20. Alpha Mike Foxtrot
TWENTY
ALPHA MIKE FOXTROT
Holt
Something’s off.
I’ve been telling myself not to draw the wrong conclusions every time Jules frowns at her phone, or shields it from view, or like a moment ago, runs away so she doesn’t have to answer it in front of me.
She deserves her privacy. She doesn’t owe me anything. She isn’t Mom.
But in the quiet of my room, voices from the past fill my head.
Who were you out with? Why can’t a girl just go have fun? Where did the bracelet come from? When did you become so boring? Why are you lying to me? What more do you want from me? I regret the day we married.
I remember my mother leaving the room when she’d get a call. My father clenching his fist, often following her, yelling.
Physically trying to free myself of these thoughts, I start to undress for bed. Jules’ calls and texts could just be secret NASA stuff. They always have classified projects going on, according to both Jackie and Jules.
But this reasoning feels uneasy in my gut. If it was NASA, she’d just say so. Tell me it’s confidential. I’d respect that.
So why the secrecy? She basically shoved me out of the laundry room door earlier. Does she not want her friends to know we’re together? Am I just a hookup? She let my hand rest on her back for a moment by the barn, but then she kept a distance between us the rest of the night.
Not that I helped much, what with yelling at her in the barn earlier.
Frustrated, I yank one button too hard and it pops off. “Fuck.” Looking in the mirror, I barely recognize myself. I used to be steady. Reassuring. Calm. And now I’m ripping apart clothes and cursing in frustration.
My house is in the middle of being torn apart, I’ve barely worked a full day on the ranch since my brother got engaged, and now I’m suddenly anxious over a woman. Second-guessing myself.
Dang it. I shrug out of my shirt. Why can’t I be attracted to someone easy? Someone without secrets, a dangerous job, or an affinity for the word fuck?
Jules’ reaction to the last time I said fuck plays through my mind, making it harder to get my jeans off. Penguins. That’s what’s printed on my boxers today.
I sigh and sit down on the edge of my bed, freeing my ankles from my jeans. Jules may get off on dirty words, but she also gets off over ridiculous boxer prints.
She is a walking contradiction.
She wears leather pants. But also worn, loose jeans. Workaholic. Drops everything to help her friends. Calls a spade a spade. Flashes fake smiles. Likes it rough. Likes to cuddle.
Rubbing a hand over my face, I groan and fall back on the bed.
The porch door slams shut. I don’t hear bootsteps on the stairs, which means Jules took the time to take them off even though she thinks my house rule is ridiculous. The realization takes some of the edge off my emotions.
Her bedroom door opens and closes. Huh. I thought she’d come straight here.
Thinking she’s going to take a shower, I scoot up the bed and lay back, waiting. A few minutes go by, but the sound of running water never starts.
I give her five more minutes then I’m out the door, making my way to her.
“Jules?” I knock.
She doesn’t answer. I knock again, then slowly open the door. “Jules, you in there?”
And she is, standing at the foot of her bed, backpack open, clothes scattered around. She doesn’t look up. Instead, she balls a shirt up and stuffs it into her bag. My fingers twitch, wanting to take it out and fold it properly.
Though it’s obvious, I can’t help but ask. “What are you doing?”
“I’m heading back to Clear Lake.” Her voice is hard and flat.
I swallow, trying to rein in the emotions I’d battled away just moments ago. She stuffs in a pair of leggings. On the bureau, her laptop is closed and its power cord wrapped up next to it. On top is a stack of paper. Her lists. “Does this have something to do with your phone buzzing all the time?”
Her body stills, just for a second, but it’s enough of an answer.
Still in the doorway, I can’t bring myself to come closer. “Is that why you’re leaving?”
“It…” Her nostrils flare, and I can almost see the wall she’s built up between us. “It doesn’t matter. I just need to go. Don’t worry about it.” She reaches back to grab her laptop, sliding it into her bag’s back compartment.
It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it.
I heard my mother tell my father those same things many times growing up. Until I was finally old enough to escape to the ranch. And even after Gramps passed I kept coming here, to the only place that would silence the sound of my father’s heartbreak and my mother’s indifference.
“Who sent you those texts, Jules?” I hate that I have to ask. I hate how the command in my voice makes Jules stiffen further.
“No one important.” Jules talks through gritted teeth, now shoving everything in sight into her bag.
“Oh really?”
“Yes.” She punches her clothes down. “Really.”
I cross my arms over my chest, feeling somewhat ridiculous being pissed and hurt while in animal print boxers. “Then why can’t you tell me?”
Nothing. Though she’s only a step away, the space between us seems to grow wide and impassable.
With each zip of her bag, my heartbeat races faster. “ Who keeps texting you?”
Finally, Jules stops her manic packing. Her hands flex and release, her breathing hard while she stares a hole in the comforter in front of her. Silence stretches out over the abyss between us. It grates on my nerves.
“So I was just a fuck? Guess it’s in keeping with your MO.”
Startled, Jules steps back, turning to me, her eyes wide with shock. “Jesus, Holt. When did you turn into an asshole?”
“Probably the moment I met you.” I hate the words coming out of my mouth. I hate myself even more for saying them.
“Fuck you.”
“Already did.” Jesus, I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore except I feel a need to hurt her, hurt her like she’s hurting me.
She stills once more, looking at me like I’m a stranger. Then, without uttering a single word, she snags her leather jacket hanging on the corner chair.
The room echoes with my sick laugh. “That’s it? After all you did?”
Frowning, Jules’ stance softens. “What did I do?”
My emotions overload. All the doubts and panic about everything that’s been happening bubble up.
“The wedding, the renovations, promising those kids a trip to NASA, telling me I should give up the ranch and do something else.” She opens her mouth but I cut her off.
“Until you came along, flirting with everything in sight and making me lose my goddamn mind, I was perfectly happy.”
She blinks first, stunned, and then laughs.
It’s harder and more unkind than mine was, and a part of me knows I deserve it.
“You give me too much credit, cowboy.” Smirking, she shrugs into her jacket.
“And you’re delusional if you think you were happy.
” She grabs her stack of lists off the table, and I watch as one flutters to the floor.
“I suggested you work more with the kids because any fool can see they make you happy. Way happier than ranching does.”
I scoff.
“You wake your rich ass up at dawn every morning and work a ranch that you don’t want to be working.”
“Wha—”
“You’ve spent every year since your parents died pushing your brother and sister to find their happiness, but you’re too afraid to push yourself.
” She slides her lists in a side pocket.
“The first time I saw you smile out there in the West fields was when those kids were here.” She closes the final zipper.
“And it wasn’t some fake-ass PR smile.” Facing me, her eyes go hard. “I know all about those.”
She straightens from packing, hands at her side, looking relaxed and unbothered while I’m burning up inside.
“You’ve built yourself a nice little safe place, haven’t you, Holt? One responsibility after another stacked up so high, you could build your own barn with them.”
“That’s rich coming from someone who has no family responsibilities.”
Her chin jerks up like I slapped her. I’d been wanting a reaction, but it doesn’t satisfy me like I thought it would.
“You’re right, I don’t. My family had their own ideas on how I should live and who and what I should be.
You’re the only one putting expectations on yourself.
Rose and Flynn would support you even if you burned this whole place to the ground as long as it put a smile on your face, but you’re so busy running from what your parents did, you don’t even know your legs are moving. ”
Another buzz, this time loud, as her phone is on the nightstand. Without thinking, I take two quick steps and pick it up.
“Hey!” Jules lunges, but she’s too slow.
Though the screen is locked, the notification comes up clear as day. I can’t wait to see you…
She snatches the phone away from me, reading the screen. “Fuck.” She sighs, running a hand through her hair. “It isn’t what you think.”
My laugh sounds hollow. “You know how many times I heard my mom say that to my dad?”
“Fuck, Holt. I’m not your damn mom.” She draws in a breath like she’s about to yell, but then releases, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Can’t you just…trust me?”
“Trust you? Ha. That’s funny. Trust the flirt.
The one always maneuvering people around to get what she wants.
The one with a million smiles and none of them genuine.
” I don’t even know what I’m saying now, the words leaving my mouth like distant echoes of my dad’s tirades.
With each accusation, Jules’ back straightens until she’s so stiff she could be standing in front of a firing squad. Which is basically what I am right now.
“Did that make you feel better?” Her expression has cleared, her eyes, usually glinting with intelligence and mischief, dull.
No it didn’t. But I don’t admit it. I don’t say anything.
She nods, taking my silence as affirmation.
“So just because I’m attractive and have a friendly personality, I’m a flirt?
Just because I know how to get shit done and do it, I’m manipulative?
And just because I’m not career suicidal enough to tell reporters to go fuck themselves, I’m disingenuous?
” Her head shakes slowly from side to side.
Like she’s disappointed in me. And that hurts more than her anger.
“If I was a man, I’d be a great networker. A team leader. A smooth talker. But no. I’m a flirt. I’m manipulative. I’m fake. I—” She stops, frowning, and then a bitter laugh escapes through the heartbreaking smile on her lips. “Aren’t we a pair?”
Not sure of her meaning, I stay still.
She snatches up her bag, threading her arms through the straps.
“I think I made that same argument to my dad before I left for college and the Air Force.” She straightens the bottom of her jacket.
“Told myself I’d never allow myself to be in a situation where I’d have to make it to someone I actually cared about. ”
And with those words, my breath leaves me. “Babe, I?—”
“No.” Her voice is unyielding, like the officer she once was. “Do not babe me. I spent my childhood being told by a man that I was too loud, too brash, too everything a girl shouldn’t be. That I was the reason his life wasn’t the perfect picture he’d dreamt of.”
I want to speak, but I’m too shocked by the tears welling up in her eyes. I’ve broken her.
“It took a long time to realize the very things the general looked down on me for were not weaknesses, they are strengths .” She blinks, once, twice, forcing the tears away.
In seconds, her PR smile is in place. She could almost be a statue, except for the one hand rubbing the spot above her heart.
“And I’ll be damned if I let some disappointed momma’s boy make me feel bad about myself. ”
And with that she’s gone, her footsteps muffled by the carpet. I stand there, letting her go. Listening to her stomping into her boots in the foyer, flinching when the front door slams and feeling my gut hollow out in regret when her bike roars to life.
Engine vibrations rattle the windows and the sound of her bike fades as she races down the drive. Then there’s nothing.
I’m alone, and it’s quiet. Just like it used to be. But worse, somehow.