Aarabelle
I wake up, roll over, and find Hart is gone. His room feels endlessly empty when he’s not here. My limbs feel like jelly and even though I’m sore between my legs, there’s an aching hollow because he’s not there and he should be. The shiny edge of the black ring on my finger catches the light in the morning sun. It went exactly like I planned. My plan A worked. It might be the last time something in my life goes that smoothly. In between sessions we talked about everything. My recovery, his never-ending drama with a friend group he’s broken up with, the details of the deal with Aurora Ball. Even if I don’t approve of Luke bailing out Chantal for the fire, I have to admit it’s impressive, albeit scary how things are handled when large sums of money are involved.
Last night, when it was evident we wouldn’t be sleeping very much, we called out of work for today. I’ll deal with Lt. Williams and the truth later in the week. Hopefully after news spreads that we intend to use the loophole to make our love permanent in the eyes of the Navy. It won’t be hearsay or a rushed proposal in the middle of a meeting. It will be real. He’s mine. I still haven’t fully absorbed what that means.
I stretch my arms over my head and slide to the side of the enormous bed. I showered before I fell asleep a couple of hours ago, and my hair is still a bit damp. I walk into the bathroom and find the huge mirror covered in writing, and a Dry Erase marker lying next to the sink. In Luke’s chicken scratch writing, it says,
Take the Mondial to the jungle gym from hell. You know the place—by the bell. Make sure to dress in PT (but still dress for me.)
At the very bottom, in smaller capital letters, it says,Follow the clues. I love you.My stomach flips and I lay a hand on it as I read it over and over. I dress in a pair of black workout shorts and a dry-wicking tank. It’s PT gear, but it’s not the standard Navy issued shorts and t-shirt that sag off my body. That has to be what he meant bydress for him. I’m winding my long hair into a bun on the top of my head.
“The Mondial?” I finally shriek.
I pull on my socks and sneakers and grab my wallet as I jog to the other side of the house—through the kitchen, snagging a banana from the bowl on the counter and inhaling it as I bound into the garage tingling with excitement. The Mondial is not in the garage, it’s pulled out on the driveway, idling. Luke’s Lambo is gone, and I consider if this is some cruel trick. Is he really letting me drivethe car?
There’s a sticky note on the steering wheel that says,Drive safe.She’s yours now.
I don’t try to hide the squeal as I slide into the driver’s seat and caress the steering wheel in disbelief. I try to call Luke, but it goes straight to voicemail. Is this real life? This is my dream car and he’s trying to give it to me. Pressing the gas pedal, I drive off his property. Nothing can take the cheesy, elated grin off my face as I drive down the freeway to the jungle gym from hell. It’s on our Coronado base. The obstacle course. A dreaded, awful event I’m sure Satan himself had a hand in creating.
The guy at the guard shack looks at me weird after he eye fucks the car. He waves me on after I show him my military ID. Strangely, I don’t see Hart’s beacon of a car in our lot. I park nearest the building, taking the key out like it’s a precious commodity, and slipping it into the back zippered pocket of my shorts. It’s a workday, so there are people scurrying about, but no one gives me a second glance. I smile at a friend and he waves back as I cut through the center of the grinder to head toward the obstacle course. Sure enough, as soon as it’s in view, I shield my eyes and see a piece of paper fluttering in the wind at the very top of the cargo net. It’s fifty feet high, and not for the faint. SEALS hate the cargo net. Always. Sighing, I start climbing, thankful I’m fresh and not dog tired right now. Otherwise, I’d probably be swearing all the way up. I snatch the piece of paper off a zip tie, put it in my mouth and begin my descent. I hop down when I’m about three feet from the ground and land in the sand.
The paper says,Next to the place where you’ll never feel dandy. Take a dip in the cold and get wet and sandy.He has got to be joking. As I stride down to the water where Hell Week takes place, sure enough, the bright orange buoy on the horizon has a fluttering piece of paper tied to it. Looking left and right, I try to find Luke. He has to be here somewhere. Watching me weigh my options.
“Hart, you are a dead man!” I call out as I take off my tank top, shoes, and socks.
I put the car key in one of my sneakers and wade into the cold water in my shorts and a sports bra. When the water, that feels like ice, reaches my stomach, I start stroking, face in the water. The shivering starts almost immediately and I take solace knowing that he had to swim this same path to put the damn clue out here.Or did he take a boat?I may kill him after all. I frogger kick when I get to the bright orange beacon, spit out some of the salty water, and rub my eyes. There’s a baggie with a white piece of paper in it. I do my best to get the paper out and read it without soaking the message completely.
Take a run to where you fire your gun. X marks the spot. Try not to get caught.The gun range. Clutching the paper in one hand, I stroke back to the beach. Shivering, I slide my hands down my arms and legs, trying to get the excess water off my body. Laying near my sneakers is a package and a towel.
“Oh my gosh.” I look around. “Where are you?”
Wrapping the towel around my shoulders, I open up the package to find a necklace. It’s a delicate chain with a bull sign pendant with a diamond in the palm of the tiny hand. It shines in the light of the sun. It’s not ostentatious, but it is insanely beautiful. Narrowing my eyes, I scan the horizon, and I don’t see him. I clasp it around my neck and dry off as best as I can, shoving my feet into my sneakers, carrying my stuff to the gun range.
It’s obvious I’m being ignored as I go by training buildings and pass by SEALs coming and going to the range. Someone smirks but avoids eye contact. Then another looks away from me completely. This isn’t normal behavior, at least, it’s not anymore. Hoffer sees me and starts laughing.
“What am I walking in to right now?” I ask when he stops to say hello. “I’m getting a little irritated.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Nothing to be irritated by, Dempsey. But, hey, I gotta get going. I’m, ah, late for a meeting.”
“Bullshit,” I hiss under my breath as I watch him retreat.
More people are in on this scavenger hunt than I would have assumed. The AC hits me and chills racks my body when I push into the indoor range. No one else is in here which is incredibly strange for this time of day. Leave it to Luke Hart to take over a SEAL base with whatever reckless, harebrained plan he concocted last minute. I walk up to the only lane that has a paper target set up and pick up the gun sitting on the rack. After checking the chamber, I aim and shoot at the X on the white paper until I’ve hit all the marks, then tap the button that slides the target to me. I unpin it and flip it over, unsurprised when I find another clue.
Grinning as I read, I realize how much trouble he’s gone through to make me work. For what? What’s the end state? Him in a giant brightly wrapped package? That’s all I want. A non-refundable Luke Hart, with dimples add-on package. It says:
Shower off the grime, it’s party time. You can’t look a mess, so put on the dress. Time for a snack, it’s burger attack.
This is an easy one. Mayton’s.There’s a bathroom with a shower stall in the back of the range. I only know because it’s the bathroom I use when we’re over here in the training area. The men have a full-on locker room. I have this small add on. Sure enough, there’s a dress hanging on a silver hanger on the stall. A pair of low heels sitting on a box under it. It’s beige and lacy and the sight of it makes my stomach turn in anxiety and anticipation. I left my cell phone in the car, or I’d probably try Luke again. My makeup bag and toiletries are in a bag on the counter in front of the mirror.
I’m on autopilot as I shower and get ready in record time. Another wet, low bun, and minimal makeup. I admire the new necklace around my neck before I turn off the lights and take my stuff back to the Mondial. I don’t see a soul when I get into the car and fire up the engine.God it sounds perfect,I think, relishing the feel of the power as I try to calm my nerves. At least I’m showered, so I know whatever comes next won’t require physical exertion. I hope, at least, as I wiggle the heel over the gas pedal. My phone has no missed calls or texts and that’s not completely abnormal on a workday, but today is completely strange in general.
When I pull into Mayton’s parking lot, I see Marissa’s car and breathe a sigh of relief and also have a mild panic attack. She greets me at the door as I walk up. “That was quick,” she exclaims.
“You look so pretty,” I admit, eyeing her long maxi dress. “As my best friend, you are obligated to tell me what in the hell is going on and why I’m wearing this dress and these heels.” I breathe heavy. “I played by the rules at work, but I need you to give me something before I deconstruct into a pile of nervous ashes. You hear?”
“This is the best part. I can’t ruin it, Aara. Plus, you wouldn’t want me to. Do you trust me? Do you trust him? This is a fun surprise, not pirates and broken ankles.”Pirates and broken ankles. Like, killing a man isn’t on that list.She levels me with a gaze, then wraps me with a hug. “You are such a goddamn champion and you deserve all the happiness in the world.”
“Trust is a tricky thing when you’re doing it blind. I swam in the ocean to get a clue, Marissa. I froze my ass off!”
