But that was probably the best thing that happened given the circumstances. Brian was a lifesaver, both literally and figuratively. He was hard-core Corps, his father and grandfather all serving before him. He was proud and he was more than willing to take on a punk-ass little shit like me. For some reason only known to him at the time, he had enlisted later in life, so he was older than me by a decade, at twenty-eight.

Later, during a particularly bad round of incoming fire in Afghanistan, he shared that he had gotten in trouble as a kid rebelling against his parents’ strict rules and ended up in jail after an aggravated assault conviction. He had recognized that look in my eye, but he had also figured out I hadn’t completely gone over to the dark side.

Brian had faced death more times in prison than I ever have while serving in the Marines. When I’m stateside, I’m as safe as your average guy. Maybe safer, since I know how to properly defend myself, with and without a weapon.

The flag retreat ceremony begins and I’m stuck outside, so I stand at parade rest since I can’t see the Stars and Stripes. I hide my smirk when I spot O’Dwyer a few clicks away. He was trying to sneak out early, but attempting to beat retreat is a risk at this time of day.

The first notes of the national anthem begin to play, and I snap to attention and salute. The entire base goes quiet; not even vehicles move. For me, this is the best part of the day. In winter, when the sun sets so early, it’s like the entire base, with permission from Mother Nature, is signaling for us to go home.

Only, I’m not sure where home is anymore. It’s certainly not Jacksonville, and it might not be Forrestville with Rowan like I planned.

Reading into Rowan’s words is proving difficult. Most of the time I ignore what she says and concentrate on what she’s saying without words: how she snuggles into me each night after we make love. How she keeps the house stocked with Butterfingers, my favorite candy. How she kisses me.

Yet, she can’t bring herself to greet me when I show up on Friday nights. I have to speak to her first. Touch her first. Everything is on me. That isn’t like Rowan. She usually gives as good as she gets. During sex, she is just as aggressive, just as amped up, and just as vocal as I am.

As soon as retreat is over, I jog over to the parking lot where I’d left my truck. Maybe it’s time to give Rowan a dose of her own medicine. Maybe that will wake her up and help her notice what’s in front of her.

Chapter 15

Rowan

Seth barely acknowledges me as he walks inside the house. Usually, he sweeps me up in his arms and carries me to the bedroom, while he alternates between dirty talk and saying how much he missed me during the week.

With each passing day, it’s getting harder and harder to resist him, and easier to trust him. For more than a month, he’s kept his word and come home to me each weekend.

“Hi, Seth,” I say as he walks completely past me, like I’m not standing there.

He throws his duffel bag onto the floor beside the recliner and then plops down in it, kicking up the footrest. “Bring me a beer, will ya, babe?”

“Okay.” I move to the kitchen and grab a beer from the selection of our favorites. I pop off the cap with a bottle opener and walk to him. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” He clicks through the stations and settles on a football game. “Holy shit. Did you see that play?”

“Yeah, but Franklin is going to get a—”

“Ten to one he gets a flag. Oh, you’ll take that bet?”

Nose wrinkling, I look at Seth. He’s talking on the phone. I cross my arms over my chest and settle down into the sofa. Such bullshit.

—

I like football games. I like watching them, either live at the Carolina Panthers’ stadium or with a group of friends at the bar. But after an eternity of Seth shouting at the screen and requesting more food and beer, I’m about to lose my mind.

“Shit, baby. This popcorn is burned to hell and back. Make me some more.” He laughs into the phone. “Right? She can overhaul an engine but can’t cook worth shit.” He mouths “Just kidding” to me, then nods at the bowl.

Jaw locking in place, I take the bowl from him…and dump the contents on his head. He jumps up, wiping at his head. “What’s wrong with you?”

I throw the plastic bowl at the recliner. It bounces harmlessly past him. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve barely spoken to me, or even know I’m here. I’m just your servant,” I spit out, “while you’re talking to some asshole I don’t even know on the phone.”

His entire demeanor changes. Gone is the cocky son of a bitch who pissed me off and in his place stands the man I’ve come to expect to show up every Friday afternoon. “Sucks, doesn’t it, Rowan? Sucks to be treated like you’re nothing—just here to answer to someone’s beck and call.”

“What?”

“You couldn’t put up with me acting exactly like you for thirty minutes. Thirty minutes. I’ve been doing this for more than a month without fail. I’ve put up with your silence and your demands.”

“You were talking crap about me to your friend,” I say, grasping at straws because I realize he’s right. Maybe I can turn this on him, and I won’t feel so bad.

He shakes his head. “It was just an act. Check my phone if you don’t believe me.”

My feet are glued to the floor. I can’t move. “I don’t—” I swallow. Apologize, Rowan. He’s right. Apologize and promise to be better. He deserves it.

But twenty-three years of abandonment stand in my way. I’ve been left alone by my father, my mother, my brother, and the boy I love. Only the boy I love came back as a man, demanding to stay in my life.

“No more, Rowan. I’m done.” He glances at his shirt and yanks it up and over his head, treating me to his hard body. His dog tags fall down against his chest and my eyes go right to it, then lower to his abs. The man has an actual eight-pack. Something most of the guys I know can only dream about because they’re too busy drinking and smoking to do more than walk from the living room to the kitchen when they’re hungry.

“Grease stains are a bitch to get out,” he mutters.

I hold out my hand. “I’ll take care of it.”

His gaze slices to me. “I don’t expect you to do laundry for me.”

“You also didn’t expect me to pour buttered popcorn all over you, either,” I point out. It’s not an apology but I’m working up to it. Reaching down, I take his bag. “Anything else you got in here to wash?”

“No.” He runs a hand over his face. “I can’t do this.”

My heart slams against my chest. “Can’t do what?”

His phone actually rings. “Shit. That’s my commander. I have to answer.” Answering the phone, he unzips his duffel while I hold it, and yanks out a pullover. A pack of papers falls to the floor, but he doesn’t see them. “This might be awhile,” he says, his black brows furrowing as he walks toward the front door. “Yes, sir, but I flew that course two days ago and saw nothing that would indicate—”

He shuts the door behind him. Bending down, I grab his papers and attempt to put them back together. The words transfer and Hawaii capture my attention. Slowly, I start from the beginning and read over everything. He is supposed to report to Kaneohe Bay, Hawaii, in three weeks.

There’s no way I’d have enough time to make a decision about this. Then again, he never told me about Hawaii. He never told me anything at all.