“Don’t ever say my jobs aren’t intellectually stimulating.”
“I think Tiffany’s over there intellectually stimulating herself right now,” he adds dryly.
“Gross.”
But we laugh.
“Tiffany’s a nice person. She just has boundary issues.”
“Don’t fuck her for the wrong reasons, Drew.”
I jolt. “Is there a right reason? I have zero interest in fucking her.”
“Good.”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t. But you’re so in love with Lindsay, and she’s so angry with you, that I can see how crazy it’s making you. And when we get crazy, we make bad choices.” He grimaces. “I know I have.”
“Right.” I’m still buzzing, and shutting down. My body twitches, calves spasming. I need to make love with Lindsay, beat off, or go for a ten-mile run.
Preferably all three.
“Look. I came over here to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.”
“Fine.” He lets out a bark of laughter and shakes his head. “Right. Just like we were all fine in Afghanistan. Fine is the stupidest word when it comes to describing emotional states.”
“You sound like my psychologist.”
“How is Dr. Diamante?” The question isn’t casual. I know what he’s telling me. Not asking.
Telling.
“Wouldn’t know. Haven’t had to see her in a while.”
“Might want to give her a call.”
“Might not.”
His nostrils flare. It’s posturing. He’s not my commanding officer any longer. In fact, I’m his boss. And my personal life and emotional state are none of Mark’s business. Nice of him to care, but he needs to butt the fuck out.
He sighs and reaches into his pocket, jangling his car keys. “Do what you want.”
“I always do.”
“But -- ”
I groan.
“But you almost got yourself fired today. Expect a text from the senator.”
“Already got one.”
“He’s pissed. Rightly so. Everyone’s pretending to accept Lindsay’s fake story about an ‘attacker,’ but that’s her one shot. Another mess like this and you’re toast.”
“You mean she is.”
“Yeah.” His voice turns sad. “Yeah. She’s in an impossible bind.”
I flinch. He frowns, puzzled, then pulls back, blinking hard.
“Sorry. Poor choice of words.”
A vision of Lindsay bound and tied by those animals makes my blood race. The twitchiness overcomes all the alcohol in my system and I start to breathe hard. Grabbing a glass, I pour myself water from the pitcher in my fridge and guzzle it down.
Mark just watches me.
“You really love her.”
“Of course.” My voice comes out like ice chips, one piece per syllable. “You knew that.”
“It’s one thing to be told something. It’s very different to watch it.”
“That obvious?”
“You might as well wear her panties on your head.”
I’m in the middle of a swallow and come out choking, hard. That image is way better than my previous one, so I’ll go with that.
“Doubt the senator would appreciate it,” I cough out.
“You’d get fired. Surprised you’re not. And if you keep it up, Drew, you’ll be arrested for assault.”
“You’re playing the puritan with me? The guy who broke into his own father’s motorcycle club compound so he could rescue his brother’s girlfriend from a drug dealer who planned to take her virginity to cure his HIV/AIDS?”
He nods slowly. “When you put it that way, I’m a hypocrite.”
“When I put it ANY way, you’re fucking crazy.”
He claps me on the shoulder. “We both are. We know that. Always have been, especially since Afghanistan.”
“And since both of us had parents who died in mysterious car crashes.”
Mark’s eyes go dark. “And that,” he spits out. The coincidence was too pat to be anything but a careful targeting. Mark was already my commanding officer and delivered the news, followed by his own hollow story that mimicked what happened to my mom and dad, only it was his mother and stepfather.
Grief has a funny way of going underground when you’re in battle. They sent me home for the funeral. I grieved with my sister in private, handled a few legalities, and requested to be sent back to the front lines.
Lindsay was still on the Island.
I had no one to talk to back home.
Combat was a better place to express my emotions. Sniper training proved cathartic.
“Between my parents, your parents, and Lindsay’s brake line failure, looks like we’ve got someone in high places targeting all of us.”
“Us?” Mark grabs a glass and fills it with water, our conversation obviously not over. “You think I’m still some kind of target?” His eyes flicker with worry, then settle back into a blank stare.
“Not sure.”
“You think Carrie -- ”
“You live next door to your brother now, right?”
“Right.”
“He’s good?” Mark knows what I am really asking.
“He’d shred anyone who tried to touch Carrie or Allie. No training, but solid instincts.”