Havoc (25 page)

“Affirmative,” Lordy nods in
understanding.

“I think Grim in love is scarier than robot
Grim,” Glove pretends to shiver.

“Get your ass in your car, drama queen,” I
point to his vehicle, chuckling under my breath.

He's right. Me without a girlfriend is scary
enough. Me with the one person I love in life more than myself, and
I think that might be an entirely new level of danger. A level
that, if ever heightened too intensely, could cost someone his
life. Hopefully, my friends are smarter than that.

Getting the tattoo takes a little longer than
predicted, and as a thank-you to the guys for coming with me, I
grab a beer like I said, keeping my word. Unfortunately, this puts
me home a little later than I planned. Even though I texted Haven
to let her know, I still feel bad. She's home alone, well, probably
not alone, alone. Whenever that girl is reading, you would think
the characters were all her friends.

I open the front door, doing my best not to
move my arm around too much. The tribal sun with her name in one of
the rays is sorer than I predicted. Bobby, the same guy who did the
wings with my mother’s name on my back, does phenomenal work even
if I think he digs the needle in a little harder than necessary
because he enjoys putting others in pain. You'd be surprised what a
tattoo artist will reveal to you in confidence after hours of
work.

As soon as I pull the key out of the door, I
look and say, “Haven I'm–”

“Home!” Her arms fly around my neck, grazing
the sore area.

I grit my teeth. Do. Not. Show. Pain. The
sudden smell of her vanilla and chocolate mix of fragrances creep
up my senses and soothe the pain on my arm along with that I was
feeling from being gone so long away from her. My arms wrap around
her waist, and I enjoy the feeling of her body beside me, gun case
dangling from my hand.

She pulls back and plants her lips on top of
mine anxiously. I've missed those too. How one person possesses so
much power in her lips, I'll never understand. The moment our
tongues touch, she lets out a light moan, and I feel myself stand
at attention in my jeans. Yup. Every time.

Knowing I can't last like this for long
unnoticed, I pull away and smile. “I love coming home to you.”

“I love when you come home to me,” she coos,
running her hands down the front of my dark-brown shirt.
“Especially when you smell like sweat and gunpowder.”

Chuckling, I shut the door behind me. “You
enjoy that smell?”

“Yeah. It's your smell—manly, sexy.” Her
eyebrows wiggle.

God, she's killing me. I shake my head and
kiss her forehead, “You're incredible. You know that?”

“So you keep saying,” she snickers, following
me as I head to the garage to put my gun away. “How were you
friends?”

It’s the only thing she can call them since
I've never so much as mentioned their names. Wow. They don't know
her name, and she doesn't know theirs. It's almost like the last of
the shattered pieces needing to collide. I'm not sure that I'm
ready for it, but at this point, I know it doesn't matter.

“Loud. Obnoxious. Childish as ever,” I call
the words out to her as I lock up my gun. She leans against the
door to the garage and smiles at me. The moment I'm done, I face
her. “Do you wanna meet them?”

Her face lights up. The expression is one of
privilege. Astonishment. If only she knew that they weren't worth
that much of a reaction. She stutters over herself, “If you—I mean,
if you—I mean, I don't have to if you don't want me to.”

Approaching her in the doorway, I say, “Why
wouldn't I want to introduce the woman I love to the men I
don't?”

She giggles and shakes her head, popping me
on the chest. “Stop it, Clint. They're like your brothers. They're
your best friends. You love them.”

“Yeah, like a pain in my ass.”

“Clint Thomas Walker,” my whole name flies
out of her mouth between giggles. That sound, it's so relieving.
I’d do anything to keep it going. With a serious voice, she runs
her hands up my shoulder, “I would love to meet your friends.”

Staring down at her, I smile on, content. I
never thought that I would be content, let alone happy, and here I
am both. I don't care what they think about her as much as I care
about what she thinks of them. If they terrify her, then part of me
terrifies her. If they disgust her, then part of me disgusts her.
We're cut from the same cloth. And while she accepts Grim at face
value, accepting Grim next to Glove and Lordy, his Marine buddies,
his brothers in arms, his best friends and backup on the field, is
something completely different. I hope she can handle it. I hope I
can handle it. Wait—hope? Isn't that just liquid poison for a
situation that you know is going to end poorly? Shit.

I know Mindy has plans with Haven later
today. It's one of their pamper themselves days or something. My
guess is she's going to ask Mindy to take her through the very
process I'm enduring. Though, I'm sure it'll be easier for her.
It's hell for me.

“No, Slugger, not that one,” Mindy hisses,
popping my hand that's on a gray, plaid, button-down shirt.

“Why not, it's–”

“It's ugly. Stiff. Itchy. And cheap.” She
shames the fabric, nose in the air. “Now keep walking.”

Following Mindy through the department store,
she heads in a direction that makes me uneasy. Price tags aren't
under $200, and some of the clothes don't even carry prices at all.
I don't belong here.

Slowly strolling down the aisles, I stay on
her heels like a lost puppy, which is how I always feel in places
like this. I only come with her. And when I do, I feel like the son
who has no idea of the difference between an Armani and a Gucci. A
nice-looking shirt and an actual nice shirt. This is not my
domain.

Clearly enjoying herself, I watch as she
touches each fabric, studying them, contemplating, being very
careful not to pick quickly or harshly.

She can sense my restlessness stirring,
“Relax, Slugger, everything is going to be fine.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Her face, which is gorgeous even
when she's not completely made up tilts down at me, the motherly
look on the prowl. “Because you only ask me to take you shopping
like this when you're afraid something major is gonna happen and
you want to talk about it but don't want to talk about it.”

“That's not true.”

“Oh?” She adjusts the small purse dangling
from her arm, her form-fitting skirt looking pasted on her as she
cocks her hip to the side. “So, there was nothing going on when we
went shopping for new workout clothes freshman year right after you
got jumped?”

I inhale deeply and frown.

“And when you wanted a new polo because of
your first date with Marissa Applelong?”

My body tightens, each memory stocked in the
box of things not to go through in my brain. I've relived enough
memories. Is there really a need to relive those too?

“Or when you wanted to buy new dress pants to
talk about whether or not college was for you?” The words aren't
left alone for long as she follows with, “Or the day we bought you
a nice suit jacket because you were conflicted about leaving for
the Marines as soon as you graduated?”

I glance away and shut my eyes tightly.
Mindy's all I had. She was the only person I could somewhat talk to
when I had a problem. She's always been there, careful not to push
and not to let me sink to the bottom and drown. I never thought
that playing the sometimes mom to me was something that maybe she
relished in or wish she’d had more of. I never thought that maybe
she needed those talks as much as I did. Never thought she
treasured them while I trashed them like all the other memories
post-Mom. How could I be so cruel to the first woman after my mom
to be so kind to me? God, I really am a monster.

“So, Slugger, talk,” she starts, walking us
toward a sweater section.

Following carefully behind, in a lower voice,
I say, “My orders got moved up.”

Mindy glances in my direction, admires
another sweater, and ponders, “Usually, you're ecstatic.”

“I know. Before . . . before I was.”

“Before Haven?” I nod. “Hm. And now?”

“It's like a steady storm cloud rolling out,
covering my entire world. There's nothing I can do to stop it.
Nothing I can do to shelter her from the fact that I'm leaving her
for months. No umbrella of hope. What if she forgets about me? What
if she stops loving me just like that?” The confession falls out of
my mouth before I've even had time to process it completely. Fuck,
the flood gate Haven opened doesn't stop with just her, I see.

“You and Haven are more adorable than Prince
William and Princess Kate.” She giggles. “But I need you to
understand something. The chemistry, the romance, the unity the two
of you have created is intoxicating but very perilous. It can be
lovely like the aroma of an unknown dessert in the oven, the smell
invigorating, exciting, instilling emotions, magic in the unseen
and the unknown. Are you two a chocolate cake? Cherry pie? Cupcake?
Does it matter? It's going to be satisfying and delicious. Or it
can be like a hurricane, heavy, overaggressive, flooding, wreaking
havoc on lives as it tries to stay together.” Pulling a black
sweater off the rack, she looks up at me. “There's no stopping
something like the two of you, just like that, no matter the
situation. You have to stop being concerned with if she'll stop
loving you and start being concerned with what loving each other is
doing to the two of you. Stop looking at this very moment, Slugger,
and start looking at your lives together as a whole.”

My head nods, and she comes over, gives my
arm a quick squeeze, and places a kiss on my cheek, “Love is a
completely different battlefield, Slugger. Twice as dangerous,
twice as invigorating, but no less deadly.”

With a deep swallow, I look at the shirt in
her hands, “Want me to try it on?”

She smiles softly and gives my face an even
softer touch, “I don't know if a sweater is the right way to go
tonight. After all, she is meeting your friends. Maybe something
more casual?”

I lick my lips and, for the first time, do
something Mindy has been wanting me to do in a way that I haven't.
She deserves to know that, even though she's not my mother, and she
could never replace her, she holds that right in a way no other
woman ever will. “Whatever you think, Mindy. You know what's best
for me. I trust you.”

Hearing those words causes a sharp gasp from
her as her hand folds over her heart. Fighting back the elation of
hearing me act not only like the son she wanted but the man she's
helping raise, she says, “Well then, why don't we take a look at
the Prada then?”

I check the time on my phone again,
impatient. Angst creeping through my veins toward my hands. They
scratch the back of my neck. Adjust the collar of my new black Tom
Ford shirt. Fidget with my new designer jeans. Both bought by Mindy
along with my dress shoes and a couple more shirts. Never fails
that I always come back with at least two shopping bags when I go
out with her. My hands busy themselves again, fiddling with the
buttons. Undoing another so the top two expose my chest.
Re-buttoning one. Unbuttoning it again. Re-buttoning. Since when I
do move so constantly? I strain to be still, even if it's just for
a second.

“Clint,” Sir's voice breaks over the sound of
the football game on the TV. “Something wrong?”

“No, Sir,” I adjust the collar of my shirt
again, swearing that it's trying to close in around my neck.

“Where are you taking Haven for dinner?”

“Marbella.”

I watch three different emotions cycle across
his face before he settles on one. “It's uh . . . it's uh . . .it's
been a long time since we've been there.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The two of us continue staring at one
another. The last time we had Marbella was his last deployment
before Mom died. He presented her with a string of pearls and me a
new set of cleats for the season. Mom used to say how he loved to
give treasures to his treasures to remember him while he was
away.

“Clint–”

“Look, Sir–”

“Let me finish.” The demand shuts my mouth.
“You've always respected my judgments and advice as far as your
career has gone, right?”

Trust is a strong word, but respect, yes.
While Sir managed to default on the rest of my life, my military
career he's almost always been right about. “Yes, Sir.”

“Then try to have the same trust and respect
for what I'm about to say. Clear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I'm not going to tell you not to love Haven.
I'm not going to tell you not to be in love with her. I'm not going
to sit here and tell you you're taking things way too fast and way
too seriously. Hell, I'm not even going to tell you not to marry
her. I'm just going to advise you not to marry her right now.”

The words make caution rise in my body. I
already don't enjoy where this conversation is headed.

“Clint, Haven spent almost four years of her
life, four important years when most young individuals get a chance
to grow, develop, and experience different aspects of life, held
hostage. She's been out on her own less than a month. She's still
scared. She still has so many questions that need answers. She has
no idea who she really is completely or who it is she wants to be.
This is the first real chance at life she's been given, and I know
you want to rescue her. I know you want save her, shelter her from
the harms and dangers coming. And I'm not saying don't. I'm just
saying don't become her new captor. Don't have her become so
dependent on you that she never gets to live, Clint. You're going
to be deployed in a month. Let her explore in that time. See what
fits. What doesn't. And when you return, then think about marriage
. . . is my strong suggestion to you.”