“You’re making me nervous,” Gunner said.
“Enrique’s dead.”
Gunner stared in disbelief. Then, he gripped the back of the wrought iron chair. “Jesus, no. Was he in a car accident?”
“Suicide.”
“What? Where did this come from? I just saw him at Dom’s funeral.”
“I don’t know.” Struggling to process the news, Maverick threw an arm around his ex-SEAL teammate.
Gunner bowed his head. “I wish he’d said something to me.”
Maverick felt sick to his stomach. “Funeral is Saturday. Visitation is at his sister’s tomorrow night in Virginia Beach.”
A tear streaked down Gunner’s cheek. “He never let on. Never said a word that he was going through anything. We could have helped him.”
Maverick’s throat tightened. Several seconds passed while he waged war against himself. He would not allow grief to win. Not here in the middle of his party.
When he’d gotten control of himself, he cleared his throat. Only then did he realize Carly had been stroking his back. While her gentle touch soothed him, it didn’t change a damn thing. His friend was dead.
Gunner wiped his wet cheeks. “Man, this is devastating.”
“Yeah,” Maverick replied. “Seems surreal.”
“I can’t make the funeral,” Gunner said. “We’ll be in Pennsylvania.”
“Don’t sweat it.”
“I’ve gotta get out of here,” Gunner said. “Good luck at the hearing tomorrow. A slap on the wrist and we’ll be back to full-throttle.”
Maverick pulled Gunner in for a hug. “Thanks for coming tonight. Go home and be with your family.”
Gunner’s gaze met Carly’s. “He needs you, Carly.” After patting Maverick on the back, he left.
For the first time in his life, Maverick envied what Gunner had. A wife who adored him and three young children who couldn’t get enough of their daddy. Feeling raw and vulnerable, Maverick no longer wanted to party. He needed to be alone with the tsunami of sorrow barreling toward him.
8
B E NE A T H T H E S T A R S
C arly’s concern was warranted. Ashton didn’t process death in a healthy manner. He absorbed it. Obsessed over it. Somehow felt responsible for it. Even believed he could have prevented it.
Enrique’s suicide could send him spiraling down a dark hole. Years ago, she’d seen how losing his mom had wrecked him. And while she did everything possible to help him, he was like a tornado hurtling across an open prairie. Back then, women weren’t his crutch. Explosive violence was. Until he met his match in Sinclair. Two wild rams who would have battled to their bloody deaths if his dad hadn’t intervened.
Rather than question him or express her concern, she waited. He’d been thinking. Overthinking, more like it. He’d been staring at her, but he wasn’t actually seeing her.
“I’ve gotta go,” he said.
“Let’s tell Hudson you’re heading out.”
“Right.” She felt his sadness and her heart broke for his loss.
They entered the bar and a swarm of people surrounded him. In a flash, he turned the switch. Maverick the showman joked and grinned. He waved people over and included them in the conversation. He bear-hugged the guys and kissed the gals on their cheeks. He let everyone know how much he appreciated them. He was a pro at shining the spotlight on others. Asking questions meant he didn’t focus on himself. Though genuine, she’d seen his performance hundreds of times. His humility was one of her favorite qualities. He had a lot he could brag about, but he chose to remain silent.
“Can I steal you for a minute?” asked a woman Carly didn’t recognize.
“Darlin’, I’d love to, but I’ve gotta fly.”
