Chapter 15
ROWAN
One Year Later
My left shoulder was sore, my ribs ached every time I reached too quickly, and the bruise along my jaw had darkened enough that I knew it looked worse than the night before.
I was stretched out on my bed in gym shorts with an ice pack pressed against my side when Mills walked into our dorm room on base, took one look at me, and shook his head.
“No.”
I raised an eyebrow. “No what?”
“You’re not spending the whole night in here playing Candy Crush because you got punched around last night.”
“I don’t fucking play Candy Crush.”
He dropped his keys on the desk. “That wasn’t the point.”
“Then what’s your point?”
“My point is you’re not lying in here all night looking miserable.”
“I’m sore.”
“But you won. Let’s celebrate.”
“Still sore though.”
He moved to his side of the room and opened a dresser drawer. “Oh, come on. You need to come to The Rusty Spur tonight. Torres offered to drive, and Aguilar and some people from communications are coming too.”
“You’re making staying here sound better.”
He laughed. “You didn’t even pretend to think about it.”
“I had a fight less than twenty-four hours ago. I’m allowed to hate the idea of going out right now.”
He grabbed a shirt from the drawer and threw it onto his bed. “You were more beat up after that smoker in October.”
“That doesn’t make this better.”
“No, but it does make you dramatic.”
I sat up more carefully than I wanted him to notice. “I’m not being dramatic. My ribs hurt.”
“Your ribs always hurt.”
“That’s not true.”
“Sure it is. You box, train, work, and then act surprised when your body hates you.”
“And it’s why I want to stay home with my ice pack,” I deadpanned.
“Fine. Bring the ice pack. I’m still not letting you rot in this room all night.”
I nearly smiled despite myself.
Mills caught it and pointed at me. “There you are. You still know how to act human.”
“Don’t push it.”
He changed shirts, then fixed his collar. “You’re coming.”
I sat there for a second longer, then placed the ice pack on the nightstand and pushed myself to my feet.
“I knew you’d change your mind.”
“Shut up.” I walked to my closet.
“Wear the dark Henley.”
I glanced at him. “Why?”
“Because your face already took a hit last night. No reason to let the rest of you go down too.”
I stared at him. “You’re an asshole.”
“I’m helpful.”
“That’s not the word I’d use.”
I changed shirts, being careful with my shoulder, then picked up my wallet from the desk.
Torres was waiting downstairs by his truck when we got there and Mills took the passenger seat, while I climbed into the back.
The second I shut the door, Torres peered at me in the mirror. “Damn. Can you even open your mouth with that bruise?”
“Fuck you!”
Mills laughed. “Cross is in a decent mood, don’t ruin it.”
“Yeah, don’t make me regret leaving the room,” I replied.
Torres grinned and pulled out of the lot. “Maybe one of the ladies will put makeup on you to cover that shit up.”
“Or I can give you a matching one.” I glared at him.
“Nah, I’m good.”
By the time we got to the bar, Aguilar was there with Mendez, Sims, and Kellman, three women from comms, along with Bradford, a loadmast I’d met only once before. They had a high-top table near the back, and Aguilar and Bradford were already engaged in some debate.
“I’m telling you,” Aguilar insisted, pointing at Bradford with his beer, “you don’t get to live in San Antonio and not respect good tacos.”
Bradford leaned back in his chair. “I respect good tacos. I don’t respect you acting like every taco in Texas changed your life.”
Mendez snorted. “He’s got you there.”
Aguilar spotted us. “There he is. Cross finally left his cave.”
I slid onto the chair next to Mills, trying not to let my body’s protests show at all. “You’re all really committed to acting like I never go anywhere.”
Bradford raised his bottle. “Heard you won last night.”
Torres slid a beer over to me, and I picked it up. “Word gets around fast.”
Sims looked at my jaw. “You won and your face looks like that?”
“Gee, thanks.” I rolled my eyes.
“Sorry, I’m just saying.” She grimaced.
“Bet the other guy got it worse, huh?” Bradford asked.
A smile pulled at my mouth before I could stop it. “He did.”
“Good,” he replied.
The conversation picked back up, and for once, I didn’t mind any of it.
I sat back, took a sip from my bottle, and let the noise settle around me.
Bradford was chill. He wasn’t loud, didn’t fight for attention, and didn’t have that pushy energy some guys had when they wanted to be noticed.
He just knew how to slide into a conversation at the right time, and he was hot in a way that didn’t need much help.
Short dark hair, broad shoulders, and a face that got cuter the longer I looked at it.
Mendez glanced at me over her drink. “You fighting next Friday?”
I shrugged. “Probably.”
Aguilar snorted. “Probably depends on whether his face goes back to normal first.”
“It’s fine.”
“His ribs aren’t,” Mills cut in. “He was sprawled out on his bed with an ice pack when I got home.”
“Let me punch you in the ribs a few times and see if you need ice afterward,” I shot back.
Everyone laughed, and Bradford asked, “How long have you been boxing?”
“A while.”
Bradford nodded as though he approved. “I should go to your next fight. I want to see if the rumors are true.”
I cocked a brow. “What rumors?”
He smirked around his beer bottle. “That you’re a beast in the ring.”
Aguilar grinned. “Damn. Bradford’s moving quick.”
“Shut up,” he said. “I’m just saying I’d like to see Cross fight. I’ve heard about The Rowan Cross, and now he’s sitting across from me.”
“Thanks?” I chuckled.
“Granted, I’d also like to see you shirtless.”
I almost choked on my beer.
“We bat for the same team?” Mendez asked.
“Yeah, honey. I know how to drive a stick.” He winked at her, and everyone burst into laughter.
Nobody at that table knew I was into men too, and I wasn’t planning to tell them, even if they were cool with Bradford. I laughed with them, though I worried my cheeks were pink from Bradford’s flirting.
A little later, Torres, Mills, and Aguilar went to get another round, and Mendez, Sims, and Kellman headed to the restroom. Bradford turned toward me.
“You always this quiet in groups?” he asked.
“Not always.”
“Just when you’re pretending you don’t want to be here?”
I laughed under my breath. “That obvious?”
“A little.”
I tipped my chin toward him. “You seem pretty relaxed for somebody sitting at a table full of people yelling over each other.”
He smirked. “I grew up with four brothers. This is peaceful.”
“That sounds terrible.”
“That’s because you’re an only child.”
I cocked a brow. “How do you know that?”
“You have only-child energy.”
“That’s not a real thing.”
“It absolutely is.”
I smiled.
“See? You’re having a good time.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He wasn’t wrong. I was sore, but I felt good—warm from the beer and relaxed in a way I hadn’t been in weeks.
Maybe part of it was the win from the night before.
I’d felt sharp in the ring. Strong. In control.
Between the success I’d had last night and the alcohol I’d consumed tonight, it had become easier not to think about how badly I’d wanted to stay back in my room with an ice pack.
Bradford rested an arm on the table. “So besides boxing and acting like this is all a burden, what do you do?”
I lifted a shoulder. “Work. Train. Sleep.”
He laughed. “That’s depressing.”
“I didn’t say it was exciting.”
“What do you do when you’re off?”
I thought about it for a second. “Training, mostly. Running. Lifting. Trying not to waste my only day off.”
“That’s it?”
“Pretty much. You?”
“Gym. Basketball. Hooking up with guys I meet on The Click.”
“The Click?” I arched a brow.
“You know, the dating app?”
“For gay guys?”
He shook his head. “Not only gays. You can specify who you want to match with.”
I took a sip of my beer. “That sounds more fun than my answer.”
He smirked. “That’s because your answer sounded like a punishment.”
“It’s not.”
“You sure?”
“Most days.”
That got a laugh out of him. He took a drink, still watching me. “How do you like San Antonio?”
“It’s not new to me.”
“No?”
“My dad was stationed here when I was a kid.”
“No shit?”
I nodded. “I was pretty young, but I remember enough.”
“You like it better now or then?”
I laughed under my breath. “I had less paperwork back then, so probably then.”
“Fair.”
“Where are you from?”
“Maine.”
“Oh, wow. That’s hella far.”
“Hella?” He chuckled.
I grinned. “Spent most of my childhood growing up in California.”
He took another drink. “So you’ve never heard of The Click. Do you date?”
“Too busy.”
He snorted. “You’re too busy to get laid?”
I lifted a shoulder. “Something like that.”
“Okay, so let’s say you did create a profile, would we match?”
I chuckled. “That line work often?”
“Sometimes.” He held my gaze. “So?”
“We might.” I downed the rest of my beer.
Having a guy flirt with me wasn’t new. Men had been interested before. Opportunity had never been the problem. Taking it any further was. Because every time I had the chance, something in me shut down before it could progress.
A few moments later, Bradford stood up. “You want another?”
“Sure.” I handed him the empty bottle.
I watched him weave through the crowd toward the bar, calm as hell, like he hadn’t just asked if we’d match on some app and gotten me to admit I was into men. He was hot, funny, easy to talk to, and exactly the kind of guy I should’ve been able to want without overthinking it.
But I wasn’t.
He came back with two fresh beers and a basket of fries, while the rest of the group had moved on to the pool tables.
I looked down at them, then back up. “You trying to impress me?”
“I’m trying to make sure you don’t drink on an empty stomach.”
I snorted and took a fry.
He asked me more about California, and I gave him enough but avoided getting into anything I didn’t want to discuss. I asked about his family, and he told me about his brothers, his parents, and the dog they had growing up that hated every man in the neighborhood except his dad.
I laughed more than I expected to.
Bradford noticed. “You should do that more.”
“What?”
“Laugh.”
I traced the label on my beer, smiling a little. “You’re getting bold.”
“Is that a problem?”
I didn’t respond as I peeled the label off because I wasn’t sure if it was.
“You want some air?” he asked after several beats.
I looked at him for a second, then stood. “Sure.”
The patio was cooler and quieter. A few people were outside smoking near the railing, but most of the noise stayed inside.
Bradford rested his forearms on the railing. “You’re a lot easier to read out here.”
“Oh yeah? What am I thinking, then?”
His eyes roamed over my face, slow enough that I felt it. “You’re having fun. And you’re trying not to think about what happens if this keeps going.”
I let out a short breath. “That obvious?”
“To me, yeah.”
I looked out toward the parking lot, my fingers tightening around the bottle. “You’re not wrong.”
He went quiet for a second. “You do this a lot?”
“Do what?”
“Get interested, get close to something good, then pull back.”
I didn’t answer right away, as I tried to decide if I wanted to lie. Finally, I said, “Sometimes.”
“Because you’re not looking for anything serious?”
“No, that’s not it.”
“Then what is it?”
I could’ve handled his question in many ways. Most of them were easier than telling the truth. I chose to be honest anyway. “There was someone.”
“Back home?”
“Yeah.”
“You still hung up on him?”
I didn’t reply.
He looked away for a second and exhaled. “Got it.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It usually isn’t.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “I’m not out here trying to waste your time.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean it. I’ve enjoyed talking to you, it’s just—”
His eyes held mine. “It’s just what?”
I thought about Keaton, about home, and how many years I’d been gone, and how none of it had changed the part of me that avoided being with someone else once things started to progress beyond kissing.
“We were close,” I answered. “For a long time. Then it turned into something more, but everything got fucked up.”
Bradford stayed quiet.
I kept going. “I’ve met people since then. I’m not sitting around alone every night waiting for him to magically show up. I go out. I talk to people. I know when somebody’s interested, but every time someone gets close, I put the brakes on.”
“Because they’re not him?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s rough.”
“I know.”
“You ever just let yourself get off by someone else doing it? Forget the emotional part of it?”
I shook my head.
“Not once?”
I thought about every “almost.” Every time I let something go far enough to convince myself maybe it would be different, only to stop it the second I felt myself slipping too far into it.
“No,” I answered. “Not all the way.”
“You mean that literally?”
I stared at him.
“You don’t have to answer that.”
I could’ve let him off the hook. Pretended not to understand. Been vague. Instead, I said, “Yeah, literally.”
He let that sit for a second. “Because of him?”
“Because nobody else ever felt right enough to get there.”
He nodded slowly, and I appreciated that he didn’t make my honesty awkward. No pity. No fake comfort. No weird surprise.
Just understanding.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Don’t be.”
I looked down at my bottle for a second before I said, “Just so you know, nobody here knows I’m into guys.”
His expression shifted—not much, just enough. “Got it, but you want to know what else I’m thinking?”
“What’s that?”
“If I drove you home and kissed you goodnight, you’d kiss me back.”
Every part of me went still.
Because he was right.
“And then you’d spend the whole night hating yourself because it still wouldn’t be him.”
I broke eye contact first. “Probably.”
“So I’m not going to do that.”
Something washed over me. I wasn’t sure if it was relief or disappointment. Maybe both. “Thanks.”
We stood there for another second before he lightly bumped the neck of his bottle against mine.
“Let’s head back before they start talking and then I have to lie and say I needed a smoke.”
I snorted and followed Bradford back inside. We played pool, threw darts, and had a good time, but that night, I still fell asleep thinking about the boy next door.