by Laura Kaye
Marco dragged his gaze from his manager to Alyssa, and guilt flooded his stomach when she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah, we did. Lot of good times, too,” he added, hoping she’d take the olive branch and look at him again. It worked, but he almost wished it hadn’t. Those deep browns had lost the sparkle that had made them so pretty when she’d greeted him before.
Pretty?
Oh, goddammit.
All at once, he saw her through new eyes. And what he saw very particularly wasn’t a little girl. Not anymore. She might’ve been small in stature, but between the long chocolate waves of her hair, the way her V-neck shirt shaped over her breasts, and how those damn jeans hugged her, there was no safe place to look and not think woman. And it was a short trip from that thought to wondering how she would feel under his hands, in his arms. He was a man, after all. A man who had been without the pleasure of a woman these long months while he fought tooth and nail to get back to a shadow of his old self.
But the beautiful girl, er, woman standing before him wasn’t just any woman. She was his best friend’s little sister. Strictly off-limits. That was guy code 101.
And even if she weren’t, it wouldn’t be fair of him to expect anyone to shoulder the big pile of screwed-up he’d become, especially someone just starting out in the world like Alyssa.
“So,” she said, turning away from him again, “would you like me to finish the employee manual or…”
“Yeah,” Pete said. “Go ahead and do that and let me know when you’re done. I’ll answer any questions you have, then give you the ten-cent tour. Oh, and I need to make a copy of your driver’s license for proof of age.”
“Sure.” She bent and retrieved her purse from the floor.
Marco barely restrained a groan. Those jeans were going to be the death of him. “I, uh…” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m gonna get back to inventorying.” He crossed the room, seeing the box that had brought him in here looking for Pete in the first place. “Oh, and this case wasn’t on the list.”
“Just leave it there,” his manager called. “I’ll look at it after I’m done here.” Pete accepted the license from Alyssa and she returned to the seat where Marco had first seen her.
Marco retreated to the barroom, stepped around the boxes he had scattered on the floor behind the long bar, and retrieved his clipboard. On a sigh, he dropped it with a clatter to the lacquered surface and braced his hands against the edge.
When he’d first walked into the dining room, he’d been so surprised to find someone sitting there, he hadn’t realized who it was. And then she’d looked so much older than the last time he’d seen her two Christmases ago that it took his brain a moment to connect the dots.
Older, but still too innocent, especially for this place.
He stifled a groan and threw himself back into counting and stocking bottles of wine, beer, and liquor. But his mind kept returning to the too-cute-for-her-own-good brunette sitting just around the corner.
Why had she come back to Frederick? It wasn’t like she had family here. Brady was still in the Special Forces, deployed God knew where, and Marco had only run into Joseph Scott once since he’d returned to town. Their father hadn’t changed one iota as far as he could see. He might’ve felt sorry for the guy if he hadn’t seen firsthand how Joe’s heartbreak over his wife’s death had hurt his kids, literally. Brady and Alyssa had shown up at his house with more than one bruise or cut over the years. He sincerely hoped she wasn’t planning to visit the old man.
Marco crouched down and sliced the blade of the utility knife along the seam of the next box.
The Scotts’ experience, wanting to stand up for other people who couldn’t stand up for themselves—that’s what made him want to join the military. Now who did he stand up for?
“Aw, hell.” A headache flared up under his left ear. He sank to his knees and closed his eyes, concentrating on the breathing exercises he’d been taught. In for two. Out for two. Over and over until his head stopped swimming. Opening his eyes, he found himself kneading at his left arm, the one that had been torn apart from bicep to wrist by a booby-trapped explosive he barely remembered. Surgeons had rebuilt his arm as good as could be expected, especially since the nerve damage was so extensive they’d initially doubted he’d have coordinated use of his hand, but the tendon transplant never healed right. His fingers remained weak, and his elbow was stiff as hell.
But the shit with his brain was worse. It blanked out a big spot in his memory and tormented him with haunting nightmares and frustrating apraxia, the occasional inability to say a word and communicate his thoughts. And surgeons didn’t have a fix for those.
All of which gave him a one-way ticket to separation and retirement.
Do not pass go.
Do not collect two hundred dollars.
Marco ripped the box open and removed the bottles, lining them up next to him. Seeing Alyssa again made him feel trapped between two worlds but not fully a part of either. In those few short moments they’d spoken, her very presence had pulled him back in time to when he knew who he was and what he wanted. When he believed he could do or be anything.
And then she’d said how glad she was that he was home, and it was like a sucker punch to the gut—because all he’d wanted for ten long months was to be back out there, doing what he’d trained to do. Which was never going to happen.
Letting go of that man and those dreams… He’d never find his way to being okay with that.
On a curse, Marco tossed the empty box behind him.
This right here was the problem. Twenty minutes of Alyssa’s presence had him all up in his head, thinking about things he really didn’t want to be thinking about. Stack. Count. Beer. Wine. On tap. By the bottle. Red. White. These were the thoughts he could handle. These were the thoughts he wanted to handle.
Not how he could barely stand the sight of his own reflection.
Not how he’d succumbed to the pain and weakness.
Not how every fucking thing had changed.
And sure as hell not how three deaths lay at his feet.
Hands pounded a rhythm on the bar top. “Hey, lunch break?”
Marco spun on his heel and darted up, braced for battle. His knee smacked into the neck of a bottle sticking out of the recycle bin on the floor beside him. Like an avalanche, the bottle and two others careened over the edge. He flinched at the crash and spray of glass. “Shit. Sorry,” he said, looking sideways at Pete on the far side of the bar.
“No worries, kid. I’ll grab the broom.”
Marco started collecting the big pieces, heart racing ridiculously in his chest, and tossed them one by one into the bin. If this was what her presence was going to do to him, he’d rather she—
“Here, I’ll help.” Alyssa crouched in front of him, reaching around a box to retrieve a shard.
“Don’t,” he snapped.
She jerked back.
Marco clenched his fists, hating his jumpiness, his short-fused temper, his loss of control. “Why are you here?”
Alyssa brushed her hands on her thighs as she stood, then retreated from behind the bar.
He rose and faced her. She eyed him like he was an unpredictable animal. Good. “I just meant, what are you doing now? Why are you still in the bar?” He pressed his fingers into his temple. “I know Pete has you doing…” The word paperwork sat clear as day in his speech center but couldn’t find its way to his lips. He swallowed a lump in his throat. “So I didn’t think…” Damn, he couldn’t even manage to talk to her, could he? He raked a hand through his hair and sighed.
Alyssa wrapped her arms around herself. “Pete invited me to have lunch with some of the other employees so I’d be able to recommend things on the menu. Since I’m here and all.”
Pete stepped back into the bar area, a cell phone pressed to his ear and a broom in his free hand. “Why don’t you show Alyssa to the break room?” he whispered to Marco. “I’ll get this.”
Wiping his h
ands on a bar rag, Marco nodded. “This way.” An awkward silence weighed heavily on him as he led them through a series of halls to the break room located near the kitchen. Guilt and a ten-months-old sense of failure made his gut clench. He could at least try to make small talk, couldn’t he? “Heard from Brady?”
Alyssa looked at him, her brown eyes wide and uncertain. “He called the day I graduated. From somewhere. He sounded okay.”
What Marco wouldn’t give to be out there with him. But that life was done and over, and he had no one to blame but himself. “Good.”
“Yeah.”
Hell. He needed to fix this. Brady might’ve been his best friend, but Alyssa was still one of his oldest friends. He hated this awkwardness between them. “Still playing the guitar?”
She tucked a thick curl behind her ear. “Yeah, actually. And Brady sent me a new one for graduation. Wait till you see it.”
He loved that she was still into something he’d taught her years ago but hated himself a little more for not having sent something himself. Damn. “My little Aly-girl, a college graduate. Hard to believe.”
She rolled her eyes, but her lips held the hint of a smile.
They walked into the break room and found a table of food and three guys already digging in. Everyone looked up from their plates and their collective surprise at his appearance in the break room was nearly a tangible thing. Making friends hadn’t exactly been his main objective. Then the men’s attention shifted and everyone gave Alyssa an appraising glance that made Marco want to put his arm around her. Was the V-neck cut of her shirt a little low or was it just him? He just barely resisted the protective gesture and instead forced himself to make introductions. “Guys, this is Alyssa Scott. Pete just hired her as a new waitress. Alyssa, this is Tommy, Eric, and Van.”
She grasped the back of the chair next to Eric. “Hey.” Eric rose and gestured to the chair. She stepped away and he pulled it out for her, both of their cheeks pinking as she sat.
Marco eyeballed Eric, groaning internally as he saw the awe settling onto the younger man’s face. Fucking perfect.
“Thanks,” she said. “So…what’s good?”
“Everything,” Van said, passing her a mixed plate of appetizers. “But then I’m biased.”
“Why’s that?” she asked as she accepted the plate.
“Because I’m the chef.” He winked at her.
She grinned. “That either means your opinion should receive extra weight or none at all.” She looked at the other guys. “Which is it?”
Her question hung in the air a moment, and then everyone started laughing and ribbing Van in turn.
It was totally amazing to watch, but Alyssa’s willingness to jump right into the fray with this group of men who had known one another for a long time broke the ice, and the food and conversation flowed freely afterward. She asked them about their jobs at Whiskey’s and answered their questions in return—much more comfortably than she’d answered his, he noticed regretfully. Pete finally joined them and her thoughtful questions about how the business worked clearly won him over. She treated Van’s dry humor, which put some people off, like a challenge, until it almost seemed they were in a competition of one-upmanship that had everyone chuckling and eyeing her in a new way—including him.
Who was this confident, quick-witted woman?
The Alyssa he knew was shy, reserved, often timid and uncertain—exactly what she’d had to be to survive in her father’s house. Pride flowed through him that she’d achieved this transformation once she’d escaped the abuse, but his gut also twisted. He’d seen a little of that old Alyssa out by the bar when he snapped at her.
Part of him wanted to pull her out of the room to apologize. Part of him said this was exactly why he was no good for her right now. For anyone.
Just one more piece of evidence he wasn’t any goddamn hero.
He pushed his plate away.
Alyssa wiped her mouth and dropped her napkin to her empty plate. “Well, Chef, I have to give credit where it’s due. Everything was great, and I’m stuffed.”
Van grinned. “Pete has me put out a spread like this most days, so we’ll do it again soon.”
“I’ve never met free food I didn’t like, especially when it’s this good. So, I’ll be here as much as Pete puts me on the schedule. You’ll be sick of me in no time.”
“I doubt that,” Eric said in a quiet voice. He flinched the moment the words left his mouth, like he hadn’t meant to speak out loud. Marco cut his gaze to the other man and found himself again fighting the goddamn frustrating urge to lean to the right and drape his arm over Alyssa’s shoulders.
Pete stood. “Little lady, you can have as many shifts as you want. Like I said, I’m short-handed.”
Everyone else rose from the table, and Alyssa pitched right in cleaning up, asking to be shown where the dirty dishes went.
“Come on, we’ll make this the first stop on that ten-cent tour I promised. It’s all very glamorous.”
Chuckling, Alyssa grabbed a stack of plates and utensils. “Great to meet you, guys. See you later.” She threw a small smile at Marco.
A chorus of good-byes sounded out as she left. Pete’s voice chattered down the hall as he bent Alyssa’s ear about the business.
Van rounded to Eric’s side of the table with a big shit-eating grin on his face, and smacked him on the shoulder. “Down, boy.”
Eric threw Van’s arm off and scowled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Van laughed. “Play it that way if you want, but maybe next time you should keep your tongue in your face.”
The two of them scuffled and fake-punched their way out the door, laughing and taunting as they went. Marco sat heavily against the edge of the table as that damn ache planted itself behind his ear once again.
Chapter Three
In the course of a few hours, Alyssa felt like she’d taken a giant step toward making her dreams come true. She’d landed a job where the pay was good, the work was interesting and busy enough to make the time pass quickly, and all the people she’d met so far were nice. The only thing that kept the day from being a total win was Marco’s hot-and-cold mood changes.
What the hell had happened to him? He’d been patronizing, snappish, and standoffish. None of those were traits she’d ever associated with the guy, and it made her sad to think something could’ve changed him so. There were still moments, though, when she saw the old Marco. The real Marco—she refused to believe anything else. She could’ve sworn he’d been happy when he first saw her, and he’d clearly been trying to make amends for his moodiness as he’d escorted her to lunch. Maybe it was just his surprise after such a long time apart?
Luckily, the rush of the dinner service and fun atmosphere that night’s local band created kept her from sitting idly and pondering on it. Just as the doors were to open for the six o’clock service, Pete had suggested she head home, citing the fact she’d been there since the morning, but she volunteered to stay. And since she had a pair of black jeans in her car that allowed her to comply with the black-and-white-uniform requirement, she figured it was better to learn the tricks of the trade so she could start waiting her own tables and making her own tips sooner. Besides, sleep was overrated, especially when you weren’t sure where you were sleeping.
“Thanks for letting me shadow you tonight, Kim. Hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience,” Alyssa said to the friendly older waitress she’d been assigned to for the night.
“No problem, sweetie. You were a help. It was busier than normal for a Thursday. People are out enjoying the nice weather, I expect.”
“Yeah. And that band was awesome,” Alyssa said. She’d never heard them before, but they’d had a fantastic energy and presence onstage.
“They cycle through here every couple months. It’s always great to see them.” Kim paused at a table and withdrew something from her apron. “Here. This is for you.”
Alyssa stared at the folded bills i
n Kim’s hand. “Oh, no. That’s yours.”
The woman grasped her palm and pressed the money into her fingers. “Like I said. You were a help. You brought drinks, delivered orders, and cleared plates. So it’s only fair. Besides, whenever you start a new job there’s always a little lag before you get your first check. And I figure, when you’re young, every bit helps.” Kim winked.
Alyssa blinked away the moisture suddenly filling her eyes, bowled over by Kim’s kindness. But, see? Things always worked out. Now, she only had to figure out how to get through the week until her first paycheck. She’d make it work somehow. “Thank you,” she said.
“Don’t you worry about it.”
The rest of the waitstaff had another hour of closing down to do, but Kim shooed Alyssa away after learning how long she’d been there. Alyssa made her way to the locker room, which was really a lounge with a row of small lockers for people to store their belongings during their shifts. Marco had loaned her a lock so she didn’t have to worry about her purse, and she’d been so glad. Losing the little money she had would be devastating. How sad was that?
Still, she calculated her day’s earnings in her head and knew she’d soon be in a much better place. And then there was what Kim had given her. In the privacy of the locker room, she counted—forty bucks! Feeling like she’d just won the lottery, she did a little jig right there in front of her locker.
And then the back of her neck flushed hot.
Don’t let it be Marco. Don’t let it be Marco.
He stood just inside the doorway to the lounge, watching her in a way that made her stomach flutter. “Were you just doing a happy dance?”
She smothered a groan and stuffed the money into her purse. “Maybe.”
“And?” He crossed to the locker two down from hers and worked at the combination on his lock.
This close, the scars marking his arm stood out in stark relief. She hated that he’d been hurt in equal measure to how relieved she felt that he was okay. “Someone did something nice for me, that’s all. It made me happy.”
