Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Marking Mariah (Kindle Worlds Novella) (8 page)

“No, no, I was about to bring him out to you, Terry. Are my two spawn behaving themselves?”

“Yeah…um…sure, I mean. Okay.” Terry kept looking at her, his crystal blue eyes twinkling. “Listen, uh, Kieran, can I clarify something right up front?”

She shook her head, an involuntary movement but a violent one, whipping her hair around her burning hot face as she shot him a pleading look.

“Sure thing, Terry,” Kieran said, an amused lilt to his voice.

“It’s okay if teachers, uh, date one another here, right?”

“Yes,” he said, glancing at her. She’d managed to work herself all the way back to the desk and gripped it behind her as she watched the two men banter in what felt like a practiced way. “You’re both adults. Be sensible, though. It is a small town. Gossip is every resident’s middle name.” He smiled at her, then turned back to Terry. “I’d suggest that if you wish to impress my new music instructor any further, you take her son outside to play so she can get some work done.”

Mariah heard a squeaking sound come from her throat—a weak attempt at protest. Terry grinned at her which made her knees feel a little jelly-like. Then he crouched down and addressed Cole. “Do you like to kick soccer balls?”

“Yes!” the boy piped up, launching himself at Terry in a way that surprised her. “Soccer!”

Terry looked just as surprised at the sudden physical attention, but stood, holding her son in one arm with little effort. “Great,” he said, looking at her. “I’ll bring him back once I’ve worn him out, Mariah,” he said caressing the syllables of her name like a lover.

Like her lover.

Oh dear Lord. This
cannot
be happening.

She nodded, still incapable of speech. The two of them left, Cole running his mouth a mile a minute about the pool, his new friend Henry, how he liked to play the piano, did Terry like to play the piano?

She slumped against the desk. Kieran turned to face her, hands tucked in his jeans pockets, a smile on his face.

“I’ve known Terry O’Leary since we were crawling around in church nursery school together,” he said. “He’s a good guy. If a little misdirected lately. He had a bit of a tough run once he got to college.”

She sucked in a breath. “It’s not…what you think,” she ended, lamely.

“Oh, I don’t think anything,” Kieran said, grabbing a balloon that floated between them. “I’m just letting you know that Terry could be a very good, or a very bad thing for you. But I’m sure you would be a great thing for him. I’ll let you decide. In the meantime, tell my admin what you need to get set up. All the sheet music and whatnot are in there.” He waved in the direction of the choir room. “You’ve got a bunch of new stuff here.” He gestured at two boxes from the office supply store. “I’m so glad to have you here, Mariah,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice croaky.

He shot her a jaunty salute then headed down the hall, calling out to someone else and leaving her to her roiling, tumultuous thoughts.

“So help me,” Terry muttered under his breath as he glared down at his phone screen—his distressingly blank phone screen. “What
is
it with her?” He trained his gaze back out on the field. “Hey, Jackson, what did I tell you about marking up?” He refocused on his job, letting his aggravation with Mariah’s ongoing refusal to see him slide for the moment. “Stop, stop, stop, already,” he barked, before he remembered he had a whistle, which he blew. Loudly.

The field full of teenaged boys stopped, many of them gassed, hand on hips, wringing with sweat. With a snort of disgust, he called them in close, then demonstrated the defensive move yet again the—marking a player. Making sure that offensive player did not get past you to score a goal.

Basic stuff.

But Kieran hadn’t been kidding about the abysmal state of the soccer program at Lucasville High. He’d had to go way back to basics with this crew, many of whom were off-season football or basketball players looking for an outlet or an excuse to stay fit.

When he’d figured that out, he’d made them run, and run…and run some more. There was no more overall fit an athlete than a soccer player—at least one who takes the sport seriously. Running was what soccer players did, for forty-five minutes a half with no breaks unless someone got hurt.

The first week of pre-season non-stop running he’d lost four kids—lazy fuckers to his mind, so no great loss. At least three sets of parents had questioned his methods. He’d deferred them to their principal, who’d assured them that Terry was highly qualified to coach and would demand nothing of their sons that the boys couldn’t handle.

Surprisingly, the team hadn’t sucked. They’d even won a few games—half of them, now that the season was almost over. But at times, he missed the strict discipline of the Operators, their single minded focus on being in the best shape, with the sharpest set of skills whether they were in languages, computers, marksmanship, hand-to-hand. Babysitting this pack of kids at times felt like the world’s biggest comedown.

The fact that Mariah Bailey had been blowing him off for a solid two months didn’t help matters. He’d even gone to Kieran to see if he’d plead his case, but his friend had gently reminded him that this was not middle school, so he was on his own in the relationship department.

Granted, she was busy too. The Lucasville High music program was extremely robust. It had even won Grammy awards for excellence in the past, so she had big shoes to fill, plus it was her first real teaching job. He got that. So he’d remained on his best behavior, even attending church once he figured out that was what she did on Sundays.

The time he’d spent catching back up with the entire, boisterous Love family had been well spent. Thanks to Miss Lindsay’s welcoming attitude— “come by anytime for Sunday dinner, or just to hang around”—he did feel like he’d slipped back into his old life, but in a good way.

“Okay, all right,” he said to the pack of wheezing, gasping young men. “Beat it. Get some rest, eat right, and no fucking around…you know what I mean.”

They laughed. He laughed. The concept of fit, healthy, handsome young men in high school not fucking around
was
pretty damn funny. But he said it at the end of every practice anyway.

His ball boys—kids from the JV team hoping to work their way onto Varsity—gathered the balls and helped him drag the nets off the football field. Exhaustion nailed him right between the eyes. The mental and emotional energy required to keep on the straight and narrow, to not dive deep into depravity, or at least get himself laid, was wearing on him. His fault, he knew. But maybe he owed himself a little trip a few cities away, visit a strip club, get shit-faced.

No. That wasn’t what he wanted.

Even though, on cue, his mouth watered at the thought of a beer, of a lot of beers with a fifth of bourbon chaser. His phone buzzed in his jacket pocket so he dragged it out, knowing it wouldn’t be her, but surprised to see who it was—actually calling and not sending the usual busybody text message.

“Hey, Ghost what up?” He kicked a few errant balls to the middle of the field for the kids to grab.

“Hey Trigger, guess who’s gonna be in your neck of the woods next month?”

“Rhianna? Blake Lively? Anna Kendrick?”

“No, smartass. We are, at least three of us anyway. Headed to Ft. Knox, which I think is where they keep a shit ton of gold and which is, I see from my handy phone map, shouting distance from that burg you call home these days.”

“Yeah, it’s not too far.” A sudden longing for his life as an Operator tore through him, making him have to drop down on the bench and stare at the bag of soccer balls.

“So we figured we’d look you up. Go out or something, catch up.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Well shit, man don’t sound too excited about it. I’d hate to have you stroke out or something.”

“Sorry, Ghost. I’m just… I don’t know.”

“So all those text messages you send me about being great and happy and whatever, that’s all bullshit then? What about that woman, the singer?”

“She’s ignoring my ass like it’s her job,” he admitted, leaning and letting his head flop back. He stared up at the clouds scudding across the bright blue sky.

“I looked her up online from that Singing show. Damn son. I think she’s above your paygrade anyway.”

“Thanks,” he said, smiling. “Good to hear your voice, Ghost.”

“Ah now don’t go all mushy on me. I’m not gonna spoon with you or anything. But, I do want you to meet us. There’s a guy nearby who’s looking for some security help. He loves ex-Operators. He’s ex-SEAL.”

“Oh,” Terry said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Thanks to the doctor here, he had his migraines under a semblance of control. Not drinking had helped, he figured. Nonetheless, his mouth watered at the thought of a healthy pour of bourbon.

“Yeah, I’ll email you the details. But plan on it. It’s I.T., and I told him you were the ultimate computer geek plus Operator trained. He’s stoked to meet you.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Don’t give up, man,” Ghost said. Terry knew what he meant. “I didn’t and I couldn’t be happier with Rayne.”

“Whatever you say. I’m gonna go,” he said, his need to avoid listening to his former commander pressing on his chest like a weight. “Talk soon.” He ended the call with a wince, knowing he’d pay for that. Sure enough he had a text message inside of five minutes.

“I’ll let you hang up on me once, soldier. Watch for my email. We’ll see you next month.”

***

Mariah sat and watched the final match of the season, cheering along with the rest of the newly restored Lucasville soccer fans. She kept her eyes on the action, trying to follow it, and not on the man standing stock still on the sidelines, his muscular arms crossed, his blue eyes fixated on his players.

He rarely spoke during games, she’d noticed. It was one of the many things she was dying to ask him about. At the end of ninety minutes, the score was Lucasville two, Visitors one. The team erupted, ran over as a group and snatched up their coach, then walked him over on their shoulders to the fans. She stood, not really wanting to see him that close up.

As she was headed for her car, her ears ringing, her skin tingly with memory, she heard someone shout her name. As she turned, waving to several of her music students, and then realized too late that she should have ignored it.

Terry was running towards her, dripping wet, she noticed, with a huge smile on his face. When he grabbed her hand and pulled her close she fought it, concerned about all the kids watching them with rapt attention.

But he wouldn’t give up and once she found herself in his arms, in the middle of a cat-calling, applauding group, she no longer cared. All the weeks she’d spent convincing herself that he was a bad idea—that they would never work—fell away like the autumn leaves swirling around their feet.

“You’re sticky,” she said, unable to tear her gaze from his. He grinned. “And you reek—what is that? Gatorade? Gross.” She made a fake attempt to squirm away but he tightened his grip.

“Go out with me, Mariah. Tonight? Please? To celebrate?”

She sighed, then nodded. His grin widened and he kissed her full on the mouth in front of God and all the damn teenagers then released her and ran back to his pack of players who all high fived him before they headed into their locker room. She stood, staring at his retreating back, frozen, thrilled, horrified, her front covered in the Gatorade he’d been doused with before he ran to catch her.

She ran a shaky hand through her hair and looked around at all the kids, mostly girls, staring at her with dreamy expressions. “Move along. Nothing to see here,” she said.  They laughed and dispersed. She got into her car and sat, trying to calm her pulse, and wondering just how she and Terry O’Leary might celebrate tonight.

He sent her a text that said he’d pick her up at seven-thirty, and she should dress up. They were going into Lexington to a nice place. So she picked Cole up from the sitter she used after school and told him she had a date and that Henry or Lindee would put him to bed. This made him pout, before he recalled that hanging out with Henry and Lindee meant popcorn and movies, not reading and vegetables.

At seven-thirty sharp, Terry knocked, startling her. She’d been anticipating a text telling her he was in the parking lot. When she saw him standing there wearing khaki trousers and a soft-looking, crisply ironed blue button down over his broad shoulders and trim torso, she almost had to take a seat before her legs gave out.

“Soccer,” Cole yelped, latching onto the man’s leg. “Can we play?”

Terry hauled her son up and onto his shoulders and they had a quick romp around the living room, while Cole brayed with delight. “Your mom and I have a date, Cole,” he said, setting the boy down. “She looks so nice. I’d hate to disappoint her since she got all dressed up.” His eyes sparkled when he looked at her. “But maybe we can play this weekend, if she’ll let us.” He shot her a coy look. She rolled her eyes.

“Please Mama, can we?”

“Maybe. For now, let me call Henry and let him know I’m leaving.”

“So, congrats on the win, coach,” she said, once he had them pointed toward Lexington. “Quite the feat, according to our principal.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he said. “It was fun. I’m seeing a guy about a different job next week. One that pays a whole hell of a lot more, so I’m not sure about next year.”

“Oh,” she said, disappointment flaring in her chest. “What sort of job?”

He shot her a quick look as they waited at a stop light. “Security,” he said.

“How so? I mean, all I know about you is what people tell me.”

“That’s your fault,” he said, mildly, as he turned onto the four-lane highway. “You’re the one who’s made a hobby out of ignoring me.”

“I know,” she said. “I don’t know why. Other than I figured we shouldn’t jump right back into the sack and since that’s what I want to do when I’m around you…” She shrugged. He laughed.

“Huh, well we’ve got that in common anyway.” He put his large hand over hers, calming her instantly. She closed her eyes, allowing herself the moment of intimacy. “Hope you like steak,” he said, picking her hand up and putting it to his lips, even as he drove. Mariah felt her entire body loosen, and melt into itself at the sensation. “You look beautiful, by the way. Sorry I didn’t say so earlier.”

“Thanks,” she whispered, staring straight ahead as he threaded his fingers in hers and set their hands on the console between them. He kept running his thumb over her knuckles, slowly, carefully. It made heat crawl up her spine, lighting up her brain like a Christmas tree. She tried like hell not to give herself away, to let him know she was having a hard time not breathing in gasps, now desperate for more from him, steak dinner be damned.

He drove them straight through downtown, past the two restaurants she knew about that might have sufficed, and straight on over to a small little burb to the east of it. “Where are we—”

“Shh,” he said, grazing the back of her hand with his lips again. “Just trust me.”

When he pulled up to what looked like a Georgian style mansion, she blinked at the sign. “Okay, I didn’t really plan for breakfast and, uh, bed.”

“That’s okay. I did. Sit tight,” he said, hopping down from the driver’s side and coming around to help her out. Keeping his arm around her waist, he tugged her close. She could hear the night noises of the country filling her ears as he pressed his lips to hers, easy-going, gentle, yet firm, like she remembered. She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back as if she’d been doing it her whole adult life.

“Mmm,” he said, breaking away. “Nice. Now, let’s go eat.”

“Okay,” she said, shaky as she shouldered her small purse and clutched his hand. “But I’m pretty sure there isn’t a restaurant in there.”

He held open the front door for her, his hand pressed into the small of her back in a proprietary, wonderful way. “There isn’t,” he whispered, smiling as a woman handed him a key.

“Trust me. I won’t let you starve.”

She followed him up a flight of stairs, then hesitated when he unlocked a door and opened it for her. “I can’t do this Terry. I’m honestly afraid of how I feel about you.”