Zoe frowned. “I’m glad he had you then. I always wondered what happened to him after…you know. He seemed to spiral after she died.”
“He was very close to his sister—that was hard on him, on all of us actually.” His mind drifted back, engulfed in the sadness that had nearly consumed them back then. “Rosie was a good kid.”
“I remember,” she said. “She was in my grade, and the school brought in grief counselors and had a big of suicide prevention assembly.”
The two slipped into silence for a few minutes. Slipwick was a small town and tragedies like Rosie’s death were cataclysmic for everyone. Miles had worried a lot about Tobin back then, and with good reason—he had completely unraveled. If it wasn’t for the Marines, Miles was sure Tobin would have ended up in jail, or worse.
“Hey, I have to thank you.” Miles broke the silence.
She gave him a quizzical look. “For what?”
“My dad.” He offered a sheepish smile, wanting to convey his seriousness for a moment. “I’d been pretty worried about him while I was gone, but now I see he was in very capable hands.”
“He’s a wonderful man.” She leaned back in her chair, nodding graciously. “I’ve enjoyed working here.”
“He is, but still, thank you,” he repeated, then took a few more swigs from the significantly lighter whiskey bottle.
Zoe shot a pointed glance at the bottle. He hoped she wasn’t going to kill his buzz with a lecture. Her jaw tensed, Zoe sighed loudly.
Miles cocked his head to the side. “Everything okay?”
“I’m going back to sleep.” She stood, stretching—her jaw still tense.
He didn’t miss the sudden change in her tone, a new iciness there he hadn’t expected her to even be capable of. Miles grabbed the porch door, holding it open for her. “I probably should, too.”
She tilted her chin up again, walking past him. “Good.”
Something must have tripped her, or she stepped funny, because she stumbled to the side, and Miles reached out to grab her, his hands on her waist, steadying her. “You okay? Had a few too many to drink?”
She cleared her throat and shifted away, shooting an annoyed look at the whiskey bottle tucked under his arm. “You’re one to talk.”
His grin widened. She didn’t look nearly as tough as she was trying to seem. “Feisty. I like it.”
She rolled her eyes and let out a soft huff as she marched into the kitchen, heading directly for the stairs to go to her room.
Miles watched her storm off and smiled, knowing he had gotten under her skin. He shut the porch door, locking it and placed the now-half-empty whiskey bottle on the counter, then headed upstairs.
As he reached the top step, he caught the last glimpse of Zoe disappearing into the guest room next to his. He passed her door before arriving at his. He wondered if he’d ever be able to sleep knowing she’s sleeping so close by.
Zoe stared at the wallpaper which stood between her and Miles. Just one wall. She’d stared at this wall on many a sleepless night in the last six months, and yet it meant something entirely different tonight.
When she’d stumbled and he caught her, her skin had burned under his fingers. His scent had wrapped itself around her, lingering still as it intruded into her thoughts, keeping her awake with the memory of his strong hands on her.
He’d been flirting with her. Maybe not right at that moment, but at several points during their short talk, he’d flirted with her. She was sure of it. Town hero, strong Marine, Prom King, star quarterback of her high school—flirting with her.
Zoe turned on her side, pulling the covers up to her shoulders and twisting it in her hands, cuddling tightly into its warmth. He was different than she remembered—complexity bubbling beneath his breathtaking smile and dazzling blue eyes. He was darker, deeper, and there was a pain in him called out to the nurse in her.
The impulse to rush across the deck and plant her lips on his—the one thing she’d always dreamed of during high school when she and every other girl back then had crushed on him—had been all she could think about.
Until she saw how much was missing from the whiskey bottle.
His eyes had borne the hazy look of intoxication by the time they headed inside, and she’d barely been able to hide her irritation. A couple drinks, fine—hell, she’d even join. But most of the bottle? She couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling in her gut, nervous reminders of her past.
Was Miles drinking away his memories from his time in the service? Or did he have a drinking problem? She was afraid either answer wouldn’t make her feel better.
She needed to stay far, far away from him for her own sake. No way would she walk blindly down that road again. Plus, she loved this job, and wasn’t about to risk complicating things by dating her patient’s son.
Her life had been complicated enough. In fact, moving back to Slipwick had been to recoup and relax from all those complications. When Walter had offered her a room to live in even though she was only scheduled with him during the weekdays, she’d been so grateful because it was way beyond her duties as a nurse, but small towns like this had a comfort and familiarity she’d never found anywhere else. He’d wanted the company, and she’d needed a place away from…everyone. This home on the lake had been a huge help to her own personal recovery from everything she’d been through, and she wasn’t going to risk losing it.
Toying with her necklace, she closed her eyes and pressed her head deeper into the pillow. Miles Kydd was a complication, and he was off limits.
Decision made.
5
Miles cracked open one eye and glared at the ceiling, his skull pounding and throbbing with every beat of his heart. He sat up slowly, feeling slightly dizzy and achy. I’m never drinking again.
He rubbed his temples and looked around his bedroom, the fuzziness in his brain clearing. The pounding in his head was still on full speed, so he dropped his head back on the pillow in an attempt to ignore the sound until the banging passed.
“Miles!” A muffled voice called loudly from outside his bedroom door, and the pounding increased. “Hello!”
That explains the banging. Miles hopped out of bed, steadying himself for a moment. He flung open his door and stepped out, almost colliding with Zoe who was standing there. “Uh, good morning.”
“Jesus, you sleep like the dead.” Zoe exhaled with a loud huff, her hands on her hips. “I’ve been trying to wake you up for forever.”
“Forever?” Miles’s lips twitched. “That’s not an exaggeration at all.”
Zoe shrugged. “Well, it might not have been forever, but still.”
Miles was craving going back to bed, his body exhausted, and he still had no clue why she woke him. “Is there a reason you keep disturbing my sleep?”
“Hey, I didn’t wake you last night,” she reminded him.
He lifted one brow, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe. “You didn’t make it easier to sleep either.”
She cleared her throat, her cheeks flushing. “Um, well, anyways…you have a phone call, and it sounded urgent.” Spinning on her heel, she headed down the hall.
Curious as to who might be calling him who didn’t have his cell phone or who knew he was home yet, Miles followed her lead. The main phone in the house was hanging off the kitchen wall, attached by an old school spiral cord, so he followed her to the kitchen where she began spooning scrambled eggs onto his father’s plate. Miles’s mouth watered at the smell, but he went to pick up the phone sitting off the hook on the counter instead.
“Hello?” Miles said into the receiver.
“Miles, that you?” a familiar male voice rang out through the line.
Miles pushed his hands down over his eyes, still trying to force away his headache. “Yeah, who’s this?”
“Yo, guys, it’s my buddy, Miles!” the caller said to a lot of undecipherable background noise.
“Tobin?”
“Hey, listen, I need a favor, man.” Tobin’s
words were slurred and his voice was giddy, every other word followed by inexplicable laughter.
Miles rolled his eyes, immediately aware his friend was drunk. A glance at the clock on the kitchen wall over where Walter was sitting revealed it was eight in the morning. “Tobin, what the hell are you doing drunk this early?”
“Whoa, whoa, hold the judgment, Miles. I need you to come get me. I don’t know what happened, but this isn’t my house.” Tobin burst into gales of laughter, and the phone made some rustling sounds.
“Miles Kydd?” A stern, deep voice came over the line.
“Yes?”
“This is Deputy Thompson. Your friend, Tobin Leach, is in our drunk tank facing a disorderly charge,” the deputy explained. “Seeing as how you boys just got back from defending our country, I’m willing to drop it this one time, but only if you come get him now.”
Miles let his head fall back slightly, sighing and closing his eyes. “I’m very sorry about him, Deputy. I’m on my way.”
“Yes, well, hurry. He’s annoying the piss out of everyone here.”
The line went dead.
“Everything all right, son?” Walter looked up from a big bite of a warm, homemade biscuit.
Miles shrugged, salivating at the food.
“Want something to eat?” Zoe asked.
“Yes, but later.” Miles sighed again. “I have to go get Tobin.”
Miles returned to his room and quickly threw on dark jeans and an old military shirt which hugged his upper body perfectly. He only had boots, but managed to find an old pair of sneakers in his closet. Finally dressed, he headed down to the foyer and opened the bureau to find the keys to Sabrina, the Camaro.
Zoe walked into the room and held out a biscuit sandwich stuffed with eggs and bacon and wrapped in a piece of paper towel. “Here, I know you’re in a rush.”
Miles looked down at the food as she pushed it into his hands, his mouth falling open in surprise. “Wow, thank you. That’s really nice of you.”
She shrugged, giving him a small smile and walking back to the kitchen.
Miles let himself out the front door, taking a bite of the sandwich on his way down the front steps, his mouth exploding with the flavors of her home-cooked meal—nothing like the army food he had become used to. Miles groaned to himself as he slid into the front seat of the car and started the engine.
This woman is going to be trouble.
“Thanks, Deputy Thompson.” Miles patted the older gentleman on the shoulder. “I really appreciate this.”
“Well, I appreciate all you boys did for our country.” The deputy adjusted the waistband of his pants, pulling them up slightly as his heavy utility belt weighted it down.
Miles didn’t say anything, instead giving a polite smile, glancing behind the deputy to try and spot Tobin.
“I’ll go get him for you. Go on up front and chat with the officer at the desk. He’ll have you sign some paperwork,” Thompson explained, turning on his heels and heading back to the holding area.
Only a few minutes passed before he reappeared, tugging Tobin along beside him.
“Hey, Miles!” Tobin had a wide grin plastered on his face, stumbling slightly as he walked toward him, his army bag over his shoulder. He wore the same clothes he’d had on yesterday when they’d parted. Tobin threw himself at Miles, giving him an awkward hug. “Thanks for coming to get me, Miles. Deputy, did you meet my friend Miles here? Best guy around, and the best damn Marine out there—brave as fuck, I swear. You should have seen the things this guy did over there—fearless.” Tobin hiccupped slightly, draping an arm over Miles shoulder and leaning on him.
Miles pulled Tobin’s arm from his shoulder, rolling his eyes at his friend’s inebriated state. “Thanks again, Deputy Thompson. I’ll get him home now.”
“Not my home,” Tobin disagreed, his words slurring a bit. “That dear ol’ mom of mine must have moved, didn’t bother to tell me.”
Miles’s eyes flickered to his friend, then back to the worried look on Deputy Thompson’s face. Tobin’s mother tended to bounce around every few years to a new apartment, but never went too far outside of Slipwick. “Well, if I can’t find her, we’ll go to my house.”
Tobin lifted his shoulders then dropped them so quickly he tilted over with the impact and had to catch himself from falling. “The lake house is more like my real home anyway.”
Miles said goodbye and another thank you, then guided Tobin out the front door. Tobin followed a few feet behind, glancing up at Miles every few seconds but saying nothing. Miles pointed to his car and both men walked in its direction.
“Sabrinaaaaaa,” Tobin sang out his recognition of Walter’s Camaro. “Damn, I missed this car.” Tobin dropped into the passenger seat and shoved his bags over his shoulder into the back.
Climbing into the driver’s seat, Miles pulled out his phone and did a few online searches for Tobin’s mother’s new address. Not finding anything there, he made a few calls to contacts who could find it for him and finally came up with a new address. “Got it.”
“Glad it was so damn easy for you,” Tobin said, a new animosity underneath his voice.
Miles waited to say anything until he’d pulled out of the parking lot. “What the hell is going on with you, man? We haven’t even been home twenty-four hours and you’re drunk? You could have found out your mom’s address the same as I did.”
Tobin didn’t say anything, staring out the window.
“Tobin, seriously, what’s going on?” Miles pried again, turning onto the main street in town. “You’re worrying me, man.”
Tobin exhaled slowly. “I just wanted a drink, Miles. Didn’t you?”
Miles thought about last night, chewing on the inside of his cheek for a moment.
“Everything here is fine,” Tobin continued, gesturing out the car window to the greenery around them. “Like it always was. Safe. But in here?” Tobin pointed at his own head. “Everything’s different. What we did…it made me different.”
“Tobin,” Miles started, understanding exactly what his friend was saying, but wanting to comfort him nonetheless.
Tobin shook his head. “I just don’t feel like I belong here, man.”
“It’s been less than a day, man. Give it time.” At least that’s what Miles had been telling himself.
“Yeah,” Tobin replied slowly. “Time.”
Tobin’s mother’s new apartment was only a few minutes away on the outskirts of town, the opposite direction from Lake Arthur and Miles’s house. He pulled against the curb in front of a rundown duplex, a simple one-story, pale yellow dwelling with tarnished green shutters and a slanted porch shared by two front doors.
A woman opened one of the two front doors wearing a short robe which barely covered her pale, veiny legs. The sleeves pushed up, lanky arms with track marks clearly displayed crossed over her chest. Miles’s stomach churned as he realized this woman with wispy hair pulled into a messy bun was Tobin’s mother, Janice Leach.
She was laughing, a big grin splashed across her face as a man in an unbuttoned collared shirt, his suit jacket hung over his arm, stepped out behind her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out some cash, divvying out a few bills and dropping it in Janice’s waiting hand. Smacking her playfully on her ass, he said his goodbyes and took off in the direction of a car that looked too expensive for this neighborhood.
Miles’s jaw tightened, realizing what type of interaction they’d probably witnessed.
Tobin only sighed.
“Maybe you should come back to my place,” Miles offered, not liking what he was sending his friend into. “This looks like—”
“Drop it, Miles. Everything’s fine,” Tobin instructed as he climbed out of the car. Dipping his head back in, he nodded at Miles. “Thanks for the ride, Kydd.”
“No problem, man.” Miles watched his friend awkwardly embrace his mother before she moved to let him enter the house. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she barely seemed to
say more than two words, and she certainly wasn’t jumping up and down with excitement to see her son again.
He pulled the car away from the curb, more than ready to go home and take a shower. Something about being here, witnessing this…he felt dirty. He thought about turning back the car, demanding Tobin come home with him, but he knew his friend better than that.
They had never talked about the deep stuff—it went unsaid for years. Miles’s had always known a bit about Tobin’s home life and he always offered his home to Tobin during their childhood because he knew Tobin needed it, but still, they didn’t discuss why. They didn’t talk about pain.
They didn’t talk about Afghanistan.
6
Fifteen days, eleven hours, and forty-two minutes. Miles replayed the number of days in his head as he stared at the alarm clock by his bed, entranced by the neon-red numbers. He pulled the blanket over his right shoulder as he turned onto his side, jerking the pillow closer beneath him. But he continued to stare at the clock.
In a few minutes, it would ring and Monday would start, ending a weekend of booze and parties and a whole lot of doing nothing. His head ached even now as he waited until the last moment to get ready for work.
The alarm finally began shrieking, and he begrudgingly turned it off as he pulled his stiff body out of bed, swinging his legs to let his feet touch the cold floor. He looked back at his blankets, longingly, then sighed and got up, grabbing a shirt hanging from his closet door.
It had a logo on the back of a contracting company he’d started working for last week. The company had recently started a big project building a factory on the outskirts of town and hired a lot of local crew to help.
Luckily, his father was lifelong friends with the company’s owner, having spent a lifetime in construction himself. Though illness had forced Walter into early retirement, his name still carried a lot of weight in Slipwick.
Fully dressed, Miles headed downstairs, the overwhelming scent of smoke hitting his nostrils with each step. Fire.
Not A Hero: A Bad Boy Marine Romance Page 4
