I didn’t want to die in country.
I didn’t want Sawyer, Travis, or Scott dying, either.
If I could only raise my gun one last time and eliminate the threat.
But things didn’t always work out the way we wanted them to. Barely registering the cease-fire and the orders being barked out over my earpiece, I finally toppled to the side as my eyes drooped shut. The last thing I saw were the lifeless blue eyes of Sawyer—an image that would forever haunt me.
It wasn’t meant to be like this. It was just a routine patrol.
Unable to hold on any longer, I let out one last, long sigh before everything went dark.
****
It was that time in the show again. Sweat trailed down the center of my back as the stage lights darkened, leaving a solitary spotlight on Marty, the band’s guitarist, and me. We’d had a great turnout tonight and the crowd simmered down, sensing the end was approaching. Just one more song—one last, bittersweet melody—and we could continue on with the traditional late night celebrations.
After yesterday’s nightmare, my emotions were still a little rough around the edges, and all I wanted to do was silence the memories with alcohol before burying myself into the nearest willing female. It’s what made this lifestyle perfect—the loudness of the music and the hype that surrounded it supported the adamant stance I’d taken since returning from Afghanistan.
If I didn’t feel, I couldn’t bleed.
Simple.
Hell, there were days I didn’t know how I kept breathing. Even after all this time.
Looking down at the two slightly drunk girls holding on to each other as they swayed back and forth, the decision was already made. I wasn’t opposed to sharing my attentions, and something told me they wouldn’t be, either. They were the remedy—what I needed to ease me back into the numbness I craved. A few hours with them, whiskey thrumming through my bloodstream, and I could lull myself back into blessed oblivion.
Back to where I was that naive kid who thought the world was all rainbows and damn butterflies.
Back to where I felt my soul wasn’t stained and broken.
“I hope everyone enjoyed themselves tonight,” I crooned softly into the microphone, winking at my choices for this evening. I tried not to laugh when the blonde turned to her brunette friend and whispered excitedly in her ear. It was beyond easy. Within minutes of the show being over, they’d both be waiting. Nodding at them and offering a sexy smile, I looked out over the packed bar. Another sold-out evening with standing room only. “We’re going to slow it down now. Thanks for coming.”
Releasing the microphone, I stepped away and took a swig from the tumbler of whiskey the bar had graciously provided. The sound of Marty’s guitar filled the air, hushing the crowd even further. The opening strain from Staind’s “Something To Remind You” always sent chills up my spine, even before I began singing the song I’d chosen as a tribute to my past.
With raw feelings still below the surface, there was no hesitation as I gripped the mic once more and closed my eyes. Each note filled me. The world faded away. It was just me up there on stage. As the words began to flow, the meaning of the tune unfolding, the same thought I had each and every time I performed this particular song appeared.
I’m sorry.
Chapter Two
Caylee
The red neon sign hanging over the window flickered briefly as I crossed the threshold into the darkened bar late Thursday night. The band had already begun, and there was no denying the high energy filling the room from the excited crowd. My roommate had been right about Damaged Souls. They were playing to a large audience, and I could immediately see why as my eye zeroed in on the guy standing center stage. Cupping the mic between his hands, the sexual tension that dripped from him was almost palpable.
Cooper.
The dark brown hair he’d styled into a faux hawk accented the sexy rock god image he had going. Nothing was contrived about his appearance, though—he didn’t have to force it. He practically exuded it as he continued to sing with a slight rasp to his voice. A faded pair of blue jeans hugged him tightly in all the right places, and his dog tags hung over his black T-shirt. Simple but deadly, judging from the way a small group of adoring women congregated at his feet.
He held the crowd in the palm of his hand, leaving them swaying back and forth to the music. There was a reason why the band was quickly rising in popularity and in such high demand. They were impressive, their talent apparent, and Cooper Hensley was a heady lure.
All around campus people talked about Damaged Souls, and standing here, witnessing it for myself, I could see why. I couldn’t keep my eyes away from the stage or my body from moving in time with the beat.
Remember why you’re here, I scolded myself, forcing my attention away from the seductive lead singer and back to the task at hand. I wasn’t prepared for the slight zing of attraction that penetrated my bruised heart. Even after all this time, I shied away from men, not wanting to surrender myself to love. That wasn’t what I was feeling as I reluctantly dragged my gaze away from Cooper.
I’d never lower my guard to feel that betraying emotion again. No, I wasn’t interested, but somehow, my body was slow to follow my heart’s lead. Shaking my head to dislodge the foolish thought of what it would be like to kiss the man I’d come to see, I blamed Rebecca for this sudden change.
Ever since we’d been paired as roommates, she’d quizzed me over my single status. It didn’t matter how many times I tried to explain my history with Cupid, she was relentless in her questions and prodding. She firmly believed that, sooner or later, I would need to enter into the dating scene again. It wasn’t until tears threatened to spill that she had backed off.
It was too soon. I wasn’t ready for anything more than simple friendship.
That was why I was here, a folded piece of paper in my pocket with the bar’s address on it. My heart may be unavailable, but I was still lonely and had questions of my own. Things I desperately wanted to know. I’d avoided this moment for too long, and even though it meant I was ripping open painful wounds, I was determined.
“Wounds can’t heal when they still fester,” I whispered softly.
I just needed to talk with Cooper Hensley so I could hopefully move on. That was one thing I hadn’t admitted to Rebecca the other night when she’d brought the flyer home about Damaged Souls performing. She thought I’d been ignoring all her helpful nudges. Secretly, I was beginning to agree with her. But it all started with baby steps.
Cooper Hensley would be the first of many.
From what I’d managed to learn about him, I wasn’t sure how receptive he’d be to my being here. The last time I’d seen him, grief had left a hollow, dead look in his eyes. The brief conversation we exchanged had been strained as he struggled to find the right words to share with me. I’d never known him to stutter, but standing there with blatant heartache etched across his face, we were both lost. In the end, all he could whisper was a soft “sorry”, his hand gently squeezing mine before letting it drop.
I should’ve stopped him, said something, anything. But my own pain was overwhelming. I watched him leave. That had been two years ago. A lot had obviously changed for us, but there was one thing I didn’t doubt. Not every war hero wanted the reminder of where they’d been and what they’d lived through. Some just wanted to be left alone with their memories.
Glancing back at the stage as Cooper launched the band into a new song, something told me he was one of those guys. It was just a hunch, but a powerful one. Almost as strong as the magnetic pull that kept drawing my attention back to him. A flutter stirred in the pit of my stomach, a sensation I hadn’t felt in a while. That flutter turned into a riot of butterflies when he scanned the room and our eyes briefly met. Electricity flared, but as quickly as it sparked, it fell away.
The petite blonde in front of me—her arms raised in the air, now held his attention, her midriff exposed as she danced on the spot. Cooper’s lips
curled into a sexy smile, obviously pleased with what he saw, and as his tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip briefly, there was a collective soft sigh from the nearby females—myself included. We were completely captured under his spell.
Embarrassed that I’d gotten caught up in the moment, I turned around and gestured for the bartender. Asking for some iced water, I focused instead on the facts and not the man. It didn’t matter what he looked like. My main priority was to talk to him—to get closure over Owen’s death. Nothing else.
I leaned against the bar, sipping my drink while I waited for the show to end. Studying the crowd, I watched the reactions of those who were evidently enjoying themselves. I tugged on the hem of my shirt, fidgeting with the material before smoothing out my skirt.
“Breathe, Caylee,” I murmured, swirling the remaining ice around in the bottom of my glass.
But none of my distraction methods worked. If it wasn’t his presence, Cooper’s voice beckoned me like a siren, demanding that my complete focus rest on him. It was as if he’d somehow stripped away my resistance and left me at his mercy. I became one with the crowd and he commanded our devotion. Giving into the inevitable, I reluctantly submitted.
Cooper Hensley had a gift. He’d rightfully earned every piece of praise fellow music lovers were spreading about him and his band.
A lone spotlight shining down on him, and I held my breath along with the crowd. I wasn’t prepared for the depth of emotion etched on his face or the sorrow that filled his voice. Goose bumps flared across my skin, my heart hurting as he closed his eyes and sung words of regret and pain. When he drew out the last note, his deep raspiness echoing over the now transfixed crowd, tears welled.
A collective exhale released once the haunting melody was over, the final strains from the guitar fading away. It was in that moment I understood why reports shared his fellow Marines had looked to him as a leader. The crowd now cheered, showing their appreciation, people already pushing forward to meet with the guy who’d entertained them. Whether it was serving his country or on a small stage, people would follow him, believe him. He’d not just given them a flawless performance, but he also had moved them.
Owen had been one of them. He’d sent letter after letter home to me, talking about how amazing his new friend was.
Owen loved Cooper as a brother, so it wasn’t a surprise when he’d reenlisted for another tour.
That fatal tour—the one that changed my universe and set it spinning.
Pushing away from the counter, I put aside the painful memories that threatened to take over and headed toward where he’d disappeared.
****
“Hey, sweetheart.” He smiled, his eyes twinkling as he looked me up and down. The strong waft of alcohol on his breath explained why there wasn’t the flash of recognition I’d expected. I knew I looked different from the last time he saw me at the banquet honoring Owen and his squad, but I’d hoped for something more than his flirtatious greeting. Something to make this easier.
It was hard not to get dazzled up close, suddenly self-conscious under his scrutiny. I’m sure other women were used to it, but no one had looked at me with such blatant interest in a long time. After waiting patiently for the crowd to ebb away, leaving him finally alone, I was ready to give him the small speech I’d been rehearsing.
“Hello,” I stammered before my voice firmed. “If I can have just a moment of your time?” I stuck out my hand for him to shake.
He looked at it with a soft chuckle. “You can have more than a few.” He stood up from the makeshift chair he’d been sitting on and moved closer, taking a mouthful of whatever was in his glass.
Time had definitely been good to him. He was a little rough around the edges, no longer the carefree young man Owen had sent photos home of, but there was no denying he held a certain kind of sex appeal. There was a reason why women had flocked backstage to beg for his attention.
“Call me Cooper.” Brushing his fingers through his hair, he offered a smile that did funny things to my insides. “Please tell me there’s something I can do for you.” He licked his lips, staring at my mouth before returning his attention back to my eyes.
It was disturbing how his words influenced me. “Is there somewhere we can go? I promise not to take too much of your time. Just a few minutes.”
Glancing around, he gestured toward a closed room that would afford us a little more privacy. “We can use the storage room, if you’d like. I can kick the other guys out so we can be alone.”
I ignored the way he made being alone with him sound seductive. I knew he was turning on the charm, flirting with me, and I fought the urge to blurt out why I was here. Something told me the second I mentioned Owen’s name, there would be no more come-hither looks, but I didn’t trust my own emotions. The last thing I wanted to do was created a public scene.
“There’s no need,” I added. “I mean, any place would do so we can talk without interruption.”
“You want to talk, huh?” My breath hitched as he picked up a loose strand of my hair and rubbed it gently between his fingers before releasing it. “Are you sure that’s how you want to spend those moments you’re asking for?” He inched closer, backing me up against the wall and placing his hand beside my head. “I can think of more . . . pleasurable things, sweetheart.”
This was spirally out of control fast. Placing my hands on his chest, I stopped him from leaning in, causing a spark of curiosity to cross his face. “I think you misunderstand my intentions, Mr. Hensley.” Switching to formalities was an intentional attempt to rein the situation back. “My name is Caylee Sawyer.”
“Caylee?” he whispered, staring at me like he’d seen a ghost. It was like night and day, the change was so swift. One minute, Cooper radiated sensuality, and now he wore a look of bewilderment and horror. He stumbled backward, glancing down at the hands he’d used to touch me as though they’d betrayed him. Without another word, he turned away, walking toward the door he’d pointed to earlier.
“Wait, I only need a few minutes of your time.”
He didn’t falter in his retreat. Now that he was offstage and away from the crowd, he walked with a slight limp, a reminder of his injury.
“Cooper.”
He froze, mid-step.
“Why are you here?” He sounded haunted, making it hard not to flinch when he finally faced me. It was difficult to imagine this was the same person from before. The grief-stricken visage from the banquet and award ceremony was back in full force, telling me everything I needed to know.
Obviously, I wasn’t the only one who hadn’t healed.
My heart ached for him.
For me.
For Owen.
I hadn’t thought about how my showing up would affect him. I’d assumed that he’d been able to move on because he was living it up as playing in a popular band. In my own selfish need for closure, I hadn’t even considered what dredging up the past would do to Owen’s best friend.
“I’m so sorry,” I stammered, my hand at my throat as tears filled my eyes. This was a huge mistake.
“Wait, don’t go.”
“I can’t. I’m just . . .” I didn’t get the chance to finish my sentence as two drunken girls rounded the corner and stopped, gaping at us.
Using the interruption as my way to escape, I didn’t hesitate. I ran.
It wasn’t until I was back in my car, the door quickly locked, that I realized the bitter truth. A conversation wasn’t needed to rip open the wounds of Owen’s death.
No, all it took was to see my own pain mirrored in Cooper’s eyes.
Chapter Three
Cooper
It wasn’t too late to turn around and leave. I wasn’t obligated to go searching for her, but something had drawn me here all the same.
Her eyes. Once I knew who she was, everything had clicked into place. For some reason, Owen’s wife had come to the bar to talk to me, and I’d panicked. I’d recognized the same demons that haunted me whether I was
awake or dreaming, and guilt had rooted me to the spot.
I should’ve run after Caylee, catching her before she disappeared into the night. But her eyes. Her eyes had brought back a flood of memories too painful to think clearly through.
Even after all this time, there was no ending to the shame I carried in my soul. It was why I knew I was damned.
Cursed or not, it hadn’t taken much effort to find out where she was staying. I’d expected to find the address Owen’s mother gave me over the phone to be for one of the many hotels here in Black Canyon. So when I pulled up to the curb of a small brick house, my curiosity got the better of me.
Why was she here? What did she want? Would she finally call me to judgment for betraying her trust? Was she finally ready to accuse me of the murder of her husband?
It didn’t matter what the official report said. I hadn’t protected Owen, and because of that, he was dead.
Now I was here, leaning against the door of my car, studying the small home surrounded by a white picket fence, a sharp tremble took over my body. I didn’t want to knock on that door. I didn’t want to see those eyes again. I didn’t want to face my past, but that was why life was a bitch. It didn’t matter what I wanted. I was here and I had a duty.
Looking down at the address scribbled on a yellow Post-it note, I double-checked to make sure I was at the right place.
“Just five minutes,” I whispered to no one in particular as I took those first few steps. This was bound to have happened sooner or later. There was no running from the past. Eventually, it always, always catches up with you.
Clenching my fingers into a tight fist, I raised my hand to knock—one, two, three—the noise mirroring the banging of my heart against my chest.
There was no response and the relief was almost tangible. I’d dodged a bullet. Slumping against the doorframe, I took advantage of those brief moments to collect myself. Another tremor passed through me, and I let out an exhausted breath. I’d tried to find out what she’d wanted.
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