Falling for the Marine (McCade Brothers 2)

Dane cheered and jostled Michael’s beer in the process, but he forgave his friend because he had to admit the inning-closing double play the Padres just pulled off was a thing of beauty. And passing a few hours on the shady side of the stadium, watching the Padres annihilate the Nationals, wasn’t a bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

The players hit the dugouts. Dane sat back, smiling, and turned to Michael. “How’s your back holding up?”

“Fine. Not a twinge since Friday.”

“Awesome. A good masseuse can work miracles. I’ll bet you’re a believer now.”

Michael didn’t offer a response, and Dane didn’t seem to expect one. “I’ll schedule you for an MRI next week and we’ll see how things look. Maybe get you into the cockpit sooner than expected.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“And speaking of good masseuses…how’s the wife?”

He didn’t waste his breath correcting Dane. “She’s good.” Too quiet and too still. After all the fireworks last night, she’d been subdued on the way home. Normally, he appreciated a relaxed, peaceful drive as much as the next guy, but there was nothing peaceful or relaxed about her silence. Quiet Chloe had him worried. Yes, she’d gone along when he’d tugged her to his bed, and she’d stayed all night—sleeping with the abandon of a four-year-old, stealing all the covers and more than her fair share of the mattress real estate in the process—but it didn’t do much to di

spel his impression something troubled her. She’d been pensive this morning.

“How come she didn’t join us? I could have scored an extra ticket.”

“She’s not much of a baseball fan.” Which he understood, given her past, but, then again, something in her expression told him she would have declined no matter what the activity, so he couldn’t lay her absence at her ex’s doorstep.

Dane sipped his beer. “Ah well. Nobody’s perfect. What’s she up to this afternoon?”

He had an inexplicable vision of her packing her stuff, and an equally inexplicable, completely knee-jerk compulsion to rush home and make sure she was still there. He forced his muscles to relax, stared at the field, and shook his head. “I don’t know. She said something about freeing her Chi.”

“Huh. What’s that mean?”

“No clue.”

“Sounds hot, though.”

Michael wasn’t so sure.

…

Chloe stood on a chair and taped the roll of aluminum foil to the top of the bathroom door. Once secured, she stepped off the chair, carefully rolled the foil down the back of the door, and cut it on the serrated edge of the box. She smoothed the length of foil against the door, making it as flat and shiny as possible. When her blurry, slightly distorted reflection stared back at her, she got down on her knees and taped the hanging end of the foil under the door. Then she sat back, tipped her head to the side, and squinted at the copy of Everyday Feng Shui lying on the carpet beside her.

She’d already decluttered the living spaces, as she’d promised Michael, and, coincidentally, the book recommended. Now the items on display served a purpose, which she figured a purpose-driven guy like Michael would appreciate. The grouping of red candles on an end table symbolized fire. The green beads she strung through the light fixture over the dining room table represented wood. The blue silk scarf draped along the back of the sofa symbolized water. Her pair of espresso-colored throw pillows stacked in the corner of the living room symbolized earth, and the trio of nail polishes she grouped on the kitchen counter, in shades of gray, silver, and white represented metal.

All five feng shui elements were present and accounted for, and everything sat in the locations recommended by the book. Unfortunately, just arranging the elements wasn’t going to do the job of improving the Chi, because if she was reading the darn Bague map correctly, the wealth/blessings area of this home sat squarely in the middle of the bathroom. Any good fortune coming her way was getting flushed right down the toilet. The thing to do, according to the Symbolic Practice experts, was deflect the positive energy to a more secure, comfortable place—make the Chi welcome and convince it to hang around.

Now her escaping Chi would bounce off the foil, and…she tracked it’s trajectory with her eyes. Flow back into the living area and…smack into Michael’s massive flat-screen TV. After that, who knew? But, if she switched the couch and the TV around, her Chi could land on a nice, big sofa, and hopefully, snuggle in.

Inspired, she marched out to the living room and eyed the monster TV. More than just a television actually. There were all kinds of components tucked into the base of the sleek, hardwood easel housing the big screen. Happily, the whole thing sat on casters. A peek behind the screen revealed a convoluted twist of wires running from the TV to the other devices, and several electrical cords plugged into a surge protector connected to a wall socket, but, luckily, no cable coming out of a wall jack. Gotta love Wi-Fi. She straightened. Power everything down, unplug the surge protector, roll the media shrine to the opposite wall, and reconnect. How hard could it be?

An hour later, she had the TV and all its mysterious accessories positioned along the proper wall for maximum Chi flow, but the sofa was another matter. It wasn’t on wheels and moving the heavy, awkward piece more than a few inches at a time required more raw strength than she could muster. All she had to show for forty minutes of pushing? Sweat dampening the front of her pale gray, cropped yoga tank, and the back of the matching, low-rise, fold-over pants, and, oh yeah, a sofa stalled lengthwise between the dining and living area. She kicked the blasted thing with her bare foot, but only succeeded in stubbing her toe.

Nerves jangled when she heard the front door open. She looked up as Michael and Dane walked into the apartment, made their way past the kitchen to the dining/living area. Michael’s eyes lit when they landed on her, and her heart rolled over in her chest like a puppy hoping for a belly rub. Then he took in the state of the apartment and froze.

His eyes narrowed as he looked around, and suddenly she saw the room from his perspective—beads strung through the dining room light fixture, nail polish on the kitchen counter, throw pillows in the corner. Uh-oh. Those same eyes went wide and more than a little anxious as he scanned his no doubt expensive entertainment system neatly positioned along the new wall.

“What the hell, Chloe?”

She blew her hair off her sweaty forehead and scratched her nose. “I can explain.” Maybe she should have asked his permission before rearranging his space, even if he would benefit from the improved Chi flow as much, if not more, than she. “I think I mentioned this morning that I felt my Chi was blocked?

“You did. I didn’t really know what that meant, but I figured unblocking your Chi might involve a trip to the drugstore. Never, in a million years, did I think it involved fucking with my FiOS.”

She was hot and tired, defensive, and, God save her, the combination brought out her temper. “I didn’t fuck with anything, and your Chi is blocked too, mister, so this helps you as much as it helps me. What you see here is the ancient Chinese science of feng shui.” She pointed to the book on the coffee table. Dane picked it up and, helpfully, held it aloft.