6. Chapter 6
Heath didn’t say a word. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t tease. Just ran a hand through his hair, grabbed his tools off the floor, and headed straight back to work.
He wasn’t going to be the reason this imploded.
Whatever this was. Maddie was Natalie’s best friend.
This house? A favor. And Natalie… was Natalie.
His sister. The one person who’d been through enough shit with him to recognize every damn mistake before he made it.
So no, he wasn’t sticking around for coffee and scones and casual chitchat while his fingerprints were still probably on Maddie’s hips.
He grabbed the drywall tape and compound from the hallway, boots heavy against the floor, and made a beeline for the front room where he’d left off.
Keep your head down. Do the job.
He didn’t look up when Natalie and Maddie’s voices drifted from the kitchen. Didn’t let himself focus on the sound of Maddie’s soft laughter or Natalie’s delighted gasp about “fresh coffee?” and “oh my God, are these real strawberries?” Nope. He was sanding drywall seams. That was it.
He worked in silence, letting the rhythm of it clear his head. Compound. Blade. Feather the edges. Repeat. There was comfort in the repetition, in the way it forced his focus into his hands and nowhere else.
Still, he caught bits and pieces.
Natalie asking how Maddie was doing, how the renovations were going.
Maddie sounding breezy—too breezy—saying Heath had everything handled. That he was efficient. Professional.
Professional. Right.
He scoffed under his breath and hit the wall a little harder than necessary.
By the time he’d finished taping the seams and hauling the next set of tools inside, the girls were laughing about something he couldn’t quite hear. Natalie’s voice was warm, familiar, and it clawed at something in his gut.
This was the part where he was supposed to stay. Be normal. Sit at the table and sip a second coffee while the women he cared about made small talk. But he couldn’t.
He wasn’t wired like that.
He didn’t belong in a kitchen full of sunlight and scones and easy laughter.
Not when his body still ached with the memory of Maddie’s hands.
Not when Natalie would take one look at him and know.
He packed up faster than necessary. Said a gruff goodbye. Told Maddie he’d be back Monday. Didn’t meet her eyes when he said it.
Didn’t say anything else.
And when he got in his truck, he didn’t even start it right away. Just sat there, palms on the steering wheel, heart thudding in that way it only did when something inside him was shifting.
* * * * *
Heath kicked his truck door shut with the heel of his boot, toolbox in one hand, cooler in the other.
The sun was already slanting low over Coronado, washing his driveway in amber light, the ocean breeze tugging loose curls from his hair.
He marched into his garage, set everything down on the workbench, rolled his shoulders, and stood for a minute, just thinking.
Today—what the fuck happened?
He shrugged out of his hoodie, hung it on the peg near the door, then turned to shelve the toolbox when something caught his eye—a box pushed behind the pressure washer, half-forgotten, sealed in black duct tape.
Fuck. She still hadn’t picked it up. He crouched and pulled it out.
Light. Labeled in her handwriting—“Heath.” But they weren’t his things.
They were hers. The stuff she’d left behind after the breakup.
He’d put them in that box for her. A few books.
A travel mug. A sleep shirt that still smelled faintly of lavender.
A framed photo of them on the pier when it was right.
He slid it back into the corner. Out of sight. Maybe he’d have to just throw the box out, if she didn’t want it.
Heath exhaled through his nose and leaned back against the bench, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. Whatever that thing was—it was love, but it wasn’t forever. It wasn’t meant to keep going. What he’d just done with Maddie? That hadn’t been casual.
He didn’t know what it was yet, but his hands were still shaking like he’d just come down from a high. That woman had scrambled something in him. Made him feel young and ancient all at once.
And now she was eating scones with his sister like nothing happened.
Christ.
* * * * *
By Monday, Heath was up before dawn, running the base perimeter twice before hitting the gym. A long lift. Deadlifts. Pull-ups. Rows. Cardio. The kind of workout that left him soaked in sweat and grounded in silence. Then into the office—briefings, medical prep, equipment logs.
He stayed busy. Focused. Efficient.
Didn’t check his phone. Didn’t think about her.
Much.
* * * * *
Tuesday, 1900. Heath sat at the long table in the team ready room, rolling gauze into tight coils while Adam Carrington, his older brother and eternal grump, scowled from across the room.
“You’re twitchy.”
Heath didn’t look up. “I’m fine.”
Adam grunted. “You only say that when you’re absolutely not fine.”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s the fourth time you’ve re-packed that kit. Either you’re avoiding something, or you finally snapped and decided to alphabetize our trauma gear.”
Heath bit the inside of his cheek. “Some of these seals were loose.”
“Bullshit.”
Adam leaned back in the chair, arms folded, giving him that older-brother look that said I know all your shit and I’m not buying any of it.
“Wanna talk about whatever’s eating you, or you wanna keep lying to the guy who once pulled a tooth out of your face in Afghanistan?”
Heath shot him a look. “You pulled it wrong.”
“You cried.”
“I was concussed.”
Adam smirked. “Still cried.”
Heath shook his head, rolling another gauze.
There was silence for a beat.
Then Adam said, “It’s a woman, isn’t it.”
Heath kept working. “She’s not the problem.”
“Yeah, they never are. Until they are.”
Heath didn’t respond. Didn’t need to. The tension in his jaw said plenty.
Adam stood with a grunt, slapping Heath’s shoulder as he passed. “You know where to find me. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Like what?”
“Like fall for someone with a fuck-ton of baggage and no exit strategy.”
Heath gave him a look. “You wanna talk? How’s that separation going?”
“Not going,” Adam said quick. Too quick.
And by Wednesday, 2030, Heath sat out back on his deck, legs stretched, beer in hand.
The ocean was a black sheet beyond the cliffs, and the breeze smelled like seawater and fish.
He’d worked a full day—ran drills, prepped med gear for the next round of trainees, supervised a few live fire simulations.
Still hadn’t heard from Maddie.
He hadn’t expected to.
And yet…
His phone sat screen-up beside him, untouched. Every time it buzzed, his chest tightened. Every time it didn’t, it felt worse.
He watched the stars. Drank the beer.
Then finally, with a low grunt, he stood, grabbed his med kit, and got back to work restocking it by hand.
Keep moving. Keep sharp. And maybe tomorrow… he’d call.