Distinguished Service & Every Move You Make (Uniformly Hot!) (13 page)

23

S
HE
STILL
HADN
’
T
HEARD
from Mace.

Yet there she was, in a simple yellow dress and brown suede jacket and shoes, at the awards ceremony that had been his first “faux date” request.

The day was sunny and cool, frost on the grass at the site slowly melting off. Men and women in uniform wove easily through the crowd of civilians while those in higher command stayed closer to the stage. Geneva had never felt more out of place in her life.

She must have decided at least a dozen times not to come. Yet she ultimately had. If this was going to be the last time she saw Mace, well, she still wanted to see him. If only to say goodbye, congratulate him and wish him well.

“Geneva?”

It was a male voice.

She turned to find it wasn’t the one she was hoping for. Instead, it was Darius Folsom and his wife, Megan, whom she had seen only a few times but knew on sight.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m guessing you’re here for the same reason I am?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Dari replied. “I’m responsible for Mace getting that medal.”

Megan elbowed him. “He’s making it sound like he should be up there with him. What he means is that his is one of the many asses Mace saved.” She smiled at her husband. “Something for which I am very grateful.”

Geneva recognized several others she’d seen come into the diner with Dari, but couldn’t ignore the fact that neither Dari nor Megan were inclined to introduce them, although she was certain they all had to also be Mace’s friends.

Like she wasn’t feeling awkward enough…

“Geneva!”

Once again, she found herself grateful for Mace’s mom’s interruption. She told the couple it was nice to see them, then turned to look for her.

Mrs. Harrison waved her hand, making her easily identifiable where she stood before a front row chair.

Front row.

Of course. Where else would she expect a medal honoree’s family to sit?

Only she wasn’t family. And her level of discomfort notched upward.

She considered merely waving back and choosing a seat closer to the back, but thought better of it. First of all, she wouldn’t put it past Sharon to come get her. Second, the prospect of sitting near Dari and Mace’s friends wasn’t any more appealing.

Had Mace said something to them? Or had they said something to Mace?

She thought back to when she’d first discovered she was pregnant. She’d told Trudy, making it clear she had no intention of marrying the father, who she hadn’t immediately revealed was Dustin. The salty diner owner had frowned at her and said, “You do know you’re going to be the focus of gossip central for at least the next five years.”

Geneva had laughed. “This isn’t the fifties.”

“Maybe not, but it might as well be. We women may have come a long way, baby, but in a lot of respects I’m afraid we’ll never reach our destination.”

Her next remark had helped erase a bit of the sting. “You’re also never going to have your figure back.”

Of course, Geneva had never really given Trudy’s gossip warning any sort of weight. But as she made her way through the crowd with a weak smile, she couldn’t help filing away Dari’s expression as he’d spoken to her, which matched several of the other guys’ in the group to which she hadn’t been introduced. It had said: “Stay away from Mace. You have too much baggage.”

She was somewhat relieved to note that Megan and the other women hadn’t seemed to be wearing that same look.

She reached the front row and was enveloped in a hug by the sweet-smelling woman that was Mace’s mom. She felt the breath she wasn’t aware she was holding whoosh from her as a quiet sigh.

For a moment she was tempted to close her eyes, imagine the fear away and replace it with something much nicer. The embrace was so genuine, it would be all too easy.

Instead, she returned the hug then greeted Mace’s father and grandfather, grateful that not a glimmer of the gossip shadow existed on either of their faces.

“You’ll be sitting next to me, of course,” Mace’s grandfather said after kissing her cheek, his eyes sparkling suggestively.

For the first time, she felt slightly ill at ease, although at the lunch where she’d met them, she had been completely comfortable. The power of suggestion, she realized. If some people thought less of her, viewed her as unworthy, perhaps others might view her as loose and unfit for more than a romp.

She forced the thought away, refusing to allow anyone to classify her as anything less than she was…including and especially herself.

“She most certainly will not,” Sharon said. “You’ll surely talk throughout the ceremony if she does. No, she’ll be seated next to me.”

Geneva found herself laughing at the light rebuke, happy to be rid of her concern, then turned to place her small purse on her chair…only to find herself staring straight into Mace’s handsome face.

Mace.

Chills that had nothing to do with wind raised every tiny hair dotting her skin.

Mace…

* * *

D
AMN
. D
AMN
. Damn.

Geneva looked so incredible, everything else instantly faded away; she was a vividly clear figure against a blur of blurry colors.

Last night, he hadn’t closed his eyes once. This morning, he’d felt every last minute of lost sleep, until now.

Now…

Now he felt like he could leap a tall building in a single bound.

“Hi,” she said quietly.

He allowed his gaze to slide over her skin, taking in the sudden pinkness of her cheeks, the almost shy flash of her teeth, the curve of her long neck. The scent of her filled his every sense.

He’d missed her.

He told himself that was ridiculous. It had only been a day since he last saw her.

Still, he knew beyond anything that was tangible that he had missed her—on too many levels to count. He missed her laugh, her smell, her words, her body.

He’d missed her.

And if he could, in that one moment he’d take her hand and lead her away to someplace private where they could be alone. Make up for the lost time he’d so stupidly allowed to slip through his fingers.

Talk about stupid…

Against everything he knew was right, he’d gone to The Barracks last night and met up with Janine.

“Your mom called last night,” Geneva said, hesitant in a way he’d never seen her before. “She invited me to sit with her.”

He heard what she was saying but it took a moment for it to register. Did she think he needed an explanation? Obviously she did.

He berated himself for ever making her feel that way.

“Oh. Good.” He looked to his mother whose own smile seemed a bit brighter than usual. But when he glanced back at Geneva, he could have sworn he glimpsed the same sadness he’d experienced last night in her eyes.

And his own sense of the dark emotion deepened.

The event organizer touched his elbow and quietly told him it was time to take his place with the others.

He nodded then met Geneva’s gaze again. “I…”

He what?

He swallowed hard.

He had absolutely no idea what he was going to say, or where he went from here besides up on that stage to accept the award they insisted on giving him for simply doing what any other Marine would do.

“Good luck, honey,” his mother said, stepping between them and kissing his cheek. “We’re so very proud of you.”

He blinked at her. He’d half expected her to say, “Marcus would be so very proud of you,” as she’d said when he first shared the news.

His father followed suit along with his grandfather, no mention of his brother.

And then he and Geneva were alone in the gathering of others once again.

She smiled at him, but not in the way he’d come to look forward to. No, this one was tinged with melancholy and caution.

“You’d better go,” she said quietly.

He looked over to find the organizer motioning to him.

“Yes, I guess I’d better.”

She didn’t move so he did…away from her and toward the others, his chest feeling heavier with each and every step.

* * *

P
RIDE
,
SURE
AND
STRONG
.
That’s what surged through Geneva as she watched Mace walk center stage in his full uniform, already covered with ribbons and medals, and accept the Navy Cross, the highest Marine honor.

If only he looked happier.

In the time she had known him, she’d never seen his handsome face set in such serious lines. He appeared to want to be anywhere but there. Why? And was that why he hadn’t been more communicative about the importance of the day?

Did it have anything to do with his brother?

She didn’t know. But she desperately wanted to find out. Not only for his sake, but for his parents and grandparent beaming so proudly next to her.

While she wouldn’t ever expect him to jump for joy or boast about the occasion, or the experiences that had led to it…well, humbled would be preferable to grim.

The audience rose to its feet, applauding the day’s honorees, the top one going to Mace. As Geneva followed suit, she realized she hadn’t heard a single word. She’d been too busy scrutinizing his face, his demeanor, the shadows that clung to him that had nothing to do with the light.

Then she saw her—Janine.

Somehow she continued clapping, even as she met the gaze of Mace’s tall, pretty ex-girlfriend back a row and halfway down the length. She looked…smug. Knowing.

The unwanted emotion cut into her, adding to the other uncomfortable feelings she was experiencing—Mace’s silence, Dari’s rejection, his grandfather’s flirting—making it impossible to ignore. One on its own, a simple swallow and deep breath. Two, more concentration. Three…?

Undeniable.

“Geneva?”

Mace’s mom was looking at her in concern.

She was unaware of the tear that had streaked down her cheek until she viewed Sharon’s questioning gaze.

She quickly picked up her purse. “Tell Mace congratulations for me,” she managed to choke out.

“You’re not coming to the reception?”

Reception? She hadn’t been told of any reception. Which meant she definitely wasn’t going.

She was sure Janine would enjoy having Mace all to herself.

“No. I’m sorry,” she whispered.

She turned to hurry away.

And ran directly into Mace.

24

M
ACE
STEADIED
G
ENEVA
with his hands on her shoulders. Shoulders that seemed to suddenly bear the weight of the world. He feared they might not be equipped to handle it any longer.

He searched her face. Had she been crying?

No. She
was
crying.

The realization was like a blow to the gut, the medal with which he’d just been awarded like a stone he wanted to throw.

Still, she somehow managed to smile. “Congratulations. I’m honored to have been included. And so very proud.”

Her voice caught on the last word. Before he could say anything, she threw her arms around him and squeezed tight, her chin resting on his shoulder.

“Thank you.”

He squinted at her, barely able to hold her back before she wrenched away and nearly ran toward the aisle.

“Geneva, wait!”

He moved to give chase when a tree trunk placed itself between him and her in the shape of Darius.

“Let her go.”

Mace grit his back teeth together. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll move. Now.”

“This isn’t about her, Mace,” Dari said quietly, his fingers digging in where he held his shoulder.

Mace was a breath away from decking him when Dari smiled at someone behind him.

“Hello, Mrs. Harrison.” He removed his hand and reached around to shake his father’s hand. “Congratulations, Mr. Harrison. Our boy done good, didn’t he?”

Mace took advantage of the situation to look around, but found that Geneva was long gone, the lingering scent of her perfume where she’d hugged him the only proof that she’d been there at all…

* * *

G
ENEVA
WISHED
HERSELF
one with the darkness when she sat in her apartment much later. She lay on the sofa staring at the ceiling, having cried a million tears and feeling another ten crowding her chest.

Mace…

The autumn wind howled outside, rustling the stubborn leaves that remained on the trees and rattling the windows. The same wind had blown Mace into her life…and now it was blowing him back out.

She didn’t want his pity. And she was convinced that’s what she’d viewed on his face when he’d caught her by the shoulders earlier.

Pity.

She’d run as fast as her heels could safely carry her, not stopping until she was inside her apartment where she locked herself away from the world…and him.

“…he’s going to break your heart…”

Isn’t that what Trudy had warned her against?

Isn’t that exactly what was happening?

She told herself it had been worth it. The time she’d shared with Mace…

She bit hard on her bottom lip, swallowing the coppery blood that filled her mouth.

Her cell phone screen lit up where she had it laying face-up on her belly but was otherwise silent and still as per her settings. She knew it would be Mace again.

His last message had said he knew she was home since her car was in the lot; that he’d be waiting out there until she let him in.

She hadn’t responded.

She also hadn’t responded to his other ten voice mails and countless texts telling her he needed to see her, that they needed to talk.

Why? About what?

It was over.

That much was clear.

And while she might have preferred to spend this last night with him, well, that’s not the way it had worked out.

She closed her eyes, ignoring the hot tears that seeped through her lashes.

Had she known… Had she guessed…

What?

What would she have done differently?

She didn’t so much turn onto her side as she did fold, wrapping her arms around herself. So very much had happened in so brief a time. Was it really only three months ago she’d lost her mother? Wasn’t it supposed to get easier?

She’d never missed her mom more than she did that moment.

She blinked at the wall, wondering if her mother was somewhere watching her right now. And if she was, what she made of the entire situation. Would she click her tongue as she’d been known to do, indicating Geneva had been a fool? Or would she merely hug her until she couldn’t bear to be hugged any longer?

She didn’t know. But, oh boy, she wished she did. She wished for the answers she couldn’t seem to find anywhere.

Geneva caught the brightness of her cell phone screen again, the only source of light in the apartment. She blindly reached for where it had slid onto the couch next to her, blinking several times in an effort to clear her vision as she unlocked the phone and saw there were three text messages waiting.

She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and held the phone away from her until she could read the words of the first text.

I should have called you last night…

A sob wrenched from somewhere deep in her chest.

Yes,
she silently responded to him.
You should have called last night.

Perhaps if he had, none of this would have happened. She might be finding hot comfort in his arms instead of trying to hold herself together with her own.

Her eyes burned and her entire body ached. She hadn’t eaten or slept since yesterday. This had to get better at some point. Right?

She rode out the wave then mopped her face with a wad of tissues she grabbed from a box near her head.

She accessed the next text message.

I miss you…

The words wended through her and back again.

“I miss you, too,” she whispered.

Surely losing a limb wouldn’t hurt this much. In that one moment, she’d gladly offer one up if she were promised this fathomless pain would stop.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she understood that the heartache she was currently experiencing bled together with her grief over her mother’s passing, but it was impossible to see where one left off and the other began so it became one massive ball of emotion threatening to suffocate her.

Only her mother was gone; and Mace was still here…

She absently ran the pad of her thumb over the keypad again, keeping the backlight on so she could read the three words.

Tomorrow, he would be on that transport out…

And she could begin healing.

Tonight… Well, tonight, knowing he was so close and wanted to see her…

She accessed the third text message.

I love you.

No fair…

She burst into tears and turned her head into the pillow, wishing the pain away, wishing the next month away, wishing him away…

* * *

M
ACE
PACED
BACK
AND
FORTH
in front of his parked rental car outside Geneva’s apartment building, checking his cell phone every five seconds and staring up at her dark windows. He was still in his dress blues, although he’d taken off the belt and unbuttoned the coat. The night was cold, the wind biting, but he was unaware of both as he moved, his mind on one thing and one thing only—Geneva.

All he could see was the image of her tear-filled eyes the last time he’d seen her.

Damn.

Damn, damn, damn.

The idea he’d hurt her ripped his guts to shreds.

She deserved better. Especially from him.

Still, he’d unwittingly caused her pain he was afraid he’d never be able to ease.

He restlessly checked his cell again. Nothing.

He rounded his car and stared at where hers was parked a few spots up on the opposite side of the lot. Had someone picked her up?

No.

She was there.

He was sure of it.

Then why wasn’t she answering him?

He could only imagine what was going through her mind, what she must be thinking. About why he hadn’t contacted her last night or this morning…

Still, there was no need for tears.

Was there?

Damn it. He hated not knowing what he’d done.

He hated even more that whatever he had done had caused her one iota of pain.

He rounded his car again and resumed pacing, his steps quick, his black dress shoes clicking against the asphalt.

What was he talking about? He was leaving tomorrow. And the minute he did, their agreement would reach an end.

He stopped. Is that what this was? Was she ending things early? Calling a halt before it went too far?

He thought of his last text.

Damn it all to hell. This had evolved into far more than a simple agreement.

How stupid was he? He should have known he wouldn’t be able to keep his emotions out of it. Look how badly Janine had hurt him. And he’d gone into that with his eyes wide open.

And Geneva?

He imagined her tears again and felt like shouting, hitting something, anything to release the pressure threatening to turn him inside out.

Today had been one of the longest of his life. After absolutely no sleep, he’d gotten up and run ten miles before finally showering and attending a ceremony he had zero interest in participating in. Even now, the medal was sitting on his passenger seat, little more than a piece of tin to him.

Marcus…

He tilted his head up and closed his eyes. His brother was the hero—not him.

“Still running after me, little bro?” he could almost hear Marcus say.

The familiar hands—phantom digits that had curiously been missing the past few days—returned to their rightful place around his neck.

He had spent so much of his childhood trying to catch up with his older brother he lost his breath just thinking about it. Marcus was the one everyone looked up to, talked about, while he was the one they patted on the head and told him how lucky he was to have such a great brother.

No one had prepared him for what life would be like when his brother died.

If Marcus had been an ever-evasive shadow in life, in death…well, now he’d never be able to catch up.

He winced at the selfish thought.

Damn it. He hated feeling this way. He hated not being able to think of his brother without a deep sense that he was lacking, would never make the grade. He wanted to remember him with fondness.

It had taken meeting with Janine last night to remind him how deep his feelings went.

And to realize what she’d really been after.

He’d stepped into The Barracks to find the place still packed…and his ex-girlfriend sitting at the end of the bar staring at her cell phone. Waiting for a response from him? He didn’t think so. Still, he’d gone and taken the stool next to her.

Her surprised expression had almost been worth the trouble.

Almost.

Janine Johnson had always been an attractive woman. Naturally platinum blond, tall, willowy. Problem was, she knew the value of her good looks…and that devalued them as she used them to push forward whatever objective she put her mind to, whether it was earning a promotion at her job as a sales associate, talking her way out of a speeding ticket…or seducing him out of looking a little too closely at her.

As closely as he was looking at her now.

They’d talked a bit about everything. He’d bought her another drink but had stuck to his one beer limit then asked to pay his tab.

Janine had cleared her throat. “So this medal thing tomorrow…”

He’d grimaced as he peeled off the money to cover his bill.

“What?” she’d said. “Tell me you aren’t pleased.”

“I’m not pleased.”

“Why? It’s a great honor. One I’m sure you earned.”

He’d stared at her.

“Wait. Don’t tell me. This is about Marcus, isn’t it? Again.”

“I’ve got to be going.”

“Wait.” She’d put her hand on his arm.

He’d stiffened, waiting to see what she’d do next.

She’d taken a deep breath and smiled. “I’m sorry. I really don’t want to dig up old skeletons.” She’d lightly rubbed his arm. “Partly because I have one or two of my own I’d prefer not to see again.” She’d dropped her gaze. “Mostly because I’m hoping we can bury them for good and head out for new ground.”

She’d blinked up at him.

Mace had found it incredible to think such tactics had worked on him before. But they had, hadn’t they? Because he hadn’t anything else with which to compare them? The image of Geneva’s genuine smile and warmth loomed large in his mind.

Yeah, he was thinking that was the reason.

And now that he did have something, someone fundamentally more meaningful, well, Janine didn’t measure up. Not just because of what she’d done, but because of who she was.

“I’ve got to go,” he’d said.

“Come on,” she’d said, an angry edge to her voice. “I deserve to be on your arm when you accept that award tomorrow, not that mousy waitress you’ve been hanging around with…”

He’d known such a moment of blind anger, it had been all he could do to remain speechless as he purposefully removed her hand from his arm, picked up his jacket and turned toward the door.

“You know what, Mace? You’re right. You’re never going to be as good as your brother. You never really knew what to do with a catch like me. But I bet he would have…”

The door had closed on her words, making them the final ones he ever intended to hear from her.

A car rolled up and a flashlight was focused on him, making him aware that he still stood below Geneva’s apartment windows.

Geneva…

He couldn’t ever envision her thinking the type of venomous words Janine had uttered—who had done who wrong, anyway?—much less saying them.

However, he did have Janine to thank for one thing: making him realize he was competing against a ghost.

He probably always had been.

“Can I help you?” a male voice asked abruptly.

Mace grimaced and looked back up at Geneva’s windows, wondering if she was looking out one of them even as he spoke to the security guard.

“I’m waiting for a friend to let me up.”

“And that friend would be…?”

“Geneva Davis.”

“Ah. Yes.”

The flashlight was removed and then just as quickly, it turned on him again.

“Hey, wait, that makes you Mace Harrison then.”

Mace’s jaw tightened. “Yeah.”

He’d come across his fair share of information seekers in the wake of the Norman incident. Police and security officers tended to be some of the most annoying because they not only wanted details, they wanted to share how they would have handled the situation.