Page 5

Chapter 4

Nothing to celebrate

Big Al

N o one does this job for the accolades or chest candy. No medal will erase what happened over there. Even a shiny one like this.

Two of our best men died when an RPG took out our convoy.

We pulled them out of the blaze because it was the right fucking thing to do. They’d have done the same if they were in our place. We don’t need to be applauded for that.

And so fuck this entire night. It’s a damn joke. Unnecessary to have all this pomp and circumstance.

In true military fashion, this isn’t even a timely ceremony. Wiggins and Bossell died seven months ago. But I guess it takes Uncle Sam some time to call a caterer and send out fancy invitations. Then again, it’s not just me and my men receiving valorous awards tonight. About fifty others are receiving medals for other various missions.

Nonetheless, if I weren’t ordered to be here, I wouldn’t have shown up. They could have had the courier drop off the medal in my mailbox on base. Eventually, I’d get around to opening it.

Maybe.

But I’m here, wearing my full dress uniform and mingling with the families of the men who died or were injured. Listening to them try to thank me through their tears. Ironically, I want to apologize to them through mine.

I won’t do that, though.

It’s a slippery slope that will only lead me to confessing what I really think went down over there.

So I’ll stay quiet, letting them keep the illusion that this all serves some greater purpose. Let them believe we didn’t have shitty fucking intel. Let them believe that this wasn’t preventable. That the blood of their sons isn’t on the hands of our own leadership.

And in doing so, I’ll allow myself to believe I didn’t fail again.

“Please, Mrs. Bossell, don’t—” My voice is scratchy, so I clear my throat and start again. “Please don’t thank me for doing what any one of us would have done. I only wish I could have brought Twitch home to your family, safe and sound. I’m sorry I couldn’t do that.”

She squeezes both my hands and looks squarely into my eyes. “If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have a grave to visit. We would always wonder if he was captured or died. Was he lost and looking for help? Was he suffering? Was his death painful or quick? A million other worries would plague us, following us everywhere we go. That’s not something you get over.” Shaking her head somberly, she pulses her paper-thin hands around mine. “But we don’t have to ask those questions. Because of you and your men, we have closure. You brought my grandson home to us. And so, from the bottom of my heart, I thank you, sir.”

I can’t even get pissed off that she called me sir . This poor, sweet soul. A waif of a woman, easily in her eighties. In her fancy church hat with thick spectacles hanging around her neck by a chain. Her only reason for being here is to thank the men who carried her grandson from the fire.

Instead of replying, I simply nod and offer a compassionate half smile. What else can I do?

Once she’s said her piece, she shuffles off to find someone else to thank. Seems to be making her way toward Sawyer.

A server carrying a tray of drinks quickly takes the space she’s vacated. “White wine? Beer? Soda?”

“Beer, please.”

After serving me, he saunters off with the drinks sloshing on his tray. As I put the cold glass bottle to my lips, I stroll toward the edge of the room where I won’t be among the masses. Less likely to get sucked into another awkward conversation if I’m along the fringe.

Once I’m comfortably leaning against the wall, I scan the crowd. My head nods along to the soft music they piped in.

It’s a party, after all, right?

So much to celebrate.

Disgusting farce.

Like always, Lionheart sticks out like a sore thumb, towering over the crowd. Although his back is to me, he seems to be engaged in conversation if the dramatic arm movements and head nods are anything to go by. His dress shoes make him look even taller somehow.

He shifts his enormous frame to the side when a server approaches him with drinks, revealing his companion.

And my stomach drops.

Maddie’s here.

Holy shit.

I blink twice, contemplating scrubbing my eyes to make sure she’s not a mirage. Wouldn’t be the first soldier to see someone who wasn’t there after getting back from a rough tour. So I blink again.

And once more, for good measure.

I swipe my gaze around the room, hoping there’s someone I can consult with to ensure I’m not hallucinating. I catch a glimpse of Sawyer chatting up a blond in the corner. She seems a bit young for him. However, she looks legal, so I’ll let him shoot his shot.

My eyes fall back to the vision in a dark purple dress across the room.

Lionheart didn’t mention that Maddie was coming. Naturally, I hoped she would, but I didn’t want to assume or even ask him about it. I haven’t brought her up very often.

To my knowledge, he doesn’t know we kept in touch over the years. I didn’t hide it from him out of malice. There wasn’t much to share, and I didn’t want him to think I was taking advantage of her when she was going through some bad shit.

I wasn’t, but that’s what I would think if I were in his shoes.

If the worst should happen and her husband hurt her again, I needed Leo to be able to come to me for help. He might not do that if he thought my intentions with her weren’t above board. He’s a protective fucker, which I appreciate. But for Maddie and me, it made sense to keep our communications between us.

It’s not like anything ever became of it anyhow.

I could’ve asked her if she was making the trip down here for this ceremony, but things have been... strained between us ever since she and her husband reconciled. Last I heard, they were separated. Yet again. But she hasn’t responded to my last email. My pride can only take so much rejection.

Even still, I fucking hoped she’d be here. If I were a praying man, I’d have done that too. I contemplated burning sage or buying some crystals. Whatever the fuck would have brought her here.

It wasn’t needed, though.

She’s here.

With an ever-widening grin on my face, my feet move of their own accord. My breathing grows shallow, and excitement and nervous energy course through my veins in equal measure.

I haven’t seen her in person since the morning after we shared that motel room about five years ago. When I said goodbye to her in the lobby and passed her off to her son’s care, I assumed I’d never see her again. Damn sure didn’t expect to get an email from her a week later.

As I approach, I’m struck by how stunning she looks. Brown hair with golden streaks cascades around her shoulders. Same chestnut shade as I remember.

But I had no idea she had a body like this.

The night we met, she was in baggy sweats and a loose-fitting sweatshirt. No makeup, and her hair wasn’t freshly washed. She was beautiful still.

But she’s radiant tonight.

Her dress is demure but sexy. The sleeves are three-quarter length, and it goes down past her knees. It’s tapered at the waist, revealing her hourglass figure. She’s leaving more to the imagination than many of the other females are tonight, that’s for sure. But the curve of her waist and swell of her hips—even her damn ankles—are sexy.

She’s a fucking vision.

A few steps closer, and I can make out the finer details. She’s got makeup on. Not a lot. But her lips are a shiny deep plum color. Her face isn’t red, puffy, or bruised this time. Her eyes are sparkling.

And her smile.

Son of a bitch , this woman has a smile I could get lost in.

Like in the picture she sent me.

She laughs over the rim of her wineglass, gazing up at Leo like he’s said something funny. His shoulders are shaking, so perhaps he did.

When I’m five feet away, she glances in my direction, her eyes flashing with recognition. Somehow, her already beaming smile brightens.

My pulse speeds up like it’s propelling my heart into my throat.

Fuck me running. I’m gone for this woman.

With a hopeful trill in her voice, she calls out. “Alan? Is that you?”

My hand raises in a half wave, although I didn’t instruct it to do that. “Hi, Madeline.”

Lionheart steps to the side, making room for me to join their circle of two. There’s a high-top table on his other side. The giant fucker was blocking that as well.

Maddie takes a large step toward me and flings her arms around my shoulders. “I’m so glad I got to see you before we left.”

We?

As I breathe her in, I detect hints of vanilla blended with a dainty floral scent. Her breath flutters across my neck. I’ve never been more grateful to be wearing all these layers, or else she’d see the chills pebbling my skin from the slight contact.

I haven’t had a woman pressed against me for far too long.

And never this woman. No matter how many times I’ve dreamed of it.

My fantasies have nothing on how good it feels to hold her close to me. Even in front of her son in the middle of a crowded, noisy room.

I pull back to take her in at this distance, a perpetual grin decorating both our faces. “You look lovely, Maddie.”

She tentatively retreats a few steps, shuffling to the other side of the round table. “And you look very handsome. Congratulations on the medal.”

“Ma, I told you not to say that,” Leo chides her, his brows furrowing.

He and I share a similar viewpoint on this entire fucking celebration .

“What? I know it was a horrible situation, but this is still a high honor. And I’m proud of you.” She looks at me, one side of her mouth quirked. “Of both of you, actually. And my other son, wherever he may be.”

Surveying the room for his partner in crime, Leo rises to his toes, which is totally pointless since he can clearly see over everyone’s head. “Where is Sawyer?”

I direct him with a tip of my bottle. “He’s over there, chatting up a pretty blond.”

After Leo’s eyes latch on them, he groans. “No. That’s just my sister.”

“No shit. That’s Sammy? Is your brother here too?”

Maddie answers for him, recapturing all my focus. “No, Drew couldn’t come with us. Big project at work.”

“Good excuse for a girls’ trip,” I offer, raising my beer at her in another awkward gesture.

Again, I didn’t instruct my arm to do that. Beginning to think my body isn’t mine to control right now.

Leo’s posture stiffens, seemingly out of nowhere. And my gut twists in that familiar way when shit’s about to go tits up.

“Excuse me for a second,” he announces gruffly, slamming his beer down and stomping across the room.

He’s not moving toward his sister and Sawyer, so that’s not the cause of his reaction.

On instinct, I move around the table, coming closer to Madeline in a protective stance. Together, we watch Leo disappear into the crowd.

“Do you know what that was about?” I ask her, then take the last swig of my beer.

“I haven’t got a clue,” she responds, brows arched in concern.

We make small talk while she nervously fidgets with the stem of her empty wineglass.

The conversation starts to feel stilted, so I ask, “Want another drink? I can flag down a server for you.”

She shoots me a tight-lipped grin. “Would you walk me to the bar instead? I’d like to see what other wine they have.”

I offer my bent elbow, and she takes it tentatively. Her dainty hand feels damn good in the crook of my arm.

Once she’s tucked in close, she glances up at me with a sultry look in her sapphire eyes. I could swear fireworks set off in my periphery, casting her in an ethereal glow.

With pride I can barely contain, I lead her through the crowd. Once we’re at the bar, she releases me, and I instantly miss the contact.

I wave the bartender over. “Can you tell this lovely lady what wine varietals you have?”

“Oh, fancy talk, Alan,” Maddie purrs, brushing against me playfully.

The bartender rattles off a list of wines, and Maddie listens attentively. She chooses a chardonnay, and I order another beer. After tossing down a few bills, I guide her a few steps to the side to a high table in the corner.

Over the next several minutes, Maddie and I linger at the table, sipping our drinks and catching up. I attempt to ignore my looming feeling of dread and revel in my chance to be with her again. To hear her voice and see her supple skin, free of marks except for the scar from her stitches. But her makeup hides it well.

For a long time, I convinced myself that my memories of her were artificially inflated with feelings of concern or pity. Or that I was only attracted to her because I felt some compulsion to protect her. Like a reverse hero complex, I guess you could say.

But tonight puts those thoughts to bed, once and for all.

“Tell me about the new job,” I say when the conversation dies down.

She scrunches up her nose adorably. “ Meh . I’m not sure if I want to stay there much longer. My manager is an over-the-top, demanding asshat. Pardon my French.” She shakes her head and feigns a whole-body cringe. “It might be worth the headache if I got a discount on my auto insurance as an employee. Not a chance. And no overtime since I’m salaried. I did the math, and last month, I made an average of four dollars an hour once I factored in time worked.”

I take a sip of my beer, my gaze studiously circling the room for trouble. “Yikes. That’s rough. I don’t blame you for wanting to leave.”

“What about you, Alan? Are you content with your career? Or have you grown tired of risking your life every day?”

“My life’s not in danger every day.” I shrug, toying with the corner of my beer bottle label. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the future. When I get out. For now, I’m... as you said, content.”

Setting down her wineglass, she inches closer, aligning herself to my side. No fucking objections. I quickly find myself leaning toward her like she’s lassoed me.

“The future, huh?” On the table, her delicate fingertips stray from her glass, ever so slightly creeping toward mine. “Any plans that might interest me?”

She bats her lashes at me, and her pinky grazes mine.

And my fucking breath catches.

From a damn brush of her finger.

I swallow, forcing down the lump, and pointedly stroke the outside of her pinky with mine. Up and down. Gentle and slow.

“Well?” she prompts.

Oh damn. She asked me a question, didn’t she? Apparently, playing finger footsie over the table has rendered me mute.

Should I be honest with her about my plans? And how she’s the center of all of them?

Fuck it.

“I think you’d be very interested in my plans, Maddie. Since most of them feature you.”

She raises that fucking pinky and loops it over mine, locking it in place. “Go on. As a soon-to-be-divorced woman, I’m listening.”

I need to get her out of here immediately so I can kiss her the way she deserves to be kissed. “Take a walk with me, Maddie. Let’s find somewhere more private, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Her body inches from the table, but she keeps our fingers joined. I do her one better, weaving our hands together. Jolts of electricity traverse my palm, skating up my arm.

Heading directly to my heart.

Without releasing my hand, she squares up with me, tilting her chin. Her lips part subtly as her chest raises with a sharp breath. Our eyes click into place like they were designed to see nothing else but each other.

The bustle of the party around us fades into an indistinct fog of nothingness.

Because she’s everything.

Moving on nothing but instinct, I gradually lower my face to hers. She mirrors the movement, rising on her toes.

Our mouths are mere inches away when an abrupt trill severs the connection. Her fucking phone.

Blinking rapidly, she releases my hand and shifts backward. One step. Then another and another.

Everything surrounding us comes back into focus, and my senses return.

Fuck . I almost kissed her in front of all these people.

She fumbles to grab her phone off the table. I drag my palm down my face, attempting to wipe away the disappointment.

When my hand fades away, she’s staring at her phone in nothing short of abject horror. Eyes wide with panic. Jaw agape.

Dammit . I fucking knew it.

My gut is never wrong.

“What’s wrong, Maddie?”

Slowly and deliberately, she flips her phone closed and sets it on the table. She tosses back the rest of her wine in three large gulps.

“Talk to me,” I urge softly.

She doesn’t meet my eyes, nibbling at her lower lip and removing some of the plum lipstick. “Um. Well, the evening was nice while it lasted.”

“You can tell me anything, Maddie.”

Finally, her eyes return to mine. “It’s Travis.” She huffs, shoulders sagging. “He’s refusing to sign the divorce papers, and now he’s—” Her words cut off as she fights back a sob. “I can’t believe this. And now he’s...”

Dread lodges its way into my throat. “He’s what?”

“He just texted.” She gestures toward the phone. “It seems he flew down for the ceremony. He’s here now. Leo’s giving him trouble at the door, so he can’t get in. And he wants me to go smooth things over.”

My teeth scrape and grind. “What?”

I couldn’t have heard her correctly.

Continuing to avoid my gaze, she adds, “I told him not to show up here, but he doesn’t listen to me.”

“Why would he come here? Your son certainly doesn’t want to see him. And what does this have to do with the divorce papers? Why did you bring that up in the same breath?”

Answering out of the corner of her mouth, she mutters, “Instead of signing, he wants to make things right. And I suspect him showing up here is part of that.”

My eyes catch on how her pretty painted fingernails scratch against her forehead as she digs them in to ease the tension.

I don’t want to ask this next question, but I can’t stop it from coming out. “Make things right with Leo or with you?”

“Both,” she whispers, her chin trembling. “But I told him not to come. I don’t want this. I don’t want him.”

She keeps glancing over her shoulder for him.

Because he’s here.

Struggling to keep my cool, I blurt, “You’re not fucking thinking of taking him back again, are you?”

Her head kicks back like she’s been smacked. Anger flares behind her eyes. “Excuse me?”

I see the answer. It’s there, hiding behind her expression. She doesn’t even realize it, but she left the door open for that fucker. And he’s about to slither right back into her life.

She’s already as good as gone.

“You don’t have to answer, Maddie. I can see the truth. You’re gonna take him back.”

“Oh, you have me all figured out, huh?”

“You haven’t denied it.” Although my volume is low, my tone is coated in metal spikes. “ Please tell me what is going on in your head for even considering taking that fucker back.”

“You’re so wrong, Alan. However, I don’t have to explain myself to you.” Her anger gives her the strength to face me head-on. “Where do you get off judging me like this? This has nothing to do with you.”

“Oh no, nothing to do with me at all. Until he tries to kill you again, and then you’ll need my help or one of your kids to save you.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I ache to suck them back in. “Shit, Maddie. Sorry I?—”

“I never would have accepted your help if I knew it came with conditions and recurring guilt trips. However, I won’t ever make that mistake again. Believe me.” Her eyes darken, and the slight wrinkles around her mouth deepen. “Be careful you don’t slip and fall from your moral high ground. I’d hate for you to lose your footing while casting judgment on everyone else’s lives.”

“That’s not what I?—”

She doesn’t let me finish a single sentence, not that I deserve to. “Save it, Alan. This is my life. Mine.”

Storms off is too subtle of a description for how she leaves. She thunders away from me, bolts of lightning fueling her steps.

I stand there, simmering in my rage and disgust. Not just because of her dismissive behavior or my own stupid slipup, but at this whole damn situation. My protectiveness fires to life inside me, and my knuckles twitch.

I’ve never met him, but I hate Travis motherfucking Mason with all my might.

For what he did to Leo and his siblings.

For what he did to Maddie—not only physically, but emotionally.

And because no matter how horrible he treats her, he still gets to be with her. With that beautiful soul who deserves so much better than him.

Why does she put up with it?

And she’s got the nerve to be angry with me for caring about her safety? That’s absurd. Why not direct that ire toward the one who tried to kill her? Who knocked around her kids for most of their childhood? Who manipulated her and keeps her in an emotional hostage situation?

But no. She shuns me —a man who’s only ever wanted to care for and protect her—instead of the one who beats her senseless.

Yeah. Senseless . That explains a lot. Because she must have zero sense left to take back that pathetic shit stain.

Speaking of which, if he’s here, I’m gonna rearrange his fucking face.

I slam down my half-empty beer bottle on the bar top and tear off through the crowd. My gaze shifts from left to right in quickly sweeping arcs until I lock in on Lionheart’s hulking frame near the main entrance. My feet propel me at a clip just shy of a jog. On my right, Sawyer approaches with Sammy hot on his heels.

I get my first sight of the abusive douche at about ten feet out. Travis is shorter than Leo and me, with a lankier frame. His hair is graying at the temples and thinning on top.

By the time we get to Leo’s side, Madeline has positioned herself between the big guy and his father. With her back to her abuser, she faces her son with her hands out in front of her in a placating gesture. “This isn’t the time or place for this. Your father is trying to set things right. Please keep calm so you don’t make an even bigger scene than you already have.”

With that, my eyes scan the room, and yeah, a crowd has formed. Fuck . Among other notables, our commanding officer watches on from the front of the pack.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The sight of him shakes me out of my fit of rage. I cannot let this get out of control. Not without consequences. I won’t let Leo take the fall tonight. He’s suffered enough because of his father.

“Mom, stand aside,” Leo rumbles from low in his throat, his eyes never leaving his father’s wrinkled face. “I won’t cause a scene as long as he turns around and leaves the way he came. If he doesn’t, I’ll remove him.” He tips his head to the side, narrowing his gaze. “Three, two?—”

Sawyer, never one to be silent for long, claps Leo on the shoulder and says, “No need to get physical, buddy. Mr. Mason will go on his own.” He shifts his gaze to the fuckface. “Right, sir?”

Travis Mason shoots Sawyer a withering side-eye, then returns his focus to Leo. There’s no love in his expression. No remorse. No attempt to make amends. This is a power move and nothing more. Even if I couldn’t read people so well, I’d read this fucker Lima Charlie.

From behind, he settles his fat fingers onto Maddie’s shoulders and squeezes, as if he’s prompting her to defend him. And she’s fallen so quickly into line. Gone is the woman from one minute ago who was raging at me. In her place is an empty shell.

It makes my blood boil.

“Leo, your father loves you, and he’s proud of you.”

Madeline’s pleas only aggravate Leo further.

“Don’t give a fuck how he feels about me. I don’t want him anywhere near me ever again.”

Despite the vitriol drowning his tone, Lionheart keeps his volume low and controlled. But there’s a twitch in his posture, signaling he’s about to lose it.

I step closer, resting my hand on his forearm in a silent warning.

“Dad, you should leave. You weren’t invited for a reason,” Sammy piles on, a slight tremble in her voice.

She crosses her arms and raises her chin. The expression is eerily similar to the way her mother eyed me down a few minutes earlier by the bar.

At least Madeline’s kids aren’t on the all-is-forgiven bandwagon.

Which begs the question, if they can hold firm, why can’t she?

Maddie attempts once more to defuse the situation. “Everyone, please be reasonable. This is supposed to be a celebration.”

Instead of speaking for himself, Travis Mason stands behind her with a cocky smirk on his face. I can’t get a true glimpse into his eyes, but I don’t need to look deeply to see what he’s made of.

He’s a monster.

And he’s thrilled to have her fighting his battle. That’s what this whole scene is about. He challenged her to stand up for him. Put her in a spot where she has to be the peacemaker, all to prove she’s still under his control. And he’ll use the situation to draw out Maddie’s sympathy.

He’s vile. Down to his marrow.

Maddie’s pleading eyes bounce between her children and Sawyer but pointedly avoid mine, despite my body positioning making it clear where I stand in this matter. And I don’t know why, but it’s like a sucker punch to my jaw.

I snap.

With my mouth slammed shut so I don’t cuss him out in front of the crowd, I brush past Maddie and grab Travis by the collar of his dress shirt. There’s no hesitation in my movements as I drag him from the party.

It takes Travis three steps before he realizes what’s happening and sends his hands flailing toward my wrists, foolishly attempting to free himself. After five steps, his lips start flapping and flinging curses at me.

My grip is unyielding, though. And I don’t give a fuck what he says.

He’s leaving. Immediately.

By eight steps, he’s fighting back, throwing punches toward me that I bob my head to avoid. He gets me in the back of the head with one, but I barely flinch. I’ve got a thick skull.

Sawyer dashes ahead to prop open the door for us. As soon as we’ve cleared the threshold, I shove Travis Mason full force onto the pavement. His hands go flying so he catches himself instead of face-planting. That’s unfortunate.

He rolls over, fists in front of him, and scurries away from me. But I don’t kick someone when they’re already down.

I’m not like him.

Squatting beside him, I hover my index finger an inch from his face. “Get the fuck out of here and leave her alone. She doesn’t need an abusive piece of shit like you in her life. Sign the fucking divorce papers.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he spits out, dribbles of saliva dotting his chin. “This has nothing to do with you. She’s my wife, and those are my kids. What happens between us is no concern of yours.”

Now that we’re outside, Leo lets his volume spike. “No one fucking wants you here, Travis.”

Leo’s dismissal of him gives me a sense of pride, but it equally enrages me that Madeline doesn’t do the same.

Travis continues shuffling backward.

Coward.

I let him go while trying to control my breathing so I don’t tear him in half with my bare hands. Even if he deserves far worse than that.

“Just fucking leave,” I growl at him, refusing to acknowledge what he said.

For some reason, his words keep running through my mind as I stare him down.

This is his family. Not mine.

The words are true, yet they might as well be battery acid on my flesh.

He has this beautiful family.

And I have nothing.

Isn’t that what I deserve?

“Please, don’t fight,” Maddie cries as she runs toward us. Having made it outside, she bolts to his side, tugging at him to help him stand. “Are you okay, Travis?”

The sight of her fawning over him enrages me. My hands ball to fists at my sides, and I literally sense the veins at my temples throbbing. It takes everything inside me not to kill him.

I could do it in three seconds or less.

But he doesn’t deserve a quick death. And I’m not going to throw away my career and freedom for a cunt like him.

Madeline hits me with an icy glare. “Alan, what is the matter with you?”

On his feet now, her husband flashes a menacing look at her. Instantly, she cowers from him, physically recoiling as if she’s seen that look before and knows what’s about to come.

He lowers his face to hers, poison leeching from his eyes and voice. “Is this him? The one you’re fucking? You think I don’t know about your little emails?”

She tries to back away. “Travis, no. My goodness, no. I haven’t been with anyone else.”

Instead of letting her retreat, he clasps both of her wrists together, holding them in one of his large hands. “We’ll discuss this later.” He jabs a finger in my direction. “You keep your hands off my wife. She’s mine.”

Madeline pleads with her husband, brushing up right against his side. “Travis, please let me go.”

Fuming, Leo rushes forward. “Get your damn hands off her!”

My legs spring me ahead of him. “Let her go, asshole!”

When Travis sees us approaching, he violently shoves Madeline off him to defend himself. Unprepared for the forceful push, she sails toward the wet pavement, yelping as she falls.

By the time she’s wailing in pain from the rough impact, I’ve got her abuser laid out on the concrete. A broken nose from my first hit. Probably a shattered eye socket from my second. My third punch is stopped by Lionheart’s giant hand. That one was headed for the fucker’s other eye.

Sawyer’s on my other side, pulling me off Travis Mason a second later.

Maddie’s pain-filled cries turn into screeches of desperation. “Stop it, Alan! Stop it! Don’t hurt him.”

Too late for that. And I don’t feel bad about it.

The only thing I regret is how she looks at me. Like I’m the one who did wrong. I’m the asshole in her eyes.

Disgust mingles with disappointment in my gut when she assists him into his car, getting in with him instead of staying with her son and daughter. Both of them beg her to be reasonable and steer clear of that monster.

But she doesn’t.

She won’t.

Fortunately, she wasn’t hurt badly. Just scrapes along her palms and knees, from what I could tell. More pain she wouldn’t need to suffer through if it wasn’t for that pathetic excuse for a man.

Sawyer stays beside me the whole time, and we watch their fucked-up family dynamic from a few feet away.

When they drive away, leaving Leo and Sammy behind in the parking lot, I scan the area for fallout.

It would seem no one called the cops, and my CO stayed inside instead of following us out, so I might be able to escape punishment. Then again, perhaps an MP will show up tomorrow at my door. Someone like that fucker is bound to press charges or make a stink out of it.

That miserable shit bag.

Even if I do get a court martial for this, I won’t give a shit. Worth it.

However, as I replay the glare Maddie had on her face when she finally made eye contact with me, I begin to doubt whether my assertion is true.