Tracked by Trouble (Bad Boys Need Love, Too #3) Read online

  “I feel like a teenager.”

  “I guess that makes you my teenage lover. Isn’t that the way the game is played? We each make our claim on the other through demarcation?”

  She grinned at him. “I think we’ve each made our claim on the other through continuous passionate expression. Seriously, baby, you’re the most creative lover. I love it. I love you.” Beck rolled on her belly to the side of the bed and retrieved her lacy, eggshell colored bra from the floor. She twirled it around her finger, taunting Zed, jeans hanging low over his hips, still looking at her with hungry eyes. “Are you okay with this? My stuff is everywhere. I’ve kind of moved in.”

  “You have indeed. And I’m better than okay. Thrilled, happy, ecstatic is more like it. It only took us a couple of weeks to get here. I love living with you, Beck honey. It’s been an easy transition.”

  “Yeah,” she said, dropping the bra in favor of her soft, red T-shirt. “Well, it’s not official yet. Don’t call it ‘living with me,’ yet. I haven’t given notice or anything.” Sitting cross-legged on the messy, love-tossed sheets, she pulled it over her head.

  “Whenever you’re ready. You decide. I’m not going to push you. The door’s open when you’re ready.”

  She loved Zed for saying that. He made decisions her choice, gave her time to weigh things, didn’t try to corral her into moving too fast. Not like Tyler who pushed me into everything. She’d been comparing her new, blissful relationship against her stormy one with Tyler for the last two weeks, as if verifying her decision to be with Zed.

  Points weighed heavily in his favor, making it a no contest kind of situation. She smiled, figuring the comparison game would stop soon enough, as the two of them made their own history. She swung her legs over the edge and retrieved her panties. “You’ll be home around seven tonight?”

  “You do hear yourself, don’t you? You call this place home.”

  Her face grew red. “Yeah, well…” It took Tyler months to convince me to move in. She waved a hand breezily at him. “Training again, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. Jace is turning up the heat. I think he’s pumped to be my coach and truly invested in the outcome. He wants to take me out for a beer so we can go over strategy. Only a few weeks left.”

  “No chicks allowed?”

  “Not just any chick.” His tongue slid between his lips. “You’re always allowed, welcome and encouraged, even. Stop by your old place of employment when you get off work. That’s where we’ll be.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

  “Okay, deal.” She paused, biting her lip. “So…” She watched his face transform to wariness. The guy seemed wired to her thoughts and feelings. “Have you given any thought to the…”

  “To the psychologist? No.” A wall fell into place. “I’ve been seeing and talking with Mitch. He’s helping me sort things.”

  “But…” She sauntered up to where he stood, placing her palms over his heart.

  He stepped away. “But nothing, I’ve got this.”

  Ouch. Her hands dropped to her hips. “No, baby, you don’t have this. You’ve had seven mild blackouts in the last two weeks. One last night.”

  “What, you’re keeping tabs on me? Carry around a tally sheet, do you? ‘Oh, there he goes again. Another blackout. That Zed. Can’t keep his shit together.’” He dragged his hand through his hair and sighed. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Come here.”

  “What if I don’t want to?” she huffed.

  “Do it anyway. I was being a jackass. I’m sorry.” He took a step toward her and held open his arms.

  Another thing to love about Zed, she thought. He takes responsibility for his actions. She’d never been with a guy like that. In fact, she hadn’t believed that men could do it—be honest and responsible. She stepped into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his strong back, pressing her cheek into his warm shoulder. “I’m still worried about you. You haven’t passed out again but it’s like you start sleepwalking all of a sudden. Your face gets all blank and I can tell you’re far, far away. Not present. Not with me, anyway.”

  She leaned away from him. “What if you blacked out during the race like we talked about? You’re zooming along on your bike and then….nothing…and you find yourself in a ditch somewhere. Have you put any more thought into that?”

  His handsome face crumpled into a frown. “Yeah, actually. I’ve, uh…I’ve been talking with Mitch about that possibility.”

  “What’s he say?”

  “Same thing as you. Get some help. I want to try to work it out on my own, though.” He seemed desperate, like “working it out on his own” meant his own salvation.

  Her quicksilver temper rising, Beck shook her head. “That’s stupid.” A look of surprise flashed across his face. “I’m sorry, but it’s dumb, Zed. Get some frigging help, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Thanks for the show of support.”

  “You know what I mean. Stop being so stubborn.” She wanted to strangle sense into him.

  “Stop being so bossy, babe.” He glared at her.

  “Okay, okay.” She lifted her hands, palms facing him in surrender. “But I can’t help you. You need an expert.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “You hear from your brother lately?”

  “I don’t pick up the phone when I see his number. If he leaves a message, I delete it.”

  “But he’s been trying to contact you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you still don’t know what he’s up to, where he is, right?”

  “Nope. Don’t care.”

  She squinted at this cavalier response. “And your reaction to being pursued by him?”

  “I call Mitch. He calms me down.”

  “So how many times has he tried to contact you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Does he call at a certain time?”

  “I don’t know, when I’m driving home from work usually, I guess.” Blotches of color crept up his face. He looked away from her.

  “Think. How many? This is important. Look it up on your phone log.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “I will.” She turned and began to stride toward the side stand where he always placed his phone.

  “Beck, stop! Stay out of my business.” He lunged for her, snagging her arm with tight, unyielding fingers.

  She spun to face him, peeling his hand from her biceps. “How many times, Zed?”

  His face reddened. “I don’t know, honestly. I don’t count.”

  “Wager a guess.”

  “Six or seven times, I guess.” He looked shamefaced and sheepish.

  “And then you experience a mild episode when you come home. Zed, honey, you have to see the connection.”

  “I see it,” he said, sheepishly. “I don’t want to believe it. I keep trying to prove to myself I’m better than that.”

  “This has nothing to do with better or worse, baby. It has to do with you being stuck in a trauma. Probably several traumas from the sound of it. Its physiology. It’s the body’s method of coping with shit. Please, please, please, call the number I gave you.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  She threw up her hands. “Zed! Come on! Do you want me to move in with you or not?”

  He appeared stunned. “Yes. Why would you have to ask that?”

  “Because you’re acting like an idiot…about this, I mean. Get some goddamned help! Get unstuck! If this guy can’t help you, someone can.” She craned her neck to look at the clock on the bed-stand. “I’ve got to eat, get showered, and get to work.”

  “Dressed like that? That’s what you’re wearing to breakfast?” He smirked.

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Yes, wearing last night’s panties and yesterday’s T-shirt. My robe is still at my house.”

  He shrugged. “We can remedy that. Just say the word.”

  “Soon. Anyway, I’ve got a busy day. Tell me your answer while I’m drinking coffee. Or when I get in the shower. I�
��ll give you that much time.”

  “Can I watch?” He smirked at her.

  “No!”

  His face fell.

  Argh. She didn’t want to hurt him. “I’m sorry, too. You’re right, I’m being bossy. I’m seriously worried about you. We’ve confessed our feelings for one another. We know we love each other. Things are moving really fast between us. It only amps my fear. I don’t want anything to happen to you. Baby, please.”

  “I, uh…” He looked away from her again. “I feel the same way,” he mumbled.

  She stepped closer and took his hands in hers. “I’m here for you, you know that. Tell me.”

  He cleared his throat. “I, uh. Well, shit. Lawson’s a goddamned marine, serving his country. He deals with life and death all the time. And here his wimpy brother can’t handle his temper and goes into some fucking trauma response like a big frigging baby.”

  “Oh, sweetheart. Is that what this is about?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” He pulled free of her grip and wandered into the bedroom, sitting at the edge of the crumpled bedding. He rested his elbows on his knees and hung his head in his hands, looking completely defeated.

  Beck stepped softly in front of him and crouched low so she could catch his gaze. She rested her hands on his knees, next to his elbows. “Babe,” she said gently.

  “What?” he said, not removing his head from his hands.

  “I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere. But I need you to get help. I can’t keep stressing and fretting about you. I think about you all the time. I stress and worry, wondering what your dumb ass bully brother is going to do to you – to us. He might not have to be in the state, even, to break us apart.”

  Zed looked up at her, his eyes lined with weariness. “That’s what I’m afraid of. He’ll simply win, whether he’s here, or not. He’s already winning.”

  “Not yet, he’s not. Not even close.” She got up from her crouch and sat beside him, stroking his back, something that always seemed to soothe him. “But he might get an edge on you if you don’t seek help.”

  He squeezed the bridge of his nose, the thing he seemed to do when his thoughts threatened to overwhelm. “All right,” he said, eyes closed. “All right, Beck honey, I’ll do it for you.”

  “What, like you’re not worth the time and energy? You have to do it for someone else?” She scowled, knowing she should shut up and accept his answer. “Oh, jeez, I’m sorry. I’m behaving like a bitch. I think you’re important, baby, way important. But thank you. Thank you for doing it for me. I accept. As long as you make the call.”

  “Yeah, I’ll make the call. But it still has to be my process.”

  “Understood,” Beck said.

  “And, Beck honey…” He cleared his throat, placing his hand on her thigh.

  “Yeah?” She stroked the back of his hand.

  “Thank you…for caring…about me.” He reached to push her hair back from her face. “For wanting to stick around. For even considering moving in with me. It means a lot to me. That’s why I don’t push it. I’m filled with gratitude…for you…” He chewed his lip and cleared his throat again. “For you wanting to be with me. I’m grateful. And happy. Incredibly happy.”

  “Zed…you melt me.”

  His gaze locked on hers, somber, serious. “You’re like a gift, you know? Like everything ever taken away from me, everything snatched out from under my hands, returned to me in…in you.”

  “Baby…you take my breath away.” In that moment, Beck fell deeper in love than she’d ever experienced in her life. Zed seemed to not take anything for granted, but especially not her.

  Chapter 25

  Beck managed to squeak in the door at the edge of acceptable. She hustled past the young receptionist, Reye, who sat chatting on the land line phone, doodling on a notepad.

  When Reye spied her, she said, “Hey, I have to go,” hung up the phone and whirled to face Beck. “That was my mother,” she said, pointing at the phone, as if in answer to an unspoken question—either that, or to assuage her guilt. “Dr. Johnson wants you to join him in the big therapy room. He’s got some more overflow from the base today he wants you to observe.”

  “Okay, Reye. He’s been getting a lot of their patients, hasn’t he?”

  “Yeah, well, the staff here are the best around and the VA hospital is busy. It’s wartime, as we all know, in various parts of the world. Those poor soldiers.”

  “I know, right? I thought my heart would break when we got that young guy who lost both legs. Barely twenty.” She shook her head. “He had to comfort me, if you could believe it. He seemed to accept it as the price he paid for serving his country. His whole life, boom, gone from hale to helpless thanks to one IED.”

  “He had a great sense of humor, though. Always made me laugh,” Reye said. “I kinda miss him,” she added wistfully, like a girl with a crush.

  “Same with me,” Beck agreed. “Super attitude. Guys like that make me feel petty sometimes, like I’m paying attention to the wrong things in life.”

  “I know what you mean,” Reye said. “Oh—watch out for the guy in with Dr. Johnson. He’s way too good looking. Seems pretty sure of himself. He limped in here all cocky, like I should bow down before him.” Reye twirled a strand of brown hair around her finger. She always seemed to be in a state of fidget. “Made me nervous.”

  “Honey, I can handle guys like that, believe me. I see them as a challenge who should be chopped down to size. Men like that are no match for Beck Tosetti.” She flashed a wicked smile at the younger woman.

  Reye put her hands up in surrender. “Oooh, believe me, I’ll never tussle with you.”

  “You’re not a guy. Don’t worry.” When she entered the therapy room, she barely glanced at the equipment, work stations and exercise machines placed throughout the large space. Instead, her focus ran up and down and back up the “off the charts” good looking male. One of those dazzling, “it doesn’t get any better than this,” specimens of male perfection.

  He stood tall, precise, like a good soldier, both hands, enclosed in black workout gloves, braced on the parallel bars, wearing shorts and a gray T-shirt. His left knee wrapped in a brace, the same-side ankle in a walking-cast boot, his blue eyes caught hers. He briefly appeared startled, then gave her a knowing, predatory look, followed by a huge, white-toothed grin.

  She frowned. Something about this guy disturbs me. I’m not easily disturbed.

  “Ms. Tosetti.” Dr. Johnson beckoned to her.

  She sauntered over, looked at the blond Adonis, and said, “Do I know you?”

  “Not yet,” he purred.

  Beck felt the familiar stirs of seduction rolling off this guy like a wave. “Well, we’ll get to know one another inside and out in here, at least as far as your body’s capabilities and progress is concerned.” A professional smile formed on her face and she turned toward Dr. Johnson.

  “I look forward to it,” the male said, as if the two of them were the only people in the room. “My body has all kinds of capabilities, some known, some untapped.”

  Ugh. She flinched. Beck experienced strange stirrings inside, sort of like she sat in the dentist chair awaiting a root canal and the dentist held the laughing gas mask over her nose in an attempt to make her feel really, really good. She directed her attention to the orthopedic surgeon. “So what are we doing today to assist this soldier on the road to recovery?”

  Dr. Johnson scanned the computer screen in front of him, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Look at this X ray. He’s got a possible stress fracture in the metatarsals. It’s a ‘may or may not’ be kind of thing. The pain he’s experiencing is real, though, right, son?”

  The male shrugged. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “His knee took a twist trying to escape an IED, which, thankfully, he managed to do.” The doctor smiled at the male. “How are the rest of your injuries healing?”

  “Scrapes and scratches, Doc, nothing more.” He beamed.
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br />   “He’s being tough. He took quite a hit in service for his country.” Dr. Johnson looked as proud as if he were the male’s father.

  “I guess there will be no triathlons for me any time soon.”

  Beck felt a chill crawl up her spine, like an ant trail army made its way up her back.

  Dr. Johnson looked up from the computer. “Were you thinking of it?”

  The soldier lifted his muscled shoulder in a shrug, the tattooed words of U.S. Marine Corps, the bottom of a globe and part of an anchor, peeking out from under his sleeve.

  His biceps appeared as large as one of her thighs. Beck stared at the chiseled muscle until the guy noticed, the corners of his lips lifting in a satisfied smile.

  “I was. My nephew’s trying to save a sea lion. Someone at his school organized the race to raise funds for the Marine Mammal Center. I’ve changed my mind about the race, though, what with the injury and all. I can participate in other ways.” He winked at Beck.

  Beck thought she might faint. She swallowed in an attempt to force moisture into her mouth. It’s him.

  “Damn fishermen shouldn’t be shooting at sea life. If they do, they shouldn’t miss. I know I wouldn’t have missed.” He lifted his arms as if holding a rifle, squinting, as if looking through a scope, pretending to aim and shoot. “Clean kill or don’t bother with the shot.”

  “The sergeant here is a sniper in the Marines,” Dr. Johnson said.

  “Was a sniper,” he corrected. “Former enlisted.” He sighed.

  “But there’s no one here to shoot,” Dr. Johnson added with a chuckle. He pushed his index finger and thumb over his small, trim mustache. “Just us chickens here.” He turned his attention back to the X ray.

  “Ninety-eight confirmed kills, all bad guys.” The masculine blonde smirked.

  What about the Marine you killed? Was he a bad guy? “Huh. How about that.” Beck felt the urge to run. She forced her eyes to stare at the screen.

  “No breaks here, but torn ligaments. Those can be the toughest to heal.” The doctor tapped the ghostly gray and white knee image, wrinkled his nose and peered at the screen, rubbing his chin.