He'd been honest with her, and told her he didn't love her. She in turn had told herself she didn't care, but that had been a lie. She did care. She wanted him to love her, and she'd foolishly hoped that the s.e.x they shared would at least hold his attention until she could somehow, some way make him love her, too.

She couldn't bear to know the answer, but still, she had to ask. "Are you trying to dump me?"

His blue eyes flashed as he looked up at her. "h.e.l.l, no! I'm... I'm trying to figure out how to tell you the truth." He held her gaze this time, and Mia was nearly overpowered by the sadness she saw there, mixed in among his quietly burning anger.

She wanted to reach for him, but his anger held her back. "Whatever it is, it can't be that bad, can it?"

"My knee's not going to improve," he said quietly, and she realized there were tears in his eyes. He gestured to his crutches. "This is as good as it's going to get. Hobbling around on crutches or with a cane."

Alan was finally facing the truth. Mia felt her own eyes flood with tears. Her heart was in her throat, filling her with relief. This wasn't about her, wasn't about them. It was about him.

She was so glad. He was facing the truth, and once he looked it in the eye, he could finally move forward.

At the same time, she grieved for him, knowing how hard it must've been for him to reach his conclusion.

He looked away from her, and his voice dropped even lower. "I'm not going to be a SEAL again. That's over. I have to accept the fact that I'm... permanently disabled."

Mia wasn't sure what to say. She could see the anger and bitterness beneath the pain in his eyes, and she realized that by telling her this, he was probably uttering these words aloud for the very first time. She decided to keep her mouth shut and simply let him talk.

"I know I told you that I was going to work past this," he said. "I know I made that list that's on my refrigerator, and if wanting something badly enough was all I needed to make it happen, d.a.m.n, I'd be doing wind sprints right now. But my knee was destroyed and all the wishing and wanting in the world isn't going to make it better. This is it for me."

He looked up at her as if he wanted her to comment. Mia said the only thing she possibly could in the circ.u.mstances.

"I'm sorry."

But he shook his head. "No," he said tightly. "I'm sorry. I made you think that there would be something more. I let you believe that I had some kind of future--"

She couldn't let that one pa.s.s. "You do have a future. It's just not the one you thought you'd have back when you were eleven years old. You're strong, you're tough, you're creative--you can adapt. Lucky told me there's an instructor job waiting for you. If you wanted, you could choose to teach."

Frisco felt a burning wave of anger and frustration surge through him, devouring him. Teach. Man, how many times had he heard that? He could teach, and then watch his students graduate out of his cla.s.sroom and do the things he would never do again. "Yeah, I'll pa.s.s on that barrel of laughs, thanks."

But Mia didn't let up. "Why? You'd be a great teacher. I've seen how patient you are with Natasha. And Thomas. You have an incredible rapport with him. And--"

His temper flared hotter, but the anger didn't succeed in covering up his hurt. There was nothing about this that didn't hurt. He felt as if he were dying. Whatever part of him that hadn't died back when his leg was nearly blown off, was dying now.

"Why the h.e.l.l do you care what I do?" It wasn't exactly the question he was burning to ask her, but it would do for now.

She was shocked into silence, and gazed at him with her luminous eyes. "Because I love you--"

He swore, just one word, sharp and loud. "You don't even know me. How could you love me?"

"Alan, I do know--"

"I don't even know who I am anymore. How the h.e.l.l could you?"

She nervously moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, and Frisco felt his rage expanding. Dear G.o.d, he wanted her. He wanted her to stay. He wanted her to love him, because, dear Lord, he was in love with her, too.

The tight, uncomfortable feeling in his chest had never faded. He'd awakened repeatedly throughout the night to find it burning steadily, consuming him. It wasn't going to go away.

But she was. She was going to go away. Because, really, how could she love him? She was in love with a phantom, a shadow, an echo of the man he used to be. And sooner or later, even if he didn't tell her, she'd figure it out. Sooner or later she'd realize he was scamming her-that he'd been scamming her all along. And sooner or later, she would realize that she'd made a mistake, that he wasn't worth her time and laughter, and she would leave.

And then he'd be more alone than ever.

"Why should I bother to teach when I can sit home and watch TV and collect disability pay?" he asked roughly.

"Because I know that would never be enough for you." Her eyes were hot, her voice impa.s.sioned. How could she possibly have such faith in him?

Frisco wanted to cry. Instead he laughed, his voice harsh. "Yeah, and teaching's right up my alley, right? I certainly fit the old adage--'Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach.'"

She flinched as if he had struck her. "Is that really what you think about teachers? About me?"

"It wouldn't be an adage if there weren't some truth to it."

"Here's another adage for you--"Those who are taught, do. Those who teach, shape the future." Her eyes blazed. "I teach because I care about the future. And children are the future of this world."

"Well, maybe I don't care about the future," he shot back. "Maybe I don't give a d.a.m.n about anything anymore."

She raised her chin. "I know that's not true. You care about Tasha. And I know, even though you won't admit it, that you care about me."

"You're as hopeless as I was when it comes to wishful thinking," he lied, wanting to push her over the edge, needing her to get mad enough to walk away, wanting her to stay forever, and knowing that she never would. How could she? He was nothing now, n.o.body, no one. "It's typical. You only see what you want to see. You moved to San Felipe from Malibu, thinking you're going to save the world by teaching underprivileged kids all about American history, when what those kids really need to learn is how to get through another day without some kid from the rival gang gunning them down when they walk to the store.

"You took one look at me and figured maybe I was worth saving, too. But just like the kids in your school, I don't need what you're teaching."

Her voice shook. "You're so wrong. You need it more than anyone I've ever met."

He shrugged. "So stick around, then. I guess the great s.e.x is worth putting up with your preaching."

Mia looked dazed, and he knew he'd dealt their relationship the death blow. When she stood up, blinking back a fresh flood of tears, her face was a stony mask.

"You're right," she said, her voice trembling only slightly. "I don't know who you are. I thought I did, but..." She shook her head. "I thought you were a SEAL. I thought you didn't quit. But you have, haven't you? Life isn't working out exactly the way you planned it, so you're ready to give up and be bitter and angry and collect disability pay while you drink away the rest of your life, sitting on your couch in your lousy condominium, feeling sorry for yourself."

Frisco nodded, twisting his lips into a sad imitation of a smile. "That's right. That just about sums up my big plans for my exciting future."

She didn't even say goodbye. She just walked out the door.

Chapter 15.

"Yo, Navy, was that Mia I saw heading west, driving like she was behind the wheel of the Batmobile?"

Frisco looked up grimly from the peanut b.u.t.ter and jelly sandwich he was making for Natasha as Thomas King pushed open the screen door.

"Hey, Martian girl," the lanky teenager greeted Tash with one of his rare smiles.

"Thomas!" Tasha launched herself at the kid and immediately burst into tears. "Frisco yelled and yelled at Mia, and she went away!"

Thomas staggered back under the sudden unexpected weight of the little girl, but he managed to shift her into a position easier to hold on to. His dark eyes sought confirmation from Frisco over the top of Tasha's head. "Is that right?"

Frisco had to look away. "In a nutsh.e.l.l."

"I didn't want Mia to go," Tasha wailed. "And now she'll never come back!"

Thomas shook his head in disgust. "Oh, perfect. I come up here thinking I'm the one bearing bad news, and it turns out you guys have already done yourselves in without any outside help." He turned to the little girl still wailing in his arms. "You. Martian. Turn off the siren. Stop thinking only about yourself, and start thinking about Uncle Navy over here. If Ms. S. doesn't come back, he'll be the big loser, not you."

To Frisco's surprise, Tasha actually stopped crying.

"And you, Navy. Check yourself into a hospital, man. It's time to get your head examined." Thomas lowered Tasha to the floor and picked up the plate that held her lunch. "This yours?" he asked her.

She nodded.

"Good," Thomas said, handing it to her. "Go sit on that funny-looking swing on the porch while you eat this. I need to talk to Uncle Crazy here, all right?"

Tasha's lips were set at heavy pout, but she followed the teenager's order. As the screen door closed behind her, Thomas turned back to Frisco.

But instead of berating him about Mia's AWOL status, Thomas said, "Your friend Lucky gave me a call. Apparently something came up. Said to tell you he's out of the picture until 2200 hours tomorrow night--whenever the h.e.l.l that is. I mean, ten o'clock is ten o'clock--there's no need to get cute."

Frisco nodded. "It's just as well--I'm going to need to find someone to take care of Tash, now that..." Mia's gone. He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.

"I don't know what went down between you two," Thomas said, reaching into the bag of bread and pulling out two slices and laying them directly onto the counter. He pulled the peanut b.u.t.ter jar closer and began spreading the chunky spread onto the bread, "but you oughta know that Ms. S. doesn't hang out with just anyone. I've known her for four years, and as far as I know, there's only been one other guy besides you that she's said good-night to after breakfast, if you know what I mean. She's been selective, Uncle Fool, and she's selected you."

Frisco closed his eyes. "I don't want to hear this."

"Plugging your fingers in your ears so that you can't hear it doesn't change the truth, my man," Thomas told him, adding a thick layer of sweet, sticky strawberry jam to his sandwich. "I don't know what she told you, but she wouldn't've let you get so close if she didn't love you, with a capital L. I don't know what the h.e.l.l you did to make her fall for you, but you'll be the biggest a.s.s in the world if you don't take advantage of--"

Frisco's temper frayed. "I'm not going to stand here and be lectured by some kid!"

Thomas took a bite of his sandwich and chewed it thoughtfully as he gazed at Frisco. "Why are you always so angry, Navy?" he finally asked. "You know, I used to be just like you. I used to live and breathe anger. I thought it was the only way to stay alive. I was the meanest son of a b.i.t.c.h on the block. I didn't join a gang because I didn't need a gang--everyone was scared of me. I was tough enough to go solo. And I was on an express bus straight to h.e.l.l. But you know what? I got lucky. I got the new teacher for history the year I was fifteen. I was six months away from dropping out, and Ms. S. did something no one ever did before. She looked me in the eye and somehow saw through all that anger, down to who I was underneath."

Thomas gestured at Frisco with his sandwich. "I remember, it was the day I pulled a knife on her. She told me to put the blade away and never bring it back to school again. She said I hid behind anger because I was the one who was scared--scared that everyone was right, that I was worthless and good for nothing.

"I mocked her, but she just smiled. She told me that she'd seen some of my test scores, and from what she saw, not only was I going to graduate from high school, but I was going to be valedictorian." He shook his head. "She didn't give up on me, and when I turned sixteen, I kind of just kept putting off dropping out. I kept telling myself that I'd stay for another week, cause of the free lunches." He looked at Frisco. "If I hadn't lucked out and had Ms. Summerton for a teacher, I would've ended up in jail. Or dead."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you don't seem to realize what was directly under your nose, Uncle Blindman."

Frisco used his crutches to propel himself away from the kitchen counter, his movements jerky. "I do know. You're wrong."

"Maybe. But one thing I'm right about is whatever it is you're scared of, whatever you're hiding under your anger, it's nothing compared to the fear you should be feeling about losing Ms. Mia Summerton. Be afraid of that, Navy, be very afraid."

Frisco sat on the couch, with his back to the cabinet that held enough whiskey to sink a ship.

It wouldn't take much. All he had to do was pull himself to his feet, set his crutches in place and then he'd be standing in front of that very same cabinet. The door would pop open with a pull of one hand...

Thomas and Natasha were down at the lake, not due to return until late afternoon, when they were all scheduled to leave for San Felipe. But right now there was no one around to protest. And by the time they returned, it would be too late. By then, Frisco wouldn't give a d.a.m.n what anyone thought, what anyone said.

Not even little Tasha with her accusing blue eyes.

He closed his eyes. He would welcome the oblivion that a bottle of whiskey would bring. It would erase the picture he had in his mind of Mia's face right before she walked out the door.

He'd needed to tell her the truth. Instead he'd insulted her avocation and made it seem as if their relationship had been based purely on s.e.x.

Why? Because he was so d.a.m.ned afraid that she would leave.

In fact, he knew Mia would leave. So he'd pushed her away before she could leave on her own initiative.

Very clever. He prophesied his own doom, and then went and made d.a.m.n sure it happened. Self-sabotage, it was called in all the psychology textbooks.

Savagely Frisco pulled himself to his feet and set his crutches underneath his arms.

Mia pulled her car over the side of the road, swearing like a sailor.

She couldn't believe that she'd allowed herself to fall into such a cla.s.sic trap. It had been years since she'd made this kind of mistake.

For the past few years, she'd been successful--she'd been able to work with and get through to the toughest, hardest cases in the high school. And she'd been able to do that by being thick-skinned.

She'd looked countless angry, hurt, and painfully frightened young men and women in the eyes. She'd let all of their harsh, insulting, sometimes shockingly rude words bounce off of her. She'd met their outbursts with calm and their verbal a.s.saults with an untouchable neutrality. They couldn't hurt her if she didn't let them.

But somehow she'd let Alan Francisco hurt her.

Somehow she'd forgotten how to remain neutral in the face of this man's anger and pain.

And, G.o.d, he was in so much pain.

Mia closed her eyes against the sudden vision of him on the night they'd taken Tasha to the hospital. She'd seen him sitting on his bed, bent over from pain and grief, hands covering his face as he wept.

This morning Alan's darkest fears had been realized. He'd admitted--both to himself and to her--that he wasn't ever going to get his old life back. He wasn't going to be a SEAL again. At least not a SEAL on active duty. He'd come face-to-face with a harsh reality that had to have shattered the last of his dreams, crushed out the final flicker of his hope.

Mia knew Alan didn't love her. But if ever there was a time that he needed her, it was now.

And she'd let his angry words hurt her.

She'd run away.

She'd left him alone and on the edge--with only a five-year-old child and several dozens of bottles of whiskey for comfort.

Mia turned her car around.

Frisco stared at the bottle and the gla.s.s he'd set out on the kitchen counter.

It was a rich, inviting amber colour, with an instantly familiar aroma.

All he had to do was pick up the gla.s.s and he'd crawl into that bottle for the rest of the afternoon--maybe even for the rest of his life. He'd forget everything that he wasn't, everything that he couldn't be. And when he woke up, dizzy and sick, when he came eye to eye with what he'd become, well, he'd just have another drink. And another and another until once again he reached oblivion.