Page 44 of Heston
Whatever. Heston didn’t have enough brain bytes to solve Asher’s relationship problems tonight. He purchased a dozen donuts, then hustled London to his place. While she grabbed the treats from the backseat, Heston climbed out of his black Challenger, ran around it in time to open her door, then headed up the walk and inside. The irony that he drove the same type of car as Tucker Chase didn’t escape him. At least his wasn’t a flashy red neon sign.
“Nice place, Agent Contreras,” London said quietly after he’d unlocked the deadbolt on his front door and gestured her inside.
At that Agent Contreras comment, Heston had a feeling he’d missed something. He re-engaged the deadbolt, took the box of donuts from London, dropped them on his kitchen counter for later, and started a pot of coffee brewing.
His place had been a garage back in the 1950s. Its inside walls sported raw, unpainted brick on both levels, a concrete floor at ground level and a massive loft that overlooked most of the lower floor. The common area, kitchen, full bathroom, and his office were tucked under a wide staircase that led to the loft. Besides his bedroom, upstairs housed a furnished guestroom and a smaller room full of storage.
He’d bought the garage during his one-and-only house-hunting trip to Virginia, and he’d been remodeling it ever since. There was still plenty to be done, inside and out. Funny how he’d always pictured London there, had even included certain items in his renovation plans—just for her—just in case. And now, there she was.
“I should’ve asked earlier,” he said, peering around the kitchen door jamb. “I’m making coffee, but I’ve also got beer, wine, or whiskey, if you’d rather something stronger.”
“Coffee’s fine,” she replied from where she stood gazing up at the framed portrait on the mantle. “Is this picture recent?”
“Yes, taken last year. That’s Mama and Dad in the middle, as you know. Good photo, huh?”
“Roberto’s still not married?”
Heston shrugged. “He’s too busy touring the world. Last I heard, he was in Manchuria, headed for India.”
“What’s he do?”
That was a tough question. “Mama says he hasn’t found himself yet. Guess he’s still looking.”
“Hmm…” There was something odd in London’s tone, as if she were being extra-polite. Extra nice. “You look like your dad.”
Heston let that observation slide. Carter Contreras might look like a nice guy in the photo, but he was and always would be a badassed Marine. Gruff. Rude. Sharp-tongued when dressing down a kid who spilled milk at the dinner table. Growing up, he’d been unreasonably tough on his boys, but never Belinda. He’d spoiled her, which had always been a sore spot between Carter and Bellisa, Heston’s mother. His Mama.
“Where were you when it was taken?”
“Afghanistan. Alex sent Mark, Harley, and me to track down a friend of his, to bring him and his family to America.”
“And did you?” Again, her tone sounded remote, like she was holding back. Was she having second thoughts about her marriage proposal?
“Mostly,” Heston answered, remembering locating the wizened, little man, Arzad and his worried wife, Gulnar, in their tiny mud-brick home. How small they’d looked inside the giant C-130 that had flown them to Eglin Air Force Base in Florida. Worse, how Gulnar had cried for their only granddaughter when the plane lifted off, and left the dust and stink of Afghanistan behind. Najela was still living somewhere near the abandoned American Air Base with her aid-worker husband, Benny. Withtheir three small daughters. In abject poverty, like most of the country, now that the Taliban was on the move again.
‘I need to get them out,’he thought to himself.‘Their country’s turning back into the shithole it was before. That’s my next mission. God, I hope they’re still alive.’
“Hey, where’d you go?” London asked, her brows narrowed in that adorably inquisitive frown he adored.
Heston shook off the worry for the young woman a world away and looked into the turquoise eyes blinking at him now. “Just thinking. Coffee should be ready.”
“Stay here. I’ll get it.” London was back in seconds with two mugs of steaming brew. “You still drink yours black, right?” she asked, one cup extended toward him.
Heston took the mug and set it on the side table. “I do, thanks. But first, conversation.”
She wiggled her backside into the corner of the couch opposite from him, put one knee between them, and balanced her mug on that knee. Like a barrier. “So talk.”
He pursed his lips, not sure where to start. The knee between them looked like a castle wall with a steamy cup of ammunition between them. Whether she knew it or not, she’d created a boundary he knew he should respect, not breach.
But it was now or never. “I can’t survive another break-up,” he said quietly. “If you need to leave me behind so you can fly, London, go. Please, just go. I won’t hold you back. I’m proud of you, and I’ll support you every way I can, even if it means letting you go. I understand the drive that propels you to serve your country, I do, and I don’t blame you. I feel the same call. It’s a powerful force that doesn’t allow for much compromise, does it? When called to action, we’re the ones who jump first, ask questions later. While others run from it, we run into trouble. We never give up on our dreams, which is precisely what you didthe night you left me. You followed your dream. You jumped at your chance to serve. I just—”
“For your information, I left because you attacked me and my dreams,” she said firmly. “Not because I no longer loved you.”
He nodded. “Copy that. I did attack your dreams. I minimized you as an individual and as a woman, and I’m damned sorry.” Heston swallowed hard. “I’m not the modern thinker you are. I’m still the guy from the stone age who wants to be the only man in your life. The one who runs to protect you.”
“Youarethe only man in my life.”
Heston noticed she didn’t admit she might never need his protection. Looking down at his boots, he shook his head. He couldn’t change who he was. The drive to protect London was fiercely strong, maybe too strong for a modern-day relationship to work. He refused to be less than who he was. And yes, his inner caveman didn’t have a submissive bone in its body. Or in its pants. “I’m not the only strong one in your life, London. You don’t need me for that. You’re strong enough all by yourself. I see that now. And because I do, I love you enough to finally let you go. If that’s what you want.” Man, he hoped it wasn’t, but she needed to know she had choices. That he wouldn’t stand in her way.
