“Good, see you around seven.”
“Seven it is.” This is awkward. I feel like there’s something neither of us is saying but neither of us knows how to proceed. “Okay, I gotta get in to work.”
There’s some rustling in the background and Liam’s hand covers the phone, “I’ll see you later. Good luck today.”
“Thanks, see you later,” I reply and hang up the phone.
I’m going to need a lot of luck.
Exiting the car, my nerves flare again. These men have been a part of my life for years, yet it’s as if I’m just meeting them. Things have changed over the course of seven months. Jackson and Mark still call and check on me, but our friendships have changed. Hell, I’ve changed. Mark came around a lot in the beginning, but as life happens, he’s moved on or pulled away. Liam, however, has stayed constant.
Here goes nothing.
“Lee!” Mark exclaims and comes walking over. “I saw you pull in and I was coming out to get you. Thought maybe you didn’t know where the door was.” He angles in and drops his voice, “It’ll be okay.”
I nod and press my lips together. “I’ve missed you guys.”
“There are some papers in the conference room we need you to fill out and then I’ll show you your office and go over what we need done, sound good?”
I look at my friend, the man who carried my husband for a mile when he was hurt on a mission, the one who is my daughter’s godfather and also the man who destroyed my world, and see his hurt. The pain in his eyes is prevalent because it mirrors mine. As hard as this is for me, this can’t be easy on them either. Mark, Jackson, and the rest of the men here were his friends. Seeing me is probably difficult for them as well.
My hand grips his arm. “I’m happy to see you.”
Mark in his true fashion smirks, “I’m not a bad view, eh, Lee?”
These guys are all the same. Morons. “Sure, you’re the most handsome man I’ve seen in weeks . . . well, besides my mailman. He’s pretty dreamy.”
“I think I could take him.”
“Pretty sure that’s a federal offense.”
“He can’t touch these guns,” he retorts and flexes.
I roll my eyes and snort, “Oh, dear God.”
I laugh as we walk to the conference room and I notice the stares, but I pretend not to.
Mark notices my unease, “I know this is going to be awkward, but give it a few days and you’ll be one of the guys.”
“Do I really want that?”
“I can make up a cute name for you . . . let’s see,” he sits in the chair and looks deep in thought.
“I’m worried you’ll burn what little brain cells you have left if you keep thinking that hard,” I taunt him. Being around Mark is like being around a puppy. He naturally brings out the fun and playful side. And he’s caring yet strong and has this undeniable pull that makes you want to be near him.
“Keep it up and your name will be something you don’t like,” his brow raises and his lip curls. “You know you don’t get to pick. Call signs are given. They’re a rite of passage and you get no say. I mean, you think I wanted to be called Twilight?”
Leaning in my chair, I tap the pen. “I don’t know, I mean, you look like you could have a thing for vampires.”
He laughs and I follow. “Fill out the paperwork and then I’ll be back.” He walks over and places his hand on my shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here. We need the help with Muffin gone.”
My hand rests on his. “I know it’s hard having them both gone.” In a matter of a few months, Mark lost his two best friends in a manner of speaking. Aaron and he were extremely close. They spent weekends rebuilding Aaron’s car, barbeques on the beach, and then Jackson moved to California. I can’t imagine it’s been easy for him either.
“You know me,” he replies and removes his hand. I look at the paper and I hear the door click closed. Aaron’s death has rocked our worlds and none of us are acknowledging it.
Once I finish filling out what feels like three hundred forms, I head out to find Mark.
Not paying any attention, I open the door and hear a deep voice, “Hey.”
I drop the papers and look up to see Jackson. My hand clutches my chest, “Hey, you scared the shit out of me.” I give a nervous laugh.
Well, this is unexpected. Jackson called the other day to see how we were doing and make sure I was still planning to come to work for him. He towers over me with his six-foot-three frame. I’m not short by any means, but he makes me feel tiny. He crouches and picks up the papers.
“Sorry about that. Catherine says I do the same thing,” he laughs and his eyes light up when he says her name.
“How’s she doing?” I ask. I’ve spoken to her a few times since her move to California, but with the time difference, we seem to miss each other.
Jackson’s joy is prevalent in his features. His eyes brighten, his lips lift, and my heart cracks. I remember being that in love. “Great, we’re great.”