Alana Albertson - Invincible

“Sorry, Annie. But the answer is no.”

“Please. Just this once then I’ll leave you alone. I promise. He just really wants to thank you.”

“You’re not going to leave me alone until I agree.”

“Pretty much.”

I couldn’t say no to her. “Fine. When?”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Really? Thank you so much! Dinner tomorrow? At our house. Here’s the address.”

She had already written it down on a piece of paper. This full homecoming greeting was just an act to get me to do what she wanted. And I’d fallen for it, believing that she actually wanted to see me.

I’d meet with her family, alleviate the guilt they must have for not being able to save her. And then I was done. And this time I meant it.

I drove my truck up the I-5 north toward Annie’s parents’ home in Encinitas. After almost a year at sea, the damn truck still ran, thanks to my buddies taking care of it. With all the money I’d saved up during deployment, I briefly considered upgrading it to a brand new Ford Raptor. Since I’d turned eighteen, I’d spent most of the past seven years deployed or out training. In all that time, with the exception of BUD/S, I’d spent a grand total of eight months in San Diego, broken into two- or three-week intervals. I needed to put down some roots, maybe buy a condo. But in this real estate market, the chances of doing that were slim. Why the fuck would I need roots anyway?

I arrived at the address Annie had written down for me. Sure enough, they lived in a beachfront multi-million dollar mansion. With all the money they seemed to have, why hadn’t they been able to rescue her? Just hire former SEALs to bring her back home—real SEALs, not some asshole pretenders. I knew a few security-contracting firms filled with former Team guys that could’ve gotten the job done. I’d sell every possession I owned to save my daughter. Give my life.

The grand gate opened and I pulled into their driveway. I glanced in the car mirror; I wore a collared shirt and khaki pants. I’d even shaved. Looked like a preppy asshole—should fit right in.

Annie came around to the side of my truck. I recognized her parents immediately from all the news coverage. Her father had a distinguished white beard and piercing blue eyes. Her mother looked like one of those reality television housewives—long, shiny black hair, chocolate almond-shaped eyes and porcelain skin.

I removed my sunglasses and stepped out of the truck. Her father observed me coolly, and offered a hand, which I took. “It’s an honor to meet you, Patrick.”

Her mother gave me a quick hug. Tears shone in her eyes as she looked up at me. “Thank you for saving my baby.”

“You’re welcome. I wasn’t alone. My guys helped.”

“But you came back for her.” Her mom hugged me again and I could smell her strong perfume. “You brought our Annie back home.”

“Okay, Mom, can we at least go inside before you start losing it?”

“Of course, baby.”

I followed Annie up to the elegant entry stairs. The view of Moonlight State Beach from the living room blew me away. This home had to be worth at least three million dollars, which made the alarms in my head go off. My mind raced. Why hadn’t they sold this beachfront home and moved into some place that was more modest? They could’ve used the money to save Annie, offered a bigger reward. What the fuck was wrong with these people?

Her father stood in front of the bar. “So Patrick. Can I get you something to drink? A martini perhaps?”

Who did they think I was—James Bond? What twenty-five-year-old guy drinks martinis? I grunted. “Thank you, sir. That sounds great.” Fuck. I didn’t even know how to talk to these people.

I studied Annie as she sat with her back erect on the white leather sofa and bit her French-manicured nails. If her parents had seen where she had been living for the past five years, they would’ve had heart attacks. Well, I’m sure some tabloid would return to Curaçao and try to retrace Annie’s steps, expose what had happened to her. At least the brothel burnt down, so her parents could never know how bad her existence truly was.

But I did. And I would never forget it.

When I looked up, I met her father's eyes. He'd returned a few moments prior and by the narrowing of his eyes he must have seen me watching her. Great.

Her father handed me the martini, his cold eyes assessing. “Can I have a word with you on the deck?”

The martini even came with the standard-issue blue cheese stuffed olive. Bonus. I took a sip of the dry liquor. I suddenly got the feeling that I would probably need all the libation I could get.

“Sure, sir.” I followed him out to the redwood deck. I’d rather be interrogating a terrorist than be alone with this former naval officer. I downed the rest of the martini.

I breathed in the salty ocean air. I would never own a house like this. My own one bedroom apartment could fit in the size of their guest bedroom.

“So, Patrick. Annie told me everything that happened. How you met, how you rescued her. I’d like to thank you for your service.”

My service? “It was the right thing to do.”

He reached into his pocket and placed a folded piece of paper in my hand. “This should cover your expenses.”

I opened it. It was a three hundred thousand dollar check, made out to Patrick Walsh. I’d be able to help my mom out, buy a new truck, put a down payment on a condo. Pay off debt. I could live a fairly comfortable life for years on the amount of money that I held in the palm of my hand.

I didn’t hesitate to hand it back to him. “I can’t accept this.”

Mr. Hamilton laughed and shoved the check back into my hand. “Yes, you can. I knew men like you in the Navy—pieces of shit who would cheat on their wives with hookers. I hope that you can leave us alone to heal. In private.” His eyebrow rose. “Annie has been through enough. Seeing you is a reminder of her past. How you used her, forced her to get you off. I don’t want scum like you hanging around my daughter.”

My own vision narrowed, I opened my stance and took a few controlling breaths. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? “I can’t be bought off. If it wasn’t for me, Annie would still be shooting up heroin and screwing strangers. You think I’m scum?” I sneered. “You should’ve seen her pimp.” I ripped up the check, went back inside, and charged toward the front door.

No one was going to tell me how to live my life and who I could see.

I needed to get the fuck out of there.

Annie was waiting in the dining room, her mother close by her side. Their heads both shot in my direction as I strode through the perfectly appointed kitchen and then past them. I ignored the smirk on her mother's face and the frown on Annie's.

“Are you leaving?" She called after me. "We haven’t even eaten yet.”

“I’m going to go, Annie. You got what you wanted. I met your dad. This is done. It should have been done at the embassy. I made a mistake coming here with you. I'm nothing to you."

Her eyes flared and her hand shot out to grasp at the material of my shirt. "Excuse me, Patrick, but after all we've been through I consider you a friend. One of the only ones that I have left. I thought dinner with my family would be a nice gesture, since I have no other way to thank the man that saved my life." Her voice lowered to a growl. "So excuse me for trying to be nice."

Fuck. "Annie—"

"No," she shouted and her parents came up behind her. Her father laid a protective hand on her shoulder. "No, Patrick." She shook her head and bit her quivering lip. "Excuse me."

Then she was gone. Again.

Her father gave me a knowing look, but I didn't have time for his fucking shit. I knew I was an asshole. That I could probably use a year or two on the couch of some shrink, but a girl like Annie didn't deserve my callous behavior. Not when she was trying to readjust to her normal life and her dad was a complete pretentious jackass.

I felt like a fucking dick.

I took the stairs behind her two at a time and followed her into a room, where she sat down on the bed, her shoulders hunched inward, hands lying limply on her lap, the ghost of tears still wet on her cheeks.

“This is my bedroom," she whispered.

I glanced around the room. Its stark white walls had weird pictures of Victorian children in frames above the sleigh bed, and tiny little porcelain dolls arranged on an antique vanity. It reeked of a combination of mothballs and potpourri. “Your room? Are you eighty? This place is creepy. You actually sleep in here? No wonder you have nightmares.”

She gave me a dazed expression. The same one that I had seen back on the boat. “Well, my mom had redecorated it after I went missing—used it as a guest room. I understand, I guess. I mean, they had declared me legally dead. For insurance and stuff. I don’t see the point in redecorating it. I’m going to move out at some point. I don’t really feel safe here.”

Don’t even think about inviting her to stay with you, Walsh. Get this dinner over with and move on.

“How do you not feel safe in your own home? Didn’t you grow up here?”

“Yes.” She stroked the flowery bedspread. “But my parents had it completely renovated after I was taken. They sued the cruise line and received the life insurance settlement. I can’t say I blame them.”

What the fuck was wrong with her family? I didn’t understand rich people. My mom worked two jobs to support me. She still lived in the same crappy thirteen hundred square foot house I grew up in back in Sacramento. Even when I brought my ex-fiancée back home to meet her, she hadn’t changed one thing about my room. Hadn’t Annie’s parents wanted something to remember her by when they thought they’d lost her forever?