The Edge of Us (Crash and Burn Book 2)

by Jamie McGuire

  “Trex didn’t hear me call out. But you did,” Zeke said, his voice soft. “And when you looked over the edge of that cliff, you looked … you were relieved.”

  “I was.”

  “Why?”

  I looked up at him, his baby blue eyes scanning my face. “Because good men like you die.”

  He leaned down, touching his lips to mine. They were soft, the way they moved experienced but foreign. My body immediately begged for him, my skin sighing in relief when his hands touched my bare back. When his warm tongue touched mine, I pushed him away so hard he nearly hit the far wall.

  He held up his hands. “Sorry. Damn it, I’m sorry, Naomi. I’d never wanna…”

  “I know,” I said, frowning, my gaze fixed on the floor. I turned and opened the dryer, throwing him his shirt and yanking mine over my head, shoving my arms through the sleeves.

  “My apologies. Sincerely. I think I misread—”

  “You didn’t,” I said, angry. “I like you. I wanted to try, but I…” I shook my head. “I don’t think I can. I see that you’re trying to go slow, and I appreciate that. But … this is less than a turtle’s pace, and I’m still struggling.” I sighed, trying to rein in my temper, angry only at myself.

  He slipped on his shirt. “I don’t mind waiting, Naomi. I don’t know what gave you the impression I’m in a hurry. I’m not.”

  “No, I know. I know that,” I said, crossing my arms. “And I know Matt would want me to be happy. And this,” I said, gesturing to the space between us, “is cool, right? You’re cute, and nice, and a great cook … and a damn good kisser.”

  He smiled. “Right.”

  I sighed, frustrated.

  He took a small step toward me. “It’s a lot to sort through. I know that. Let’s just … maybe … if it’s okay … sit on the couch and watch something. I came in here in the first place to suggest watching a show on Hulu. Have you seen Dexter? It’s about a serial killer. Right up your alley.”

  I ignored his jab, more concerned with trying to make something with Zeke work. I wanted to do normal things with him, like Hulu, and serial killers, and wrestle, and kiss, but I didn’t know how to get there from where I was.

  “What’s the frown for?” he asked.

  “I don’t have Hulu.”

  “Do you have a smart TV?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “We can use my account. We’ll cast it to your TV.”

  I held up my palm. “Slow down. That’s boyfriend stuff. We’re not there yet.”

  He smiled, walking down the hall. “Yet.”

  chapter nineteen

  trial date

  Zeke

  M

  y hands burned as I lowered the stack of hot pans into the brown paper sack. “You’re a life saver, Reese. I seriously owe you.”

  She held up her palm, and I slapped it with mine. Her cheek was still smeared with grease like every other time I’d seen her. She usually had a wrench or some other tool in her hand. The way she carried herself reminded me a little of Naomi; she was a little bit tomboy but all woman. Her hair was as dark, and she had a great smile, but unlike Naomi, Reese was patient—to a fault—and I’d never seen her lose her temper. She spent her days in the hangar working on Bobby’s helo like it was carrying her most precious possession, because it kind of was.

  Unfortunately for Reese, Bobby was already in love with himself.

  “Thank you,” I said to her sister, Lindsay. “You don’t know how much I owe you for letting me use your kitchen. This is like … important. Real important.”

  “You mean she’s important?” Reese said, looking a little starry-eyed. She looked at her sister. “Why can’t Bobby act like that when it comes to me?”

  “He loves you the way I love my kids’ pediatrician, Lo. You fix his shit, and he loves you for it. Zeke, why can’t you love Reese instead of Naomi?”

  “Oh my God, Lindsay! Really?” Reese said, covering her face.

  “Uh, I um…” I said, stumbling.

  “No worries. You made extra for my family to eat at dinner. You can use my kitchen anytime,” Lindsay said with a smile.

  I waved to them with my elbow, carrying everything out to my truck. I tried not to speed, but Naomi would be at the hotel in forty-five minutes, and I wanted to get the table finished. I glanced at the flower in the seat then turned into the hotel parking lot.

  I sprinted through the lobby and skipped the elevator, taking the stairs two at a time.

  “Hey,” Taylor said, straightening one of the place settings. I found a vase!”

  “Thank Christ,” I said, relieved. “And you too. I owe you, man.”

  “Bullshit. It’s what friends do. You’d do it for me.”

  “I would.”

  “I’d better go,” he said, smacking my ass—hard—before yanking the door and letting it slam behind him.

  I dropped the flower in the vase, jogged to the shower, and rushed through my routine. Naomi texted that she was there just as I buttoned the last one on my black shirt. I stared at myself in the mirror, checking my teeth, my nose, and making a mental checklist. Deodorant, bed made, room clean, table set, food ready, cards in the dresser, movie list on the nightstand, beer in the fridge.

  I blinked then ran out the door and down the hall, making it downstairs in record time. I stopped at the corner just in time to watch Naomi breeze into the lobby, her hair waving with the suction the doors created.

  Stavros was busy tending bar when she walked through the Colorado Springs Hotel lobby, past the hotshots and Darby. The beige walls and patterned carpet faded easily into the background of groups of friends holding beers and chatting about things most people would never experience, and the people faded easily behind the sight of her.

  Darby didn’t notice me or Naomi walking across the room; instead, she remained head down, checking a family into the system, pleasant but hurrying to get to the three families behind them.

  I took a few steps back, stopping in front of the elevators just as she rounded the corner, pausing for less than a second, surprised to see me standing there with a grin.

  Her jeans hugged her curves, her white V-neck tee was just a tad see-through, her olive-green twill jacket making her look just tough enough to remind me who she was, even with her eyes done and her hair curled and shiny. I wanted to touch it.

  “Hey,” I said, pressing the button with my thumb. “I … you look … wow.”

  A faintly familiar tingle in my stomach rose up to my chest and throat, and I swallowed it before the elevator arrived, and we stepped inside.

  Why isn’t she reacting? Does she hate me?

  “You okay?” I asked.

  She blinked, looking down at her clothes. “I hadn’t realized this choice would leave you speechless.”

  “You look kind of pissed. I’m not great with words. You just look amazing.”

  “No, it’s nice. I’m not pissed. That’s just my face.”

  I spit out a laugh, shaking my head seconds before the doors swept open. I held her hand in mine and led her into the hallway like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  She let me.

  I unlocked the door and held it open, gesturing for her to come in. The table in the corner was pulled out, an extra chair added to the two place settings.

  “Real plates?” she said, walking over and touching the white ceramic.

  I shrugged. “I borrowed it.” I’d been at it all day. For you. Because you deserve it.

  “From who?”

  “Taylor’s girlfriend. She works at the Bucksaw Café. She also let me borrow their kitchen.”

  Her eyes scanned the napkins, the silverware, the vase and single round flower so vivid purple she clearly didn’t think was real until she touched its small, soft petals. “What is it?”

  “Uh … well … I was going to get you a tiger lily. Have you seen Peter Pan?”

  “I don’t
watch a lot of kid movies. I was outside shooting things when I was little.”

  I laughed and nodded. “That’s right. Well, I spent my teenage years hanging out with foster kids. Most of us were raised in front of television if the electricity bill was paid, so Brad and Jenn weaned us all off slowly. But their house was a revolving door, so Sunday nights was family movie night. The little kids usually wanted a cartoon. Peter Pan was a family favorite because Peter and The Lost Boys were kind of like us. Wendy reminded us all of Jenn. Anyway, in Peter Pan, Tiger Lily is a native princess. She’s so feisty and fearless. Anyway, when I got to the place, I actually didn’t like them. This one is a waterlily dahlia.”

  Naomi leaned against the chair with her hip, crossing her arms while she stared at me. It was different somehow, but I couldn’t read her.

  “Stupid?” I asked, rubbing the back of my neck.

  “No. I’m currently fighting the urge to undress you.”

  It took me a second to process her words, then my mouth stretched into a grin. “Why fight it?”

  “What are we putting on the plates?” she asked, sitting.

  “Huh? Oh!” I lifted a large brown paper sack from behind the chair by its handles.

  “Take out?” she asked.

  “Nope,” I said, setting the sack on the seat of my chair. I pulled out a silver, covered baking dish, then another, and another. I peeled back the lids, steam rolling out and filling the room with so many different, delicious smells.

  “My mouth just started watering. I didn’t even know I was hungry. What’s that?”

  “I cooked. No kitchen here, so I had to transport everything. But I timed it right. Everything’s still hot.”

  “You made all of this?” she said, eyeing the table.

  “I wasn’t sure what you like, so I pulled out all the stops. When I do this at home, my family calls it Around the World.” I loaded up her plate, naming everything as it landed. “Fattoush salad. Cajun broiled shrimp. Asian steak kabobs. Balsamic chicken breasts. Stout-braised short ribs. Mini burritos. Pierogis. Peruvian yellow potatoes, mashed. Brazilian cheese bread. And last but not least—” I jogged over to the small fridge and turned to face her with two cold bottles of imported beer. “Doppelbock. It’s German. I have a tarte tatin waiting in there for a French dessert.” I popped the beers, set them on the table, got rid of the sack and sat down across from her.

  Naomi was uniquely beautiful, soft and severe like a tornado slowly rolling over the countryside.

  “I … how am I going to eat all of this?” she asked.

  “I made extra. The rest will go to Taylor and his girl.”

  She placed the napkin on her lap. “I haven’t tried most of this before.”

  “Good,” I said, digging into the salad.

  She poked around in the salad then put a nicely portioned bite in her mouth, rolling it around on her tongue. Once she swallowed, her eyes closed. “What is this?”

  “Fattoush. It’s a Lebanese bread salad.”

  “This is bread?” she asked, pointing at the small squared pieces with her fork.

  “It’s pita. Coating it in olive oil helps to keep it from getting soggy. Pretty good, huh?”

  “It’s fucking wow is what it is,” she said, stabbing another large bite. “How did you learn to cook like this?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve always liked to. I fended for myself and younger siblings a lot because my mom would be too high to know what time it was, much less dinnertime. When I got to Brad and Jenn’s and she noticed I could cook, she bought me a bunch of cookbooks, and we’d watch cooking shows together. She loves that … to find what a kid is passionate about, and then she goes a little overboard.”

  She smiled. “I love Jenn.”

  “Me too.”

  “Where are your siblings now? Your biological ones?”

  I shrugged. “I have older and younger brothers and sisters. I was sort of in the middle. We were taken away a few times before it was permanent. Sometimes they’d take one or two and the rest. We had disconnect. It was just easier on top of everything else.”

  “Is that why you’re so walled off from Brad and Jenn and the rest of the family?”

  “Am I?” I asked, considering her question. “I guess I am. They love me. They’re kind and care for me—all of them—but, yeah. I guess if I don’t care too much it won’t hurt as bad if they’re taken away.”

  Naomi took another bite, the wheels in her head obviously spinning while she chewed.

  By the time she’d tried everything, she sat back, her hand on her middle. Her chest rose and fell as a burp escaped. She covered her mouth and giggled.

  I laughed out loud. “That’s a good sign the date is going well.”

  “It’s a trial date.”

  “Whatever,” I said with a grin, confidently meeting her gaze.

  She wiped her mouth with the napkin and put it on the plate. “What do I do with this?”

  “I’ll take care of it later.”

  “Now what?” She propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin on the heel of her hand. For a moment, she didn’t look so tough, so out of my league. “We have a few options. Movie. Cards. A drive. Talking.”

  “All of the above,” she said. Her voice was different. Softer.

  “Can I see you again?”

  Her mouth slowly stretched into a grin.

  chapter twenty

  dirt

  Naomi

  “M

  cCormack’s tonight?” Martinez asked me as we packed up.

  “Can’t, I have plans.”

  Sloan crossed his arms. “With who?”

  “None of your business,” I said.

  “He’d better be a good one,” Kitsch said.

  I tried not to smile.

  By the looks on their faces it was obvious they had their own theories, but they walked out without antagonizing me.

  Harbinger waved and walked out with Kitsch. Trex was still sitting on the center bench, typing out a message to Darby she wouldn’t receive unless he showed it to her. Beads of sweat formed at his hairline; a few at his temple had broken away and fell down his cheek.

  “It shouldn’t be this hot underground,” I said.

  Trex sat up and sighed. “It shouldn’t be this hot in Colorado.”

  “The air in here makes it worse, I think.” The holes in the lockers dug into my back, so I adjusted. “I saw her at the front desk. She was busy.”

  “When were you there?” he asked. “And why?”

  I shrugged.

  “You’re seeing Zeke, aren’t you?”

  “We’re friends.”

  Trex thought about that for a moment then nodded, grinning. “That’s… I’m really happy for you, Nomes. Zeke is a good guy.”

  “We’re not getting married. We’re just friends. You’re getting more action with your pregnant girlfriend than I am.”

  Trex laughed. He didn’t shock easily, but I could still surprise him once in a while. “So are you just taking it slow, or is he firmly in the friend zone?”

  I hesitated. “I don’t know.”

  “Talk to me.”

  I sighed, propping my foot up on the lockers behind me. “It feels wrong, Trex. I still feel married. I know Matt’s not coming home, but there was a beginning and a middle, but no end.”

  “There was an end.”

  I looked away. “Not because we didn’t love each other.”

  “What happened is more final than a breakup or a divorce. Matt would want you to be happy, Naomi.”

  “Why does everyone keep saying that? I know. I know he would. I’m just trying to wrap my head around this.”

  “And Zeke is patient?”

  “Too patient.”

  “Then it’s fine. You’ll get there on your own time.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I still feel the same, and it’s not fair to Zeke.”

  “Go talk
to him.”

  “What?”

  “You know where he is. Go talk to him. Tell him about Zeke.”

  I thought about that for a while. “Go to Virginia?”

  Trex simply nodded. “Take the weekend.”

  I looked around while I thought, grabbed my bag, and walked straight to the FJ, texting Zeke before I lit the cigarette in my mouth and hit the road.

  I have to cancel tonight.

  Was it something I said?

  No. All good.

  I think this is the first night we haven’t spent hanging out other than when I’m on the mountain.

  I know. It’s just for a few days. Something I gotta do.

  Is it dangerous?

  No.

  Okay. Call me when you get back.

  Will do.

  Is it weird that I miss you already?

  I smiled. No. Not weird. I’ll call you in a few days.

  I didn’t pack. I had cash, my credit card, ID, my phone and charger. I bought a ticket on the last Denver flight of the evening while I gassed up, then I headed to the airport, landing in my back row seat with just a few minutes to spare.

  I watched the people on the monitor in front of me speak, able to make out what was happening until the flight attendant offered me a set of headphones. I focused on the show, then the flight magazine, and finally the emergency procedure pamphlet—anything to keep my mind off what I was about to do.

  The captain came over the speaker to warn us of upcoming turbulence, and I relaxed back, knowing that if it was longer than five minutes, it would lull me to sleep.

  My dreams took me back to Africa; green all around me, the air almost too thick to breathe. My clothes stuck to me, damp with sweat, my rifle slippery in my hand, the strap digging into my neck. Screams and gunfire echoed in the distance. My team wasn’t with me, and a quick glance around the glade where I stood made me recognize I was alone in the jungle with my rifle. I didn’t feel scared, confused, or even tense. Relief washed over me. Not many people understood that it was in the safety of danger that I could hide from my pain.

  Maybe Zeke would.

  When the wheels touched down, I jerked awake. Babies were crying, the flight attendant was going over instructions over the speaker, and we filed out of the fuselage like cattle. One Uber ride to the Hyatt hotel, and I was flat on my back, staring up at a ceiling in Arlington, Virginia, hours after I was inside a top-secret and high-security facility in Colorado.