Chapter 9 Two Lane Highway, New Mexico—Just past The Refuge
TWO LANE HIGHWAY, NEW MEXICO—JUST PAST THE REFUGE
It was only ten in the morning when Kawan turned the SUV onto the two-lane highway that cut through the desert scrub outside The Refuge.
The bright sunrays bled across the windshield, casting long shadows across the road.
The smell of hot dust seeped through the open window.
The silence was companionable, even if it was laced with tension Kawan hadn’t acknowledged.
He shot a glance toward the passenger seat.
Lark had one boot up on the dashboard, her elbow braced against the door as she stared out at the vast horizon. Her hair was tied up, messy, wild—the way it used to be when she rolled out of bed with nowhere to go.
There were so many things he wanted to say. Emotions he'd buried for the last two years. Words he'd never had the chance to express. Somehow, Lark had become the person—outside of his team—that he wanted to share his world with.
The first ten years of his life had been complicated but simple. His mother, a drug addict. His father, a criminal. After his mom died and his father went to prison, Kawan ended up in the system.
When he'd first been brought to the Paddocks' farm in Central New York, he'd folded into himself. He didn't trust that he was safe. Not because of them, but because he watched kids come and go. He watched children find forever families or reunite with loving parents.
That was never going to happen to him. His old man had made that clear.
But Kawan wasn't about to make waves. He did his chores.
He was polite. He never talked back—but he also barely spoke.
Not until Dave Paddock sat him down and told him about his childhood.
Told Kawan that he would fight for him. That even though legally he wasn't his father, he was where it counted.
That's when things had changed for Kawan. That was the moment he'd found home.
"Do we have time to head to a store?" Lark asked. "I want to grab some stuff for Specs. Things that might make her feel like she's sitting in her own space, munching on those damn long stringy fruit candies she likes while she twirls her hair and stares at a computer screen."
"As long as you're not trying to make us late for your appointment."
"I won’t." She shook her head. "If I expect Specs to deal with the fallout, then I have to be willing to do it, too."
He reached out and took her hand. "That doesn't make you weak, Lark."
"Can I ask you a question about all this? About The Refuge? The people?"
"Sure."
"What makes this place so special to you?" Lark asked. "Outside of what you've told me about how it helped reconcile your childhood and some of the missions that have blown up."
Kawan smiled. "It keeps me centered. Henley, all the others here, they remind me that breathing isn’t a curse.
That while Kim’s, Sarah’s, and that precious baby’s death, will always a part of who I am, it doesn’t have to be what defines me.
I’ll always miss them. I’ll probably always have some guilt and continue to hold on to some blame.
But it doesn’t have to be the thing that destroys the person they all helped me become. "
"I can tell you all respect Brick and his men in ways you don’t others outside of your team."
"Brick and everyone here have been through something that changed them. But it goes deeper than needing to get our heads on straight so we can continue this crazy life we live. It's about balance. About learning to find peace with past while never forgetting how it shaped us."
She tugged her hand away, adjusted her messy ponytail, then dropped her hand in her lap, rubbing it against her thigh. A habit she had when she didn't have that damn stress ball.
"Your softer side shocked me when we first met."
"Not to sound like a broken record, but having feelings doesn't make someone weak."
"I never said it does. Just saying that most men I know in this world are full of brawn and macho ego. You manage to be all that while being soft and mushy. It throws me."
"Why?"
"I don't know. I suppose because I'm not used to it."
He laughed but there was no humor in it. "Or is it because having someone who cares—really cares—makes you uncomfortable?"
"Sounds like you're still holding a grudge."
"Not exactly, but I'm not afraid to say it hurt when you left and then refused to take my calls." The scenery slowly changed from wide open spaces to small town. In some ways, it reminded him of Central New York—if his hometown had mountains instead of rolling hills.
"What I don't understand is why you ruined a perfectly good thing by tossing around the L word. We had no strings. We saw each other whenever it worked. It was private, between us. We didn't have to explain ourselves to anyone. It was easy. And with three little words, you destroyed it."
His fingers curled tight around the wheel. "So, us sharing a bed again is nothing but sex. You're using me for a moment."
"I'm not using you. That's not how I meant it."
"Maybe not, but that's what you’ve reduced it to." He slowed as they approached the center of town. "You remember that shit box Jeep we rented in Mali?"
Lark snorted. "The one with the steering wheel duct-taped on? Or the one missing a floorboard with spiders nesting in the dash?"
"I think that was all one Jeep."
"You made me drive it."
"You insisted."
"Only because it was stick and you were still healing from being shot in the shoulder." She finally looked at him, eyes crinkling just enough to soften the shadows that hadn't left since the ambush. "You were forced to take three weeks off after they discharged you from the hospital."
"I did a week at The Refuge and then chased you down. We spent ten days together."
They shared a look. A flicker of ease. A memory wrapped in sunburn and chaos.
"You wouldn't let me do anything," he said softly. "You did all the heavy lifting during that time."
"You were injured, I wasn't."
"So, it wasn't because you cared?" he asked, as he pulled into a small grocery store. It wasn't much—an old building with a cracked vending machine and a single gas pump from the last century. But it was stocked. And quiet. And reminded him of so many things left unsaid.
"Of course I cared—do care—that's not the point. But I don't have time for the big L or—"
"You can't even say the word... love, can you?
" Fuck. Two years, and she still treated the word like a live grenade.
Like if she said it out loud, the whole world would detonate.
Maybe hers would. But his already had—the morning he woke up alone in Key West with nothing but rumpled sheets and the taste of her goodbye on his lips.
He shook his head as he slipped from the SUV, meeting her on the other side.
Raising his hand, he tucked a piece of stray hair behind her ear.
"I always find it amusing that the team thinks there isn't a woman on the planet who can tame me. "
She cocked her head. "They really don't know about all the times we saw each other?"
"Jupiter knows some. I suppose Thor might suspect. But no." He traced her jawline. "Nothing about how I feel about you has changed. But I have, and I'm not going to give up on you so easily this time." He turned, opened the door, and snagged a basket.
He strolled through the grocery store, snagging a few of his favorites and some things he knew Lark would enjoy. Lark browsed, grabbing only items for Specs.
As they wandered through the limited selection, they didn't talk much. At checkout, she leaned on the counter and studied him. "Is this some kind of domestic fantasy? You, me, snacks, and some time to kill? Is a movie date with shared popcorn and a soda with a single straw next?"
This—groceries, snacks, the mundane shit most people took for granted—this was what he wanted with her. Not just the adrenaline and the sex and the missions. The boring, everyday moments that meant someone gave a damn whether you ate breakfast. "Only if you let me pick the movie."
"Absolutely not. Last time that happened, I ended up watching some stupid chick flick wrapped in romantic action that made me want to barf."
"That was a great movie. And I'll agree to let you pick something on streaming tonight, but no horror and definitely no clowns."
"That's no fun."
Back in the car, she kicked off her boots and curled one leg underneath her. For a few moments, the hum of the tires and the weight of dusk settled around them like a blanket. Then her phone buzzed.
She didn't move to answer it.
Buzzed again. She glanced down, and he saw her jaw tighten.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"Lorre."
"You gonna take it?"
"Can't avoid him forever." She swiped to answer, tapping the speaker button. "Colonel."
"Where the hell are you, and why haven't I gotten the AAR yet?"
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "We're working on it."
"That's not good enough. I don't know what you're trying to pull or how you got Grady to sign off on letting you leave Texas, but I need your report. I need Specs' equipment. I need everything so I can find the missing AI. Senatrix is on my ass, not to mention the DoD."
She shifted, catching Kawan's gaze. "Grady is part of the DoD." She winced. Never a good idea to push Lorre when he was in this foul of a mood.
"Lark, send me your coordinates so I can send someone to pick up what I need."
"Sorry, I can't do that."
Kawan held up his hand to his neck, giving the cut signal with a slicing gesture.
"Gotta run," she said, ending the call. "He's wound tighter than I am, and even I can admit that's hard to do."
Kawan checked the mirror. The lines between his brows deepened. "We've got company. Been tailing us since that call."
Lark snapped her gaze from her phone to the side mirror. "That black Charger? I noticed it at the grocery store."
"Not necessarily suspicious, but it makes me squirrelly."
She twisted in her seat, watching the low-slung muscle car hug the center line. "Coming up fast."
"I can see that."