Chapter 7
Bradford
“Why are we doing this again?” I turn to Molly as we walk up the steps to the Prosperity Garden, which I swear has given me food poisoning more times than I ever want to talk about.
“Dad,” Molly grabs my arm and shakes it. “You’re being supportive, remember?”
“Right,” I grin at her, and then grab the door handle. “I thought I was just coming because I like to torture myself.”
She rolls her eyes, but the edge of her mouth lifts in that little half-smirk she inherited from her mother.
“You only have to be here for like an hour. Then you’re free to go bury yourself in your emails or whatever it is you do that makes you come home at four in the morning with a bunch of muddy dudes. ”
“Ha ha,” I give her a look as she steps into the restaurant, choosing not to indulge in the remark. I know she’s curious, and I can’t blame her for that—but it’s better to avoid the topic for now. Especially right before an awkward family dinner.
As soon as we step into the place, I spot Maren, my ex-wife, sitting at one of the fair booths. Her caramel-colored hair is pulled back in a nice updo, and she looks pretty happy, grinning at the guy with a military fade beside her.
Just her type.
I purse my lips as I follow Molly, who’s leading the charge. Maren and I have a decent relationship. I’m aware it took two to break our marriage. The deployments didn’t help.
Well, and neither did her fucking Molly’s pediatrician.
But that’s water under the bridge now.
“Calvin,” Maren shifts her gaze to me, her brown eyes widening. “I’m shocked that Molly actually convinced you to come.”
“You know she’s pretty persuasive.” I give her a pleasant smile, and then turn to the guy beside her. “And you are the new boyfriend?”
“Oh my god, Dad,” Molly mumbles under her breath.
“That’s me,” the guy stands to his feet and offers his hand. “I’m Mark Lawson.”
I eye his hand, and then force myself to take it. There’s something that disgusts me about shaking people’s hands. I don’t know why we adopted that gesture.
You never know what they’ve touched before they touch you.
“You’re Calvin Bradford,” Mark says when I don’t offer anything else up. “You had a hell of a career. I read about you.”
“Huh.” I let Molly slide into the booth, and then I take a seat beside her as Mark sits back down, too. “Didn’t know there was any reading material out there on me.”
“It’s just an old article from 2008.” Mark leans in a little, lowering his voice like he’s sharing a secret. “Was about that firefight you were in, Helmand Province. Nawa District. The one where your squad got pinned down by that machine gun nest.”
I raise an eyebrow, not recalling any fucking articles about that. “I see…”
“Yeah,” he says, eyes bright. “The piece mentioned you crawled across open ground under heavy fire, threw smoke grenades to cover your guys, and—get this—even after you got shot in the shoulder, you kept firing to take out the nest. Entire squad would have been toast without you.”
Molly shifts beside me, her nose crinkling. “That’s a lot of information.”
I shrug, unsure how to take this unwanted excitement. “It was just part of the job.”
Mark grins. “Sure. But it got you a Silver Star, man. That’s the kind of stuff people actually want to read about.”
“He was good at what he did,” Maren chimes, a smile on her face. “And he still managed to be a good father with all that.”
“That’s commendable.” Mark nods, picking up his glass. “It’s an honor to be in the same room as you.”
Big talk for someone fucking my ex-wife now.
“What do you do, Mark?” I shift the conversation, as Molly picks up the menu, hiding her face—and her smirk.
“I work as a cybersecurity contractor,” he says the words to me, never blinking as he does. I make a mental note of that. “I recently relocated here because the living costs are a lot cheaper than Denver.”
I set my menu down. “We’re a long way from Denver. Wrong side of the state.”
“Yeah, but the job just requires me to be in Colorado. No specifics.” He maintains strange eye contact, and it’s got something flagging in my brain.
But maybe it’s just Molly’s pep talk about his creepiness.
“Anyway, he’s staying with me for a while,” Maren pipes up. “His house lease got ripped out from underneath him when the landlord decided to sell, and he doesn’t want to be stuck with the college kids.”
“I’ll be outta there as soon as I find a place,” Mark says quickly. “I’ve got all my stuff in storage till then. I don’t want to take over Maren’s place. We’re serious, but I think it’s important to take things slow.”
Molly coughs, and then sets down the menu. “I think I’m going with the honey chicken this time.”
“Me, too,” Maren nods, the two of them doing one of those mother-daughter facial exchanges I don’t understand. I’m sure they’ve had their girl talks about whatever is going on with Mark staying with Maren.
And I do not care to know those specifics.
I lean back in the booth as the waitress finally arrives and takes our orders. I make a quick order of broccoli and beef, hoping it won’t lead to twelve hours of puking up my guts, and then settle into the quiet discomfort of sitting across from someone who won’t stop staring at me.
Maybe he’s just socially awkward.
But before I can put too much thought into it, my phone starts vibrating in my pocket. Shit. Turner and Cade are working together tonight. I fish it out of the front pocket of my jeans, and then instantly frown.
Benjamin Knight.
“I gotta take this,” I tell the table—well, mostly Molly. “I’ll be right back.”
She gives me a wide-eyed look. “You better come back soon.”
I pat the top of her head, as I slide out of the booth. “I will.”
Hopefully, anyway.
As soon as I’m out of earshot of the table, I swipe to answer the call and put it to my ear. “What’s up?”
“What the fuck is going on with Cade?”
I raise my brows, unable to contain my smirk. “Well, hey bud, it’s nice to hear from you, too. How’s the weather out there in Camp Pendleton? Must be shitty for you to be in such foul mood—or have you just not strung anyone up lately?”
There’s a pause of silence. “I can see you’re still on your bullshit.”
“Absolutely.”
Ben lets out a sigh. “There’s been a lot of poking around. I can’t get into the NCIS shit. They’re blocking me.”
“For good reason,” I grunt.
“I don’t know how close they are to you.”
“We’re not gonna know,” I reason, leaning against the brick wall outside. “Once it dies down, we’ll be able to poke. There’s gotta be some leads fabricated internationally, and that’s what needs to be chased.”
“They’re probably tapping this call.”
I let out a chuckle. “And the egotistical mastermind is getting paranoid. This is new.”
“Cade is a loose cannon with a lot of fucking dirt on me. This could be the end for me. I should’ve just fucking offed him.”
“Or maybe you should have considered this before you recruited him to be a part of your sick hero complex campaign.”
“Says the man who runs a whole ass contracting crew of psychos.”
“Not arguing with that,” I mutter, shoving my cold hand into my jacket pocket to warm it. “But right now, Kellan is with Martin. They’re supposed to be taking care of a simple hit a couple towns over. I set it up, middle of nowhere, bait situation.”
“Kellan will go nuts over that. He makes a mess.”
“Yep, but he cleans it up.”
“Once he gets off to it.”
I ignore that, because I’d hate to point out the hypocrite in the room. “Either way, he’s fine. He’s staying under the radar.” I think. “And Martin’s got him under his eye.”
“Blackout super shooter as the babysitter. Great.”
“Worst case scenario, Martin might snap and kill him.”
“Fair enough. Keep it up. I’ll let you know if I figure out anything else on the investigation.” With that, he hangs up without saying goodbye.
This was such a bad idea.
I run a hand over my face, feeling the dread weigh on my shoulders. Cade never should’ve been sent to me. Ben should’ve done what he does best—eliminate problems. But because he didn’t, that tells me there’s something between them that I don’t understand. And won’t.
I see it as a loose thread. Much better to cut it off than hang yourself with it.
“Dad!” Molly comes charging out of the restaurant, her eyes rimmed with tears. “I can’t fucking believe this.” She holds her phone up.
“What?” I push off the wall. “I was just out here for a few minutes—”
“No,” Molly shoves her phone in my hand, an email pulled up on the screen. “I fucking failed my Romeo and Juliet essay! I don’t even know how that happened.”
“In your lit class?” I try to process the email, as Molly’s hand jerks around, blurring the words. “The easy class?”
“Yes,” she exasperates, leaving the phone in my hand and raking her fingers through her hair. “And the new professor wants to meet with me about it. If I can’t convince her to let me redo the essay, I’m going to end up with a freaking C, Dad. I’ve never made that low of a grade—”
“Just breathe,” I say, shaking my head and pouring over the email.
Molly,
I wanted to inform you that, after reviewing your recent essay on Romeo and Juliet, it did not meet the expectations outlined in the assignment rubric.
I would like to schedule a time to meet with you to discuss your essay in detail, review areas for improvement, and go over strategies to strengthen your writing for future assignments. Please let me know your availability so we can arrange a convenient time.
“Damn,” I mumble. “Did you plagiarize? Use one of those online generator things?”
Molly’s eyes go wide, her hands flying up in the air. “No! Why would I do that? I tried really hard.”
“Okay, well…” My voice trails off, trying to remember that this is devastating for my daughter. She’s had the privilege of living the kind of life that a bad grade is the worst she’s ever faced. “Set up a meeting and see what you can do to help it. It’ll be okay.”
Molly’s shoulders fall, her olive-green sweater wrinkling around her frame. “You have to come with me.”
“You are nineteen years old—”
“Dad, please. You don’t have to say anything. You don’t even have to go inside the office with me. Just stand in the hallway.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, knowing I should tell her to do this on her own.
“Please.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. But I’m hallway material only.”
She smiles. “Deal.”