Last True Hero (8 page)

“Don't do that,” I beg. I've been reduced to begging. I should be ashamed of myself, but I'm too drunk to care. Thank God.

He raises an eyebrow. “Berkeley?”

My voice is soft and pleading. “Stay.”

He scrutinizes me. “You sure?”

I nod, because all I want is to feel him beside me.

Tonight has been a doozy of a blow to my heart, and my liver. I'm a little bit broken and busted, but when Dare slides into bed beside me, circling his strong arms around my middle, and molding his large, hard body to mine, the tears that have been threatening to come rushing out in his presence finally decide to fall.

I sob silently into his pillowcase, and he squeezes me tighter.

“I'm here, Berkeley,” he says, and my name is once again a beautiful song that only he knows how to play.

Then he presses a soft kiss to the back of my neck, and I fall asleep surrounded by Dare.

L
isten, fellas!” Olsen shouts to be heard over the noise of the Black Hawk's rotors. “We get in, take over the airfield, and send the troops the all clear. Any resistance, you know what to do. Those weapons
will not
make it out of the C.A.R. Understood?”

“Hooah!” Our answering cry is shouted in unison.

My adrenaline is coursing through my veins, not because of the impending jump. I've jumped out of more airplanes and choppers than I can count. It's because of the mission. Completing a mission consumes me, it infiltrates my thoughts and my dreams until I can carry out my actions in my sleep.

One minute until drop zone. Forty-five seconds until drop zone. Thirty seconds until drop zone.

And then I'm falling. I plummet toward the earth, just the way I've done countless times before. My team is around me and we all stealthily hit the ground. We've done our research, we've scouted this location. We know exactly what to do. We journey for a few minutes through covered jungle toward our destination. But then suddenly, there's a shout in the trees around us and men are upon us like ants. They're everywhere. How did they know?

It's an ambush. And my guys are dying around me.

I awake drenched in my own sweat, trembling. I heave for every breath I take, and no matter how much air I gulp it doesn't seem to be enough. I feel like the fire from the burning helicopter is swallowing me whole as the pieces of the wreckage fall down all around me.

Then I feel a searing blaze of heat, a different kind of heat, hit my shoulder. Another flash strokes my neck, and another. Another just beneath my ear, and I finally open my eyes.

Sunlight attacks me from the window, and in the golden light it's clear that I'm dead. Because a motherfucking angel sits on top of me.

“Dare.” Her voice is gentle as she leans down and places a kiss on the hard plane of my chest. I shudder, and it has nothing to do with the dream.

“Wake up, Dare,” she says. “You're at home. You're safe.”

I grab ahold of her and pull her down to me. Her head settles against my chest, and my breathing steadies as her wild blond curls envelop me and the smell of roses and stale smoke pervades my senses. I finally internalize her words, realizing that I'm in my room at Drake's and that the angel in my bed is actually Berkeley Holtz.

In my bed.
Holy fuck.
The previous night comes flooding back.

“Are you okay?” My voice is morning-rough, and I stroke her mess of curls with one hand while I tilt her face up to look at me with the other.

Her expression cracks into an ironic smile. “I am, now. I was terrified that
you
weren't okay.”

Shit.
“I'm sorry, Berkeley. I'm fine…I wish you hadn't seen that.”

I push her hair out of her eyes, rubbing my thumb along her cheekbone. “Headache?”

She shakes her head. “Nope. Aspirin did the trick.”

I raise a brow. “Yeah? You were pretty tanked last night. Want to tell me what happened?”

Her eyes cloud over. “I shouldn't have shown up on your doorstep, I know—”

“Uh-uh,” I interrupt her. “Don't apologize for that. I didn't mind.”

That is a vast understatement. If she needs me, I will be here. I know that, it almost doesn't matter what she asks me to do. I want to be the one she calls when she is scared, or lonely, or upset. A warm pleasure enters my chest just thinking about it.

“Well, I don't even know how I ended up here. I guess I just automatically gave the cabdriver your address.” She looks embarrassed, and the expression causes her to bite the corner of her bottom lip.

“You cried,” I say softly. “Before you went to sleep. Why?”

I have to know. I remember the sound of her sobs, and the way her body shook. With each one I grew angrier, and more possessive. I want to hurt whoever made her cry like that.

Her voice is so small my ears strain to hear her. “My dad…he's impossible. Something happened last night that broke my heart. Now I'm going to have to fix it, and I don't know how. It's all just a giant mess.”

Her answer is vague, and I don't want to push her. Confusion nearly numbs my tongue, and my blood freezes up in my veins. “Broke your heart?”

She looks up at me. “Not like that. It's a long story.”

I nod slowly. I'm all too familiar with long stories. “I like long stories. But I understand if you're not ready to tell me yours.”

She looks grateful, and nods. Then her expression turns almost shy. “I've really liked all our meals together over the last couple of weeks. I…I wouldn't mind if that continued.”

“Yeah? I don't know…lunch with an amazingly sexy girl every single day is getting old. I might need a break.”

She slaps my chest, and I laugh. “Fuck! Ouch. Fine. Every day I get to eat with you is like the new best day of any given week. You wanting me there just makes it even better.”

She smirks. “That's more like it. For a second there, I thought my magic was wearing off.”

She gets quiet, and I just lie here, listening to her steady breathing. When she looks up again, her face is serious. “So how long have you been suffering from PTSD?”

Reeling, I stare down at her. My mouth is open in shock, and I hold her steady amber gaze. “How did you know?”

She doesn't blink. “I'm familiar with the symptoms.”

Now I'm really taken aback. Has she dated a guy in the military? Is that why the no-military dating rule? As I stare into her eyes, I can feel her gaze deep in the depths of me, like she's reading me from the inside out. It's uncomfortable, but I find myself wanting to let her see everything I have.

Almost everything.

“I'm recently discharged. I was injured about five months ago while deployed. Since then.”

She nods. “I figured you weren't active duty. Do you want to talk about it?”

I give her a wry smile of my own. “It's a long story.”

And just like that, we've begun building a relationship with a foundation of secrets. I should know it'll come back to bite me in the ass, but with Berkeley lying on my chest first thing in the morning, I can't bring myself to care.

Suddenly she sits up straight in my bed as if she's been shot with an arrow.

“Oh. My. Word.” Each word is a stunned breath from her lips.

I sit up with her, attempting to pry my eyes from the cleavage spilling out of her halter-top and failing. Berkeley's rack should have its own website. It's glorious.

“What?” My tone is amused.

“What is that heavenly smell?” she whispers, her eyes wide.

I sniff, and grin. “Bacon. Eggs? Drake's basically a breakfast chef. You want some?”

“Oh, Dare.” She breezes out of the bed, standing beside me in seconds. “You'll learn. I
always
want breakfast.”

She heads for the door, and I spring out of bed, grabbing her hand and yanking her back around to face me. The force sends her flying straight into my chest, and my arms go around her as I cradle her close. The electricity between us sizzles, and she lets out a small whimper of surprise.

I close my eyes, getting myself under wraps.
Jesus
, her noises.

“Slow down, Berkeley. You're not walking out of my room like that.”

She glances down at herself. Her short denim skirt is askew, hot pink toenails adorning her bare feet. In that skirt, her shapely legs stretch on forever, and although her halter-top covers her stomach, it still shows off her cleavage.

I love my roommate, but he gets to see none of that. I want to keep Berkeley's sexy all wrapped up for my own private viewing.

“This wasn't exactly a planned visit, Dare,” she protests. She folds her arms over her chest and shifts her weight to one foot, which is damn cute. “I don't have a change of clothes.”

“Then we're lucky I live here, aren't we?” I stride to my dresser, poking through clothes. I finally toss her a black army T-shirt and a pair of gray sweats that fit me snugly.

She wrinkles her nose at the sweats. “I'm going to roast.”

I eye her meaningfully. “Roasting is better than smoking, at least in this house.” But I replace the sweats with shorts.

Biting her lip to hide her smile, she unfurls her arms. I bend down and press my lips to her forehead.

“Did I mention this morning ranks up there in my top five?”

“Top five best mornings?”

I nod, smiling.

She leans forward, rising up on her toes. She reaches both arms around my neck and pulls. When my face is only inches from hers, she whispers. “One day I want to hear that list.”

Then she pats me
on the ass.

I growl as I back out the door. This girl…she's gonna kill me.

When she walks out of my bedroom, wearing my clothes, I've had time to warn Drake that she's here. But I haven't had time to prepare myself for what it feels like to see her rocking
my shit.
The caveman in me wants to beat my chest and grab her up. I want to walk over to her, grab her face in my hands, and kiss the mess out of her. I want to stake my claim, pronounce to the world that this gorgeous, sexy, funny girl is
mine.

Instead, in the interest of not coming off as a complete psycho, I play it cool. I smile at her.

“See, Drake? I told you she was here, and not a figment of my imagination.”

Drake shakes his head as he dishes a mound of bacon onto a serving plate. “Well, fuck. I just knew you were making that shit up.”

Berkeley grins. Her whole face lights up when she smiles like that, and the sun's rays streaming in through the window have nothing on her.

“Good morning, Drake,” she says.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

My smile grows, because I know Drake is thinking the same thing I am.

We eat breakfast, and then Berkeley goes to retrieve her phone from the dresser in my room. I watch. I know I'll never be able to keep myself from watching her walk out of a room.

Drake mutters a curse, and I glance at him. “What?”

He snorts. “You. Shit, dude. It's all over your face. Did you—”

I hold up my hand. “Don't, Drake. You're my friend, and I love you. But if you finish that sentence, I'm gonna have to come across this table and fuck up your beautiful face. I don't wanna do that, Drake.”

He splutters, sending orange juice flying over his plate.

When Berkeley returns, she's holding her phone and her expression is exasperated.

“I gotta go,” she says.

I stand. “Let's go, then.”

Once we're settled in the truck, I keep throwing glances in her direction. She's staring out the window, with a tiny little smile on her lips.

“Berkeley. If you keep sitting over there with that sexy smile on your face, I'm going to turn this truck around and bring you back to my house.”

She looks over at me, and I see the crimson flush creep up from her neck to her cheeks. I add it to my mental list.

“We're almost there,” she says. “You can just drop me off right over here.”

She points to the curb ahead, just outside of a neighborhood with gigantic homes built directly on the oceanfront.

I look at her like she's lost her ever-loving mind. Which she has, if she thinks I'm leaving her by the side of the road. I continue driving right on past the extravagant neighborhood sign.

“Which house?” I ask.

She sighs, and then points me in the direction of her house. I pull into the long, circular driveway and look over at her.

“I'll call you later.”

She nods, and the corner of her lip disappears into her mouth. “Thanks, Dare. For last night.”

I nod. The front door of the house opens, and the impeccable woman from the night I took Berkeley home appears. She stands in the doorway, arms folded.

“Huh. Momma doesn't look too thrilled.”

“What else is new.” Berkeley sighs. She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “See ya.”

I watch her as she walks up the driveway and up the stone steps to the house. She breezes past her mother, who spends another second staring at me before slamming the door shut.

Then I drive away.

The strangeness with Berkeley and her mother barely affects me as I drive home with a grin plastered on my face. While driving I decide that I'll finally call my brother today.

Chase might be a pain in my ass, but he's my brother, and he deserves for me to at least hear him out.

As a teenager, I got into my fair share of scrapes. Unwanted kid in the system in Florida, I had to find my own way. Make my own friends. Without any guidance. Sometimes I made the wrong choices. Sometimes I found myself in deep shit with guys bigger and tougher than I was. Chase always had my back. Some scuffles were more serious than others, and if Chase and I hadn't backed each other up, we may not have made it to where we are today.

Where I am today is a pretty good place, all shit considering. Where Chase is? Not so much. He can't seem to stay on the right side of the law. When we turned eighteen and I enlisted, I tried to talk him into doing the same. I told him that we could travel the world together, do something important with our lives. He declined, stating that the world was too big for him. Rather than get lost in the great unknown he'd rather stay in Florida and take his chances with the devil he knows.

No sooner do I have that thought than I pull into my driveway to the sight of a strange car parked behind the Challenger.

When I open the front door, Drake is sitting on the couch with his arms crossed and a deadly serious expression on his face. Across from him, next to the ornate stone fireplace, stands my brother.

I no longer need to return his phone calls.

Chase, and possibly the problems he's currently dealing with, have come to Lone Sands.