The Edge of Us (Crash and Burn Book 2)

by Jamie McGuire

  “Bobby,” Zeke said, shaking his hand. “Bobby’s our helo pilot. One of the best,” he said to me.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, nodding.

  “What’s Reese doing here? Did you stop breaking your helo?”

  “She was worried about Fish. And did you just say I was one of the best?” Bobby asked with a smirk.

  “You didn’t find them, did you?” I said.

  “Touché,” Bobby conceded after a few seconds of surprise. “Just so you know, I’ve been looking for them all day.”

  “I looked for them and got them to safety in a few hours,” I said.

  Zeke smiled at me. “You done with the pissing match, or can I get this taken care of?”

  Bobby was amused. Like most pilots, he wasn’t easily rattled. “Is that what she’s doing?”

  I smiled at Bobby then kissed the corner of Zeke’s mouth. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

  Zeke touched his lips, surprised, then stepped into the back, grinning until the doors shut, and they drove away. I was glad that Trex was in no hurry to return to the Complex, allowing us to stand at the checkpoint until they were out of sight.

  “What the hell was that, Nomes?” Sloan asked.

  “None of your damn business,” I said, walking to my ATV.

  Harbinger slapped Trex’s back. “Good call, boss. Felt good to save lives again.”

  “Oorah,” Trex said, putting on his helmet before mounting up and twirling his finger in the air.

  chapter eighteen

  Suds

  Naomi

  I

  hugged my cousins goodbye, ignoring the tugging in my chest that warned me what the house would feel like once they drove away. They were always welcome. Almost anyone was welcome, but filling the house with people and laughter made the quiet that much worse when they left.

  I hugged my middle, standing on the porch until they were out of sight. I couldn’t bring myself to go inside.

  As soon as their vehicle disappeared, another pulled into the drive. I smiled, relief washing over me.

  “Hey,” Zeke said, stepping out of his Dodge Ram. He was in a dark wash pair of jeans and a dark gray concert T-shirt, matching the paint on his truck. His black hat was pulled low on his forehead, his black boots loosened and left untied, but he was clean shaven and smelled fresh out of the shower, so I knew the laces were just an attempt to look like he wasn’t trying too hard.

  “You look good.”

  He smiled. “I feel better.”

  “You were sick?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Had some blood work done when they checked me out after you all bailed us out.”

  “But you’ll be okay?”

  “Yeah,” he said, dismissing my concern with a quick flick of his hand.

  How’s Fish and Smitty?” I asked.

  Zeke climbed the steps and stood next to me. “They’ll live. Fish is out for the season.”

  “Which ends when?”

  “Usually October. Just depends.”

  “You wanna come in?”

  He grinned. “Yeah.”

  I opened the door, and Zeke followed me to the sofa. I sat back, waiting for him to reveal the purpose in his visit.

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his fingers together. “I just uh … I wanted to thank you. I don’t know whose idea it was, but now that I know you’re Cheyenne Mountain security, I know it probably took an act of congress—literally—to get authorization to leave the facility to save us when a fire is coming your direction.”

  “It wasn’t just me. We all wanted to, the whole team. And you’re partly right. It took exactly one congressman to get authorization. But, Zeke, you guys can’t talk about our jobs. You can’t ask, and you can’t tell Darby. She had a thing about soldiers, and Trex is trying to let her get to know him first before he tells her that part.”

  He hesitated. “Is Trex cool, though? He really cares about her?”

  “He worships her.”

  An awkward silence settled between us, but I was still beyond glad he was there.

  He pushed himself to say what he’d been silently mulling over. “Can I ask if it’s—your job I mean—if it’s safe? Are you safe?”

  “Are you?”

  “Obviously not.”

  “Safe is boring,” I said.

  Zeke laughed. “Yes. Yes, it is. Try explaining that to my family. What does yours think about it? I guess since you’re a Marine this sets their mind at ease a little?”

  “My dad would be disappointed in me if I wasn’t somewhere saving the world with my rifle. Militia kids spend a lot of time in drills or mock combat. Being serious and lethal is how we get attention from our parents.”

  Zeke seemed surprised and impressed at the same time. “I don’t even own a gun.”

  “But you have an axe. And whatever that weird thing was you were carrying.”

  “A rhino? Pretty cool that you noticed.”

  “I notice everything.”

  “I noticed your team. It seems like you’d all known each other for years. I know Trex was your husband’s best friend before, right?”

  “After Matt died, I joined up. I worked my ass off and pulled some strings to get into Trex’s special unit. His is one of the best. They’re my brothers. I go where they go.”

  “Like black ops type of shit?”

  “We went all over the world, and if we were caught or killed, no one would claim us.”

  “Whoa.”

  “I couldn’t save Matt, so I promised to do everything I could to save his friends. Matt sacrificed himself for them, and so would I.”

  “Matt was a Marine?”

  I hesitated. “Yeah.”

  “Trex is a Marine?”

  I sighed. “Yes, but, Zeke, you need to keep that between us.”

  His brows pulled in. “Okay. So Matt took a bullet or…”

  “He fell on a grenade.”

  “Whoa,” he said again.

  “This is a lot more than I usually talk about, and probably a more intense conversation than you bargained for.”

  “Not really. I want to get to know you better.”

  “Oh yeah?” I asked, perching my elbow on the top of the sofa cushion and leaning my chin on my fist. “What about you? What’s your story?”

  “Uh, my foster mom’s name is Jenn. My foster dad is Brad.”

  “Foster?”

  “Yeah, I worded that weird, I guess. They’re both my foster parents. They’re married. There’s a bunch of us, it’s nuts.”

  I smiled. “Brad. Such a dad name.”

  “It is.” He chuckled. “I have eleven brothers and sisters from that home. Kendra and Sam are biologically Brad and Jenn’s, Allison, Kara, Charlize, and Oliver were adopted. The rest were just foster kids like me during the time I lived there.”

  “You weren’t adopted?”

  “They asked. I said no.”

  “Were they cool?” I asked.

  “Brad and Jenn? Yeah, they were cool. It was just a lot, you know. She was a teacher, he was a firefighter. They struggled. It wasn’t fair to expect them to adopt every child who came through their door.”

  “What about your real parents?”

  He shifted. “My mom’s name is Crystal. Never met my dad. She is an addict and did a lot of fucked up shit for drugs. I was just one of a dozen of her kids in the system. Her boyfriends came and went, beat us … she looked the other way.”

  “That sucks,” I said, remembering what he said to me about Matt.

  He smiled. “Yeah. It does suck. But Brad and Jenn were awesome, and I spent eighth grade through my senior year there, the longest I’d been anywhere. Jenn is an amazing cook, and they were patient with all of us kids. The house was clean, our clothes were clean, they were clean … couldn’t really ask for better. Brad’s the reason I decided to become a firefighter and then a hotsho
t. I always thought he was cool as shit.”

  “Do they still call?”

  He grinned. “Almost every day.”

  “I’m glad they found you. How lucky for them.”

  He made a face.

  “What?” I asked.

  “People usually say they’re glad I found them.”

  I shook my head. “No, they’re the lucky ones.”

  We stared at each other for a moment, and tension formed in the once empty space between us. I felt at any moment he was going to lean in, but he didn’t.

  “Are you close with your family?” he asked.

  “I am. My dad is Victor Marcel. He’s sort of a big deal in Arizona. I think he’s just a big deal in general.”

  “You said he basically created modern US militia? That’s intense.”

  “Then he combined his outfit with the Arizona Recon Border Patrol. It’s quadruple the size of our original unit, and I learned everything I know to protect myself from my father and growing up there. I’ve been in a lot of situations that would make a grown man shit himself, but I’ve never really felt afraid. I don’t think I’m invincible or anything.”

  “You’re just confident you can handle it. I see it.”

  “Thank you.” I nodded.

  “Your mom?”

  I laughed. “Christine. She’s more ruthless than my dad. She ran her own unit back in the day. She was a better shot than me until I was nineteen. No one fucks with Christine.”

  “I know a woman like that,” he said.

  The sun was beginning to set, and a twinge began in my stomach. I stood. “Are you hungry?”

  “I’m always hungry.”

  “I wasn’t looking forward to my cousins leaving. It’s harder than you’d think to cook for one.”

  He chuckled. “I’m aware.”

  “You cook?” I asked.

  “Do I cook…” he said, standing. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the kitchen.

  When I gave him permission, he began looking through my cabinets and fridge, collecting ingredients and within twenty minutes the house was filled with amazing smells from whatever he had put in the oven.

  Zeke just smiled when I asked him what it was, shaking a small skillet with sautéed mushrooms and onions inside. I set the table and paused, trying to rationalize with the quickly approaching feelings of guilt that everything happening was okay. I was okay. Spenser’s words replayed in my head. Matt wouldn’t want me to be miserable and alone the rest of my life. He’d made his choice wanting anything but that.

  “I’ll get it,” Zeke said, kneeling next to me with a brush and dust pan. He swept up the broken glass from the plate that had fallen from my hand.

  “Oh, shit,” I said, feeling confused. I hadn’t felt the plate fall out of my hands or heard it break. I went to get another plate, thanking Zeke as he dumped the white shards in the trash can.

  “You’re probably just hungry. It’ll be finished in five minutes, I swear,” he said.

  I carried two beers and two glasses of ice water to the table, sitting as Zeke lowered the glass dish to the trivet in the center. Bubbling cheese surrounded two fat chicken breasts covered in green salsa verde. A second dish was full of Mexican rice.

  “I put the mushrooms on the side in case you didn’t like them.”

  “Who doesn’t like mushrooms?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Some people are strangely offended by them.”

  I forked a chicken breast onto the bed of rice I’d already fashioned on my plate, covering it all in sautéed mushrooms and onion. I was salivating, and when I cut the chicken and placed it in my mouth, I moaned. Yes. Naomi backward.

  “Stuffed baked chicken? Are you serious?”

  “It’s a basic quick dish, but a good one,” he said after he swallowed.

  “What’s in it?”

  “Cheese, more cheese, and a little cream cheese; mozzarella cheese, salsa verde and more cheese.”

  “Oh my god, I love cheese. Cheese is why I could never go vegan.”

  “I can make a vegetarian version of this that is pretty similar.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “My sister Kara is a vegetarian, so I try to come up with a few dishes when we do family things. I’ve thought about it. I just assumed since you had thawed chicken in the fridge, it was a safe bet you weren’t.”

  “Guilty,” I said. “That was sweet of you, though. To think of your sister.”

  He shrugged. “She started college last year. She hated her roommate. There was a mean best friend and a crazy boyfriend in the mix. I sent her a lot of dishes. I like to eat my feelings, so I guess I assume everyone does.” He chuckled.

  “Do we need to take care of the roommate?” I asked.

  “Nah,” he said with an appreciative smile and full cheeks. “She moved in with the crazy boyfriend.”

  “I’m sure that went well.”

  “Kara was happy. She has her own room this year.”

  “I can’t stop eating this even though I’m full. Is there heroin in this? I get drug tested, you know.”

  “No, just cheese. All you need is cheese.”

  “True.” I forked the last bite of chicken and pushed it around my plate, scooping up the remaining sauce, then sat back as I chewed. Zeke and I were sitting the same way, belly out, legs apart.

  Being full made us a little delirious, and once we started laughing about nothing in particular, we couldn’t stop. We laughed so much that tears began pouring down both of our faces. We drank our beers and a second, then cleaned up. We stood at the sink together, rinsing dishes and filling the dishwasher. It had been so long since I’d been domestic with another man. Again, the guilt seeped in, and again, I pushed it away.

  Zeke squirted me with water. I slapped suds on his face. Once we finished with the dinner dishes, we had to sop up the water mess. But it was okay. It was better than okay, for the first time in years.

  “Do you have a towel?” he asked, looking down at his soaked shirt. I held out my hand. “I’ll just toss it in the dryer.”

  He pulled his shirt over his head with one hand, revealing every rise and fall beneath his skin. Fire season had thinned out the entire crew, but Zeke was solid muscle. All six of his abs protruded, and even the beginnings of two more in line with his navel. His pecks moved as he pulled off his shirt, his shoulders and arms flexing, not a stitch of fat on him. Two lines traveling in a V, dipping down past the waistband of his boxer briefs. His hotshot uniform was baggy, and because he’d lost weight, so were a lot of his clothes. I had no idea he looked like that underneath.

  I pulled off my shirt on the way to the laundry room. The dryer creaked when I opened the door and rattled when I slammed it shut. The two shirts flopped around the drum, intertwining, climbing up, and then slamming together at the bottom, giving me erotic thoughts that refused to be replaced or pushed away.

  “So you wanna watch a … oh. Sorry.” Zeke paused in the doorway and turned his back to me.

  My ass was leaning against the dryer, my arms crossed as I fantasized about two drying shirts like a fucking weirdo.

  I looked down at my unimpressive, nude-colored bra. It wasn’t even a push up. “Zeke,” I said. “I work around men all the time. We share a locker room. They’re just boobs.”

  Zeke turned his face toward his left shoulder, but he still didn’t peek. “Your co-workers have seen you in a bra?”

  “They’ve seen me naked. You know when I get shot, they can’t extract the bullet with my clothes on? Crazy, I know.” I unbuttoned then unzipped my jeans. “Look.”

  He turned.

  I peeled back one side of the denim, revealing a round scar a few inches interior of my hip bone and as many inches above my pelvic bone. “Trex dug that one out. Just missed my ovary, not that I’m happy about it.”

  Zeke showed me his forearm. “Burning branch fell on me. A big one.”

  I
turned, showing him my side with a thick horizontal scar. “My first deployment. Haji had a knife. I let him get the jump on me. Stupid.”

  “Looks like it went deep.”

  I laughed. “Little shit tried to filet me.”

  He turned around, struggling to point to a jagged scar in the middle of his back. “Slipped down a ravine during a rainstorm. Whatever created this scar broke my fall. I actually hung there for a while until my skin ripped and…” He hesitated.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I had an entire train of thought just then. I was going to stop because the details were gory, but I decided you’ve probably seen worse.”

  “I have,” I said. I reached out, mindlessly running my finger along the sharp curves and the equidistant dots on each side from the stitches. Zeke tensed, looking back at my hand touching his skin.

  “Sorry,” I said, stepping back.

  “No … it’s … it’s okay. I don’t mind.”

  “What about that one?” I asked, pointing to his shoulder.

  His cheeks flushed. “My brother shot me with a bb gun when I was fourteen.”

  I covered my mouth, trying not to laugh.

  “Yeah, yeah…” he said. “Go ahead and laugh.”

  “Well, we both have scars from GSWs.”

  “Very funny,” he said, poking at me.

  I caught his wrist, and he smiled, trying again.

  “Don’t,” I playfully warned. I could tell by the look on his face his curiosity was outweighing common sense. “The answer is no. You won’t best me in hand-to-hand,” I said.

  “What if I just want to wrestle? If I pin you, does that count as winning?”

  “You won’t pin me,” I said.

  Zeke poked at me again then tried to wriggle out of my grasp. He tried to overpower me by using his body to make moves I knew he’d make before he made them.

  “Damn it!” he yelled, both hands secured behind his back. “How do you know?”

  I laughed. “How did you know the fire would turn? It’s what I do. I live and breathe this shit.”

  His smile faded. We were close, my backside against the dryer, our shirts still making a calming, rhythmic sound, the smell of fabric softener in the air.