The Edge of Us (Crash and Burn Book 2)

by Jamie McGuire

  I pointed at him, beer in hand. “Don’t look at me like that, Peter. I’m not still butthurt about it. I just think you’re an asshole for breaking my heart to make your father happy.”

  “I know. And I promised you that would never happen. But if you’re not still angry, then why can’t you forgive me?”

  “Forgiveness is overrated,” I said, taking a sip to hide my frustration.

  “Let us forgive each other, only then will we live in peace,” Peter quoted.

  “Tolstoy is full of shit!” I slammed my beer on the table. “I haven’t forgiven you for years, and I feel just fine about it! Nothing changes when you forgive someone. You don’t feel better. It doesn’t erase what they did, and that fake high road is someone else’s standards, not mine. I don’t forgive you, I don’t forgive the bastard haji who threw the grenade that killed my husband, and I don’t forgive whoever created Pumpkin Spice Lattes. You can all go fuck yourselves.”

  “Naomi,” Peter scolded.

  “Explain to me how forgiving someone benefits the forgiver.”

  “You feel better,” Peter said, stumbling over his words.

  “Wrong.”

  “You find a sense of freedom.”

  “Wrong.”

  “You can let go of your anger and hurt.”

  “Wrong. See, I felt hurt for about a year after your engagement, then I got over it. I didn’t need to forgive you to do it; I just forgot you. Forgetting you is where the real peace comes. Most people don’t deserve forgiveness.”

  “Do you forgive Matt for falling on that grenade?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I’ll throat punch you if you say his name again.”

  “Pretty sure that threat is an instant felony.” He waited. “Do you?”

  I spoke through my teeth. “No.”

  “Maybe that’s why you haven’t moved on.”

  “Fine,” I said. I held up my hands and looked to the ceiling. “I forgive you, Matt! I forgive you for saving your friends and leaving me. For choosing your friends over ever seeing me again, for leaving me alone in a big, heaping, PTSD clusterfuck!” I looked back at Peter and shrugged. “Still pissed.”

  He sighed.

  Someone knocked, and we both turned our heads to see Zeke standing in the threshold, a six pack of beer in one loose fist, his other still touching the open front door. “Is this a bad time?”

  My mouth fell open, and my gaze danced from Zeke to Peter and back again. I stood. “No. Nope, not a bad time.”

  Peter frowned, confused.

  “We still on for movie night?” Zeke asked.

  I pulled him in by the hand and closed the door behind him. “Zeke, this is Peter. We grew up together. Peter, this is Zeke. He’s a hotshot out of Estes Park.”

  “Isn’t fire season over?” Peter asked, looking Zeke over like he was a mineral-rich country he wanted to pick a fight with to gain control.

  “I’m still staying at the hotel here in town,” Zeke explained.

  “Why?” Peter asked with the most condescending tone he could manage.

  Zeke gestured to me with a sweet smile.

  Peter didn’t try to hide his jealousy. He glared at me. “Hotshot, huh? Since when? Is this why you begged for clearance? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  I didn’t answer, but I could see Zeke’s surprised expression from my peripheral.

  “Peter is also my boss,” I explained, refusing to look away from Peter’s scowl.

  “Weird,” Zeke said. He set the six pack on the side table by the couch and crossed his arms. “So you gonna stay for the movie or…?” Zeke asked Peter.

  Peter waited for my answer.

  I sighed. “Why don’t you come over for Thanksgiving? Zeke and I are cooking, and the guys are coming over.”

  One corner of Peter’s mouth shook when it attempted to curl up. “It would be rather awkward to visit my parents without Paige.”

  I opened the door with a smile. “Great! See you tomorrow.”

  Peter walked out, pausing to glance at Zeke before leaving.

  I closed the door, resting my forehead against the wood.

  “What was that about?” Zeke asked. He patted the couch beside him. “C’mere.”

  I trudged over to him, borderline pouting, then fell next to Zeke. He curved his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer, kissing my temple. “I’m so glad tonight is the night you chose to stay for the first time. Even if it is because you’re helping with the food while I’m at work and not because Peter pisses me off.”

  “I’m just glad you finally asked.” When I didn’t respond, he continued. “Peter’s your oldest friend and boss?”

  “Peter was my childhood sweetheart. We broke up when he got engaged to someone else, and a few years later, I married Matt. After the funeral, I joined the Marines. Peter through a fit. When I was deployed, Peter begged me to let him find a way to bring me home, but I wanted to be out there with my team. He finally figured out how to do it.”

  “How?”

  “Peter is the head bitch in charge of funding for the mountain. Trex was offered this job, chose his own team, and after we got here, we realized Peter pulled a lot of strings and cashed in all his favors. He knew Trex would bring me here.”

  Zeke looked around as if my house was bugged and leaned in to whisper. “Who is he? Like CIA or something?”

  I laughed out loud. “No, he’s a junior senator. His dad is Speaker of the House.”

  “Whoa,” Zeke said.

  “He’s harmless,” I said.

  “Yeah, if you’re on his good side. I have a government job, you know.”

  I made a face. “Are you afraid of Peter?”

  “Nope. I’ve got you to keep him in line. Looks like you can handle him pretty well.”

  “I can.”

  “He looked like hell.”

  “His wife left him.”

  “Damn,” Zeke said, lost in thought for a moment. “My worst nightmare.”

  “That’s sort of weird since you’re not married.”

  “Not yet. I’ve been left. It sucks. I feel for the guy.”

  “Well that can happen if you’re pursuing an old girlfriend while married.”

  He pointed at me. “You? He’s pursuing you?” My non-answer told him what he needed to know, and his cheeks flushed. “This changes things.”

  “Again, he’s harmless.”

  A deep line formed between Zeke’s brows. “He’s about to be single, and it looks like being married was just a speed bump for him when it came to you. So are there still feelings?”

  I stifled a laugh. Jealous Zeke was adorable. “I have absolutely zero interest.”

  “You just evaded.”

  I shifted, uncomfortable. I’d forgotten about this part, being accountable to someone else. “Peter was my first everything.”

  “So you loved him.”

  “Past tense. My feelings for him are strictly platonic, and most of the time he pisses me off, so…”

  “Guys like that don’t care,” Zeke said, unhappy.

  “Are you projecting your previous experience? Because I’m not her.”

  Zeke turned to look at me, his mouth open. “That’s not what I was saying. If that’s really how it sounded, I deeply apologize.”

  I hugged him to me then pecked his lips. “I promise, Peter is not a problem.”

  ***

  Zeke padded around in his bare feet, wearing my robe as he brought me a cup of coffee in bed. Music was playing in the kitchen, something old but catchy. Perfect morning music that mirrored Zeke’s mood.

  I sat up, taking the steaming mug from him. “Wow. Thank you,” I said, taking a careful sip. Zeke climbed onto his side of the bed and sat legs crossed, drinking from the only other mug I had. He looked content, his eyes still heavy from staying up late fucking my brains out, then waking up just a few hours later to take a quick shower.

 
“Your robe is very fetching,” I said in a horrible British accent.

  He looked down. “It’s cold this morning. I work with what I have.”

  I thought about that then sat up higher, shrugging. “What if… I mean, if you want … what if you kept a drawer here? And maybe a hanger or two.”

  He smiled. “What does that mean?”

  “You know … toothbrush, toothpaste, razor, shaving cream, a robe—personal items you need that I don’t have here. I’m assuming it’s not the last time you’ll stay. I mean, if you don’t mind having two of that stuff.”

  His smile widened. “Not at all.”

  I nodded once. “Good. The middle drawer on the left in the bathroom is open.”

  “Yeah?” he said, unable to tone down his excited expression.

  “Yeah.” My heart was pounding, but I kept my face smooth. Each time we took things to a new level, after the initial panic was over, I’d never once regretted it. I wanted to be with Zeke, even if I had to fight my demons daily, sometimes to emotional and mental exhaustion. I’d never backed down from a fight, and this time I’d win something I’d lost a long time ago: me.

  He leaned over, planting a quick kiss on my lips. “I’d better get dressed. I need to start dinner, and you have to get around for work.”

  “Right behind you,” I said. The robe fell to the floor, and Zeke pulled on his navy-blue boxer briefs, a pair of gray sweats, and a plain white T-shirt. I willed myself to feel relaxed at the domesticity of it all.

  chapter twenty-four

  mine

  Naomi

  “T

  urn around, sir,” the man on the other side of the blast doors of Deep Echo said through the speaker. The Deep Echo security team stopped getting annoyed a couple of months before and just accepted that Trex and I were going to visit them every day. The warning was just procedure. No guns, no posturing.

  “Do you ever leave?” I asked the man on the com. “Do you even know it’s Thanksgiving?”

  “Turn around and walk, lady,” the soldier said.

  I took a step closer. “What’s your name, soldier?”

  “Dean, ma’am. This is your last warning.”

  I lifted my fist and gave them the finger. “Happy holidays, assholes.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “Happy holidays to you too, Naomi.”

  Trex and I traded looks then headed back down Echo corridor to Delta. The Complex was quiet, only a skeleton crew working the control room and security, and a couple dozen essential personnel. Our steps were louder than usual against the metal grid that led to Delta, the water dripping from the ceiling louder, the whispers louder.

  “Think they’ll ever let us back there?” I asked.

  “I’m more concerned at this point that those guys will never get out,” Trex said. “No amount of money would make that contract worth it.”

  “Maybe they know too much, like that lab rat was saying.”

  “Then I need to mind my fucking business. Tonight’s our first night in the new house.”

  Martinez and Sloan met us back at headquarters a few minutes before lunch, and Harbinger came in right after us, but it seemed extra quiet.

  Trex stared at the door for a full minute then turned his head toward the com clipped to his lapel. “Trex actual to Kitsch, check in.”

  The rest of the team waited, frozen in place. Kitsch didn’t do well during the holidays. They were the few times during the year he couldn’t pretend. We were all on edge, dreading hearing the worst.

  “Trex actual to Kitsch,” Trex repeated. “Do you copy?”

  “It’s Thanksgiving,” Sloan said.

  “I know,” Trex said, staring at the door and waiting for a response on the radio.

  “This time of year is rough on him,” Sloan said.

  “I know,” Trex snapped. “Trex to Kitsch. Do you copy?”

  The radio crackled. “Lima Charlie, out,” Kitsch responded, signaling he’d heard Trex loud and clear.

  We all sighed and relaxed.

  “We’re headed to chow, and it’s comfort-food day. Get your ass in here,” Trex said.

  “On my way, over,” he said. The radio crackled again.

  Martinez leaned back, letting his head hit his locker. None of us dared say it aloud, but holidays had us all on edge.

  “I invited him over tonight,” I said. “I’m cooking if you guys want to stop over,” I said to Martinez and Sloan.

  “Can I bring a date?” Martinez asked.

  “Sure. Just make sure Kitsch comes.”

  Martinez nodded once. “Will do.”

  Lunch was a slice of roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, giblet gravy, cranberry salad, and apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. We had all sat down by the time Kitsch made it to the table, not mentioning that his face was red and blotchy, his eyes swollen and bloodshot. The knuckles on his right hand were skinned and bloody, his napkin soaked with crimson.

  “You’re not going to flake out on me, are you, Kitsch?” I asked.

  “Huh?” he said, snapping out of the hell he was in. “No. I’ll be there.”

  “Good. I’m picking you up. You’re my date,” Martinez said.

  I eyed Martinez, seeing the moment he’d decided not to bring anyone else so he could keep Kitsch company.

  Kitsch nodded.

  “Everyone be sure to bring liquor. We’re going out after, and the bar marks up the alcohol on holidays,” I said.

  Kitsch frowned.

  I pointed at him. “You’re the only one who can two-step.” I pointed at his bloody hand. “You’re cleaning that shit up, then you’re taking me out, fucker.”

  “Fine,” he grumbled.

  “I’ll be DD,” Trex said.

  I grinned. “You’re coming?”

  “Someone has to drive you drunken losers around. I don’t want to have to bail you out of jail so you’re at work on time. I don’t like leaving Darby at home alone on Thanksgiving…”

  “Bring her,” Sloan said.

  I frowned. “I’m not bringing my very pregnant girlfriend to a bar. Besides, she has to be at work by eleven.”

  “You guys should come by,” I said.

  “She’s been cooking all day.”

  “So go after,” Harbinger said. “We’re stopping by after dinner.”

  Trex nodded. “Okay. I’ll ask Darby. I’m sure she’ll be fine with it. We’ll stay until she has to go to work.”

  Kitsch picked at his lunch, moving it around on his plate but never taking a bite.

  “Attention!” Saunders called from the doorway.

  We turned to see the general walk in. A few airmen at the other end of the cafeteria stood and saluted. We stopped eating and faced him, waiting to see what all the fuss was about. He walked over to our table. “Trexler, congratulations, your team has the rest of the day off to spend with your families, per Senator Bennett.”

  “What?” I said. Peter knew I loathed special treatment.

  “Calm down, Abrams,” the general said. “The early release is for all civilian contractors.

  “Enjoy your Thanksgiving meal and then collect your things for the weekend.”

  “The weekend?” Trex asked. We didn’t work a full eight on Saturdays and Sundays, but we were on call 24/7. “What will you do for Complex security?”

  “Deep Echo will take care of it. You go home, they breathe fresh air, it’s a win-win. Happy holidays.” The general turned on his heels without another word, followed by his entourage.

  I stood with my tray. “I’d better get home and finish dinner.”

  “You need help?” Martinez asked.

  “I’ve got it,” I said, rushing out.

  Zeke was in the kitchen when I opened the door. He was still in his sweatpants and T-shirt, not a speck of food on him. His smile was bright. He rubbed the back of his neck, almost blushing. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to my girl coming home
every day looking like she saved the world.”

  I smiled, letting my duffle fall to the floor. “Who says I don’t?”

  Zeke playfully took wide strides to get to me, then wrapped me in his arms, welcoming me home with a kiss. “I missed you.”

  “Same,” I said, looking up at him. “I’m going to get dressed then help you. My whole team is coming over, plus Watts and one wife, their two kids, and a pregnant girlfriend.”

  “Darby?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Cool.”

  I joined Zeke in the kitchen. He’d already prepped and basted, stirred and boiled, baked and refrigerated. I hadn’t cooked for so many since my days at home in Sasabe, but Zeke was in his element.

  Zeke popped a sliced strawberry in my mouth then kissed me. “This is already my best Thanksgiving ever. I’m a lucky, lucky man.”

  “You’re a rock star in bed and in the kitchen. I’m feeling pretty lucky myself.”

  He grinned while he searched for a place to put his mixture into the already full fridge. “And that’s not all I’m good at.”

  “Oh yeah? What else?”

  He wrapped me in his arms, pressing his lips against mine. His lips parted, his tongue tasting the inside of my mouth, making my insides tingle from hairline to toes. He pulled away.

  I inhaled, feeling a little dizzy. “That too.”

  “For the rest, you’ll just have to be surprised.”

  I slid my fingers under his T-shirt, letting my fingers graze his back. “I’m good at things too.”

  “I know you are.”

  I kneeled in front of him, pulling his waistbands with me as I went. I took his already-hard shaft in one hand, cupped his ass in the other, and slowly pulled him into my mouth until I could feel the tip of his dick at the back of my throat. I pulled back with the tiniest bit of suction then went in again, even slower, keeping my mouth tight around him. His right hand grabbed the countertop, the left gripped the handle of the fridge.

  “Oh my fuck,” he breathed out, the last word lingering in his mouth. Ten minutes later he finished, then he was lingering in mine.