Page 3 of Until You Can't

“I thought you could let her down easy for me. And why don’t you use this time to bond? Learn to like each other. I’m planning to propose soon.”

And then my dipshit brother ended the call.

Didn’t pick up when I called him back either.

“Anthony,” I hissed, then tossed my phone onto the bed before heading to his bathroom.

The en suite was as fancy as the rest of his luxury condo. I stepped around the partial glass wall to get to the shower, which had two more shower heads than necessary.

I turned each knob, and the blast of water washed the fog from my brain, and I replayed the last words Anthony had said on the call. “Wait, did he say propose?”

The water spraying my face alerted me that I was getting wet and still dressed.

Damn this concussion.

I lowered my focus to my boots, then exited the shower. One thing a SEAL hated was wet boots. Thankfully, I hadn’t been under the three shower heads long enough to penetrate the suede.

After removing my boots, I stripped off the rest of my damp clothes as quickly as possible and winced when I caught sight of my reflection.

Two weeks without operating meant my brownish-black hair was a bit more unruly than normal, and the hair on my face was well on its way to becoming a beard. But it was my eyes that told the real story. Tired. Haunted. Old.

Benched for a reason, I guess. I’d blacked out twice in the two weeks since that op, which I hadn’t told the doctors about, and waking up from those collapse-to-the-ground moments feeling hungover hadn’t been from whiskey. As much as I wanted to be downrange again, I’d never risk my teammates. But the second my head was back on straight, I’d spin up. Well, as soon as the doctor cleared me.

I massaged my temples, wishing the headache would go away. I’d turned down the stronger drugs the doctor had offered. I’d seen what heavy-duty prescription meds had done to a few buddies of mine.

With a sigh, I went back into the shower without clothes this time. I had to admit the three shower heads felt good, like a massage, especially when the water tap-tap-tapped against the nape of my neck. Extravagance had its benefits.

I wasn’t sure how long I’d simply stood there letting the water beat down on me, but I finally snatched one of the bottles and lathered myself in the soap. When the lavender scent hit my nose, I realized it was Natalia’s body wash.

I traded that bottle for another, one that was more minty-fresh, which I assumed was Anthony’s, and did my best to scrub her scent from my skin. I didn’t need to smell the woman on me all night.

But rewashing my body didn’t stop me from thinking about the last time I saw Natalia.

Mom’s Fourth of July party. When a neighbor’s big-oaf of a Doberman had gone running after a squirrel in our backyard and slammed into Natalia on his way.

I’d been close by and reached for Natalia, saving her from falling into the pool. Why had I saved her? Because she was in a sundress. The last damn thing I’d needed was to see Natalia in a wet sundress. To see it cling to her curves as if God had pasted the fabric to her stunning body.

But on that filthy hot Fourth of July day, when I’d “saved” her from the pool, I’d hauled her my way with too much force, causing her cheek to collide with my chest.

She’d lifted her green eyes, and I’d realized I was too close. Close enough to know she didn’t have perfume on, just a lavender-scented body wash. Shocked at what I had done, I’d immediately released her.

Sniffed my brother’s girlfriend. No concussion to blame then. Hell, not that I knew of, at least.

“Why are you thinking about her?” Because I’ll be seeing her tonight. “And now I’m having a conversation with myself.” Yeah, the doctors didn’t need to know about that.

I quickly shampooed my hair next, but when I turned off the shower, I heard someone call out, “Hey, it’s me.”

In hindsight, I should have opened my mouth and said, Don’t come in. It’s Ryan. But instead, I went for the towel hanging outside the shower as the door opened.

Natalia stood in the doorway. Eyes wide. Lips parted.

I half-expected her to comically slap a hand over her eyes, but nope, she slowly walked her gaze up the length of my body. Taking her time, too.

I cocked a brow. “Enjoying the show?” Not waiting for her eyes to meet mine, I secured the white fluffy towel around my waist before swiping both hands through my wet locks.

Natalia remained quiet, her eyes steady on my chest, and I assumed she’d spied some of the scars there. Including a fresh one from the op two weeks ago.

I leaned my weight against the wall at my side, amused by her shocked state.

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