she realized it was Italian Crème cake. Her favorite. Which was purely by accident, but damn if he didn’t need to go back and give that baker a huge tip.

After they were done eating, Bree stifled a yawn. “I’m sorry. It’s not the company, I swear.”

“It’s been a long day. Why don’t you head off to bed?” As soon as the words escaped his mouth, he worried she’d consider that hovering. “That’s if you want to,” he quickly added.

“I want.” Bree rose from the table and pushed in her chair. “Are you sure you’re okay to sleep on the loveseat?”