Chapter 4
Packing for AJ was a ritual. It was the same every time.
Despite the bag being totally empty because he always unpacked immediately upon returning home, he inspected each pocket and pouch of his battered carry-on, slid his hand along the lining, and ran his palm over the faded canvas to check for lint, thread, or any errant object.
Once he’d done that and it passed inspection, he placed each item in the order he had long since established as optimal: chargers and cables coiled into a clear organization container, and razor, toothbrush, shampoo, conditioner, cologne, and deodorant all packed in a toiletry cube, which he placed in the mesh zippered pocket.
Socks rolled and tucked around the toiletry cube.
His sweats, boxer-briefs, T-shirts, and jeans were folded in thirds, others in half, depending on thickness, then pressed flat until they could have been mistaken for blueprints.
Dress shoes and tennis shoes lined the sides.
Everything fit with a geometry that soothed him.
Once every item was accounted for on his checklist, he closed the suitcase but then opened it again, half-convinced he’d forgotten something vital. The recurring sensation that he was leaving behind a critical item gave him a tight feeling in his chest.
He scanned his list, the contents, the garment bag hung on the door with his suit for the ceremony, the extra set of running shoes.
He closed and reopened the suitcase one more time, staring at the mesh side pocket as though it might have developed a hole and let some necessary part of his life slip out in the past five seconds.
His added anxiety was caused by the uncertainty hanging like a dark cloud over him.
He needed to figure out what he wanted to do with his life, if he was going to re-enlist or not.
His head felt full. Since laying eyes on the brunette, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head.
She was like a song that just kept playing over and over.
A question that he couldn’t answer. That was the level of obsession he felt about her.
She’d even quieted the number six. It was still an echo, but it was muted, a whisper. Now every time he closed his eyes, he saw her.
He’d wanted so badly to find out everything he could about the woman.
With his skills, that would be easy. Within minutes he could know her blood type, credit score, how many cavities she’d had, her grades in elementary school, anything and everything that had a digital footprint, but all he’d done was look at her public social media.
Even though his intentions would be good, it would be wrong to investigate further, so all he learned was that she was Liam’s half-sister and she worked at Pine Ridge with him.
It had taken an unbelievable amount of self-control not to do a deep dive when the answers he wanted, no, needed, just to feel peace, were a few keystrokes away.
AJ’s phone vibrated on the charger, and he picked it up to see his brother’s name on the screen.
“Hey,” AJ answered.
“Bro, can you believe Mom is marrying Dr. Sterling?!” Niko’s voice, loud and booming with frat boy energy, came through before the first full ring finished.
It boggled AJ’s mind that they could share such similar DNA markers and yet be so wildly opposite.
“Yes,” AJ stated plainly.
“You can?!”
“Yes, they are two heterosexual adults who lived in very close proximity for ten years alone after experiencing the shared trauma of losing a spouse as well as the shared experience of raising five children in the same household. They have domestic familiarity and trust with one another. Each possesses attributes the other would find attractive or necessary in a mate. Mom is nurturing, emotionally available, and a caregiver. Dr. Sterling is intelligent, successful, and financially secure. They are similar in attractiveness based on a matching hypothesis,” he repeated the reasons he’d explained to his mom and Dr. Sterling.
“Sorry I asked,” Niko mumbled. “Where are you flying into?”
“Sacramento.”
“Change it,” Niko demanded instead of suggested. “I booked a charter from LAX to Reno-Tahoe. The guy owes me from the fundraiser last year. It’s a Citation, super quick, and we can pre-game at the lounge.”
AJ’s shoulders tensed. The thought of LAX—just the acronym made his scalp prickle. But he could hear the tenacity in his brother’s voice, the way he’d already architected the logistics in his head. Arguing would be a waste of both their time.
“I’ll consider it.” AJ’s neutral response would buy him time. He heard the twitch of a grin at the other end.
“I’ll send the flight details.” Niko then lowered his voice, which was Costas-code for the conversation taking a serious turn. “You talked to Frankie lately?”
AJ knew that Niko would ask what they had spoken about, and he was not prepared to answer that, so he let the question hang before answering. “Yes.”
“And?”
“She’s fine.” He wasn’t going to tell Niko that Frankie had asked about Liam, who was her fiancé Tristan’s estranged older brother. Or that Liam had changed his name and that Dr. Sterling wasn’t Liam’s father. That was a can of worms AJ had no intention of opening.
“She’s not fine,” Niko countered. “Tristan’s been calling me three times a day, and Mom says she’s hiding out in Hope Falls with Yaya. She never just visits Yaya.”
AJ knew his sister, she could be a walking contradiction, the kind of person who’d donate a kidney to a complete stranger and never tell her family about it but get upset with him if he didn’t mention he’d had a cavity filled.
What was one rule for her was different for everyone else.
He respected it. He envied it, even. If she said she was fine, until she said otherwise, he would take her word for it.
Niko pressed, “Do you know what’s going on with her?”
AJ didn’t have an answer for that, not a real one, but she and Tristan had lived together for seven years in New York. If she’d gone to California without him and was not answering his calls, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on.
AJ selected his next words like a bomb tech cutting wires. “She hasn’t told me, but I trust her.”
Niko was quiet for the briefest of seconds, then said, “All right, but if you find out, you have to tell me. So try to talk to her at the wedding.” There were some loud voices in the background, it sounded like his brother was in the locker room.
“I gotta go. Change your flight,” Niko added before the line disconnected.
AJ stared at his phone for a moment, debating the cost-benefit of switching his flight.
The efficiency of flying direct to Sacramento was nearly irresistible, less time in transit, less exposure to crowds and strangers, a neat and tidy solution.
But Niko’s plan, as usual, had a gravitational pull.
He could feel it working on him, even as he resisted it.
He opened the app, checked the alternate flights, and started to game out the scenarios in his head.
If he kept his original route, he’d have to navigate the car rental desk, then the winding mountain roads up to Hope Falls, which was tucked in the Sierra Nevada mountains about thirty minutes from Lake Tahoe, all while fighting off the fatigue that always hit after cross-country travel.
If he swapped to LAX, he’d be forced through that airport’s chaos, but only briefly.
Then it would be straight to the private lounge and onto the Citation, where the only other passengers would be Niko and maybe a couple of randoms Niko had picked up along the way. Probably less tactile misery overall.
He ran the numbers, as he always did, penciling out time lost versus discomfort versus anticipated social performance required. The math wasn’t simple, but it was satisfying.
A notification buzzed. It was a forwarded itinerary from Niko, subject line, “Your chariot awaits.” He’d already booked AJ a seat on a flight to LAX.
AJ shook his head, amused despite himself, and started the process of canceling his old reservation.
He hated waste, but Niko’s offer was, as usual, impossible to deny.
And maybe, just maybe, a couple of hours with his twin, stacked side-by-side in the leather seats of a private jet, having a few drinks while the clouds floated beneath them, wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
He'd just finished canceling his flight when he heard a loud knock on the door. He didn’t have a large circle of friends—he didn’t even have a small circle of friends—so the sound of a full-knuckle rap coming from his front porch was enough to jolt him out of his pre-travel checklist and into a state he could only describe as social vigilance.
There were three possible explanations, a delivery, a solicitation, or some kind of emergency.
None of those scenarios required him to actually open the door, but, out of curiosity, he flicked his thumb to the Ring app.
The live feed revealed a single person waiting outside, Emory.
A complicated, low-frequency hum vibrated in his chest. He had not been expecting her on the eve of his departure.
The last time she’d been at his house was.
..two and a half months ago? A week or so before he was deployed.
And yet, here she was, hands crammed into the pockets of a bomber jacket, her hair in two French braids that made her look younger and somehow more severe at the same time.
He left the bedroom, walked down the hall, and as he opened the door, her hand was raised, ready to knock again.
He stood with his body blocking the entrance, a maneuver she ignored with the same clinical disregard she’d demonstrated for personal boundaries since the first day they met.
“Hey,” she said, already pushing past him on the threshold with the inertia of a moving train. “I lost my left AirPod. I think it’s under your bed.”