Charlie’s little stalker situation had me keeping my weapon close at all times, a decision I sure appreciate now. Having spent the night with Charlie yesterday to make sure her ex is not coming back, and to lose myself in her lush, welcoming body until the sun rose, we both decided it was most likely okay for me to move back into my own temporary home. Truthfully, I think we both neededtime apart to wrap our heads around the explosive sexual chemistry swirling between us, and I needed space to come to terms with the festering guilt churning in my gut for having slept with a woman who isn’t my wife.
I left her with strict instructions to keep her doors locked and phone charged and made her promise to call the second she saw or heard anything suspicious. I trust her to be smart enough not to be careless with her life and to follow through should anything feel amiss. But the noise coming from the living area of my cabin makes me believe her ex may have chosen to come after me first.
Smart move to take out the competition before claiming the prize. What he most likely hadn’t counted on is that he’s about to come face-to-face with someone who’s highly trained and unafraid to take care of the threat. Pushing my bedroom door open just wide enough to squeeze through the opening, I keep my back glued to the wall and make my way down the hall on quiet feet.
When the open living space comes into view and a shadow moves in my peripheral vision, my index finger twitches. I’m about 0.2 seconds away from putting a bullet in this motherfucker when the light comes on, illuminating my late-night intruder. Spitting out a harsh curse, I lower my gun and run a shaky hand through my hair.
“Goddamnit, Mads. What the hell are you thinking? I almost blew your fucking head off.”
My best friend barely spares me a glance, completely unperturbed as he calmly saunters across the room and plops himself down in the recliner. He leans forward, resting his impressive forearms on his thighs, and regards me with a bored expression.
“I don’t know, Cole,” he drawls. “Maybe I was thinking my best fucking friend may be nothing but a rotting carcass in some godforsaken cabin in the woods by now, seeing as I haven’t heard a word from you in over three weeks. So, I got my ass on a plane to find out whether I’d have to bury another person I care about, or if said person is just a selfish fuck who’s too self-involved to think about anyone but himself.”
I open my mouth to speak, but Maddox isn’t done.
“And while we’re on the topic of getting your head blown off. Guess what almost happened during our last mission, because I couldn’t stop worrying about you? Your lack of communication almost cost me my team. I’m responsible for bringing these guys home to their fucking families. I’m the only thing standing between them and their mothers sniveling over their goddamn caskets. I can’t afford to head into enemy territory preoccupied. Do you feel me?”
I rub at my tired eyes and place my gun on the kitchen counter, purposely avoiding his gaze as a different type of guilt burns a hole in my gut.
“I mean, I didn’t ask you to worry,” I mutter like a real asshole and try not to flinch when his eyes flash fire.
“Oh, yeah? Well, fuck me for caring, right?” he roars, throwing his hands in the air before he shoots off the chair and barrels toward me.
“I’m a grown ass man, Maddox. A well-trained one at that. I can handle myself. I don’t need you hovering over me like some mother hen.”
Mads comes to a halt in front of me, takes a calming breath, and closes his eyes to draw from the well of patience that seems to be at risk of running dry.
“Might I remind you that the last time we spoke, you said, and I quote, ‘If I don’t get the hell out of DC and everything the city reminds me of, I don’t know what I might do.’ Then you fucking disappear into thin air, and you expect me to not give a shit?”
I don’t hide my flinch this time, letting it flit across my features when I’m met with his pain-filled eyes.
“You’re telling me I should’ve just, what? Went about my business and forgot that the guy who’s like a brother to me is suffering somewhere. Alone and quite possibly suicidal? You know what?Fuck you for even thinking me capable of that,” he spits, caramel irises swirling with barely restrained anger. “And fuck you again for forcing me to spend my well-earned downtime chasing after you. I have three days before I’m wheels up again. Three motherfucking days, Cole. I should be spending that time de-stressing between the creamy thighs of a beautiful lady. Instead, I’m here, making sure your sorry ass isn’t flirting with the barrel of a shotgun. The least you could do is show some fucking gratitude and not act like my mere presence offends you.”
I scrub a hand down the length of my face before I dip my chin to my chest, admitting defeat. Quite honestly, I don’t have the energy to fight, and deep down, I know he’s right. It wouldn’t have killed me to shoot him a quick text, letting him know I’m alive and well, to put his mind at ease. I just didn’t think my prolonged radio silence would cause him this much worry. It’s not like we haven’t gone months without checking in with each other before. Then again, he has messaged me more than usual over the past three weeks, and it probably should’ve been a sign that he was concerned about my mental state and needing a little assurance from my end.
“I’m sorry, alright?” I finally tell him, lifting my head and meeting his furious glower. I watch as his expression changes from one of irritation to quiet understanding, before he releases a low sigh and lets his shoulders drop from around his ears.
“I forgive you, you dumb fuck,” he mumbles, reaching for me and pulling me in for a quick hug, before he snatches up the bottle of bourbon in front of him and pours us each a generous amount. He slides one across the counter toward me, and we knock them back simultaneously, staring at each other way longer than socially acceptable for two heterosexual men standing in a dimly lit room.
“So, how are you really doing?” he asks, not willing to pretend it’s not what he’s most curious about.
“Well, I haven’t felt the urge to blow my brains out since I got here, so I think we may be turning a corner,” I say with a grin, but drop it when it isn’t returned.
“That’s not funny, C.”
“Wasn’t supposed to be,” I reply, pouring us another round. Mads shakes his head and takes his tumbler to the center of the room, where he drops heavily onto the sofa. I follow but claim the previously abandoned recliner instead.
“So, fucking bumfuck, huh?” Picking up his imaginary banjo, he begins to hum theDeliverancetheme song, making me crack my first genuine smile. This fucking guy. He may be a major pain in my ass, but goddamn, I love the big idiot. I don’t tell him that I had the exact same thought when I first stepped foot into this cabin and was greeted by the lifeless eyes of Billy the Buck.
“Yeah, I needed a change of scenery and a change of pace. Somewhere I could think and just be, you know? Figured this place is as good as any. Always wanted to go back to the basics, like that guy in the movie,Into the Wild. Have you seen it? Might pack a bag and go for a multi-day hike. See if I can rough it for a while. Live off the land.”
Mads harrumphs, stroking his chin in thought. “Been a while since I saw it, but I’m pretty sure the guy dies in the end.”
“Whatever,” I say, rolling my eyes to let him know his know-it-all attitude isn’t appreciated.
“So, what? You wake up in the morning, head into the forest to gather mushrooms, and berries, and shit. Set up snares and weave fish traps from fresh bark? Jerk off a couple of times a day and write in your little diary at night. I can’t figure out if this is your idea of a healing journey or some kind of self-imposed purgatory.”
“Might I remind you this was your idea?”
