Unknown Number: You’re a fucking whore!!!!
My eyes close and I try to calm myself down. I hate that his words still manage to get to me. Casting a quick glance over at Foster, noting his regard of the messages, his jaw is clenched tight. Turning my attention back to my phone, I skip over the other harassing messages and find I have one from Nancy. Shortly after they’d helped me relocate here, she and Ted had decided to move out west to be closer to her mother whose health was failing.
Nancy: Hey, sweetie. Just wanted to check on you. Hope everything’s still going well. When you get a chance, please let me know you’re okay. Love you, mean it!
“Something wrong?” Foster leans toward me, toward my phone.
With a dejected sigh, I turn the phone to allow him to more easily read Nancy’s text message. He then raises his eyes, meeting mine. “He’s not going to get to you, Noelle. Not on my watch.” The fierceness in his words compel me to believe him.
“I hope so,” I reply softly, looking down at my phone. I quickly type a message back to Nancy to let her know that I’m okay now, that Brad’s made an appearance, but I am safe and staying with a friend. I pause for a moment, my thumb hovering over the keypad, before also adding that I’ll fill her in later. Terrible, I know, but I don’t have it in me to get into the details, right now. As long as she knows I’m safe, that’s the most important thing to Nancy.
“Friend, huh?” My head jerks up to see him smirking at me.
Rolling my eyes, I press the send button for the text and mutter, “It sounds less sketchy than saying I’m staying with my boss.”
“Noelle.” The way he says my name has me looking over at him in question. “You’re safe here. Nothing’s going to bother you.” Just as I open my mouth to respond, he interrupts with, “Not him.” Even softer, he adds, “And not me.”
My heart goes all gooey at his words and the earnest way he says them. Damn you, Foster Kavanaugh, and that freaking sweetness you keep locked up tight. Even though there’s something between us—some sort of awareness—he would never force himself on me. He would never push me into doing anything sexual with him.
Regardless of how much a part of me might want him to.
Chapter Eleven
Foster
It’s around three in the morning, and I’m sitting outside in a chair on my deck allowing the slightly cool breeze off the ocean to blow over me. Clad in only my black boxer briefs, I stare off into the darkness surrounding me. Harley’s been camped out, lying in wait outside Noelle’s bedroom door. The only time he left his spot was to come and nudge me awake a few minutes ago, to rouse me from what had been a disturbing dream about Hendy.
Moments like this are when I feel most conflicted. About myself. About life.
I realize there are many who hate war. Hell, it’s not like I’ve ever been a fan of it. I’m not—nor ever was—some sicko just itching to kill people in cold blood. That has to be the furthest thing from the truth. I love my country—even with its faults—and love what it represents. I loved being a part of—often playing a key role in—eliminating those who would cause harm to others. I loved playing a part in the seemingly never-ending war against evil and protecting the innocent.
But moments when I’m alone like this, I find myself wondering if I will ever manage to have a normal life. If I’m deserving of one. I’ve been a civilian for a few years now, but the weight of what I had to do while in uniform is heavy; heavy on my mind, my soul … and my heart.
I recall a conversation Hendy and I had a while back. Aside from my buddy Mac, Hendy was the only other person who’d actually sit down and have any serious heart-to-hearts with me. One night, while we were deployed and waiting around for the powers-that-be to give us the go-ahead for a mission, Hendy had found me in my spot where I liked to sit and just … be. Everyone else left me alone when I would sit there. Without any words exchanged, they just knew. I probably exuded what Laney refers to as my fuck off vibes.
Hendy was the only one brave enough or just didn’t give a shit about interrupting my time alone. The last time he’d joined me, sliding beside me as I sat on some large box that used to hold supplies, he slung his arm around me and whispered, “We’re finally alone, lover. I could barely hold in my excitement for this moment.” Then he licked the side of my face.
Fucker. He’s so disgusting and lewd, but you can’t help but love him. We all deal with war, with death, with the job we have to do, differently. Hendy was the one who used humor.
I’d wiped off his damn disgusting saliva, sending him a dark glare. It didn’t faze him, of course, and I remember him just coming out and saying it. No pretense whatsoever.
“It’s time, huh?” He was utterly serious, but that wasn’t what had caught my attention. It was the understanding in his tone. He knew I felt it was my time to leave the Teams.