When Love Comes Around Page 11

  And then he did.

  He said ‘Okay’ then he silently dressed and left me still sitting in my bed, naked and alone, wondering what the hell just happened.

  I don’t catch feelings. I don’t catch feelings.

  “And why not? What’s wrong with ‘catching’ feelings?” My mother asks, startling me out of my thoughts with a hand on my shoulder. It’s around two in the morning, and Kandy Kane’s is just about as dead as I feel.

  “Feelings get you hurt,” I grumble before tossing back another shot of tequila.

  “There’s nothing wrong with caring for someone, Megan.”

  “How would you know?” I accuse. My mother’s hurt expression says it all, but I ignore her and continue with my private pity party. “Why are you even here?”

  “I do own the place,” she retorts. She pauses, as if she wants to say something else, then she sighs. “But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here for you.”

  I look down the bar, pinpointing my gaze on Buster. The big man gives me a small smile and shrugs his shoulders. My eyes say ‘snitch,’ but my mouth wisely stays silent – I’m drunk, not crazy.

  “I’m fine. I’m not here crying in my cups over some guy if that’s what Buster told you. I don’t catch feelings.”

  “So you’ve said.” Brooklynn lays her fancy purse on the counter and takes a seat on the stool next to me. Finally turning to look at her, I immediately burst into a fit of giggles. Her formerly chic hairstyle is a hot-tangled-mess, and she’s wearing hot pink Juicy Couture sweatpants with a plain white t-shirt, a complete contrast to the beaded, black silk handbag on the bar next to her.

  “What? This look is all the rage, I’ll have you know,” she says smiling sheepishly. I can’t help but feel a little warm and fuzzy at the thought that she cared enough about me to leave the house looking like this – fluffy slippers and all. My mother never leaves the house without looking immaculate – at least not in the last five years, anyway.

  “So, what’s got my baby three shades into the wind on Christmas morning?”

  “It’s Christmas Eve, Mom. And I’m not three shades into the wind. Not yet.” I tap my empty glass on the bar, signaling Buster for a refill. I see him eye my mother for permission, and I’m ready to cuss somebody out, but she must have given him the go-ahead because I see him pouring more amber liquid into two more shot glasses. I quickly reach for them as he pushes them my way, but either my mother is quicker than the Flash, or I’m drunker than I thought because she’s already grabbed them out of my reach.

  “Uh uh,” she says, setting the glasses down out of reach. Then she grabs my cell phone. “First off, as of exactly two hours and seventeen minutes ago, it became Christmas day. Secondly, you’re not getting this shot until you tell me why you’re at a strip club, getting shit-faced, on Christmas morning.”

  “As a wise woman once told me. I do own the place.”

  “Not yet you don’t,” she sharply reminds me. Then in a softer voice, “Come on, Meg. You can talk to me.”

  I take a deep, shaky breath. My mother hasn’t called me Meg since I was a little girl. Suddenly I want to be that little girl again, the one that trusted her mother and wanted to share confidences with her.

  “Trevor wants me to be his girlfriend,” I blurt out. Then I snatch one of the shot glasses from her, tossing it back without the salt or the lemon chaser, leaving just the burn of the alcohol to try to remove the ache in my chest.

  “You care about him.” It’s a statement, not a question.

  “I don’t catch feelings.” I reiterate, cutting my eyes at her.

  “Seems to me, whether you wanted to or not, you caught them, sweetheart. You can keep wasting your time trying to drink your feelings away if you like. You can even try running away from them, but I’m telling you from experience, that doesn’t work either. You carry those feelings with you wherever you go.” Her eyes get a faraway look in them as if she’s thinking of something, or someone else, and then her emerald gaze focuses back on me. “Or, you can take a chance and let love in. I’m not going to lie. Love can hurt, but it can be good too. Worth every drop of pain.”

  She runs a hand lightly over my hair as she looks at me with what can only be described as motherly love. Then Brooklynn tosses back the other shot of tequila, slams the glass down on the counter, and without another word, she hops off the bar stool, grabs her purse, and like a cloud of smoke, she’s gone.

  “Nice talk,” I say sarcastically to the empty space beside me. Tapping the shot glass on the bar, I look up into a pair of sympathetic brown eyes.

  “Brooklynn loves you, shortcake, and she doesn’t want you making the same mistakes she did. Give this Trevor guy a chance,” Buster advises me.

  My mother told him about Trevor? Of course, she did. How else would Buster know his name? I have no clue what mistakes Buster is referring to. My mother has made plenty. If she’s ever been truly in love, I wouldn’t know it. Maybe that’s part of the problem. I have no clue what real love looks like. I’ve mostly seen the downside of love because the up-side never seems to last long enough to get a clear picture.

  “Another shot please, Buster.”

  **********

  My head is pounding with a well-deserved headache. I’ve only had three hours of sleep this morning, and I’ve got fifteen minutes before I’m supposed to be at Granny Mabel’s for Christmas.

  Mom and I do a separate Christmas thing in the evening. She’s not really big on Christmas. Neither was I, until I met Evie and Granny Mabel. I haven’t made it to every Christmas at Granny Mabel’s house − or I would have seen a lot more of Trevor over −, but I’ve made it to a lot of them over the past five years.

  Trevor.

  I feel nervous just thinking about seeing him again. I still haven’t figured out exactly what I want to say, but I know one thing, my answer is still the same. No. I don’t want to be his girlfriend. That’s too much pressure. I don’t know how to be with one person all the time. I’m not sure if I can, or if I even want to.

  Just imagining the look on his face when I told him ‘no,’ tugs a little at my heart. I’m not completely heartless, and the things he can do to my body is almost enough to make me reconsider.

  Almost.

  Trevor doesn’t need a girl like me. He needs someone grounded, responsible, and most of all, ready for love. Love. I know that’s what he wants. Hell, it’s what he deserves. Trevor’s a good man, with a soft heart, sweet smile, and a gentle touch… that can set my body on fire.

  Ugh! Why does he have to be the only man who has made my toes curl? The thought of his body against some woman that isn’t me makes me feel sick to my stomach. Maybe it’s the combination of my thoughts, and the alcohol roiling in my belly because I’m suddenly racing to the bathroom to empty the contents of my stomach.

  Feeling a little better, I wipe the beads of perspiration from my forehead and make my way to the sink to brush my teeth for the second time this morning. Standing in front of the sink, my reflection peers listlessly back at me, with glossy eyes, and an ashen complexion. I look the way I feel – like crap.

  I wonder if I can call in sick.

  Why am I acting like this? I like being with Trevor – even outside of the bedroom. So what I need to do, is get a grip, put on my big girl panties, and talk to him like an adult. We don’t have to become a couple. Friends with benefits is more than doable. It’s perfect. And that’s what I’ll tell him.

  Maybe someday – way down the road – I’ll consider more. But for now, this is it. Feeling better than I have in the last fourteen hours, I give myself a last once-over in the mirror and head out the door, with my Christmas gifts in hand.

  The drive to Granny Mabel’s isn’t long, and when I pull up to her house, I see Brayden’s truck parked out front. I’m sure Evie, Hunter, and McKinley, walked from their house. So that just leaves Trevor.

  I sit in my Escalade for a few extra minutes, taking calming breaths and checking my makeup.
I don’t want to examine why looking good right now is so important to me when I could usually care less. Finally ready to face my demon, I grab the bags from the passenger seat, and head towards the house.

  The front door is unlocked – as I expected to be – and Hunter and Brayden coming rushing forward to take the gifts out of my hands, placing them under the Christmas tree for me.

  “Merry Christmas.” Gina greets me with a hug. I instinctively return the embrace, but not before noticing the somber tone of her voice.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, pulling back to look at her face. Evie and Gina love the hell out of Christmas, and this isn’t Gina’s usual giddy-Christmas-day attitude. “And where’s Evie?”

  “I thought you knew,” she responds, looking perplexed.

  “Knew what?” I demand, my alarm starting to mount.

  “Trevor was called back to duty last night. Evie took him to the airport this morning. She should be back soon.”

  I feel like a boulder just fell out of the sky and landed on my chest. Everything makes sense now. Trevor was rushing things between us last night because he knew he had to leave, and the first thing on his mind was making sure I was his girlfriend before he left. I feel like I need to vomit again. Pushing away from Gina, I rush to the bathroom. I hover over the porcelain bowl, but all I can do is dry heave.

  “Are you alright, sweetie?” Gina asks through the closed door.

  No.

  “Yeah, I’m good. I had a little too much to drink last night.”

  “Can I come in?”

  I should have known she wouldn’t leave it at that, and how could I expect her to? I know I wouldn’t have let it go at that either if it were her in here. My skin is pale and clammy, and my hand is a little shaky as I reach out to unlock the door.

  Gina doesn’t hesitate. Stepping quickly inside the small half-bath with me, she closes the door behind her. Before I know what she’s about, I’m in her embrace, my head on her shoulder – I forget how freaking tall she is sometimes.

  “What happened?”

  I don’t want to tell her, but she’ll know if I’m lying to her or brushing her off. That’s the good, and the bad thing, about having such great friends.

  “Last night, Trevor asked me to be his girlfriend.” Gina sighs. I feel her head shaking back and forth above mine.

  “Let me guess. You turned him down.”

  “Yes, but I had no idea he was leaving today,” I explain. Gina leans back, grabbing my shoulders and pushing me away from her to look in my face.

  “Would knowing that he was leaving today have changed your answer?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know!”

  I see a light shining in Gina’s bright blue eyes as she gives me a knowing smile.

  “What?”

  “You like him,” she says smiling even bigger now.

  “Of course I like him. Why else would I be sleeping with him?”

  “No, you like him, like him. You got scared, and you panicked. You thought you could smooth things over with him today and keep the relationship, or non-relationship − knowing you − on your terms.”

  “Where did this little Miss Know-it-all come from? I think Brayden’s been a bad influence on you,” I accuse.

  “You’re just mad because I’m right.”

  “I hate you.”

  “Yeah, well. I love you.”

  Damn it! She always wins.

  “Let’s just say, for argument's sake, that I might kind of like him a little. What do I do now?”

  “The possibility of losing someone has a way of putting things in perspective, doesn’t it?” She asks with a sad smile. Gina’s not rubbing it in, that’s not her style, she’s sympathizing with me.

  “Wait. What? Losing him? Where did they send him? Is she in danger?” I‘m frantic now. I want to pace, but there isn’t enough room in this tiny ass bathroom.

  “Please calm down. That’s not what I meant by ‘losing him.’ I honestly don’t know where he’s going.” I can tell by the way her voice drifted off at the end that she’s thinking about it now. We both are, and I’m sure that we’re reaching the same conclusion.

  Wherever he’s been called to, can’t be good. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have pulled him away from his friends and family on Christmas day. Understanding dawns on us simultaneously. Without a word to one another, we depart the restroom to show love and support to Trevor’s family.

  I’ll deal will my own feelings later.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Trevor

  The entire flight back to Fort Hood all I could think about was Megan. She turned me down cold. I’m not surprised. Of course, I was hoping for a different answer, but I’m not surprised. If anything, I want her more. Maybe that makes me a masochist, but like Granny Mabel always says, anything worth having, is worth fighting for. If I’m anything, I’m a fighter. Which is exactly why I’m sitting in this debriefing, getting ready to deploy again.

  My name being mentioned brings me back to reality.

  “…you report to Lieutenant Woods. I know I don’t need to remind you soldiers that we leave our ranks in this room when we do missions like these. Last names only, you got that?”

  “Hoorah.”

  There’s only a small group of us being sent on this mission, and once we hit foreign soil, I’m in charge. I know this fireteam almost as well as I know myself. As much as I hated being taken away from my family on Christmas, my heart goes out to Sergeant Adetekumbo, who has a newborn, two other children and a wife he had to leave to report to duty.

  “Are you ready?” I ask my crew as soon as the briefings over.

  “We stay ready, so we don’t have to get ready.” They reply in unison.

  Smiling I clap Thompson on the back. He’s just a twenty-two-year-old freckle-faced kid, but he’s already got several missions under his belt. Luckily, him and Quevedo, are single guys like me.

  “Where we’re going Thompson’s going to stick out like a sore thumb. No offense, Thompson.”

  “None taken.” He smiles, running his hand over his short cropped blond hair.

  “As a matter of fact, Q, you might not be able to pass for a local on this mission either.”

  “What are you saying, Woods? I’m not dark enough for you?” He messes around, running his hands up and down the olive-toned skin of his hands and arms like he’s a hand model.

  “Si, mi amigo. Es no Bueno,” I laughingly reply. Then I become serious. “You two will have to stay behind with the friendlies while A.D. and I extract the package.”

  “Yes, sir.” Q and Thompson reply.

  “Good. Go pack, and meet back here at fourteen hundred hours. Quevedo and Thompson immediately head out, but Adetekumbo stays behind.

  “What’s on your mind?” I ask him.

  “You know I can speak the native dialect, but I’m not as fluent as I would like,” he apprises me, with no traces of an accent. Adetekumbo was born in the United States, of Nigerian immigrants. He’s the reason our team was chosen for this mission. If it weren’t for him being able to speak the language, we’d all be with our families right now, eating Christmas ham. But I’m not mad at him, just the situation.

  “You’ll do fine. I’m praying that there won’t be much talking, just in and out. Besides, the French already have a team in place. They should have a guy that speaks the native tongue.” I hope, but I don’t tell him that. He looks a little relieved at my words as he claps me on the shoulder.

  “Thanks, Woods.”

  We’ve already dropped the formalities, a sign that our minds are already on the mission. I’m glad I’ve eased A.D’s mind because I’m definitely not relaxed. I have no idea if the French have a soldier available that speaks Hausa, or any of the other five major dialects spoken in Nigeria. Not that it matters. Orders are orders.

  Heaven help us.

  **********

  “Yayana ne jinkirin a kai.” Adetekumbo tells the armed guerilla soldier. We were scouting the area wher
e we had been told that the reporter had been taken when we stumbled upon him. A.D.’s grasp of the language has saved our hides several times in the last few days, but this is the first time someone has attempted to engage me in conversation. I always stand submissively behind A.D. and keep my head down, but it’s not working this time.

  “M dabba,” the soldier scoffs in my direction, before agitatedly waving us on our way.

  “What was that about?” I whisper once we’re out of earshot.

  “He said you looked like a big strong man that could fight in his army. He asked if you would join their cause. He began to get angry when you wouldn’t answer. So I told him that you were my brother and that you’re slow in the head. He called you a dumb animal and let us go.”

  I can tell Adetekumbo’s trying not to laugh. I’m glad he can find anything funny at a time like this. I’ll probably laugh about it later, but right now all I want to do is find the French reporter that got herself kidnapped, and get my ass back to the States.

  The tribes involved in this civil war don’t usually get caught up with kidnapping people who aren’t directly involved in their conflict, but this particular reporter must have seen or done something that she shouldn’t have. After several failed attempts to locate her, the French called in a favor. So here I am, the dim-witted brother of Adetekumbo, walking the dusty backroads of Africa.

  For the first time, as far as I can remember since I started engaging in covert operations, my mind isn’t always focused on the mission. I sometimes find myself daydreaming about a red-headed minx, with a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. The smell of her hair and taste of her skin haunts me at night when I’m tossing and turning as I lay on a pallet in the hard dirt.

  She could be the death of me…

  That’s my last thought before I feel a sharp pain at the back of my head. Stars dance in front of my eyes as I suddenly become dizzy and fall slowly to the ground, into darkness.

  **********