He nods. "Yeah. I was at rock bottom then. Drunk most nights, picking fights, sleeping around." He glances at me. "I'm not proud of who I was then."
"I wasn't exactly making great decisions either," I admit. "I'd just broken up with my college boyfriend. I was working a job I hated, living in a crappy apartment, and drinking too much on weekends to forget how much I'd lost."
"We were a pair, weren't we?" There's no humor in his smile.
"Yeah. When was the last time you talked with your parents?"
"Haven't spoken to them in over three years. After they asked me to leave town, I cut all contact."
"Now they have a grandson they've never met," I say softly, trying to imagine how anyone could turn their back on their own child so completely.
"Trust me, they wouldn't want to know him. Not with me as his father and no wedding ring on your finger. They're very... traditional."
I think about my own parents. How they would have adored Max, spoiled him with attention and love. The unfairness of it all hits me anew. My parents, who would have been wonderful grandparents, are gone. Dean's parents, who don't deserve the title, are alive but unreachable through their own pride.
"Max deserves better," I say, anger coloring my voice.
"Yes, he does." Dean's expression softens. "And he has you."
"And now you," I add quietly.
Our eyes meet, and something changes in the space between us. Whatever brought us here, whatever happens next, we are connected now through Max. Permanently.
"Tell me about the military," I say, changing the subject. "If you don't mind."
He's quiet for a moment, and I think he might refuse. Then he sighs. "I enlisted right out of high school. Army. Tested well, got assigned to EOD—Explosive Ordnance Disposal. Basically, I defused bombs."
"That sounds terrifying."
A small smile tugs at his lips. "It was, sometimes. But it was also... precise. Methodical. I was good at it. I liked knowing I was saving lives."
"The photo on your bookshelf."
His expression clouds. "Yeah. Me and Jamie. We were in the same unit, went through training together. Best friends."
"What happened to him? If you’re okay with telling me."
Dean sets his mug down, his hands not quite steady. "We were on a routine disposal mission. Village outside Kandahar. Intelligence said the area was clear, but... it wasn't."
I wait, not pushing, as he gathers himself.
"There was a secondary device. One we didn't spot in time. Jamie was closer to it when..." He swallows hard. "When it went off."
"I'm so sorry," I whisper.
"Not your fault." His voice is flat. "Not anyone's fault, really. Just war. Just bad luck and bad intel and a fraction of a second's difference in position."
But I can see the guilt in his eyes, the weight he still carries. "Is that why you left the military?"
He nods. "Honorable discharge. They said it wasn't my fault, but..." He shrugs, the gesture saying more than words could.
"And then you returned to Pine Valley before Cedar Falls."
"For a while. Drinking, fighting, making my parents' lives difficult." His smile is self-deprecating. "Then I wandered for a bit after they asked me to leave. Ended up here about two years ago. Got in a bar fight defending some guy who was getting jumped by three others. Turned out the guy was King."
"The club president," I recall from yesterday.
"Yeah. He said I fought like I had nothing to lose. Offered me a place in the club. I turned him down at first, but..." He gestures around him. "Eventually said yes. Found a brotherhood again. Purpose."
