Relinquish

Chapter Seven

Cade

As a slowing car drives past, I wait to cross the street. The bass thumps while the four occupants sing along with whatever tune comes out of the stereo. When was the last time I was that carefree? Never.

My idling 4x4 pickup is parked across the side street, waiting for my return. I wasn’t expecting to see Lola and spent too much time watching her. At this point, I feel like a stalker.

Why is Lola with Truman’s niece? They’re too comfortable with each other to have just met. Is Rachel the reason she got the job? After making it his life’s obsession, Truman retired from the military and started the security business two years ago. He’s never had a long-term relationship and dotes on his older brother’s only child.

The instant I saw her, visions of our encounter in the elevator, crashed into my head, and the blood rushed straight to my dick. That doesn’t happen. I have too much restraint for a woman to hijack my body, which is even more of a reason to stay away.

I can’t get the taste of her out of my mouth. Earlier this week, when I saw her entering the hallway, I ended up in the janitor’s closet. I had to pretend I was looking for toilet paper for the men’s room. Could I get any more pathetic?

She dumped a Fortune 500 guy because he didn’t have enough money, and you grew up on the streets. You have nothing in common.

I stomp across the pavement, using the force to eradicate her from my brain once and for all. After I pop open the driver’s side door, I hand the plastic bag to Tyrone Hance. We’ve been tight for years–more like blood brothers than friends.

“What took you so long? I thought I would need to send in a search party to find you.”

I hop in and fasten the safety belt. “They forgot the order of onion rings, so I had to wait.”

“Onion rings? I don’t remember you ordering any onion rings.”

I shrug and pull into traffic. “I guess I forgot to order them when I called.” Yeah, I’m beyond pathetic. The second I saw Lola, I needed an excuse to study the curve of her cheek and how the light shone on her hair, so I ordered onion rings. I haven’t been an idiot over a girl since I was sixteen. “It’s not like you were going to suffer from heat exhaustion or anything. I left the truck running.”

Tyrone’s a bloodhound when he gets on the trail of a potential love match. After years of struggling to gain his girlfriend’s family’s acceptance, his engagement to his college sweetheart has warped his brain. Now all he sees is bullshit hearts and flowers. Everywhere.

“Hmmm.” He frowns, opens the bag, and grabs a handful of French fries. “Have you given any consideration to Truman’s offer to get back into the field?”

My teeth grind together. “I’ve told you how I feel. From now on, I’m only taking responsibility for myself.” I switch on the blinker and pull into the passing lane. When I was discharged from the military, I vowed to never have anyone depend upon me again.

“You’ve fully recovered, so that’s not holding you back. Unless you’re not telling us something.”

When I saw Tyrone getting beaten by a couple of bullies years ago, I should’ve kept walking. But back then, I didn’t mind my own business. Hell, I couldn’t let a couple of punks beat up on a kid who weighed sixty-five pounds when soaking wet. From that point on, Tyrone and his younger foster brother, Daniel Slater, were up my ass worshipping me like I was Superman or something.

“I’m fine. No lingering problems.”

He tilts his head and stares as the streetlights intermittently fill the cab with faint lights. “I don’t understand. You’re great at thinking on your feet and making snap decisions. The field is perfect for you, so why are you denying your calling?”

My jaw clenches until it feels like I can shred a nail between my teeth. Don’t answer. Shit. If I don’t answer, he’ll never let it go. Even if I do answer, he won’t let it go. “I made a mistake, and because of me, people were injured.”

“That’s bullshit. You don’t make a move without considering all the consequences. If you weren’t the one calling the shots, more people would’ve been hurt.”

Anger radiates through me. I made a miscalculation and must live with it every day. My shoulders burn with tension, and a wave of regret floods over me. “You weren’t there, so you have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m tired of being responsible for other people’s safety. I can’t do it anymore. The blind faith the other soldiers had in me was misguided. I’m not someone they should’ve looked up to.” I shudder. And the hero’s welcome I received when I returned home made it even worse. I didn’t deserve to be labeled as a hero.

Tyrone raises his hands in surrender. “I’ll leave it alone, but I hate seeing you beat yourself up. You don’t deserve it.”

“Enough,” I snap. “You weren’t there, and I’m not going to discuss it anymore. I’m perfectly content using my computer training to stay behind the scenes doing research and letting the other guys do all the glory work.”

Tyrone’s undying belief in me is wearing thin. It’s impossible to live up to those standards. Fuck. I’m not even trying. We’ve been over this topic ad nauseam. If Tyrone and Truman keep pushing the issue, I’m going to walk and find a new job. The computer training I received in the Navy can translate into something besides following money trails, tracking communications, strategizing rescue missions, and hacking into shit.

I pull into the parking lot of my condo. “Have you heard from Daniel?” Yes, it’s a blatant attempt to change the subject, but here’s to hoping it works.

Tyrone unbuckles his seatbelt. “Not for a few months. Mom said she spoke with him a couple of weeks ago, but as usual, he was vague about his whereabouts and what he was doing. She worries about him.”

Stella Kavanaugh is the rock of our hodgepodge family. As the foster mother for myself and foster-to-adoptive mother for Tyrone and Daniel, she kept us together. Without her, I’d never have made it into the military or survived the aftermath upon my return.

As we walk to the front of the building, I rotate my shoulders. “I’m sure he’s fine. He always lands on his feet.” Daniel hangs with some rough characters, but he can hold his own.

“I know.” Tyrone yanks on the door handle. “He has more lives than a cat.”

“At least Stella has you. Her other boys have given her more gray hairs than she can handle. Is she still helping with the wedding plans?” If I can keep Tyrone occupied until we reach the fifth floor and get him in front of the television to watch the game, I might survive this interrogation.