A SEAL's Salvation. Tawny Weber
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silly,” Macy said dismissively.
“Oh, yeah? I dated Kyle for a year, and when we broke up, he moved away he was so upset. I dated that dentist for two weeks, and when I didn’t accept his invitation to a cruise to Greece, my mother cried for a week. My father pouted all through Christmas when I didn’t go out with his new deputy after a few dates.” Genna threw her hands in the air, as if to say so there.
“But that’s the point. Those were all perfectly nice guys. I don’t understand why you wouldn’t go out with them longer.”
“Because I didn’t feel anything for them,” Genna said, the words tight with frustration. Why didn’t anyone accept that she didn’t want to settle for just any guy? She wanted a special guy.
“But you’re in a rough place right now. Maybe the date wasn’t that bad, you just didn’t want to be there?”
Although delivered in a gentle tone, the words had the blunt force intensity that only two decades of friendship could offer.
“I’m not in a rough place,” Genna denied. “I just wasn’t interested.”
“And your brother was murdered two months ago,” Macy reminded her quietly.
Genna wanted to ask what that had to do with her lousy date. But they both knew it had everything to do with it.
Stewart Davis had moved to town a year ago. Being a lawyer, he’d gotten to know her father fairly well—and had quickly become the answer to Sheriff and Mrs. Reilly’s prayers. The perfect potential son-in-law.
But Genna had repeatedly turned down his invitations, not interested despite everyone’s claims that they’d be perfect for each other. Until two months ago, after Joe’s funeral. He’d asked her out in front of her father, and the way her dad’s eyes had lit up, she hadn’t been able to refuse.
So in addition to disowning his family, causing no end of stress for their parents, stealing her car and putting her in the unwanted position of the favored perfect child, she was laying blame for this date on Joe, too.
Damn him.
She sniffed, wiping a tear off her chin and looking at her fingers blankly. None of those were things to mourn. Why was she crying?
“It’ll get better,” Macy promised with a sympathetic pat on Genna’s knee. “And your next date will be better, too. Maybe give it a week or so. Give yourself time to heal.”
“I don’t want to go out with Stewart again.”
“You should, though.” Macy shrugged off Genna’s glare. “What? It’s only fair. And your dad wants you to, your mom is over the moon at the idea of you dating a lawyer and you need to do whatever you can right now to help them out, to make them happy.”
She paused and took another bite of her carob-coated cardboard, then offered a questioning look, as if daring Genna to deny it.
She wished she could. She felt like all she did was try to make her parents happy. The worse Joe behaved, the harder it hit their parents. The more miserable they were, the better she behaved to try to make up for it. It’d been a vicious circle.
Joe’s first arrest and time in jail had put their mother in the hospital, making Genna give up her plans for Stanford to stay close to home. Joe’s first stint in rehab had been followed by Genna’s quitting her job in San Diego because the hour-and-a-half commute worried her father. By the time Joe had hit prison, she was working the most boringly safe job imaginable to go with her boringly safe life. It wasn’t as if she wanted to jump out of airplanes or hitchhike across the country. But, man, she wished she had a little excitement in her life.
Instead, she’d been this close to being fitted for wings and a halo when Joe had been killed.
Now she didn’t know where she stood. If he was done behaving horribly, didn’t that mean she could ease up on trying to be perfect? Guilt poured through her, sticky and sour, turning her stomach.
“I’m getting something to eat,” Genna said quickly, pushing off the couch as if she could run from her thoughts.
“You have mail on the counter.”
Genna muttered her thanks as she headed straight for the freezer. She pulled out a pint of double-fudge ice cream, then got the milk from the fridge. She grabbed the jar of caramel sauce she’d made the previous week for good measure. Hopefully, it’d be hard to be sad while slurping down a chocolate milk shake with extra caramel.
Waiting for the blender to work its magic, she flipped through her mail with about as much interest as she’d felt in that date. Which was just about zip.
Then she came to a letter with an APO postal cancellation. There was no name, nor an address, so there was no way to know who it was from.
But she did.
Hands shaking, Genna didn’t even notice dropping the rest of the mail on the counter as she held up the letter in both hands. Heart racing, she wet her lips, wanting to open it. Terrified to see what he’d said.
Ten years ago, Brody Lane had shown her an all-too-brief glimpse of awesome. In return, she’d landed him in the navy. She hadn’t known where he’d gone at first. Partly because she’d spent a month on in-house restriction, partly because nobody—not her parents, not anyone in town, nobody—was saying a word. It wasn’t until Joe had gotten out of the county lockup that he’d told her what Brody had done, had sacrificed. Because of her.
She stared at the letter, a little ragged and worn-looking against the soft pink of her manicure. She was the one who’d made this reconnection by writing him. She’d always wanted to. Always wished she’d had the nerve to tell him she was sorry for her part in landing him in the navy. But she’d been afraid. Afraid he’d hated her for it.
He was like the bridge between the two sides of her life. That side, fabulous and fun, filled with possibilities and excitement and wild times. And this side, with its day-in-and-day-out practicality, focused on doing what was smart, what was right, being perfect.
And she was scared that opening the envelope would somehow suck her right back to the other side of the bridge.
And even more terrified at how much she wanted to go there.
Figuring it’d be confetti soon the way she was shaking, she grabbed her brass letter opener, and with a deep breath, slit the envelope open. She gently pulled the thin paper out and, without blinking, unfolded it.
And stared.
Frowned and blinked. Then stared harder.
“Is he kidding?” she asked the empty room in bafflement.
Then she looked at the paper again.
What are you wearing?
What was she wearing?
That was it?
She’d risked family disapproval, her father’s fury, and had sucked up every last bit of nerve she had to write to him. She’d sent horrible news, informing him of the downward spiral and death of a guy who’d once been his best friend.
And this was how he responded?
Grinding her teeth, Genna held the letter out at arm’s length, peering at it again. But the words didn’t change.
What was she freaking wearing?
Jaw set, more alive than she’d felt in forever, she stormed over to the small rolltop desk in the corner and grabbed her stationery box. She yanked out a sheet of paper, ripping it in the process. She snatched up another and let her pen fly across the page.
She’d show him.
* * *
A teeny, tiny nightie the same shade as your Harley. You remember the Harley, don’t you? Midnight-blue, so pretty it glowed. I used to dream you’d take me for a ride on that bike. In my dreams,