Crossing Abby Road Page 9

  Her reaction, how she clung to me like that, made my chest go a little tight. Her hands were small but stronger than I expected. The girl had been through a lot to have such an iron grip. I tried to memorize the feeling of each of her fingers around me, the heat coming off her palms.

  Much too soon, we made it to the base of the boardwalk, the shared walkway to the beach. Not wanting to let go of her hand just yet, I continued with the stealth. “Down,” I whispered when we reached the top of the stairs, dropping myself into a crouch. Abby obeyed like I was her commanding officer.

  I kept her close to my side while we descended the wooden stairs, our shoulders touching the whole way. I could smell her sweet shampoo, a bit stronger now under the heat of the sun. When we got to the bottom of the stairs, she halted, stopping my forward momentum.

  She was staring out at the Gulf. It was flat and blue, golden sunlight glinting off the tiny waves, stretching for miles. It was always so cool when people came to visit me here, those who were seeing the Panhandle for the first time. They never expect it to look like the Caribbean, with its white sand and crystal clear water.

  I didn’t think this was Abby’s first trip here. She knew about the name plaques on the houses, and she’d mentioned a sister, or she’d been worried about her sister’s bike.

  But her expression now. She had a longing, peaceful look in her eyes that I hadn’t seen before. Each new expression brought more questions I wanted her to answer.

  When she closed her eyes, I kept on watching her, the way her hair moved, the way her shoulders rose and fell as she breathed. How she could go from tense to calm so quickly was another mystery worth getting to the bottom of. Maybe it was some kind of hard-core meditation practice to keep her sane when she felt panicked or out of control.

  Maybe she’d teach me. I sure could’ve used that tactic last night.

  The night terrors didn’t come as often as when I’d first left the Marines, but from what I understood, thanks to the very brief military-required therapy session after my final deployment, they would never really go away. For the rest of my life, it was going to be a matter of coping with the guilt, making peace with those ghosts.

  “This reminds me of a Monet.”

  I looked at Abby when she spoke, painfully envious of the peaceful look on her face. What I’d give for just a fraction of that when I felt haunted. I did have moments of that kind of peace, mostly when I was just staring out at the water on a lazy afternoon. Those moments were what grounded me, and happened only when I felt truly happy.

  After I got my loan, lazy afternoons in my future would be non-existent. I wasn’t necessarily looking forward to that, but there was no way around it.

  “The one of his with all the water lilies,” Abby added, her voice soft and dreamlike. “I’ve always wanted to dive into that painting and just kind of”—she paused to let a quiet sigh slip between her lips—“float away.”

  She spoke like an artist, adding more questions to my list. After another moment, she glanced at me, giving me that look again—open and pretty. So peaceful.

  My fingers twitched around her hand, and I wanted to pull her in, answering one of my more specific questions about what flavor lip gloss she wore. But also another question. If she put her arms around me right now, would I feel peaceful, too? Could it somehow transfer to me?

  She blinked. Maybe she could read my mind, because my attraction was painted on my face like a damn horndog. If I was going to hang out with her, maybe get some of her Zen to latch onto me, I couldn’t do it while wanting to pounce on her every second.

  Lesson one in Scout Sniper training: everything is mind over matter. Even hormones.

  I looked out at the water, a million thoughts running through my head. I liked this girl. She was complicated, and complicated wasn’t my thing. Yeah, yeah, I was an unfettered hawk and all that crap, but I couldn’t help it—I liked her.

  I suddenly remembered something from when Sophie and I were still together. She’d been watching one of those entertainment shows on TV, and they were playing a story about a relationship Abby was in with another musician. I think he was from England, had that douchebag kind of boy band hair. The reporter compared the couple to Ike and Tina Turner. Apparently, they’d been caught in a public shouting match. This was more than a year ago. Hopefully Abby had gotten out of the situation.

  A thought dawned on me; aside from that, I had no clue about her relationship status. For all I knew, she was still with the guy. With all the blushing and arm grabs, she didn’t act like she wasn’t single. But flirting didn’t mean anything, and that was really all we’d been doing. For a second, I thought about just asking her, but then I remembered how she’d reacted when I’d asked her if she was alone today and wondering about her blatant lack of bodyguard. And she’d fired back in annoyance when I’d flat-out asked if she was single.

  So, maybe it was a touchy subject. Or maybe she was probed about that all the time by reporters and hated it. Okay, then.

  I should’ve asked Chandler about it when I’d had the chance—he would’ve known; he claimed he knew everything about her. I should’ve taken ten seconds to do a quick Google search. I had a flash of how she’d twirled the ends of her hair while grasping the dolphin statue in her fist, then another flash of when I’d caught her looking at my butt.

  Before my hand around hers caught fire, I released it, not ready to bring up the tough subjects yet. “On a clear day,” I said, crossing my arms so I wouldn’t be tempted to touch her, “you can see all the way to the South Pole.”

  “You must have really excellent eyesight,” she said, not looking at me.

  I shrugged. “Good genetics and healthy living.” I walked out to the end of the boardwalk. “You can leave your shoes here,” I added, sitting on the edge and kicking off my flip-flops. I was waiting for Abby to join me, but could tell she hadn’t moved. Hopefully that hand-holding hadn’t made her gun-shy.

  Finally, sounds of feet scuffling drew nearer, and she sat down beside me and stretched out her legs. “The sand looks like sugar.” But I barely registered what she’d said, because until now, I hadn’t noticed her shoes. They were platform sandals made of leather and cloth, with thick cloth laces that wrapped around her ankles and halfway up her calves. Damn, they were sexy. It was like a striptease to watch her unlace.

  I jumped to my feet. “Um, yeah, it does,” I said, needing to put some distance between her bare calves and me. “But it gets wicked hot.” My feet scorched the second I stepped onto the sand. “And watch out for sharp rocks.” I was a tour guide now. She must’ve been dying of lust.

  One of my favorite spots on the beach behind my house was a group of rocks. Nikki called it my mini Stonehenge. The rocks were great for blocking the wind, especially when the evening breezes picked up. But they’d also be perfect for blocking the views of curious onlookers. Abby would be safe here.

  I sat on the sand and leaned my back against one of the taller rocks. Abby took her place against the taller rock beside me. I gave myself a mental fist bump of congrats.

  “Where were you born?” she asked

  The question seemed out of left field, and so conventional. But maybe Abby was after “normal” today, too.

  “Highland Falls, New York.”

  “Was it a nice place to live?”

  I almost laughed. “Not for a kid.” I began pulling out our food from Modica’s. “My dad was stationed there at West Point. I was three when we moved. Until college, I’d never lived in the same city for more than a year or two.”

  Abby took the stack of napkins I handed her and spread them across her lap like she was preparing for a feast. “Which college?”

  Ah. The full, detailed answer to this question freaked some girls out, though I’d never been ashamed of my job with the Marines. It was necessary, and the people I took out needed to be eliminated. Freaking out Abby wasn’t something I looked forward to, but I wasn’t about to gloss over the truth.

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nbsp; “A school in Maryland,” I said, continuing to organize our food. “I finished two years ago but took some time off before getting a real job.” I shrugged. “I was a sniper in the Marine Corps.”

  Out of my peripheral vision, I saw her sit back, distancing herself from me, and she hadn’t even heard the bad stuff yet.

  “Wow, the Marines,” she said, her voice sounding purposefully restrained. “A job like that isn’t, um, well, it’s not what I’d consider time off.”

  Not the reply I’d expected. I was used to getting a more shocked reaction, or polite disinterest. Some people even asked my kill count—not a subject I ever broached with anyone outside my team. My therapist said residual guilt was normal. But there’d been nothing normal about what I’d done during that time.

  I looked at Abby, envious again of her peace, and even more envious of the old me, or even the me right now, who had time to gaze out at the ocean and chill out with a girl.

  Wondering if the subject would drop, I wordlessly passed her a fork and a bottle of water.

  “So,” she said, “is this school in Maryland you mentioned Annapolis, by any chance?”

  “Good guess.”

  “Ex Scientia Tridens.”

  Assuming I’d heard wrong, or imagined her words, I glanced up. Abby had a solemn, respectful look on her face.

  “That’s the Academy’s motto, ya know,” she said. Of course I knew. “It’s Latin for ‘From Knowledge, Seapower.’” I knew that, too, but how the hell did she? Abby smiled and tossed her hair back over both shoulders. “Navy will have a pretty decent football team this season, don’t you think?” Her voice was light and casual now, like this was a completely normal conversation for us to have. “Oh, and Semper Fidelis.” She sat up straight, arched her back, then saluted me.

  The girl looked like a damn pin-up girl from the forties. Nothing had ever been such a major turn-on.

  While begging my body to calm down, down, down, I tried to keep my expression blank, or at least keep a hold of the bemused expression that had been there two seconds before. “How do you know that?”

  Abby sat back and braced herself on her hands. “Oh, I know a lot about you Marines.” She was giving me the flirty eyes again.

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “Okay. To tell the truth, a copy of Oliver North’s autobiography was left under my hotel bed a few years ago. My Kindle died when I was overseas and no one had a replacement charger. It was the only book I had with me. For a while, I became a little obsessed with him and his service years. Before all the Iran-Contra crap, he trained Marines in Okinawa for, like, jungle combat. Isn’t that so cool?”

  Wait a minute—this was too weird. I watched her profile as she stared off toward the Gulf, holding her hair back from a gust of wind. There was no way this sexy, interesting, fascinating girl who checked out my ass and knew the USMC motto was also an aficionada of Colonel North. It was way too random, and it made her way too…perfect for me.

  I unscrewed the cap of my water but didn’t take a drink. “It wasn’t Under Fire, was it?”

  “That’s the book. He’s on the cover in his dress uniform.” She bit her lip. “So hot. I mean, for an old guy.”

  I felt my jaw unhinge, too stunned to speak again, silently wondering if my sisters had set this up as a joke. I wouldn’t put it past them.

  Abby’s eyebrows bent and she huffed out a breath. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?” I had no idea.

  “Like…” She huffed again, sounding annoyed. “Like you’re completely shocked that I know American history, or that I even know how to read. I’m not illiterate.”

  “No, it’s not that,” I said, trying not to laugh at the irony. “I read Under Fire for the first time last summer. He became a sort of hero of mine. Made me want to re-enlist.”

  Her defensive stance eased. “Once a Marine, always a Marine.”

  This girl was killing me. “Exactly,” I said, concentrating on my sandwich, though unable to ignore another piece of common ground between us. “Abby, you do realize that book is almost thirty years old? Interesting that we both read it recently.”

  Interesting. Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.

  “I know.” She smiled down at her sandwich. “I find the whole thing pretty…heroic.”

  “My experience wasn’t much like Ollie’s, unfortunately.” I formed my fingers into a pistol and fired imaginary shots at some birds flying overhead. “After boot camp and training, I spent a lot of time in the grunts, doing my job. Nothing glamorous.”

  No, nothing at all glamorous about taking someone out from fifteen hundred meters without him having a clue it was coming. Just follow your orders, Marine. Don’t waste time wondering if he has a wife or children. Those ghosts would come later, in droves.

  “Do you ever miss it?” Abby asked. She had her water bottle pressed against her cheek.

  “I’ve never really thought about it,” I said, intrigued by her question. “I guess I do miss some of it, in a way.” I grinned, remembering my trip to New York over Christmas, and Nik’s idea to rent out an entire arena and pack it with our family and friends. “But I get my fix every once in a while. I love ambushing my dad at paintball.” I laughed, picturing Dad’s face when I’d jumped out of nowhere.

  “I was three semesters away from getting my degree,” she said.

  “You went to college?” I asked, passing Abby her turkey sandwich. She set it on her leg.

  “You sound surprised again.”

  “I’m not,” I said. “Besides how you like dolphins and how you’re willing to take down anyone who comes between you and your red currant jam, I don’t know much about you. For all I know, you’re a child musical prodigy and you’ve been home schooled your whole life.” I took a bite of my sandwich, and when Abby still didn’t follow suit, I said, “Before I say anything more, will you do me a favor?” I glanced at the untouched sandwich on her lap. “Eat.”

  She lifted it to her mouth and took a bite. I was sure even the oil rigs anchored off the coastline heard the moan that escaped her lips. She took another bite, eyes closed this time. Another moan of sheer pleasure. Jeez, if she got this turned on by a sandwich…

  I leaned back and watched for a while, entranced by the movements of her mouth and tongue, her throat, and the noises she made when she was particularly gratified.

  “Enjoying yourself?”

  Her eyes opened and she laughed, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

  Moments like now—when she revealed genuine bits of the real her—reminded me that I had to be with her today, for every second that I could, and those seconds were counting down way too fast. Chandler had already texted like I’d asked, reminding me.

  I tried to push away the heavy feeling that weighed on my chest when I thought about leaving her, and the equally heavy feeling knowing this might be the last time I’d get to just sit around like this and really take in my surroundings, the beach, the blue water and sky, all the sounds and smells…all the kick-ass reasons I’d chosen to live in Seaside in the first place.

  Abby kept eating until nearly half was gone, which was impressive because Modica’s sandwiches were huge.

  “So, your college days?” I asked, going back to my own food.

  “Yeah,” she said, her mouth full. Messy but charming. “I liked it at the time, my classes and labs. I was going for a degree in fine arts, but didn’t know what I wanted to do with it—probably painting or drawing. Maybe teaching. Math was my strong subject, though. Those long algebraic equations came really easily.” She took another bite and chewed slowly. “It was never my intention to drop out of school like I did. I guess I really didn’t have a choice back then, since the career stuff happened so fast.” She looked out at the waves. “I wonder sometimes if that was a mistake.”

  This new regret behind her eyes was also weighing on me a little. She had to know she wasn’t different, that we all screwed up when pla
nning our futures. “Don’t even get me started about regrets,” I said.

  “You have regrets?” She laughed sarcastically. “Your life seems pretty perfect to me. I mean, hello, look where you live.” She pointed out at the water, just as a pair of jet skiers whizzed by, catching major air as they crested the waves. I could hear their laughs and whoops carried by the wind.

  My chest hurt again. Yes, the life I was living was damn near perfect. But it was all about to change. “You make it sound like your life is over,” I said, trying to spin the conversation back to her. “I’ve made plenty of mistakes.”

  “At least you get to make decisions on your own and you don’t have to run everything by a freaking committee.”

  “I’m not that free,” I admitted. “I’ve got this”—I paused and rubbed my jaw—“this thing I’m supposed to do for work. It’s a big damn deal, and a good thing, but it’s been weighing on me for the last, I don’t know, hour, I guess. Which is really weird. Not like me at all.”

  Abby’s forehead wrinkled, and she lowered her sandwich. “What is it?”

  I shook my head and drew a line in the sand with my finger. “Doesn’t matter, but it’s making me take stock.” I paused to laugh. “Hell, it makes me sound ancient to say I’m ‘taking stock of my life,’ but I guess I am. There’s a lot riding on this, and my father’s involved—which is great, but, I don’t know…” Maybe subconsciously, I rubbed a hand over that place on my chest that hurt. “I guess I’m feeling all the pressure that’s coming.”

  “Pressure sucks.”

  I looked at her. Yeah, she should know about pressure. And then I glanced down at my lap where my free hand had been balling up a stack of napkins in my fist, squeezing the hell out of them. I hadn’t even noticed. I released my fist and exhaled.

  “I’ve never been very good at dealing with pressure,” Abby continued. “I just kind of ignore it until I explode.” She fluttered her eyelashes at me. “It’s very attractive.”

  I chuckled. “I’m sure it is.”