Closer to the Edge Page 4

  My decision made, I head down the hall in the direction of the noise. The first door I come to is cracked open, so I push against it with the palm of my free hand. The door gets stuck against something on the floor and, looking down, I see a pair of crutches blocking it from opening fully. I use the toe of my Nikes to move them out of the way, the door opening wide once the obstructions are gone.

  “Holy shit.”

  My head jerks up at the sound of that voice, a voice that is clear as a bell and achingly familiar without the obscurity provided by layers of wood and drywall.

  This can’t be happening. This isn’t real, I must still be dreaming.

  My bag and the box of donuts slip from under my arm, a blood pressure cuff, stethoscope, a pile of other medical supplies and a dozen donuts scattering at my feet as I stare at the man sitting on the floor with his back leaning against the bed.

  I can see his lips moving, but I don’t hear a single word he’s saying. I can’t even tell if I’m screaming out loud or if it’s just in my head. The only thing I know is that I need to get the hell out of here right now.

  Without a word, I back out of the room, turn and walk blindly down the hall and away from the man who has occupied both my dreams and nightmares for the last year.

  “WELCOME HOME, BROTHER. How’s the knee?”

  I try not to curse when my friend Austin asks about my knee. I’m so damn tired of people asking how my knee is. It was shot off in the Dominican, how the fuck do you think it is?

  “It’s great, everything is great,” I reply, trying to hold the phone against my ear as I lean over the side of the bed to grab the set of crutches resting against the nightstand.

  “I’m glad you made it back. Jesus, I feel like I haven’t talked to you in a year. Oh, wait. I haven’t,” Austin deadpans.

  Right when my fingertip manages to reach a crutch, it tips over and lands on the floor, way out of my reach.

  “MOTHERFUCKER!” I shout in irritation.

  Austin laughs. “Dude, I was just kidding.”

  “Not you, my damn crutch just fell over and now I can’t reach it.”

  It was really nice of Caroline to stop by again last night and help me get into bed, but she could have at least put my crutches on the bed next to me.

  “How did the debrief go when you got back to the states? Captain Risner was tight-lipped about the whole thing. You aren’t in any trouble for the mess you made of Fernandez’s face, are you?”

  After I passed out in the abandoned house in the Dominican, Hoss hauled me back to the extraction point and I was airlifted to Centro Medico University Hospital in Santo Domingo. They managed to remove the bullet and stabilize my knee so I was able to travel back to the states. I was a little nervous that they’d bring me to UC San Diego here in California since that’s where I live and my parents pretty much run the place. I definitely didn’t want my first interaction with Olivia to be while I was laid out on a hospital bed, teetering in and out of consciousness and fucked up on morphine. Thankfully, due to the confidentiality of the mission, they took me right to Walter Reed in D.C.

  “You know how it goes. One of his men turned on him and made that mess, not me,” I inform Austin.

  When you’re a Navy SEAL, a lot of the shit that happens during a mission never makes it into the final reports, especially when you’re doing something that wasn’t officially sanctioned by the military.

  Like going after a former president’s brother for killing your best friends.

  “I figured as much, otherwise I’d be talking to you while you spent time in the brig, being someone’s bitch,” Austin laughs, mentioning the US Navy jail where soldiers go for dishonorable conduct.

  “Nope, after I had my second surgery in D.C., the guys from Joint Special Ops Command set up camp in my hospital room. I spent eight hours going through the whole bullshit of telling them what actually happened so they could make up a believable story to go in the final report,” I explained. “The new head of the Dominican isn’t putting up a fight about it. He’s still trying to clean up the mess the first Fernandez left behind and doesn’t need any more bad press for the country.”

  Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, the foot of my bad leg bumps into the lone crutch still standing and sends it toppling over next to the other one on the floor. While Austin talks my ear off about what’s been going on in his life since I last spoke to him almost a year ago, I grit my teeth and lower myself to the floor. Once I’m down there, though, I quickly realize my error. There’s no fucking way I’m going to be able to get back up, crutches or not.

  I cut Austin off in the middle of some story about his girlfriend Gwen and something “cute” her daughter did the night before. “Man, I gotta go. My nurse is going to be here soon.”

  I don’t tell him that listening to him ramble on and on about his new family and how in love he is just makes me feel like the biggest asshole on the planet. I could have had that for myself. I did have it for myself and I threw it all away.

  “Ooooh, is she hot? You should make her give you a sponge bath,” Austin informs me.

  “You’re an asshole. If she’s anything like the last two, she’s going to be pushy and annoying and she’ll probably leave here crying after I tell her to stop hovering.”

  I hang up on Austin, cutting him off in the middle of some bullshit about Gwen and a sexy nurse costume, and toss my cell phone up onto the nightstand. Leaning over, I grab my crutches and stare at them helplessly, hating that I have to depend on someone else to do the simplest of tasks—like hauling my ass off the fucking floor. With a loud shout, I throw the crutches across the room, where they slam into the door, knocking the painting hanging on the wall beside it to the floor with a crash.

  Throwing my head back against the edge of the bed, I close my eyes and think about a time when I wasn’t some weak asshole who needed help with every little thing, when I was a cocky son of a bitch doing whatever I could to bury the bad memories and have a good life.

  “I can’t believe you set me up,” I complained to Parker as we stood in the living room of her and Garrett’s new home, speaking in hushed voices.

  Parker invited me over for dinner under the guise of checking out the new house they just purchased in Midtown San Diego. I should have known something was up when I saw the unfamiliar car in the driveway.

  “Stop being such a bitch,” Parker bit back with a roll of her eyes. “Olivia is really sweet, she’s got a great personality and she’s single.”

  “You do realize what ‘great personality’ means to a guy, right? Come on, be honest. She’s a dog, isn’t she?”

  Parker smacked me in the arm. “She was my nurse when I was in the hospital in D.C. and she kicked my ass and got me to stop feeling sorry for myself. She’s just here visiting for the weekend, but I’m trying to convince her to move to San Diego. She doesn’t have any family, I miss her and I want her close. Play nice and don’t fuck this up.”

  Before I could argue with Parker about how I didn’t need to be set up with anyone, especially someone ‘sweet with a great personality,’ I heard voices coming from the kitchen.

  “Olivia wanted to talk to Garrett for a few minutes alone,” Parker said in explanation with a shrug.

  I left Parker in the living room and headed towards the back of the house. I was happy that my friends had managed to overcome so much bullshit and find happiness together. As I walked through the house, past pictures of the two of them hanging on the walls, I was only slightly jealous that I didn’t have someone to come home to. I wasn’t in the market for a relationship, though. I had too much baggage, too many nightmares and nothing to give another person. I’d left everything I had bleeding to death on the ground in the Dominican a few months ago, and it would take a strong woman, someone who probably didn’t even exist, to pull me out of my funk and get me to have a normal life like the one Parker and Garrett were living. One with a nice house, a picket fence and a baby on the way.


  I pushed those thoughts aside as I made it to the kitchen doorway, peering inside the room to see the back of a woman with long black hair, facing down Garrett with her hands on her hips. She was almost as tall as Garrett, with a great ass that I couldn’t help staring at.

  “I don’t care if you are a Navy SEAL, if you hurt her again, I will hunt you down like a rabid dog and kick your sorry ass.”

  Her soft, smooth voice carried just enough edge that I kind of wanted to cover my dick with my hands in a show of sympathy for Garrett. Wearing jeans that hugged every curve and a pair of tall, spiked heel boots, I had a feeling that Garrett’s balls and one of those pointy toes would become intimately acquainted if he said one wrong word.

  “Parker is like a sister to me,” Olivia continued. “She finally looks and sounds happy and you better keep her that way or you’re going to have to deal with me. I know how to use a scalpel, so don’t piss me off.”

  My sudden laughter announced my presence. Garrett’s eyes met mine and he mouthed a silent ‘Thank you, God’ for saving him from sudden death by pissed off chick.

  And then, the pissed off chick in question turned around to face me, causing my heart to thunder in my chest and my dick to stir to life inside my jeans. To say she was beautiful was the biggest fucking understatement in the world. Long, wavy black hair framed her face and hung down over one shoulder, leaving the other one bare to my roving eyes. She wore some type of off-the shoulder, long-sleeved shirt and my hands itched to touch the naked, olive-toned skin on display.

  Her gorgeous, bright blue eyes narrowed and bore into me, indicating her obvious displeasure at having been interrupted. I knew I was standing there like a slack-jawed moron, but I couldn’t help it. All my life, I’d been drawn to skinny, pale blondes, women with very little substance who were both easy and eager to please and effortless to walk away from. Every shitty relationship and quick fuck had been with the same type of recycled woman, so much alike that they could’ve been interchangeable. Looking back, I clearly had a type, and obviously that type was the wrong fucking choice. I should have been looking for an exotic beauty like the one standing in front of me, all tanned skin and mouthwatering curves. As I stared down at tits that were clearly more than a handful, judging by the way they strained against her shirt when she crossed her arms underneath them, my goddess rolled her striking eyes and tapped her foot in irritation.

  “Olivia, this is my friend Cole. Cole, Olivia,” Garrett introduced, walking around Olivia and heading towards the doorway where I stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go tell Parker how much I love her.”

  Garrett smacked me on the shoulder as he walked by.

  “Good luck, buddy,” he whispered before heading off in search of Parker, most likely to grovel at her feet and spare himself the wrath of the woman standing in front of me.

  When we were finally alone, I watched Olivia’s tongue dart out to wet her perfect, full lips as I struggled to remember how to speak.

  “So, you’re Olivia,” I finally said, realizing I sounded like a complete idiot but unable to do a damn thing about it.

  “And you’re Cole,” she replied, the honeyed sound of her voice masking the irritation on her face. “Just so you know, I had nothing to do with this asinine set-up.”

  I nodded and laughed. “Duly noted.”

  “Also, I work at a hospital in DC. I’m surrounded by arrogant military men on a daily basis who think that a charming smile and a snap of their fingers will get them in my pants.”

  I tried to hide my smile, but it was no use. I wasn’t about to snap my fingers or anything demeaning like that, but I was sure as hell thinking about how I could use my charm to the best of my ability to ensure her clothes ended up on my bedroom floor tonight.

  “Lucky for you, I’m retired from the military,” I told her, folding my arms across my chest, mimicking her pose.

  I caught her giving me a quick, top to toe inspection and made sure to flex the muscles in my arms and chest just a bit, the corner of my mouth tilting up in a satisfied smirk as I watched her tongue dart out to wet her lips again.

  “Still not interested,” she replied immediately.

  She was lying. I’d just met this woman, but I was a Navy SEAL, trained to pick up on the subtle signs someone gives when they aren’t telling the truth: the way she avoided my eyes when she said she wasn’t interested, how her throat flexed with each swallow she took, indicating anxiety and dryness in the mouth, and how the pointer finger on her left hand nervously tapped over and over against her arm

  Her beauty immediately turned me on, but that feigned, aloof indifference was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Women found me attractive and I’d never had a hard time finding someone to warm my bed. It’s cocky, but it’s true. I’ve never chased a woman, but I willingly admitted that I’d chase this one for as long as it took. There was something about Olivia that was unlike any woman I’d ever met, aside from the obvious in the looks department. She wasn’t afraid to threaten a hard-assed SEAL like Garrett and she didn’t hesitate to put me in my place, even if she was lying.

  “It’s okay, I’m not interested either,” I lied right back with a nonchalant shrug of my shoulders. “Let’s just get through this dinner, humor Garrett and Parker and then we can go our separate ways.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise and I’m absolutely certain she didn’t expect that to come out of my mouth. Shit, I didn’t expect to say something like that either, but I quickly realized it was the right move. Her arms relaxed at her sides and, even though I could still see the wariness in her eyes, at least she’d loosened up a little.

  I had no intention of going anywhere without Olivia, but she didn’t need to know that right now. I was going to have fun chasing this one and when I finally caught her, I knew it would be that much sweeter.

  A creaking sound jolts me out of my stupor and I shake off the remnants of my daydream of the day Olivia and I met. Since Parker was pregnant and not drinking and Garrett stayed sober in sympathy for her, Olivia and I finished off every bit of alcohol they had in the house over dinner. We left our cars in their driveway and shared a cab back to Olivia’s hotel. As we ripped off each other’s clothes as soon as the door to her room closed, she informed me that this was a one-time thing and what happened in San Diego, stayed in San Diego. I was a little shocked when I woke up alone the next morning and realized she was serious. She’d checked out while I slept and went back to D.C. without so much as a note saying good-bye.

  It took weeks of phone calls, text messages and a few impromptu trips out to D.C., showing up at her place of employment and shocking the hell out of her with my dedication, but I eventually wore her down and convinced her to give me a chance. Two months after we met, she was packing up her things and moving to San Diego. She claimed it was to be closer to Parker and I let her hold onto that belief for a little while. When she was spending more time in my bed than hanging out with her friend, I finally made her admit that I’d gotten under her skin.

  A month after that, we bought a house down the street from Garrett and Parker in Midtown and, for the next eighteen months, I thought my life was damn near perfect.

  I watch as the toe of a tennis shoe pokes through the sliver of an opening in my bedroom door, nudging my crutches out of the way. Barricade removed, the door swings open and suddenly, like something right out my fucking dreams, she’s standing there in front of me. I blink several times so I’m certain of what I’m seeing. Her blue eyes shine against the scrubs she’s wearing and I have a clear view of her gorgeous face, her hair pulled back from it. I don’t know what she’s doing here and, right now, I don’t care. I don’t care that I’m going to need her help to get off of the floor, I don’t even care that she’s going to see me at my weakest. After a year without her, seeing her again feels like I’m breathing for the first time. She’s my air, my life and my heart. Why in the fuck did I ever leave her?

  I MAKE IT out the front door before I hear
him call my name. Just the sound of his voice makes a lump form in my throat, and I angrily squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to let the tears fall. I’ve shed enough tears for Cole Vargas; he doesn’t deserve any more.

  When I hear my name again, the anguish and pain in his voice as it travels down the hall and out the open front door makes my footsteps falter. Even though the sight of him completely blindsided me and I want to scream and punch something, I’m still a nurse. He’s on the ground and his crutches are halfway across the room. I don’t know what happened to him while he was gone and I don’t care, but I can’t ignore the fact that he’s injured and needs my help. No matter how much I want to get in my car and drive as far away from him as possible, I can’t. The professional side of me won’t let that happen.

  Scrubbing my hands down my face, I take a few calming breaths. I’ll go back in there, help him get up and then I’m out of here. I’ll call the agency and tell them to find him a new nurse because there is no way in hell I’m doing this job.

  A stab of guilt rushes through me when I think about all of the strings Garrett pulled to get me this job. He’ll understand. He has to understand. Garrett was there during my darkest hours. He knows firsthand the pain I went through after Cole left and there’s no way he’d want me anywhere near him knowing how hard I’ve fought to forget.

  I feel the depression and grief that usually accompany thoughts of Cole wrapping around my heart and squeezing the fight out of me. I know I can’t go back to that, my sanity won’t allow it, so I push the darkness and sorrow aside and allow my anger to take over instead. I allow myself a moment with my memories—the ones that consumed my life for so many months, leaving me a broken mess—before I channel all of that emotion into rage towards the man who caused every bit of my heartache. The man who sits on the floor of his bedroom, still calling out to me.

  Lifting my chin, I turn and march back into the house and down the hall. He’s still propped up against the bed, exactly where I left him. I refuse to look at his face as I step over the spilled donuts and my bag of medical supplies.