Chapter 2 #2
With that taken care of, I turn my attention back to Melissa.
Her head is still down as she looks at her phone, so I’m pretty sure she didn’t see my interaction with the drunk local.
I’d prefer it that way, since I’d rather not have her thinking I’m some weird guy with a savior complex who insists on protecting her when she doesn’t even know me.
I don’t have a savior complex, for the record. It’s just… I’ve seen a lot of really shitty things over the years. I’ve watched some of my closest female friends be victimized by predators. And whether I know Melissa or not, I won’t just stand by and let it happen to her.
Could the drunken local have had innocent intentions? Maybe. But my gut says no. And one thing I learned in my years in the Army is to always listen to my gut.
I work to tamp down my anger as I approach Melissa’s table. By the time I arrive, I’ve managed to relax my jaw enough to smile. Keeping my voice low, so I don’t startle her, I say, “Hey, Melissa.”
She still jolts a little, making me feel guilty again. But she quickly hides it as she looks up at me. “Tyler?”
Feeling suddenly awkward, I shift on my feet. “I saw you over here, and I thought I’d come over to say hi. See how you’re feeling.”
“Feeling?” Her brow scrunches up. “What do you mean?”
“After everything that happened before. I know you got some scrapes and probably some bruises...”
My old friend, guilt, slams into me again. “I’m sorry about that,” I add. “Really. I didn’t mean to hurt you when I knocked you down.”
Melissa stares at me for a second. Then she snorts, and shit, it shouldn’t be cute, but it is. “Tyler,” she says, “if you hadn’t gotten me out of the way, I’d be worrying about a lot worse things than a few bruises and some road rash.”
“Still.” The thought of her skin all raw and hurting… It makes me feel terrible.
No. It makes me want to track down the asshole who almost hit her and teach him a lesson or two. Make him pay for almost killing Melissa, instead of the slap on the wrist he’s sure to get from the police.
Although… it doesn’t have to be that way. I bet I could hack into the police database and add a few extra charges. Or I could change the results of the blood test he took at the scene to make it look like he was drinking and driving.
Would it be legal? No.
Would it be justice? Possibly.
“I’m okay,” Melissa says, interrupting my plans for vengeance. “Really. And anyway, I’ve had worse. You should have seen my legs after Oscar forgot himself and went after some squirrels. He must have dragged me a good ten feet or so.” She stops. “Anyway. Are you okay?”
I cock my head in confusion. “Am I? Of course. I was wearing pants and a long-sleeved shirt. So my skin was protected.”
Why I was wearing pants in the middle of summer is a question I’m not delving into right now.
“I just noticed you limping,” she replies. Concern darkens her gaze. “Especially after you helped the man in the water. So I thought you might have triggered an old injury.”
My respect for Melissa grows even more. In all the chaos of the accident, she still found the time to check up on me. To worry because she thought I was hurt.
I’m not. But I’m also not getting into why I was limping. So instead, I say vaguely, “Oh, just tweaked my knee a little. But it’s fine.” Casting about for a change of topic, I add, “So, Oscar? Is that a dog, I assume?”
“Yes.” Her face lights up again. “Oscar’s my dog.” Waving at the seat across from her, she asks, “Do you want to join me? I’m still waiting for my food, but when the server comes back, you could order something.”
When I don’t move right away, she blushes. “Sorry. Never mind. I’m sure you have other—”
“I don’t.” I slide into the empty chair. “And I’d like to join you for dinner. If you’re sure you don’t mind.”
That shy smile curves her lips again. “I don’t mind. Or I wouldn’t have asked.”
I chuckle, and something loosens inside me. “That’s fair. So. Oscar?”
“Oscar,” she affirms. “He’s a Golden Retriever. And he loves squirrels. He’s normally very well-behaved. But if a squirrel starts teasing him…” With a shake of her head, she continues, “I have a better harness for walking him now. So that helps.”
“Wait. The squirrels tease your dog?”
“Yes.” Melissa laughs. “It’s like they know he’s on a leash and can’t catch them, so they get all daring. Darting in front of Oscar, chittering at him, swishing their jaunty tails…”
“Their jaunty tails?”
Her smile expands into an outright grin. “Yes. Jaunty. Don’t you think that’s a good word to describe them?”
Now that she mentions it, it is. So I nod as I reply, “You’re right. It’s an excellent word.”
Melissa nods back. “I like the word. Jaunty. It’s fun to say. Like rutabaga or perplexing.”
I lean forward, intrigued. “What other words are fun to say?”
“Hmm.” Her forehead creases in thought. “Lollygag. Haberdashery.”
“How about malarkey?” I offer.
“Oh, that’s a good one. And—” Her phone buzzes, cutting her off. With a quick glance at the screen, she says, “Oh, sorry. Let me just check this real quick.”
While she’s looking at her phone, the server arrives with Melissa’s food—a burger and fries that look surprisingly good—and I order the same.
Once the server’s gone, Melissa sets her phone back down and says, “Sorry. It was the dog hotel. They send a video every night, just so I can see how Oscar’s doing.
I know he’s fine. But I’m kind of an overprotective dog mom. So I like to see for myself, anyway.”
“And is he okay?”
She smiles. “Yup. Perfectly fine.”
“That’s good.” The server comes back with my drink and sets it in front of me. Before she leaves again, I ask Melissa, “Do you want anything else? Beer? Wine? Cocktail?”
“Thanks, but that’s okay,” Melissa replies quickly. With a glance at her half-full glass, she adds, “I’m good with water.”
As soon as the server leaves again, I take a sip of beer and set the glass down. “So. Your dog is staying at a hotel. I guess that means you’re on your way somewhere?” I stop, then amend, “Well, you were on your way until the storm.”
She pops a fry in her mouth and swallows it before answering, “Yeah. I’m on my way to Lake Placid.”
“Do you live there? Or visiting?” A beat later, I realize how nosy that sounds. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m going to visit… well, family, of sorts. They’re not blood, but…” She shrugs.
“I get it.” And I do. My teammates at Blade and Arrow Security might not be blood, but they’re family. So are my old Green Beret teammates.
“What about you?” Melissa asks. “Visiting? Or headed home?”
“Visiting my parents in Saranac Lake,” I reply. “I live out in Oregon, actually. But I flew out to visit them, and after that, I’ll head to Vermont to visit with my old teammate.”
Melissa pauses with her fry halfway to her mouth. “Your teammate?”
“Former teammate, really. From the Army.”
Her brow furrows. “You were Army?”
The way she says it makes me think she knows people who served. “Yeah.” I don’t usually tell people what I actually did, but there’s something about Melissa that has me saying, “I was a Green Beret, actually.”
Melissa gives me a long look. “I thought you looked familiar. Were you based at Fort Campbell?”
“I was.” Now I’m confused. “How did you know?”
Her teeth dig into her lower lip. “Because I used to live off-base there.” Gaze dipping to her plate, she adds, “I didn’t go to many events on base. But…” When she looks back up at me, resignation shadows her gaze. “I think I must have seen you there.”
That would explain why I thought Melissa looked familiar, too. “Did you serve?”
She shakes her head. The light in her eyes is gone. “No.” A long pause, and then, “My husband did. Well, he’s gone now. But he did.”
Now it’s my turn to stare at her.
And in a flash of recognition, I realize who she is.
Melissa Silver.
Married to Vince Silver, a Night Stalker who was indeed based out of Fort Campbell.
Vince Silver, who died six years ago in a tragic helicopter crash, along with five other men.
“I don’t talk about it,” Melissa says softly. Sadly. “Not to people I’ve only just met. But as soon as I realized… it didn’t seem right to hide it. Especially after you saved my life.”
“Why would you hide it?” I ask. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t know Vince well, but he seemed like a good guy.”
“He was.” Her teeth dig even deeper. It looks painful, and my hand twitches to release her poor lip. “But… you know Enzo. He’s your old teammate, right?”
“He is,” I affirm. “But why—”
In a flash, the second part of the story hits me.
The part of the story that happened after Vince died.