by J. M. Madden
Marigold drove him around for almost an hour, showing him landmarks and highlights of the city she’d grown to love in the few months she’d been here. “The snow is pretty epic. I will say that. But there are as many winter festivals and excursions as summer. Bike paths criss-cross the city.”
“I won’t be using those in the near future,” he said shortly.
“Well, you might,” she said carefully. “There are a lot of trikes and even hand bikes out there as well as regular bikes. There’s no reason for you to be trapped in your room, or in a city you know nothing about.”
His jaw tightened at her gently chiding words. “Let me tell you something, Marigold. You may be a little older than I am, but you’re very young and idealistic. After you have to hear a child cry out because your face scared them, or have a guy ask you if it was worth the damage, being over there in the war he didn’t agree with, only then can you tell me how I should live my life. If I want to stay in my hotel room the entire time I’m here, it’s my choice. If I decide I don’t want to deal with the bullshit anymore and put a bullet in my brain, it’s my choice,” he gritted, eyes narrowed in anger. “There’s no walking in my boots. They were blown off me in Afghanistan. Stick to your lane.”
Marigold blinked rapidly, not used to anyone barking at her that way. It hurt her heart, the things that he’d said, because they were surely something he had experienced. “You’re right,” she said eventually, breathing through her watering eyes. “It’s not my place to tell you how to live. I can encourage you to live the life you’ve been given, though.”
Then the bullet-in-the-brain bit sank in, and she turned to glare at him. “And don’t joke about shooting yourself. It’s not even funny.”
“I know,” he said, voice low. And he left it at that. Which scared her even more.
Marigold was a bundle of nerves when they finally pulled into Frog Dog. The parking lot was somewhat crowded, so she had no doubt she would recognize a bunch of the people here. How would Logan react, coming to a place so densely packed with other disabled veterans? She hoped he didn’t think she was messing with him after he’d snapped at her.
“This is a popular little spot for LNF, and they have fantastic food.”
They left the car and headed for the heavy oak front doors of the bar and grill. She held the door open for him and stayed behind, determined to let him choose where they sat. He hesitated, and she could tell he was scoping out the room. For those uninitiated to the Frog Dog, it could be a bit shocking, seeing the obvious veterans crowding the room. There was an older crowd that were regulars, with their black memorial Vietnam Veteran or Korean War hats and even a few old uniform jackets on display. The younger crowd was more dispersed, and there were a few hats, but not a lot.
Logan picked a direction and she followed, not surprised when they ended up in the farthest, darkest corner, out of the line of sight of the many TVs broadcasting sports. Logan took the seat against the wall, leaving her with her back to the room. Marigold knew that was a coping mechanism to deal with unfamiliar surroundings, so she didn’t say anything. Within just a few seconds a waitress approached them, handing them menus.
“Hi guys. Welcome to the Frog Dog.”
It was Ember, Zeke’s fiancée. “Hi, Ember.”
“Oh, hey, Marigold, right?” Ember’s face lit with a smile. “What a unique name. My mom used to love Marigolds. I’m glad to see you again. What can I get you guys to drink?”
“I’ll just do a diet-Coke for now.”
She watched as Ember turned her bright expression to Logan. She was a knockout, with long dark hair and dark, seductive eyes, and an amazing empathy. The woman didn’t even blink at the scars on his face, and Logan seemed a little shocked. “Uh, something draft.”
“IPA or domestic,” she asked.
He frowned, considering. “Something IPA. Light.”
“Gotcha. Zeke has a couple he likes. I’ll have him bring them over. Do you guys want an appetizer?”
“Oh,” Marigold said, “fried pickles, please!”
Grinning, Ember nodded. “You got it. I’ll be back with your drinks.”
Marigold leaned forward on the table. “In case you missed it, Ember is Zeke’s fiancée. They’ve been engaged for a good while, I think. Not sure when they’re getting married. Anyway, her dad built this bar so that he and his friends could have a place to hang, but I think Ember and Zeke have pretty much taken over the running of it. Her dad has a new love interest so he hasn’t been paying as much attention to the business.”
Logan gave her an understanding nod. “I don’t think I’ve met either of them.”
“Zeke is... a former Marine, I believe. Most of the people at LNF are Marines, with a few former Navy SEALs thrown in.”
He nodded again and glanced up. His eyes widened and Marigold assumed Zeke was on his way, all six foot five of him. The dude was built like a heavy-duty football player, with broad, muscular shoulders and trim hips. She’d seen more than one woman preen with interest before they saw his ravaged face. As much as she felt for Logan and the healing scars he was dealing with, she’d never seen anyone so harshly damaged as Zeke. His entire face was a mass of old burn and surgery scars, some faded white, a couple still angry red. It was obvious he’d had a devastating injury, and the doctors putting him back together hadn’t necessarily been successful.
Logan looked at him, obviously shocked. Then he jerked and seemed to come back to himself.
Zeke, bless his big old heart, set the flight of pale amber beers down in front of Logan and the diet Coke in front of her. “Hi guys. Marigold, good to s-s-see you again.”
Zeke thrust his scarred hand out to Logan. “Zeke Foster. I think I saw y-y-you at LNF the other d-day.”
“Logan Vance. Yes, I saw you, as well. John is helping me track down some family.”
Zeke nodded, grinning crookedly. “He’s good at that. Mind of I j-j-join you for a minute? I’ll tell you about the b-b-beer.”
Zeke pulled up a chair and started pointing at each of the beers on the flight of glasses. Marigold wasn’t much of a beer drinker, so she didn’t pay a lot of attention, just watched the men interact with each other. Zeke was one of the most self-assured men she’d ever seen, and she knew working at the bar was probably a big part of it. Ember was another part of it. She’d seen them together, laughing and touching. The love between them was obvious for anyone to see. Though she hadn’t been around them a lot, she’d seen Ember stroking his rough cheeks and the lines of his surgery scars.
Maybe Zeke’s self-assurance would filter over to Logan. Ember came back at one point to drop off their appetizer and take their food order. She smiled crookedly as she watched the men sip from the glasses, and leaned down to Marigold. “Zeke is really loving some of the local IPAs coming out right now. Sorry if he’s horned in on your date.”
Marigold snorted. “This is not a date. Believe me.”
Ember looked between her and Logan, her dark brows raised skeptically, as if to ask, you sure?
Marigold watched Ember go, wondering if the other woman was seeing something she herself couldn’t. Even when she’d kissed his ear the other night he hadn’t seemed especially moved, so she’d drawn back. Then he’d given her the no-commitment spiel and distanced himself from Nancy’s. She was done making advances and being shot down.
11
Logan didn’t like the derision he’d heard in Marigold’s snort. He tried to listen to Zeke go on about the Lion’s Head IPA, or whatever it was. The beer was good, and the information had been interesting, but when Ember had asked Marigold about this being a date, he’d been too interested in the answer. Then inordinately disappointed at the disdainful snort. Why had she done that? Was he not good enough to go out with?
Then Logan realized how hypocritical he was being. He proclaimed not to want commitment, but when she disavowed it he was peeved.
Make up your damn mind, already.
Plus, she’d kissed him. Kind
of. And he’d basically shut her down.
The previous version of himself, the guy before he’d been blown to hell, would have loved to date Marigold. She was unique and beautiful and didn’t seem to mind looking at his ugly mug. Hell, if the flush earlier at the hotel was anything to go by, there was attraction there as well. He doubted she would move on it again, though. It would probably be up to him.
Marigold excused herself to go to the restroom, and he watched her walk away, unable to help himself.
Zeke had obviously asked him a question, because he was staring at him expectantly. “Sorry, Zeke. What was that?”
Zeke smiled softly. “Nothing, buddy. I’ll get out of y-your hair and let you en-en-en...have fun on your date.”
“This isn’t a date,” he denied, repeating Marigold’s words.
Zeke hesitated, then turned to look at the dark-haired woman behind the bar. “Let me give you a w-word of advice, Logan. Even if you don’t want to, if every p-p-part of your b-being wants you to curl up into a ball and fade away from the world and commitment, d-d-don’t. Take the chance on the girl. And have faith that she knows what she wants.”
Logan frowned. “I appreciate the advice, but I’ve only known her a couple of days. We’re not dating.”
Zeke shrugged his broad shoulders, glancing back at him. “Ember and I n-n-never really did date. But she is the core of my heart.” He pushed up from the chair. “I’ll get y-y-your food and another beer.”
“Thanks, Zeke.”
Logan watched the man leave, envying him his ease of movement. The guy looked fighting ready, and he wondered if there were ever any scuffles in the bar.
He watched Zeke cross to Ember. By the way her eyes widened and she shifted, Logan thought Zeke had stroked her ass beneath the line of the bar. They grinned at each other, and Logan felt a moment of remorse that he wouldn’t ever experience that kind of relationship. Once he talked to Miller’s family and found out what he could about his own family, good or bad, he was done. He would be exiting stage left and getting the fuck out of here.
The thought wasn’t as reassuring as it had once been, though. In point of fact, it chafed.
When Marigold returned to the table, he tried a smile on her, feeling like an ass when she blinked in shock. Maybe he had been a prick to be around, he realized. Or maybe his face just looked especially bad when he smiled. Shit.
Marigold returned his smile, though, as she slipped into her seat. She seemed a little flustered as she took a sip of her cola. “Zeke is a good guy.”
“He is,” Logan agreed, reaching for the basket in the middle of the table. He popped one of the golden bundles into his mouth and jerked. “What the fuck is this?”
Marigold giggled, reaching for one as well. “Deep-fried pickles.”
Logan made as much of a face as he could, pushing the basket toward her. “They’re all yours.”
He glanced around the space, looking at the memorabilia on the walls and hanging from the rafters. “This is a neat place. Again, thank you for getting me out of the hotel room.”
“No problem. I know I would go nuts cooped in a little room like that. And even with your mobility issues, there are other things that you can do and appreciate.”
“Yeah,” he said, softly, appreciating that she hadn’t let him shove her away. Marigold had been nothing but kind to him. Everybody had been. Zeke’s words rang in his mind, nagging at him. Abruptly, he came to a decision. “I’m going to take that room at Nancy’s.”
Marigold’s mouth dropped open and she blinked, obviously shocked. “What about your no commitment, thing?”
He shifted, feeling uncomfortable under her probing look. It had been less than two hours since he’d said that and he hated to be called on his shit. “I still don’t want any commitments, but I’m sick of the hotel room. Depending upon what John finds, and another task I have to do, I’ll be here at least another week or two. Might as well be more comfortable during that time.”
Smiling broadly, Marigold reached out and touched his hand on the table. “I think you’ll enjoy it there. And though Nancy appears effusive, she knows when to give you space. Plus,” she said considering, “since you look like her W.C., I think she’ll appreciate having you in the house. As long as you’re willing to stay.”
Ember brought their food, then, with Zeke trailing behind with drink refills. “Enjoy, guys,” she told them, dropping an extra stack of napkins on the table before they left.
The food was upscale grub and Logan realized how hungry he was at the first bite. They’d had the coffee earlier but obviously it hadn’t been enough. He plowed through the food, honestly surprised at the quality. Bar food tended to be fried and unhealthy, but his steak tacos were freshly made and loaded with vegetables. The steak was so freaking tender.
“Ember does most of the cooking,” Marigold said around a mouthful of grilled chicken, “and I will say her Friday catfish fry is out of this world. I’ll have to bring you sometime.”
He nodded. “I can go for some good fried fish.”
What the hell. If life was handing him opportunities, maybe he needed to start taking them.
So, when she asked about his other task, he looked at her, debating, and let some of his tightly-held control go. “I have to talk to my best-friend’s family.”
“Oh!” she looked confused. “Are they local?”
“Boulder,” he said. “On the north side.”
“That’s not far away. Is he going to come down and get you?”
Logan stared at her for a long minute, then blinked and looked down at his uneaten food. He wiped at his forehead, as if he could still feel... then he used his napkin to wipe his forehead, not understanding when he didn’t see the blood he could feel rolling down his skin. Miller... Miller was nowhere to be seen. He wouldn’t be grinning at him again or punching him in the shoulder... Flashes of a monochromatic sandy landscape pinged through his brain, with the guys laughing and joking and shooting and fighting. He’d been with Miller since he’d been deployed and they’d fallen into such an easy, brotherly relationship. It had been like nothing he’d ever experienced. Miller had been the brother he’d literally dreamed of having.
But he’d died. And Logan hadn’t. It was so unfair, giving him a brother, then taking him away.
Logan drew in a ragged breath and closed his lids, his eyes dry from not blinking. Then they flushed with too much liquid, and his throat tightened. Tightening his jaw, he turned his head. Marigold had moved her chair. She was now sitting right beside him, with her arm around his waist. He hadn’t seen her move or felt her touch until now. Stiffening his shoulders, he drew away. And she let him.
Dropping his head, he wiped his eyes and cleared his throat. Embarrassment washed through him. “How long was I gone?”
She was watching him carefully, her expression not giving anything away. “About ten minutes. Long enough for your food to get cold.” She forced a smile, but the corner of her lips quivered.
“I’m sorry, Marigold. Did I say anything?”
She tilted her chin up. “You asked for Miller a couple of times. Is he your friend?”
Logan nodded, glancing around the bar.
“Don’t worry,” Marigold said. “I think Zeke knew something was going on, because he cranked the volume on the far game TV and started pulling attention that way.”
Logan looked at the big guy behind the bar. Yep, he was looking at him now. Logan gave him a slight wave and received a nod in return. Since this was a veteran’s bar, Zeke had probably seen a few guys slip off the edge of reality.
“I’m so sorry, Logan,” Marigold whispered. “I should have thought about your words. I just didn’t connect the dots.”
He shook his head. “Not your place to connect the dots. That doesn’t happen very often and I didn’t expect it to happen just now. I don’t think I ever told you what exactly I was doing. It was my fault and I apologize.”
“God, quit apologizing. It was my f
uck up.”
Logan reached for his beer. Even though it was warm, it felt good sliding down his throat. “He was my best friend,” he told her softly. “I didn’t like him at first. He was too nice. Too... goody two-shoes. You know what I mean?”
Marigold nodded, leaning forward enough to prop her chin on her hand. “Was it the way he was raised?”
“Oh, yeah... he was the son of a single mother. He has a sister about five years younger. Lisa took her job very seriously, raising her kids, and didn’t spare the love or the discipline. Miller felt responsible for his little sister a lot of the time, and he had to be the example she followed. You always hear stories about kids following in their father’s footsteps, going into the military. Miller actually followed in his mother’s footsteps. She’d been a staff sergeant in the Army and had deployed to the Persian Gulf. And her dad had deployed as well years ago.”
“Incredible.”
“He planned on staying in the Army long enough to retire, carrying on the family line.”
Logan stared out the dark window, watching a car turn into the parking lot. “So, my task is to go see my best friend’s family. That was the main reason I came out here. Three of my men died that day. I talked to Harrison’s family in Florida and Stafford’s family in Kansas. But I left Miller’s family for last.”
“Because it’s the hardest,” she said softly.
Logan gave her a crooked smile. “Yeah, I guess. I’ve only been procrastinating for months, since I was released from the hospital.”
“I don’t think you’ve been procrastinating,” Marigold said, touching his hand. “I think you’ve been healing. And preparing.”
Logan downed the rest of the beer. Almost magically another one was set in front of him. Zeke didn’t say anything, just rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment and left. That solidarity rocked Logan and it took everything in him not to tear up again.
He dragged in a breath, realizing how wrung out he was. The flashbacks always took it out of him. “I think I’m about ready to go, Marigold.”