Who called the sergeant?My friend.
How did he get him to let us go?He owed me a favor.
Why did the sergeant look at you like he was afraid?Ask him.
And plenty more like that.
Nash is guarded. He doesn’t talk about his past. Whenever I ask about his life before Lakeside, he tells me the same thing: he was in the army, his parents are dead.
Plausible, but... something doesn’t add up.
It’s not just one thing that has me wondering. It’s all the small details piling up over the weeks. He drives an old, fully restored classic car that must’ve cost a fortune. His style iscasual, but all designer. Too expensive for a soldier. The tattoos on his ribs, the guns, chips, and cards, don’t scream military, and there’s also the writing on his neck... above the neckline tattoos aren’t allowed in the army and Nash’s don’t look fresh.
He also doesn’t have the traits my father callstypicalfor an army man. He doesn’t make his bed, he sleeps in, his moral compass is all screwed up.
The aura of importance and ruthlessness had me fooled at first. As did his closed-off nature, like he’s seen gore beyond my wildest dreams and it plagues him.
Now there’s this clever friend who tampers with security cameras, and whoever influenced the cop to add to the mix.
“Remember you promised to be honest, okay?” I say, hiding my hands in the front pocket of my—well, Nash’s—hoodie.
He rarely lets me wear anything else when we go out, always cursing my thin dresses and good-for-nothing cardigans.
“I remember.” He drops his free hand on my thigh, squeezing gently. “Ask away.”
“Were you ever in the army?”
He doesn’t react.
Not one tell-tale sign he might be caught off guard, though I’m sure he didn’t expectthat. His eyes remain on the road, his thumb strokes my thigh, and his knuckles don’t whiten against the steering wheel. His jaw doesn’t even tic like it usually does when he’s annoyed.
It takes longer than I expected to get an answer. The silence between us stretches, and if not for the gentle murmur of the engine, I’d hear my pulse accelerate.
“No, I wasn’t,” he finally says.
My breath whooshes past my lips in a relieved puff, deepening this sense of trust I’ve felt for a while. He could’ve lied. He could’ve dodged the question, leaving me to wonder, but he kept his promise and told the truth.
“Okay,” I whisper, covering his hand with mine.
He flips it, lacing our fingers together. “You’re a clever little thing. What gave me away?”
“Details. Unmade bed, no dog tag, neck tattoos, influential friends...” I sigh, looking out the window as the dark forest blurs past. “None of it by itself would make me wonder, but the list kept getting longer.”
“One day, I’ll show you exactly who I am.” He lifts our interlocked hands, brushing his lips along my knuckles.
“One day soon, I hope.”
“As soon as I can.”
As if to let me into his world a little bit, he dials a number and, for the first time, he doesn’t disconnect the hands-free system, letting the dial tone ring out.
“You’re entitled to one phone call and you choose me?” A male voice chuckles. “I’m flattered.”
“You wish. We’re heading back. Five minutes out.”
“Alright, I’m on it.” Rapt tapping sounds above the background music and conversations on the other end. It’s less than a minute before he speaks again. “Done. I’ll revert it in ten. While I’ve got you, I—”
“I’m not alone, Ryder,” Nash pipes in. “She can hear you.”
