Last True Hero (4 page)

“What's wrong, Chase?” I'm instantly alert and wary.

Trouble has a way of finding Chase, and Chase has a way of finding me to help get him out of it.

“Look, Dare, I swear to God I'll pay you back. I need a little green to pay back these dudes I got in with. If I don't pay 'em…I gotta pay 'em. You got me?”

An angry, frustrated growl leaves me as I stare at my phone. I want to hurl it across the room, but again, Drake.

“You've gotta be fucking kidding me, Chase! I can't keep doing this shit. At some point, you gotta grow up. Get your shit together, man.”

I can picture him nodding his head. “Yeah, man. I know. Spot me this, I swear I won't ask again. I'll get it together.”

I don't believe him for a second. I give him this, and he'll ask again and again. But he's my brother. And I love him. He's had my back in some tough times as well, so our relationship goes two ways. But since I entered the army at eighteen, I haven't needed to ask Chase for help once.

I scrub my hands over my hair and then across my face. Sighing, I try to hold him off.

“Let me move some shit around, Chase. I'll get back to you.”

“Don't take too long, Dare. You gotta come through for me.”

I end the call, and roll over in my bed. It's only four in the morning, but this is already turning out to be a shit day.

B
erkeley Jane Holtz.” My mother's voice sounds too weary to yell. So she just states my name, like she's rattling off the wine selection at dinner.

“Momma, I'm going to work.”

“But
why
? Your father and I enjoy paying for everything you may need. And one day, you'll be married, and then your husband—”

I throw up a hand in aggravated frustration. Is that really all my mother thinks life is about? Having your parents pay for everything, and then moving right along to having your husband pay for everything?

I'm a woman who needs a sense of accomplishment in my life. She's never understood it. She doesn't even bother to pretend.

The door slams shut behind me, and I know I'll hear a lecture about respect from the Admiral at some point in the near future.

My bosses at work are an enormously generous and giving middle-aged couple that treat me like I share their blood. It amazes me every day. The moment I turned up in their lobby as a lost and confused seventeen-year-old, they took me in as more than just an employee, and I'll never be able to repay them.

“You're late,” says Lenny as she breezes by me on her way into the kitchen.

“I'm never late,” I protest.

It's not true. I'm nearly always late. I always have the best intentions, thinking I'm leaving myself plenty of time to get ready for an event or appointment. But then when I check the clock, hours have slipped away as if they were mere minutes, and I'm left scrambling to arrive with some semblance of respect for the other person's time. I can't seem to help it.

It's a thing.

Lenny ties on her apron as she prepares for the first tables of the evening shift, grinning at me from the drink machine.

“But I made you check the time, didn't I?”

I throw a lemon wedge at her.

“Leave her alone, babe!” Boozer, her husband, ambles over to squeeze me in a one-armed hug. His other hand is wielding a butcher knife that he's using to chop off the tails and heads of pounds and pounds of fish.

Our evening begins in something of a whirlwind. It's the first packed Friday night of the season, really, and the beach crowd is flocking to Lone Sands's well-known eatery. The dinner rush won't slow down until after nine on a night like this, so I'm too busy to pay much attention to anything but the diners seated at my tables.

That's why I notice when Mea and Mikah roll in with a small posse, because they've demanded to be seated at one of my tables.

That's why, around eight, I notice when Dare and his friend are seated at a table just behind them only a minute later.

The sight of Mea brings a genuinely happy smile to my face. I know she'll want to make plans for when I get off around eleven. To me, hanging out with Mea until the sun comes up is the symbol of summer.

The sight of Dare sends a hot flush creeping up to my face and a flutter of nerves coursing through my stomach.

I'm aware of the danger the second emotion signifies. Being attracted to a military guy has never been in the cards for me. In fact, I've been fighting against my parents for years on the very subject. If I'm not going to end up with Grisham, I'm not going to end up with any man in uniform.

But something about Dare, from that very first night I met him, has had his stupidly rugged face creeping into my thoughts just before I fall asleep at night. And even though I turned him down that night, it didn't help matters that I ran into him again at the auto mechanic's shop. Since then, and since I actually had the nerve to flirt back with him, I've been wondering how his very large hands would feel wrapped around my waist. Or grasping the back of my neck. Or…other things.

“Berkeley!” Mea is flagging me down from her table, waving her napkin like a white flag.

I roll my eyes and head that way. I grab her and Mikah's glasses without asking them what they want, and hurry back to them with a Coke and a Sprite. Neither of them is holding menus, which would be unnecessary, since I already know what they want to eat. I throw them a quick smile and hold up a finger before scooting over to Dare's table.

“Hi.” The cleverness of my greeting sends a jolt of embarrassment flaming straight to my cheeks.

“Hi, yourself,” he answers. “Berkeley, this is my friend, Drake. Drake, this is Berkeley.”

His friend is huge, and sexy, and all smiles. I shake his beefy hand and return his grin, then turn my attention back to Dare.

“Should I bring you boys a beer?”

He nods, one corner of his mouth turning up in a lopsided smile.
God, that's hot.
His face is lacking nothing, in my opinion. His sort-of-long dark brown hair is just the right length to tug at if my fingers happen to find themselves running along the nape of his neck. It curls slightly at the ends, disappearing under his collar. His face is so ruggedly handsome, I finally understand what they mean in books when they say ruggedly handsome. There's a thin coating of scruff along his strong, square jawline, and his skin is tan underneath. His eyes are a green so light I'd call it sea-foam, and clear as the Caribbean Sea. They're set under heavy brows that move when he's feeling something. Right now, they're furrowed as he looks back at me, and I know he's wondering what I'm thinking as I stare at him a beat too long.

I might be in trouble. Focusing on those obscenely gorgeous eyes is causing my skin to heat and my toes to curl in my boots.

I refuse to let my eyes travel to the rest of his seated body until I'm safely beside the kitchen door, and then I peek. I lean against the wall and leisurely take him in. Snug gray T-shirt with the word
ARMY
printed on the front. Tattoos peeking out from underneath the sleeves at both biceps. Another runs the length of his inner forearm, script that I'm aching to read.

I've never, ever dated a guy with tattoos. And this guy has three.

That I can see.

My assessment continues. Dare isn't nearly as beefy as his friend Drake, but his size is formidable to a normal guy my age. He's tall, at least six foot two if I'm guessing correctly from his seated position, and his muscles are…profound. They leave me breathless as I inspect them. He has sinewy cords rippling in his forearms as he studies his menu.

“Why don't you just go take a bite?”

Lenny's voice startles me, and I crash backward into the kitchen door. The noise alone is enough to have me hiding beneath the little window once I'm inside.

“Lenny!” I hiss.

“Sorry!” She's laughing, her face reddening as her giggles erupt from her petite body. “I've never seen you stare so hard. Army's a hottie. He a friend of yours?”

“God, I wish!” I moan as I prepare to walk back through the doors.

I head to the bar to grab Dare's and Drake's beers, and then march back to their table. By this time, Mea is watching me with narrowed eyes, scrutinizing my face and glancing at the table where Dare sits. I'm so busted.

I set down the Killian's in front of Dare. He eyes it appreciatively, and then turned his gaze back to me as I set down Drake's bottle of Bud.

“You remember all of your customer's drink orders, Berkeley?”

Oh
. When my name falls off of his lips like that, I have a hard time finding enough saliva to make my mouth function correctly. But I try, anyway.

“Not all of them.”
Good girl!
My answer is as cool as a fall evening. Somehow, I'm managing to keep up the appearance that this guy's incredible looks and infallible charm haven't affected me.

He nods, and a slow grin spreads across his face. “Busy night?”

I nod. “Want me to bring you the same thing you had last time?”

Drake nods. I smile at him, and then look at Dare. Dare studies me a moment before answering.

“I want the same thing you brought me last time, plus something extra.”

I wait. He doesn't name the something extra.

With my heart beating just a little faster, I force my lips to turn upward as I nod and walk away.

When I get back to Mea and Mikah, I send her a pleading glance. She knows I'm silently asking her to wait until we're alone to bombard me with questions, and she obliges.

“But, later?” One finely shaped eyebrow arches. “I'm all over this.”

“I know. I'm simultaneously dreading it and can't wait to tell you.”

I spend the next hour serving the tables holding my friends and my newfound acquaintances, building up my courage. When Mea, her brother, and their friends exit the restaurant, leaving me a generous tip, she sends me a meaningful glance before vanishing out the front door.

I peek toward Dare and Drake, who have just requested their check. I suck in a breath, because Dare's intense eyes are locked on mine. One corner of his mouth tugs upward in his smile, and the butterflies currently making a home in my gut take flight.

That's what I needed. That tiny confirmation from him gives me the gumption to scribble my cell number down on the bottom of their check with a note.

See? I told you I have nothing against the army. I Dare you to use this.

I wear a special little smile of my own as I drop off their bill.

“Have a nice night, boys,” I advise them over my shoulder as I escape.

The next morning, all I can do is analyze my decision to give Dare my phone number. Had he really been flirting, or was it all in my mind? I know military men like I know the formula for scale when designing a room. Army may be a different breed from navy, but they're all members of the same species.

A major element in any military guy's life is his love of women. It's like they all crave the nurturing and attention that only a woman can bring to their lives. A lot of them end up settling down pretty young and starting families to care for. But for many, the desire for freedom wins out, and they spend their free time with as many different women as they can handle.

Which of those men is Dare? I have a pretty good idea, because he doesn't appear to be very settled down.

And what is he doing here? There isn't an army base in Brunswick County. Maybe he's just on leave, and visiting his friend?

I can handle a summer fling. After this summer ends, I have some major life decisions to make. The pressure from my parents to start a life with Grisham isn't going anywhere, and now that I'm done with college it's only going to intensify. I don't feel any pushing from Grish, but I know where he stands. If I want him, he'll be happy to want me back. He's a great guy, he'd take good care of me. I just don't know if I can ever learn to love him that way. No matter how much my parents want it.

I interned at an interior design firm in town last summer, and absolutely adored it. I loved how the owner used her creativity every day to make people feel good inside their own spaces. I loved meeting new people and clients, and being exposed to different environments. It was everything I'd ever wanted for myself. And I know that one day, if I want to, I can make that happen.

I so badly want to.

The internal conflict that comes with this decision is suffocating sometimes. I just want to live my life, without having to worry about crushing my parents' hearts into dust.

I'm broken from my thoughts by a pillow being thrown over my face.

“Hey!”

“Get up, get up!” Mea is bouncing so merrily on my bed, my whole body is thrown up and down each time her ass hits the mattress.

“Get off of my bed!”

“No.” She pouts. “And I don't like your tone.”

“My tone! It's ass o'clock in the morning!” I can't help my grumbly morning voice. Mornings have never, ever been my friend.

Mea, on the other hand, has been. We met in high school, when I finally began to notice that not everyone's parents planned their children's lives out like a thoroughly detailed treasure map. Thinking back to when we first met in the hallway after school, I smile.

I'd been rushing toward my second activity meeting of the afternoon when my hugely heavy backpack slipped off my shoulder and spilled out all of its contents. I was crouching, trying to stuff everything in as quickly as possible when two tiny hands appeared beside mine, picking up my stuff.

“Need some help?” asked Mea's chipper voice.

She was dressed in our school's cheerleading uniform, with bands of black and gold swirling around her petite, lithe body. A huge ribbon held back her bouncing curls, and she looked…happy. Not frazzled, like me. Not like she had a million too many things on her plate, like me. Just happy.

“Thanks,” I'd said.

When we stood, she scrutinized me, and then asked where I was headed.

I told her that I was on my way to debate club, and had a mini-freakout when I glanced up at the clock on the wall.

“Oh, no,” she tsked. “If you're reacting like that to being a few minutes late to debate club, you've got some problems you need to share. Come on.”

She firmly grabbed my elbow with the strength of a football player and towed me along toward the exit.

“I can't miss it!” I exclaimed. “My parents will kill me.”

“Honey,” she said, slowing down and facing me solemnly. “Keep going at the pace you are, and I'll be watching you die of a heart attack by the end of senior year. Blow off debate and come hang with me and my friends. We're having a study date, but there will be actual
fun
there. And I won't take no for an answer.”

Smiling, I was filled with a warmth that I hadn't experienced before. This girl, in just a few minutes, had managed to make me feel like she wanted me around. Not for what I could do for her or give her, but just because she liked me and wanted to help me.

“I'm Berkeley,” I'd said, sticking out my hand.

“Mea.” She grinned back.

And that was the beginning of a seriously beautiful friendship.