Trolling Nights: Interludes Read online

  Trolling Nights: Interludes

  Savannah J. Frierson

  Smashwords Edition

  Trolling Nights: Interludes

  “The First Weekend” Copyright © 2009 by Savannah J. Frierson

  “Always Sweet” Copyright © 2009 by Savannah J. Frierson

  “Then and Now” Copyright © 2012 by Savannah J. Frierson

  “Welcome Home” Copyright © 2010 by Savannah J. Frierson

  Copyright © 2012 by Savannah J. Frierson – Smashwords Edition

  ISBN: 9781476075105

  All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without prior written permission of copyright holders.

  This is a work of fiction. All references to real places, people, or events are coincidental, and if not coincidental, are used fictitiously. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only.

  Table of Contents

  “The First Weekend”

  “Always Sweet”

  “Then and Now”

  “Welcome Home”

  The First Weekend

  It was their first weekend in Charleston, and they were acting straight fools. Tim Capshaw relished the opportunity, especially considering only a week had passed since their return to the States from a mission in the Congo. One of his teammates had barely made it out alive, irrespective of the fact a mere fractured collarbone was evidence of his harrowing ordeal.

  When he and his best friend Ulrich Brown had discovered they’d been the top two scorers on the Team chosen to be part of this new Navy program, neither had been too thrilled about missing missions, even while knowing they’d be deployed with their Team if an assignment required all hands on deck. Tim was a SEAL, trained to go where no one else could, not sit in a classroom all day doing advanced-level math. Yet since that foray into the Congo, both he and Ulrich now welcomed the break.

  Tim laughed, sunglasses firmly in place on his face. He and his other classmates, all members of the other Virginia-based SEAL Teams who’d also qualified for the program, hadn’t had a drop of alcohol yet, but they were all drunk on life. Charleston was a beautiful city, if humid as hell, which was why all of them were currently shirtless in his and Ulrich’s living room. After taking a walking tour of the city, then eating a kickass dinner at the Kickin’ Chicken on King Street, they’d decided to come back to the apartment and play a pickup game of flag football on the grassy area behind their building. The sweat pouring off them made it seem as if they’d cannonballed into a pond fully clothed, but Tim was glad to know it was still possible to get a rush tackling a guy for the ball (even though it was flag football) as he could jumping out of a plane in the dead of night.

  It had been Ulrich’s idea to don the glasses and pretend being Stevie Wonder singing “You Are the Sunshine of My Life” at the top of their lungs, except only Ulrich and Trey knew all the words beyond the title, so the rest either hummed off-key or imitated Simon Cowell by telling them their singing sucked monkey balls. Well, Trey’s did; Ulrich actually had a pretty decent voice.

  An hour later, the eight of them were walking into a roadhouse-type bar, The Barrel, eyeing the scene with excited anticipation. Tim ran a hand over his blond hair as his eyes swept the area, stopping at a booth where a group of women, all but one, threw back a shot of something. It was the one who hadn’t who caught his attention, especially given the way she wagged her finger as if in warning. When she smiled, though, showing straight white teeth and a sparkle in her eyes, Tim’s breath whooshed out.

  “Damn, jackpot, huh?” Ulrich whispered from beside him, his and the others’ attention finding that table with the beautiful women.

  Tim continued to stare at the inky-hued woman with curves for days and no-nonsense radiating from her, especially when the other women danced off onto the floor and she watched them like a mother hen worried for her chicks. Yet instead of heading to the group like the rest did, Tim made his way to the bar, ordering a bottlenecked beer, and sat on the stool, well aware he’d just found something he infinitely preferred to study more than nuclear equations for the next six months.

  back to top

  Always Sweet

  It was quiet in the living room…too quiet. The silence made Bevin’s heart beat double time and abandon the sink full of sudsy water and dirty breakfast dishes she’d wash just to put in the dishwasher for added assurance. Stillness on a Sunday morning wasn’t rare, especially as her roommate was sleeping off her Trolling Night hangover in her bedroom. Nevertheless, she went into the silent space to see the tall, muscular, far-too-fine-for-her-peace-of-mind white man staring at the bookcase with a blanket folded against his chest and a slight smile on his face.

  “You’re so cute,” he said, his grin widening as he turned to look at her.

  “What?” Bevin asked, forcing herself to stay where she was; she’d be less likely to make a fool of herself if there were distance between them.

  He smiled broadly at her before turning back around and touching the picture frame that held the image of his interest. “You and your mother.”

  She smiled as well, knowing which photo he meant, and approached him so she could look at it also. “Third grade, bake sale. Mama finally let me help her in the kitchen. That was a kickass gingerbread house if I do say so myself.”

  There was a soft snort. “Bet you dipped in the mixture and everything,” Tim teased, his green eyes sparkling with mirth, his two crooked front teeth charming her more than Bevin cared to admit even to herself. Instead, she looked away with mock indignation.

  “I shall neither confirm nor deny that statement…”

  He laughed, the sound deep and rippling through her. “You so did!”

  She turned back to him, almost gasping at the way a shaft of sunlight through the high window caught the blond tresses of his short-cropped hair. He seemed glow, radiate, like some golden god, and it had Bevin throwing him an awkward smile to mitigate her fleeing back into the kitchen.

  “Do you still bake?” he asked, following her, pausing to place the folded blanket on the sofa.

  “Yep, every morning, bright and early.”

  His eyes dropped to her chest where her coffeehouse’s logo was emblazoned on her shirt, lingering far too long as her nipples tightened under his gaze.

  His lips quirked. “For The Grind?” he asked, reading the business’s name as his eyes moved back to hers. They were much darker than before.

  “Yeah. Me and Rosita,” she replied, hiding against the sink as she finished her chore.

  “Hmm,” he murmured, and before she knew it, he’d buried his nose into the crook of her neck and inhaled. “No wonder you always smell like sugar.”

  He didn’t linger, backing away to grab to paper towels and dampen them before going to the breakfast table and wiping it down. It took her a full two minutes to remember he shouldn’t be doing that.

  Tim was a guest, after all, no matter how bizarrely he’d come upon that status; or the fact part of her wished he’d stay longer…and not on the couch.

  back to top

  Then and Now

  The Capshaws had made good time driving from Virginia to South Carolina the Friday before Labor Day, swinging by Rosita’s condo in Charleston first because Milagros had demanded Ulrich come and talk to her daughter post-haste. Bevin ignored the looks her husband Tim and his best friend Ulrich had shot her from the front seats in favor of tending to her drowsy toddler. Of course she knew what was going on with R
osita—she was her best friend, after all—but it wasn’t Bevin’s news to tell.

  At least not to Ulrich.

  The Capshaws didn’t get out of the SUV when they reached the condo building, but Kerry perked up just enough for his Uncle Ulrich to shower kisses upon his chubby, butterscotch cheeks. Ulrich then kissed Bevin’s mouth fraternally and eyed her, but she pulled her lips between her teeth and “buttoned” them up for good measure.

  Undeterred, Ulrich grinned and stroked his knuckle against her chin. “Whatever the ‘news’ is, we’ll see it through together, Bevin.” He then rubbed his stomach and winked at her.

  She gasped, her golden eyes widening. “Rick—!”

  It was his turn to ignore her as he waved lazily over his head while walking toward Rosita’s unit. Tim’s gaze was heavy upon her and she scowled, especially when he smirked at her.

  “What?” Bevin muttered.

  Tim shrugged but didn’t answer, choosing instead to pull funny faces for his son’s benefit. Not disappointed, Kerry squealed and clapped at his father’s efforts.

  Blake Shelton serenaded them up I-26 West toward Orangeburg, and she and Kerry somehow managed to sleep through Tim’s attempts to harmonize with the tracks. She came to immediately once the SUV’s vibrations and hums ceased, and she rolled her eyes as her mother rushed to the vehicle, already making grabby hands for Kerry.

  “I’ve been replaced,” Bevin moaned and pouted, watching her mother smother her grandchild with kisses as she unhooked him from the car seat. “Again.”

  “Again?” Tim asked, pulling their suitcases from the trunk.

  “I married you and she kept going on and on about what a ‘strapping Navy SEAL of a son’ she had,” Bevin groused, her eyes narrowing at her husband’s preening. “And now I won’t be able to hold my baby again until we’re on our way back to Virginia Beach—!”

  “And that’s only if I let you take him back!” Beverly threatened with a large smile, opening up an arm and greeting her actual child with a warm kiss upon her cheek. “You look good, baby girl!”

  “That’s because I love on her good and proper, Mama Bev!” Tim yelled far too loudly, and it made Bevin wince. Her mother, however, merely cackled at the boast and shooed his comment away with a hand.

  “Naw, son, that right there is the work of me, Beverly, and God! You ain’t had a thing to do with it!”

  Beverly threw her head back and laughed harder, and even Tim had to cede the point as he hugged his father-in-law enthusiastically. Martin patted Tim’s cheek, looking him over briefly and exhaling a visible breath after he finished his perusal.

  “I pray for you every time you go out there, son.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Tim murmured gruffly, hugging the older man once more.

  Her parents switched children, though Beverly truly didn’t relinquish her hold on her grandchild, and Bevin buried her face into her father’s neck when they hugged. He already smelled like barbecue sauce, and her stomach rumbled in anticipation for tomorrow’s feast. Since they were driving back to Virginia Beach on Labor Day proper, they were having the cookout Saturday from noon until.

  “Not even twenty-four hours to go, baby,” Martin teased.

  Bevin laughed and squeezed his neck tighter. “You saved me a test wing, though…”

  “I got you,” Martin promised, and they fist-bumped the accord.

  Tim put their belongings in the new guestroom, which had formerly been an “exercise room” that had turned into a storage room instead. Bevin set up the portable crib they’d brought with her father’s help and began humming along to the ditty her mother was singing down the hall in the living room. She smiled but didn’t stop when her father bumped her with his hip.

  “My grandson is singing like he knows it,” Martin noted. “Carrying on the tradition, I see.”

  “You really can’t go wrong with Stevie, though,” Bevin said in her defense, rolling her eyes when her husband joined in the chorus. “Isn’t She Lovely” wasn’t as lovely when Tim sang it.

  “And she’s very lovely,” Tim continued to sing, now laying it on quite thick for his wife and father-in-law, coming up behind her and swaying dramatically to the song. “You, Mama Bev, and God do excellent work…”

  Bevin giggled and kissed Tim for a compliment well done.

  Martin scoffed good-naturedly and slapped Tim on the back. “Maybe you had a lil’ somethin’ to do with it—baby girl only giggles that way for you.”

  Tim’s green eyes lit up and he nuzzled her cheek with his. “Is that right?”

  She kissed him again and popped his firm booty as she slipped out of his arms. “I refuse to feed your ego, Mr. Capshaw.”

  His scoff was indignant and he threw up his hands. “Aw, c’mon, Mrs. Capshaw—that’s gotta be in the How to Be Timothy Capshaw’s Wife Handbook…!”

  Since there was going to be much cooking that weekend, the Capshaws decided to treat the Moores to dinner that Friday evening. Her father chose Fatz Café, which served American staples of hamburgers, chicken, and ribs, and had the best rolls for his money.

  Or, rather, his son-in-law’s this go around.

  Bevin had to laugh at the way her mother showed off Kerry for everyone in the restaurant, and Kerry ate up the attention with slobbering grins and giggles. Her father wasn’t much better, but he spent most of his time bragging about his Navy SEAL of a son-in-law, which actually made the usually braggadocios Tim blush and duck his head against the praise. Normally not one for overt displays of affection, this time, Bevin didn’t mind Tim bringing her flush against him as he all but reclined into the booth’s corner. It was a good way to let all the thirsty women know Tim was not the tall glass of water they could use to slake their particular brand of dehydration.

  “I’m kinda jealous,” Tim murmured against her temple, his large hand settled on her hip beginning an idle caress.

  She laughed incredulously. “You’re jealous? I don’t think either of my parents have mentioned me yet!”

  He chuckled and squeezed her. “Don’t you get it? The only reason why they even have the ‘Navy SEAL’ son-in-law and the adorable grandbaby is because of you…”

  Bevin caressed the light stubble of his jaw with the back of her hand. “You know you could’ve been a garbage man and I’d still be madly in love with you?”

  He smiled at her, the corners of his peridot eyes crinkling. “In a way, I am a garbage man.”

  She grinned and kissed his chin. “A garbage man who lugs around AK-47s, right?”

  “In Apache helicopters!” Tim crowed, kissing the tip of her nose.

  The meal and the company were impeccable, and they left the restaurant with bellies and takeout bags full of food. Kerry was zonked out on his grandfather’s shoulder as Tim drove them back to her parents’ home, and the Moores bathed their grandson before putting him to bed. While they did that, Bevin preheated the oven and gathered all the ingredients needed to bake a hummingbird cake for tomorrow’s barbecue, slapping away her busybody husband’s hands the entire time.

  “Go to bed!” Bevin hissed on a laugh, frustrated her attempts to bar him were woefully ineffective. Her husband had at least a foot on her and every bit of his two hundred pounds was solid muscle. She hadn’t even mixed the ingredients yet and he was already trying to claim a spoon for his “taste test”. Tim feigned aural difficulties and instead of going to bed, spun her around to face him and lifted her in his arms. Bevin squealed and wrapped her arms and legs about him, rolling her eyes at his victorious laugh but giving him his prize anyway.

  She barely registered the cool door of the refrigerator against her back compared to the heat of her husband along her front. His lips were gentle against hers, but his teeth tugged and nipped in delicious contrast. She felt him harden against her crotch and she sighed, her fingers carding through his blond locks to bring his mouth ever closer to hers.

  “Now, what did I say about doing all that in my kitchen?!”

  Bevin jerke
d back, yet Tim didn’t startle. “But she has my name attached to her now…”

  Beverly hooted at that answer, and even Bevin had to snicker. What a coincidence they were in basically the same position as the last time her father had walked in on them making out; but, unlike last time, Bevin was a married woman. Still, Tim eased her to her feet but didn’t let go, and she looked around her broad husband to see her father scowling at them while Beverly whispered into his ear as she hugged her husband from behind. When Martin cocked an eyebrow and his mouth began to stretch slowly, Bevin grabbed Tim’s hand and hightailed it out of the kitchen.

  That hummingbird cake could wait.

  They checked on their son, who slumbered away in the portable crib at the foot of the bed. Tim knelt down and placed his hand on Kerry’s belly. He just stared, eyes focused on the life he helped to create, and Bevin kissed the top of Tim’s head.

  “Can you believe Rosita and Ulrich are about to have one of their own?” Tim asked quietly, looking back at her with his eyebrows raised. Bevin gave a half smile.

  “You figured it out.”

  “You wouldn’t have kept a potential pregnancy from me,” Tim said. “You would’ve told me before I walked out that door to go on that mission. Ulrich convinced me of that; and then, whenever I tried to lead you there during our phone calls, about that pregnancy test I found before we left, you never followed…so, yeah, I figured it out.”

  Rosita had taken the test at the Capshaw house, needing Bevin’s “moral support”; and she was mildly surprised her best friend hadn’t sought it out now. “She hasn’t blown up my cell,” Bevin murmured.

  “I bet Ulrich hid her phone and put it on silent,” Tim said on a chuckle, burrowing his head into his wife’s chest. “They need to talk, and you provide a perfect scapegoat for Rosita to avoid doin’ so.”

  Bevin shrugged, guilty as charged, and slid her fingers through Tim’s hair. “They’ll be fine, though. Between our mothers and me, and our fathers and you—not to mention Ulrich’s parents—that kid will be beyond well loved.”