27. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
KINSLEY
A n hour later, after we stop at Ethan’s house so he can change out of his uniform, we pull up to the Clubs at Savannah, and my chest instantly tightens. Not so much because this is Victoria’s stomping ground—I’ve never actually met her—but because I’m literally wearing clothes covered in grout, and I’ve already shown up here looking like a wreck once.
Ethan pats my hand and says, “Don’t worry, we’re not going inside, and they’ll have a T-shirt for you.”
A quick but short laugh escapes my mouth. “They?”
He nods in that sexy, confident way where his eyes gleam with mischief, making me want to smile back and do whatever he says.
Side by side, so close that my knuckles bump against his, we follow the sidewalk around back. Ethan’s reaction to this is to take my hand and thread his fingers with mine. His touch is soft and warm and inviting, and I melt into him, as if we’ve been doing this for years.
A warning light flashes somewhere deep inside my brain, cautioning me to not get too comfortable. A reminder that Ethan and I are not really together. That nothing good lasts. That this might be fun for now, but that’s all it can ever be. It’s temporary.
There’s another voice, though, a slightly louder, more vibrant one, that tells me to ignore the negative Nancy in my head and enjoy each moment as it comes. That holding hands like this is no big deal. We’re just being friendly.
Ethan’s feet come to an abrupt stop, which causes me to stop with him. A few hundred yards away, ten or so men and a few women are stretching on a large patch of green. All of them are wearing matching green shirts with a 22 displayed across the front.
My stomach turns as it dawns on me that these are veterans. People in the outreach program Ethan volunteers with. I don’t dislike the military, but after the way Ethan left all those years ago, I’ve never been a big fan.
I don’t have a clue why he would bring me here.
When one of the guys turns and catches sight of Ethan, his face brightens. “It’s about damn time. I thought I was going to have to lead everyone in this stupid mumbo jumbo meditation session.”
“Holy shit,” Ethan says under his breath.
Giving my fingers a tight squeeze, he pulls me along. Only when we’re face to face with the tall, dark stranger does he release his hold on me.
They exchange some sort of manly elbow, fist, handshake bump, then Ethan, his tone filled with awe, says, “You’re standing. On your own.”
“Baby steps.” The man grins. “I still have the chair.” He points toward the clubhouse and a wheelchair parked near the sidewalk. “But fuck if I can’t wait to throw that damn thing away.” He turns his focus to me. “So who’s your lady friend, and can I please have her number?”
“My name is Kinzie.” I extend my hand. “And I’m sorry, but I’m not in the business of giving my number away so freely.”
He barks out a hearty laugh as he takes my hand and shakes it. “Good answer. I like her already.”
“This is Matthews,” Ethan says. “He’s a flirt, but he’s harmless.”
“Speak for yourself, man. Some women like—”
“On that note.” A woman with creamy brown skin and brilliant brown eyes squeezes through and pats Matthews on his broad, muscular chest. “You should go find yourself a spot so we can get started.” She turns to look at me and flashes me a familiar smile. “I’m Kamilla. You must be the woman who broke Ethan’s engagement off. Thanks for that, by the way. Victoria was never right for him.”
“Kamilla,” I hedge, “as in Ramon’s sister?”
Her lips twist. “You know Ramon?”
I glance at Ethan, who narrows his eyes at me playfully. “Yes, you can say that. I’m actually in the middle of writing a lifestyle piece on him, but I feel like I’m still missing something. Once I get some things situated at home, I want to interview him again.”
Kamilla hums, her eyes lighting up. “Whatever it is you’re looking for, I’m sure it will surface. Now,” she says, “let’s get you a T-shirt while Ethan gets everybody started with some real stretches.”
“We can hear you,” somebody shouts.
Ignoring him, Kamilla leads me into the clubhouse and over to a small side room not much bigger than a broom closet. The walls are lined with metal shelves, each one packed with supplies ranging from medical tape and instant ice packs to foam rollers and therapy balls.
“Here,” she says, pulling a shirt from a tall stack on the bottom shelf. “Ethan said you’d probably be a small, so this should fit.”
I pull my grout-covered white shirt off from over my head and replace it with a green one that matches what the rest of the group is sporting. “What does the number twenty-two mean?” I ask as I tuck it into my jeans.
She looks me over with a soft expression. “Did Ethan tell you about Ray?”
I nod, frowning.
She sighs heavily. “Ray was one of the good guys. Nothing like his dad or sister. He actually had a heart. The twenty-two represents the number of veterans we lose to suicide every day. What they do out there,” she points at the door, “when they fight for our freedom, whether they deploy or not, is a big deal. When they come home, it’s hard for the people in their lives to understand why they’ve changed. Some learn to cope, but without the comradery they shared while serving, a sense of loss grows inside them. Most of them aren’t even aware of it. Human connection is a powerful thing, so we try to bring that back to them.
“After the funeral, Ethan devoted the vast majority of his own recovery time to starting this outreach program. The twenty-two serves as a reminder to never lose sight of the mission—saving one veteran at a time, however that might look.”
“You were close to Ray, I take it?”
She nods, her expression solemn. “We grew up together.”
My heart aches for her and for the man I never met, along with the other thousands of veterans that caused Ethan to help create such a program in the first place.
“All right,” Kamilla says, ushering me back outside. “Enough about that. Ethan is more than likely in full meditation mode, so you can slip out and take the empty mat right over there.” She points to a spot not too far away. “I’ll be in back, keeping an eye on everybody.”
Quietly, I make my way to the beige mat, careful not to disrupt the people around me. I take a seat and slip off my shoes. I’ve never actually meditated, but I take my cues from the rest of the group, sitting up nice and straight and crossing my legs like a pretzel. Then I close my eyes and listen as Ethan speaks.
“Take a slow, deep breath in, deeper than the last one, and as you exhale, concentrate on the sound of my voice. Allow it to ground you into the present moment. Over the next several minutes, make yourself your top priority.”
I inhale like he says and then release it. It’s slow, but not as slow as he suggests, so I try again, focusing on his words. After a few more tries, I feel like I find a rhythm, mirroring him as he breathes. I do this for about twenty minutes, listening to Ethan redirect my wandering mind, reminding me to feel the journey of my body and to notice any places where I might be holding stress or anxiety.
When it’s over, he tells us to open our eyes slowly and to give our bodies a chance to fully awaken before getting up.
It takes all of three seconds before somebody cries out. “Oh fuck, I have a goddamn charley horse.”
Kamilla rushes over to the young man clutching his leg and rubs his calf.
I stretch for a moment, and when the people around me start getting up, I stand too.
“First time, aye?” an older gentleman with thinning gray hair asks. He’s tall and skinny, with leathery skin, worn from years of exposure to the sun.
“It is.” I nod. “It’s harder than it looks. I’m not sure I did it right.”
“I’ve been coming here for months, and I still don’t think I’m doing it right,” he grumbles.
“Why do you keep coming back?”
“Faith.” With a scowl, he bends at the waist and rolls up his mat.
A slow smile spreads across my face. He’s so damn cute in an angry, not wanting to be here kind of way. Yet faith keeps bringing him back here. He trusts the methods of meditation to help him relax week after week. The thought is refreshing.
I think back to the loss I endured that summer leading into my senior year of high school. The baby, my hysterectomy. And then finding out my mom really wasn’t my mom all along. I lost my own faith. I’ve never been very religious, but what I did believe, I tossed right out the window. Maybe if I’d had something like this, I wouldn’t have lost myself.
“Faith sounds like a great reason.” I smile.
“Faith isn’t a reason. She’s my wife,” he grumbles again, then walks away.
A laugh escapes my lips, but I’m quick to cover it up.
“Heads up,” a girl calls out as a Nerf football soars past my head.
Matthews, who is a few mats away, catches it. “My name is Zayden Matthews. I was a sergeant in the Marine Corps. I’m here because Tate makes me come.” He winks at Ethan. “And for my baby girl, who just turned three.” He throws the football to another man.
“My name is Andrew Lockwood. I was a specialist in the Army before most of you were born. I come here because I can, and because without you dumbasses, I’d have nothing else to do besides drink myself to death.”
The men and women throw the ball back and forth across the green, sharing who they are and their reason for being here. From the looks of it, they all know one another, which probably means none of what they’re saying is new, but they don’t let that stop them.
When the ball lands in Ethan’s hands, his already big smile deepens. “My name is Ethan Tate. I served as a staff sergeant in the Marine Corps. I’m here because of myself and because of you. None of us can do it alone.”
He shifts slightly and turns to look at me. “Your turn.”
I shake my head. These are his people. I’m just a civilian bystander.
Clearly, he won’t take no for an answer, because suddenly, the ball is gliding through the air and headed straight for me.
No. No, no, no. He did not just put the spotlight on me. He knows I suck at playing catch. Hence the reason I did theater rather than participating in sports growing up. I squint, lean forward, and thrust my arms out. And, of course, I miss the ball.
It lands at Kamilla’s feet, so she picks it up and hands it to me.
I mouth “thank you.” Then I inhale deeply and force myself to participate. “My name is Kinzie Grant. I did not serve in the military, but I thank each and every one of you for protecting my freedoms. I am here because Ethan thought this would be a great second date.”
Laughter bubbles up all around me
Chuckling, Ethan corrects me. “Third.”
“And was it a good idea?” Matthews calls out. “Because, you know, if Tate can’t make you happy, I can make myself free for you tomorrow night.”
Ethan cocks his head, smirking.
“It’s been the best,” I say, and for a second, I forget that this isn’t really a date.
We mingle with Ethan’s friends for a bit, and as the sun sets, Kamilla and one of the younger men wave a goodbye and head off to their night shift at the local hospital. I help a girl named Mallory pick up the mats and stack them neatly in the corner of the closet.
Mallory served in the Navy for twelve years before she was medically retired. She’s a single mom raising two small children and attending night classes. It’s a struggle, she confides as we make our way back to the group, but these weekly meditation classes with the outreach program have helped.
In a way, I see a lot of my mom in her. She’s a take-charge type of woman and fiercely independent, with little help outside her small circle of friends.
Guilt washes through me as I think about how hard it must have been for my mother to raise us on her own. She didn’t have family nearby or a husband to lean on, but she did her best to give us everything we ever wanted.
Matthews, the most outspoken of the crew, convinces us to join him in a celebratory night cap.
“What are we celebrating?” Mallory asks. “Because I only have another half an hour before I have to head home to relieve the babysitter.”
“We’re celebrating new friends.” He winks at me.
Smiling, I wink back. It’s easy to see why Ethan enjoys his work with this group so much. His friends are sweet and fun to be around.
Inside, Ethan excuses himself to use the restroom while the rest of us head straight to the bar. Ramon is at the other end of the bar, taking orders as he hands out bottles of beer. He looks tired. Annoyed even. And there’s a slight frown forming on his lips.
I sit in what’s apparently become my regular spot and wait for him to notice me.
“What is that?” he asks once he’s finished with the group at the end. He waltzes over, pointing at me with a stir stick.
I look down. “It appears to be a T-shirt,” I muse.
“I know it’s a shirt.” He tsks. “I meant how did you get it?” He shifts his gaze away from me to survey the small room, no doubt making sure everybody is taken care of. Then he leans against the back ledge and folds his arms across his chest.
“Ethan gave it to me. Well, actually, your sister did. I like her, by the way. She’s sweet.”
“Kamilla’s the best,” he huffs spitefully.
“Kamilla is the best,” Ethan says from behind me, though his voice sounds more sincere than when her brother says it.
Ramon’s eyebrow twitches, but he doesn’t so much as bat an eyelash when Ethan slips onto the stool next to me.
“What’s going on?” Ethan asks, cutting straight to the chase.
Ramon lets out a long breath, deflating. “The senator was here today.”
“Oh boy,” Ethan responds.
“Oh boy?” I ask. “What does that mean?”
“The only time the senator comes around is when he wants something or when he’s trying to make himself look good,” Ethan says. “So which one was it?”
“He wants me to help him hire a club manager. He said, and I quote ‘Ramon, you’re the best employee we have here,’ and then proceeded to tell me how many candidates he’s looking to interview.”
My heart sinks. I’ve only met this man twice before, and even I know how badly he wants that position. How could his boss not see it? “Ramon. I’m so sorry. What did you tell him?”
He shakes his head. “Does it matter?”
“It absolutely matters. You should have demanded that job for yourself.”
“But do I really want to work for somebody who doesn’t see my true value? Kamilla was right. I should have left years ago. She’s told me over and over that he only does things that are in his best interest. She was right. He’s taken advantage of my ridiculous loyalty over and over again. Dammit. I should have listened to her.”
As the three of us sit in silence, a lightbulb illuminates in my mind. Straightening, I pull out my phone and frantically scroll through my contact list.
“What are you doing?” Ethan asks.
Shushing him, I tap on the name I’m looking for and bring the phone to my ear.
After two rings, the call connects.
“Logan. Are you and Carter still in the market for a manager?”
A smile spreads wide across my face when he says they are.
I pump a fist. “This is perfect.” I tell Logan about Ramon. About his years of experience and his incredible bartending skills. As we chat, I jot down notes on a cocktail napkin.
There’s only one problem. The man is loyal to a fault, which means he’ll need a lot of convincing to leave his current place of employment.
When I hang up, Ethan says, “Should I be worried that you have my brother’s phone number?”
I bop his nose playfully and then push the napkin across the bar top to Ramon. “Ethan’s brothers own a restaurant on Hope Island. They’re looking to expand, which means they’re looking to hire somebody to help run operations.”
Ramon picks up the napkin, eyes wide. “Are you serious? You just picked up the phone and made this happen?”
“It was just a phone call.” Shrugging, I point to the napkin in Ramon’s hand. “That number belongs to Logan. He wants to set up an interview, so it’s up to you to reach out.”
Ethan slips his hand onto my thigh and squeezes. “I can’t think of another person more perfect for the job.”
Neither of us orders a drink. Instead, Ethan suggests heading back to Hope Island. I’m more than okay with the idea, considering I didn’t get much sleep last night.
We drive most of the way home in comfortable silence, taking the back roads that lead to the longer of the two bridges that connect the mainland with the island.
“So,” Ethan says once we pass the sign welcoming us to Hope Island. “What did you think?”
“What did I think of what?” I ask with a yawn.
“The guys. The program.”
“And women.” I smile, but he can’t see it because his eyes are trained on the road in front of him.
“Of course. And the women.” He chuckles.
“Hmm,” I murmur, putting my finger up to my lips, biding my time. I can’t quite figure out how to give him an answer that makes sense.
“You’re thinking too hard.” He pulls my finger away from my mouth but keeps my hand in his and holds it on his lap.
I huff out a frustrated breath. He’s right. I am way overthinking all of this, but this is Ethan. If he were anybody else, I’d tell him the truth. That I had fun tonight. That he’s clearly making a difference in the lives of others. But giving him that satisfaction almost feels like I’m betraying myself. It’s silly and selfish, which is why I can’t seem to verbalize anything right now.
The combination of what happened between us years ago and this new thing, the sex, is scrambling my brain.
“Can we stop by my place before I take you home?” he asks, changing the subject. “I want to show you something.”
I should say no. I should tell him we’ve been spending way too much time together for people who are only fake dating. That the more I’m with him, the blurrier the lines become. But I don’t say any of that. I simply nod and watch as he turns the corner, heading straight for the bay.