Love Runs Deep Page 5

“Appreciate it.” She fiddled with the handle on the desk door, wondering if there was more to his visit than a simple hello.

  “You know, I served with Reece. A couple of times.”

  Great. Big brother had a watchdog on board. Just what she didn’t need, one more person looking out for her.

  “Lucky you,” she said with a grin.

  He laughed. “Yeah, he can be a little intense at times, but he’s a good leader. The men like him.”

  She sat on the edge of the bunk and pointed to the chair. Something told her she was in for a story. “So you’re the one with the Dremel?”

  Corbett laughed again as he scrubbed his hand across his jaw. “Well, in all fairness…”

  He launched into the story she’d first heard last Christmas. Seems her big brother—the one that pulled her hair, chased her with snakes, and talked her into more trouble than she could remember—had his toenail set on fire. Well, not exactly flames leaping in the air, but there was smoke.

  She let Doc tell his side, but her mind was elsewhere. With every beat of approaching feet down the passageway she’d catch herself looking toward the open door and every time it wasn’t Kyle, her shoulders sagged just a little. The next six months were going to be sheer torture, especially when he looked at her with those gray eyes like he could eat her up. Yeah, it’d be torture. Even more than waiting for Nathan Daniels to ask her to senior prom.

  If she’d learned anything in life, it was if you wanted to play with the boys, you had to pull up your big girl panties and tough it out, which is exactly what she planned to do. The night with Kyle had been hot and amazing and memorable. But there was no way she was going to jeopardize her career for a roll in the sheets.

  No matter how great.

  Growing up, becoming a naval officer was all she ever dreamed of, which shouldn’t have been a huge surprise given her family’s history. No one batted an eye when her oldest brother Liam went to the Naval Academy after high school or when Reece, the precious middle child, followed. If they thought Nic would be left behind, then they’d all suffered from mass delusion.

  The boys had shook their heads and laughed at her announcement, not really shocked. Her dad had sat her down with a list of pros and cons of joining and then suggested a number of suitable careers she could pursue that wouldn’t put her in danger. When that didn’t work, he brought up the claustrophobia. She had lied, told him she hadn’t had a panic attack in years; beside she’d be in the surface force. Her mom told her she should listen to her father.

  Like that was going to happen.

  If her brothers could hack it, so could she. They were Navy brats; they could hang with the best. She hadn’t lived in no less than three countries and five other duty stations by the time she’d graduated from high school without learning how to overcome, improvise and adapt. Irrational phobias and female emotions—as her dad put it—wouldn’t hold her back.

  Now if only she could prove to him that she was right. Sleeping with Kyle while they served on the same sub? That was just giving the old man all the evidence he needed to say, “Told you so.” Something she’d made a lifetime habit of not doing. As a matter of fact, she’d show him how wrong he’d been. Not only would she earn her Dolphins, the pin showing she’d qualified as a submariner, she’d do it in less time than it took for the great and mighty Patrick Sean Michael Riley to earn his.

  Doc stood, bringing her attention back to the present. “I hope you don’t mind, but Reece mentioned your problem with tight spaces to me. Subs seem a strange choice, but I’m sure you have your reasons. If the confinement starts to get to you, come find me. I might have a few suggestions to help. Speaking of suggestions, the WEPS has a point. You shouldn’t miss meals, especially while we still have real food in stock. Trust me, it doesn’t take this crew long to go through the good stuff. Especially ice cream.”

  Unclenching her jaw, Nic dropped into the chair. Slowly she went through the motions of setting her desk back up, the whole time trying to wrap her brain around Reece ratting her out. How had he even known about the change in orders? It’d only been a couple of days. The length of her brother’s reach didn’t surprise her, his break in her confidence did. They simply did not share each other’s secrets. Not even as kids.

  He’d been the one person who knew the truth, knew the panic attacks still snuck up on her under stress. He was only one she had trusted with her secret. Obviously she chose poorly.

  Clicking open the electronic reminder app on her computer, she made two notes: to procure more ice cream on the first port call; and to bop her brother upside the head next time she saw him.

  * * *

  Kyle yanked his chair out of the corner of the stateroom and shoved it up to his workspace. Firing up the computer he went straight to e-mail. The boat would go dark soon and he wanted to check on his mom before then, because once they shut down e-mail he’d only get happy news via family grams until they hit their first port call. As he suspected there was a message waiting for him from his mom. He read the short note, swore, and read it again.

  The dipshit twins were at it again. Whatever it was, he knew the situation wouldn’t turn out well and his mom suspected the same thing. Now, not only did he have to worry about his idiot brothers landing in jail or worse, he had to worry about his parents.

  Searching his memory he tried to place who the ‘rough’ looking guy could be that had visited his parents looking for his brothers. His mom hadn’t said she was scared, but she wouldn’t have mentioned the guy if he hadn’t set off all kinds of warning signs. The description alone put him on alert—big, muscular, dirty, torn clothes, and a scar down one arm. In fact, his mom, in her typical fashion of always trying to find the good in a person tried to brush off her concerns saying, “He was probably shy. The poor boy looked everywhere, but at me.”

  Shy, his ass. The dude, no doubt, had been casing the place—memorizing everything about the house: the location of the windows, doors, where the cars were parked, the lack of a dog, and the distance to the nearest neighbor’s house. If they’d been in port, Kyle would have put in another emergency leave chit and jumped on the first plane home.

  Stuck in the middle of the ocean, his options were limited. Basically unless one of his parents was fighting for their life, he was stuck on the tin pig. Without proof they were in danger the local authorities were out. Asking his brothers to curtail their nefarious ways would get him squat. The only option he could think of didn’t fill him with a lot of hope.

  He shot off an e-mail to his only somewhat reliable cousin asking him to find the twins, get them out of whatever trouble they were in, and help keep an eye on his parents. Kyle hit Send and said a prayer. Stevie was a good guy, loved his family, and—if he were sober—would do what he could to help out.

  It was the “if” part that bothered Kyle. He stood, shoved his chair out of the way and paced the short distance to his doorway. Placing his hands on the frame he leaned forward and stretched out his tense shoulder muscles. When that didn’t work he pushed off the hatchway and paced back and forth in the small space.

  This was going to be one hell of an underway, he thought.

  Distraction was the last thing any sailor needed during a patrol. He needed to be sharp, with his head in the game. They had a mission to complete and while being on a sub wasn’t the same as being in the sandbox, the boat held its own risks, its own dangers.

  Lives were on the line.

  He didn’t need to be worrying about his mom, but that was the hand life had dealt him. For as long as Kyle could remember his mom had worked too hard, never stopping. Up before the rest of the family, to bed after everyone else. Cooking, cleaning, checking homework, mending clothes—always something else for her to do and of course, trying to keep the twins out of trouble. She worked at a local drycleaner. Long hours over hot presses or bent over a sewing machine making alterations. She never stopped.

  The old man, while hard on Kyle,
didn’t slack either. He worked at one of the local produce farms. Out of the house as the sun rose, in the fields all day, and then he’d come home to fix whatever needed fixing at home. It seemed like something was always broken. Maybe the old man drank a little too much, and passed out in his recliner without helping with the dishes, or yelled at the twins and Kyle too much.

  What could he do? Kyle tried not to let bitterness eat away at him. Life had dealt his parents a crappy hand.

  It was hard.

  Especially when his dad blamed him for that crappy life, which was unfair.

  No one made his parents have unprotected sex at sixteen.

  No one made them get married and quit school.

  Especially not his maternal grandparents.

  If not for Nana and Pops, Kyle never would have gone to college, he never would have gone into the military, and he’d probably be behind bars. If only they were still alive, he could have reached out to them for help. As it was, he’d have to pray Stevie pulled himself out of the bottle long enough to read his e-mail.

  Until they pulled into their first port, Kyle would have to shove his family problems to the back of his mind and concentrate on work.

  If only it were that easy to put one Lily Nicole Riley out of his mind. It’d been hard enough the week before they left. Having her underfoot? Damn near impossible.

  Images of Nic flashed through his brain: her pink cheeks when he teased her, the way she bit her lower lip when she was lost in thought, and her sprawled naked across his hotel bed, demanding more as he drove into her.

  “Damn,” he muttered, dropping his head against the top rack he’d claimed. It was going to be a very long and trying deployment.

  “What’s with the drama king pose?” Bryant asked as he walked into their shared stateroom and opened his locker.

  “Nothing,” Kyle grumbled before turning around to eye his so-called buddy.

  Bryant ignored him as he opened a cabinet to pull out a binder. “Right. Just my luck you and Mace PMSing at the same time.”

  “Screw you, Gatlin.” Kyle grabbed the chair he’d shoved across the room and dragged it over to the desk. “Go find someone else to bug. I’ve got work to do.”

  “What’s with Miss Mary Sunshine?” Mace asked from the doorway.

  “Nothing.” Kyle didn’t bother looking at either. He wasn’t in the mood to deal.

  “My money says a certain supply officer’s got him twisted up,” Bryant replied.

  Kyle turned at his comment and gave his best scowl. “You didn’t seem surprised to see Nic in the wardroom. Unlike the rest of us.”

  Bryant looked from him to Mace and back, scrubbing at the back of his neck. “Cherise told me.”

  “You didn’t think to mention it before the meeting?”

  “Didn’t get a chance.”

  Mace snorted and shook his head.

  “Right. No time. None during the ride into work or when we were walking to the boat or waiting on the skipper to start?” Kyle waited, fighting the urge to tell off Bryant.

  They’d been friends for a couple of years. Been on numerous underways, worked long hours, and exchanged life stories. He couldn’t believe after all that, the guy left him hanging.

  “Guess it slipped my mind at the time.” Bryant tossed the binder on his rack. “Look, I didn’t think it was a big deal. You haven’t said a word about her since we left the hotel last weekend.”

  “Can you get more clueless, Gatlin? The guy’s been mooning over her all week long.” Mace pushed off the doorframe and faced Kyle. “You willing to flush your naval career down the crapper, Hutch?”

  “No.” He didn’t need Mace to point out getting involved with Nic while underway was a one-way ticket back to Hicksville and his family. There wasn’t a woman on the planet worth throwing away everything he’d worked the past ten years for since he graduated from high school and escaped from home. Not even one with big brown almond shaped eyes, or porcelain skin, or who felt like she’d been made to fit up against him.

  “Keep saying that to yourself. This life is hell on relationships.”

  “Amber still giving you a hard time?” Kyle asked.

  “By a hard time do you mean refusing to come home so we can work on our marriage? Yeah and every time I call, her mom starts ranting in the background calling me every name you can think of and accusing me of all sorts of things.”

  “That’s harsh, man. She knew when you two hooked up what she was getting into. I mean you told her, right?” Bryant came from a long line of sailors; his mom could be the poster wife for the Navy. To him, there was no other life. Kyle on the other hand came from a small farming town where none of his family understood his desire to go to sea, locked in a submerged tin can with over a hundred other guys and not see daylight for weeks at a time.

  “Hearing about something is one thing, experiencing it is another. She did fine the first couple of years while I was on shore duty. Home every night, weekends off. The last two years have been hard. She doesn’t want a part-time husband, especially one where she can’t plan anything because schedules change frequently.”

  “Still pissed about missing your anniversary, huh?” Kyle asked.

  “Ya think?” Mace blew out a huff of air and looked upward. “And this time, I’m missing her birthday.”

  “They’re just dates on a calendar. Miss an anniversary? Big deal. Celebrate three years plus fifteen days or whatever when you get home. That’s what my parents always did.” Bryant walked up to Mace and clamped his hand on the other guy’s shoulder. “I’ve got to get back up to the Nav Center. Hang in there, buddy. She’ll come to her senses.”

  Mace raised his brow at Kyle as he stepped fully into the room and sat at the other desk. “Clueless.”

  “He means well, but yeah. The guy’s got a babe in every port and no clue what it takes to make it for the long haul.” Kyle closed out of the e-mail program and brought up his tactical weapons report. Time to update the skipper on the status of how many torpedoes, tomahawks and small ammunitions they carried.

  “The thing is, Amber’s got a point. How do we make our marriage work when I’m never home?”

  Kyle turned around to face Mace, noted the pained look on his friend’s face and dreaded what was coming next. He’d seen the look before. Watched as others made the decision Mace was up against.

  “Are you getting out?” Kyle asked.

  “Thinking about it. Amber means too much to me to lose her. If working some nine-to-five, boring-ass desk job is what I have to do to keep her, I’ll do it.”

  “You’re six months from shore duty and more than halfway to retirement. You’ve got one, maybe two more rotations of sea duty and you’re willing to throw away everything you’ve been working toward?”

  Mace tapped his fingers on the desktop and met his gaze. “Yeah. I am.”

  Kyle closed his mouth. Would he ever meet a woman worth giving up all his dreams? With his luck, he’d already met her, didn’t recognize her for who she truly was, and let her walk out of his life.

  “What would you do?”

  Mace grimaced. “Her dad owns his own insurance agency and has invited me to work for him.”

  “Insurance?” Pure torture. The guy would go nuts within a year’s time, Kyle silently bet. Mace hated paperwork. Hell, who didn’t? Kyle had spent enough time during every deployment and patrol over the last three years listening to his friend bitch about reports. Now he wanted to do paperwork for a living? No way.

  Forget a year. Within six months Mace would be back and Amber would be a bitter memory.

  “I wish you luck, my friend.”

  “Thanks. I better get this fucking drill set report done. Tomorrow we play war games.”

  For Kyle, there’s no way he’d swap his life in the Navy for sitting behind a desk. He couldn’t live without the smell of sea air, amine, standing topside and seeing nothing but miles and miles of blue all arou
nd him. Nothing against civilian life, but they were doing something important here.

  He never knew what each mission would bring. Punching holes in the ocean, sitting off the coast of enemy territory showing force or waiting for the orders to seek and destroy. He’d sailed under the North Pole—and popped up through the ice much to a polar bear’s surprise, gone around through the Panama Canal, played hide and seek with Russian subs, and backed down a terrorist leader’s threat with just their presence.

  They protected America’s freedom at all costs.

  Living at the tip of the spear one day and the next sitting in some office far from the action? He couldn’t do it and doubted his friend would find any satisfaction there either.

  As if to prove his thoughts right, Mace sat drumming his fingers on the desk, staring at him.

  “What?” Kyle asked.

  “How goes it with Riley?” Mace broke through his thoughts with the one subject he’d rather forget.

  “She’s settling in despite feeling like the odd man out.”

  “Explains not seeing her at lunch. You gonna let her miss dinner too?”

  “Nope. Right after I finish this report, I’m dragging her out of her stateroom. It’s time for a tour of the boat and a lesson on Subs 101.”

  “Keep your hands to yourself, WEPS, unless you want to join me in the insurance world.”

  Chapter Five

  Kyle stopped next to Nic’s open stateroom. As usual she was at her desk working, but right then she had her eyes closed with a cup of something steaming underneath her nose. He hated to end her peaceful moment, but they had work to do.

  “Coffee break?” He stepped fully into the room as her eyes popped open and the liquid sloshed over the edge and splattered on her poopy suit.

  She scooted back, away from the computer, setting the cup down to wipe at the wet spot. “More like I better eat before I kill someone, because I skipped breakfast and lunch today.”

  “You looked like you were lost in thought.” He sat on the edge of her rack and took in the contents of her so-called lunch. Rice cakes? Gah. Tasteless cardboard circles if you asked him.