Page 21 of Legacy
Luke
There are about twenty people here. The windows are open, so some are wandering out by the pool and others are haphazardly sprawling through my living room and kitchen. These aren’t my work friends, these are my old friends. I’m normally jovial, the perfect host making the rounds and taking shots with anyone who asks. Most definitely by this time of night, I’ve picked the woman who will spend the night with me. Chase invited new girls over tonight, but there’s something about the idea of having to talk to them that makes me tired. The bullshit is tiring. I’ll have to listen to a whiny voice, pretend to be interested in fuck knows what, and then play games until she’s in my bed and under my body. It’s exhausting.
I take a long swallow of the gin and tonic in my hand and press my teeth together against the sting of the alcohol. My father had a drinking problem for much of his life. A lot of SEALs I know have a drinking problem that they’d never categorize as such. What elite, alpha, type-A individual would fully admit to not having control over something in their life? Do I have a drinking problem? No. Do I drink more than I should? Yes. I’m more aware of the potential for disaster because of it. I’ve seen families torn apart, careers lost, and dreams squashed.
When the ice clinks against my teeth and the last drop is drained from the glass, I set it next to my sink. My dad would never tell me how to live my life, but I can see the darkness in his eyes when I mention a party, or tell a story that involves Chase. I have control. I’m aware. A dark-haired woman is on her knees next to my coffee table. She’s wearing a white mini skirt and a crop top. Her SoCal skin is tan, her smile is white, and her tits are perfect silicone balls riding high on her chest. There’s a crystal chandelier hanging in the center of the large room. It casts a cataclysmic rainbow of lights over everything it touches. When the girl leans over and snorts a line of coke off a mirror, she’s lit with purple. Then red and yellow as she reclines back on her knees, tilts her head up and makes sure her nose is clean.
I’m a D.O.D. employee and aside from alcohol, I don’t imbibe with my friends. I wouldn’t even if I could. Because that would relinquish control to a substance instead of my own mind. Chase calls out to me and I tip my chin at him. He gestures to the brunette. The easy win. If I wanted that. I shake my head and his brown, beady gaze grows curious. I can nearly hear the accusations telepathically. I sigh when he saunters over.
“She is literally a standard Luke Hart fuck. You’re acting weird tonight. What’s up?”
I can’t tell him how lonely I suddenly feel, or how Aarabelle Dempsey is still on my mind and how I wish she didn’t leave. But how embarrassed I’d be if she was still here is an even greater feeling. Because she’d see this fucking loose irreverent display before me. I’d have to explain it away, and then ask myself why I care. When I don’t respond, my eyes glued to the coked-up woman, Chase goes on, “Have another drink, tight ass. You wanted us to come over, remember? This was your idea.”
“Maybe it was a bad idea,” I snap.
He quirks one brow. “You forget who you’re talking to?”
“No, dude. I’m not in the mood for it. It was my idea last week. It was a bad idea tonight. Get them out.”
He shifts, uneasily. He’ll argue with me, sure. But I’m three times his size, and he’d never bow up. His laugh is acerbic. “It’s that chick, isn’t it? The one that was here?”
“I never get twisted over a chick. Watch your fucking mouth,” I boom.
Chase steps back. “She was here on a Sunday. With your parents.”
He knows and I know he knows, but I can’t bring myself to admit it.
“You don’t know that,” I fire back. It’s a mistake. I sound defensive and he picks up on it.
He clears his throat, pleased with my answer. I fucking hate this prick. He’s good with people. It’s how he’s made it as far as he has. I swear it’s like he has another sense.
“She was here, and you liked that she was here. You must have fucked her because you’re turning away poor Brita over there, so it was that good?”
“Fuck you, man. I’m not talking about her with you. Go snort another line and you fuck Brita. At your own house. Get everyone out. I’m just tired, okay? I have an early morning.”
“You always have early mornings and never want the party to leave. Who is Aarabelle?”
I turn away. “I work with her, man. Look, I really don’t want to get into this with you.”
“Her face is memorable. She’s a dime piece. Even in her baggy ass clothes, I could see that. What is she, Intel at your base or something? You never shit where you eat, man. Something’s up. Spill it.”
I know what I tell him next is going to send the red flags up all over the place, but it needs to be said so he backs off and doesn’t twist this around for his benefit. “She’s just a friend, man. Just a friend. She’s, ah, the woman SEAL.”
He jumps back three steps like a toddler playing hopscotch. “Oh, oh, oh! You are bagging the first female SEAL! That make you a SEAL tapper? SEALs with benefits? SEAL Team sex? That has to be against HR rules, bro? I knew she looked familiar. Fuck, man! You know who her ex is, right?”
Of course, Chase knows about celebrity gossip. He lives it. Breathes it. Rolls in it. Snorts it for breakfast, I’m sure. I wait for him to go on.
“Henry Fucking Durnin. That singer all the ladies fucking drop their panties for. He fucked Aurora Ball on his fucking balcony next to my London club and Aarabelle saw a photo of it on the news the next day.” Jesus, it’s more depraved than I thought. “He played her like a guitar. I never understood what Durnin saw in a regular girl, though. Sure, she’s hot and all, but Aurora Ball. Celeb pussy. You can’t compare.”
I can see the appeal. Oh, man, can I ever. Aarabelle is any man’s wet dream. Hard to handle. A challenge. Beautiful. Intelligent. Durnin fucked up, and I bet he knows it. I can’t admit that to Chase though. He’s already on alert, and he runs his mouth louder than anyone I know. He was sitting in the passenger seat when I wrapped my car around a tree at age sixteen. He was the first to blather to my parents that it was my fault. The cops didn’t even know who was to blame. I didn’t talk to him for a month. I hold up one finger.
“First, I’m not fucking her. My dad…ordered me to be her friend because no one else would. She’s not my type at all. Obviously.” I wave my arm at the sofa filled withmy type.Aara’s words, not mine, so it creates less guilt. “I’m just tired. That’s all.” Sometimes I think I’m tired of trying to keep up with Chase. That maybe I’m still submerged in this cluster fuck because it’s what I’m used to.
“You didn’t fuck her?” Chase’s eyes sear into mine.
I shake my head. “You’re right about one thing, there are rules. I can’t touch her. I’m just showing her the ropes. She had questions about training and I was being a good teammate.”
“But you do find her attractive,” he bites. He’s fishing.
