#privatesecurity

I cared about the people I protected. I had deep respect and pride for my team. My Ranger unit meant the world to me. But, love? There was no one.

Rarely did I think about my childhood, but Linnea had brought old memories to the surface. 

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December 21, 1988…the day I grew up.

I was 6 years old.  

A device was detonated on board Pan Am 103 during a routine flight from London to Michigan. 243 passengers, 16 crew members, and 11 civilians on the ground were killed that day. Two of those 243 passengers were my mother and father. We had flown to England as a family two weeks before Christmas to see my mother’s parents. I very rarely got to spend time with my grandparents; and after much begging on my part, my parents agreed to let me stay and spend the holiday in London. The condition was that grandma and grandpa would fly back to the states with me after Christmas for a long overdue stateside visit of their own.  

That visit obviously never happened.

I remember very little of the days and weeks following the crash. I remember feeling scared and confused about never getting to see my parents again; but in a way, I was one of the lucky ones. I can’t imagine having gone through a tragedy like that as a teenager or young adult. The emotional scars that I bear are not nearly as noticeable as they would be had I been a few years older.

After my parents’ death, I stayed in London with my grandparents for about a year. I understood some things that were happening, but it was hard and I was sad. I think it would have been healthier if I had more people around me, but I was an only child and really didn’t know my extended family. I was a very lonely kid. My grandparents did not handle the loss well. I now know that the media circus surrounding the bombing had a lot to do with that; but looking back, I appreciate that they did the best they could. They were older and couldn’t care for a young child long-term. Plus, the grief of losing my mother destroyed them. After a year, all I wanted was to return to the states. I wanted to be back at school, back near my friends, around things that I knew.

I returned to the US and entered the foster system. I was lucky enough to spend time with great families, but I never felt as if I had a “home”. I guess that’s why I was so eager to enlist in the military as soon as I was able. The guys in my unit were my family. They’re still my family. I would do anything for them and I knew they would do the same. Is that love? Maybe. It’s certainly the closest thing I can equate to that emotion.

Joining the military was an escape, an attempt to find a purpose for myself in the world. I didn’t actually need a job. Once Libya accepted responsibility for the terrorist attack, compensation was offered to the families. I learned at 15 that I would get millions of dollars for the death of my family. Blood money. To this day, I’ve never touched it.

Being a protection specialist suits me. I’m damn good at my job. I guess wanting to keep people safe comes naturally after what I went through as a kid. There were no survivors on Flight 103. There was nothing I could have done. I guess that’s why I try now to do as much as I can. Having experienced so much loss, both of my family and during my years in service, keeping people safe matters to me.

But it never goes beyond the job. I don’t get personally involved. There are studies out there that talk about foster homes disrupting “attachment relationships”. I guess I’m a prime example of that. The whole ‘don’t let people get too close because you might lose them’ scenario.

Staying distant has been easy. I’ve never wanted to get close to any of the people I’ve worked for. Until now.

When Linnea was yelling at me this morning, yes, I had felt annoyed and honestly guilty about how upset I’d made her…but there was something else. Those brown eyes lit up with fire when she was angry. And for lack of a better word, she was sexy as hell.

I keep trying to remind myself that she’s a kid. Ok, not a kid, but being the daughter of my employer, it’s hard to think of her as an adult. I’m 10 years her senior, but this girl is not your typical 24-year-old. She has seen the world, the good and the bad. Just like me, she lost family at an early age, but she hasn’t let it dictate the direction of her life. Truth be told, I’ve been intrigued since the day I was handed her file. She’s smart. She’s strong. She knows what she wants. And fuck it; it is immensely appealing to me.

There have been women over the years, of course. But none of them have ever held any kind of place in my heart. Not that I use them. I would never. Women are beautiful, alluring creatures and I craved them as much as any other heterosexual male out there. Any lady I ever chose to spend time with, had my respect; and I tried my damndest to make her feel good. By all reports, I did a pretty great job in that area. But there hasn’t been anyone in a while. The last time I was with a woman was before I started this assignment, so…almost a year ago.

Keeping myself constantly busy made the lack of action tolerable, so I really hadn’t thought much about contact with a woman; until I’d literally tackled one to the ground last night, that is.

  Yes, I’m attracted to her. But it’s not just that. There’s a possessive feeling that has bloomed in my chest. I don’t want anyone else protecting her. I want to be the one to keep her safe.

I need to make this right. I have to apologize.

What I don’t know right now is how much damage was done by turning her away this morning. Does she hate me now? Has she already talked to her dad about what a dick I was? If so, has he already called the Secret Service offices to have me replaced?

Ugh…this is impossible. I should turn in for the night, but I’m not sure yet if I need more bourbon or if I’m already past the point where I should have stopped. Maybe I should just…

*Ding*

It’s a text alert from one of my guys about tomorrow’s schedule. 

Linnea and her dad have planned to take advantage of a rare day off for him and are going hiking at the nature preserve.

More importantly, they need me ready to go by 10 AM.

Ok...so…not fired. This is good.

It’s time to show her that I’m not some heartless asshole with a gun and an earpiece. To do this, I’ll need to let her in.

Shit. Opening up? Being a ‘good guy’?

Definitely the most dangerous job I’ve ever signed up for…

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