2. Cade
Cade
Iwake before dawn, the same way I have every day for the past eight years.
Three minutes before my alarm would have gone off, I'm already sitting on the edge of the bed, running my hand through my hair.
It's still too long by Army standards. I briefly contemplate heading into town to the barber shop to get it buzzed, but then that's not my life anymore.
Maybe I'll grow it to my ass and dye it bright green.
I bet Embeth could help with that. I smile to myself at the thought of her pawing through my unkempt hair.
The cabin is silent except for the occasional creak of the foundation settling. This place sits far enough up the mountain that the only noise I have to deal with is the birds singing. Nothing sudden. Nothing unexpected.
Just the way I need it.
I really should be heading out to the take Ryder up on his offer of a job at the center he opened up, but I just can’t bring myself to it. I need this time to myself. I need the solace.
After a hundred push-ups and a quick shower, I start the coffee. I line up my meds, the ones for pain I rarely take and the ones for anxiety I should take more often, and swallow just the minimum with a gulp of water. The routine grounds me after yesterday's chaos at Melody's store opening.
Too many people. Too many sounds coming from unpredictable directions. Too many friendly faces expecting the old Cade, the one who left with a goofy grin hoping to see the world. They don’t know the Cade who came back barely knowing how to smile anymore after he did see the world.
I check my watch: 0630. Time to chop wood before the heat of the day sets in. I won't really need it for a few more months, but it's better to get it stocked now.
The repetitive motion of swinging the axe centers me.
Each thud reverberates through my good ear while the damaged one registers only muffled vibrations.
Sweat begins to dampen my shirt despite the morning chill, and I lose myself in the rhythm until the sound of tires on gravel jerks me back to awareness.
I tense, holding the axe handle defensively before forcing myself to relax. This is Passion Peak. Nothing ever happens here. Still, very few people know I'm renting this place and none of them had mentioned stopping in so early, so I’m instantly on alert.
My shoulders relax just a little when I spot Embeth emerging from an ancient Jeep that looks like it's held together with hope and duct tape.
She's wearing a blue dress that looks like it's straight out of the 60s.
It makes her curves impossible to ignore.
She's paired it with those combat boots again.
Her hair is twisted up and held in place by a bright orange scarf.
I wonder what her hair would look like with my fingers tugging it as I rail her from behind.
Christ, man. Stop. I know it's been a hot minute since I've been with a woman, but damn. I've got to keep it in my pants. This is my sister's best friend.
"Morning, soldier," she calls out, balancing a thermos, two coffee mugs, and a small paper bag. "Special delivery."
"Wasn't expecting company," I say, slamming the sharp end of the axe into the stump and letting go of the handle.
She approaches with a smile so bright it's almost offensive this early in the morning. "That's the beauty of surprises. Melody mentioned you were staying up here, and I figured, what better housewarming gift than proper coffee?"
I should be irritated at the intrusion. Instead, I find myself noticing how the sunlight catches blue highlights in her purple hair and how I'd like to mess up that ruby red lipstick she's wearing.
"You always make house calls to people you just met?" I ask as I pull off my sweaty shirt and toss it aside. I don't think twice before I do, but I catch the way her eyes track the movement, lingering on my chest before meeting my gaze again.
"Only the special ones," she says with a wink that should be ridiculous but somehow isn't. "Consider it a thank you for your service."
I lead her to the porch rather than inside. Boundaries. "You didn't need to come all the way up here."
"Probably not," she agrees easily, settling into one of my rocking chairs like she belongs there. "But my coffee shop doesn't open till nine on Sundays, and I was up anyway. I'm always up with the sun. Can't help it."
She pours hot coffee from the thermos into two mugs and passes me one. "Black, right? You look like a black coffee kind of guy."
I raise an eyebrow. "Melody tell you that?"
"Nope. Just a lucky guess."
The coffee is good. Rich and complex without being bitter. Nothing like the sludge we made do with overseas.
"So," she says, pulling a chocolate chip muffin from the bag and breaking it in half, offering me the top half. "Melody said you weren't supposed to be home for another month."
I tense slightly. "Plans changed."
She studies me over her coffee cup, and I get the uncomfortable feeling she sees more than I want her to. "Military plans don't just change without reason."
"Most people would take the hint and drop it." I bite into the muffin to avoid saying more.
"I've never been accused of being like most people," she laughs, and I'm struck by how much I like hearing it. Just wish I could hear it with both ears. "But message received. For now."
We sit in surprisingly comfortable silence for a few minutes. I expected her to fill every moment with chatter, but she seems content to rock gently and watch the mountains wake up.
A distant thunderclap breaks the peace, making me jolt. The coffee mug slips from my hand, shattering on the porch floor.
"Shit," I mutter, already kneeling to gather the broken pieces, embarrassed at my reaction.
"I've got it," she says, crouching beside me. Our hands brush as we reach for the same piece, and I pull back like I've been burned.
"Sorry," I say, unsure if I'm apologizing for the broken mug, my reaction, or pulling away from her touch.
"For what? Breaking things is practically my superpower." She looks up, and I realize how close we are. Close enough that I can see gold flecks in her green eyes. "Thunder got you?"
Instead of the pity I expect, her expression is simply curious. I find myself answering honestly. "Right ear. IED explosion. Can barely hear shit out of that side anymore. I get a break from the tinnitus occasionally..."
She nods, standing with the broken pieces. "That's why you were tugging at it yesterday? When it got loud?"
"Nervous habit... I can't believe you noticed."
A small smile plays at her red lips. "I notice a lot of things about you, Cadence Clark."
The way she says my name, my full name, sends an unexpected heat through me. "Most people just call me Cade."
"I'm not most people," she reminds me, dumping the broken mug into the trash can by the door.
Another rumble of thunder, closer now, and I brace myself against the railing to hide my instinctive flinch.
"I better get back before it starts pouring," she says, gathering her things.
I should feel relief that she's leaving. Instead, I find myself saying, "Drive careful."
She pauses at the steps, looking back at me playfully. "You owe me a mug."
"Top of my list of things to do," I say dryly.
"It better be." She grins, and it transforms her entire face into something bright and even more beautiful than she already is.
Before I can say anything else, she's heading toward her Jeep, combat boots thumping over gravel, hips swaying in her dress. She throws one last smile over her shoulder before climbing in. For just a moment, I start to go after her, to tell her I want her... No, I need her... But I don’t.
My morning has been completely derailed, my routine thrown into disarray by a purple-haired storm in a vintage dress and combat boots.
The strangest part is, I don't mind nearly as much as I should.