Prologue
Rhett
I stared at the worn pages until the words blurred together. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead in the tent, matching the buzz of doubt in my brain. The textbook felt heavy in my hands—heavier than any equipment I’d hauled during training.
My fingers traced over the chapter title for the hundredth time. I’d rejected the idea when my chief first brought it to me before I left for this deployment. He’d sent me the materials anyway with just a single scrawled note: Think about it.
I’d started reading it out of sheer boredom. What else was I gonna do out here in the middle of bumfuck between drills and patrols? The books my sister, Austen, sent in care packages were hot commodities, and we all plowed through them fast. She sent more as often as she could from her bookstore back home in Huckleberry Creek, but inevitably, we ran into stretches with nothing new. So I’d read what Chief Holloway had sent. And I’d thought about it. Thought about how this path could change my life. How it might be enough to lead me back to the thing I’d been fool enough to leave behind.
The familiar crunch of boots on gravel outside made me snap the book shut.
“I’m telling you, that wasn’t food. That was punishment.” Clint’s voice carried through the tent flap.
“You’re just spoiled by your mom’s cooking.” Kellan laughed.
I shoved the textbook under my bunk, barely getting it hidden before they ducked inside. The canvas rustled as they entered, bringing with them the ever-present smell of dust and sweat.
“Speaking of punishment—“ Clint dropped onto his cot. “You missed quite the show in the mess hall, MacAvoy.”
“Yeah?” I kept my voice casual, though my heart still raced from the near-miss with the book. I hadn’t told these men, my closest friends, what I was contemplating.
“Fox here tried to convince the cook that his mystery meat stew needed ‘fresh herbs and a reduction sauce.’”
“It did.” Kellan sprawled across his own bunk and reached for the deck of cards he most often used as a fidget toy. “That stuff was an insult to actual food.”
The familiar banter helped settle my nerves, but I couldn’t help glancing at the hidden book beneath my bunk. Was I a fool to think that was the key to winning back my wife? Maybe I was a bigger one to believe I could win Pepper back at all after how things had ended.
Because I needed distraction from that thought, I moved to cleaning my boots. It was mindless, almost meditative labor. As I worked, I listened with half an ear to Kellan as he started hassling Clint about cookies. After nine months of deployment, we were all desperate for anything from home, but watching my friend try to deny having treats from my sister was the most entertainment I’d had all day.
“No cookies in this box. Maybe she put them in Rhett’s. The last time they didn’t survive so well in the box with the books.”
I kept my head down, focusing on getting the sand out of every crevice of the leather, but I couldn’t help smirking. Clint was a terrible liar, especially when it came to Austen. Not that I was going to call him on it. Yet. He thought I didn’t know he was sweet on her, but all these months in the desert had a way of winnowing down a man to his bare essentials, and there was no hiding the softness in Clint’s eyes when my sister came up.
Austen could do worse. And, hell, she had. But that was over now, apparently, according to a letter she’d sent a few months back. I hated that the asswipe had hurt her, but I’d rather her be alone than with some douchewaffle who didn’t treat her like she deserved.
“Hey MacAvoy, your sister holding out on you? No cookies in your box, either?” Kellan turned his attention my way.
“Nope.” I maintained my focus on my boots. “Just books and a letter telling me to stay safe.”
“That’s harsh. Your own sister sends cookies to Ramsey instead of her flesh and blood?”
My mouth twitched as I fought back a grin. “Maybe she likes him better.” And wasn’t that the truth? I’d seen the way those two looked at each other when they thought no one was watching. Not that either of them had done anything about it. But maybe when we got home. Maybe Clint needed a little nudge.
“Oh, she definitely likes him better,” Kellan smirked. “Remember when we were kids, and she used to follow us around like a lost puppy? Now she won’t even send her big brother cookies.”
“Fox, I will throw this boot at your head.” I wouldn’t really, but it felt good to fall into the familiar pattern of ribbing.
“Empty threats.” Kellan’s cards snapped as he shuffled. “Though I guess it makes sense. Clint’s got that whole Eastwood thing going on. What’ve you got? Just that ugly mug you were born with.”
Time to turn the tables. “Says the man who can’t get a date to save his life. How long you been dancing around Tate now? Ten years?”
His hands stilled on the cards. Hit a nerve there. “We’re business partners.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” I went back to my boots, pleased with landing that shot. Clint wasn’t the only one who needed a nudge. “Maybe if you’re nice, I’ll share some of those cookies Austen definitely didn’t send me.” They were squirreled away, because cookies from Pie Hard were effectively gold here in the desert.
“You’re both full of shit,” Kellan complained. “And terrible liars.”
When Clint suggested poker, I gratefully abandoned my boots. Anything to take my mind off thoughts of home. Of Pepper. But as we settled around our makeshift table, my left hand felt especially bare. The ring had been gone for three years, but sometimes I still caught myself reaching to twist it.
