Then There Was You (Twist of Fate) Page 9

  I take a deep breath and count to five before letting it out in a rush. Focusing on a bird taking flight from the high tree top across the parking lot, I allow it to calm me down even more.

  “No. I, uh, think I’m just going to head home and maybe start packing up some of his stuff.”

  “Peanut,” my dad says, approaching me with concern in his eyes. “That can wait until tomorrow. Your mother’s right you need to eat something.”

  Xander steps up to my side then and wraps an arm around my shoulders in a side hug, pressing his lips to the side of my head. “How about we go get a drink and meet your parents back at the house?”

  I relax into his side a little more and nod my agreement. I look over at my parents just in time to see them exchange a look before my dad pulls out his keys and says they’ll meet us back at the house in a couple of hours. Xander and I stay standing just as we are until their car turns out of the lot and then disappears down the street.

  “I can’t believe they didn’t come,” I whisper, turning into him for a proper hug. My cheek pressing against his hard chest.

  He lets out a harsh breath, his arms wrapping tightly around my back. “I can. Mom and Dad… they’ve changed since Jack joined the navy.”

  I tighten my grip around him when I feel his breath hitch, reassuring him that I’m here but giving him time to feel whatever it is he’s feeling. After all, Jack was his brother.

  “C’mon,” he says, stepping out of the embrace and tugging my arm towards his truck. “I feel like getting drunk and there’s a good bar not too far from here.”

  “But, you’re driving,” I say, climbing into the passenger seat.

  “Yeah, but we can call an Uber or whatever. I think we can both use a couple of drinks… or more,” he adds under his breath as the engine roars to life.

  “Just don’t let me anywhere near vodka,” I say and Xander laughs, nodding his head. No doubt remembering that one time in high school when he was a senior while Jack and I were sophomores and how we showed up to a house party and I got absolutely hammered on vodka.

  As soon as we remember what we just came from, we both sober up fast, our smiles slipping from our lips like they were never there. I slump back in the seat and slide down a bit. What is wrong with me? We just left my husband’s funeral and here I am laughing about old memories with his older brother.

  “Hey.” Xander places a reassuring hand on my knee, removing it a second later. “It’s okay,” he says, swallowing hard. His eyes are still trained on the road ahead of him as he drives us to the bar. “Jack would’ve wanted us to remember the good times.”

  Maybe, but I still feel guilty. Why should I be able to remember the good moments when he isn’t here to remember them with us? There are so many other bad people out there, people who deserve to die. Jack didn’t deserve to die.

  As Xander pulls into the parking lot of the pub, I realize that I’m still angry at Jack for signing up for a career that put his life in danger constantly and for people he didn’t know. For people who didn’t appreciate the men and women in the military.

  The pub is dark when we enter. A large wooden bar takes up the entire left side. There are three small steps leading down to another level with four booths against one wall and a fireplace against the other. On the same level as the bar are several high-top tables and chairs. There are a few patrons seated in a booth and a couple at the bar but, other than that, it’s a pretty slow afternoon.

  The bartender motions for us to choose our own seats and Xander leads us to a booth in the corner, away from the other bar-goers. When we’re settled in our seats, Xander orders two of the shot samplers. I have no idea which shots it comes with, but I trust him… at least when it comes to alcohol. Either way, I know I’m safe with Xander and he’ll get me home safely. But also, I’m a little afraid to ask what kind of shots those samplers come with.

  “Did Jack ever tell you about the time I almost broke his arm?”

  “What?” I ask, shocked. “No, he never mentioned anything like that.”

  Xander nods, a sad smile pulling at his lips as he plays with the little candle in the middle of the table. “Can’t remember what we were arguing about. All I remember is that he made me so mad, I chased him up to his bedroom and pushed him into the wall. I grabbed hold of his arm, pulled it against his back, and tried to push it up as far as it could go. Man, he screamed so loud. If Mom hadn’t been home, I probably wouldn’t have stopped until it snapped.” A pained look crosses his face and his Adam’s apple bobs when he averts his gaze to the big fireplace across the room.

  Our waitress picks this time to drop off our samplers. A paddle board of six shots is placed in front of Xander and then a second is placed in front of me. As soon as I get a good look at the various shots, I’m not so sure anymore if I trust Xander with choosing the alcohol. Is that? I peer down closer to the one of the shots in the middle to get a better look. That is cinnamon.

  I don’t notice the waitress leaving but then Xander nudges my foot under the table and when I snap my eyes up at him from the shot, he’s holding one of the end ones in his hand. The liquid inside a weird mix of blue and purple. It looks like a mini lava lamp.

  Xander raises the glass. “To Jack,” he says.

  I hold up the matching one from my board and clink glasses with him, whispering, “To Jack.”

  Then we’re both slamming back the shot. I wince at the immediate bitter taste, but then it changes to something sweeter and it is actually not that bad. I find out later that that particular shot is called a Pornstar, and I’m not even going to begin wondering why someone would name a drink that. Nope, don’t want to know. Not at all.

  Xander and I continue working our way down our boards while retelling stories about Jack. Note to self, the shot with the cinnamon sprinkled on top is called an Apple Pie and it is so fucking good. I make Xander order me a couple more of those and when our waitress brings them over, I hand the rest of the shots on my board to Xander, perfectly content with doing Apple Pie shots for the rest of the night.

  Right around the seventh… or eighth shot, I’m not really sure which, Xander’s phone begins to ring non-stop. We both freeze when my mom’s number appears on the screen.

  “Shit,” he says.

  I giggle. “I guess we should probably call that Uber now.”

  While Xander settles our bill up at the bar, I put in a request for an Uber and am surprised when one pops up just around the corner from the bar we’re in. I stumble a little after sliding out from the bench seat and have to shoot a hand out on the table to help steady myself, but then Xander is right there beside me and we lean on each other as we make our way out into the parking lot.

  “Thank you for today,” I say to him. My head resting on his shoulder.

  “Don’t thank me. We both needed it. Jack would’ve liked it better than that funeral at the church.”

  I snort. “Jack would’ve hated being in that church.”

  Jack believed in God, he prayed regularly, but he hated how judgmental the Church was. Especially the Catholic Church. He couldn’t reconcile his belief that everyone should be treated as equals regardless of race, gender, sexuality, etc. with what the Church preached about homosexuality being a sin. Especially when one of his best friends came out after we graduated high school. He hated that so-called Christians preached about God being the only one who can judge but then turning around and then judging people who didn’t conform to their beliefs of right and wrong. I tended to agree with him. I believe in God too, but I couldn’t care less about someone’s race, gender, or sexuality. It’s not my place to judge anyone, especially since I’m not without my own sins.

  “Yeah,” Xander says, laying his head on top of mine. “He would’ve.”

  We thank the driver when he drops us off outside the house I shared with Jack, then we both pause just before the front door. Xander and I glance at each other and then burst into a fit of laughter at feeling like we’re teenager
s again, coming home drunk from a house party.

  God, I needed this so much. Xander reaches over and squeezes my hand in his as he pushes open the front door. A wave of warmth washes over me and I pray that Xander will continue to come around even now that Jack’s gone. I couldn’t bear to lose both Carter brothers.

  * * *

  I probably had too many glasses of wine and passed out on the couch because there’s no way that my husband is still alive. But when he says my name in that voice that sounds familiar, with worry blurring the edges, I start to wonder if maybe this is all very real. And when he reaches out just as my eyes roll back in my head and my body collides with his very not-ghost-like body, I know it’s not a dream.

  Fate couldn’t be so cruel to have ripped him away from me only to deliver him back when I had finally begun to move on. When I had just given my heart and my body to someone else. Could it?

  Standing there, looking as alive as ever is Jackson Carter… my husband. My husband who I had buried two years earlier.

  “Annika.” Jack’s voice is gentle, his fingers grazing down my arm until he slips his hand in mine. “Annika,” he says again, this time his voice sounds so close to my ear, like he’s pulled me into his arms.

  He lets go of my hand to wrap his arm around my waist, his other coming up to cup my face, his thumb running lightly over my parted lips. “I forgot how beautiful you are,” he whispers, his lips brushing over mine, but he doesn’t kiss me. “God, I love you so much,” he says, right before capturing my lips in a kiss.

  “Annika!” His voice sounds panicked now. I move to pull away from him but when I open my eyes, we aren’t standing toe-to-toe like we were. I’m lying on my back on the couch while Jack sits on the edge, the back of his hand resting against my forehead like he’s checking my temperature.

  It’s at that moment I realize that while opening my front door to discover Jack on the other side wasn’t a dream, kissing him; however, had been. I groan, bracing my hands on either side of me and try to sit up.

  “Easy,” he says and grips my arm to help steady me until I’m able to sit up on my own.

  “Jack?” My voice comes out hoarse, like I haven’t drank anything in days.

  “Here,” another voice says behind Jack before a glass of cold water is thrust into my hand. My brows furrow as I try to remember what the fuck is happening.

  I look to Jack, still not computing how he’s kneeling in front of me right now, and then over his shoulder to the person the other voice belongs to. Nate.

  “What…” I clear my throat and take another drink of the cool water, trying to wrap my brain around what I’m seeing.

  “You fainted, babe,” Jack says, running a hand up and down my thigh.

  My eyes snap to Nate when a low growl sounds from his side of the room. I don’t even think he’s aware that he’s growling like a wolf because his gaze is securely fixed on Jack’s hand skimming up and down my bare skin.

  This is all too much. I place the glass as calmly as I can on the side table and push up from the couch, effectively disconnecting Jack’s hand from my body.

  “You-” I begin, pointing at Jack but my eyes keep bouncing between him and Nate, hoping my boyfriend will be able to fill me in on what the heck’s going on. That’s a foolish thought on my part though. Almost laughable, really. Looking to my boyfriend to fill me in on why my husband is now pushing himself up from his knees and standing in front of me.

  “Nika, who is this?” Nate asks, arms crossed over his chest as he stares Jack down.

  “I’m her husband.”

  “No.” I shake my head, trying to make the pieces fit. “You’re dead.” I motion widely between us. “We’re not… You’re not… I’m-” I try to swallow down the burn from the tears threatening to spill.

  Nate’s eyes bounce between me and Jack, but he doesn’t say anything. His body goes from seemingly relaxed before Jack showed up to rigid in the blink of an eye.

  “Fok,” he mumbles under his breath.

  I want so badly to go over to him and feel the security of his arms wrap around me while he reassures me that everything is going to be okay, but I don’t. I fight the urge and keep my feet firmly rooted to my spot in the middle of the living room.

  “They told you I was dead?” Jack asks, a frown decorating his face.

  I nod, still at a loss for words for what exactly is going on. I mean, I have a pretty good idea and I know my eyes aren’t deceiving me. My husband is one-hundred-percent standing in front of me and alive as ever, but my brain is still having trouble catching up and trying to figure out how exactly this is possible. His teammate, Caleb, even believes him to be dead. Unless. No. Cal wouldn’t lie to me, would he?

  Jack’s hands curl into fists at his side, his lips working between his teeth as he stares up at the ceiling.

  “I’m going to go,” Nate says, running the back of his finger down my cheek.

  “You really don’t have to.”

  He glances at Jack who has his eyes narrowed at the spot Nate is touching me. Nate turns to lock eyes with me again, a mix of an apology and loss swimming in the whisky coloured depths.

  “You have a lot to talk about. A lot to figure out.” He leans down placing a soft kiss to my forehead. “Call me later?”

  “No, stay.” I want to plead while gripping his wrist, but I nod instead, and try to fight back the tears that are closer to the surface.

  Nate drops his hand from my face, taking a step back. He gives a clipped nod to Jack before collecting his jacket and car keys, and walking out the front door. My feet are frozen in place until I hear the rev of his bukkie and then slowly, with a hand pressing over my heart and an ache in my chest, I turn to face my husband.

  “So… not dead then?”

  “It appears not,” Jack replies eyeing me warily. I can tell he wants to question me more about Nate but doesn’t. And in the moment I’m thankful. There are more important things we have to discuss than my boyfriend… for now.

  Jack follows me into the kitchen while I grab us a couple of Castle Lagers. He nods a thanks when I hand him one and then trails behind when I go and retake my seat on the couch. After a couple of pulls of the bitter liquid and some heavy eyeballing on both our parts, the questions begin to fall.

  “What ha-” I pause, clear my throat and start again. “Where were you?” I flinch when it comes out sounding more of an accusation than I planned.

  Jack leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The dark beer bottle dangling between his fingers. “What exactly did they tell you?”

  “Not much. Just that you had been killed in the line of duty. Caleb said you had gone MIA but by the time they found out where you were, you were already dead.”

  Jack curses, brings the bottle to his lips, and drains the rest of the beer. He shakes his head when I offer to get him a new one. “It was supposed to be a simple mission; get in, get out, and be home in time for dinner.”

  He hangs his head, his shoulders hunching forward. Jack clears his throat once… twice then says, “Maybe I will take that second beer after all.”

  Unfolding my legs, I go and fetch us both a second round and grab a couple more just in case. I pop the cap on one and hand it to him when he mumbles a muffled thanks. After I’m sitting beside him again with my second beer and a leg pulled up underneath me, Jack continues with his story but never looks over at me. Instead his gaze focuses on the white tiles between his feet.

  “I don’t want to go into details about what happened, but I will tell you that it was a shitshow from the beginning.” He looks over his shoulder at me this time. Tears pooling in his sea-foam green eyes, but he swallows them back before they have a chance to fall. “I was a prisoner of war for two years, Annika,” he says, clarifying his last statement as if I wasn’t sure what he had meant.

  “What?” A prisoner of war?

  I want to go to him. I want to go to him and wrap my arms around him and whisper in his ear that he’s safe
now, that he’s home, but all I find myself doing is bringing my bent knees into my chest and curling my arms around them. “No. No, they said they found a body. They said it had your dog tags. They… They…” I hiccup and tighten my arms around my legs, refusing to believe that the U.S. Navy… the government who Jack put his life in danger for every time he went wheels up, would lie to me.

  “I didn’t have them on me when the team found me several weeks ago. I guess they must have gotten ripped off or something.”

  His voice changes with that last statement. It’s subtle, and if I hadn’t known him as long as I have, I wouldn’t have caught it. He’s keeping something from me. I’ve seen the gear the team suits up with when they go wheels up and if Jack had tucked his dog tags inside his shirt and under all that gear, there’s no way it would’ve just been ripped off but having lived as a Navy SEAL wife for years, I learned when not to question orders, so I let it go. I think he’s already told me more than what he should have anyway.

  This time, I unclasp my legs and scoot closer to him until I can wrap my arms around his shoulders and press my cheek against his back, content to just breathe him in and feel him solid between my arms. Jack catches my wrist in his hand and pulls, forcing me around and to straddle his lap. I rest my arms over his shoulders and run my fingers through his too long hair, wondering when was the last time he’s gotten it cut. He nuzzles my neck, pressing hot open-mouthed kisses along my jaw.

  “I’ve missed you,” he says, kissing the corner of my mouth and then his lips are ghosting over mine, coaxing me to open for him. When I do, Jack wastes no time in sliding his tongue inside, enticing mine to dance with his. His lips hard against my own.

  He slides his hands down my back and over my ass, gripping a cheek in his palm and pulling me closer. My arms tighten around him when he stands and begins moving towards the bedroom. Not bothering to kick the door closed, Jack lays me down on the bed and follows me down, blanketing me with his body. My legs stay wrapped around his waist and I lift my hips, seeking any sort of friction.