Or think about Celia.
It was what I wanted, to overwork my body so I wouldn’t focus on my thoughts. Being out at sea meant I couldn’t give in to my urges to call her, to ask her why the fuck she snuck out on me.
And to ask myself why I even care.
The sound of a check being ripped from its book calls my eyes to Paul. He hands me my payment that is just over three thousand dollars. Not bad.
I’d smile and pat myself on the back if I wasn’t so pissed for fucking everything up with Celia last night.
I go back and forth between wanting to kick my own ass for not seeing that damn earring earlier, and wanting to shake her for being so sensitive about it. She had to expect I’d been with other women before her, I know she’d been with Brice and I’m not over here pouting about that.
Pushing up, my muscles protest as I head back to the dock to shower and hopefully fall into a dreamless sleep. Music comes filtering out of the Office as I pass and, just my fucking luck, Syd is heading into work from the parking lot.
“Aden, hey.”
With my eyes to the ground I consider just ignoring her, but I’m not that much of a dick. I stop and meet her eyes. “Syd, what’s up?”
“Eh . . . same ole shit.” Her hair is down, silky dark waves falling over her shoulders, and looking at them only makes me crave Celia. Syd tilts her head to study me. “You just in from fishing?”
I grunt and nod.
“Why don’t you come in for a drink?”
My mouth waters at the prospect of getting drunk, something that never really bothered me before, but now makes me feel like a lush. “Not tonight.”
She frowns. “You haven’t been around lately.”
“Just been busy.”
“Oh, okay . . . maybe later.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so, Syd.”
Her lips purse and she nods, then studies the ground between her feet. “It’s cool, I get it. I better go. I’m gonna be late.”
I don’t say a word, just stand there in my own fuckedupedness as she scurries through the door.
Here I assumed we’d been hooking up to meet a need, but it seems maybe Sydney’s feelings run deeper. Why did I never consider that?
I’m a selfish prick.
My muscles feel tight and although I’m tired there’s a pent-up energy brewing dangerously behind my ribs, calling me to my trusted coping skills.
I want to drink and get in a fight and then fuck until I pass out.
Celia’s smile flashes behind my eyes and I punch in the code to the gate with more force than needed.
I can’t believe she blew me off.
I head straight for my boat when I pass a group of guys huddled around talking.
“. . . shot down with an RPG.”
I freeze mid-step.
“Did they say how many were killed?”
My pulse slows to a dull thud.
“No one survived—”
“What happened?” The barking tone of my question sends all eyes to me.
They’re grim-faced, but Rick whose boat is docked two slips down from mine is the one who answers. “US transport helicopter got shot down over Syria.”
“Transport . . .?” That means the fucker was loaded to the hilt with US troops. “Death count?”
“They’re saying thirty-seven, but no official confirmation yet—Colt, where’re you going?”
I jump on my boat and go straight for the liquor cabinet. Grabbing a fresh bottle of whiskey, I take it with me to the shower. Hitting on the cold water I pour gulp after gulp of the booze down my throat, not feeling the burn but rather the sweet relief.
Men are dying and I’m stuck here doing fucking nothing about it.
Worthless.
Drunk.
A fucking disgrace to the uniform I’m no longer allowed to wear.
FIFTEEN
SAWYER
I’ve run out of things to do.
I packed until I had no more boxes, took a long hot shower, even blow-dried my hair and brushed on some light makeup hoping Aden would show up unexpectedly, but it’s almost seven o’clock at night and I’ve heard nothing.
To say I regret sneaking out of his bed in the wee hours of the morning is an understatement. I should’ve at least let him know I was leaving and promised to call him later. Because I didn’t, now everything feels weird.
I wonder if he’s sitting on his boat staring at his phone waiting for me to call.
Just like I’ve been waiting for him.
As if a man like Aden would ever pine after a woman like me. How long would he wait before he invited a new woman into his bed?
Some people have sex because it’s fun or they’re bored and when it’s over they move on.
Could I be that girl? The kind that takes what she wants when she wants it?
A flash of silver on the coffee table catches my eye.
The coin.
I snag it and roll it around between my fingers.
It’s what Celia would do.
Heads, I call him.
Closing my eyes I flip the coin and hear it thump to the ground. Scrambling over it I squint and—tails. Huh. I fall back onto the couch and although I hoped to feel some relief at leaving this decision up to fate, I’m let down by the result.
I flip the coin again.
Tails, I call him.
I bend over the quarter after it hits the ground and—heads.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Pacing back and forth in the room, staring at the quarter on the ground, I chew my lip—“Best three out of five.”
I close my eyes and toss the coin once more. Peeking with one eye—“Don’t call him.”
I stare across the room at my phone. “Screw it.”
Still pacing, I hit his name on my contacts and press the phone to my ear before I can change my mind.
It rings and with each one my pulse pounds harder behind my ribs.
“Colt’s phone.”
My feet still. “Jenkins? It’s Celia.”
“Know that, it’s why I answered the phone.”
“Right, um . . . Is Aden around?”
“He is . . . and he isn’t.”
I open my mouth to respond, but then shut it, not sure exactly what to say.
“You coming over?” He asks almost like I’m late to an expected arrival.
“I . . . should I?”
“Yep.”
“Um . . . so, Aden is there, with you, correct?”
“He’s here.”
“Okay, I’m on my way.”
Weird.
I grab my keys and purse and after a short five-minute drive to the marina I’m greeted by Jenkins who’s sitting on the bench by the parking lot staring at the water. When he sees me coming he stands and the movement looks painful, although his face doesn’t register it.
“You didn’t have to meet me out here, Jenkins.”
He shifts on his feet and the handful of gray hairs he still has on the top of his head blow in the mild offshore breeze. “Came to let you in the gate.” He stiffly turns toward it and we both move in that direction. “And warn you.”
My stomach turns a little at the seriousness in his voice.
“Colt’s three sheets to the wind.”
“Is he okay?”
He shrugs one bony shoulder. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t have invited you over but he seems upset. You seem to be able to calm him.”
Sergeant Psycho.
“Upset. Is he violent?”