Chapter 3
DUKE
Duke! Is this real?” Her voice cracks after I’ve collected our tickets and backstage passes in the lobby of the theater.
She whirls to face me, eyes huge, one hand pressed to her mouth as I lead her through an entrance that is plastered with posters of Izzy.
I have no fucking idea how Jake manages Izzy’s fame.
I grin, and satisfaction spreads through me at her reaction. “Surprise.”
“You got us Bella tickets? Bella?”
“Fifth row center.” I lead her to the seating area, where the lights are up but the roadies are working on the stage.
Before long, Izzy is launching into her opening number, the crowd surging forward like a wave.
Jake did me a solid with these seats. I knew Riley would love this, but seeing how charged and joyful she is?
I might be buying drinks for Jake for the rest of my damn life.
Riley stares at me. Her eyes are glassy, and for a second, I think she might cry. Then she throws her arms around my neck so hard I stumble back a step, her body crashing into mine, her face buried in my shoulder.
“You’re the best human being on the planet,” she whispers against my ear. Her breath is warm. My arms come up around her automatically, pulling her closer, and I relax at how she fits like she belongs there.
Then she pulls back, eyes bright with unshed tears, and turns to watch the show.
I watch her instead.
Riley sings along to every word, and I’m impressed at how she knows all the lyrics precisely. During the slow songs, tears streak down her cheeks, and she doesn’t wipe them away. She lets her emotions flow through her in an unguarded way that I’ve never been able to do.
I’ve seen combat and watched men die. But watching Riley Walsh cry over a love song means more to me than anything else. After seeing so much violence, helping Riley get over her shit stain of an ex-boyfriend, and smile again with pure joy on her face?
Ain’t nothing better in the world.
Backstage is a madhouse of crew members rushing past and equipment being broken down. Riley is gripping my hand so tight that my fingers are going numb.
Izzy spots us before I can flag her down. She breaks into a huge smile and crosses to us, pulling Riley into a hug like they’re old friends.
“You must be Riley!” She holds Riley at arm’s length, beaming. “I’ve heard all about you! I feel like I already know you. Where have you been hiding this cutie, Duke? Jake won’t say it, but he wishes you were stateside more.”
I nod. Sometimes I do, too, but I haven’t had anything or anyone who made me want to find the next stage of my life. I spot Jake across the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. I tilt my chin up at him and give him a thumbs-up.
“I’m such a huge fan,” Riley manages, her voice animated. “I can’t believe I’m actually meeting you.”
“Stop, you’re going to make me cry off all my stage makeup.” Izzy squeezes her hands. “And you’re gorgeous, by the way!”
Riley laughs and waves off the compliment, but I can see a shy smile on her face. “Oh, I’m a mess. I’ve been crying since the opening number. Duke didn’t even tell me he knew you! Is it awful if I ask for a selfie?”
“Babe, not at all! Jake!” she calls to her husband. “Could you help and take a few photos?”
“Of course, Iz,” he says, waiting while they pose between laughing like they’re long-lost best friends.
When Jake’s finished taking photos, Izzy pulls Riley toward a couch in the corner, already deep in conversation.
Jake materializes at my shoulder.
“Hey, man. I owe you. Big time. Riley loved the show.”
“No problem. Happy to help out.” He pauses and looks at me. “What’s going on with you two? I see how you’re looking at Riley. You look like you’ve got it bad.”
I don’t answer.
“That’s not a denial.”
I exhale slowly, watching Riley across the room. She’s laughing at something Izzy said, her whole face lighting up, and seeing her so ecstatic makes this whole trip worth it. Vegas is an expensive town, but I’ll always pay anything to see Riley happy and smiling like this.
“She just got out of a bad relationship,” I say. “She needs a friend right now. That’s what I’m being.”
Jake snorts. “Keep telling yourself that.” He claps me on the shoulder and heads toward his wife. “But for what it’s worth? The way she looks at you? That’s not how you look at a friend.”
I watch him go, his words echoing in my head. Then Riley catches my eye across the room and smiles, and longing cracks through my ribs like a fault line.
The definition of insane should be an image of the Vegas Strip at midnight. It’s louder and brighter than firefights I’ve been in, and I have to remind myself that I’m not deployed and we’re not at war here. The only thing we’re at war with is making our way through the noisy crowds.
Riley is electric beside me, riding the high of the concert, and we’re partying like teenagers.
She’s dragging me from bar to bar with her hand locked in mine, unable to stay in one place for very long because she wants to see everything.
Her palm is warm against my fingers, and I find myself never wanting to let go of her hand.
We end up at a dive off the main drag—sticky floors, cheap tequila, a jukebox playing 90s hits. This is more comfortable than all the glittering and neon-soaked hotels and bars on The Strip.
“Tequila!” Riley slaps the bar before I can object, holding up two fingers. “Two shots. No, four. We’re celebrating.”
“Celebrating what?”
“The best night of my life.” She grins at me, flushed and happy, and my heart clenches. “Thanks to you.”
The bartender slides four shot glasses across the bar, and I hand over my credit card. Riley hands me two and raises hers.
“To the best night ever!”
The tequila burns going down. I’m still grimacing when Riley orders another round.
“Riley—”
“Don’t you dare.” She points at me, mock-stern. “You’re not driving. We’re in Vegas. And I haven’t been this happy in months.” Her voice softens. “Maybe years. You’re making me forget I have a broken heart on Valentine’s Day. Let go and have fun! You can’t say no to me!”
No. No, I cannot.
Somewhere around shot four, she grabs my hand and drags me onto the tiny dance floor. The jukebox is playing some ‘90s song I vaguely recognize, and Riley is already moving, hips swaying, arms in the air.
“I don’t dance,” I tell her.
“So help me, Duke. Tonight you do.”
She pulls at my arms until I give in, letting her position my hands on her waist. She’s warm through the thin fabric of her dress, the curve of her hip fitting perfectly against my palm.
My pulse kicks up. She drapes her arms over my shoulders and sways into me, close enough that I can smell her coconut shampoo over the bar’s haze of beer and cigarettes.
“See? Not so bad.”
I grunt. It’s all I can manage with her this close. With her body moving against mine, every rational thought I’ve ever had disappears like smoke.
We’re barely moving—more of a shuffle than a dance—but I don’t care.
Her body is pressed against mine, her head tipped back, her eyes bright with tequila and joy.
The song changes to something slower. Riley moves closer, her cheek resting against my chest, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of my neck.
“Duke?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re the only good man I know.”
My heart pounds. Her words are soft, almost lost in the noise of the bar.
But I hear them, and something in my chest both tightens and expands.
What would it be like to pull her closer?
Kiss her like I was lucky to be with a woman like her?
I shake my head, wondering where this desire is coming from.
Am I drunk? It’s been a while since I got laid, but I’ve never felt like this with Riley before.
She’s always been my best friend, my constant.
“That’s not true,” I manage.
“It is.” She looks up at me, and her eyes are serious beneath the tequila haze.
“Jeremy made me feel like loving things was stupid. Like I was never enough.” She shakes her head.
“But you remembered I love Bella. You. Remembered! And you made it happen, and you—” Her voice breaks.
“You make me feel like the things I love matter. Like I matter.”
My throat tightens. “You matter,” I say. “More than you know.”
The smile she gives me is devastating. Then she raises her shot glass and says, “To us.”
Her eyes are bright, and I know she doesn’t mean it the way I want her to. She means us—two ride-or-die best friends and partners in crime who’ve had each other’s backs since high school.
“To us,” I echo, and drink.
For the first time in months, I stop thinking about deployment. The only thought running through my mind is: When did Riley get so fucking sexy?