Out of the Ashes Read online

  Cautiously accepting it, I slide it open and pull out what looks to be a folded piece of paper and some other items tucked in the folds. Opening it up, I find a typed letter.

  Pres,

  I’ve no doubt Kane will tell you, I’ve been a pussy about this. He’s probably standing right next to you as you read this.

  I break off to eye Kane who’s, indeed, standing right beside me with his usual smirk.

  Anyway, I wanted to give you something for your birthday instead of a lame calendar. I wanted to really give you something I thought you might appreciate and possibly end up enjoying.

  I know it’s a belated present, but I’ve included two airline gift cards to fly up to see the last night of our tour. Heath likes to end each tour at Walter Reed Medical Center since all of us have been there and know the men and women could use something to lift their spirits just as we needed it once. I’ve included two tickets to the tour because I figured you might not want to come alone. Maybe you can bring Lucia or whoever you want. I’d really love it if you could be there.

  We’ll be speaking three days in a row since they don’t have a big enough space to gather all the patients at once. I’ve got you tickets for the first night we’re speaking there—Friday night—because I don’t want you to be exhausted on the following Monday at work after traveling.

  I’ll understand completely if you don’t want to come. I won’t lie and say it won’t hurt, but I’ll understand, Pres. I’ve asked far too much of you, and I realize this. I just hoped that maybe you could come here and see for yourself how far I’ve come.

  Happy Birthday, again, Pres. I miss you more than you can imagine.

  Love,

  Hendy

  My slow, long exhale is the only sound in the room before Kane and Lucia finally speak.

  “So darlin’, what do you—”

  “Are you going to—”

  They both stop, exchanging a surprised look before turning back to me. My eyes flit back and forth between the two, and I focus on the letter and tickets in my hands, rolling my lips inward. Thinking.

  Hell, who am I kidding? I’m not thinking about it. My mind was made up the instant I saw those tickets tucked inside the letter.

  Raising my eyes to Lucia and Kane, I tip my head to the side. “Guess you’ll have to do rock, paper, scissors to see who gets to come with me.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Hendy

  December 20th

  Walter Reed Medical Center

  “You okay, man? You look like you’re about to puke.”

  Turning, I meet Heath’s concerned gaze. Choking out a forced laugh, I shake my head. “Just nervous.” I run a hand down my face, adding, “Wondering if she’ll show.”

  “Windham hasn’t sent a text to update you?” Heath asks about Kane. I’d filled him in when I’d finally decided to send the letter and tickets.

  “Nope.” My lips twist. “Said it would”—I make finger quotes—“build anticipation.”

  Heath chuckles. “Sick bastard,” he murmurs, but it lacks any heat. “Well”—he slaps a hand on my shoulder—“get yourself ready.” He levels me a look. “And most importantly, be proud of yourself, man. Regardless of what happens with her.” The hand on my shoulder gives a quick, comforting squeeze. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes, and I’m proud of you.”

  With those words, he walks off, leaving me to stare blankly at him while I drop down to sit on one of the nearby chairs. Someone steps up, walking closer to where I’m sitting while the others mingle off to the side. Izzy lies with her chin resting on my flip-flop clad feet. It might be December and pretty damn cold in Maryland, but I feel the need to wear them. Like the flip-flops are a little piece of Fernandina Beach with me. Like maybe a little piece of Presley is with me.

  “Delivery for Mr. Hendrixson?” The delivery guy—in his late teens—glances around nervously, clearly intimidated by the looks of some of us, by our stature.

  “Here.” I raise my fingers at him, and he quickly steps over to me, handing me a large, oversized envelope that looks nearly three feet tall. Once I take it from him, I reach for some cash in my pocket to tip him, but he holds up a hand in protest.

  “No need, sir. It’s been taken care of. Have a great day.” And like that, he’s gone.

  Casting an odd look at the envelope, I tear open the flap and pull out what’s inside.

  And there’s no way I can resist the laughter that bursts free.

  Because it’s an enormous photo card of Foster, Kane, Doc, and everyone else standing below a banner that reads, Kick ass, Hendy! We love you and are proud of you! The smiles of everyone in the photo are so genuine that tears begin to prick my eyes. Each of them holds a small sign with a message on it.

  Of course, Kane’s holding one that says, I love you more than they do. And his expression is just as cocky, if not more so, than usual. But below that message, he’d added, You rose from the ashes. Own it!

  Then I see Foster’s sign, a smirk on his handsome face, and hell, if that doesn’t make me laugh again. I bet Heath twenty bucks you’d get teary-eyed at this. Love you, you pussy.

  Then beside him is his wife Noelle with a smirk of her own, holding a sign that says, Don’t worry. He’s not getting any tonight for being snotty to you.

  Doc’s expression is deadpan, but I can tell his green eyes crinkle with humor at the corners as he holds a sign that says, Green Berets can’t be trusted. You know I love your ass more.

  My eyes track over the rest of the faces and signs, going back and forth between laughter and fighting back the tears. But the moment I find Presley, my heart stops. Not only because I’ve missed the sight of her—I have—but because of the sign she holds.

  Clue: Woman who is more proud than you can imagine and can’t wait to see you. That right there sends me over the edge, and a lone tear trickles down my cheek.

  “Well, fuck me. I owe Fos twenty dollars,” Heath mutters off to the side.

  And I don’t even care. Because all this time, I’d thought I’d been doing the others a favor by staying away. So they wouldn’t have to see my face. But I’d been missing the big picture.

  Regardless of how much I tried to push them away, they hadn’t budged. They gave me my room, sure, but not once had they given up on me. Not even when I’d given up on myself.

  Looking down at this picture, it’s evident more than ever. Even though these individuals aren’t my blood relation, they’re more family than I could have ever imagined.

  I might have lost part of myself out there in that desert, but now, I finally realize what I’ve gained. I’ve gained a family—albeit a ragtag bunch.

  A family who loves me unconditionally.

  A family who didn’t give up on me.

  A family who believed—believes—I rose out of the ashes.

  * * *

  The applause and whistles are nearly deafening, and I notice the looks on many of the nurses’ faces. Shock or even surprise to see that much of a reaction from some of these individuals who haven’t shown much sign of life.

  This is what it’s about. Showing our fellow men and women that life’s worth living. That they aren’t worthless, that they aren’t—nor haven’t been—forgotten. To remind them of what they’ve overcome.

  To remind them to be fearless and to live life with vigor.

  My eyes have glossed over the crowd the entire time I was speaking in front of them, trying to pick Presley out, but it’s difficult with the large number of individuals here tonight.

  I thought for sure that, after that photo card, she was going to be here. While I know that something might have come up, I can’t deny the fact that I’m bummed as hell at the prospect of her not being able to make it.

  As the orderlies and nurses assist many of the patients back to their rooms, some stick around, wanting to shake our hands or say a few words of thanks. Once the crowd thins with barely a few stragglers in wheelchairs, I see a familiar burly form standing beside
a petite woman.

  My breath hitches as I take in the sight of Presley standing beside Kane, watching as she draws near, her eyes trained on me. She’s wearing a faded pair of jeans that perfectly fit her slim body and a long-sleeved, cotton shirt that accentuates her petite waist. Each step she takes brings her closer, causing my body to tense in anticipation.

  She comes to a stop barely a foot away from me while Kane steps off to chat with Heath and the others. Those green and blue eyes regard me hesitantly. “I’m sorry we’re late. Our flight was delayed because of the—”

  Her words are cut off when I reach out my hand, slip my fingers into the front waistband of her jeans, and yank her to me, my mouth instantly on hers. Presley immediately arches against me, her hands moving to my face.

  And I don’t flinch the moment her hand cradles my left cheek. Instead, I imagine I can feel the heat—the love—in her touch.

  “All right, all right. This is a public place, kids. Jesus.” Heath’s teasing remark breaks through my haze.

  “I reckon I’ve not witnessed such a thorough tongue bath in some time,” Kane adds as I break the kiss, resting my forehead on Presley’s.

  She huffs out a little laugh against my lips, her eyes still closed.

  “Hey.” I lean back slightly, my voice quiet, and wait for her eyes to meet mine. “I’m glad you’re here. It means a lot to me.”

  Her eyes scan my features. “I’ll always be here for you…if you let me.”

  My throat grows thick, and all I can manage is a nod. Dipping my head to brush my lips against hers again quickly, I reach for her hand. “Let me introduce you to the others. You’ll love them.”

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Presley

  December 24th

  As soon as I slide onto the barstool—what I’ve come to refer to as my barstool—Ryan, the bartender, greets me with a water and the raspberry ale I usually order.

  “Hey, Presley.” He smiles, reaching for the remote to change the mounted television to Jeopardy. “Any appetizers?”

  “Hmm.” I tip my head to the side. “You know what? How about an order of the chipotle grilled shrimp, please?”

  “You got it.” He heads off to put in my order, and I sip my beer, watching the beginning of Jeopardy.

  I’ve been stopping in here nearly every Thursday after work after Hendy left to join The Fearless Tour because nothing says ‘loser’ like a woman who continues to go to the same bar, sit in the same seat, and watch the same show as she did with the man she fell in love with.

  The same man who was so different yet the same when I’d flown out to see him speak in Maryland. Different because he was confident; not hiding behind a ball cap, he stood proudly before anyone and shared his experiences. He was the same in that he was still the Hendy I’d come to love—fun, sweet, thoughtful, and oh, so sexy.

  That night, he’d taken me back to his hotel room after ditching the rest of his crew and Kane, who went out to dinner and bar hopping. We’d talked, and he’d confided in me about the woman, Katie, and her reaction to his face. How he’d let that and his own unacceptance lead his thoughts and his attitude. My heart ached to hear that story, for what it must have felt like, and I’d made sure to remind him how proud I was of him.

  The way he’d made love to me throughout the night was different. His touch was more reverent as if he were memorizing, savoring me. He never once turned his face away from me, nor did he insist on leaving the lights off. There’d been two lamps near the desk area lit, and he’d allowed me to truly see him.

  To see the man I love.

  That was four days ago, and the tour was now officially over. I hadn’t heard from him, but I chalked it up to the likelihood of it being hectic to wrap up their tour.

  So…Christmas Eve is upon us, and here I am, sitting at the bar. Alone.

  There’s a word for that, I believe. It’s called pathetic.

  Ryan slides the small appetizer of shrimp in front of me with some extra napkins, and I thank him with a smile. Picking up a shrimp, I bite into it, discarding the tail to the far section of the plate. Answering the questions I know—or think I know the answers to—while I eat, soon the time for Final Jeopardy rolls around.

  Taking a sip of water while pushing my now empty plate aside, I wait in anticipation for the Final Jeopardy clue: “This insect can see in all directions at once.”

  “What is the dragonfly?” I answer.

  Except that I’m not the only one to answer. Another voice joins mine.

  A familiar one.

  The one belonging to the man who owns my heart.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Hendy

  Hearing her give the answer to Final Jeopardy, I close my eyes, letting the soft lilt of her voice rush over me, and without thinking, I answer the question right along with her.

  She slowly swivels around in her barstool, and my breath catches because although it’s only been a few days since I saw her in Maryland, I don’t know that I’ll ever get over the fact that this beautiful woman accepts me the way I am.

  Her eyes drift over me from head to toe, especially lingering on my face. As if she, too, is memorizing my features. As if she missed me as much as I missed her.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Her gaze narrows on me, slightly amused. “Who is this Hendy who asks first instead of just doing?”

  With a short laugh, I run a hand down my face, and she peers up at me, her eyes light up with mischief. “Well”—she leans in closer, lowering her voice—“I’ll let you in on a secret.”

  “What’s that?” I lower my voice to match hers.

  “It’s usually a sure thing when you’re talking to the same woman who let you tie her up and have your way with her.”

  This brings a smile to my lips.

  “Oh, wow,” she breathes out suddenly. “You smiled and jetted right past ruggedly handsome, with the added mysteriousness of those scars, and took it up to the highest level of breathtakingly handsome.”

  Huffing out a laugh, I shake my head. “You smooth talker, you.”

  We watch each other, and I get the feeling she’s basking in the sight of me as much as I am of her.

  “Walk me to my car?” She tips her head to the side in question.

  “Absolutely.”

  She tosses down some money to cover her tab, and I help her slip down from the barstool. And it’s at that moment it happens. When I grasp her delicate hand in my own, I feel it. Feel the overwhelming intensity, can almost hear the soft whisper of it.

  Because with Presley’s hand in mine, I feel like I’ve finally come home.

  * * *

  I haven’t released her hand, and to be quite honest, I don’t want to. Leisurely walking down the sidewalk in downtown Fernandina Beach, past the small locally owned shops and restaurants, we approach her parked car.

  Presley reaches into her small purse to press the button on the key, unlocking it. Turning to face me, her car door at her back, she gazes at me with a tentative yet soft expression. “Did you really miss me?”

  “More than anything in the world.”

  “So”—she rolls her lips inward—“here’s the deal. I’m going to quote the Spice Girls and tell you what I want. What I really, really want.”

  There’s no way I can restrain the smile forming on my lips. I truly never know what she’s going to say from one moment to the next, and God, I’d missed that. “And what do you really, really want?”

  Her expression sobers, her voice soft, wispy. “For you to be ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “Ready for this.” She launches herself at me, nearly catching me off guard. Wrapping her arms around my neck, one hand going to the back of my head, she guides my lips to hers.

  Not even the slightest bit graceful, but I don’t care because she’s in my arms. I return the kiss, trying to pour everything into it. That I missed her like crazy.

  That I love her more than life itself.r />
  Breathless, she breaks the kiss, looking deeply into my eyes. “You were ready,” she whispers with a tinge of wonder. “You caught me.”

  I nod, my throat tight with emotion, because I know what she’s saying.

  “I’m ready for you, Pres. And I promise I’ll always be there to catch you.” Leaning my forehead against hers, I allow my eyes to fall closed as I push on. “I’m ready for us. If you are.”

  There’s a long pause. Long enough that it makes me nervous enough to back away to peer down at her. And, of course, she has a shit-eating grin on her face.

  “Mr. Hendrixson.” She tsks with a playful eye roll. “Don’t you know I was born ready?”

  I choke out a laugh; my breath comes out in a whoosh of relief. “Presley Cole.” I dust a soft kiss on her lips. “Never change.” Pulling her close and wrapping her tight in my embrace, relishing in the fact she’s in my arms, I whisper against her soft hair, “Never change.”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Hendy

  Three weeks later

  Sunday evening

  “We’re going somewhere special tonight, huh?” Presley eyes me curiously.

  “Yep. Getting in a long overdue visit. Plus”—I wink at her—“I get to show off my girl.”

  She sighs happily in the passenger seat of my truck as I navigate through the streets of Fernandina Beach. Reaching over the console, I link her fingers through mine.

  We’ve spent a lot of time catching up, talking, watching Jeopardy, and merely enjoying each other’s presence. Making love. Often.

  Well…I’ve been making love to her even though I haven’t actually said the words. I have to admit I’m scared shitless. I know she cares for me, but I’m not sure if she still loves me…especially after everything I did. However, I have no qualms about doing whatever it takes to make her fall back in love with me. Whether it takes—weeks, months, or years—I’m not giving up.

  Parking the truck alongside the curb of the older home, I recognize Kane’s truck, also parked at the curb because the driveway is overflowing with other cars.