Jen Frederick's Blog, page 12

Charlotte Chronicles – Chapter Thirty-two

Nathan

 

We arrive at the clinic early as Charlotte has to give blood and piss at the lab. I avoid hospitals, having developed an aversion to them during our teen years when she was first diagnosed. Everyone here appears to know her, though, and she appears comfortable. I’m the one who can’t sit still.

She ignores me and scrolls through a sea of white lace and satin on her phone. Our parents spent hours last night hammering out the details of the fall wedding. No one complained it was short notice, probably because everyone thinks we need to get to the altar before I flake out again.

Uncle Bo called me on a separate line.

“I’m sorry,” I said before he even got out his greeting.

He heaved a long, heavy sigh. “Not going to lie to you son. There were times I was mighty disappointed in you, but it looks like you righted your train. That said, let me tell you if you hurt her again, I’ll forget you are my godson. And then I’ll hand you over to AnnMarie.”

“I’m not going to let anyone down again,” I said.

“See that you don’t.”

Mom sent me a long email full of scolds and admonishments finished off by encouragement. Dad’s email was succinct and to the point: “Not everyone gets a second chance. Don’t waste yours.”

“Does it always take this long?” I ask, glancing at my watch. We’ve been in here for over an hour.

“No,” she admits. “But it could be extra busy in the lab. They like to run a couple of tests before I leave.”

“You still taking your shots?” After her chemo and radiation, she had to administer daily shots of human growth hormones to make sure that all her organs fully developed.

“I don’t need them anymore,” she answers, not looking up from the phone. “I’m fully grown. I take a few drugs to help my little thyroid along, but mostly I’m drug free.” She wiggles her wrist, and her medical ID bracelet jingles. It’s the sparkles of my diamond on her finger that capture my eyes, though. I can’t stop looking at it—my little sign post of possession.

Taking a seat beside her, I wrap an arm around her shoulders and squeeze her. “I love you.”

“I know,” she says. She lifts her chin so I can kiss her. That’s a far better way to pass the time than pacing, I think. I massage her neck lightly as I trail soft kisses along her jawline to her ear. The little lobe with its small gold hoop adornment dangles in front of me. I bite the soft flesh and then lick the soft pink upper shell. Her phone clatters onto the counter next to her. I drag her onto my lap.

“There’s a bed over there,” I mouth against the hollow in her neck.

“It’s not a bed,” she laughs.

I drag my mouth away and glance over to the paper-covered exam table. “It’s bed-like.”

“Nathan, this is my doctor’s office.” She tries to sound scandalized but at least half of her, hopefully the lower half, is intrigued.

Before I can summon up more arguments, the door opens and the nurse bustles in.

“Charlotte, can you come with me? I need to move you to another room.”

Charlotte stands and grabs her phone. “Sure, another test?”

“Oh no, the doctor just wants to chat.”

The sense of wrongness that I pushed away earlier comes flooding back. The nurse won’t look at us, and even Charlotte is starting to feel nervous. I rise and place my hand on her back.

“Just Charlotte, sir,” the nurse instructs.

“Nate’s my fiancé,” Charlotte objects.

The nurse purses her lips together. “Let me check with the doctor.”

She disappears, and Charlotte takes up the pacing. “I’m sure nothing is wrong,” she says, but there is no conviction in her voice. I shove my hands in my pocket because I’m afraid I’m going to punch a hole in the wall if someone doesn’t come in here soon and take away our anxiety.

I have the knob in my hand when the door pushes open. A slight, dark-skinned man with frameless glasses and a white coat appears on the other side. I move away so he can enter. Standing behind him, I cross my arms and look down my nose, daring him to give us bad news.

“Charlotte, why don’t you take a seat,” he begins.

She covers her mouth and stumbles into a chair. I’m frozen in my spot, unprepared for this news. I’ve been in danger, real danger where I thought I might not come out of a mission alive. I’ve walked among land mines with RPGs being cannoned around me, but the last time I felt this cold hand of fear was when Charlotte was fifteen.

“No,” I say as if by my command I can stop whatever is happening.

The doctor gives me a pitying look. “There are anomalies in your blood. I want to get you in for a CT scan. They’re ready for you now.”

“What do you think it is?” Her voice is barely a notch above a whisper, but the room is so quiet, we’d be able to hear a mouse squeak.

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to guess. Let’s get these tests done, and then we’ll talk.”

The nurse arrives and leads Charlotte out because she’s turned into a wooden doll. I’m not much better. We shuffle down to radiology. I’m forced into a tiny sitting room while Charlotte is taken away.

Time moves sluggishly. After each test, she is increasingly worn out. The mental toll is exhausting her. Finally, they send us home after having taken a biopsy of her leg, a procedure so painful that Charlotte is biting back tears and I’m ready to tear the surgeon in half. They’ll call us, we’re told, but we don’t need confirmation for the news we don’t want to accept.

We stumble outside in shock. The late afternoon sunshine nearly blinds us as we stagger to her car.

“I can’t drive,” she says. Her hands are shaking. I look down and mine are too. I’m not in much better condition.

I call upon my training and somehow get us into the car and to her condo in one piece. I don’t remember the drive or if we talked. It is all a blur. When we get home, Charlotte runs into the bathroom and locks the door. Inside, I hear her crying.

On the other side, I stand like a worthless fool wondering what I should do. I want to break the door down and pull her into my arms, but this is one fight I can’t win with a gun or a knife or even a great plan.

There’s only one thing I can do and that is be with her. This time, I’m prepared. I’ll go to every hospital visit. I’ll research every article on healthy eating and alternative medicines. She’s not in this alone. And no one is taking her from me. Not her parents, not my parents, and not the goddamned military.

I pull out my phone and call my commander.

“You’re supposed to be enjoying your shore leave,” my LT barks.

“I’m separating,” I say.

“Didn’t know you were married, son,” he says in confusion.

“No, from the teams. From the Navy.” I squeeze the back of my neck, trying to gather my thoughts into a logical and comprehensible form. “My fiancée has just been diagnosed with cancer, and I need to be with her.”

“You’ve got two more weeks of love, Monk. Plus we’re just training when you get back. There’ll be plenty of time for you to be with her while she has treatment.”

“No, sir. I’m telling you now that I’m filing my separation papers ASAP. No more missions. Nothing. I’m out.”

The door wrenches open suddenly, and Charlotte lunges at me. She plucks the phone from my hand and nearly yells into my CO’s ear. “He’s not separating. Forget that he called you.”

She punches the disconnect button and throws the phone on the bed. I make a grab for it, but she blocks me.

“What the hell, Charlotte?” I bellow.

“You’re not quitting,” she shouts back. Her hands are fisted by her sides, but her tears have stained her face. The mascara has created black circles around her eyes, and there are wet tracks down her cheeks.

“Fuck I’m not.” I snatch the phone up, but she clutches my arm and then starts to sob. “Fuck, okay, I won’t quit.” I’m bewildered and heartbroken and would do anything to make her stop crying. Collapsing on the bed, I hug her shaking body into mine. The tears I refuse to shed are burning the back of my eyelids and scorching my throat. Hoarsely I whisper stupid, meaningless things in her ears. That we’re going to be all right. That this is just a temporary setback. That she’s going to beat this.

She feels tiny and fragile in my arms. What did we do to deserve this? Hasn’t she suffered enough?

We lie together for hours until the phone rings. Charlotte rolls onto her back and covers her eyes with an arm. I thumb the answer button, put it on speaker, and rest the phone between us.

“You have osteosarcoma in the proximal tibia. It’s unrelated to the childhood brain tumor, and it’s just really unlucky.” The doctor’s voice is matter of fact, as if he isn’t announcing that Charlotte’s body is full of death-inducing cells. “Recommended treatment is a course of aggressive chemotherapy followed by resection of any remaining tumor. It’s smaller, and I feel we have a good chance of beating this, Charlotte.”

She hasn’t moved. I wonder if she’ll ever move again. Picking up the phone, I walk out of the bedroom. “It’s Nate Jackson, her fiancé. Charlotte is—she can’t come to the phone. What’s next?”

“We’d like to have her start chemo this Friday. We’ll do six weeks and then consider resection.”

“And is resection your way of saying amputation?” I ask grimly, wanting all the details laid out in brutal detail so I know exactly what we’re dealing with. It’s the only way I’ll be able to deal with this. But I forget where I am and behind me I hear a gasp. Cursing silently I turn to see her leaning against the door frame, a hand covering her mouth.

“Yes, below the knee if the drug therapy does its job.”

“Thanks.” I pocket the phone and stride over to her, lifting her into my arms. “It’s going to be okay, baby.” The worthless words fall out. She snorts and then struggles to her feet.

“Tell me what they said.”

The lump in my own throat is making it hard to talk. “Chemo and then amputation of the leg, hopefully below the knee.”

Would it help to tell her about all the veterans who’ve suffered a loss of limb and how they’re doing amazing things? I’m at a loss. She walks in a circuit around her living room, touching a few items: a signed football, a tall thin orange vase, a piece of driftwood.

“Your mom and I found this one day when we were walking. A year after Nick and I graduated, I was so lonely. I’d call her up, and we’d drive up to the house and take long walks along the shore. This piece was lying on the sand, and she picked it up and carried it back to the house. When I got home I realized she had stuck it in my car. There was a note in it that said that and no matter what happened between you and me, I’d still be the daughter of her heart.”

Her fingers curl around a small branch. “A couple of years later, when it looked like you were never coming back, she called me and said that I was the bravest girl she’d ever known and not to give up on my dreams. We never spoke of you again after that.” She swallows. “I just don’t know if I can be brave again.”

The wood cracks and she stumbles. I leap over the back of the sofa and catch her.

“You don’t have to be brave. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

I put Charlotte to bed, wipe my wet eyes and pick up the phone. The first call is to Nick.

“No,” he says in disbelief. “No! Fucking not happening.” There’s a crash of something heavy being thrown across the wall. He screams profanities for a full minute. I clutch the phone in my hands, wanting to rail at the sky, God, every deity that anyone every acknowledged. My throat is raw from all the emotions I’ve swallowed down. When he winds down, he pants, “I’m coming down.”

Nick lives on the eighteenth floor and Charlotte on the seventh in this condo building, but I’ve got more phone calls to make and I can’t deal with Nick’s rage right now.

“No,” I say. “She’s sleeping. She needs to rest.”

It takes another ten minutes to convince him that coming over would be more disruptive. I spend the rest of the night making phone calls. There’s the call to her parents and then to mine. Everyone is crying. Even Dad choked up and said he couldn’t talk anymore. They all are coming down tomorrow. I make arrangements for them to stay at a hotel nearby. The last thing that Charlotte needs is the entire family hovering outside her bedroom.

When I’m finished, my fingers are cramped from being clenched around the phone. The condo is silent. Seven floors up, the street noise is dulled from the distance and the solid walls and windows. I could use a distraction. Booze, danger, anything.

But the person who matters the most in my measly existence needs me, and for once in my pathetic life, I’m going to be there for her. As I stand in the doorway of the darkened bedroom, I can barely make out her slight form under the covers. She’s always been a slight girl, more wiry than curvy. She might wish for bigger boobs or a bigger ass, but I’ve loved her since forever because of who she was, my Charlotte, rather than whether she had a big chest, lots of hair, or even two limbs.

Is it easier for a guy to lose a leg or an arm than a woman? Women have these impossible standards of beauty that they think that they have to meet: tits of a certain cup size and some magical hip-to-waist ratio. Guys just want to be able to make love to their women, protect their family, and pound a few bears.

Ah shit, that’s not even true. If I couldn’t run, jump, and climb like I’m currently able to, I’d be a basket case too.

But my love for her, my utter devotion to her will never change. It wouldn’t matter if she was in a different body entirely. It’s her, the essence that animates her body, that matters.

I strip off my clothes and crawl under the covers next to her. In the dead of the night, I close my eyes and search for the connection to a higher being and pray.

••

 

When I wake up, she’s gone.

The sheets where her body laid are cold, and for a heart-stopping, ball-freezing moment, I think the worst.

“Charlotte!” I jump out of bed and run into the living room shouting her name. My heart’s still pounding hard when I skid to a halt in the kitchen and see her at the table surrounded by her friends. A dozen magazines are strewn across the table with white dress-wearing, flower-carrying women adorning the covers.

Lainey’s eyes widen and Reese licks his lips. Looking down, I see that I’m completely nude with my twig and berries dangling out for everyone’s perusal. And I have morning wood.

“Good morning, babe,” Charlotte smirks.

“Ah, yeah,” I say and drop a hand to my crotch. Did I dream what happened yesterday? A careful inspection of Charlotte reveals dark circles covered in makeup. No, yesterday was not a bad dream. Gathering up my uncooperative flesh, I turn and march into the bedroom.

“Jesus, those Jackson boys are well endowed,” I hear Lainey say.

“How would you know, young lady?” Reese asks.

“I’m just guessing,” she protests. I can tell by the high-pitched tone it’s a lie. I’ll have to ask Nick about that later.

In the bedroom, I make use of the attached bathroom to piss and brush my teeth. After I’m done, I throw on briefs, sweatpants and a T-shirt.

When I arrive back in the kitchen fully clothed, Reese stands and offers his hand. I shake it but look at Charlotte in confusion. She grins.

“Thank you,” Reese says. “I was all upset over hearing Charlotte’s news, but seeing you completely nude has restored my good humor.”

“No wonder Charlotte has agreed to move to San Diego,” Lainey pipes up. “I wouldn’t want to be more than ten feet away from that at any given time.”

“He’s big,” Charlotte says, “but not that big.”

Everyone laughs at this, and I don’t give a damn because my dick can be the topic of jokes every morning if it makes Charlotte laugh.

“It’s pretty damn big,” I say and wink at Lainey. “Bigger than Nick’s.”

“Right, as if I’d know.” Her wild, not-so-funny laugh ends in a hiccup. She stands abruptly, and her chair’s legs catch on the carpet. I grab it before it can fall over.

“Lainey,” Charlotte calls at her friend’s retreating back.

“Let her go.” Reese places a hand on hers. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“I need some coffee,” I say and follow Lainey into the small alcove off the kitchen where Charlotte stores all her appliances, including a fancy coffee maker. Lainey has her back to me, hands braced on the counter.

“I just need a minute,” she says.

“Can you work that machine, or does it make coffee by itself?” I ask.

She whips around at the sound of my voice. “I thought you were Charlie . . . or Reese.”

“Nope, just the better part of the Jackson brothers.”

A half smile touches her lips and then dies off. She turns and busies herself with the coffee maker. “When Reese told me that Charlie had reconnected with you, I was worried and not a little angry on her behalf, but I told myself that I wasn’t going to complain about you or suggest she was making a mistake because what’s the point of telling your best friend that her man is rotten.”

I wince. Rotten? Lainey’s good at hiding her feelings because the other night at dinner, she was all smiles and welcomes. “Thanks, I guess.”

She flicks a hand but doesn’t turn around, either fascinated by the machine or not willing to look at me. The coffee machine hisses and gurgles as it heats up the water. Twisting a few knobs, she turns and shoves a steaming mug of coffee at me. “Don’t screw up this time. If you do a runner on her, I swear to God your little band of SEALs won’t be able to keep me from carving out your balls.”

Lainey may have thought her fierce words would scare me away, but they only make me smile. “My big balls and I are safe then because I have no intention of running away from Charlotte. She, and the rest of you, are going to have to get used to me.”

“Fine, but I’m watching you.”

She sweeps by me, but I ruin her exit line.

“By the way, Lainey, I won’t tell Charlotte that you’ve slept with Nick until you’re ready to come clean.” The shock and horror on her face is a little comic relief as I walk out. “Thanks for the coffee.”

Back in the dining room, I lean over Charlotte’s shoulder. “What are you looking at?”

“Wedding dresses.” She taps a magazine with the tip of her perfect shell shaped fingernail.

“How about this pink one?” Reese asks, showing her his phone.

“Pink?” I draw back in horror.

“Nathan’s a traditionalist,” Charlotte explains and pats my leg. “It’s okay. I like white.”

It’s not the pink that I’m overly concerned about. It’s that she’s planning a wedding as if we didn’t just find out she had cancer. “Can I talk to you?”

“Sure.” She picks up her coffee and follows me out into the living room.

Trying my best not to look confrontational, I clasp my hands behind my back. “Are you planning someone’s wedding?”

“Yes, Master Sergeant, I am, sir.” She salutes me like a smart ass.

“Seriously, Charlotte,” I scold. “And I’m a Senior Chief Petty Officer. There are no sergeants in the Navy.”

She falls onto the sofa and laughs. “You look so earnest, Senior Chief.”

I stalk over to her and place an arm on the back of the sofa. “You have to start treatment this Friday.”

“I know, babe.” She lifts a soft hand to stroke my face. “I want to get married before my surgery. Next weekend. I’ve already called our parents so they aren’t going to fly down. They’re expecting us.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Never been surer about anything.” Her hand curls around the back of my neck and rises up to press her lips against mine. “We’re going to be okay.”

The post Charlotte Chronicles – Chapter Thirty-two appeared first on Jen Frederick.

Chapter Thirty-one

Welcome to final episodes in the Charlotte Chronicles.
It’s been a long and wonderful journey. I’m sad to see it end.

The good news is Charlotte is currently with an editor getting a final polish and she’ll go on sale at all your favorite retailers on December 11, 2014. Price TBD. You can add the book to your goodreads shelf here.

Charlotte

Returning to the office after a week away is intimidating. The paperwork has piled up so high in my inbox so full it makes me never want to leave again.

“Free agency has started in basketball and you have three new prospects. Antonio Spence has called twice,” Lainey announces striding into my office with her tablet. “And Tuvane Richards got picked off the wire by the Wildcats.”

“Remind me never to go away again.” Tuvane got traded two years ago to the North Carolina Cougars and had me handle the move. In the meantime he’s gotten married. Somewhere on the shelf is his notebook.

“You need to hire more people,” Lainey says.

“At least two.” I spot it Tuvane’s notebook on the bottom right in all its blue and orange glory. Thank goodness for team colors. It’s about the only way I can keep everything straight. “I’m not sure I can even afford two at this point.”

I’ve only been officially in business for three years and while the books are in the black, hiring two more people and opening another office is an expansion I’m not prepared for.

“Are you really leaving? Nick mentioned something last night.”

“Did you get your babysitter issue worked out?”

“Nice tactic,” Lainey says with asperity. “Trying to avoid my question with an uncomfortable one of your own.”

I smooth my hand over the cool surface of my walnut desk that my parents gave me when I opened my office here in Dallas. “Honestly the idea of moving is overwhelming. I don’t know anyone in San Diego. All of my friends are here. My business is here. My family is in Chicago. Half the time that I would be in San Diego, Nathan would be gone on some secret mission he can’t speak of. But if I want to spend any time at all with him, I have to be on the West Coast because when he is not on a mission he would be in San Diego training.”

“And there’s no chance that he would leave the service to do something else?”

I give her a tiny shrug which probably doesn’t convey the full amount of helplessness that I feel. “He said he’d quit but I don’t think he would be able to. Even after telling me he would leave and come with me to Dallas, he kept talking as if we would be living in San Diego. It’s as if his brain wouldn’t accept the words he said to me. It’s a calling for him so I don’t want to be living here five years from now with him resentful that he left.”

Lainey makes a face. “I get that you love him and have forever, but this is a shitty dilemma you are in.”

“There is no dilemma. The trouble is accepting the right decision.” I try to smile but fail. “Now cheer me up with some gossip. What happened last night?”

She shrugs as if Nick coming over to play house is no big deal. “We played with Cassidy until she fell asleep. That girl loves him so much.”

“He’s a good guy, Lainey,” I say for what seems like the hundrendth time and for the hundredth time, her nose scrunches up as if something stinks in the room.

“In two hours that he was at the house, his phone rang the more times than a cash register on Black Friday.”

“He is the starting quarterback for one of the most watched football teams in the country. He’s rich, attractive, and has the body of a god. Of course his phone was ringing, but it doesn’t sound like he answered it.”

“Nick is a great guy to you because for all intents and purposes you’re his sister. To the rest of the female population, he is walking heartbreak.”

This is a familiar and old and boring argument so I abandon it. No one is going to convince Lainey that the bogeyman in the closet is not a helmet wearing, pigskin carrying football player.

“Let’s hire a manager for the bar. You can run this office full-time with Reese. I’ll cover all the West Coast teams. You and Reese cover the south and Midwest. We’ll hire someone to cover the East Coast.”

“I’ll put post an ad.” She makes a note on her tablet. At the doorway, she turns back. “I’m going to visit as much as I can. You’re not leaving your old friends; you’re making new ones.”

“I know.” But it’s sure nice hearing it.

The next phone call is to my parents. It’s one that I’ve been putting off but Nathan and I both agreed that they would need to be told today.

“Charlotte!” My father answers and his deep voice is full of affection. No matter the distance or the time, I am secure in my parent’s love. It is not the move I fear, I realize, but the newness of Nate and my reconnection.

“Hey daddy, when was the last time we saw each other?”

“Father’s Day,” he replies promptly. “You brought your friend that Nick has a hankering for and her sweet little girl. We all went up to the North Shore and had a picnic out on the beach.”

All but Nate, but he’s not been part of our “all” for a long time.

“That was too long ago.”

“Your mama and I can be on a plane tomorrow if you’re missing us. Besides your mama’s got some news for you.”

His happiness tells me it’s good news. “What is it?”

“She and Noah are selling out their interests in the fund.”

I’m glad I’m sitting down. Dad sold out all his construction interests shortly after I finished treatment in Switzerland. He didn’t want me to be by myself and he wasn’t interested in working like a dog anymore, as he put it. I loved having him with me and it made my loneliness bearable when Nick went to college and Nate went AWOL on me. But mom motored on, almost as if she was in a contest with Noah to see who could make more money.

“She’s tired of it and wants to travel. Noah was relieved. He said he’s been trying to convince her to chuck it all into the river for years now.” Dad laughs. I can see him sitting in the library in the penthouse, a low boy full of some expensive liquor and his feet up on a cowhide hassock. His face is normally tanned and the blonde hair I’ve inherited is the color of wheat. He says I’m full of my mother’s stock except for my blue eyes and blonde hair which I inherited from him.

“I’m excited for you,” I say truthfully and then wonder if they’d come out to San Diego for a few months to help with my transition.

“I can tell by your voice that your got something on your mind,” he rumbles.

“Where is mom?” I don’t want to divulge the news twice.

“In the office. Want me to call her?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a series of clicks and then I hear my mom’s strong voice. “Your father says you have news.”

“Apparently you do as well. I didn’t know you were thinking of retiring.”

“It’s not so much as retiring as changing our scenery.”

“I assume this means hotels and airlines because you once said that camping was for people who hated life.”

“The outdoors and I don’t get along.”

That’s an understatement. Mom’s idea of enjoying the outdoors is laying on a lounge chair next to a pool with a big hat shading her skin from the sun. “I’m sure Daddy appreciates the sacrifice you are making.”

He rumbles his amused agreement. “You’re welcome to come with us.”

“I was gone this week and when I returned I found that my work was having babies faster than hamsters so as much as I might like the idea of a vacation, I get enough traveling in the form of my job.”

“The invitation is always open. We’ll send you our itinerary and if you find a break in your schedule, hop on a plane and we’ll take care of the rest. Now what’s so important that we are conferencing together?”

My delay tactics have run out. I don’t have a good way to break the news so I just blurt it out. “Nate asked me to marry him and I said yes.”

There was long silence on the other end of the line. So long that I wondered if they had hung up on me or if the connection dropped. “Hello?”

When I do hear a voice, it’s my Daddy’s. “We’re still here darling. We’re trying to wrap our heads around the bomb that you dropped.”

“I hope you’re happy for me.” My free hand is clenched so tight around the metal pen, I’m certain I’m going to bend it in half.

Mom clears her throat. “I think the question that we need answer is are you happy? This came out of nowhere. I didn’t even realize you had any contact with Nathan in years.”

“I was in San Diego getting a player situated and I had to buy a gift at Tiffany’s for his wife because she wasn’t happy about the move. In the weirdest coincidence, I saw Nate in the store. I admit that for a while I had convinced myself that it didn’t matter that Nathan didn’t love me like I loved him. I thought I’d find someone else, but there wasn’t anyone for me.” My voice is cracking as I relive the anguish of the moment when I believed Nathan was buying a ring for another woman. My parents remain silent. “But as I looked at him through the window I realized I would never, ever love anyone else like I loved him. And something happened to him as well. He’d loved me all along.”

It all sounds terrible as I try to explain it. I wind down and mom asks me the question that’s been preying on my mind.

“Nathan lives in San Diego and you and your business is in Dallas. How is that going to work?”

“Right, so I’m going to move.” I wait, then, with my heart in my throat as I ready myself for the disapproval of the woman whose respect I value more than any other female in my life.

Finally she speaks. “Your daddy and I are so proud of the woman that you have become Charlotte. My first instinct was to protest because he has hurt you so badly. But you are a wise and wonderful woman who is capable of making her own decisions. We support and love you. And should this decision have a negative outcome we will still support you. No matter what you do in life, we know that you are doing your very most to make the right choices.”

I can’t stop the waterworks after that.

Dad interjects. “Sometimes you’re the bug on the windshield and sometimes you the driver of the big truck. That’s life. You’re the driver now. If this is the direction you want to go, and like your mama said, we support you hundred percent. And if you need an expansion loan, your mom has come into some money recently.”

We all laugh a bit until Mom changes the subject.

“When is your next checkup?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll call you right after.”

“Alright, darling girl,” Daddy drawls. No amount of time in the Midwest has totally eradicated his southern upbringing.

•••

“How did it go?” Nate asked me when we meet for dinner. He spent the day with Nick, having received special dispensation to watch practice.

“Better than I thought.” I take a long drink of my beer which causes him to raise an eyebrow. “How about you?”

“Well, someone is planning the wedding already. You better call my mom if you want to have any say in the matter.”

“I think she probably already knows. I may have talked to her once or twice about it.” I say guiltily.

He smiles. “The shore?”

“Yes, a gazebo. Maybe late autumn or early spring.” I’d planned the whole wedding out when I was eighteen and still believed that Nathan would come back to me after a four year stint in the Navy. “Up from where your Dad proposed to your mom.”

He reaches across the table and captures my hand. Pressing a hot kiss in the middle of my palm, he says, “Let’s do it this autumn, Charlotte. Let’s not wait.”

“Okay.” His enthusiasm is contagious. And I want everything else settled. “I’m moving to San Diego. Lainey and Reese are covering the office here and I’m going to take care of all the West Coast athletes. I’m going to hire someone to the East Coast.”

He wipes his mouth and carefully places the napkin beside his plate. “I thought I told you I was quitting.”

“I don’t want that. I’m more mobile than you are and from everything I’ve read and heard, your time as a SEAL is finite. You can’t do this forever and so while you still can, you should.” I continue to eat even as he stares at me. He can pin his unwavering special Navy glare at me, but I’m immune mostly likely because I know he’s done hurting me, both intentionally or unintentionally.

“So you’re up and moving your entire business so you can spend lonely months in San Diego away from your friends and family? No,” he shakes his head resolutely.

“I’m moving the base of my very mobile operation to San Diego to be with my love so that he can properly attend to all of my very demanding needs.” He’s still unconvinced but I can see a glimmer of relief in his eyes. It’s enough that he’s willing to sacrifice it all for me. “When you’re gone, I’ll come back here, sleep in Nick’s guest room and keep him out of trouble.”

“And when I’m there, I promise to see to your every need,” he says. The husky timbre of his words sends a shiver up my spine.

“Are we done here?”

“We’re done having dinner.” He stands and lifts me to my feet. “But the rest of the night has just started.”

•••

Sated, I draw aimless patterns on his chest. It heaves with every labored breath as he tries to calm himself. Nate’s body is a machine, one that he works hard to bring me pleasure. There’s something incredibly sexy about watching his big chest rise and fall in a rapid, uneven cadence. I did that.

His composure and iron will is somewhere under the bedcovers that lie in a haphazard pile at the end of the bed and in these moments, in the afterglow, his power is banked and his aggression is tamed.

“What’s the story behind your tattoos?” I ask. The one on his arm is a skull covered by a medieval helmet. Out of the helmet are two curling horns that wrap around the bicep.

He turns his head slightly and lifts his shoulder to eye the one I’m pointing to. “Mostly drunken stupidness.”

“I thought that was illegal to get a tattoo while under the influence?” The tattoo is still dark but I can tell it’s not one of his newest ones. There’s a faded, subdued quality to the ink.

“Only in the US. I got this one in Finland. It’s the Norse god, Hödr, a warrior who was tricked into killing his brother. He was exiled and Odin had another son, sired for the sole purpose of killing Hödr.”

“That’s morbid.”

“I’ve not been in a good place for a long time,” he admits softly.

I gather him in my arms, pressing his face against my breast and wrapping my legs around him as if I could absorb his grief and his past sadness. “The one on your back is beautiful.”

“The dragon?”

“It looks like the dragon is chasing something.” The large colored wings are in motion and the neck of the dragon is stretched out. His mouth is open but there’s no fire coming out.

After a long moment, he sighs. “It’s me chasing you. I’m the dragon and you’re…not there. I was going to have a dove put on my opposite shoulder but it never felt right.” He pushes up to look at me, “At least not until now.”

The glint in his eye is one half love and the other half sexual intent. My body protests. “Don’t look at me like that,” I laugh. “I’m too tired and sore.” He smirks, a look of pure unadulterated smugness. I slap his dragon right on the snout. “That’s smarmiest smile I’ve seen you wear.”

He doesn’t even try to hide his smile.“I can’t help it. You just admitted that I wear you out in bed. That’s a point of pride. Smugness is a natural by-product.”

“A natural by-product of good sex is sleep,” I counter.

He disentangles his body and rolls onto his side, tucking me against him. “Then sleep, baby.”

The post Chapter Thirty-one appeared first on Jen Frederick.

Charlotte Chronicles – Chapter Thirty

“Are you nervous?”

“Why are we flying commercial again?” I ignore the flight attendant who keeps staring at me as I stand in the aisle next to our seats. Charlotte has taken the first class seat next to the window but I’m not sitting until I absolutely have to. Given that the coach class has a separate entrance and I’m not blocking incoming foot traffic, there’s no reason I have to sit down until the door closes.

“I can’t remember the last time I flew on a public transportation. Usually I can catch a ride on a military transport to just about any place I need to go. And the few times I haven’t, I just chartered a plane.”

“Sure laugh at me. Next time you’re not so hot to do something, I’m going to cackle like an old man.”

“Scotch, please.” I tack on the courtesy so I don’t go over the line from irritating to insufferable.

“What kind?”

I try to prevent it but my lip curls in disgust. Charlotte flicks her eyes in warning which I translated to mean don’t get difficult about the poor ass selection of liquor offerings on this plane.

“Anything for you miss?” She asks Charlotte.

I stretch out my arms and legs, not to loosen my limbs but take a measurement of the interior space. It’s cramped, even up here. I concentrate on taking measured, even breaths. “No. They only know I serve the best booze on the team. Most these guys wouldn’t know the difference between whisky or bourbon. What matters to them is that it tastes good and goes down smooth.That the burn is something to savor rather than endure.” As I inhale, a faint floral scent fills my lungs. I lean over and murmur into her pink shell ear. “ Kind of like when I’m taking you.”

“I know something that would distract me,” I say huskily. I slip a hand behind her neck and with slow and deliberate pressure, I compel her toward me. Her eyelids begin to fall as if the sexual intent in my eyes is too much for her to look at. Our mouths are a scant inch apart when discreet cough from the aisle causes Charlotte to jerk back.

“Thank you,” I mumble. The ice cubes clink against the side of the glass. Did I ask for ice cubes? I hadn’t meant to. I swallow the entire contents down and suck one ice cube into my mouth. The interruption irritates me. Just another reason why we should be flying in a private plane. I could have Charlotte in my lap my fingers in her jeans and my mouth in her tongue without any coughing flight attendants.

“The bathrooms are too damn small anyway,” I grumpily respond as the doors close. The sense of suffocation hits me again and I dig my fingers into the metal ends of our seats. I need about four more drinks. Maybe she should just bring me the bottle.

“The people who fly me are highly trained professionals. I have no idea about the people flying this plane. They could be former Air Force people or they could be guys who learned to fly on puddle jumpers.”

“What’s so funny?” I snap.

“Thanks,” I say sourly and I can feel my own cheeks heat up.

And she doesn’t stop.

•••

“Good to see you shorty.” He gives me two back breaking thumps before releasing me. Turning to Charlotte, he lifts her up and swings her around. “I don’t know why you’d ever want to marry this ugly motherfucker,” he says as he sets her down and then slings her carry on over his shoulder. “I’m taller, better looking and more successful.”

“You’re a good, giving woman, Charlotte and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“How was practice?” she asks.

“Haven’t really thought about it,” she admits.

She laughs smugly. “If I have to explain to what I was busy doing then I finally understand why you’re prone to one night stands.”

“I guess we all have our crosses to bear,” she replies with stifled laughter.

“Unless you have a sister we don’t know about who’s having a baby, then no. We’re not ready for that.”

But the idea of her heavy with my kid? Pretty damn exciting. And there’s this sense of permanency. If we had children, she’d never leave. It’s pure stupidity but there’s this niggling sense of ease that I want to eradicate. Pumping her fill of my seed and seeing her around with my child is one way my hindbrain can deal with the unsettling feeling but even I know that’s no reason to start a family.

“Yes but I need to talk to Lainey and Rese first,” she says a lot cautiously.

“Let’s just say you don’t have a real fan base here in Dallas,” Nick explains. “Except for me of course but those other friends of Charlie’s don’t know you like I do.”

Despite the dire warning of Nick, Charlotte’s friends could not have been more welcoming. When we arrive at the bar around dinner time, it’s nearly empty. I can see that any money that has gone into renovating this place has gone into the big screens on the wall. The flours are scarred and the bar top doesn’t look much better. The dark blue walls are lit up with a smattering of neon signs.

“So you’re Charlotte’s Nathan?” Lainey says but the greeting is warm instead of wary.

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” she says.

She nods her approval. “Aren’t we all made up of good and bad?”

“I didn’t know you read Nick. I thought you only look at books with pictures in them,” Lainey shoots back.

“Gah,” she throws up her hands. The two continue to bicker throughout dinner which consists of damn good burgers, big fries and several beers. There is clea” rly a history between the two that I’m going to have to know more about.

“So soon?” Charlotte protests.

“Danny flaked out on you again? I told you not to hire her.” Nick throws down some bills on the table. As he stands, the chair legs scrape across the wood floor.

“Exactly. Cassidy shouldn’t be watched by some girl who’s got more interest in getting into my jock.”

“That’s right.” He takes her arm and starts pulling her toward the door. “We don’t want Cassidy to grow up to be all about boys. She needs to be an independent woman.”

“I’m going to be around eventually. It’s better to know up front.”

I look at Charlotte. “How long has he been wanting to sleep with her?”

“Lainey and Nick have a complicated history.”

Ignoring Reese, she continues, “She dated a Mustang while she was waiting tables here and she got pregnant. He accused her of tampering with her birth control and told her that he was not going to support the baby. She hired an attorney to prove paternity because she didn’t have a lot of money, not enough to support a child and herself.”

“Worse. The Mustang then had a change of heart and said that if she would pursue paternity against him that he would challenge her for custody. And since she was an out of work waitress who slept around the football players, who is the judge going to side with?”

“I met her when Nick was drafted. We kind of bonded and we all pitched in to help her and, well, when the bar came up for sale, I bought it to provide her some security. She runs the bar and helps with my business.”

Reese must have kicked her under the table because she yelps. “Ow.” Frowning at him, she reaches down and rubs her leg. “He’s Nick’s brother and my future husband. I’m not keeping secrets from him.”

“Nate’s not going to say anything to Nick.” She turns to me. “Promise me you won’t say anything to Nick.”

“You will once you know the whole story. Nick sees Lainey and totally falls for her. He pursues her hard during his rookie season. This was before he knew of her circumstances.”

Reese gives Charlotte a hard look which she ignores. “He’s the quarterback coach now.”

“Chip got injured Nick’s rookie year and went from backup to quarterback coach in the matter of a couple years. He comes here regularly, to rub it in Lainey’s face. And we all have to grin and bear it because we don’t need conflict for Nick so he only knows that the father is an asshole and…” her voice trails off.

“Charlie looking gorgeous as ever.” He places a hand on the back of her chair and another on the table in front of her. The cage he creates shuts the rest of the table out and her in. To say this annoys me would be an understatement. But I get the dilemma for Charlotte and Reese. This is Nick’s coach and someone they don’t want to create conflict with for the sake of Nick but they also clearly can’t stand him.

Fortunately I can plead ignorance so I stand up and place my hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. “Baby, who’s this?”

“Chip Peters, this is Nathan Jackson, my fiancé and Nick’s brother.”

“The very one,” I give his hand one more bone cracking squeeze and then sit down, drawing my chair close to Charlotte.

We watch as he scuttles into a corner booth where two other similarly clad polo wearing dudes are quaffing beers.

“I think as long as she associates Nick with the football team, he’ll never see the inside of her bedroom.”

“I’m a man in search the soulmate,” Reese says loftily.

Her head turns toward me and the slumberous need in her eyes tells me the massage isn’t as relaxing as I had intended.

“A couple of days.”

“Allright.” Her words are slurry, as if she has drunk too much, but she’s not had a sip today. Time to go.

“Yeah, yeah. you guys go on. Just leave me here all by my lonesome.”

“You’re not sorry,” Reese replies.

As we step out of the air conditioned bar into the hot dry Texas night, Charlotte clings to my side.

She breathes out heavily. “You know I am.”

“I’m hot,” she says. Her words are barely more than a whisper. “And wet. I want…things.”

I drag her down the side of the building to the darkest corner I can find. Under the eaves of the roof and partially shaded by a push, I push her against the rough brick exterior.

Her face tilts toward mine and I capture her mouth. It tastes of tart sweetness. She curls her hand around my neck to bring me closer and I manage to wiggle two fingers under the tight lace of her panties.

“Not here,” she moans.

“Let’s go then,” I say roughly.

She’s rabid for me. Her hands are fused to the side of my head, angling me for better access.Her tongue stabs inside my mouth as if she’s fucking me. Her aggressive desire turns me on even more.

“I love you so goddamn much, Charlotte,” I say. When I pull out, a flood of come drips down her legs.

Jen Frederick.

Charlotte Chronicles – Chapter Twenty-nine

Nathan

My body wakes up at dawn as it always does. Charlotte is on top of me, legs sprawled on either side of my hips and her head tucked under my chin. I’ve a raging boner and an equally strong need to piss. With great reluctance I shift her to her side but the motion wakes her.

“Go back to sleep,” I say and she responds by mumbling something into the pillow.

In the bathroom, I take care of business, splash water on my face, and brush my teeth. As I turn to leave, the jetted bathtub catches my eye. It’s about the only thing worthwhile in this entire dismal apartment.

I’ve had to soak away a lot of bruises and sore muscles after beachside and ocean training maneuvers. I flip on the hot water and go hunting for the right supplies. Under the kitchen sink, I find four sterno cans from a camping trip I took with Cab a year ago. Two matches later, I have the bathroom lit up with my makeshift candlelight. The room smells vaguely of alcohol from the gel fuel and I have no fruity shit to erase the smell, but fuck, it’s the thought that counts, right?

In the bedroom, a sleepy Charlotte is sitting on the edge of the bed, yawning and stretching. Her heavy tits move enticingly and my previous boner perks up in attention.

Someday soon, I need to fuck those tits.

“I’m too sore for whatever you have in mind and I have to pee.” She holds up a hand as if to ward me off.

“I’ve a better idea.” I stride over and scoop her into my arms. I nudge the bathroom door open with my shoulder and set her on the edge of the sink. “How about an early morning bath?”

Charlotte looks at the tub full of water, steam rising in small wisps above the surface and purses her lips together in approval. “I like this.”

Then she sniffs.

“Don’t have candles,” I admit. “I’m using camping fueling.”

”This is the most romantic candlelight bath Ive ever taken,” she declares.

I leave her to use the bathroom in private and scrounge up an apple and a banana and a couple of pieces of toast. I don’t have much food but there’s no point in buying anything. We’re going to take off to Dallas soon.

Charlotte is already in the tub by the time I return. I place the plate of food on the side of the tub and climb in behind her. “Want the jets on?”

She nods and I flip the switch. As the jets motor up and the bubbles rise, Charlotte leans her head back to nestle into my shoulder. I tuck my rock hard cock into the hollow of her back and arrange her legs over mine. The tub isn’t made for two people, especially when one is my size but as her slippery bodies rubs against mine, I can’t find a thing wrong with the situation.

“Mmm, this is a good idea…camping candles and all.”

I remind myself that she’s sore and that her soft moans and wet skin isn’t an invitation. The big head is paying attention; it’s the head between my legs that’s acting like a heat seeking asshole.

“Tell me about your business, baby,” I ask, anxious to take my mind off of how easy it would be to lift her up and thrust my dick inside her hot hole.

“What do you want to know?” The little devil shifts again and I’m half convinced she’s mocking me with her body, testing the limits of my self control.

Desperation has me searching for a topic to get my decision-making process out of my cock. “Worst client,” I blurt out.

She ponders this thoughtfully and then says, “I don’t really have a worse client because I try not to work with assholes. I’ve only ever taken on clients who’ve been recommended and that cuts down on the bad seeds. Plus, you have to keep in mind that they’re going through a huge change in their lives and so it’s going to be stressful. And you just have to take that in stride and know that whatever the source of their unhappiness as it isn’t you. You can’t take it personally.”

“Like Patricia,” I grunt thinking to the scene at the bar last night that Charlotte pretends didn’t happen.

“Oh you know?” she asks in surprise.

“Everyone knows.” I roll my eyes. We’ve all had our Patricia run-ins but like Charlotte we kind of understand why she’s uptight and unhappy. “LT is a good man but he fucks around on her a lot. She could probably report him for conduct unbecoming an officer but she likes her position as LT’s wife too much.”

“I thought the SEALs were a largely male organization.”

Before I answer, I flip off the jets. They’re noisy and Charlotte appears in the mood to chat. “Plenty of women around. When we’re stationed overseas, there’s a ton of support positions. There are women in supply, nurses, lots of women in the Air Force, and there has women so there’s always opportunity. Plus, not every place is as restrictive as say the Middle East. Far East or South American assignments has plenty of hired help.”

“So your nine year celibacy is a pretty big deal.” She tips her head back to stare at me.

She has no idea. A rueful smile tips one side of my mouth up. She pokes a wet finger in the corner of my lips.

“You can’t smile like that and not spill.”

Playfully, I bite her finger. Then I suck on it. Her mouth falls open and her breath catches. Yeah, how about a little payback you tease. 

Out loud, I answer, “A guy on another team was gay but pretty far in the closet. Even with the new policies, almost no one admits their sexual orientation and in the special forces, we’re all aggressively heterosexual.” I correct myself. “Or at least we pretend we are. When I wasn’t hitting all the available women on leave, rumors started spinning. Never bothered me but it led this guy to develop some ideas. He came on to me. I turned him down and shared a little about you.”

“You sound mad.” Little lines appear on her forehead. She’s probably concerned because her friend is gay.

I hurry to assure her that who a guy enjoys fucking makes zero difference to me. “What I was pissed off about was that this guy thought I was going to rat him out to his teammates and so he retired. Last I heard he was working for a contractor and stationed somewhere in the Middle East. I’ve got no problem with one of my teammates being gay because who they spend time with says fuck all about their ability to handle a weapon and think on their feet. If he’s a good teammate, a good brother, what he does in his bedroom is none of my goddamn business.”

“It’s too bad that he left then.” She shifts again and my cock slides between her cheeks. Fuck, that feels good.

“Um, yeah.” What we were talking about?

She giggles and shifts again. The little minx knows exactly what she’s doing to me. I pump between her ass cheeks and she pushes back against me. Just when I think we might be getting somewhere she starts talking.

“I think Nick was my worst client.”

Muffling a sigh, I say incredulously, “Nick? How come you moved to Dallas with him anyway?”

“Because he needed me.” Her shrug implies the answer was simple but Nick wanted her to come to move to South Bend when he was at Notre Dame and she refused. “I didn’t realize how truly lonely he was in college. Because he has so many people around him, it’s easy to scoff at that notion but when these high school boys go off to college they get as homesick as anyone. There is the physical stress of bulking up and realizing that everyone on your team is awesome, not just you. The competition is fierce and the pressure to win placed an immediate strain on him. I never really understood it until I saw what a mess he was leading up to the draft. So after the draft I went to down to help him out, run errands for him, and try to make it so the only thing he needed to worry about was getting to training camp at the time.” She turns and rubs her cheek against my chest in a kittenish fashion. The small caress is enough to cause me to catch my breath. “He abused me though and that’s why he’s my worst client.”

“How so?”

“He’d either use me as a shield or a voucher. He’d tell girls he wanted to avoid he was taken and then put his arm around me or he’d say, see, I’m with this nice girl Charlie so I’m nice too.”

I laugh hard because I can totally see Nick doing that. “So he calls you Charlie?”

“A teammate of his started calling me that and it just caught on.” She lifts a hand and watches the water drip down. She does it again and again as if the answer to some terrible question can be seen in the drops. Finally she asks, “Why didn’t you ever tell me you wanted to join the Navy?”

My erection wilts at her obvious dismay, at the remembered pain, at the distrust. I need the Men in Black pen that erases memories.

“I was scared.” And weak but I suppose that’s implied. “I figured if I told you and you objected I wouldn’t go. I wanted to do something with my life, Charlotte, and not live off being the son of Noah Jackson. I didn’t want to be one of those trust fund kids who got a job because his father called in some connections. Whenever Gray would visit our dads would reminisce about their time in the Marines and it just sounded like something I could do. It seemed like I could be part of something bigger than myself.”

A sigh big enough to lift her out of my arms runs through her body, as if she’s experiencing the hurt I inflicted on her all those years ago.

“I was resentful. I wanted to blame everything but us for being separated. Then I wanted to believe that our letters would see us through. When your mom came to me and showed me the pile of letters that she had exchange with your dad, I conjured up this fantasy that the ink and paper would bind us together.”

Her words hang in the air and I’m chilled despite the hot water because I’m the reason that our childhood bonds had been broken.

“I love those letters. I read them constantly and they got me through a lot of hard times. Some guys in the service never get one thing. It was wrong to not write you back and expect you to continue to correspond with me but I was selfish. I could not give those letters up.”

Charlotte turns in my arms and wraps a pair of wet arms around my neck, awkwardly lying sideways between my legs. “It doesn’t matter. Not now. Not anymore.”

I crush her to me, wanting to write those words in indelible ink on our skin. The only thing that matters is that we’re together now. The past is over. I plunge my tongue deep inside my mouth, letting her know exactly what I want and how I want it. She kisses me back just as aggressively and my cock rises out of the water seeking appeasement.

Unfortunately, she breaks away and lays her head on my heaving chest. “Tell me what it’s like to be a Navy SEAL.”

“It’s a lot less romantic than the movies and books make it out to be. Every day is a training day even the days in which your actually conducting an operation.” I don’t want to talk anymore but I’m not going to push myself on her if she’s hurting.

“Nate,” she says after I fall silent.

“What, baby?”

“I don’t think I’m that sore after all.”

“Thank Christ.” I lift her and in one hard thrust fit my entire shaft in her cunt. Still holding her back firmly against my chest, I slide all the way down to the end of the tub, jerk the handheld shower off the hook. With one hand I catch it and with my other hand I hit the water.

“What are you going to do with that?” she asks suspiciously.

“Make you scream, baby.” I turn the shower head dial to pulse and place it directly over her clit. Kneeling against the tub base, I jack my hips against her from behind while the water strikes her tender pussy. Our bodies are slick and leverage is hard to attain and we slip around the tub as I pound into the tight clutch of her cunt until we reach the end of the tub. Our hands hit the tile and she braces as I thrust. It doesn’t take long for the low keening cry to erupt as she convulses around me. The non stop pressure from the dual assault triggers a second orgasm.

“Nate,” she cries. “I can’t take it.”

“Oh yes you can,” I grunt, digging my knees into the hard surface and thrusting upward with as much power as I can muster. I want her to come again and again until all that exists for her is me and the pleasure I can bring to her. Back arched, neck exposed, she allows the tsunami of feeling to overwhelm and I finally allow myself to come, spurting hard threads of come inside her sex. When it was over, we rested against the wall, my arms are weak like jello and my heavy weight bearing down over her slighter one.

After I recover a small measure of strength, I carry her, half dazed, from the bathroom into the bedroom.

Laying her on the sheets, I cover her and pull on my jogging clothes. I should be tired but I’m not. Every inch of me is alive as if I’ve just finished a successful mission. And I suppose it is a successful mission. Charlotte’s in my bed, wearing my ring, and sporting the best just- fucked smile this side of the Pacific.

She’s still sleeping when I return from my run. I toe off my sweaty shoes and socks, tossing the smelly things into a laundry bag.

A knock on the door interrupts my journey back to Charlotte. A look through the peephole gives me a jolt a surprise. Yanking the door open, I greet my former teammate.

“Ford, what’s up man?”

“You got a minute?”

“Yeah come on in.” I open the door wider and gesture for him to enter. He shakes his head in refusal.

“How about out here.” He jerks his head toward the hallway.

“Sure.” I can count the times Ford has sought me out on my one hand. He might be a spook now but he was my teammate once. I’d do pretty much anything for a teammate. I step out and close the door behind me. “Sorry, I just got back from a run.”

“Yeah, no problem.” He glances around me to the closed door, rubs his head, looks down the hall. I’ve never seen Ford nervous before so it takes me a minute to recognize that he’s not checking for targets but searching for the right words to say.

“Your girl is fine,” he says finally returning his attention toward me.

“Thanks.” He’s not coming on to her but I can’t guess where he’s going with this.

“The journalist…” he trails off. “You remember her?”

“Yeah.” I’m still lost.

“She asked me to come with her. She was moving back to her hometown because she was tired of trying to kill herself in pursuit of the next big story. She’d had enough danger for three lifetimes, she told me. Her plan was to write a children’s story or something that was helpful and innocuous.”

“Sounds like that was a good plan for her.” The light is beginning to dawn.

“Yeah. She asked me to leave the Team and come with her. We…ah, connected after she returned stateside. I couldn’t stay away.” His anguish and guilt is evident in every line in his body, every syllable of his words.

“Don’t know that you did anything wrong, brother. We all felt for her. If you provided her a little comfort after it was over, it is no one’s business but yours and hers.” That’s not technically accurate but I’m not going to shovel any more shit onto this poor man’s shoulders.

He ignores my lame attempts at reassurance. “I kept thinking I needed to save more people, like some kind of fucking penance. Then I got the offer to join the Joint Ops program and I was chuffed about that. So I told her no. I regretted it almost immediately but didn’t get to tell her that because I was shipped off for a mission and didn’t get back for months. But the moment I’m back, I get in my truck and drive up the coast. She lives in Northern California. Found her small town. It was fucking beautiful. Right on the coast. Lots of water access. Trees. It was fucking Mayberry on the ocean. I asked around and found she was living with some other guy. I sat outside the house, saw them go into it together. Saw the lights turn off. I felt like I was living in a stupid fucking country song so I punched myself and drove back to Coronado.” He rubs a hand across the jaw as if remembering the blow. I kinda think he did punch himself and it’s not some kind of metaphorical thing. He continues, “And now? Now my life is drinking until I’m too numb to care that the only women around me who are willing to fuck are those who care more about my uniform than the man wearing it.”

I was right that he was broken but wrong about the cause.

In the silence he presses on. “I regret my decision. My career makes a cold lover at night. No one will take the place of her in my mind and I’ll never have her.”

“Jesus, Ford.”

“Yeah.”

That one word says so much. I stare at him, unable to look away from the torment in his eyes. Is this what I looked like day in and day out? As if I had lost all meaning in life and that putting one foot in front of the other was it’s own pathetic victory. He nods solemnly and places a hand on the back of my neck. Pulling me close enough that his forehead almost brushes mine, he squeezes hard as if he can somehow impart his message, if not through words, through osmosis. “Don’t become who I am. Who you were.”

“What’s that?” I don’t really have to ask but I can’t help myself.

“Dead man walking.”

The post Charlotte Chronicles – Chapter Twenty-nine appeared first on Jen Frederick.

Charlotte Chronicles – Chapter Twenty-eight

Charlotte

“You ready to go?” he asks hoarsely. His eyes are begging me to say yes. When have I ever turned him down?

“Let me run to the ladies room,” I answer.

He let’s me go reluctantly. As I move toward the short hall marked with the universal female/male bathroom cartoons, his attention is hailed by a friend.

Inside the bathroom, I quickly do my business and then wash my hands. I’m about to leave when two ladies walk in, one locks the door and the other approaches me. I recognize them as women from the table on the patio—wives of Nate’s teammates.

“So you’re the infamous letter writer,” murmurs the blonde. Her name is Patricia, if I recall it correctly. The other woman is blonde too, but her hair is a few shades darker. They look similar, like friends often do, wearing thin strapped tank tops, wedge heels and mini skirts.

I smiled self-consciously. “Yes, I am.”

Patricia reaches into her small purse and pulls out a tube of rosy lipstick. She stares at her perfect complexion in the mirror. “Your man’s refusal to welcome so many advances have been the subject of a lot of gossip.”

“Is that right?” Where she’s going with these questions isn’t clear but it’s obvious she’s got something to say and I’m not leaving the bathroom until she gets it off her chest.

“You’re childhood friends?” She asks another question.

I grind my teeth together to keep in the retort that it’s none of her goddamned business. It’s not, of course, but I want to make friends, not enemies. There’s a queen in every female group. If you slight the wrong football wife, you are dead to the entire group. The stakes are higher here because these are friends of Nate who belong to a part of his life that he’s excluded me from until now. So I’m going to make nice with this Patricia woman no matter how much I’d like to lay into her.

“Yes, Nathan, his brother, and I grew up together in Chicago.” I don’t tell her our families are almost one and that the penthouses that we called home for most of our childhood lives were connected by a hallway.

“How is it that you separated?”

“Nate joined the Navy.”

“That usually result in breakups.” She nods knowingly and the other woman joins her, like a strange silent puppet. “My daddy was career Navy.  A major.” She’s very proud of her father’s rank as if that somehow elevates her. “I’ve seen it all both the young relationships that were never going to last and the ten year marriages done in by separation. It’s real hard. I bet you told him you didn’t want him to join.”

I bristle because this woman knows nothing about me and less than nothing about Nathan and I. I’d never gotten the chance. He left before I got back from Switzerland.

“No, I never told him any thing like that.”

She purses her lips and starts applying a fresh layer, slow and measured making sure that I’m watching every movement. “Being a SEAL is a special calling. They suffer for months, undergo physical hardships that you and I can’t begin to comprehend. Their bonds to each other are deeper than families because they don’t just work together. They live each other’s lives. They are one unit and Nate is part of that. What is it that you do?”

“I’m a fixer,” I answer and then deciding I’m done with the private interrogation, I move toward the door which is blocked by Patricia’s friend whose name I can’t remember. She looks past me toward Patricia but doesn’t resist when I gently push her aside. “I’m happy that you care enough about Nate to ask these questions, but there’s no need to ambush me in the bathroom. How cliche. We’re adults and if there’s something you want to know, feel free to ask but we’re done here.”

With another small, but soft shove, I clear the door and walk out leaving a sputtering Patricia behind me. So much for placating the Queen.

As I reach the end of the hallway, I see Nate across the room. He’s smiling and talking to another man. As if he senses me, his head raises and our gazes meet. Then his smile broadens as I sense Patricia and her silent friend behind me. He is clearly delighted that I’m making friends with the wife of one of his friends. I paste on a smile for him and turn to the nosy woman. “I own my own business. I help professional athletes relocate and make their trades or signings on new teams as effortless and frictionless as possible. I meet many men and women whose lives are different and extraordinary.”

She raises her eyebrows in disdain. Patricia has made a judgment about me before I even entered the bar although I’m not sure why. “Not everyone is cut out to be a SEAL’s woman.”

Casually I respond, “I suppose that’s a special calling as well?”

My retort doesn’t phase her at all.

“Yes, it is a special calling. Not every woman can handle the months of separation. As the girlfriend or even the wife, they can’t tell you where they were or what they were doing for six months at a time. They’ll leave at a moment’s notice. You have to handle your own life and his shore life by yourself. Your air conditioner breaks down? You need to fix it. You have a leak? Get to know a plumber. Your man comes home from a mission with a used condom at the bottom of his ruck sack, you just throw that shit away because his life is so fucking stressful that sometimes he needs to let loose. You don’t let that touch you, your relationship or your kids. And you live in fear that every doorbell ring isn’t a uniformed officer at the door ready to share that the service of your man was honored.” Patricia’s nearly vibrating with emotion. The source of her unhappiness could be me but I think its the number of used condoms she’s found at the bottom of her man’s pack. Nate was faithful to me for nine years and we weren’t even together.

Her resentment over his fidelity her man’s lack of it is the root of her dislike. There’s nothing I can do about that.

“I appreciate your concern, but whether I can handle being with Nate or he can handle being with me, is solely our business.” I turn to walk away but she grabs my wrist.

“In the Navy, his home life is as much the Team’s business as anyone’s. Get used to it.”

I let her have the last word and she stalks off.

Nate strolls over then and leads me out into the fresh air. I thread my shorter fingers between his and lean into his arm. “That looked like an intense conversation.”

“Patricia was advising me that it takes a very special person to understand months of separation and silence.”

He cringes and releases my hand to cup my shoulder and draw me under the shelter of his body. “Did you tell her you already know all about that?”

“No, why would I?”

When we reach the Jeep, he turns me to face him.

“It takes a special kind of woman to keep her heart open for so long and to be willing to forgive innumerable acts of stupidity. The inability to talk about my missions will be like cake for you.”

He’s already forgotten he said he’d leave the Navy.

“I noticed that several of your teammates are not married.”

Running his hands over the goosebumps on my arms, Nate says, “Some think that they can’t serve the team and be a family man at the same time. Others believe they are too broken to have anything worth offering.” He tips my chin up with a finger. “I’m neither one of those but I’m happy to leave the TEAMs to be with you. We’ve spent too much time apart. Now that you are willing to let me back into your life, I want any scrap you will give to me.”

I want to retort that I’m not the one handing out scraps. He reappeared in my life a couple of days ago. I’m still reeling from the change and now I’m supposed to make a life decision in the span of time it takes to snap my fingers? But what’s the alternative? Not being together? I don’t want that either. Fighting with Nate is unproductive.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re sacrificing for me.”

“What’d Patricia say to you?” He shakes his head. “Is she trying to warn you off?”

“She was looking out for you. I love that you have friends that are fiercely protective.” I don’t love how she attacked me but I can appreciate the sentiment behind it, regardless of how awfully she tried to convey it.

He snorts. “It’s as much loyalty as it is someone trying to prove her dominance.”

I release a small sigh of relief. He has her number. Leaning into him, I say, “I don’t care about Patricia or her role as the Queen Bee of South Side SEALs. I only care about us.”

“Me too.” His head descends and for a time he kisses away all the thoughts of his life in San Diego and my life in Dallas and our troubled pasts. But when we climb into his jeep, my gut is churning and my chest feels tight. The words of the wife tumble inside my head even as I try to shut them out.

•••

When we get home, I cling to Nate. I run my hands over every inch of his body, trying to replace my old memories with new ones. My throat is tight and hot and I’m afraid to give voice to any of my fears as if that will give them power. When he snaps on the bedside lamp as we maneuver into his utterly bland room, I throw an arm across my face.

“No light, please,” I beg.

He pulls me down to the bed but doesn’t turn it off immediately. “What’s wrong baby?” His beautiful eyes search mine and I try to hide away my unease and uncertainty.

“I want to feel you,” I say.

“And I want to look at you.” The left side of his mouth quirks up. “I can’t get enough.”

It’s hard to turn down the plea in his eyes. The light stays on and I focus on his beautiful face. His cheekbones are more prominent, all traces of boy have been erased and replaced with intense masculinity from his forehead down the straight line of his nose to his square jaw. I’ve always found him breathtaking but as a teenager I didn’t have many points of reference.

But since then I’ve seen some of the most magnetic males with the most perfect bodies but none of them compare to Nate.

I rub an arm over the hard swell of his biceps and under the short sleeve of his t-shirt. “Fill me up,” I whisper. “Let’s make new memories.”

His eyes widen and his nostrils flare. He tears at my clothes and then struggles with his own. I laugh but the sound dies in my throat as his heavy erection springs free. Red and thick, the velvet covered steel bobs in the air as he stalks toward the bed.

“Find me funny, do you?” He says in mock anger.

“I don’t know how you walk around with that thing between your legs,” I answer primly. I fold my legs together and rest my hands in a my lap. It would be a perfectly ladylike pose if I wasn’t nude.

“Maybe we should talk a walk while you have this between your legs.”

The thought of him carrying me about the apartment impaled on his cock is pretty damn exciting. I squeeze my thighs together, an action his careful eyes don’t miss at all.

“Another time,” he promises and then spreads my closed legs apart. The gaze he runs along my body is as erotic as any caress. “If the lights were off, I won’t be able to see how pink you get everywhere.” His hands slide from my inner knees to my inner thighs until his thumbs meet at my core. “Or how very wet you become.” In agonizingly slow measures, he inches his thumbs inside me. Every part of me begins to tingle. Sucking in his lower lip, he hisses. “Or how fucking sexy you look with me inside you.”

“Or my scars?” A little self consciously I rub my finger over the scar where my port once sat receiving injections of drugs that tried hard to kill off only the bad cells and preserve the good ones.

“I love your scars.” He presses a hot open kiss against the shiny, slightly puckered skin. “It tells your story—one that involves me, the beginning of us, your survival.”

I throw my arms around him and tug him to me until I the sparse, coarse hair of his chest rubs against my sensitive breasts. My nipples tighten upon contact and my eyelids start feeling too heavy to hold open. “I love you Nathan Jackson,” I whisper.

“I love you Charlotte Randolph soon to be Jackson.” His mouth muffles any response I might have. He places light licks against my lips and resists my lures to deepen the kiss. Teasingly he nips at the corners of my mouth, my eyelids and my cheeks. His touch is tender and the love is evident in every stroke and heated whispered endearment.

His thumbs leaves my sex and his hands travel north to cup my breasts in his large palms. He holds my sensitive flesh and bends his head to suck on the peaks he’s created with his rough palms and heavy thumbs. The devoted attention he gives them sends ripples of pleasure throughout.

Gently pushing me against the bed, he takes himself in hand and slowly pushes inside me. When he enters, it feels almost as reverential as our first time. His possession of me, the ecstasy he pulls from my body is a graphic reminder of that there will never be anyone for me but Nate. Careers, geographic differences, nasty people will never be more important than being together.

He latches onto a nipple again, sucking it hard into his mouth as he thrusts all the way to the hilt. I can’t keep my cry of abandon inside. It wails above us and he responds with a deep, hoarse groan of his own.

“You okay baby?” His voice is strained as if it is difficult to give volume to each word.

“Yes, more please.” I squeeze my thighs against his hard hips and my fingers dig into his shoulders.

His strokes are slow and measured as if he is trying to discover every nerve ending with his shaft. Each movement of his body rubs against my clit, my breasts until I’m drowning in the vortex of dark sensation where there is nothing but Nathan and I and pleasure.

His mouth is wet and hot on my neck and shoulders. Then he’s kissing me again, his tongue thrusting hard as he pounds into me. I pant meaningless pleas and writhe on the cotton under my body, begging for release. My legs hook around his hips as I try to keep him deep within me.

“Open your eyes,” he commands. I hadn’t realized they were closed. His teeth are clenched and the skin is pulled taut over his cheekbones. He has never looked so commanding or so fierce. I’m helpless under his orders. Our eyes catch and I see the fire of his love and his passion—all for me. “I love you,” he shouts. “Goddamn, I love you.”

His thrusts become ragged and disjointed as he jets his release inside me. His words, his utter love for me, his hot wild release triggers my own orgasm. The friction of our bodies hurtle us over the cliff together and our mouths find each other in a messy breathless benediction of our love.

A minute, twenty, an hour? I don’t know how long we lay together in sweaty satisfaction. With my head against his chest, the reassuring and steady beat of his chest soothes me.

“Don’t worry about it Charlotte. We’ll work it out.”

He sounds so confident. How can I do anything but believe him?

The post Charlotte Chronicles – Chapter Twenty-eight appeared first on Jen Frederick.

Charlotte Chronicles – Chapter Twenty-nine

Charlotte

“You ready to go?” he asks hoarsely. His eyes are begging me to say yes. When have I ever turned him down?

“Let me run to the ladies room,” I answer.

He let’s me go reluctantly. As I move toward the short hall marked with the universal female/male bathroom cartoons, his attention is hailed by a friend.

Inside the bathroom, I quickly do my business and then wash my hands. I’m about to leave when two ladies walk in, one locks the door and the other approaches me. I recognize them as women from the table on the patio—wives of Nate’s teammates.

“So you’re the infamous letter writer,” murmurs the blonde. Her name is Patricia, if I recall it correctly. The other woman is blonde too, but her hair is a few shades darker. They look similar, like friends often do, wearing thin strapped tank tops, wedge heels and mini skirts.

I smiled self-consciously. “Yes, I am.”

Patricia reaches into her small purse and pulls out a tube of rosy lipstick. She stares at her perfect complexion in the mirror. “Your man’s refusal to welcome so many advances have been the subject of a lot of gossip.”

“Is that right?” Where she’s going with these questions isn’t clear but it’s obvious she’s got something to say and I’m not leaving the bathroom until she gets it off her chest.

“You’re childhood friends?” She asks another question.

I grind my teeth together to keep in the retort that it’s none of her goddamned business. It’s not, of course, but I want to make friends, not enemies. There’s a queen in every female group. If you slight the wrong football wife, you are dead to the entire group. The stakes are higher here because these are friends of Nate who belong to a part of his life that he’s excluded me from until now. So I’m going to make nice with this Patricia woman no matter how much I’d like to lay into her.

“Yes, Nathan, his brother, and I grew up together in Chicago.” I don’t tell her our families are almost one and that the penthouses that we called home for most of our childhood lives were connected by a hallway.

“How is it that you separated?”

“Nate joined the Navy.”

“That usually result in breakups.” She nods knowingly and the other woman joins her, like a strange silent puppet. “My daddy was career Navy.  A major.” She’s very proud of her father’s rank as if that somehow elevates her. “I’ve seen it all both the young relationships that were never going to last and the ten year marriages done in by separation. It’s real hard. I bet you told him you didn’t want him to join.”

I bristle because this woman knows nothing about me and less than nothing about Nathan and I. I’d never gotten the chance. He left before I got back from Switzerland.

“No, I never told him any thing like that.”

She purses her lips and starts applying a fresh layer, slow and measured making sure that I’m watching every movement. “Being a SEAL is a special calling. They suffer for months, undergo physical hardships that you and I can’t begin to comprehend. Their bonds to each other are deeper than families because they don’t just work together. They live each other’s lives. They are one unit and Nate is part of that. What is it that you do?”

“I’m a fixer,” I answer and then deciding I’m done with the private interrogation, I move toward the door which is blocked by Patricia’s friend whose name I can’t remember. She looks past me toward Patricia but doesn’t resist when I gently push her aside. “I’m happy that you care enough about Nate to ask these questions, but there’s no need to ambush me in the bathroom. How cliche. We’re adults and if there’s something you want to know, feel free to ask but we’re done here.”

With another small, but soft shove, I clear the door and walk out leaving a sputtering Patricia behind me. So much for placating the Queen.

As I reach the end of the hallway, I see Nate across the room. He’s smiling and talking to another man. As if he senses me, his head raises and our gazes meet. Then his smile broadens as I sense Patricia and her silent friend behind me. He is clearly delighted that I’m making friends with the wife of one of his friends. I paste on a smile for him and turn to the nosy woman. “I own my own business. I help professional athletes relocate and make their trades or signings on new teams as effortless and frictionless as possible. I meet many men and women whose lives are different and extraordinary.”

She raises her eyebrows in disdain. Patricia has made a judgment about me before I even entered the bar although I’m not sure why. “Not everyone is cut out to be a SEAL’s woman.”

Casually I respond, “I suppose that’s a special calling as well?”

My retort doesn’t phase her at all.

“Yes, it is a special calling. Not every woman can handle the months of separation. As the girlfriend or even the wife, they can’t tell you where they were or what they were doing for six months at a time. They’ll leave at a moment’s notice. You have to handle your own life and his shore life by yourself. Your air conditioner breaks down? You need to fix it. You have a leak? Get to know a plumber. Your man comes home from a mission with a used condom at the bottom of his ruck sack, you just throw that shit away because his life is so fucking stressful that sometimes he needs to let loose. You don’t let that touch you, your relationship or your kids. And you live in fear that every doorbell ring isn’t a uniformed officer at the door ready to share that the service of your man was honored.” Patricia’s nearly vibrating with emotion. The source of her unhappiness could be me but I think its the number of used condoms she’s found at the bottom of her man’s pack. Nate was faithful to me for nine years and we weren’t even together.

Her resentment over his fidelity her man’s lack of it is the root of her dislike. There’s nothing I can do about that.

“I appreciate your concern, but whether I can handle being with Nate or he can handle being with me, is solely our business.” I turn to walk away but she grabs my wrist.

“In the Navy, his home life is as much the Team’s business as anyone’s. Get used to it.”

I let her have the last word and she stalks off.

Nate strolls over then and leads me out into the fresh air. I thread my shorter fingers between his and lean into his arm. “That looked like an intense conversation.”

“Patricia was advising me that it takes a very special person to understand months of separation and silence.”

He cringes and releases my hand to cup my shoulder and draw me under the shelter of his body. “Did you tell her you already know all about that?”

“No, why would I?”

When we reach the Jeep, he turns me to face him.

“It takes a special kind of woman to keep her heart open for so long and to be willing to forgive innumerable acts of stupidity. The inability to talk about my missions will be like cake for you.”

He’s already forgotten he said he’d leave the Navy.

“I noticed that several of your teammates are not married.”

Running his hands over the goosebumps on my arms, Nate says, “Some think that they can’t serve the team and be a family man at the same time. Others believe they are too broken to have anything worth offering.” He tips my chin up with a finger. “I’m neither one of those but I’m happy to leave the TEAMs to be with you. We’ve spent too much time apart. Now that you are willing to let me back into your life, I want any scrap you will give to me.”

I want to retort that I’m not the one handing out scraps. He reappeared in my life a couple of days ago. I’m still reeling from the change and now I’m supposed to make a life decision in the span of time it takes to snap my fingers? But what’s the alternative? Not being together? I don’t want that either. Fighting with Nate is unproductive.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re sacrificing for me.”

“What’d Patricia say to you?” He shakes his head. “Is she trying to warn you off?”

“She was looking out for you. I love that you have friends that are fiercely protective.” I don’t love how she attacked me but I can appreciate the sentiment behind it, regardless of how awfully she tried to convey it.

He snorts. “It’s as much loyalty as it is someone trying to prove her dominance.”

I release a small sigh of relief. He has her number. Leaning into him, I say, “I don’t care about Patricia or her role as the Queen Bee of South Side SEALs. I only care about us.”

“Me too.” His head descends and for a time he kisses away all the thoughts of his life in San Diego and my life in Dallas and our troubled pasts. But when we climb into his jeep, my gut is churning and my chest feels tight. The words of the wife tumble inside my head even as I try to shut them out.

•••

When we get home, I cling to Nate. I run my hands over every inch of his body, trying to replace my old memories with new ones. My throat is tight and hot and I’m afraid to give voice to any of my fears as if that will give them power. When he snaps on the bedside lamp as we maneuver into his utterly bland room, I throw an arm across my face.

“No light, please,” I beg.

He pulls me down to the bed but doesn’t turn it off immediately. “What’s wrong baby?” His beautiful eyes search mine and I try to hide away my unease and uncertainty.

“I want to feel you,” I say.

“And I want to look at you.” The left side of his mouth quirks up. “I can’t get enough.”

It’s hard to turn down the plea in his eyes. The light stays on and I focus on his beautiful face. His cheekbones are more prominent, all traces of boy have been erased and replaced with intense masculinity from his forehead down the straight line of his nose to his square jaw. I’ve always found him breathtaking but as a teenager I didn’t have many points of reference.

But since then I’ve seen some of the most magnetic males with the most perfect bodies but none of them compare to Nate.

I rub an arm over the hard swell of his biceps and under the short sleeve of his t-shirt. “Fill me up,” I whisper. “Let’s make new memories.”

His eyes widen and his nostrils flare. He tears at my clothes and then struggles with his own. I laugh but the sound dies in my throat as his heavy erection springs free. Red and thick, the velvet covered steel bobs in the air as he stalks toward the bed.

“Find me funny, do you?” He says in mock anger.

“I don’t know how you walk around with that thing between your legs,” I answer primly. I fold my legs together and rest my hands in a my lap. It would be a perfectly ladylike pose if I wasn’t nude.

“Maybe we should talk a walk while you have this between your legs.”

The thought of him carrying me about the apartment impaled on his cock is pretty damn exciting. I squeeze my thighs together, an action his careful eyes don’t miss at all.

“Another time,” he promises and then spreads my closed legs apart. The gaze he runs along my body is as erotic as any caress. “If the lights were off, I won’t be able to see how pink you get everywhere.” His hands slide from my inner knees to my inner thighs until his thumbs meet at my core. “Or how very wet you become.” In agonizingly slow measures, he inches his thumbs inside me. Every part of me begins to tingle. Sucking in his lower lip, he hisses. “Or how fucking sexy you look with me inside you.”

“Or my scars?” A little self consciously I rub my finger over the scar where my port once sat receiving injections of drugs that tried hard to kill off only the bad cells and preserve the good ones.

“I love your scars.” He presses a hot open kiss against the shiny, slightly puckered skin. “It tells your story—one that involves me, the beginning of us, your survival.”

I throw my arms around him and tug him to me until I the sparse, coarse hair of his chest rubs against my sensitive breasts. My nipples tighten upon contact and my eyelids start feeling too heavy to hold open. “I love you Nathan Jackson,” I whisper.

“I love you Charlotte Randolph soon to be Jackson.” His mouth muffles any response I might have. He places light licks against my lips and resists my lures to deepen the kiss. Teasingly he nips at the corners of my mouth, my eyelids and my cheeks. His touch is tender and the love is evident in every stroke and heated whispered endearment.

His thumbs leaves my sex and his hands travel north to cup my breasts in his large palms. He holds my sensitive flesh and bends his head to suck on the peaks he’s created with his rough palms and heavy thumbs. The devoted attention he gives them sends ripples of pleasure throughout.

Gently pushing me against the bed, he takes himself in hand and slowly pushes inside me. When he enters, it feels almost as reverential as our first time. His possession of me, the ecstasy he pulls from my body is a graphic reminder of that there will never be anyone for me but Nate. Careers, geographic differences, nasty people will never be more important than being together.

He latches onto a nipple again, sucking it hard into his mouth as he thrusts all the way to the hilt. I can’t keep my cry of abandon inside. It wails above us and he responds with a deep, hoarse groan of his own.

“You okay baby?” His voice is strained as if it is difficult to give volume to each word.

“Yes, more please.” I squeeze my thighs against his hard hips and my fingers dig into his shoulders.

His strokes are slow and measured as if he is trying to discover every nerve ending with his shaft. Each movement of his body rubs against my clit, my breasts until I’m drowning in the vortex of dark sensation where there is nothing but Nathan and I and pleasure.

His mouth is wet and hot on my neck and shoulders. Then he’s kissing me again, his tongue thrusting hard as he pounds into me. I pant meaningless pleas and writhe on the cotton under my body, begging for release. My legs hook around his hips as I try to keep him deep within me.

“Open your eyes,” he commands. I hadn’t realized they were closed. His teeth are clenched and the skin is pulled taut over his cheekbones. He has never looked so commanding or so fierce. I’m helpless under his orders. Our eyes catch and I see the fire of his love and his passion—all for me. “I love you,” he shouts. “Goddamn, I love you.”

His thrusts become ragged and disjointed as he jets his release inside me. His words, his utter love for me, his hot wild release triggers my own orgasm. The friction of our bodies hurtle us over the cliff together and our mouths find each other in a messy breathless benediction of our love.

A minute, twenty, an hour? I don’t know how long we lay together in sweaty satisfaction. With my head against his chest, the reassuring and steady beat of his chest soothes me.

“Don’t worry about it Charlotte. We’ll work it out.”

He sounds so confident. How can I do anything but believe him?

The post Charlotte Chronicles – Chapter Twenty-nine appeared first on Jen Frederick.

Charlotte Chronicles – Chapter Twenty-seven

If you are new to the Charlotte Chronicles,  catch up here.

Charlotte

My clothing choices don’t give me many options for a night with a bunch of rowdy sailors. I have suits, dressy tops and slacks along with a pair of very worn denim shorts and a tank top. I opt for the denim shorts and a silk sleeveless blouse.

Nate frowns. “If you bend over I can see your ass cheeks.”

“Then I won’t bend over but I’m not wearing a suit to a bar where all your friends are hanging out.”

“I’m okay with the suit,” he offers. “Besides, if you wear those shorts, I’m going to be walking around with a semi the entire time which is okay in the apartment but frowned upon by the general public.”

I hook gold hoop earrings through my earlobes. “Bla bla bla, I can’t hear you over the blanket of paternalism that is suffocating me.”

He spins me away from the mirror and wraps his arms around me. They are tight bands, but not suffocating in spite of what I said. His eyes are glittery, a mix of need, banked jealousy, and a helluva lot of love. When his lips crash down on mine, it’s hard to stay upright. His mouth is doing things to me that spin my head and make me question every decision but ones that keep me between his legs and in the circle of his arms.

In the long years of our absence, my memories of him had become faint. I tried to hold on to them for as long as I could but things such as the motion of his hard body moving over mine and the rough but soft way he handled me were hard to conjure from the images and emotions I’d stored up in my head.

I’m still struggling with the reality of being able to touch him whenever I want. To know that the embrace is really happening. It’s his mouth trekking it’s way around my jaw, down my neck. It’s his fingers deftly undoing my blouse and dipping inside my bra to rub his rough, calloused fingers over my tender and sensitive breast. It’s his thick erection rubbing between my legs until I’m reduced to a mindless puddle of squirming want.

The shrill sound of his phone going off breaks our trance.

“Shit,” he breathes harshly.

“We’d better go.” With some reluctance I push him away and go about repairing the damage he inflicted to my makeup and clothes in about five minutes flat.

“I don’t want to go,” he whines, flicking his phone to silent. As he sits on the stool next to me, I bite my lip to keep from laughing. With his head hanging down, he looks like a sad little boy.

“If we don’t, they’re going to call all night and pretty soon they’ll show up at your door, pounding on the wood and disturbing everyone.”

“You’re right.” He stands up and runs a hand through his hair. His mussed hair and heavy lidded eyes are criminally hot. I’m not leaving the apartment until I’ve got a little armor I slick on a new coat of lipgloss and run a mascara wand through my pale eyelashes so I don’t look totally hairless around my eyes.

“If anyone should be upset, it should be me,” I say watching him through the mirror.

He screws up his face in confusion. “Upset about what?”

Still holding my mascara brush I point to his reflection. “Look at your tight t-shirt, how it shows off your big chest muscles and you aren’t even covering the bulges in your biceps. It’s like you want some girl to come over and run her hands all over your body.”

He comes up behind me and crowds me with his big body. “Is that right? Well, I’d have to tell her that if she touches me, my woman will go apeshit on her.”

“Then if anyone touches me inappropriately, I’ll knee him in the balls and then tell him my boyfriend is going to hit him so hard, he’ll be traveling back in time.”

Nate can’t suppress a laugh. Lightly swatting me on the ass, he chuckles. “All right. No more smart remarks about your shorts. For the record, my t-shirt is an extra large. This is the way it fits.”

“Are you bragging about your size?” I tease.

“Who needs to brag about this?” he shoots back cupping himself. His thick penis looks so hot in his grasp that I have to bite my cheek from moaning out loud.

Instead, I shoo him out and tell him to get dressed. When he leaves, I let out a sigh of relief. Another minute with him standing with his dick in his hand and I would’ve jumped him.

We finally get out of the apartment without ripping each other’s clothes off again, although there was a tense moment at the door when he slammed it shut, pressed my back up against it and proceeded to kiss me until I was weak kneed and he was wearing all my gloss.

I’m going to have to buy two tubes of all my favorite colors at the rate I’m reapplying my lip coloring.

Flannery’s is a self proclaimed Irish pub, not too far from the Del on the island of Coronado, a small postage stamp piece of land across the bay from San Diego. A green sign with white lettering over the entrance says “Kiss him, he’s Irish.” Nate tells me that the front of the bar is deceiving because it looks no more than about ten feet long.

The real action is in the rear, no pun intended. Nate maneuvers me through a throng of people, half of whom look like tourists and the other half military boys. You can generally tell which tribe each belongs to simply by their haircut.

Over the bar hangs what appears to be at least a couple hundred glass mugs, each with a name etched on them. “How do you get a mug?” I ask.

“You buy it.” He grins at my disappointed face. “Wanted a more romantic story? Like I had to wrestle a bear or something?”

“Close or maybe shoot an apple off the top of the head of the bartender.”

“I’m not sure Flannery’s worker’s compensation policy covers that,” he says wryly. His hand pushes me forward until we reach the patio which is twice as large as the interior of the bar.

Toward the rear of the patio and next to a small stone barricade separating Flannery’s from the street and parking lot of nearby businesses were three small square tables put together. Surrounding them are a group of men and women. As we approach nearly all the males stand. One of them looks like a young Ron Howard barely out of his Mayberry days with a smattering of freckles and wild reddish blonde hair. Next to him is a weathered face sporting the biggest grin I’ve seen on a person.

SEALs come in all sizes and shapes—tall, short, stout. Their one commonality is their superb physical state. Muscles…muscles everywhere.

I have no doubt that each one of them could break me in half without breaking a sweat. Nate and the male next to the redhead are about the tallest at a few inches over six feet. It’s easy to see why there are so many gorgeous women around including the ladies sitting at the table.

It’s not easy to walk toward such avid interest, not knowing what’s coming next.

“Why are they all standing up?” I whisper out of the side of my mouth, dragging my feet a little.

“The guys are interested in you.”

“Why?”

“My nickname is Monk. That I’ve run off on shore leave with a woman is making them crazy.” He plants a quick kiss on my forehead and pulls me forward.

By the back slapping and fist jabbing, it’s easy to see Nate is well liked. I hang back slightly to observe him. It’s no different than it was in high school. Men look up to him and want to be with him.

Actually, there is a difference. The way that they greet him is like how Nick greets him. This is his family.

He laces his fingers through mine and says, “This is Charlotte and Charlotte, these fools are my teammates.”

He introduces each one individually and I try to memorize their names. It reminds me of the times I had to meet Nick’s teammates both in college and then when he went pro.

There’s something strikingly similar between these men and the ones that Nick plays with on the weekends. Only when these men go out to do their jobs, someone’s life is on the line. The work isn’t done for entertainment but for the protection of our country.

Still, I reminded myself that these men have hopes and dreams and heartaches like anybody else. It helps me to relax but only for a moment because the interrogation begins before I even sit down.

“Tell us everything about yourself and don’t leave anything out,” orders the man named Cab.

There are a few ways to handle being the new girl in an already established crowd dominated by certain male personalities but my go to one is that I’m confident, can take a ribbing, and spew my own flavor of bullshit.

“Well, my name is Helga, err Helga Charlotte, and I am an Alpine skier. I met Nathan when he was vacationing with his family in Lake Tahoe. I was babysitting for pro golfers family while they were on holiday. I didn’t speak any English and Nate didn’t speak any German. Ultimately we were left to draw pictures for each other. We would exchange our stick figure messages for days until he left. This continued until one day I broke my hand and could no longer draw stick figures. At that point I realized I could not continue in a relationship where stick figures were our only form of communication so we drifted apart and then we discovered each other on the beach where the three of you were running. He convinced me that our stick figure romance could be revived and so here I am.”

I lift my unoccupied hand palm up as if to say that is the end of the story. Nate coughs into his free hand and then pulled out a chair for me. Across the table, there are varying expressions of confusion and disbelief.

“Helga Charlotte?” Cab’s one eyebrow is raised.

“I know, it’s a mouthful, right?”

“Your English has come a long way,” he replies.

“Thank you. I’ve worked hard on it.”

Nate’s humor is morphing into irritation. He doesn’t like to see me under attack and there’s something about Cab’s questioning or perhaps the way that he’s looking at me that is raising Nate’s hackles. He shifts and then leans forward, arms on the table. “You got a problem, buddy?”

Under the wooden table, I rub Nate’s knee to reassure him I’m okay but he’s focused on his friend and teammate across the table. They stare at each other for what seems like a long time but is likely no more than a few seconds.

The freckled boy interrupts. “So does everyone call you Helga but only Nate calls you Charlotte?”

The innocent question breaks the tension and everyone starts laughing. One of the guys cuffs the boy affectionately on the back of the head.

“What?” he asks looking around. “I was curious.” But as the others start making fun of him, calling him Howdy Doody, he gives me a wink. By playing dumb, he’s drawn their attention away. Sneaky. I am super impressed and  mouth a thank you to him.

None of this escapes Nate’s eyes. He flags down a waitress and whispers to her, “The redheaded guy in the corner? Everything’s on my tab tonight.”

With the ice broken, the conversation became easy. I admit that Nate and I were long time friends and grew up together. His arm never leaves the back of my chair and my hand never stops rubbing his knee.

“How was the golf game today?” Nate asks Cab.

Cab glares, first at Nate and then at the imposing figure at the end of the table who Nate had introduced as his commanding officer. “I hate that fucking game and you all know it. But instead of reminding me I hate it, you lure me onto the course with offers of free beer.”

“We got thrown out after fourteen holes because Cab threw the club at the clown face,” Lieutenant Sykes explains.

“I fucking hate clowns, assholes,” Cab shudders.

At my confused expression, Nate clarifies. “Mini golf.”

“It’s the devil’s game, Charlotte,” Cab says. “Never play it.”

“I swear I won’t.”

He leans across and offers his pinkie. “Pinkie promise?”

I hook my little finger with his, amazed at how it’s dwarfed as if his hands have muscles mine don’t. “Pinkie promise.”

We shake and Cab’s eyes glitter mischievously as he lets me go. “Now that we’ve bonded do we show each other our tits now or after we break out the glitter bombs?”

Nate settles his own heavy hand on the back of my neck. “The near daily sight of your breasts is why I was celibate for nine years. Don’t punish Charlotte by killing my libido once again.”

Hoots fill the air at Nate’s easy admission of his nine year drought. There’s something awesome and incredibly sexy in his openness about how he’d stayed faithful to me even though we weren’t together, even though he had thought we would never be a couple again. His confidence doesn’t flow from his crotch like so many others. There are few men who would be as unconcerned as he about not having any action for months let alone years. I’m used to men measuring their self worth by the number of hookups they have in each city.

Cab grins broadly. “How was it? As good as pissing after a long walk outside the wire?”

“If you think pissing is comparable to having sex, I’m concerned,” Nate replies. They clearly enjoy ribbing each other.

“At least I did piss on a regular basis unlike some people I know.”

I decide to break up their love fest before it turns south. “It was spectacular, Cab, if you need to know but don’t worry. He still loves you.”

“Good. Good.” He nods and winks. “He loves you too. Just remember that when he calls out my name the next time you’re getting it on.”

Nate’s hand drops from my neck to my shoulder and pulls me against him. “Cab’s sad because I was his best wingman. He no has to hang with the rest of these fools and try to prove he’s the better choice when last call is made.”

“True story,” Cab says mournfully.

After we establish that Cab is capable of closing deals without Nate helping, the conversation turns the latest crop of potential SEALs. Cab and Bride think they’re worthless but Lieutenant Sykes argues that the fail rate is no different. The argument becomes heated as Bride says that his BUD/s class was the best. Everyone jumps in, even Nate, who says that Cab and his class had the best pass rate, best water rescue performance, best rifle marks, and so on.

They keep arguing until another round is delivered and a new group of young ladies waltz in wearing barely there dresses and high heels.

“Cab, if you keep eye fucking that brunette across the room, I’m going to get pregnant,” jokes the one called Bride.

“There’s a threat to our National Security,” says a short, rough looking male whose nickname is Gonzo.

“I’m not eye fucking her,” Cab protests. He looks at me earnestly. “Ma’am we do not eye fuck. I promise you that we’re better than that.”

“Yeah?” I can tell he’s leading up to something rowdy and probably a little raunchy.

“That’s right. Because an eye fuck is an empty promise and a US Navy SEAL does not give empty promises. We deliver.”

Next to me Nate rolls his eyes but everyone else at the table laughs. “Then you best get over there and deliver your fucking or she’s going to go home and tell everyone how you were a man of looks but no action.”

Bride hoots at this and tips his beer toward me. “I like this girl.”

Nate presses a kiss to my temple and says warmly, “Not as much as me.”

We all settle in and watch as Cab sets off to reel in his fish. The camaraderie between the men is evident and it makes me happy to think of Nate surrounded by good friends these past years. As miserable as I was, I never once wished that he was unhappy.

Bride and Gonzo role play Cab’s seduction.

“Why, miss, you look parched and lonely over here. Mind if I buy you a drink?” Bride intones in a deep voice.

“My mother told me not to accept alcohol from strangers,” Gonzo adopts a high pitched falsetto.

“If you tell me your name, we won’t be strangers.”

Gonzo fake titters and we all laugh. “Ohh, it’s Tiffany.”

Across the room, Cab and the brown haired girl are talking. He points toward the parking lot.

“Tiffany, I’m thinking that they don’t serve good enough liquor here for a treasure like you. There’s another establishment not too far from here that has top shelf booze,” Bride says.

“Is that right? Hee hee,” Gonzo replies. In his normal voice, he says, “Watch as the female preens by brushing her hair from her shoulder. Watch as she draws a hand across her chest. This is the classic sign from homo sapien female in a small group setting that she is ready to be separated from the pack.”

Cab takes over. “Homo erectus is now engaged. The male stalks forward and lightly beats his chest to acknowledge being chosen. He deftly severs the connection with the other creatures and secures his prey.”

Gonzo glances at his watch. “Shit that took less than five minutes.”

Cab puts his hand palm up. “I’ll take cash. Small bills only. I’m going to the dollar store later.”

“Dollar store?” I whisper to Nate, still watching as Cab places an arm around the brown hair girl and lifts her over the cement fence running around the patio and then vaults over it with one hand.

“Strip club,” he murmurs under his breath.

The guys at the table hoot and raise their beer in salute to Cab’s success. He gives a lazy salute and then picks up the girl and jogs toward the parking lot, disappearing into the dimly lit night.

After draining his  beer, Nate rises and pulls me to my feet. “Let’s dance,” he says. Inside the bar there’s a tiny postage stamp of a dance floor made out of parquet tiles. The house band is rocking blues covers and the floor is nearly empty.

“Since when do you like dancing,” I tease because the Nate I knew never enjoyed being the center of attention. At parties, he sat down, away from the crowds but people gravitated toward him anyway.

“I don’t like dancing but I want to hold you.”

A hand on my low back presses me closer until there’s no room for even a wisp of air to pass between us. I curl my arms around his neck and bury my face in the soft cotton of his t-shirt. His one hand is splayed across my back and the other cups my head. We sway together, moving as one unit as the guitar twangs a rockabilly melody.

“Are you sure you want to leave all this?” I ask, wondering what exactly he’s giving up for me.

“Can’t stay in forever,” he answers. I’m not sure that’s a complete response but I push it aside because I don’t want to mar the night.

My heart’s so full of joy that I could stand here forever—which may be a possibility given that the floor is sticky from spilled alcohol. I release a nervous laugh which causes Nate’s arms to tighten and his low voice to rumble in my ear.

“What’s funny?”

“I was thinking how I want to dance with you forever and that we might have to because the floor’s stickier than a flytrap.”

He chuckles and the vibrations of his laughter climb into my body and swirl around filling me up. The vibrations turn to shivers and I stare at his eyes, wide eyed as my joy morphs into excitement and my happiness into desire. His grip on me is almost painful.

“You ready to go?” he asks hoarsely. His eyes are begging me to say yes. When have I ever turned him down?

The post Charlotte Chronicles – Chapter Twenty-seven appeared first on Jen Frederick.

Last Hit Reloaded

With their explosively sexy novels, the bestselling authors of Last Breath, Last Kiss, and Last Hit have proven themselves a force to be reckoned with. * Now comes an all-new to-die-for novella in their acclaimed Hitman series

There was a time when Nick loved the fear he instilled in his enemies. His tattoos alone promised danger, but it was the look in his eyes that delivered on it. A contract killer since he was just a boy, Nick has now forged a new life and a new identity with the woman who followed him, captured him, and changed him.

He terrified Daisy. Once. But she couldn t resist, and she ignored every warning. It paid off. Now she s part of a new beginning, a fresh start in America helping him to leave behind a reckless and violent past as a professional killer. But the past is never easy to outrun, especially when so much of it thrives on revenge.

A new threat has emerged from the shadows, and now Nick and Daisy have no choice but to rely on Nick s killer skills to protect them from everything they ve tried so hard to escape.

Includes a bonus excerpt from Last Kiss.

Amazon | BN | Kobo | Jen Frederick.

A Thank You note for all the blogs who helped launch Taking Control!

I’m a little behind but I wanted to take the opportunity to thank all the blogs who were involved in the launch of Taking Control. I can’t do this alone and I appreciate every minute that a blogger spends in helping me spread the word. First, thanks to Lisa at The Rock Stars of Romance for coordinating this wonderful event and second, thank you to all the bloggers out there that toil for the absolute, sheer love of books.

I had a lot of fun visiting the blog tour stops today because I love reading other reader’s opinions, no matter what they were. I feel like I can get a sense of what worked and what didn’t for some and that always gives me food for thought. Plus, the effort that you bloggers put into these reviews and posts is really mindblowing.  I appreciate and applaud you all.

Gloria from As You Wish Reviews didn’t think that Taking Control could be topped:

This is the grand finale to Tiny and Ian’s story. AND GRAND IT IS!!!

 

Lorie from Sinfully Sexy Books couldn’t wait to find out how everything would come together in Ian and Tiny’s final story.

There were some great twists and surprises in this one – things I never saw coming. I was definitely glued to my Kindle intent on not putting it down until I found out EVERYTHING

 

DeeMcGee from Booze, Bookz, and Bad Boyz thought the chemistry between Ian and Tiny was Hot!

No detail is spared and I like that a lot! Ian’s sexual appetite is insatiable and Tiny meets him stroke for stroke. But it’s not just gratuitous sex.

 

Shelley and Courtney from Must Reads Books or Die loved Tiny and Ian’s relationship.

I think what I really loved about this story was the way Ian and Tiny loved and adored each other. He was so tender and protective of her and she was so tough and protective of him; it was awesome.

 

Michelle from All Romance Reviews had some hilarious gifs to share with her glowing review.

These two just make me happy. I think about them and it’s like love defined between the pages of a book.

 

Knock Your Books Off was melted by Ian’s charming hero ways.

I just love how Ian has Tiny on a pedestal, despite her difficulties he makes her believe that there isn’t a thing she can’t do if she wants too. Yes he’s sexy and sex is a huge part of their relationship but he seems to connect with her on a whole other level and it was beautiful to read.

 

Sheena from Bad Ass Bloggettes wants more to read from Tiny and Ian.

The way Ian is described makes my drool, total HOT male and a powerful man, ticks all the right boxes as far as I am concerned.

I must admit I would love to read more of these two as I felt the story was so good they were a couple who I could follow on for more.

 

Michel from Smut Book Junkie really enjoyed both books in the series and recommends it to readers.

This book was sizzling hot. Ian and Tiny burn up the sheets. They are a sexy couple that readers will love.

Cruising Susan Reviews gave both books in the Kerr Chronicles 5 stars.

Many times there were twists that made me reel with surprise and shock. I loved never knowing what the next page would bring. Every page was something new and exciting until the very end.

 

Amanda K Byrne loved all the twists and turns within the book.

One of my favorite things about twists is when it’s entirely unexpected. There was nothing leading up to the final chapters to indicate the book would end as it did, but once it played out, I kind of wanted to smack myself on the forehead.

 

Thanks for the following blogs for shining a spotlight on Taking Control:

Cover to Cover Book Blog

Dirty Girl romance Book Blog

An Aussie Girl’s Wild Book Addiction

Pimpslapped

The Book Fairy Reviews

Summer’s Book Blog

Red’s Book Blog

My Book Chatter

The Reading Vixens

The Lusty Literate

Margay Leah Justice

We Love Kink

Gwyneirra’s Book Blog

Who You Callin’ a Book Whore

Just Booked

Sassy Divas Book Blog

TNT Reviews

Paranormal Book Club

Jodie’s W.I.N.E. List

Nancy’s Romance Reads

Sassy Girl Books

Chris Book Blog Emporium

The Hive Book Reviews

Two Unruly Girls with a Romance Book Buzz

Shayna Renee’s Spicy Reads

Teacups & Book Love

It’s a Book Affair

Trina’s Tantilising Tidbits

Nicely Phrased Book Blog

Take Books to Me

Books Books Books Blog

Twin Sisters Rockin’ Book Reviews

2 Bookaholics

Just the Stories Book Blog

Short & Sassy Book Blurbs

Deliciously Wicked Books

Becca the Bibliophile

Recommended Romance

Love Words & Books

Six Chicks and Their Books

Kristi’s Book Cellar

Eskimo Princess Book Reviews

Turner’s Antics

Scandalous Book Blog

Into the Night Book Reviews

Life, Books, and More…

Nose Stuck in a Book

Nice and Naughty Book Club

Book Divaness

iScream Books

Obsessed by Books

Book Boyfriend Hangover

The post A Thank You note for all the blogs who helped launch Taking Control! appeared first on Jen Frederick.

Charlotte Chronicles Part XLVIX

If you are new to the Charlotte Chronicles,  catch up here.

Nathan

We lie together in silence, reveling in the closeness and the mere act of holding each other. I can’t sleep but I suspect she dozes off. The thump of her heart under my hand slows and her breathing evens out. I’m too wired to sleep, too excited that she’s here in my place. There are no parents to worry about. No sickness that will separate us.

I’m content for the first time in a very long while.

She rouses later as dusk sets in. The phone on my nightstand has vibrated several times. I glanced at the screen once or twice to read the onslaught of crude texts and pictures that the assholes think are going to get me out of bed and into Flannery’s. I’ll go if she wants but I’d be fine with lying here all night and for the rest of my leave.

“Should we go?” she asks sleepily, turning onto her back. She stretches her arms above her head and the sheet drops down to reveal the tops of her breasts. I nudge the navy blue fabric down further to cup her fullness and tweak the quickly hardening nipple. “Again?” she asks, looking amused.

I dip my head and take the other nipple into my mouth so it doesn’t feel ignored. Having a mouth full of tit makes it hard to answer. I just nod.

“My spirit is willing but my body has to use the bathroom.” She taps my shoulder and when I don’t immediately release her, thumps me with a closed fist. Regretfully I release my prizes go but am gratified to see her buds are tight and dark from my attentions. The sight of them make me dive toward her but she eludes me and scampers into the bathroom down the hall.

Tucking my hands behind my head, I strain to listen for her activity. She spends a long time in the bathroom and then when the door opens, she doesn’t immediately return. The sounds from the living room indicate she is moving around. The remote is picked up and placed back down. The refrigerator door opens and my empty stomach grumbles in response.

Her footsteps become louder as she approaches.

“Why is your place so soulless?”

I rise to my elbows. She’s wearing a t-shirt that she must have found in the bathroom. I probably discarded it this morning when I was dressing. Her bare legs stick out from underneath and it hides every curve but I still love seeing her in it.

“Because you aren’t here.”

She snorts. “No really. You have no pictures up. The walls are white. The only decent pieces of furniture in here are your bed and your big television. I can’t imagine Aunt Grace didn’t want to decorate in here.”

Charlotte trails a hand along the barren wall as she moves around the room.

I squirm uncomfortably on the bed, recalling the fights I had with Mom about this place. “She’s never been here,” I confess.

“What?” Her head whips around.

“When my family comes they stay at a hotel. I go spend time with them. I fly back to Chicago. We stay at the North Shore house.” She continues to look confused. Throwing back the sheet, I push out of bed and in a stride pull her into my arms. “This isn’t my home, Charlotte. It’s just a place I sleep in between missions, training exercises, and when I’m not with my family.”

She shakes her head and laughs softly, although there’s no real humor in the sound. “God, Nate, you’re making me feel sorry for you.”

I try to lighten the mood. “You should feel sorry for me.” I bend down for her to kiss me. “So sorry that you’ll have to kiss me all over to make me feel better.”

She ducks away and avoids my mouth.

“Why did you punish yourself like this?” Her eyes spear mine and I’m caught off guard.

I start to mouth an immediate denial but then shut up. I hadn’t thought of it as punishment but as she says the word, I can’t deny it. At least in part, I had refused to allow myself to be comfortable and happy. I existed. But in another sense, I couldn’t see myself having a future without Charlotte so it didn’t make sense to do anything with the place I fed myself and rested my body. Since leaving her my life has always been off kilter. It was empty so I put no effort into creating something that would just be mockery of the real thing I could have but shunned.

“Well you can’t live like this,” she says wrapping her arms around me.

I press her body into mine with a hard arm wrapped around her shoulders and a firm hand at the small of her back. “When can you move to San Diego. We’ll buy a new place together.”

She stiffens under my grip. “Move to San Diego? My business is in Dallas.” She steps away from my embrace, frowns and pushes her hair out of her face. “How long do you plan to be a SEAL?”

Her question catches me flat footed. I drop to the side of the bed. “I don’t know. I’ve never given it any thought.”

“My business is just starting up. This is my third year. It’s a crucial time for me. I’m expanding my territories, hiring new employees. I fly all over the U.S. I’ve even got athletes overseas interested in my services along with major teams wanting to hire me to handle this transition work for them.” She thrusts her hand through her hair and begins to pace agitatedly.

“I’d quit the teams,” I hear myself say. These are words I never thought would come out of my mouth. Quit the teams? Guys hated quitting. They stayed in until a military disability kicked them out.

But the smile she returns is blinding. “Would you?”

I nod and am met with an armful of Charlotte. I grab her ass and let the momentum carry us to the mattress. My dick is hard by the time I’m horizontal. With a little maneuvering, I’m right at the entrance of her bare pussy. She’s not wearing anything at all under my shirt. I cup the back of her head with one hand and with more roughness than I’d intended, fuse our mouths together. She kisses me back without reservation. Between her legs I find that she’s ready for me, more than readyHer thighs are slick and it takes almost no effort to slide between her legs and arrow my cock inside her body.

“Nothing is more important that being with you. We want to have kids and raise them together, like our parents raised us. We’re a unit.” I grunt each word in her ear as I shove my hips upward. She cries out at the penetration. I’m abrupt because I want to stop talking about the things that could keep us apart and focus on what makes it right for us to be together. She gets the message when I slam my mouth against hers and kiss with her every ounce of need and want in me.

We touch each other feverishly. Our fucking is frenetic and soon we’re both coming. Exhausted I lie back. My legs are still dangling over the edge of the bed and the hair around her forehead is wet from sweat. Maybe hers, maybe mine. My heart is racing like a freight train and I’m not sure whether it’s fear or passion with its heavy foot on the throttle.

Quietly, I tell her. “There are two SEAL operations, one on the East Coast and another on the West Coast. I’m stationed here in San Diego. There’s been some sniffing around by the higher ups to see if I want to move to another team.”

“Another SEAL team?”

She shifts and my dick slips out of her. A stream of come follows and it wets her pussy, her thighs and down my leg. I want to cup my hand around her cunt and press all my sperm inside her so she’s pregnant with my kid. If she’s pregnant, she can’t every leave me. These thoughts are sick and wrong, but I’m not going to deny their truth. I’m tying myself to her with everything I’ve got no matter how wrong it is.

“Like a joint team such as DEVGRU or JSOC. They’re a bunch of badasses from all different branches.”

“How do you get picked for that?”

I laugh lightly because she won’t believe it. I could hardly believe it myself when I was told. “Apparently they put your picture up on a wall and people write on it whether they think you’d be a good candidate.”

“Like some fraternity?” She shakes her head in disbelief. The corners of her eyes crinkle in amusement. “Or SEAL Facebook? Like me a thousand times so I can go to the next level?”

“Yeah, it’s very scientific.”

We both laugh and I’m relieved as if we’ve conquered our first mountain together.

“And if you did something like that where would you be stationed?”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“But for the sake of argument?”

I shrug and her whole body moves with mine. “Probably Virginia.”

“Not Dallas. Not Chicago.”

“No.”

She’s silent for a long time and doubt begins to creep back in but when she speaks it’s about another fucking awful subject.  “You know whose heart we’re going to break?”

“Nick’s.” Baby brother needs to hear from me what’s going on.

“Yes.” She sighs and gets up. “Ugh I need to go to the bathroom.”

I eye her legs and the streaks of white on the insides of her thighs. “Don’t wash up on my account,” I murmur.

“Seriously Nate?”

“As a heart attack.” I can’t look away. My come all over her legs is about the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I want to take a picture of that, carry it in my sack and pull it out whenever I need to spank it on a mission…except I won’t be going on missions anymore. I push down the anxiety that thought stirs up.

“I’ll call him.”

She taps her mouth in contemplation and then nods, “I’ll make us some dinner.”

“Sure. I have about five ingredients in the refrigerator and two of them are liquid. Good luck.”

She flips me off as she exits. I pick up the phone, take a deep breath and dial. Nick picks upon the second ring.

“Big bro. You close the deal?”

“How was practice today?” I ask, avoiding his question.

“I only spent one hour in the cold bath so that’s a win.”

I frown. “Thought you were doing no touch practice with no pads.”

“Rookie clipped me.”

“Did you cut him?” The health of a starting quarterback is the foundation of every successful football team. Whenever I’ve watched Nick practice, which wasn’t often and sometimes only via videos I could find on his team’s web page, he was wearing a red pinnie that designated him as off limits.

Nick laughs. “No but he got an ass chewing from everyone from the coach to the kicker. You know it’s bad when the punter chews your ass. He’s feeling a little raw.”

“Harsh, man.” Then without any more preamble, I blurted out, “I asked her to marry me.”

Without skipping a beat, he retorts, “Are you calling me to cry about her saying no?”

“She said yes.”

There’s a long silence on the other end of the phone. Finally he exhales. “You’re going to take her away from me.”

It’s resignation not hurt that I hear. He could be hiding it but I don’t think so. We’re too close. He always knew I loved Charlotte even when I stayed away. He just didn’t understand it. “Only for a short while. I’m going to leave the teams as soon as I can. I’ll put in for separation. It’ll take maybe six months at the longest.

“What the hell man? You left for nine years because you wanted to be a SEAL and now you’re saying you’ll just up and quit? That sounds like a fucking terrible idea. What happens a year from now when you’re sitting in some suburban home looking at your stupid ass neighbors arguing about whose lawn is nicer? You’ll want to shoot yourself in the foot and you’ll start taking it out on Charlotte.”

I don’t like what I’m hearing but it’s only because he’s voicing what I’m too chickenshit to acknowledge. “What’s this all about Nick?”

His retort is hard edged. He’s speaking to me man to man and as much as I hate what’s coming out of his mouth, I swell with pride at his protectiveness over my girl.  “I love Charlotte like a sister. Never loved her any other way but she’s my best friend and other than the time I went to Notre Dame, we’ve been damn near inseparable. You’re taking my best friend away from me and you’re talking about shoving your dream under your bed like it’s an old shoe you don’t like anymore. I’ve spent a long time watching you hurt Charlotte and it’ll kill me if you do it again.”

“I know.” I can’t say more because my heart’s in my throat.

His voice is lower, hoarser because it pains him too. “I kept her safe for you. Watched over her like you asked me too.”

My head’s full of emotion too. “I know,” I choke out. “I couldn’t ask for a better brother or a better friend.”

A noise at the doorway catches me attention. I jerk toward it and see Charlotte there, still wearing my t-shirt. Her eyes are big and watery but she yells out, “I’m still going to be at all your games, you asshole, so you better play good this year. And don’t get sacked. I hate that. You hold on to the ball way too long.”

Nick bursts out laughing and then I do too. It’s going to be okay, I think. By the time I hang up, I’ve got myself convinced that I’m not even lying.

Mostly.

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