Page 19 of Faded Gray Lines

“He would if he knew what else was at stake.”

I waited for him to explain and when he didn’t, I lost my patience. “If you have something to say, just fucking say it, Brody.”

He slammed his fist on the table, causing silverware to rattle and a few curious eyes to turn our way. “I can’t tell you. I gave my word to Leighton no one would find out.”

“And I gave my word to Val that I would.”

He opened his mouth to speak then closed it as a woman rushed by carrying a tray on her shoulder. I barely noticed her, inhaling slowly, ready to push him until he broke when my mind went blank.

Fresh cut wildflowers.

Senses were a funny thing. Just one scent of fresh cut wildflowers and I was lying on a damp embankment staring up at the night sky again.

“How come you know so much about stars?”

“I like reading about them. They’re just all this crazy stuff held together by gravity.”

“Kind of like you and me.”

“No, Matty, you are my gravity.”

Shaking my head, I tore myself out of the past. However, as agitated as I was, I still couldn’t take my eyes off her. Her familiar form caught my attention, captivating me into silence. She was dressed in cut-off denim shorts so tiny her ass peeked out from under the fringe and a black tank top that stretched over her petite frame.

Before I could stop myself, I’d leaned forward, straining for a closer look at the small but curvy woman buzzing around the cantina as if slinging chips and salsa were a matter of life or death. The swell of her ass cheeks fell out of her shorts even more as she set the tray on the bar and leaned over to hand in a drink order. The move earned her a glare from Emilio’s new bartender, who looked more frantic than friendly as she desperately flipped through a drink manual and measured shot pours.

I’d put money on the fact she’d never mixed a drink in her life.

Yep, Emilio’s fucking her.

Apparently the waitress agreed because she shook her head, grabbed the manual out of the bartender’s hands, turned the page, and handed it back. The scowl she got in return made me smile. I quickly cleared my throat, and ran a hand across my lips, pretending to smooth the hairs of my goatee, although not one was out of place.

“Something amusing?”

I shifted my gaze to see Brody staring at me, his arms crossed over his chest and a stupid smirk on his face. The fucker was sure as hell entertained for a man whose sister had popped her hit cherry on one of oursicarios.

“Looks like the picks from the employment pool came from the shallow end since Eden left,” I said, nodding toward the bartender and turning my attention back to the waitress.

She held a basket of chips and a mug of beer in her hands, her head bowed low so that her shoulder-length blonde hair dusted over her face. It brushed softly over her collarbone, glowing under the muted cantina lighting like silken wheat. All I could do was stare at her, willing her to lift her chin and turn around so I could pretend an insignificant waitress washer.

She didn’t, and, of course, it wasn’t. It hadn’t been for years.

I was a criminal trained to ignore emotion. However, a man couldn’t hide from the ghosts inside him, and the mind was a trapdoor just waiting to drop out from under his feet. For four years, every petite woman with hair like wheat and an angelic face sent me crashing into my own personal hell again.

Because ofher.

My Star.

“Where the hell is my beer?” I growled, my mood tanking.

At that moment, the waitress turned around and our gazes locked. Warm, golden-brown eyes widened, and for a moment, I wondered if I’d wanted it so bad that I’d conjured her. However, the panic on her face said it all. I hardened my stare without moving. She swallowed, the hand holding the beer shaking as if her veins had been shot full of liquid ice.

My pulse raced so hard, I felt like I’d run a marathon from Nuevo Laredo right into a brick wall. Her breathing hastened, and she lifted a hand to cover her mouth. Unfortunately, it happened to be the one holding my beer. The cantina went silent as thick glass shattered on the cement floor by her feet, suds and shards scattering all around her.

Still, we stared, unable to break a connection, four years overdue.

Brody snorted. “Well, not quite the introduction I was hoping for, but Mateo Cortes, meet my klutzy sister, Leighton Harcourt.”

Leighton.