“I met him when I was sixteen, in McMillan. I was driving back to Alexandria and saw a car broken down on the side of the road. It was Carlos.”
“What the fuck was he driving?”
I sigh. Ty is persistent.
“A second-gen white Mitsubishi Eclipse GSX. Satisfied?”
Ty nods. I beam. Bobby is a car guy.
“The battery on his phone died. His mother was in the hospital in Alexandria. She was dying, and he had to get to her. The car wouldn’t start. I offered him mine. He could bring it back. I couldn’t leave McMillan. I had something to take care of. He put his number in my phone, and we kept in contact over the years, including when I was deployed.”
He stares straight ahead, seeing what’s in front of him but not actually seeing. I’ve seen this expression before when he shared something from his past. Bobby is reliving his memory.
I remember this story. The “something” Bobby had to take care of was a meeting with his father’s family. His father picked him up at the gas station and brought him over to the family home to meet his siblings. His brothers walked out of the house. Gwen stuck around.
The sad smile on his face when he spoke about that day . . . I kissed him until his smile left his face, replaced with a low growl of need. It’s interesting, hearing him tell the story again, that he left out the part about Carlos to me. I wish Bobby had told me. I would’ve told him that Carlos came into our lives when we needed him the most. My first love was such a good man.
“I told him about expanding business to East Alexandria. The place was dead. No one was willing to touch it with a fifty-foot pole. A violent gang had a grip on the place. We decided to case out the joint—specifically, the warehouse. It had the shell we were looking for to collaborate and build a nightclub that could double as a concert venue.”
The guys listen attentively. I do too. The part about Carlos’s murder is coming up.
“The moment we stepped over the threshold, Carlos shoved me out of the way. A shot rang out. The motherfucker didn’t use a silencer. He wanted everyone in that shithole to know a murder was going down. I called nine-one-one, hunkered down, and guarded Carlos’s body until the cops arrived.”
“You slipped out using the underground tunnels.”
Bobby meets José’s gaze and nods.
“Why didn’t you stick around?” José asks. “Why the fuck did you run off without giving the cops a statement?”
Bobby tents his hands in front of his mouth. He’s looking at José but not seeing him. He’s seeing himself there with Carlos and reliving his grief and guilt. I wrap my arm around his shoulders and pull him to me. He leans into me for support, and my heart sings. It’s nice to be strong for someone when they need it.
“I wanted to. Believe me, I fucking did. But duty to my country overrode common decency and loyalty to my friend and mentor. It’s a regret I live with every day.” He exhales a deep breath.
“He had a flight to catch,” I said. I remembered the date. It was the day after Carlos was murdered. Bobby shared his journal with me, which included the dates of his deployments and a quote under each one. “He was sent to Syria.” The quote under the day after Carlos’s death was: “Only the dead have seen the end of war.”
Bobby squeezes my hand under the table, a thank you for giving him time to regain his composure. I rest my head on his shoulder.
“The hit was personal, intended for me. The person aimed at my heart, not my head. That is fucking personal.” He threads his fingers through his hair. I slide my arm off his shoulders and settle my hand on his thigh. Bobby covers my small hand with his large one and squeezes.
“You saying a jealous or pissed-off ex put the hit on you?” Miguel asks.
“Yeah.”
“How many of those do you have?”
My body tenses. I slide my hand from Bobby’s. He tightens his grip.
“One long-term, a high school sweetheart who screwed me over, and one psychotic hookup who wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“I’m putting my bet on the hookup,” Joey says, before he looks to me with an apologetic expression. “Sorry, mi princesca. No one likes to hear about their flames’ exes.”
I shrug. “I couldn’t care less about the high school sweetheart. She was a monster. The one I worry about is the one who can’t take no for an answer. She sounds crazy.”
“She is.” Slate’s deep voice cuts into the silence and bounces off the walls.
Everyone looks at him with surprise. He’s been silent since he watched me and Bobby walk in. He has a stony expression and a dark cloud over his head. Slate is as moody as his cousin.
“Iris is unstable. I warned Bobby, but this guy has a soft spot for women in trouble. She was running away from a domestic abuse situation with her boyfriend. Bobby took her in, and the rest is history.”
