Page 37 of Sunny Skies Ahead (Watford Sweethearts #2)

Chapter twenty-seven

Kameron

I wasn’t accustomed to having so much anger and frustration I didn’t have a place for.

I’d taken to skipping rocks off the dock like a teenager.

I’d spent the better part of my adult life learning about the neuroscience behind anger and trauma.

I knew on an anatomical level how anger manifested and why certain experiences were so difficult to move past. I’d taken that knowledge and built a place where people like me could come to learn those things, and use it to change their life.

I knew all of that, but the situation with Jacob had humbled me by reminding me I was still human.

I’d let Imogen have her space yesterday.

I’d texted her and then forced myself to mute my notifications, so I didn’t stare at my phone all day.

Lucas had texted me early in the day to let me know he was going to attempt a visit with her in the morning, and it had taken everything in me not to blow up his phone with a million questions about how things were going.

I’d taken all the horses for long rides through the forest surrounding the farm, trying like hell to get the image of Imogen’s horrified expression out of my head. The image would haunt me for a long time.

When that didn’t work, I’d grabbed my fishing gear and come down to the docks. I hadn’t caught anything—hadn’t even gotten a bite. It was like the fish could sense the self-hatred and steered clear of me. I’d been out here for over three hours when someone else finally joined me.

Lucas, of all people, came to stand beside me on the dock, letting out a low whistle when I skipped a stone more than twice.

“You’re getting good at that.”

“Don’t be a dick,” I warned. “I’m not in the mood.”

Lucas shrugged. My gaze drifted towards the fold out chair and insulated lunch bag tucked under his arm. He unfolded the chair and sat down, rifling around in the bag and pulling out a sandwich.

“When were you going to tell me about Imogen?” Lucas said as he unwrapped his lunch. My next throw faltered, and I cursed under my breath.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve been pretending not to see the way you two have been making heart eyes at each other over the last three months.

I’ve also been ignoring the way you spend all night in the tiny house, only to sneak in the back door early in the morning and pretend like you’ve been there the whole time.

There’s little else for you to do at Winding Road when there isn’t a cohort, so the only logical explanation is. . .”

He waited for me to fill in the blanks, but I refused, pressing my lips into a tight line. I didn’t have the wherewithal to withstand yet another Lucas lecture—not about my flaws, not about the farm, and certainly not about Imogen.

Not after everything had fallen apart. My sanity was hanging on by a thin thread.

“You’re too smart for your own good,” I muttered.

“Heard that one before,” Lucas said, taking another bite of his sandwich. He took another tin foil-wrapped sandwich out of his bag and offered it to me. I narrowed my eyes at him.

“If you came to berate me, I’m not interested.”

“Jesus, you’re moody.”

Something in me snapped. I whirled to face him, finally letting that anger bubble over.

“If you want to ask me a fucking question, Morales , then ask it. But don’t waste my time.”

“Oh, we’re finally going to kick it Sergeant Miller style? Lay it all out there,” Lucas said right as I opened my mouth to speak. He leaned forward in his chair, eyes blazing with that familiar fire. “I’m not scared of you.”

My jaw twitched, and I clenched my fists at my sides.

Lucas had always been the wild card. He and I were both squad leaders in the Marine Corps, and every time our unit went to the field, he was always the person leading the machine gun squad attached to ours.

He was always asking questions and pushing for answers I didn’t have.

If anyone had a criticism of the way things were going, it was Lucas.

It had made me respect him more back then, because behind his “deflective asshole” persona, I saw a kid that genuinely cared about what was happening .

That was then, though. The dynamic had long since shifted between us, and I didn’t have the emotional energy to shepherd Lucas through another long-winded explanation of why human relationships were complicated, fickle things.

“I’m good.”

“For someone who knows as much as you do about anger and frustration, you fight it more than anyone else I know. You fight it so hard until it boils over and causes you to act in a way you never would if you’d just acknowledge the very human reality that we all get pissed off sometimes.”

I gave Lucas a weary glare, sighing heavily and letting the pebble in my hand clatter to the dock.

“It’s not fair,” I muttered. “That’s it. It’s just not fucking fair.”

“What’s not fair?”

“That Imogen can’t let herself have anything good in life because that low-life son of a bitch stole her spark.”

It felt damn good to say it out loud. Lucas took another bite of his sandwich.

“No one would have blamed you if you’d broken the guy’s jaw.”

“Believe me when I say I wanted to.”

Connor and I had many conversations about violence in the months after we’d left the Marine Corps.

He and I were similar in that way; we’d both had traumatic experiences involving the loss of male figures in our lives, and while my father was a brilliant man who’d never once laid a hand on me, he still fought his own demons.

I’d watched my father lose his temper plenty of times.

I’d watched how that despair ate at him.

And after his death, I’d watched that same despair eat away at my mother.

I’d never know if my father’s death sped up Mom’s decline, but I had my theories.

“But you didn’t,” Lucas said, his voice lighter than before. “You had an opportunity and justification, and you didn’t.”

“She thinks I did,” I murmured, staring at the calm surface of the lake before us. “She’s built an entire story in her head about what happened.”

“Explain it to her, Kam. She’ll understand.”

“That’s the thing though,” I said. “Domestic violence recovery isn’t linear. There’s a chance whatever ship we were on has set sail.”

Lucas pressed his lips together. “I think you should let Imogen make that call.”

Lucas was right. I knew he was right, but letting Imogen make that call meant baring myself completely before her, letting her see into my past and into my head in a way I had never let another romantic partner do. It meant admitting my fears were real, tangible weapons to be used against me.

And more importantly, it meant admitting to myself that this was no longer a silly crush.

My feelings for Imogen were as real as my fear of losing her was.

“Which is why I went to talk to her yesterday.”

My head snapped towards him.

“How is she?”

Lucas’s soft smile told me I’d passed some kind of unwritten test.

“She’s okay. She wants you to come to the farmhouse. ”

“Today?”

“If you’re okay with that.”

Oh, crap . This was what I wanted, but the weight of the conversation we needed to have was crushing. We’d both have to come to the table willing to lay it all out there. I’d never allowed myself to be that vulnerable with another person. Not when it mattered this much.

Imogen Phillips meant everything to me.

“Life moves fast,” I said, unable to find any other words to describe the feeling of panic clawing its way up my throat. I took the foil-wrapped sandwich and glanced towards the sky. It was already early afternoon. I needed to get a move on if I was getting to Watford before nightfall.

“That it does,” Lucas said. “Sometimes we all need to be told to get our shit together.”

I let out a small laugh. “Yeah, well. . . You and Connor need it more than me.”

Lucas’ smile turned into a smirk as he stood to help me gather the fishing tackle and cooler to bring back to the house.

“Keep telling yourself that, Sarge. Maybe one day you’ll believe it.”