Her One Best SEAL (ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights Book 6) (17 page)

I
’m Marlee’s friend. Her go-to guy. The man who promised to fix everything for her. But Rhodes Carlson isn’t a some
thing
—he’s a some
one
. The day after I meet lover boy, I flop back on my mattress in my empty, has-no-furniture house and take a good look around me. I could be packed and on the road in five minutes. I’ve always thought that ability went in the plus column, that it was a character trait to be proud of. Maybe I was wrong about that. Because I don’t put down roots. I don’t know how to hold on, and I definitely don’t know how to make a permanent place for myself.

My virgin, never-been-pictured walls stare back at me accusingly, and I mentally try to imagine hanging something there. Nope. No can do. I faceplant on my bed, worn out after a ten-mile run followed by a three-mile swim. A few more yards and I might have had a coronary from sheer exhaustion. After I stripped off my clothes, taking a shower seemed far too Herculean a task, so I’ve settled for marinading in my own juices, naked, on my bed. The knot in my shoulders intensifies, a burning kink that no amount of stretching can fix.

Because my shoulders aren’t the issue—it’s a whole different region of my body and an organ further south. My fucking heart. It’s as naked as the rest of me.

Roddy came back for Marlee. Came bearing flowers and baring his heart. He’s not afraid to tell her how he feels or that he fucked up big time when he let her walk away. I still want to kick his ass into the middle of next week for hurting Marlee, but I also admire him. Just a little—and I’d never admit it out loud. He’s done something I’ve never been able to do. He’s said
I love you
and he means it.

I’m no doctor. I don’t know why they couldn’t have children before, or if there’s a fix for what’s broken there, but I suspect he’s going to make a compelling case for trying. I imagine the two of them standing in some pink or blue nursery, arms wrapped around each other as they watch a baby sleeping in a crib. I can see Marlee’s smile lighting up her face, the way the corners of her eyes crinkle up when she’s happy. She’s gonna make an amazing mother, an amazing family.

Just not with me.

I flop back on the bed, throwing an arm over my face. My heart twists tighter in my chest, reminding me it’s always been there but that it’s really not okay with the slide show of Marlee’s happily ever after that’s playing in my head.

It’s not that I don’t do relationships—it’s that I don’t know how. At twenty-six, I’m a relationship virgin. I’ve had girlfriends, but they’ve been brief encounters. Nice women, but we met at bars or clubs or at the gym and none of us were looking for forever. We’d had some good times, shared a few orgasms, and then we’d headed our separate directions. I’m not knocking the pleasure. There’s too much bad shit in life, too many black moments to not enjoy the good times when women strip off their clothes and ride you like a cowgirl.

I like a good orgasm as much as the next guy, and I’ll make sure my girl gets hers, too.

It’s just… that’s not enough anymore.

I’ve done multiple tours of duty as a US Navy SEAL and I’ve fought battles where people die. Good soldiers, bad guys, sometimes people who accidentally ended up on a battleground when they thought they were minding their own goddamned business. If she decides Roddy’s her best choice, I’m not going to pout or stand in her way. I’ll be a good friend and cheer her. I’ll tell her I understand.

Even if I fucking don’t.

Sometimes, wingmen lie in a good cause.

We had sex. It was fun. The orgasms were nothing short of mind-blowing. But at the end of the day it was supposed to be about baby-making—baby-making and helping Marlee get what she wanted. A family. I wasn’t ever supposed to be her long-term man or any part of that family. I was the part-time father, the drive-by presence in that future.

I want to change those mission parameters.

Suck it up, soldier. You accepted the mission—you don’t get to whine about it now. I’m not going to be
that
guy, the one who can’t or won’t accept that his girl’s moved on and that he’s fucking pathetic, hanging around her work, her place, her spot at the bar. I’ll just have to get over her. Throw myself into work. Train for a fucking Ironman competition.

Because we’re over, and the saddest part is that we never really started.

I never told her I was developing feelings for her—un-friend-like, lover-like feelings.

I take a moment to let it sink in.

I love Marlee.

And being a dumbass, I not only fell in love with her, but I gave her away before I realized what I’d done.

I’m busy wallowing in my misery when someone yanks my door open and storms inside. Her heels tap-tap-tap across my living room, leaving no doubt that the owner is pissed as hell. Presumably, I’m her target. Seconds later, when I turn my head to inspect the new arrivals, a familiar female form appears in my bedroom doorway like an avenging Valkyrie. Or maybe it’s the Furies who go for blood? Doesn’t matter. Ava’s here, she’s pissed, and I’m betting I’m her target.

Naturally, Finn and Ro are right behind her. Finn launches into a complicated set of charades behind Ava’s back, presumably designed to convey precisely why she’s barged into my bedroom. I haven’t got a fucking clue what he’s trying to say. Maybe I shouldn’t have turned my phone off at the start of the mini-marathon. Maybe then I would have had a heads-up. A fucking clue.

“For a place that trains guard dogs, we’re surprisingly easy to invade,” I mutter from my prone position on the bed. My give-a-fuck meter is apparently broken, however, because I don’t move. They can stare all day at my naked ass.

“What did you do to her?” Ava demands.

The
her
in question requires no explanation.

“Nothing,” I announce, and I’m one hundred percent correct.

A towel slaps me on my ass. Guess someone’s tired of ogling my backside. I wrap it around me and sit up.

“Then why is she
alone
?” Ava demands and smacks me on the arm with her iPhone. Since her phone’s snuggled in a ruggedized case that could withstand a tank, it
hurts
.

“She has the Rodster,” I tell my nemesis.

Ava snorts. “Her ex? She doesn’t want him. He’s headed back to Nevada.”

“
He
said he wanted to get back together. He brought flowers.” Great. Now I sound like a whiney five-year-old.

Ava looks at me. Then she looks at Ro and Finn. “Is he always this stupid?”

Finn shrugs, but neither he nor Ro comments.

“Check your phone,” she orders. It’s not hard to imagine her terrorizing a courtroom.

I slap a hand around my bed until I come up with my phone. Turn it on. I have new messages, including one from Marlee that must have arrived during the last mile of my mini-marathon.

She’s sent me a photo.

We’re not talking a Time Magazine-worthy shot. This isn’t one of those heart-wrenching pictures where you see someone about to die or have a world of hurt inflicted on him. The person in the picture isn’t standing in a sea of devastation, surrounded by broken up bits of his life. Marlee is standing in front of an open bathroom door. She holds a small, white cardboard box, and she’s flashing the picture-taker a vee sign.

Vee for… victory?

Wish me luck.

I do.

“What do you think is going to happen next?” Ava fires off her question like I’m the criminal who’s just taken the stand.

“I’m not a fucking magic eight ball,” I snap.

“Then what are you?” Ava’s not a small woman. It’s not a weight thing, though—it’s height. She’s closer to six feet tall than not, and the woman loves her heels. She’s nose-to-nose with Ro, and when she leans down and gets in my face? Yeah. I never imagined a situation in which I’d consider backing down, but Ava loves Marlee and wants what’s best for her—and I’m totally, one hundred percent on board with that.

“Hers,” I bite out, because it’s the only possible answer.

Ava looks me over, and I’m fairly certain she could pick me out of a line up and list all of my identifying scars and features. “Then why are you
here
?”

I look at the picture again. “Fuck.”

Ava props her hands on her hips. “You already did that—hence the need for the pregnancy test in Exhibit A.”

Ro sort of stills behind Ava. He’s been hovering nearby, ready to intervene if she goes crazy on my stupid ass. Now he kind of freezes. Finn’s own gaze ping pongs back and forth between Ava and me.

“Whoa,” he says.

He’s not wrong.

I love my friends—and although Ava isn’t in that category, I suspect I’m gonna learn to tolerate her—but they’re not the faces I want to wake up to. Not the body I need to be sharing air with.

I have to get her back.

I shove to my feet. Pretty sure I just flashed Ava, but too bad.

“I need to be with her,” I say, and all the heads in the room go up and down in agreement.

Finn slaps me on the ass as I charge for the door. “Might want to put some clothes on, dumb ass.”

I
break every speed law on my way to Marlee’s. Fortunately, the highway patrol appears to be somewhere else, because I’m in no mood to slow down. Whatever happens when Marlee takes that test, I want to be there. If she’s happy, I’m gonna smile with her. And if the test comes back negative and she’s got tears to shed? I’ll hold her and do a little crying of my own.

I pull up—and now what? Finn and Ro are a hundred yards behind me and closing—they chose not to run that last red light, but fuck it. I had to get here and the road was clear. Intel. I need intel.

I kill the engine and take a look around. No cars. Since Marlee still can’t drive, an empty driveway isn’t unusual, but she had someone with her, someone taking that picture. I’m betting it was Vali—and it’s hard to miss Vali’s bright pink car. I vault out of my truck, hurdle the porch, and throw open the front door. Ava can give me shit about the B&E later—right now, I need to get to Marlee.

“Marlee?”

No response.

She’s not in the little powder room off the main hallway, so I try her bedroom. No luck. The wild-eyed guy in the mirror who stares back at me is panicked. I know exactly how he feels.

I knock—even though the door is wide open—and stick my head in the bathroom. Like everything that belongs to Marlee, the room explodes with color, from the shower stall tiled with blue Moroccan diamonds that come from Home Depot rather than the other side of the ocean to the curtains hanging over the window. I teased her once about the bright yellow tassels, but she said they made her smile and that was that. In fact, I look absolutely everywhere, as if I’m a visitor at a tag sale trying to decide which piece of someone else’s life I’m carting home with me for a quarter or a buck fifty.

Because I’m too chicken to look at the white plastic stick sitting on the countertop.

That stick has answers.

It’s gonna tell me just how much my life will change.

It’s gonna tell me if someone else’s life is just starting.

My hand freezes mid-reach as my brain finishes processing
that
thought. The pregnancy test is a birthday party invitation, and I’m not sure I remembered to pick up a gift. Or if I’m really invited.

Whiner.

So what if I’m scared?

I lean and reach and collide with the counter, which is unexpectedly, wonderfully solid, and the stick goes airborne. I watch it fly, my expression like some guy in a bad movie, jaw dropping, mouth rounding in a long, drawn out
ooooooh.
The stick lands sunny-side up, the little plastic window flashing its intel for everyone to see.

One blue plus.

One blue line.

What the fuck? She couldn’t buy a test in English?

Ro reaches past me and snags the pregnancy test from the bathroom floor. I’m pathetically grateful to not be alone. He flips the stick over and whistles. “Are you playing family?”

The stick, the news, the baby… it’s all mine. I grab it back from him and cup it in my palm. The stupid plus sign stares back at me unintelligibly. I know what this means—that I’m not smart enough to be a daddy.

Finn drops onto the closed toilet seat, rummages in the trash can (God, the man has no boundaries), and retrieves a set of printed directions. Paper rustles as he unfolds the teeny square into an enormous sheet covered with even teenier words. There must be a special font for instructions. Something called
Miniscule.

He squints, double-checks the stick in my hand, grunts, and looks up at me. “Congratulations. You’ve successfully procreated.”

Jesus. The bathroom counter suddenly gets a whole lot closer as my knees decide now would be the absolute best moment to give out. The floor swings beneath me like a rope bridge strung over some godforsaken ravine. I’m falling, and I’m pretty certain there’s nothing but air and rocks in my future.

Marlee was right when she said Ro and Finn are good men, good brothers. Finn jackknifes off his throne and Ro slides me onto it, shoving my head between my knees.
I’m gonna be a daddy
.