Page 4 of Steal My Breath Away

“I’m not afraid of shit.” With a wall covered in certificates, commendations, medals, and awards, Tony was clearly not a man who understood fear.

“Then why don’t you come out drinking with the team? Whydon’t you take time to get to know our staff or the other guards? Why don’t you take a break between assignments, make some friends and have a life?” he persisted. “You don’t even have a place to live in LA. You stay in hotels between clients. I get the feeling that if someone tried to be your friend, you’d ask to be reassigned to a different city.”

I bristled at his questions. “Do you have any complaints about my work?”

Tony shook his head. “You’re one of my best, but it’s a problem when I have to tell clients you won’t do repeat bookings. It’s a problem when you refuse to stay past your self-imposed six-month limit, because it means the client has to develop a new bond of trust with someone else. I want our clients to feel that the bodyguard they hire is someone they can form a relationship with, someone who will stay with them for as long as they need. Long-term placements are good for business. They are good for our reputation. They tell the world that our people are solid, stable, and trustworthy, and that means more business.”

“If you’re saying I have to continue with Jessica—”

“I get it.” He kept talking as if I hadn’t interrupted. “I’ve worked with other vets who have issues forming attachments after losing close friends on active duty. And I know it was worse for you because you also lost your grandmother when you were on deployment. I lost people, too. But I took the time to grieve. You finished your military commitment and came straight out here to join the team. You’ve worked nonstop for the last two years without a break, and you haven’t taken the time to see the firm’s psychologist, which you promised you would do when you first came to work for me. I think you need to talk to someone, Ace. I’ll take you off Jessica’s detail, but I’m not going to reassign you until you deal with your mental health.”

I’d been avoiding the psychologist since the day I’d started with Stellar Security. I simply wasn’t prepared to unpack a lifetime of trauma in front of a stranger, and I had no idea what would happen if I let someone in.

“What if I just took some time off?” I offered. “I’ll take a vacation.”

Tony gave me a dubious look. “You? On vacation? Where would you go?”

“A beach.” I’d never taken a vacation before, but some of my celebrity clients had island getaways where they would go on the pretense of getting away. In reality, it was an excuse to get photos of themselves in swimwear, showing off the months of restricted diets and intense workouts in the hopes they’d be offered a juicy role to revive a flagging career.

“What are you going to do on this beach? You’re not a lie-in-the-sun-and-read-a-book kind of guy.”

“Surf. Kiteboard. Scuba dive.” I’d always wanted to try out water sports, but aside from waterskiing with Matt during summer camping trips, the opportunity hadn’t arisen.

He raised a curious eyebrow. “Would you be going to this beach alone?”

I sensed Tony wasn’t buying into my beach plan, so I tried to assuage his concerns with a smirk. “I’m sure I won’t be alone for long.” It wasn’t a total lie. I had no trouble attracting women—Jessica was a case in point. But I didn’t do relationships. When I did need to burn off some sexual tension, I drove to the coast where the vibe was chill, and it was easy to meet a woman who was happy to spend the night with a stranger who would be gone by the first light of day. It had been a long time since I’d taken that drive.

“Cut the bullshit,” he said abruptly. “We both know you’re not going to any beach. You’re not a beach guy, and don’t tell me you’ll go to Paris and see the sights, because you’re not that guy either.” He steepled his fingers in front of his chin. “Maybe I should send you back to Jessica. She likes you. She said you two had a connection. Don’t you want that in your life?”

“I don’t need connections.” Connections meant giving up a part of yourself and living with a giant black empty hole in your chest when the people you cared about disappeared from your life.

“What do you want?”

“I want to get back to work,” I shot back.

“I’ll make an appointment for you with Dr. Stanford.”

My pulse kicked up a notch when he reached for the phone. “I’ll go home,” I said. “My grandmother left me her house in Virginia when she died. I haven’t been there since Matt’s funeral, and I’ve been meaning to go back and fix it up so I can sell it.”

Tony knew all about Matt. He knew that Matt had been accepted into dental school at Havencrest U but had decided to follow me into the air force instead. We’d joined the buddy program and planned to turn our four years of military service into four years of fully paid university education under the GI Bill. We had it all laid out. After we’d finished our military commitment, we’d go to the same university, share an apartment, graduate, and return to Riverstone to live our lives—me as an engineer and him as a dentist—and maybe even have families, assuming we could find women willing to marry us. Looking back at my eighteen-year-old self, I couldn’t believe I’d been so utterly naive. Fate had a way of destroying the best-laid plans, and only a few weeks before the end of our final tour of duty, it took him away.

“That I believe.” Tony put the receiver down. “I think it’s a good idea. You need to make peace with the past. Two months.”

Two months alone with my own thoughts was nothing less than torture.

“One week.”

“Six weeks or I make that call to Dr. Stanford.”

Fuck.Six weeks in Riverstone. Nausea roiled in my gut. “Six, but you promise to have an assignment ready for me the day I get back, even if I’ve worked for them before.” I was willing to break my own rules if it meant an early reprieve from a vacation I didn’t want to take.

“Done.” Tony slapped his desk. “Go home. Get your head straight. Lay the ghosts to rest.”

I forced a smile, but I already knew there was nothing for me in Riverstone but pain.

CHAPTER 3Haley

My dad loved music. Until he died, I can’t remember a day when I came home from school to silence. Whether it was the deafening guitar riffs of “Mustang Sally” or the soothing sound of “Georgia on My Mind,” our house was alive with sound, and every song was a learning experience. I knew all the music greats and could recite the top-ten bands of every decade before I learned how to write. But through the years, Van Morrison always stood out. Whether it was “Brown Eyed Girl,” “Moondance,” or any of his classics, every one of my dad’s playlists featured a Van Morrison song. We sang to everything from the low bass talent of Johnny Cash to the high treble of Michael Jackson. Dad knew all the lyrics, but I was the one carrying the tune, and there was nothing we loved more than taking to the “stage” during family gatherings to sing and dance to our favorites.

---