“Guy over there sent you this.” He slides a shot of something dark with whipped cream on top to the edge of the bar.
I catch the guy’s eye and wave. Cute but not my type. No one is ever my type, even on my birthday with a direct order from one boss to get laid and with another boss trying to ease all the responsibility in my life. “Thank you.”
He smiles because he knows, with one look, I’m not interested. My mind drifts back to Grayson. Sipping drinks all night has made my cheeks tingly and my heart crave his call.
“Emma,” Sarah snaps at me. “Forget Grayson. At least for tonight.”
“Right. And what should I focus on instead?”
“Hmm.” She scans the room.
Between listening to Grayson growl into my ear earlier and having a few fruity-tooty drinks in my system, I’m slow to control my emotions. I check my phone again. It’s seven. Grayson said he’d call back. Will he? I mean, come on, why, after all this time, should I trust him to do anything he says? Then again, he called today.
“Ugh.” Groaning and leaning against Sarah’s shoulder, I chew on my lip. “Why isn’t he calling me back? And why do I want him to?”
She pats my head. “I’d be shocked if you didn’t want him to. Be mad and all, but you’re messed up over him.”
“Messed up? That’s one way to put it.”
“Well… Grayson’s alive. Around, maybe… have you thought about how you’re going to mention Cally?”
“Shhh,” I hiss, as if maybe saying Cally and Grayson in the same sentence will cosmically notify him of his unknown offspring. “No, I haven’t. It’s only been a couple hours.”
She takes a pull off her drink. “Talk about a game changer.”
“No kidding.” I keep checking my phone. The closer I get to the bottom of another empty glass, the more my attention focuses on Grayson’s lack of a return call.
“You could always call him, ya know.” Sarah bobs an eyebrow then stares at my phone that I’m unsuccessfully trying to covertly check. “Yeah, you’re totally busted.”
Hmm, I should have better phone-checking skills. I’m pretty sure my happy-birthday happy hour is messing with my stealth moves. Can’t help it though; his number is waiting for me. “It’s all I can think about.”
Sarah finishes the last of her drink. “All you have to do is hit send.”
I nod. We shouldn’t be strategizing while drinking. “I could call him.”
“You could,” her voice trills.
“But I won’t. Right?”
I’ve had one too many pink-purple-and-green things bought for me by birthday wishers. Sarah too, just because she’s cute. If I drink one more, then I totally will call him. I look at Sarah, my voice of reason, and see she’s a notch past tipsy. I gotta get out of here.
“I think I’m done.”
She frowns. “But it’s your birthday!”
“It’s happy hour. And that’s probably over by now.”
“Party pooper.”
Story of my life. But there are cabs outside, and my house needs to be unpacked. I can’t afford a hangover or a drunk dial to Gray. Or could I?
I lean into Sarah, squeezing my eyes shut. “I’m going to call him.”
“I know, sweetheart.” She kisses my head. “I can’t believe you lasted this long.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Grayson
Highway lights dully glow in summer’s twilight sky as I drive down Interstate 95, heading from Maryland to Virginia. Sometimes the military network pays off. After just one phone call from my hospital room to my buddy Parker, I’m pushing down the highway in a two-ton dually pickup truck that growls when I floor it. It’s blacked out, decked out, and almost tactical in the way it’s been outfitted.
Nothing identifies the truck other than an emblem pressed into the center of the leather steering wheel, the same emblem on the title and registration in the glove box. One word is on all three: Titan.
Uncertainty grows in my chest. I don’t know who Parker works for, but I do know Titan Group. Everybody knows Titan exists, but that’s about it. They’re a special ops, post-military outfit. I asked Parker for Emma’s phone number and access to a set of wheels. When I’d walked out of Walter Reed, after shooing Mazie away, there sat this truck with keys in the ignition, a wad of cash in the glove box, and cell phone programmed with one number.
It took me less than a minute to call her. That conversation, even with her hesitations, did more for me than the weeks of PTSD therapy bullshit I had to sit through to get released even after the docs gave a green light to my healing ribs and wound.
Her voice. Damn… I still can’t shake it, replaying her words in my mind as I fly down the interstate with no idea where I’ll end up. A radio station is on, and rock pours through the speakers. My thumbs drum, my heart pounds. Cold sweat spikes on my neck and shoulders. The closer I come to passing Summerland County, the more anxiety kills me.
I’ll call her back. But not now. Not when I’m pulled toward Summerland as if the county’s got my ass on a leash.
My head pounds, and I rub my temples. Before anything, I need to get a hotel room and get my head on straight. I’ve got nothing. No home. No Army contract. No team to shoot the shit with. Nothing.
The only shit I’m holding on to right now is survivor’s guilt. That’s what the nurses at Walter Reed called it. A social worker stopped by with pamphlets and a stern warning that no one could help me if I didn’t admit that I needed help. Even Mazie, queen of mental what-the-fucks, nodded.
They warned me about triggers. They said I wouldn’t be able to handle letting people down, disappointing others. That it would freak me the fuck out, sending me into some kind of PTSD tailspin if I thought I’d left someone hanging again. Well, newsflash, fuckers—there isn’t anyone else to disappoint. I’ve hurt and abandoned, loved and left everyone there is to leave.
What I need is Emma, which means I need a plan. I might be uncertain about where I’ll work, where I’m going to live, how I’m going to eat after I spend the money in my wallet, but I am suddenly and unquestionably confident about her and me. We just need face time.
Step one’s complete, thanks to Parker and Titan hooking me up with a phone number.
Step two: find out personal details and adapt. She’s got a boyfriend? Fixable. A husband? Harder to fix, but still it can be done.
My determination surges. It all starts with a call back that I can’t make while driving, heading past my hell. A sign ahead reads Summerland County line in five miles.
Damn, that fuckin’ place. Nothing there for me, but it’s as if I can’t stay away. Unwilling to go another mile, I jerk the wheel, hitting the shoulder. Gravel spins in the wheel wells. The smell of burnt brakes filters into the truck. My hands strangle the steering wheel, and I press my forehead onto the Titan emblem.
Can’t get the future if I avoid the past. I grab my cell and hit redial. Forty-five seconds later, no answer. Shit. Okay. New plan. Grab a burger and a bed somewhere, wait until first light, try again. And again. And again. Until I get what I need. Her.
Emma
After a quick cab ride to my new home, I’m alone and harboring a serious cocktail buzz. I bypass the kitchen and living room, heading straight for my room. After checking for accidental missed calls a thousand times, my phone died sometime during the drive home. I’m going to flip out if it doesn’t charge ASAP.
I plug the phone into the charger and watch it for a few seconds to see if it will turn back on. Nope. Shit, shoot, shit. What if he’s calling right this second?
Ugh. I’m going nuts and need to get out of these clothes. One last look at the phone, and I head into my bedroom. It’s lonely now that I’m home with no Cally to make dinner for, no two-year-old’s stories to keep me entertained.
I chuck my purse across the bedroom and flop onto my bed. But the combination of throwing and flopping while buzzed doesn’t sit well, and I need to change anyway. What’s a girl to wear when tipsy and home alone
the night of her birthday celebration? Definitely something comfy. I change into my jammies and pace.
I unpack a box then check my phone. Still dead. I head to Cally’s room, certain the box of her toys is in there and needs to be unpacked first. After ripping it open, I line up all her stuffed animals and dolls against the wall, making her favorite one the center. Packing that well-loved one was a mistake—grinning, I totally blame Uncle Ry-Ry—and I’m not sure how we’ve made it all week without that doll.
Okay, that’s done. Now what? Back in my room, I take off my makeup then check my cell again. Five percent. I shrug, biting my lip. That’s gotta be enough to at least turn it back on.
I press the button, and it lights up. I could unpack another box or just stare at my phone, willing it to ring. Damn Grayson. I can’t stay away, can’t stop thinking about if he called. Maybe it will… now.
Nope. Not a peep.
What if he called, and I missed it? No voicemails… but he wouldn’t leave one, would he? I unplug it and move to another outlet before it dies again. Now I can sit on my bed and stare, wishing for it to ring.
Still doesn’t. Seriously, he could’ve called when it was dead.
I scroll to my earlier incoming calls. His number is just sitting there, begging me to hit him back. My thumb hovers. Oh, this is such a bad idea. Nervous excitement rushes through me, and I hit SEND.
It’s ringing!
My stomach’s in my throat. I’m blushing, I know that, and I’m trying not to grin like a crazy woman. What the fuckballs am I doing? This is so bad. Bad. BAD in a major way. But I can’t hang up.
“Hello?” His voice is gruff with sleep.
Hell. It’s Friday. He went out and had a couple too. Maybe he passed out. Maybe I shouldn’t have called him. He said he’d call, but he didn’t. So that is something. This is a mistake.
Holy shit, I’m losing my mind. “Hey, Grayson.”
Silence. Oh. Awkward. I didn’t sign up for this. What am I doing?
“Hey.”
I hear rustling noises. Grayson’s in bed? What if he’s not alone? What if he is? Do I want to know this much about him this very second? God. My mind is spiraling.
“Hey. Buzzed you earlier, went straight to voicemail.” He clears his throat. It’s sleep-soaked and rough. “What are you up to?”
“I’ve been drinking.” Because that honest revelation is what’s needed. Ugh. Head. Slamming. Against. Wall. I groan. “I mean. It was a happy hour. For me. I guess—”
“Happy early birthday.”
God… Just, God. I curl into myself and hide under the covers, letting the deep rumble of his voice echo in my head. “Thanks.”
“So… what are you doing for the real deal?”
Nothing I’ll tell him about. Cherry’s helping Cally decorate cookies and “make” me dinner on Sunday. “Small family thing.”
“Your family, everyone’s good?”
I close my eyes. It’s like we’re just catching up, not like our conversation earlier at work. I always thought he’d check in after we found out he went to basic training. Maybe he’d check in with Ryan. I thought he’d talk to anybody. But Grayson fell off the planet.
Yet somehow the memories of middle-of-the-night chats stir me. “What did you mean earlier, you’re not the guy I knew?”
“I can’t explain it. Dead man walking.”
My sweet golden boy? Sure, he had his dark moments, his hidden pieces. “What does that mean, Gray? Why?”
“I’ve changed. Army changed me. War changed me. Walking away from you… ruined me.”
My stomach swan dives. “Grayson… you can’t say things like that.”
“Shit, don’t see why not.” He groans. “You woke me up, thinking about you in my dream. Or nightmare. Not sure which anymore.”
“You really can’t say that!”
He laughs quietly. “Baby, I’ve come to learn it’s best to say whatever comes to mind.”
“I’m not sure that’s true.” I stare at the ceiling, wondering what would fall from my lips if I said whatever came to mind. I still love you. I miss you. I have someone I’d like you to meet…
“It is.” He breathes into my ear. “I’ve learned the hard way. Lay it on the line, make up for lost time. Fix mistakes.”
“Shut up,” I whisper, pleading as my heart pounds.
“I was a kid. We were kids, and I was in deep. With you, Ems. And shit was going down at home. I got in my head, ended up enlisted.”
“People don’t end up enlisted.”
“I did.”
“How?”
He clears his throat. “That night at Pops’s trailer… couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. I thought my head was gonna explode. Someone offered me a way out, I took it. That second, it seemed right.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I was stuck… and us, that night on the beach? I thought life couldn’t get any better that night. I took that memory and ran. Didn’t mean I was any less screwed.”
I’m two days shy of twenty-one, and I’ve never been with another man. It’s pathetic, but it’s because of him. Hearing his voice, I’m at a loss for the longing I feel. The deep need to be held, loved… “People said you died.”
He sucks a breath. “No. I’m the only one who made it out alive. Look, I’m sorry. But, Emma, I’m here now.”
My tummy flips, but I don’t know how to take here now. I need to redirect. “So… how did you get my number?” Does he know about Cally? Surely if someone gave him my cell number, they mentioned his daughter. I want to be the one who shares that. When the time is right. Which is not now.
“I called a guy.”
“You called a guy?”
“Yeah.”
“Who?” What, are we in a CIA movie? Called a guy. I rub my forehead. “What kind of guy?”
“Someone who… finds people.”
“You found me? I wasn’t lost.”
“From me you were.”
My insides clench. “Gray…”
“I couldn’t go home and ask folks I used to know for your info. Hell, I don’t want to step foot in that county ever again. So I called my guy. He gave me your number. I didn’t pry. I don’t know what dorm you’re in or if you’re off campus. Or… whatever.”
Oh. My. God. He doesn’t know. He’s not calling about Cally. So why now? “What do you want from me?”
Silence.
“Gray!”
“What?”
“Tell me.” I know I’m pleading, that I sound as crazy as I feel. “Please.”
He takes a long breath. “I should be dead. Every guy in my unit—” Silence. “They died. In front of me. I was shot. Rescued. Transported to the States. Weeks in rehab at Walter Reed. My time’s up and—” He clears his throat. “I can’t go back. They’re gone. And I’m done. Discharged. I’m… just… needing to make things right with you.”
I’ve got nothing to offer. What do I say to that? Tears stream onto my pillow, and I’m not sure why. The explosion of emotion is too intense, and I can’t single out one feeling.
“Ems, look, when we were kids, you saved me from home.”
“Saved you?”
“Yeah. I’d think about you, and I was golden, no matter what was happening to me. But now it’s gone. I can’t close my eyes and see your face, can’t remember your taste. You’re the only thing that saved me, until I was dying and couldn’t—couldn’t find you. In me.”
My lungs ache. I can’t speak. My body is dying for him to hold me. I want my tears wiped. I want his mouth on mine. I’ve never stopped loving him.
“I’ve hardened. I’m… broken. Haunted. But I never stopped needing you.”
Shivers roll through me. “Oh.”
“And I’m back with one mission. You.”
CHAPTER NINE
Emma
Hardened and haunted? Even with that admission, I’m melting for Grayson.
“Emma, are you there?”
I nod, still burr
owed in my covers. “Yeah. I’m here.”
“Nothing to say to that?”
“Too much to say.” I don’t know where to start. “I’m not in the dorms.”
The tension on the phone crackles between us. I laugh quietly as if I’m nervous, not as if I’m about to lay something heavy on him.
“Okay. No dorms. So how’s Trydan?” He clears his throat. “Are you dating anyone?”
“Ha.” I’m going to blame the vodka for not keeping that scoff silent.
“No dorms and no boyfriend.” Even through the richness in his voice, I hear the curl of a smile. “Not going to complain.”
“I didn’t go to Trydan.” My stomach twists into a pretzel, and the birthday cocktails may come back up.
“Wait, what?” he growls. “Why?”
This isn’t a phone kind of conversation. Why did I bring it up? “Just couldn’t.”
“You didn’t go to college because of me?”
I strangle my pillow and press my eyes closed. “No. I mean, yes. Kinda. No. Not really.”
“Ems… I…”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Then what is it?”
He’d make a good daddy. Goose bumps roll through me. I’ve thought that a thousand times. Cally’s my world, the epicenter of my existence. I want to shout that I didn’t go to Trydan and I don’t care. I push through life, making choices I’d never have made without her, doing things most people wouldn’t approve of because I’m going to survive and be better off in the end. My daughter—our daughter—is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. But I bite my lip and simplify those thoughts. “It was just… life.”
“Fuck me, Emma, you’re here?”
My stomach drops, and I freeze under the safety of my comforter. “Here? Where are you?”
“You’re in Summerland?” he asks, deeper, darker, more demanding than I’ve ever heard come from a man.
Panic pulses in my veins. “Grayson, where are you?”
“Five minutes from the Summerland County line.”
“No, you’re not!” I can’t breathe. He’s close. Too close. I’m dying to see him, scared to death at the same time. I don’t know how to handle this. Shit, shoot, shit. “Ah—um, I’m around.”
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