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Okay.
She straightened her clothing, blew out a breath, and smoothed back her hair. She could do this. And she’d worry about Donovan Scott later.
chapter thirteen
The drive home was filled with Sasha and Donovan loved it. He could still taste her kiss and her scent was all over his clothes. He’d loved burying his face in her hair as he kissed her neck and stroked her to climax.
He grinned.
He had so many plans for her tonight, but that was hours away still, and he was too keyed up to sit around waiting until she got off work. He cleaned the house, but it didn’t take long. He was too much of a Marine still to be a slob. He changed the sheets on his bed and threw in a load of laundry, then checked the time.
It had only been a half hour.
Jesus.
He rolled his shoulders, but it didn’t help to relax him. It had been a long time since he felt this psychically charged, like a taut rubber band about to snap. He needed to work off some excess energy or else he’d break his bed when he finally got Sasha into it.
He looked at Spirit. She sat by the door with her leash in her mouth. Her tail thumped hopefully.
“Fine. We’ll go for a quick run.” With the haze of smoke in the air, it’d suck more than usual, but he couldn’t deny the dog’s utter joy at the word “run” and chuckled as she went crazy with excitement. She streaked back and forth across the living room, using the couch as a trampoline to launch into her bed by the fireplace. She grabbed the dog bed and tossed it into the air, then in a blur of black and white fur was on the couch again. The cushions squeaked as she hopped back and forth like her paws were spring-loaded. She’d been cooped up in the house too long while she healed. She deserved the run. They both did. He’d stick close to the coastline, where the smoke wasn’t too bad.
Donovan clapped his hands. “C’mon, let’s go run.”
Spirit barked and hopped over the back of the couch, skidding to a stop in front of him.
“Ready, girl?”
She impatiently tapped her feet as he grabbed his phone and keys. He looped her leash over his shoulders like a bandolier. He didn’t expect to need it, but the fire had him nervous. He didn’t know how she’d react if one sparked nearby and wanted the ability to keep her close.
He opened the door, and they took off, jogging together down the hill toward the beach where his life started falling apart.
By the time they reached the sand, Spirit had worn herself out from doing laps around him the entire way. She collapsed and rolled in the surf, letting the waves lap at her sides.
Donovan sat on a piece of driftwood and looked out to sea as he willed his breathing to even out and the stitch in his side to ease. That had been a rough run, his first since he’d been cleared by his doctor two days ago. He was going to need a minute to recover. Luckily, Spirit didn’t mind. She loved the beach.
As he watched the waves break against the sea stacks, he thought about Darcy, and the last time he’d seen her here on this beach. His heart ached for the girl he’d let walk away so long ago. He’d never stopped thinking about her or wondering what had happened to her.
And now he finally knew.
Darcy was dead.
Murdered.
Grief gathered in the back of his throat like a sob. He swallowed it down. He was an adult; he was a warrior. But part of him still loved the damaged girl Darcy had been. That was the worst thing of all. He was pathetic.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and dug his knuckles into his thigh to distract himself from the pain in his gut. Maybe if he ignored it, it would go away. Or maybe he could finally fix this, the worst of his mistakes. Maybe he could make it right. Maybe…
There was no maybe.
Spirit, soaked and sand crusted, nudged his leg with her nose and whined at him.
“I’m okay, girl.” He took off his running shoes and walked down to the wet sand above the tide line. With the wind blowing inland, there was almost no smoke. He could breathe here and savored the clean scent of the ocean.
Cold water lapped at his ankles, but it did nothing to cool the turmoil inside him. He’d never allowed himself to grieve for Darcy. It had felt wrong when he hadn’t known her fate. For fifteen years, fifteen long years, he’d held out hope that maybe, just maybe she was still out there somewhere. And now that he knew she wasn’t, the pain was almost unbearable.
But here, in the place he’d last seen her alive, he could mourn. He could say goodbye. He needed to say goodbye if he wanted more than a series of hot hook-ups with Sasha. He needed to be a better man for her. He needed to be worthy of her.
He stood there longer than he expected, lost in his grief until his feet went numb in the cold water. Then he drew a breath and swiped at his eyes with the backs of his hands. Spirit sat at his side, staring up at him with concern. He reached down to rub her head.
