The Officer Says "I Do" (12 page)

It seemed almost like a test. Like there was a right and a wrong answer to this. But at the same time, he knew she wouldn’t be mad if he insisted. She just wanted him to trust her.

He stood up and kissed her forehead. “Okay. Bring me a bottle of water when you’re done.”

She sighed. “I’m getting you a Nalgene for Christmas,” she warned, and he laughed. Skye hated plastic water bottles, claiming they were a serious societal evil. He even had a new water pitcher in his fridge to show for it, along with a set of real glasses.

Let the assimilation begin.

***

“How long have you loved her?”

Jeremy jerked around and stared at her, mouth slightly open. “What?”

Skye paused, making sure she heard three sets of footsteps heading upstairs to the office before repeating, “How long have you loved her?”

Jeremy hesitated, then said, “You’re crazy.” He tilted the bottle of water and swallowed half in one long swallow.

“I might be,” she agreed wryly. Wouldn’t have been the first time someone called her crazy over her life choices or beliefs. “Doesn’t mean I can’t be right. Even the crazies hit a bull’s-eye every so often.”

He stared at her like she was talking in tongues. Skye assumed he was calculating the odds, mentally figuring what she could handle without spilling her guts to everyone. Finally, he hopped up on the counter and let his head fall back until it hit the cabinet behind. “Forever.”

Skye hefted herself onto the counter next to him, and it only took two tries. Feet thumping against the cabinets below, she nudged him with her shoulder.

He took the prompt for what it was. “As long as I’ve known her, anyway. It’s just something I’ve got to deal with. Nothing will ever happen, so I need to move on.”

“How’s that working for you? The whole ‘moving on’ thing?”

“Yeah. Not so good.” He took another swig of water.

“And it pisses you off,” she ventured.

“Of course it does.” His hand curled around the plastic, crunching it slightly before relaxing. “Why would I want to feel like this? And why am I telling you all this?”

Skye shrugged. “Because I’m not Tim or Dwayne.”

“You’re Tim’s wife,” he said, as if reminding himself as much as her.

“Luckily I didn’t take a blood oath to tell my husband every single thing I know. Your secret—if it really is a secret—is safe with me. But I’m not really sure why.”

“Why it’s a secret?” She nodded and he continued. “It’s just not going to happen. So why make it more awkward if I try and she rejects me?”

“Is that the only reason?”

“It’s a guy thing.”

She punched his shoulder. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. As a feminist, I’d be honor bound to kick your butt. And I just don’t have the energy right now.”

That dragged a small smile from him. “You don’t mess around with your best friend’s girl, or his sister. It’s just a code.”

Skye mulled that one over. She could see the logic behind it, twisted though it may be. “Okay. But what if the sister makes the first move? What if it’s what she wants? Don’t you think a caring, loving brother and friend would make an exception to ‘the man code’ as you so delicately put it?” She used quote fingers, and he smiled more.

He stilled, as if she’d hit on something without even realizing it. But then he shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. We’re not going to go there. I’m not going to find out.”

“But if you—”

“I’m not going to find out,” he said more firmly. The equal parts hurt and determination in Jeremy’s eyes made her heart ache for him.

“Okay.” She slipped down off the counter. “If you want to talk, I’ll listen. Until then, if you plan on keeping things as normal as possible, you might want to rein in the possessive boyfriend attitude. Tim’s clueless right now, but he’s no idiot. He’ll figure it out sooner or later that you want Madison.”

As she rounded the corner to the dining area, he called, “You’re not going to say anything, right?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Not my place, no matter which angle I look at it from. I told you what I think, and that’s enough.”

He stared at the bottle for a long moment. “Okay. Maybe you aren’t as crazy as I originally thought.”

Skye figured that was as close to a compliment she’d get from Jeremy, so she took it.

***

Tim listened to Skye hum along with the radio on the way home. It was a short drive, only ten minutes without traffic between Madison’s apartment and his. But he felt like he needed to fill the silence.

“Are you keeping your name?”

“Hmm?” Skye turned to him. Her profile was washed in the late afternoon light. She might be dressed as an average, ordinary housewife, but she still gave off some vibe that drew him in, made his chest burn. Made him want her more than he’d wanted almost anything.

“Your name. Are you keeping your last name?”

“Oh. Actually, I hadn’t thought about it. I’d like to keep it. But…” She looked toward him, chewing her bottom lip.

“But?”

“Isn’t that kind of frowned upon?”

He sighed, wondering why he’d opened his mouth. “It’s not frowned upon. Just not as common.” Not even close to common.

“Oh. I don’t mind being uncommon,” she said brightly.

Understatement of the century. “We can take care of the IDs on Monday. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds good.” She looked happy, like he’d told her they were going to buy her a new car. Of course, she’d only be this happy if the car was a hybrid with low fuel emissions.

Never in his life would Tim have thought he’d be asking his wife whether she wanted to keep her name. His upbringing was as traditional as apple freaking pie. With any other woman, he wouldn’t have even asked. He’d have just driven her to the proper office to fill out forms for a name change. But Skye… Skye was different. In every good and confusing and frustrating sense of the word.

Tim had a feeling that, for as long as their marriage lasted, he would be kept on his toes.

But was that what he wanted? He spent his career on his toes. Half the decisions he made could end up being life or death. For months on end, he didn’t sleep well thanks to the worry that shrouded his mind during deployments. Even the most simple choices could, in the long run, end up being a mistake that cost someone their lives.

What did he want at home? Peace. He wanted to walk through the front door each night and feel comfort. Security. A stress-free zone. A well-maintained place of refuge.

Like what they’d had the night he’d come home with the black eye. Peace. Serenity. A soft place to fall, and a soft woman to fall with. A nice, hot, sweaty round or two of sex wouldn’t hurt the deal either. But that would come. In time.

What he wasn’t sure of was how peaceful Skye would make his life at home. She was energetic and lively, yes. Both great qualities. But the moment something irked her, she went from lively to live wire. Exploding all over the place. A serious short fuse. She cooled off quickly enough, at least so far. And thank God for that. But would the ups and downs of keeping time with her moods wear over the years? Would they slowly eat away at his reserve until he didn’t want to come home anymore?

He’d seen it. He’d seen it more times than he wanted to admit. Marines who would rather stay with their stressful job twenty-four seven than go home to a more stressful home life. Hell, some volunteered for deployment slots to escape the madness of their marriages.

You know it’s bad when a Marine would choose war over wife.

Was he just shooting himself in the foot by continuing this impromptu marriage instead of cutting his losses? He could have said no. He wasn’t the first idiot to get plastered in Vegas and get married. It didn’t have to mean a life sentence.

Once more he glanced over at Skye, watched as her head bobbed along with the music. Laughed to himself when her lips mouthed the words. Felt that all-too-familiar tug of desire low in his gut when she turned to him and smiled.

No, he didn’t make a mistake. Even if this ended a year down the road, it wasn’t a mistake.

He’d just have to find a way to keep his wife and his peaceful home. He’d figure out a way.

Tim’s phone rang during his lunch hour. Unfortunately he didn’t have time to take a lunch, and wouldn’t in the foreseeable future, thanks to a miscommunication on ordering weapons. If he left the battalion before eight, it’d be a miracle. The ID office had taken way longer than he anticipated that morning. How was it possible it took two hours to wait for something that took ten minutes to do? He swallowed the bite of his turkey club he’d had delivered and punched the speakerphone button.

“O’Shay.”

“Timmy!”

“Mom?” The sandwich he’d just swallowed struck his stomach like a bomb. “Hey, how’s it going? How’s Dad?”

She scoffed. “Oh, he’s fine, as usual. The man has more energy now than he did during the Gulf War. Retirement, shockingly, still agrees with him. Everything’s great. How are you doing, sweetie? I feel like I haven’t spoken to you in forever. What’s going on in your life?”

Oh, you know, the usual. Went to Vegas, got hammered, got married, forgot I got married, almost deployed, then didn’t deploy, then had my wife show up on my doorstep, and now she’s living with me. But in separate rooms, so it’s completely logical.
“Not much.”

Damn. The last time he’d spoken to his parents, he was on the way home from Quantico and had no clue what was going on with Skye yet. Since then, he hadn’t had the chance to call and let them know what was going on.

Okay, he’d had plenty of chances. But this just wasn’t an easy conversation to have with his folks. The one thing he never wanted from them was disappointment. And he had a feeling they’d be giving it in spades when they heard about this mess.

He would tell them. There was absolutely no way to avoid it. He just had to figure out the right angle to come at it from. And he wanted to be a little more secure with Skye first. It was all still too new. Too tentative.

“We have some news for you,” his mother chirped into the phone. As usual, Susie O’Shay was cheerful and sunny. That much, she and Skye had in common. Likely the only thing.

Tim shuffled through the papers on his desk, looking for the one his assistant was waiting for him to sign off on. “Hit me with it,” he said.

“Your father and I bought an RV.”

“Whoa. Going to do the cross-country thing? Didn’t you get enough traveling in courtesy of the Corps?”

His mother laughed, a light tinkling sound. “Never. You know I would have followed your father everywhere. And now he’s bound and determined to see the country at our own pace.”

“Sounds like a plan.” His parents, though officially retired, would never slow down. It wasn’t in them. Tim only hoped he would be the same at their age. “So where are you starting this glorious road trip? Maine? Florida? Alaska? Abroad?”

“California, silly.”

That gave Tim pause. It was a big state, after all. “Where in California?”

“Actually, we surprised your sister this morning. She had to go to work, though. Poor thing will be up half the night. But we’re in town! Isn’t that fantastic?”

Red
alert. Red alert. Man your battle stations.
“Wow. That’s… quite a surprise. And Madison didn’t know?”

“Oh, no. She was shocked.”

Oh fuck. Tim dug through the papers on his desk until he reached his cell phone, which he’d turned on vibrate earlier. Sure enough, seven text messages. All from Madison. Without even opening them, he knew exactly what they’d say.

Get your shit together, O’Shay.

“I originally wanted to use Madison’s spare key to swing by your home and start a nice pot roast for supper as a surprise. But Madison talked me out of it. She said you’d probably want to go out for dinner.”

Thank you, sweet baby Jesus. Madison always had his back. He felt ten again, in cahoots with his own sister, plotting some scheme against their parents. “She’s right. You’re a guest; you shouldn’t be cooking. We’ll go out. How’s that sound?”

“You know I never mind cooking for my family. That’s never been a chore to me.”

No, it really hadn’t been. Susie O’Shay showed love through serving others. She would have made June Cleaver look like a lazy slob. A job outside the home had never been appealing to her. But God save the person who tried to tell her she didn’t work. The woman could rattle off a list of her daily “work” faster than you could say “holy housewife.”

Tim realized it was now or never. He’d wanted to hold off explaining the marriage, but life had other plans. Much like a mission gone bad, it was time to re-strategize, re-plan, and react.

“Mom, I’ve got a ton of work still to do. But how about I call you or Dad on your cell when I’m ready to leave and we can make plans from there. Sound good?”

“I think we can do that,” his mom replied. “Look forward to seeing you. I’m so glad you’re still here!”

“Me too, Mom.” He kept his tone light as he said his good-byes and hung up. But dread anchored him low like nothing he’d ever felt before. This was definitely worse than the time he had to explain why he was caught skipping seventh period in high school.

Wow, was that really the last time he’d had to admit some sort of wrongdoing? And what kind of lame existence was he living? No wonder he’d freaked in Vegas and had an experience of a lifetime.

Moreover, could he really call his marriage a wrongdoing? That didn’t seem fair to Skye, or to their fledgling marriage.

Tim gritted his teeth and turned his thoughts back to the unaccounted-for weaponry. He had eight hours of work to cram into less than four, so he could beat it home and have a talk with Skye before Momma and Poppa O’Shay beat him to it.

***

Skye was sitting on the patio, iced chai tea in her hand, reveling in the great day. First thing, she’d received her ID. So the picture wasn’t overly flattering, but that almost made it all the more real. Like a good-looking driver’s license photo—they didn’t really exist. Then she’d excelled during her first day of training. Mac had been beyond impressed with her knowledge of front house service as well as her patience and understanding of customer relations. They would be cutting her training in half, he’d said, and she would be ready for solo management by next week.

She stood and walked back in to refresh her drink and grab a book so she could read outside. It was hot as blazes, but she’d changed out of her management uniform of pinstripe pants, white button-down shirt, and matching pinstripe vest—almost a complete match to her uniform in Vegas—and put on her favorite pair of ragged cutoff jean shorts that had more than one patch on the butt, a spaghetti strap tank, and her favorite footwear: nothing. Her unruly waves were anchored to the top of her head with a big clip. Perfect outfit to relax in the backyard after a long afternoon on her feet.

She had nowhere to go, and Tim wasn’t due home for another few hours. More, if he got caught up in paperwork like he warned. The man left before seven and didn’t get home until eight. He worked too hard. But then again, was there such a thing as working too hard in the military? If there was any career where cutting corners should probably be avoided, it was likely the military.

She replaced the pitcher in the fridge when she heard the front door open. Hmm. Tim was home earlier than expected. A quick glance at the clock confirmed he was hours ahead of his schedule of late. Popping up to sit on the counter, legs dangling against the cabinets, she waited until he made his way back to the kitchen to talk about his day.

Instead of Tim, though, a woman in her fifties turned the corner holding a paper grocery sack. She caught sight of Skye and dropped the bag. Something that sounded like eggs made a sick squishing noise. Oranges rolled across the floor and came to a stop under the kitchen table. The woman stood with her mouth open.

Skye froze, unable to move thanks to shock, and tried not to panic. Did Tim have a cleaning lady? No, she’d been there over a week. He’d have mentioned one by now, wouldn’t he? Well, whoever this was had a key, because she was positive she’d locked the door behind her coming in. Burglars didn’t have keys to the front door. Burglars didn’t bring food with them for a heist, did they?

“Who are you?” the woman demanded.

The question snapped her out of the semi-trance she’d been stuck in. “Skye.” She hopped down and held out a hand, for lack of any other idea. “You would be?”

“Susie? Where’d you head off to?” a man’s voice called from the front of the house. More? There were more of them? Now she was starting to worry.

“I’m in here!” the woman called out, not taking her eyes off Skye.

Skye dropped her hand, losing the friendly tone. “I don’t know how you got in here but I think you should leave.” The woman didn’t budge.

“Susie, there you are.” A man who looked to be in his late fifties rounded the corner and stopped next to the woman. “Who’s this?”

“I don’t know. She hasn’t said.”

“I did,” Skye reminded her. “I said my name was Skye. And also that you should leave.” This was the oddest breaking and entering she’d ever heard of. She could see the headlines now:
Older
couple
breaks
into
house, stocks fridge.

“Timothy, why would she be here?”

Timothy? Skye took another look at the man. In a polo shirt and pleated slacks, with a thick gold watch around his wrist, he could have stepped off a country club golf course. He was fit, and his skin had a healthy tan. His hair was silver, cut the same way she’d seen Marines wear theirs, and his eyes were a piercing blue.

And in thirty years, Tim would look exactly like him.

She analyzed the woman. Early to mid fifties, silvery blond hair cut to chin length. Shorter than Skye in bare feet, wearing a light cardigan and a khaki skirt with low heels. Discrete jewelry winked from her ears and hands. Conservative chic.

“Are you… are you Tim’s parents?”

“Yes,” the man answered gruffly. “And who are you?”

“Oh, boy,” she muttered under her breath, then cursed Tim for putting her in this position. They obviously had no clue whatsoever that their son was married. “Let’s go have a seat in the living room. I think it’d be easier for everyone if we were all sitting down for that conversation.”

***

Tim pulled up, running through every curse he knew—and that was an extensive list—as he saw an RV sitting in front of his townhouse. Apparently his mother had chosen to play the “my son never has a decent meal without me” card after all.

Fuck.

He quickly debated—and rejected—the idea of turning the car around and heading to Mexico. Avoiding his parents’ lecture seemed like a good idea at the moment, but he knew from experience the longer he put it off, the worse it would get.

Boots dragging, he walked up the steps and opened the front door.

Three heads swiveled his way. None of them looked overly pleased, but then again, nobody jumped up and took a swing at him either.

Silver lining.

“Hey, Mom. Hi, Dad. Thought we were going to meet up for dinner later,” he said casually, setting his cover on the entry table and dropping his gym bag beneath it.

Skye said nothing. She just stared at him, misery plain on her face. And he felt three inches tall.

“Timmy, come over here so I can hug you. And then kill you.” His mother’s voice was light, but there was steel hidden under the deceptive tone.

“The hug I’ll take. You can keep the kill part.” He bent and wrapped his arms around her. She was a small woman, but he always thought she was ten feet tall growing up. She squeezed him tightly. She might not like him right now—and he couldn’t blame her for that—but she still loved him. Love was never a question in their family.

It was harder to turn to his father, to look him in the eye. The man he strove to be like in every aspect of his life. His hero. Sure enough, his father’s eyes held disappointment. But he still reached out and pulled Tim into a bone-crushing bear hug. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he murmured to Tim before letting him go.

There was an awkward silence, then Skye spoke.

“I was just about to tell your parents about my new job. Do you want to go change and come back down so we can talk together?”

She was looking at him calmly, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. But he could tell she’d emotionally checked out. There was a wall up. Her eyes, which normally burned with an overall passion for life, were cool and distant. Her voice, always a bubbling brook of excitement, was a placid lake.

It was Skye, but it wasn’t.

“Yeah. I’ll be right back down.” He hustled upstairs to change into a polo and jeans, then jogged back down. If anyone had said a word since he left, he would be shocked. He walked over to the armchair Skye sat in and stood beside it. Did she feel his support? Or did she feel abandoned, ready to be sacrificed at a moment’s notice? He placed a hand on her bare shoulder and felt her muscles and tendons stiffen. That answered that question.

“I don’t know what Skye told you so far—”

“Enough. She told us enough. How could you get married in Las Vegas, Timothy Francis? Married? Without your family there? Without telling us? This was over a month ago!”

“Mom. Calm down.”

“No, I won’t calm down,” she said fiercely. “My only son gets married and I’m not even there to see it and he wants me to calm down?” Her voice hitched and she bit her lip. Tim wanted to throw up. The only thing worse than watching his mom cry was knowing he caused it.

“What she’s trying to say,” his father stepped in, “is that this just isn’t like you, Tim. This sort of impulsive behavior, especially with something so serious as marriage, is not you.”

“I explained to your parents that we met in Vegas while you were there on leave. How we connected so quickly. And that I was the one who pushed for it.”

Tim looked down into Skye’s eyes. She’d tried to deflect the situation onto herself. Take the hit in front of his parents. He was stunned.

“That’s not entirely true. This was my choice. Skye was no more responsible than I was. I asked her to marry me and she said yes. My choice.”

He watched as Skye’s eyes softened, and her mouth lost its hard edge. The ball of tension playing pinball in his stomach slowed down.