I was fucking nervous, I realized.
I hadn’t been nervous since my first tour of duty. I’d done some seriously heinous shit in my time, some really intense stuff, and never once had I felt butterflies.
But as I paid the cab and turned toward the nondescript Northeast Philadelphia row home, I had fucking butterflies.
It was unreal.
Nash Bell didn’t feel nervous. Little girls about to sing in front of their high school class got nervous.
I shook my head. I had to get myself together.
I walked up the walkway, up the stoop, and stood there in front of the door.
All I had to do was knock. Or maybe I should ring the bell. Fuck. For some reason I couldn’t lift my hand, couldn’t bring myself to knock.
What if she didn’t want to see me anymore? It wasn’t like I was used to telling women that I loved them. Fuck, she was the first one actually. I’d never wanted to say it, never been interested in love.
This must have been what it made you do, though, if I was so damn nervous.
“Nash?”
I turned around, a little surprised.
How were people sneaking up on me so much lately?
I stared as Selena as her mom climbed out of a car parked on the street. I must have been too nervous to even notice them pull up.
Selena stared at me, not saying a word, but Tracy was smiling. “Nash! It’s great to see you.”
“Hey there, Tracy,” I said, managing to smile. I walked toward them.
“How are you?” she asked, coming over and giving me a hug.
“I’m great. How are things here?”
“Oh, you know,” she said, frowning. “Is L.A. good?”
“It’s amazing.”
“Good. Good.” She looked at me and then at Selena. “Okay, well, I’ll let you two talk.” She quickly walked away, up the stoop, and into the house.
Selena was wearing tight black jeans, a simply white T-shirt, and her hair was pulled back into a bun. So simple, and yet so fucking perfect. That was how I liked her, not made up, not decked out in fancy clothes. I liked her simple, in jeans and a T-shirt, no makeup, just a fucking smile.
Except there was no smile there.
“Hey,” I said to her.
She stood across from me, her arms crossed. “What are you doing here, Nash?” she asked. “I can’t do any interviews right now.”
“How’s your dad doing?”
“He’s hanging in,” she said.
“Good.” I stared at her. “I’m not here about interviews.”
“Why are you here, Nash? Because I’m pretty sure you made how you feel pretty clear when you let me get on that plane alone.”
“I know,” I said. “Listen.”
“No. You listen, you asshole.” She was getting worked up. “I’m done with this. I don’t work for you. I’m not your fucking employee or some tool for you to use. You want to go back into combat? Fine, go, I don’t care. Just don’t show up on my doorstep ever again.”
“Selena—” I said, but she cut me off.
“No, no. I’m finished. Get it? You’re just going to run away to war again. I don’t know why you’re here, but I don’t care.”
“I love you,” I said.
That stopped her tirade. “What?”
“I love you,” I said. “I made a mistake when I let you leave. Fuck, I’ve been miserable in L.A. without you.”
“You love me?” she said softly.
I nodded, stepping closer. “Fuck, girl, I’ve loved you for a while now.”
“A while now,” she repeated.
“I’m done with it,” I said. “I’ll always be a SEAL, but I’ll never leave you again.”
She stood there staring at me, her mouth parted, the anger clearly having faded away. She said nothing, didn’t make a move to come closer, just watched me.
“Well?” I said, smiling. “I love you. Fuck, I do.”
She threw her arms around me and kissed me hard.
Lightning broke through my body as I kissed her back, pulling her tightly against me.
We kissed like that, standing out in front of her parents’ house, almost like we were alone in the world.
Finally, she pulled away. “You can’t leave me again,” she said.
“I know.”
“I love you too then, asshole.”
“Yeah,” I said, grinning hugely, “I know you do.”
I kissed her again, and I knew that I didn’t need a week to figure things out. I’d already made my choice.
The general was going to be pissed, but fuck him. I’d keep doing their domestic propaganda missions, but I didn’t need to make them happy all the time. I was done being their fucking lackey, their little lap dog they thought they could push around.