Mac throws up a hand. “Let him finish.”
Doc looks out toward the Atlantic Ocean from where we’re sitting on Miller’s deck. He’s silent for a moment before turning back, his eyes flitting to each of us. “He always had a keen sense of things. Always reminded us to go with our gut. Well,” he leans forward in his chair, linking his fingers, “I have to admit. Deep down in my gut, I don’t feel like he’s really gone.”
The silence is heavy as he lets his words sink in. After a long beat, Mac is the first to speak.
“I know it sounds crazy as hell, but I swear he’s still out there somewhere.”
There’s no way I can mask my sharp inhale at his words because that means… “You realize what you’re saying?”
He nods slowly. “I know exactly what I’m saying.”
Miller stands abruptly, moving to the railing of the deck, bracing his hands on it, his back to us. “You guys don’t—” he breaks off, his voice cracking with emotion. “That can only mean one thing.”
“That he’s out there somewhere. Possibly—likely—on his own.” This comes from Doc. “Being tortured or hunted through the damn desert,” he adds quietly.
“Fuck.” I run my hands over my hair, tugging at the short strands in frustration. “He was the one who told me he figured he’d go out in a blaze of glory.”
“Either way,” Miller adds, turning, his somber gaze meeting mine, “no matter how you cut it, he’s either out there on his own now, trying to survive or—he’s done his best to go out the way he wanted.” Lifting the bottle of beer to his lips, taking a swig, he lets out a long sigh full of the sadness we’re all feeling. “Regardless, we need to be smart. Can’t get our hopes up.”
We sit in silence for a moment before Doc turns, lifting his chin in my direction. “So, since we’re already veering into the emotional realm, why don’t we talk about you and how you fucked up the best thing that’s ever happened to you?”
I rear back. “What the fu—”
“Watts,” Mac interrupts, his tone full of warning. And, hell, it’s a warning all right. Doc is one of the few guys who’s always been referred to by his nickname and never by his last name.
Until now.
Doc, not appearing the least bit bothered, shrugs, fingers toying with the neck of his beer bottle. “I’m calling it like it is. We all know it.”
Miller sinks back down into his chair, leaning back, taking a swig of beer while eyeing me. “You’ve been pretty damn moody, man.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I grit out the words through clenched teeth.
“She’s leaving and you’re doing what? Just planning on letting her leave your sorry ass behind?”
Instantly, I’m pulling Doc up by the front of his shirt, my face barely inches from his. “I’m fucking dying inside, asshole! But I can’t do anything—can’t be enough for her—until I get my shit together!”
“Then get it together, damn it!” He shoves at me, his palms hitting my shoulders hard. “You’re going to piss everything away! You know you fucking love her!”
“Hey! Break it up!” Mac and Miller pull us apart as I hold Doc’s hard stare, my chest heaving. Staring back at my friend, I know what he’s doing, know he cares. That he’s not only scared shitless about Hendy but he’s worried about me, too.
Backing away, I run a hand down my face, troubled. Because Doc is right—as he usually is. Noelle’s last day is fast approaching and will be here in less than two weeks.
I have to figure my shit out before it’s too late.
Fuck that. I’m Foster Kavanaugh. Even if it’s too late, I’m going to damn well follow in Hendy’s footsteps and do whatever it takes to succeed.
Whether it means I go down in a blaze of glory—and heartache—or not.
Chapter Sixty
Noelle
This is it. I’m really doing this.
Or so I keep repeating mentally as I pack up my things from the office. I haven’t been here for very long—just shy of two years—but it seems like far longer. Especially when I think of how much I’ll miss Kane and Miller harassing Foster and one other.
I also wonder about the text messages. I’ve been getting one every day—today’s the exception, of course. I guess since it’s my last official day here he’s finally calling it quits. The messages have been random, kind of all over the place—some of them kind of funny and others sweet.
I don’t want to admit how long I’ve sat and stared at them each time they’ve come in. When I have those weak moments—which happens far more often than I’d prefer to admit—I scroll through some of my favorites because I miss him so damn much.
Have I told you yet today that I can’t look at a supply room the same way ever since that night at Shenanigans?
Have I told you yet today that I had prosciutto and cheese but it didn’t taste as good without you?
Have I told you yet today what an idiot I am?
Have I told you yet today how much I miss your smile?