“Fucking hell, Miles,” Chance bitches, wiping a hand down the front of his shirt. “You need to fix this piece of shit. See if Amarre can help you figure out what’s up with it and lock that shit down. Or better yet, get some new fucking wheels. Something from this century.”
“Crossing a line, man,” I say out the side of my mouth. Nobody talks shit about my ’52 Chevy pickup, Maggie.
I found her in a heap, just as down on her luck as I was. After dragging her home, I spent the better part of a year pouring allmy pain and frustration into her. And in doing so, I brought her broken ass back from the brink. She did the same for me.
Chance isn’t wrong though. I do need some insight on why my girl is stuttering all of a sudden, and I don’t know anyone better with old cars than Blake Amarre. At the next stoplight, I tap out a quick text to see if he’s in town, shoving my phone under my thigh when I’m done.
Still an active SEAL, Blake has stuck with the teams, but he’s worked closely with Fire Born Security for years. Personally, I think it’s just a matter of time before he joins us full-time.
The ride back to the office is mostly silent, punctuated only by the occasional grumbling complaint from Chance. He’s got no room to complain about my truck when he jumps at the opportunity to ride along instead of driving himself.
Back inside, I set the bag of food on the corner of my desk and slide into my chair. I sift through a backlog of emails while I eat, making note of project changes and deadlines that have shifted. I love my work. Never saw myself in the private sector, but it was the right thing for me to do. Sometimes though, I need more. More to do. More tasks to fill my time. A family. Just… more.
Hours pass, and yet my mind continues to bounce right back to the fainting beauty from the convenience store. I don’t know what her story is, but I know PTSD when I see it, and that woman has been through something. I roll my shoulders and force my head from side to side until a satisfying crack echoes through the room.
“Jesus, Clark. That can’t be good for you,” Erin Amarre, Blake’s wife, mutters as she drops a stack of files on my desk.
Chance’s personality is obviously infecting the office if Erin is calling me that now.
A laugh pushes its way out of my nose as I lean back in my chair and knead at the knot that’s firmly twisting at the base ofmy skull. Maybe I should cut out early today. Grab a drink—or six.So much for cutting back on drinking.
“I need a breakdown on this situation in Africa. Doesn’t have to be right this minute; end of the week is fine,” Erin adds quickly.
I flip through the file on top. Relief settles in sweetly as I appreciate just how organized she is. “Fine?” I ask, lifting a brow at her word choice. Fine is never good. Nothing iseverfine.
“Legit fine. I have a sit-down with Jason on Monday and want the weekend to go through your evaluation,” Erin says, referring to Jason Grant, one of the owners of the company. She shifts toward the door and moves to leave.
“Hey, Erin?” I call, stopping her before she leaves. “You think Blake would mind taking a look at Maggie for me? She’s stuttering, and I can’t put my finger on what the problem is. I texted him earlier, but he hasn’t gotten back to me yet.”
I hate asking for favors, for help. Any of that stuff. I’m the guy who steps in and fills the gap. The one everyone can depend on to take care of shit.
Laughter floats over her shoulder. “I’m sure he’d love to get his hands on her. What is it with you boys and naming your cars? He’s been swamped at work, but come by the house for dinner next week. I’ll let Blake know you need his delicate touch, and maybe you can remind Tyler that playing rugby is a privilege. He’s tanking in math.Shit.I need to make an appointment with his new teacher.” She pulls her phone from her pocket and taps at the screen. “Next week though. See if Chance’ll come with you. He looks like he needs a home-cooked meal or an intervention—something.”
Minutes later, she’s out the door for the night, still tapping wildly at her phone.
I thumb through the files she left me, making notes. Erin might not need this immediately, but it’s not like I have anythingother than work and coaching two rugby teams to fill my time. No one waiting on me at home, just an empty apartment, a glass of whiskey, and whatever takeout I end up grabbing on my way.
Almost an hour later, I shut down my computer and wind my way through the office.
“Thank fuck,” Chance grumbles as I hit the last set of lights. “You finally taking off? Want to stop by Chick’s, grab a drink? Maybe some ass?” He’s sprawled back in the receptionist’s chair, a smattering of dust under where his boots are crossed on top of the desk.
“Aw, you waiting around for me, Tin Man?” I nod to the mess he’s making and say, “You clean that up, and I’ll meet you there.”
Boots thud to the floor, and the chair screeches back until it hits the wall. Chance swipes a lazy hand across the surface of the desk, sending dust flying. “I’m good. I’ll just ride with you,” he says, following me out the door.
It’s probably for the best anyway. If Chance rides with me, I won’t have to worry about him making any stupid decisions, like driving when he’s been drinking. I love the guy like a brother, but lately, there have been times I wonder what’s going through his head.
“So, I’m going to bring Maggie over to Amarre’s sometime next week. Erin said to bring you with, and she’ll feed us. You in?” I pump the gas pedal a couple of times and crank the engine.
The engine sputters, seems to contemplate giving up the ghost, and then reluctantly turns over. Fickle fucking girl. The sooner Blake takes a look at her, the better.
Chance shifts in his seat and cranks open his window. He slings his arm out into the cold air, catching it in his hand as he stares out into the night. “I don’t know. Don’t want to infringe,” he mumbles.
He’s got that look in his eye again, the one that hints at memories better left in the past. His last tour was a maelstromof shit, and though I was dealing with my own mess and in the process of separating from the navy at the time, I will forever feel like I let him down by not being there for him.
“Not infringing if you were invited, man. And make no mistake, you absolutely were.” My words are meant to reassure him, but with Chance, there’s never a guarantee on which way things are going to go.
I seriously wish that there was something more I could do for him. I look out for him as much as I can, but the guy is shit with letting people in.Just like my ex-wife.
