And the kicker—
Stephen’s brother Matt seems really happy. Followed by the silent, pleading questions he imagined. Are you happy? Can I help you be happy? What can I do?
More than anything, he hated knowing Hannah worried about him.
Matt didn’t stare at him as his family tended to do, but still, there was friendly concern. Luke didn’t want concern. Didn’t want people trying to get inside his head. Wondering if what he’d seen in war made him stand apart. Even now, Hannah watched him from the dance floor, motioned for him to come join them.
He raised his beer as an excuse and forced a smile. It was what he’d seen, and done. But that wasn’t the only reason. His sister rolled her eyes and to his great relief turned her attention back to her husband. The two of them danced in a group with Nick and Mia, then shuffled their way over to include Zach and Nora. As a whole, their moves were pathetic, but they did it together, moving and laughing.
All these years he’d had his team, but while he’d been gone his family had been making their own connections. Making their own unit.
It looked like everyone in this room belonged to someone. He was the odd man out. He drank, looking around, proving his theory. His gaze landed on the blonde again. Raucous laughter erupted from her table, the two couples sitting opposite her looked to be having a great time but she seemed apart somehow. Like him, on the outside. And why the hell was she sitting alone? Her date ditch her?
Her hair was so pale it was almost white and hung midway down her back, straight as a waterfall. Her body was angled enough that he could see one arm resting on the table, perfectly still. The other women were in constant motion, raising drinks, spooning in desserts, talking animatedly with their hands. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a woman sit with other women and be so still. Still waters run deep, he thought, and searched his mind for the rest of the poem.
He tried to watch the dance floor, but his eyes kept coming back to the woman at the table in… he didn’t know what you’d call the color. Pink champagne was the closest thing he could think of. The type he’d seen the bridesmaids toasting in delicate glasses. Whatever it was, it was quiet like her. Soothing in all this noise and movement. He also noticed the back of said dress draped and dipped nearly to her waist leaving a good bit of her back bare.
“Luke!” His brother Zach called his name from the dance floor, enthusiastically waving him over. “Come on man!”
Luke read his lips more than heard him over the music and the crowds’ Sweet Caroline chorus. Luke gave him a chin jerk to show he’d heard him, and again raised his bottle in a kind of salute and an excuse.
He was good where he was, or good enough, holding up the bar, watching the revelry, and would have preferred to stay there all night. Until he saw Hannah and Zach with their heads together, then Hannah’s worried expression aimed his way. The same one he’d been getting since his return.
Worried glances, hushed voices, and the watching. Always watching him like he was a ticking bomb and they were afraid he would blow at any second. It made his skin crawl. He didn’t need their worry, didn’t need to be coddled and tip-toed around. No one looked at him in the Rangers. No one worried about Captain Walker, First Class. Here, it seemed everyone had time to sit and look and ask.
The tables were mostly empty now, leaving only men who flat out refused to dance, people holding babies, and a few small clumps huddled in deep conversation. As his gaze roamed the room, he caught sight of the blonde again—just in time to see her stumble at the far end of the cookie table. Too much champagne would do that and she wasn’t the only one who’d overindulged tonight. Not that he was judging.
He continued watching her, noting again how still she stood now that she’d regained her balance. He hoped to God she wasn’t about to pass out face first into a platter of ladyfingers.
Feeling a sense of purpose, he set his near empty bottle on the bar and headed off to avert potential disaster.
As Luke got closer, he saw she had a small plate in her hand. An empty plate. He’d admit there were an overwhelming amount of choices, but he’d never seen a person deliberate quite so…deliberately.
“Can’t decide?” he asked as he came up beside her.
She lifted her chin slightly, and he was hit with blue eyes. Seriously blue. But those blue eyes didn’t come close to meeting his.
Oh, yeah. She’s toast.
*Continue reading WAITING ON THE RAIN
Also by claudia Connor
Worth The Fall
Worth The Risk
Worth It All
Worth The Wait
Waiting For You
Waiting On The Rain
Love At Last
Where I Belong
After The Fall: A collection of Matt and Abby short stories Page 9