Page 36

The glove fit of my Camaro’s smooth leather doesn’t deliver its usual gratification when I drop into the seat. I don’t grin at the sexy rumble of the V8 engine like I usually do after a mission.
I slam my fist against the steering wheel. When that doesn’t help, I do it again three more times. My chest aches, my hand is throbbing, and my heart is still splintering, but still, there are no tears.
My head rests against the cool leather while I sit slumped in the seat, listening to the engine idle. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts and the memory of Brock’s sad smile and gentle touch before he died. But as much as I’m not ready to go home, I also don’t want my boss to walk out and see me having a mental breakdown in the parking lot. I slam the car in gear and drive to Mel’s. Probably not a good idea.
I’m four beers in, studying scratches in the ancient tabletop when the chair across from mine is pulled out. Aaron calls out to the waitress. “Our usual but no beer for me, Wanda. And two waters, please.”
Aaron doesn’t comment on me drinking in uniform despite my continued insistence on adhering to the unwritten code of the Marines. He silently drops into his chair, freshly showered, in faded blue jeans and a worn-out Avenged Sevenfold shirt stretched over his muscled arms and chest. Both are his favorites when comfort is in order.
Glassy eyes study my friend, noting the tightness around his mouth and the tension in his shoulders. Instead of warmth in his eyes and a smile on his handsome face, Aaron wears the same masked look my brothers did when mom died. They hovered around me, putting on a brave front for their little sister instead of dealing with their own grief.
Aaron’s doing the same thing. He should be safely tucked away in the arms of a loved one to process Brock’s death instead of watching over me. The problem is that, like me, his family is nowhere near here. Aaron’s family lives in Vegas. And his bratty little wife divorced him not long after basic training. She’d decided the idea of being married to a marine was cooler than actually being married to one.
And just like that, I think I’ve had enough to drink. I’m sufficiently tipsy to be philosophical but not enough to be sloppy. I push the rest of my beer away and reach for one of the glasses of water that Wanda sets on the table.
“You should get married again.”
Aaron’s sudden dark laugh and sneer tell me he disagrees. “Yeah, like that worked out so well the first time.”
“Oh, come on. You were little more than a kid, and that was a hundred years ago. You should find someone, so I won’t have to worry about you being alone all the time.”
“Find someone,” he echoes in a strange tone, like he’s testing the words. “Like you found Maxen?”
I let my head fall back and watch the ceiling spin. “God, I hope not. That was a complete mind fuck.”
“Things not working out? I don’t see him here.”
Having had enough of the ceiling’s theatrics, I focus again on Aaron’s face. His chiseled jaw is clenched, his gaze, concerned. “I came straight from work. I haven’t spoken to anyone except Knot since we got off the plane. That means this is a chance meeting, right?”
Aaron shakes his head and leans forward on his elbows, highlighting the veins in his arms. “I know you better than you know yourself. There was never any doubt that I’d find you here.”
“Where’s Blondie?” our waitress asks when she delivers our food.
Wanda takes in our faces, and seeing me in my Knot Corp uniform for the first time, her smile fades. Given that everybody in the state of Virginia knows what Knot Corp does, I think she’s just figured things out by herself.
“We lost him, Wanda,” I say to confirm what she suspects.
“I’m sorry to hear that. He seemed like such a good kid.”
Wanda walks away, and I mutter to her back, “He wasn’t a kid. Why does everyone keep saying that?”
Aaron ignores my question and squeezes ketchup onto his plate, but he doesn’t start eating. He doesn’t say anything, either. I guess neither one of us feel much like talking at this point. We merely pick at our food until I shove the plate away and lean back in my chair.
“Give me your keys,” Aaron demands with an outstretched hand.
While holding out his hand expectantly, he tosses his napkin on the table and stands. He didn’t have to ask. I wouldn’t have driven in this shape. Instead of arguing this point, I pull my keys from my pocket and drop them into his open palm.
Aaron catches Wanda’s attention, who makes a show of pulling out and ripping up our ticket before giving us a shooing gesture. We leave money on the worn top anyway and weave through the maze of tables toward the exit. Steady enough on my feet, I follow Aaron without assistance to his truck and climb inside.
I don’t ask where he’s taking me, and he doesn’t volunteer the information. I lean against the window with my eyes shut so I‘m not watching either. I still don’t want to go home, but I’m afraid Aaron would refuse if I asked to be taken back to work. So, for the duration of the ride, my mouth remains shut, and Aaron obliges my lack of conversation.
It isn’t until Aaron pulls the truck to a stop that he breaks the silence. I open my eyes, disappointed to see my apartment building, but I keep that part to myself.
“Does he make you happy, Sadie?” he asks quietly.
Still in a bit of a haze, I bark out a laugh that he’s talking about Maxen. The laughter quickly fades at the look on Aaron’s face. “It’s been like five minutes, Aaron. I can’t possibly know that yet.”
I open the door and slip out, not giving him a chance to respond. Just as I shut the door, Aaron calls my name. I reluctantly turn his way to see that he’s holding my keys in his open palm. Reaching through the open window, I grab for them, But Aaron closes his fist. “Be careful with him,” he warns. “Smoke is trained to be a ghost. It’s possible none of us truly know the man.”