“Liar.” She forced tease into her voice and was rewarded with a twitch of his lips.
“Did Allison beg you to come down and save her from the living hell I’m putting her and the kids through?” Resignation sucked any emotion from his voice.
The one thing she’d hated above all else in the weeks after Noah had died was the pity in people’s eyes and voices. “No. She begged me to come down and put my foot up your ass.”
This time he smiled and came to a stop. “Did she really say that?”
“I read between the lines.” Harper shrugged and looked around, trying for nonchalance. “Look, I’m tired and completely turned around, so unless you want to explain my frostbitten body to Allison and the MPs, I need an escort back to your house.”
He huffed something resembling a laugh, which she counted as a small victory, and turned them around. She kept the conversation light and about how great his kids were. Tension seeped out of her shoulders when the house came into view. She wasn’t scared of Darren, but he was a big guy and physically forcing him back inside wasn’t an option.
“I’ll bet Allison keeps stock in hot chocolate. Want a mug?” she asked.
“Why not. No way I’ll be able to go back to sleep.” His expression was flat, just like his voice.
Under the kitchen lights, the toll the injury had taken on Darren became more apparent. His eyes were bloodshot and shadowed. He, too, had lost weight, and his hair was longer than she’d ever seen it.
Sure enough, a dozen packets of Swiss Miss were in a polka-dot bin in the pantry. Darren sprawled in a chair and fiddled with the fringed edges of the place mat. She set down steaming mugs and joined him. While she’d never been shot at, she was intimately acquainted with death.
“I had nightmares every night for months after Noah died. Still do sometimes,” she said. When he didn’t speak or look up, she continued. “Every night I dreamed another horrible way he was killed. Dreamed he died quick and painless, dreamed he suffered, dreamed he died all alone. There were times Ben was the only thing keeping me sane.”
She refused to push him any further, and the silence stretched taut.
“McIntyre got shot three feet away from me. Then a bomb went off, and I was on my back. He dragged himself toward me, one of his legs a bloody stump.” His words came out choppy, bordering on unemotional even though his eyes said differently. “Over and over and over in my head. I can’t get away from it. From him. Maybe it’s a blessing Noah was killed.”
Anger flared quick and hot in that hollowed-out place in her heart, spreading like wildfire. She popped up and slapped her hands on either side of his mug. The untouched contents sloshed and left a brown stain on the cheery yellow place mat. For the first time, his attention was fixed on her and not turned inward.
“Don’t you ever fucking say that again, you hear me? I would do anything, give up anything, to have him back. I don’t care what kind of shape he was in. And Allison feels the same way about you. She wants to help you. Let her, dammit.”
His brown eyes were wide and his mouth gaping. Her anger died as quickly as it had flared and left her feeling as shocked as he looked.
The stairs creaked and broke the intensity of their gazes. Harper cleared her throat and retrieved a paper towel to dab at the spilled hot chocolate.
Allison shuffled into the kitchen, squinting against the light. “Is everything okay?”
Harper forced a smile. “Fine. Darren and I were chatting over some hot chocolate. Want some?” She didn’t wait but grabbed another mug. With her back to Allison and Darren, Harper dropped the pretense and the smile and took a deep breath. She owed Darren an apology.
She rejoined the couple, and as they spent the next twenty minutes making small talk the tension diminished. Darren leaned closer to Allison, and she reached out to touch his arm or hand, hope erasing a portion of the worry clouding her face.
They said quiet good nights at the foot of the stairs. Halfway up, Darren glanced over his shoulder and their eyes met. Harper couldn’t read his expression, but he kept a hand on Allison’s waist the rest of the climb.
Harper stretched out on the couch but popped back to sitting when footsteps sounded on the stairs again.
Allison appeared with a blanket over her arm and a pillow clutched to her chest. “I can’t believe I forgot to give you these.”
Harper took them and set them at her hip. “No worries. I actually fell asleep with Sophie after reading her ‘Rapunzel.’”
“She’s crazy about fairy tales and loves to play make-believe.” The indulgent smile faded. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m playing make-believe. Pretending, you know?”
“You don’t have to pretend with me.”
“I’ll see you in the morning.” She nodded and paused in the doorway of the den. “Thanks for coming down and getting him home this time.”
This time. Darren’s midnight ramble wasn’t a onetime thing. Harper’s nerves took a swan dive.
Harper lay down, her thoughts jumbled between past and present. Darren and Allison’s struggles peeled back the callus on her memories. The abyss that had almost claimed her after Noah’s death yawned closer than it had in years, and after she fell into a fitful sleep, Noah haunted her dreams.
Chapter 2
Past
After a couple of hours, muscle memory kicked in and Harper didn’t have to remind herself to smile at the unending flow of customers. Apparently, scorching summer days in Kitty Hawk had only one balm—ice cream.
The shop’s AC struggled to keep up with the constant bursts of steamy air as people entered and exited. She was on the scooping rotation for the rest of her shift. The cold air from the ice-cream freezer was offset by the surprisingly strenuous task of scooping. Every few minutes she had to turn and dab at her face with the towel she kept tucked in her Wilbur’s World Famous Ice Cream apron.
She doubted Wilbur Wright or the rest of the world would agree, but it was a good summer job. This was her third—and she hoped last—summer working at Wilbur’s. She’d saved and scrimped and studied hard. Between the scholarships and the money she’d earned, the University of North Carolina was her ticket out of Kitty Hawk.
With her pasted-on smile, she watched the next customer take two measured steps forward. Interest flickered. In board shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt from a band she’d never heard of, the man was good-looking, but if his posture and general air hadn’t given him away, his hair did.
High and tight. The standard military-issue haircut. He was probably on leave from Virginia Beach. As hot as the guy was, she avoided military guys. They prowled the Outer Banks looking for a hookup to pass their few days of R and R, never to be seen again. Not her style.
“What can I get you, sir?” She tacked on the “sir” automatically, even though he didn’t look much older than she did.
“Mint chocolate chip. Two scoops, if you don’t mind.” His accent was slow and sultrier than the weather. She couldn’t place it, but he was from somewhere farther south than Kitty Hawk. Some place where women lounged in rocking chairs on front porches, gossiped about their neighbors, and drank sweet tea.
“I don’t mind a bit, but even if I did, it’s my job.” She tempered the slight bite in her tone with a smile she didn’t have to force. “Waffle or sugar cone?”
“Sugar.” The way he said the word made it sound like an endearment.
The flush started in her chest and made the temperature rise a few more degrees in the packed store. She ducked closer to the tubs of cold ice cream and flapped her shirt a couple of times before fulfilling his order.