Chapter 1
Tiguan
“What’s next for you?”
I shrugged as I sipped my coffee. “Don’t know exactly,” I replied. “Being out of the Marines is weird. Like a shirt you used to wear all the time, then had to leave behind. Now I’ve put that shirt back on, and it feels… awkward.”
Nods around the table affirmed how I was feeling.
A month ago, I finished my obligation to the Marines.
Two years as an infantryman, six years as a Raider.
The three guys I was sitting with were part of my very first Raider battalion assignment.
We’d been together almost two years when the shit hit the fan during an ambush.
Fourteen of us. Three killed. Now that all of us were officially out, one of the Marines’ families decided to hold a huge celebration of life service to honor him so we could all be here.
The bell over the diner’s door tinkled, and cold air burst through the open door, along with a woman in a purple raincoat.
“This saves me a trip,” Chaos joked. “Be right back.”
Lyrical.
In my head, I heard her name like a whispered sigh of longing. Weird as it was, the voice was that of my best friend, Mayhem, one of the Marines who died in that ambush. Her former husband.
Instantly, guilt sat on my heart. I stared. I couldn’t help it. It had been far too long since I’d seen her. Not since Mayhem’s funeral service, when I’d tried my hardest not to look at her because it was inappropriate to lust after your best friend’s widow.
My eyes devoured her as if I hadn’t eaten in all that time. Honey-blonde hair. Dark-chocolate eyes. A soft pink glow to her cheeks and the tip of her nose from the chilly October air. Jeans tucked into a pair of purple rain boots patterned with cats and dogs holding umbrellas.
I knew I should pull my gaze from her, but my brain and my heart—as well as other parts of me—refused.
I watched Chaos approach her at the register, where she was placing a to-go order. When she finished, he tapped her shoulder and waited for her to turn around.
The surprise on her face was palpable.
He picked her up around the waist and hugged her tight. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and over his shoulder, I could see her eyes were closed, her mouth turned up in the biggest, most beautiful smile I’d ever seen.
Instantly, I was jealous. I wanted to be the one to make her smile. I wanted to hold her tightly to my body.
Rather than let my hurt and anger spill out, I found the energy to turn my attention back to my half-finished plate. No longer hungry, but incapable of acting normal without something to do, I forked food into my mouth robotically.
The voice in my head sighed. If I didn’t know better, it sounded like frustration rather than longing.
Chaos’ voice interrupted my thoughts. “Hey, guys. You remember Lyrical.”
Fuck! He brought her to the table. Why? Why did he hate me?
Not his fault, I reminded myself. He never knew I fell in love with her.
Never guessed I stalked our deployment headquarters, watching for mail and video calls from her.
Never imagined how much time I spent in the shower jacking off while envisioning myself making love to a woman who was married to my friend.
I was a horrible person.
Now, a chuckle tickled inside my thoughts.
Not horrible. Normal. It’s impossible not to love my sweetness.
Okay, that voice was definitely Mayhem’s, and it creeped me the fuck out. Was I feeling so guilty that my brain was trying to rationalize my feelings for her by imagining her dead husband would be pleased I was attracted to her?
A chorus of greetings came from the men around the table, each rising and coming over to hug her. Last one to rise, I crossed to where she stood next to her brother-in-law and leaned down to hug her.
“It’s good to see you, Lyrical.”
Forcing those words out of my mouth and making them sound normal wasn’t easy.
Hugging her was worse. In the space of those few seconds, her smell—something floral mixed with peaches and rain—filled my nostrils.
My arms actually ached from holding her, even for just that bit of time, and something moved me to pull her closer before letting go and stepping back.
Chaos pulled out a chair for her. “Sit.”
“I don’t want to interrupt,” she protested.
“Sit, Lyrical. You’re waiting for your food anyway, and I haven’t seen you in a while.”
Without unbuttoning her coat, she sat uncomfortably in the chair he offered. She looked small. Unsure. The times I’d seen her in California, she was quiet but far more self-assured.
The food on my plate was long forgotten now that I had something else to consume—every word she said and every inch of her.
She looked around the table. “Not that I’m not glad to see you guys, but why are you in town?” she asked.
Her voice was what I imagined an angel would sound like, calling me to heaven. Except the thoughts running through my head right now definitely weren’t going to let me through those gates.
Damn. I needed to shift in my seat to make room for my dick, which apparently wanted to pop out and see her for himself, but I couldn’t move a muscle. I didn’t want the guys to catch on that I was anything other than normal.
Chaos, however, looked uncomfortable. He glanced around the table at each of us before answering her question. “We’re here for Jesse’s celebration-of-life service.”
She stared at him blankly.
He played with the fork in his hand, turning it upside down, setting it down, turning it right side up, setting it down, and continuing. It was something he did when he was thinking. Silverware. Pencils. Whatever was close at hand.
“You didn’t know about it?” he asked. His voice had a low, dangerous quality to it. He was not happy.