After one long moment of motionless shock, Jen snapped into action. She didn’t give Brendan a chance to say a word. With a jolt of panic and a burst of energy, she slammed the door, only for Brendan to stick his foot out and wedge it in the doorframe.
“Let me in, Jen,” he begged.
Shit, what the hell was he even doing here?
A pair of brown eyes pierced into her, glittering with a mixture of anger and wild desperation. Brendan’s face was as handsome as ever, except his nose had clearly been broken during that fight with Cash—bruised, swollen and slightly off-center.
“Go away,” Jen snapped. “You’re violating the restraining order.”
She kicked at his foot, then rammed her shoulder into the door to try to slam it, but he got both palms on the door and pushed hard, sending her careening backward. Jen stumbled and lost her balance, and as her butt collided with the carpet, fear pounded into her like a pair of fists.
Looming over her, her ex extended his hand. “Come on, let me help you up.”
Fuck. She should’ve known the restraining order wouldn’t do shit.
Scrambling to her feet, Jen held up her palms in a don’t-come-any-closer pose. “You can’t be here, Brendan,” she said quietly. “If you don’t leave right now, I’m calling the police.”
His eyes flashed. “Stop being so melodramatic. I only came to talk.”
“You’re supposed to be in Oakland.”
“I was.” Desperation flooded his face. “But I had to come back. I couldn’t just move to another fucking city without talking to you first. Without convincing you to come with me.”
He took a step toward her.
She took a step back.
“I’m not moving to Oakland with you,” she retorted. “I want you to leave. Now.”
Her gaze darted down to the floor, where she’d dropped her purse when she’d fallen. If she bent to pick it up, she’d have to take her eyes off her ex, who didn’t look very calm at the moment. Indignation had darkened his eyes, and he was shifting on his feet, his body language agitated and a little frightening.
Fuck. Talk about falling into a false state of security. She’d foolishly assumed Brendan would leave her alone once he left town, but clearly she’d underestimated his level of craziness. Why had she come up here alone, damn it? She should have continued to take precautions and brought Annabelle.
“I can’t go,” Brendan said, sounding miserable. “I can’t leave until we work this out.”
“There’s nothing to work out. It’s over.”
“It doesn’t have to be! Come to Oakland with me, sweetie. Please, you know we can be happy together.”
She glanced at her purse again, then at the kitchen doorway. If she made a run for the kitchen, she could probably grab the cordless and dial 911 faster than if she tried fishing her cell phone out of her purse.
“Jen. Look at me!”
She reluctantly moved her gaze back to him. “I want you to leave, Brendan.”
“Shit! I just keep doing everything wrong,” he burst out. “But it’s all because I love you. I know we can be good together. We had something amazing, and it hurts that you were so quick to throw it away.”
He came at her again, and this time, Jen didn’t back up. Fueled by a wave of anger and frustration, she brought her knee up and struck him in the groin, eliciting an outraged cry from his mouth.
“Stop it!” he yelled. “I just want to be with you!”
Her elbow shot up at the same time Brendan’s fist came at her face, bringing a sting of pain and a rush of moisture to her left eye.
Blinking through the pain, Jen drove the heel of her hand into his nose and heard the bone crunch.
“You bitch!”
Blood erupted from Brendan’s nostrils, and as he cursed in pain, Jen ducked out of his grip and raced toward the kitchen. The cordless phone was on the counter, as was the butcher block full of knives, but she didn’t make it in time.
She heard footsteps, felt Brendan’s hot breath on the nape of her neck, and then he fisted the back of her blouse and yanked her backward.
Sticky wetness stained her cheeks—blood, dripping down Brendan’s clean-shaven chin. Jen struggled, trying to wiggle out of his grip, using the fingers of one hand to try and gouge at his eyes. “Get off me,” she grunted.
He got an arm around her from behind and dug his elbow into her windpipe. “How long were you sleeping with that muscle head?” he demanded. “Were you cheating on me the entire time we were together?”
She flung out her arm in search of something to grab onto. As Brendan pushed her against the stove, cursing and spitting out angry accusations, Jen fought to escape his grasp. When her hand collided with the metal handle of the cast-iron pan on the counter, triumph and relief exploded like fireworks in her gut. She gripped the handle, then swung the pan at Brendan’s head. It collided into his skull with a thud, stunning him enough that his grip slackened.
With Brendan momentarily disoriented, Jen raised the pan high in the air and sent it crashing into the back of his skull.
A second later, his unconscious body crumpled to the linoleum floor.
Gasping for air, she staggered backward, still clutching the pan like it was a life preserver and she was drowning at sea.
Jesus. Oh sweet Jesus.
Had she killed him?
No. No, she could see his chest rising and falling. He was breathing, then.
“Jen! What the hell is taking so—oh my God.”
She lifted her head to see Annabelle come to a dead stop in the doorway.
“So much for sticking to me like glue,” Jen said in a wry voice.
Annabelle glanced from Jen’s face to Brendan’s body slumped on the floor, then spoke in a brisk tone. “Did you call the police?”
“Not yet. I was too busy fighting him off.”
“Well, you did a good fucking job.” Annabelle’s gaze landed on Brendan again. “Carson would be proud.”
Jen felt downright shell-shocked as she watched Annabelle grab the phone and call 911. When the cops showed up fifteen minutes later, she relayed the events that had transpired with a measure of calm she certainly did not feel. Her heart continued to pound. Her hands shook. Lingering adrenaline coursed through her veins, making it impossible to focus on her surroundings or the people around her.
Brendan regained consciousness while one of the uniformed officers handcuffed him, but he remained oddly subdued as he was being carted away. He’d been arrested for assault and violating the restraining order, and Jen supposed she’d have to see him in court at some point, but she couldn’t think that far ahead at the moment.
What if she hadn’t grabbed that pan in time? What if Brendan had—had done what? She had no clue what he’d planned on doing. All she knew was she could have been seriously hurt. Or worse.
“You okay?” Annabelle murmured after the cops left.
Jen gave a tired nod. “I’m fine.”
“We should put some ice on that eye.”
Eye? Oh, right. It took her a second to remember that Brendan had struck her, and once she did, she registered the pain throbbing in her left eye. She reached up to touch it, and discovered that her eye was nearly swollen shut. Probably explained why half her vision was blurry.
Jen sank onto the couch and took an unsteady breath, then reached for her purse, which Annabelle had placed on the coffee table. She needed to call Cash and tell him what happened. Over voicemail, of course, because she knew his phone wouldn’t be on, but Lord, she longed to hear his voice. And she desperately wished he were here right now, holding her in his strong arms.
But he wasn’t here. He was…well, she didn’t know where he was.
God, she wanted him to come home. She didn’t want to be alone. Didn’t want to think about what just happened with Brendan, or how differently the situation could’ve turned out if she hadn’t gained the upper hand.
Damn it, Cash. Come home.
Almost home
.
Those two words had been buzzing in Cash’s head for the past seven hours, and he was so anxious for the chopper to land that he couldn’t stop tapping his foot relentlessly and drumming his fingers on his thighs. He’d seen Carson displaying that same jittery eagerness countless times before. Come to think of it, Becker, Ryan and Matt did the whole foot-tap/finger-drum thing too.
Was it a relationship thing? Because their single counterparts, Dylan, Seth and Jackson, looked perfectly at ease as they chatted over the din of the rotors. Cash hid a surprisingly smug smile at the realization that he was officially part of the no-longer-single camp.
Shit, he couldn’t wait to see Jen. He’d missed her something fierce the past three days.
He gazed out the window, his pulse racing as the San Diego skyline came into view. The sun hovered over the horizon line, filling the sky with brilliant shades of pink and orange. Made for a damn pretty sight, and he wondered if Jen had ever seen the sunset from a helo. If not, he’d have to take her up sometime. After all, he did have that pilot’s license he hardly ever put to use.
“I’m serious, this girl is a royal pain in the ass,” Dylan was saying. “I don’t know what my brother sees in her.”
Cash shifted his gaze to the blond SEAL in the seat across from him. Dylan had been griping about his older brother’s new girlfriend for the past ten minutes, and Seth, who was sitting next to the guy, finally rolled his eyes and said, “We get it. She’s a shrew. For the love of God, can we talk about something else?”
“Fine. Let’s talk about the chick you had over last week,” Dylan said. He shot the other men in the chopper a grave look. “I slept with the door locked and a knife under my pillow. No joke—I seriously believed she might murder me in my sleep.”
Seth grinned. “Don’t be an ass. Lisa’s a cool girl.”
“She had a face tattoo, man. And out of curiosity, is there any part of her body that isn’t pierced?”
“Nope.”
Cash chuckled. Seth had the most eclectic tastes when it came to women. Sometimes he went for the shy, fragile ones, other times it was the hardcore Goths, and then he’d switch it up and date a supermodel, followed by a plain Jane. The guy had no problem sampling every dish on the menu.
As Seth and Dylan’s banter continued, Cash glanced at Carson, who’d been quiet for the entire flight. A helo ride without Carson’s sarcastic remarks was bizarre, but Cash understood why the lieutenant was so somber. As far as he knew, Holly still hadn’t moved back home, and Carson being gone for the past three days probably hadn’t helped the situation.
Twenty minutes later, after the chopper touched down on the base, Cash said goodbye to the others and practically sprinted to the parking lot, with Ryan hot on his heels. Since he’d left his car with Jen, he had to rely on Ryan to drop him at their building, but fortunately, Evans seemed as eager to get going as Cash did. They were on the road in five minutes flat, and while Ryan drove, Cash grabbed his cell phone from the glove compartment and turned it on. Probably made him a total pansy, but when he saw the missed call and message from Jen, his heart did a dumb little flip.
He punched in the pass code for his inbox, desperate to hear Jen’s voice, even if it was via voicemail, but two minutes later, his desperation had transformed into a burst of white-hot rage.
“Goddamn it,” he swore, slamming his hand on the dash so hard he was surprised the air bag didn’t deploy in his face.
Ryan looked over sharply. “What’s wrong?”
“Fucking Psycho McGee attacked Jen.” Cash’s voice came out low and deadly, and his insides had coiled into incensed knots.
“What? I thought he left town.”
“He did, but apparently he came back. The asshole showed up at Jen’s apartment, muscled his way inside, and fucking attacked her.”
His hands curled into fists. Jen had assured him in the message that she was okay and that Brendan had been arrested, but that didn’t stop Cash from wanting to murder the son of a bitch.
“Is she all right?” Ryan asked.
“She claims she’s fine.” He clenched his teeth. “But who the fuck knows.”
Ryan sped up without needing to be asked. With the Jeep’s top down, the wind hissed in the front seat and slapped Cash’s face as the scenery whizzed past his peripheral vision. The closer they got to their building, the angrier Cash felt. At Brendan. At himself.
Before he could stop it, a rush of guilt flooded his body and tightened his throat. Fuck. Fuck. He should have been here to protect her. Jen hadn’t said much in the message, and she certainly hadn’t sounded accusatory or upset with him, but Cash was pretty damn upset with himself. What kind of man couldn’t protect the woman he loved?
“Get out here,” Ryan said briskly as he slowed down in front of the building. “I’ll park the car.”
Cash was out of the Jeep before it came to a complete stop. He still wore his dirty fatigues, his boots were caked with dirt and sand from their three-day stint in the desert, but he didn’t give a shit about his appearance at the moment. He all but sprinted up to the second floor, his pulse drumming in tune to his hurried footsteps.
Worry and rage mingled in his blood to form a cocktail of nerves. Jen had said she was okay, but if so much as a hair on her head had been harmed, Cash was going to rip Psycho McGee’s throat out, even if he had to break into the bastard’s jail cell to do it.
“Jen!” he called as he dove through the front door. “Sweetheart, you here?”
No answer.
His heart jammed in his throat. Had she left? She’d said on the message that she and Annabelle were heading back here, but granted, that had been hours ago.
What if she was gone?
What if she’d changed her mind about being with him?
Cold reality splashed him in the face as he realized he wouldn’t blame her at all for that. He hadn’t been there for her when she’d needed him. And wasn’t that the crux of her no-military thing? That she wanted a man who’d fucking be there?
When he entered the living room and found it empty, Cash’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach. A quick peek into his bedroom revealed another empty room.
So that was it. She wasn’t here.
“Cash?”
He jumped in surprise, then spun around to find Jen by the bathroom doorway.
For one long moment, he was frozen in place. His gaze focused on her swollen left eye, already a ghastly shade of purple. Her lush mouth, pursed in a worried frown. Her long blonde hair falling over one shoulder.
“You’re here,” he blurted out.
She cast him a strange look. “Of course I am.”
Cash flew to her, his heart pounding incessantly as he yanked her into his arms and held her so tight he heard her gasp for air. But he couldn’t help himself. She felt so small and fragile in his arms. He breathed in the flowery aroma of her shampoo, the sweet feminine scent that was uniquely Jen, and his heart lurched in his chest.
He pulled back and gently stroked her cheek, right beneath her swollen eye. “Fuck,” he mumbled. “Oh, fuck, Jen. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her voice trembled. “It looks worse than it feels.”
The sight of that black eye sent a bolt of pure fury up his spine. “I’m going to drown the bastard,” he hissed.
A faint smile played over her lips. “First of all, drowning is Carson’s thing. Second, Brendan was arrested, so I suggest we let the cops deal with him. And third—what are you doing home? I figured you’d be gone for longer.”
“I told you it was a minor op,” he reminded her. Self-recrimination poured into him, and he swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”
Surprise flickered in her eyes. “Why are you sorry?”
The lump in his throat was so massive he could barely get a word out. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he croaked. “Christ, I should’ve been here, but I wasn’t and look what happened—that son of a bitch hurt you.”
“Cash—”
> His entire body burned with shame. “Go ahead and do it.”
Now she looked wary. “What are you talking about?”
“Break up with me. I wouldn’t blame you if you changed your mind about being with me.” Misery hung on his every word. “You were right—you need a full-time partner. A man who’s going to be there for you and protect you and—”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Jen gaped at Cash, wondering if he’d hit his head during that mission or something. Because he was talking like a crazy person. Kind of looked like a crazy person too, with that wild look in his blue eyes and the dark scruff covering his face. She’d been so happy to see him when she’d walked out of the bathroom and spotted him in the hall, but the more he babbled on about breaking up, the unhappier she became.
“No, I’m not kidding,” he mumbled. “I wasn’t here for you, and isn’t that what you were afraid of? That you’d be forced to handle everything alone? And you had to fucking handle being assaulted! Holy hell, I should have—”
“Jeez, cowboy, would you shut up already? Nobody’s breaking up with anybody.”
Cash faltered, and a flicker of confusion replaced the feral look in his eyes. “No?”
“No.” With a sigh, she reached up to cup his chin, the stubble there abrading her palms. “It’s not your fault that Brendan showed up. If anyone’s to blame for this, it’s me, for not being more cautious when I went back to my apartment.”
Cash still looked dubious. “You’re not angry that I wasn’t there to protect you?”
“I protected myself just fine,” she replied. “And you know what? As messed up as this sounds, I’m happy Brendan showed up this morning. Now the cops are involved and they can deal with him, and besides, the whole encounter was proof that I can take care of myself. The self-defense training my family shoved down my throat paid off, and I got out of the situation with nothing but a black eye when it could’ve been a lot worse.”
Jen smiled. “So no, I’m not angry with you. And hell no, I’m not dumping you. I was strong enough to deal with my psycho ex, and I’m definitely strong enough to be in this relationship with you.”