CHAPTER 21
Special K
I’m in the shed, unloading the last few things from my pickup into the trailer. When I begin tightening down the bungee cords, Cal steps through the double doors. He leans against the doorframe and takes a deep breath.
“Time for a chat, little brother.”
I nod.
“Let’s start with Harper. What the hell’s she up to?”
I shake my head.
“She gave me the same spiel. Ready for a new challenge, yada, yada. But that can’t be the only reason for her visit. Did she say anything else to you?”
“She apologized. But I made sure she knows I’m not interested in apologies.”
Call pushes off from the doorframe and walks toward me.
“She wants you back.”
I laugh. “I don’t give a shit what she wants.”
“Think about it. If she leaves the Navy, she doesn’t have to worry about the possibility of somebody dredging up what happened between the two of you.”
“Again, don’t give a shit.”
Cal checks out the supplies I’ve loaded in my truck to take up to the Ridge. He pats the side rail of the utility trailer. “What’re you doing, K? What’s going on with the woman squatter?”
“Nothing.”
“It looks like you’re playing house with her. Only thing missing is a toaster.”
“I’m not much of a toast guy.”
Cal laughs but sobers up almost instantly. “What’s her story?” he asks.
I shrug. “No idea. Yet.”
“Hold up.” My big brother peers at me, trying to catch my eye. “You’re into this chick, aren’t you? Holy shit, K! I haven’t seen you into anyone since—”
“I don’t know her well enough to be into her.”
Cal gestures to the supplies. “Then why…?”
“Gotta go.” I double-check the hitch and climb into the Can-Am 700.
“How long will you be gone?”
“A few days. Tell the family whatever you want about where I am, but don’t tell them that I’m with her.”
“Damn, K. I never thought I’d live to see—”
I start up the engine, cutting him off. Quickly, I put some distance between me and Cal’s commentary. In the rearview mirror, I see him staring at me in shock.
It takes a bit longer than I expect to reach the cabin. The trailer’s heavy. But the trip gives me some time to let my mind settle.
In a way, I’m glad Harper showed up. Because now I know I’m over her. I know it without a doubt in my mind. There’s not a speck of attraction or interest left in me. No lingering “what-ifs” when it comes to our relationship.
All the questions that spun around in my head for years: What if I never got in trouble? What if she was willing to stand by me? What if I asked her to marry me and she said yes?
Gone. All of the questions. All of the doubt.
Dad raised me to be respectful of women, which is why I respect Harper for her dedication to national security and simply because she’s a fellow human being.
But she gets no more from me, ever again. Nothing more than any stranger on the street.
Yes, seeing her again gave me a flood of emotions: Nausea and anger, mostly. Looking at her again brought all the trauma back again, the endlessly hollow feeling that threatened to flatten me when I learned the truth. That she loved her job more than she ever loved me.
If she ever loved me in the first place.
I’ll never forget the moment I learned who Harper Dunn-Spence really was.
My JAG defense attorney slipped a note to me from Harper.
I’d asked my lawyer to speak to her in person and let her know what had happened, what I’d been accused of.
When he did, she didn’t shed a tear. She was merely silent for a moment and then handwrote a short message on a sticky note and asked him to deliver it to me.
“I was sorry to hear what happened. Hang in there, K. I think it’s best if we go our separate ways.”
The electric company has sent me more compassionate letters than that. And on full-size letterhead, to boot. Never a sticky note.
Even my hard-ass lawyer looked embarrassed for me when he handed me the note. Sitting in the brig, the truth sinking in that I meant nothing to Harper, I felt the kind of pain I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
Getting shot has nothing on a coldhearted sticky note.
I crumbled the small piece of yellow paper in my fist, in shock at how one moment of rage had resulted in my whole life falling apart. Not just the brig and the pending trial. But my heart, too.
I fucked up.
No question about it. I fucked up royally.
I make no excuses for my actions, because no matter what, when the time came, I should have been able to pull back my rage.
I was trained to pull back. I knew there were other ways to deal with the situation, even something as horrific as what I stumbled upon.
Justice needed to be served, absolutely no question about that. But it shouldn’t have come the way I served it up. And not by a one-man loose cannon.
I grip the steering wheel tightly as I drive up the ridge. Then I shut my eyes for an instant, dropping the curtain on the memory. No more. I’m done thinking about the past. There’s nothing I can do to change it.
I’m far more interested in the present.
And the woman in it.
I make it to the top of the ridge just as the sun starts to disappear behind the craggy edge of the Sierra Nevada range.
I find Boots sitting by a fire in the outdoor ring, forearms resting on her knees.
She’s wrapped in my sweater, and her cat is seated politely to her left, watching my approach. The handgun rests on a log nearby.
That’s smart.
I don’t know her. Don’t know a damned thing about her. She could very easily grab the firearm, aim, and shoot me. I don’t think she will, but if she did, I’d likely survive. I’ve survived everything else that’s come my way.
I cut the engine. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it yesterday,” I say. “Something unexpected came up at home, and I couldn’t get away.”
She pulls her gaze from the fire and stares blankly at me, still leaning over her knees. “You need to leave.” Her voice is flat. Resigned. “I don’t want whatever you’ve dragged up here because I’m not staying. Please go away and don’t come back.”