Chapter 42
FORTY-TWO
A
warm glow suffused Willow as she snuggled into Tripp’s side and laid her head on his solid shoulder.
They had just finished dinner in their cozy, padded booth at the back of The Skelly.
The low lighting made their spot feel even more intimate, and she was counting down the minutes until they arrived back at his place so she could get him naked again.
“Want some dessert?” he murmured against her hair.
“Why, you offering? We’re in a public place, Tripp,” she said, feigning being scandalized. Her fruity cocktail was served in a ceramic glass shaped like a Mexican sugar skull. The Skelly was the best for a reason, and they did theming right.
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I meant something on the menu.”
She looked up at him. “Why, are you not on the menu?”
The side of his mouth kicked up a bit. “I am. But not here.”
“Aww, you’re shy.” She inched her hand up his thigh, swore his cheeks flushed. “That’s so sweet.”
He didn’t remove her hand, but he was a bit stiff. He’d also been quiet through dinner. Since they’d left her place, really. More so than usual. A little distant, even. She couldn’t help feeling that something was off.
Sitting up straight, she pulled her hand from his leg. “Everything okay?”
A tiny alarm bell began ringing in the back of her head when he darted a glance at her and looked away. “Yeah. You ready to go?”
Now she was concerned. “Sure.”
As he paid for dinner, she told herself she was probably worrying for nothing. Except things had changed between them fast.
Part of her worried that she’d jumped in too soon, that this level of happiness couldn’t last, but what she felt for him was too deep to be anything but the real deal. And besides, this was Tripp. He was as solid as the island itself.
He made her feel wanted. Beautiful. Cherished.
Tripp tucked his wallet away then eased the growing worry in the pit of her stomach when he wrapped an arm around her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Her heart squeezed hard. “Tripp?” She needed to tell him this before they left.
“Yeah?”
“I know there’s been a lot of crazy things going on since I got here, but... I’m really happy.” Happier than she’d been in any other relationship.
“I’m glad to hear that.”
At the odd response, she tipped her head back to look into his face. “Are you happy?”
He met her gaze. Lifted a hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, his touch tender but there was something distant about the look in his eyes. “Happier than I probably deserve.”
She frowned. What was going on with him tonight? “Why do you say that?”
“Nothing.” He sighed. “I want to talk to you about something. Alone.”
That...didn’t make her feel any better. But she sensed she shouldn’t push for more right now. “All right.”
She slid out of the booth and followed him through the pub to the front doors. Tripp wrapped an arm around her waist and stopped suddenly before they reached the hostess stand.
Following his line of sight, she spotted Earl standing inside the doors. His gaze cut from Tripp to her and back, his silent disapproval unmistakable.
Oh no...
Earl’s jaw bunched. He seemed to fight some inner battle for a moment before he started toward them.
Willow’s stomach tightened as Tripp went rigid next to her. She set a hand on his arm in silent comfort. She wasn’t sure what their issue was, but she didn’t like how on edge Tripp was around the other man.
Earl stopped in front of them, standing off to the side. “Willow. Tripp.” The temperature in the room seemed to drop when he said Tripp’s name.
“Hi, Earl.” She forced a polite smile, determined to keep things civil and then be on their way. Tripp’s arm was like steel around her. “You here by yourself?”
He nodded once, his gaze straying back to Tripp for a moment and then shifting back on her. “So, you two are together?”
A slight flush hit her cheeks. It wasn’t any of his business, and it was weird that he was even asking. “Uh, yes.”
He looked at Tripp, his expression almost accusing.
“Let’s go,” Tripp said to her.
“You tell her yet?” Earl asked him.
“Tell me what?” she asked, confused.
“Come on.” Tripp pushed her forward a step.
“You really ought to get to know someone better before you get involved with them,” Earl said to her, his tone oddly gentle but still ominous.
She stared at him, the blood rushing to her cheeks. “What?”
Tripp kept walking but she dug in her heels and turned toward Earl. “No, I want to know what he means.” What the hell was going on with him?
Earl held her gaze. “Ask him to tell you the truth.”
“God damn it, Earl,” Tripp muttered. “Willow, let’s go.”
She yanked free of his hold, annoyed at both of them. “What truth?” she demanded.
“Ask him what really happened in Syria,” Earl said.
She stiffened, and Tripp sucked in a sharp breath.
Her gaze snapped to Tripp, her heart thudding. The look on Tripp’s face as he glared at Earl scared her. Anger and pain and regret. But he wasn’t defending himself. “What does he mean?” she demanded, trying to calm her racing heart.
“Ask him,” Earl repeated.
Tripp’s nostrils flared. She’d never seen that look on his face and never wanted to again. “Jesus Christ, Earl,” he snapped.
“Tell her the truth about her brother,” Earl fired back.
Everything funneled out around her at the mention of Peyton. Cold spread through her gut, an awful warning as she stared at Tripp. “What does he mean about Peyton?”
He met her gaze, and the guilt and regret there sucked the air out of her lungs.
“Either you tell her, or I will,” Earl said.
“We’re leaving,” Tripp said, the scars standing out white against his flushed face as he took hold of her arm to drag her with him.
“It’s not right and you know it,” Earl said. “It should never have gone this far.”
Something snapped inside her. She twisted away from Tripp and turned to confront him, angry that he might be hiding something about Peyton. “What happened to my brother, Tripp?”
The look in his eyes gutted her. A raw devastation that made her insides congeal. “Not here.”
“Yes, right here and now. Tell me,” she demanded, her voice unsteady. He’d lied to her. Kept something important from her about Peyton, and she had an awful feeling what it was.
He swallowed. Shook his head tightly. “Let’s go home and—”
“He ordered the strike that killed Peyton,” Earl said.