“Do you remember the day we met?” I have to distract her. It’s either that or I’ll demand to know everything that happened, and she’s not ready for that yet.
With a choked sound that might be a sob or might be a laugh, she nods. “Bet you never thought you’d be in a wet t-shirt contest that day, did you? Or that it’d be soda. And you’d be the only contestant.”
“Every soda I’ve had since reminded me of you.” We’re almost to the kitchen now, and her shoulders are no longer hiked up around her ears. “Sit down and relax, buttercup. Can I get you a blanket?” I ask as I gesture to the overstuffed brown couch.
“N-no. I’m okay.”
She’s not, but satisfied that she’s at least not cold, I head into the kitchen and check the fridge. Perfect. I owe Trevor’s contact big time. “You still do like eggs-in-a-basket, don’t you?”
“I…” Her cheeks catch fire, and she fights a smile. “I stopped ordering them years ago. No one could ever make them like you used to.”
Pride wells in my chest, followed by a brief stab of regret. It used to be Joey’s favorite meal. Every time we spent the night together, I’d make it for her. “Do you want one egg or two?”
“One.” Her voice lowers almost to a whisper, but I don’t miss the longing in her tone. “I haven’t had a full meal since they took us. If I eat too much, I’ll be sick.”
I go to work, starting a pot of coffee, cutting holes in pieces of bread, turning on the stove, and adding a generous pat of butter, salt, and a pinch of paprika to the griddle pan. “When Trevor and Nomar get here, we’ll head to Kabul and then figure out how we’re getting back to the States.”
“They…he…took my passport.” Joey twists the hem of her tunic in nervous fingers as I crack the eggs into their respective baskets. “Customs won’t let me in…”
“We won’t be going through Customs.” Running a hand through my hair, I meet her gaze. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Joey. So much that’s…changed. Dax and I…when we started Second Sight, we agreed on one very important thing.” Pausing to give my next words the weight they deserve, I brace my hands on the counter. “Breaking the law is acceptable—if it saves someone’s life.”
Questions swirl in her eyes, their blue depths paling, along with her cheeks. “Do you mean…killing people?”
“Not unless they’re about to kill us. But the auctioneer? His guards? They’re dead. Nomar and Trevor…they did most of the killing. But my hands aren’t clean either. Not by a longshot.” We’re getting dangerously close to the one subject I’m terrified to discuss: our breakup twenty years ago. Flipping the toast over, I let the eggs sizzle for a brief moment, then slide them onto plates.
“You were in Iraq,” she says softly as I set the dish in front of her on the coffee table, then return to the kitchen for coffee. “I know what happens in war, Ford. And why you wouldn’t talk to me that night.”
The empty mug in my hand crashes to the floor, shattering into a dozen pieces. Joey springs up, sways for a minute, then limps into the kitchen and drops to her knees at the edge of the destruction as I stand there, mouth dry, trying to find the words to tell her everything I couldn’t all those years ago.
“Don’t move.” She gathers the shards, dumps them in the trash, and then steps close enough to reach up and touch my cheek. “I never blamed you.”
Her eyes shimmer, her lower lip wobbling as her hand slides to the back of my neck.
“Don’t say that. If I hadn’t been such an ass—”
My protest dies as she ghosts her lips over mine. It’s the briefest of touches, so light I fear I imagined it. Until she pulls away, her cheeks blazing. “I’m sorry. I just…”
“You never need to apologize for that, buttercup.” Tangling my fingers in her hair, I dip my head, pausing just a breath away to let her set the tone, but this time when our lips meet, there’s no mistaking the taste of her, or how much I want her to know…everything.
Joey wipes away a tear as she turns away and heads for the couch, and fuck. I want to haul her into my arms and confess all my sins. But I’m too much of a coward, so I snag a second mug, then sink down a foot away from her on the cushions.
Balancing the plate on her knees, she looks like she’s about to cry again, and desperate for a distraction, I pick up my fork. “I have a secret ingredient. Want to know what it is?”
“If I find out,” she says as she cuts into the egg and toast, “there’s no reason for you to make this for me ever again.” The sadness in her voice opens a thousand cracks in my heart. Her eyelids flutter as she takes her first bite, and a tiny moan escapes her curved lips.
“That’s the only reason I need. Right there.”
“What?” The word is muffled through her second forkful, but she blinks up at me, the little furrow between her brows deepening.
“That look on your face. I’d do anything to see that every day.”
Sitting next to her, watching the pure joy spread across her delicate features…it’s like every dream I’ve ever had. Except for the fading bruises on her cheek and the dark circles under her eyes.
She swallows hard and sets her fork down. “Don’t, Ford.”
“Don’t what?” There isn’t one single thing I wouldn’t do to erase the sorrow in her eyes, but everything I say…it’s all wrong.
“Don’t make me want what I can never have. Once I get home, this—” she gestures to the plate then to me, “—will turn into nothing but a memory.”
