Stricken Resolve (12 page)

If she’d only known me back then, it wouldn’t
be my looks that were intimidating. It was me as a person. A
ruthless, sick, sadistic killer. I was bred by the military’s
finest to become that man. Who do you think took out tons of Osama
and Saddam’s little goffers and head men? Me. All in the name of
the USA. 167 people have left this earth because I’ve killed them.
On my own. That’s another reason why this safe link and other
assignment has me angry. I work for years to help secure our
nation’s safety, removing one hostile at a time. And the one time I
need them to leave me be, to let me take care of the only thing
I’ve ever really cared about in my forty plus years on this planet,
they won’t even consider relenting. All because they need codes,
codes that only my brain stores. Eight, twelve digit codes that
both me and my fellow co-worker over here possess. And according to
my latest assignment update, eight codes equals eight months. Eight
months without those sweet arms wrapped around my thick neck. Eight
months without her body writhing under mine, telling me how much
she loves me as I ravish her with immeasurable amounts of kisses,
trailing up and down her beautiful curvy body.

“Honey… Honey.” Gonzales snaps fingers in
front of my face again.
Honey
? Really? Those words sound
wrong leaving her lips. They don’t suit her at all. But I guess
she’s playing the part. Or I hope. Is what I really mean.

“Yes… Darlin,’?” I drawl like a hillbilly and
she rolls her eyes at me.

“I paid the check, are you going to stop
swimming in that head of yours long enough to drive us back home?”
Her tone isn’t pleasant and I don’t take kindly to being sassed.
Not when I’m wound tighter than an eight day clock. And that isn’t
going to change anytime soon. Not until I have a beautiful redhead
back in my life.

“If you lose your attitude I will,” I snip
just a little. My mind coming up with all sorts of colorful and
rather hurtful things to lash out with. But I’m a gentlemen most of
the time. I need to get out of here anyhow. I need to go to bed
early, eating a snickers bar and advert my attention to a novel.
Maybe that will calm my ever climbing nerves.

“Fine,” she clips with a ‘humf’ and strides
out of the restaurant ahead of me, heels clicking the marble floor
the entire way.

I leisurely make it to the front door that is
opened by a pleasant, short, black haired hostess bidding me adieu.
I nod out of respect and embark from the establishment. Finding a
rather unhappy Gonzales, jiggling the keys off her manicured finger
and tapping her toe irately on the pavement. The green Lexus is
parked at the curb, awaiting us.

“Why aren’t the keys in the car?” I ask her,
when I snatch the key from her finger.

“I didn’t know how long you’d take,” she
shrugs and I do the polite thing and make my way to the passenger
side door of the car and open it for her. With a sigh and a small
smile, she slides into the black leather and I close her in.

Well, maybe she will lose her attitude
now.

Finding my way into my seat, I turn the car
on and we leave. Out on the open road, a sexy car and a woman who I
can’t stand. What a day.

“Why are you so angry?” She breaks in about
half way home, according to the GPS.

“I’m not angry.”

“Yes you are. I’ve known you for four days
and you’ve been this uptight and brooding man. Why?” Her delicate
voice lowers and out of the corner of my eye I can see her
smoothing the bottom of her too short dress over her tanned legs,
nervously fiddling with the hem.

Clenching my fists tighter around the
steering wheel, I attempt to cool my jets. I’ve been having a very
hard time controlling my emotions since I left California. It’s
nearly impossible for me to think straight. When my heart aches so
badly and my body misses it’s other half.

“I...” I let out a huge sigh. “I’m sorry. I
really don’t want to be doing this job. It’s not your fault. I just
have the love of my life back home. I want to be with her and only
her. And being away from her and my children is making me
crazy.”

Oh wow… Did I just admit I have children? I
didn’t even think twice about that.

“Oh...” She slumps down in her seat. “I
didn’t know you had children.”

“I have twins. Eric and Jenna, they were born
two days before I left.”

“They made you leave after your children were
born?” Her voice is so small, I can barely make out what she’s
saying.

“They were going to make me leave if they
weren’t. My fiancé…,” My heart thuds and suddenly the pain is so
unbearable I have to rub my chest. Leaving me to drive with just
one hand. She’s not really my fiancé anymore. Is she? I sort of
said ‘
to hell with that'
when I left. I didn’t want her to
feel tied down because of me. What was I thinking? I shouldn’t have
ever said that to her.

The pain radiates so bad. My breathing
becoming erratic and my vision starts to blur. So I pull over to
the side street and turn off the car. Hanging my head against the
steering wheel, I breathe in deep and try to calm myself. It’s
hard, it’s so hard, being without her. I can’t breathe. I can’t
breathe. I pull in a deep lungful of air and hold it. And then I
feel a hand plant itself on my upper back, across my shoulder
blades, making me flinch.

“Sorry.” She pulls her hand back into her
lap.

“It’s okay,” I huff, hyperventilating. My
palms slick with sweat.

“I’m sorry. I’m a mess. I’m not usually like
this. I’m a calm, collected man. I really am. I just don’t know how
to deal with all of these emotions.”

Reaching over, she pats my shoulder and gives
me a friendly reassuring squeeze which I welcome.

“Talk about it. It might help. I’ll listen.
Continue telling me about your fiancé,” she offers, bless her weird
heart. One minute she’s a complete tool and the next she’s able to
be sweet. Like she’s being right now. And just the mention of the
world fiancé has me left cringing.

“She’s not my fiancé anymore.” I bang my
forehead against the steering wheel, frustrated. “I’m the idiot who
decided to break up with her before I left. Just so she didn’t feel
tied down. I didn’t even give her a chance to make up her mind. I
made it for her,” I grind out, boiling in my skin at my
foolishness.

I should have asked her. I should have talked
with my Mama Bear about it. Not made the choice for her.

“Does she love you?” She softly asks.

“Yes.”

“Do you question her love?”

“No.”

“Then don’t worry. If she loves you and knows
you like I’m sure she does, then she will probably forgive you.”
She sounds so sure of the words leaving her mouth. And I know Emily
is a forgiving person. But leaving her when the babies were just
born and breaking up with her after we made love, I sound like the
biggest asshole on the face of the earth and here I thought
Johnathan owned that title. I’m the king of assholeville and he’s
the prince. And my Emily is the beautiful Queen of perfectville, a
neighboring town. That I should have never been able to visit but
when I did, I found myself so mesmerized I couldn’t help but fall
in love with its queen. Great, now I’m really losing it.

“Okay,” is all I can make out. I can’t
divulge anything more. My personal life is not her life and I don’t
air my own dirty laundry.

Turning the car back on, I head home and pull
into the drive. Gonzales gets out of her own side and me out of
mine. As we walk next to each other into the cookie cutter house,
she bumps her hip against mine.

“Let’s get a drink in ya, you scary mo’fo,”
She chuckles and I can’t help but join in a little. A drink sounds
good. A drink sounds real good.

Inside, she throws off her heels right inside
the door with a sigh of relief. I don’t know why women feel the
need to endure pain for beauty. It doesn’t make much sense.

“PJ drinking party in the living room, five
minutes,” she states, and goes off to her room upstairs and I mine.
Stripping out of my god-awful dress clothes, I toss them into the
wicker hamper in my adjoining bathroom and proceed to assess my
thickly grotesque body in the mirror. I really don’t have a clue
what Emily sees in me. She swears I’m sexy. I can’t fathom it. I’m
too thick and I look like a 4 next to a 10, when I’m with her.

Returning to my bedroom—which, by the way, is
something I’m sure most men would find kick ass. Or some other form
of weird verbiage to associate with it. I find it boring and not my
taste at all. Medium blue walls, black king sized sleigh bed with a
gray duvet. So many pillows you could get lost in them. Next to
each side sits a basic, no frills square nightstand. That is where
my guns lie, and under the bed I’ve got more weapons. Just like I
did at home. It’s my safety net. A safety net that I never told
Emily about. I didn’t want her to feel weird sleeping on a bed that
was concealing enough firepower and knifes to kill a small army.
They are all nestled safely in a long rectangular metal box with a
button code to open it. It’s also fireproof, bulletproof and
tamperproof. So nobody is getting into that baby unless it’s me or
somebody I entrusted the code with. Which is only Davis.

On the wall across from my bed is a matching
black dresser and on that sits a giant flat screen state-of-the-art
TV. That will, of course, never be turned on. I don’t believe
bedrooms should ever have a TV. That’s what a game room or living
room is designated for. Bedrooms are meant for three things.
Sleeping, making love to my woman or quiet relaxation. And I could
achieve all of those things with Emily, living in a cardboard box.
I wouldn’t need anything else. Just her.

Riffling through my dresser, wearing only my
boxers, I pull out a pair of plaid pajama bottoms and a black
t-shirt. I slide it all on and head downstairs. Gonzales, being a
smart woman tonight, is wearing something very similar to my getup
and she’s pouring three fingers full of bourbon into the bottom of
a lowball glass.

“Here.” She hands me the glass and I take a
seat on a blue and cream high back chair and she sits across from
me on the boring couch.

“Salute,” she chimes, raising her glass in
the air. I do the same and we both simultaneously shoot back the
first of many drinks to come. I don’t drink often but I need
something to relax me.

***

It’s four a.m. in the morning and I’m so
drunk I am now seeing two of everything, including Gonzales who’s
been jibber jabbering about everything and anything tonight.
Blabbing all about her life. Been married once, loves anal sex and
sucking cock, never had an orgy. Her words not mine. She’s been in
the military since she was eighteen. Spent many years in the Middle
East in a small post of eight people living in near poverty. That’s
a small portion she keeps running on and on about. All of it I’ll
remember for about a day and force myself to forget. I’ve just sat
and listened. At the same time, I find myself living in my own
mind. That — when you are drunk, at least— starts showing you some
really messed up emotional crap when you don’t want to think about
it.

Like the third labor scare with Emily in the
hospital. We had been lying in bed all night. I stroked her hair
and we were watching a Friends marathon on the TV. Both of us
laughing whenever Joey said ‘How you doin.' I don’t know why, but
for whatever reason Emily loves that part of the show.

“How you doin’?” She teased and turned to
face me, pulling her head from my bare chest.

“I’m fine, How you doin’? Suga.” I said,
trying to keep a straight face, as I used my best Italian accent.
Which sounded pretty stupid. I’m only fluent in Arabic and
English.

She giggled so loudly. Reaching up her hand,
she caressed my face with a big smile.

“You’re pretty great, you know that?” she
said, with all the love and desire a man could ever want a woman to
express. Complete perfection.

“Not as great as you,” I replied, grabbing
her hand and placing a kiss on the inside of her palm. Getting a
good whiff of her body spray. Which by the way is the best smelling
stuff on the planet. And adding it to her natural skin scent is
enough to make a man crazy with the carnal need for sex. After my
first taste of Mama Bear’s body, her lips, her lady parts, I craved
more. And even though I couldn’t have it with her being on bed rest
and miserable many parts of the day she still wanted to take care
of me and honestly I didn’t really want her to. I wanted to be
abstinent because she had to be. But she refused and begged many of
the times I protested feeding her my come. But she won, because the
one time I pulled away and stood my ground she ended up pouting and
even crying a little. Which tore my heart in half. And that day I
realized I would always give her whatever she wanted in the bedroom
and out of it too, if I was able. Unlike now.

That night, I leaned down and kissed her
lips, so soft and supple; it made me sublimely happy to have them
pressed against mine. My manhood rose as it always does when I kiss
her and she purred in her throat as our tongues tangled in one
another’s. Raising the heat in the room a few degrees as the scent
of her arousal permeated the air with thick enchantment. I’ve
always loved her scents, even when she’s turned on. It’s a sweet,
musky mix which is so mouthwatering.

Just thinking about it now makes me hot. So I
gulp back and try to clear my cloudy inebriated mind.

What happened next is what ruined the evening
and made our lives harder. Her contractions kicked in full
throttle, all because our kissing had made her so turned on, or I
should say ‘I’ turned her on. Liquid was injected into her IV and
within minutes she was out like a light. Snoozing in my arms and I
just laid worried, as I stroked her hair with the hand that was
tucked under her head and my other hand massaged our babies. My
lips pressing little kisses to her messy hairline. I whispered
sweet nothings to her as she slept. Telling her how much she meant
to me. If I can remember correctly, I think that was the night I
confessed something I’d never told her before.