“She looks like she’s worth an ass kicking or five.”
“Move the fuck along,” I bark.
The seaman hesitates, but when I start to rise from my seat, he scuttles off.
I shouldn’t call her, but I can’t help it. Not after the last mission. Not after the journalist we’d rescued looked me in the eye and said that bravery was living, not pretending to live. Not after spending another evening reading through all of her letters. I have a lot of apologies to make, a lot of fences to mend. I have a lot to make up for, but after spending nine years running, I’m ready finally ready to face her and tell her that I still believe in Nathan and Charlotte.
With a deep breath, I press send and the phone rings once, then twice.
“Hello?” A man’s voice. A sleepy man’s voice is answering Charlotte’s phone in the middle of the fucking day.
“Is Charlotte there?” I bite out.
There’s a rustling and then the sleepy voice says, “Charlie, someone’s on the phone for you.”
Charlie? This guy, who’s sleeping close to her phone, has a fucking nickname for her? It takes superhuman effort not to crush the phone in my hand.
“Who is it?” I’d recognize her voice in hell. I feel like I’m already headed there.
“Dunno.”
“Oh my god, is it two already? I need to go. Where’s my shirt? Reese? Don’t go back to sleep. Help me find my shirt!”
The phone must lie forgotten on the . . . bed? Bile rises in my throat.
“I can’t go without my shirt. Get out of bed, you bum, and help me find it.”
“Here it is. It was under the bed. I must have tossed it there last night.”
“Can you do up my skirt in the back? I can never get that hook. I think my hands are broken from all the rubbing you made me do last night.”
I hang up before I can hear another word. Dropping the phone to the table, I take deep, gulping breaths to corral my burgeoning rage, but concentrated breathing isn’t doing a thing for me. With a roar, I shoot to my feet and grab the side of my table. With one heave, I flip it over. Plates go flying, and the guys on the other side look shocked and pissed off, but I don’t give a goddamn. I start throwing around chairs, benches, anything I can get my hands on. People are shouting and running, but I’m in full Hulk mode now. Destroy. Destroy. Destroy. Four hands grab at me, two at each arm, and they drag me backward out of the room. It’s Bride and another teammate, Cabby.
“Whoever she is, she’s not worth it,” Bride says as we clear the door. They drag me all the way to the head and shove me into the shower. I get in a punch on one of them before the cold water hits my head and the shock of it snaps me out of my rage-fueled mania.
“Not worth it,” Bride repeats.
“No pussy ever is,” Cabby agrees.
As the water drips down my face into the tiny drain, I lean back against the hard metal wall. Regret swarms me like locusts, and I stare at the two of them who look back at me with concern and disbelief. Rubbing that left area of my chest where my heart once resided, I tell them the shitty truth. “She was, and I fucked it up.”
25
Charlotte
I pull on the T-shirt Reece threw to me and ask, “Okay, how do I look? Slutty bartender?”
“Not really. More, I slept too late and I’m too lazy to do anything about it.”
“Thanks. That’s really nice, Reece.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “That’s what girlfriends are for. Who was it on the phone?”
I look. Unknown caller.
“Must’ve been a telemarketer.”
“What time do you have to be at Stack’s?” Reese asks me, pushing up from the sofa where we’d both fallen asleep. We were up all night massaging the belly of his pregnant horse. Reese’s family ranches the same land his great grandfather settled on just after the first World War. Reese loves his family and his horses but hates ranching. He’s currently my right hand man and one of my best friends, but currently I’m cursing him because my fingers are stiff and sore and I’m going to be late.
“I’m opening it up. Lainey has a pediatric check up with Cassidy at four. It’s the only time they could fit her in. I’m wondering whether I’ll even be able to grip a glass.” I raise my hands and flex my fingers, wincing at the ache.
“You look like you’re auditioning for Cat Woman,” Reese jokes. “Or doing jazz hands.” His fingers waggle obscenely at me.
“No, thanks.”
“You should take that cool drink of water home with you tonight,” he advises, lying back on the sofa. Obviously he has no plans to get up.