I’m an observer.

I stand back, watch as others interact. I learn more from watching than I do from interacting.

I used to be a man of action. I used to be the first to volunteer for things, the first to rush into the fray, the first to take up arms against those I believed with all my heart were a threat to my religion, to my congregation, to my family.

Not anymore.

“You can’t be a man of God and just sit back and watch!” my father was telling me now. Or, perhaps more accurately, yelling at me. “You can’t say you believe, and then do nothing to prove your beliefs.”

I had no answer to that.

“Matthew!” he cried, clearly exasperated. “How can you work for that man and still believe in our church? How can you watch his people take down a good man like Lloyd Truesdale and do nothing? How can you pretend that none of the things he’s done matter?”

“He’s Ruth’s husband.”

“That’s not a marriage I acknowledge. It was not sanctioned in our church.”

I inclined my head, aware that this was a poor argument with my father. But how could I explain to him that working for Jack Stone was the only thing that had kept me sane these last months? How could I tell him that I wasn’t sure I still believed in the church? How could I tell him that I couldn’t reconcile what the Guardians had forced me to do with what the church taught?

He would consider it all blasphemy.

“You were such a good boy, Matthew,” he continued. “A top student, a peer leader in the church. A Guardian! But now…what changed, son? Why are you like this? You didn’t even go to meeting Wednesday!”

“I’m sorry, Father.”

“Sorry is not enough anymore. I need explanations.”

I shook my head. I had no explanation.

“You will stop working for Stone, and you will recommit yourself to the church, do you understand me? You were on track to become a leader, to be a bishop one day. I want you back on that track.”

I shook my head. “I can’t do that.”

“You’ll make nice with the Guardians, ask them if they can see it in their hearts to allow you back among their ranks. I want you back where you belong, boy. I want you back in the church, back in the glory of God’s army. I want you to remember your core beliefs, and I want you to embrace them again. Forget this nonsense with Stone, and get back on the right path.”

Sadness filled me like a well. “No.”

My father stared down at me, his eyes widened with hurt and shock. It was painful to see.

“You choose that man over the church?” He was clearly flabbergasted. “I understand your sister. The sins of the flesh are hard to overcome. But you?” He shook his head, raising his hands to hold his clearly aching temples. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m sorry, Father. I just—”

“If you choose him, then you go live with him in sin like your sister. Get out of my house!”

“Father—”

“Now, Matthew! Get out of my house!”

I lowered my head, feeling as though there were a massive weight on my shoulders, too massive to hold my head up. I went to my childhood bedroom and packed a bag, waiting for my father to change his mind as I slowly made my way to the door. But he didn’t say a word.

Neither did my mother as she watched me go from the kitchen door.

I sat behind the wheel of my car—Jack’s car, really, since it belonged to Stone Security—still waiting. A part of me still believed that my father would choose blood over anything else despite the fact that I’d sat back and watched him ignore my sister’s pleas for him to have dinner with her and Jack, for him to meet her husband and to love him the way she did. She wanted to have a proper wedding in the church, wanted to include her family and her friends. But Father froze her out, not just out of the family, but out of the church, too. She was no longer welcome inside its doors.

Yet, I still believed he would come out of the house and tell me it was a mistake, that we could talk this out. That he would listen to my side of things, that he would help me with the struggle in which I’d found myself since Harry Cravits died.

But he never came out.

I drove slowly out of the neighborhood I’d lived in all my life, past homes whose owners I’d known since I was a small child. I’d played with their children and knew their grandchildren. This was my home, the only place I’d ever known.

Was it time for me to go find another home?

Maybe it would be better if I left town. I wasn’t welcome here, not in most corners. The Guardians wanted nothing to do with me because I betrayed their members months ago when I had told Jack Stone what I knew about Tyler’s part in Cravits’s death, when I had told him where their compound was and how to get to Smythe. The church didn’t trust me because of my betrayal of the Guardians. I’d found a place in Stone Security, but the other operatives didn’t trust me because I was once a Guardian.

My father had just underlined what I’d already known.

I had no place in this town anymore.

I had nowhere to go.

I ended up at Stone’s temporary offices downtown. There was always paperwork to do related to the cases I was given to work. Those were mostly just glorified bodyguard jobs, just following out-of-town execs around as they looked at real estate or attended boring meetings. Not my idea of excitement, or even remotely what I’d expected when Jack offered me the job. Like anyone else, I had assumed security meant James Bond sorts of things. But…it was a job.

I dropped my bag by the desk, not sure why I had bothered to bring it in. I wasn’t sure why I did much of anything these days.

Fifteen minutes into a boring report, I happened to glance up and see Quentin Forrester come into the office with the lady from the bank, Ms. Gray. She was the one who’d taken down Lloyd Truesdale, not Jack or any of his operatives, though there were rumors that Quentin was behind a video of Truesdale’s wife that had gone viral locally. If only my father knew the truth about Truesdale, that he’d been doing rotten deals for the Guardians for years. Then again, my father so deeply believed that the Guardians were God’s army, that he might not see those deals as bad. He might see them as sanctioned by God’s blessing.

All I saw was the dirty, greedy work of men.

Forrester and the woman disappeared into Jack’s office. I finished my report and another one after it before they came out again. There’d been a fire in California a week or so ago that had ended in Truesdale’s death. His daughter’s, too. I wondered how much that had had to do with Forrester and that woman.

I heard things, sitting back and observing. But the original operatives—Forrester, Crispin Sullivan, Patrick Shaughnessy—were often very careful about what they said around me. Jack, too, but he wasn’t as obvious about it.

I was working on a third report, finishing up what was left of the overdue work on my desk, when Jack walked by.

“Hey, Matthew,” he said, pausing behind my cubicle. “Did Crispin talk to you about the Lunar Oil execs that are coming to town this week?”

“Yes, he did.”

Jack lowered his head. “Good. You’re okay with it?”

“No problem.”

“Okay.” He glanced at the bag sitting on the floor in front of my desk, his eyes slowly moving back to my face. “Ruth’s making pot roast for dinner tonight. You should come by.”

“It’s fine. I was going to—”

“What? Eat at the diner?” Jack smacked my shoulder. “Your sister is an awesome cook. Come eat pot roast with us.”

I didn’t want his pity, but Ruth was a good cook. And she was one of the few people in this town I could still be myself with. I lowered my head in agreement.

“All right.”

“Good. About six, I think. She likes to make it an early night these days, what with the pregnancy making her so tired all the time.”

“No problem.”

Jack slapped his hand on my shoulder again and moved on, talking animatedly to one of the Memphis operatives a few cubicles down. I watched him, wondering if he’d ever be that relaxed around me. I knew he had only hired me on because of my sister, knew he only spoke to me because of the information I’d provided on the Guardians. If not for that, he probably wouldn’t give me the time of day.

I couldn’t really blame him. I wouldn’t befriend me, either, if I were him.

I was in the car that had caused his friend’s death. I’m sure every time he looked at me, he wondered why I hadn’t done anything to save Harry. Hell, I wondered that every time I looked at myself in the mirror.

I kicked the bag, wishing I hadn’t brought it in. I didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for me.

I finished my reports and headed out, another four or five hours on my hands to fill until dinner. I thought about going over to Ruth’s and just hanging out with her, but talking about baby clothes and baby furniture and baby…whatever just didn’t appeal to me today. Ever since she had gotten pregnant, the baby was all Ruth seemed focused on. She used to be interesting. She had had a job, an interest in subjects that ranged from the Bible to the economy and politics to every book Stephen King ever wrote. Not anymore.

I found myself at the Watering Hole, a local bar that sold incredible sandwiches. I sat at the bar, off to one side, a great place to observe people as they came and went. The Guardians had had this place on their hit list once upon a time. I wondered if the newly re-formed Guardians would be going after it again. I found myself hoping not because I really liked the New Yorker on rye they served.

I was halfway through my sandwich when she walked in. I knew her immediately. We’d gone to high school together. She was a cheerleader, queen of the debate team, and editor of the school paper. An overachiever if there ever was one. Every guy in the school wanted to date her, but she was picky. As far as I was aware, she didn’t date anyone any of the four years she was at the high school. Then again, I graduated two years before she did, so I might be wrong.

She walked toward the bar, with blond hair that flowed free nearly to the bottom of her butt, and blue eyes that sparkled even in the dim light of the bar. She wasn’t as slim as she’d been in high school, the years having added some padding to her hips and thighs that the tight pants she was wearing did nothing to hide. A few guys behind her chuckled as they watched her move, making motions with their hands that made it clear what they were comparing her to, but I thought she looked amazing. Just as beautiful as she’d been ten years ago.

Whit Ellington.

How could a guy forget a woman with such an unusual name?

I watched as she ordered a drink, not even trying to pretend I wasn’t. She must have felt the heaviness of my stare because she looked up, that light in her blue eyes burning even brighter when she recognized me.

“Matthew Pearce. Talk about a walk down memory lane!”

“What are you doing back in Ellaville, Whit? I thought you hit the road the second you graduated and had no plans to ever come back.”

“I did. And I did. But work…”

I lowered my head slightly. “I guess I can understand that.”

She picked up her drink and came over to take the stool beside mine. “I’d like to say I’m surprised to see you still here, but I’m not.”

“Oh?”

“That church of yours keeps a tight rein on all its members, doesn’t it?”

I turned my attention back to my food, picking a piece of corned beef off the bread. “That church isn’t everything.”

“It was, once.” She was quiet for a minute, taking a swallow of her drink. “You know, I used to have such a crush on you.”

“Me?” I looked up, surprised. “You never said anything.”

“I was too shy. But I wrote your name a million times in my notebooks.” She laughed. “Can you believe we were ever that young, that naive?”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Ten years.” She sighed. “In some ways, it feels like forever ago, but in some ways, it feels like yesterday.” She sipped at her drink again. “Do you remember the homecoming when we tried that pyramid during the football game, and Alyssa fell? Broke her wrist?”

“I do. It delayed the game for twenty minutes.”

“The game would be all you remember!” She laughed, pressing her shoulder against mine. “Football was your whole world back then. Football and church.”

“I remember how your skirt flew up whenever you did those fancy jumps you were so proud of.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You did pay attention.”

“Of course I did. I was a teenaged boy.”

“Not that I could even fit into that skirt now. Maybe my thigh…”

“You don’t need to fit into that skirt now. Those jeans do the job even better.”

She blushed, a slight smile touching her lips. “You think so?”

I tilted my head slightly as I studied her, letting my eyes move from her face to her throat, moving slowly down until she couldn’t mistake the direction of my thoughts.

“Beautiful.”

She laughed, lifting her drink to her lips, but not sipping. After a second, she set it back on the bar, leaning back to study me the way I’d done her. I wondered what she thought of what she was seeing. I knew my shoulders were slightly broader than they’d once been, and I was a little softer than I’d been in high school—no more two-a-days to keep me in shape. My hair was shorter. I’d discovered I liked the buzz cut they’d given me in Army boot camp, the only thing I liked about that three-month ordeal. Otherwise, I thought I looked pretty much the same.

“How long were you in the Army?”

I was a little surprised she remembered.

“Six years.”

“What have you been doing since?”

I shrugged. “I worked with my father for a while. Now I work for a private security firm.”

“Really? Playing security guard?”

“Sometimes.”

“Sounds boring.”

“It’s better than selling car ports.”

She nodded, picking up her drink once again. “I guess it is,” she said, before finishing the inch or so of dark liquid that was left in the glass.

“What about you? What have you been up to?”

“I went to college.”

“I remember. Texas Tech, right?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “I didn’t know you ever paid that much attention.”

“You weren’t the only one with a crush back in high school. Then again, everyone had a crush on you.”

That blush came back instantly. “You flatter me.”

“No. I wouldn’t even know how.”

She leaned close to me, laying a hand on my knee. “Do you ever wonder what it’d have been like in high school if we’d gotten together?”

“I used to think about it all the time.”

“And now?”

She said it with such a smile, with such a flirty tone to her voice, that I felt like I was back in high school. My heart was fluttering in my chest, and I could feel heat rising on my face even as I dropped my gaze so that she couldn’t see it. I felt awkward as I tried to formulate a response that wouldn’t sound completely inane. But nothing came to mind.

“Come on, Matthew,” she said, so close to me now that I could feel the heat of her breath against my cheek. “We’re adults now. We can be honest with each other.”

“Did we ever really know each other? Even back then?”

She shrugged. “We sat next to each other on the bus every day. Best time of the day, in my opinion.”

I nodded in total agreement. I’d so looked forward to that moment that I’d found myself watching the clock before lunchtime had even arrived.

“All these boys kept asking me out. The captain of the football team actually got mad and punched his locker when I turned him down. But you? Never even a hint.”

“You were always surrounded by people.”

“Not on the bus. Then it was just you and me. Always.”

“Would you have said yes?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Wish I’d known that then.”

“You know it now.”

Her hand slipped up my thigh as we sat so close on those bar stools that we might as well have been on one. Yet, I couldn’t make myself touch her. My palms were sweating, my fingers shaking. If I just turned my head half an inch…

“You’re teasing me, Whit.”

“No, Matthew, I’m flirting with you. The way I should have done back in high school.”

Her breath brushed against my cheek. My heart was pounding now.

I felt like a fool. I wasn’t a prude. Despite my religious upbringing, I’d had my fair share of experience while I was in the Army. I’d been to bars, flirted with the pretty local girls who were more than happy to please a soldier on his way to Afghanistan or some other distant port. I’d seen the inside of a few cheap motel rooms within the arms of a woman. I knew what to do.

But this was different. This was Whit Ellington.

She touched my jaw, encouraging me to turn toward her.

“Why so shy? We’re not children anymore.”

I turned into her, let my lips brush hers. She sighed softly, her hand slipping high on my thigh as she leaned deeper into me, her tongue slipping against my bottom lip. I opened to her, and she invaded, moving so close that her breast brushed my upper arm. I slid my hand over the side of her face, slipping my fingers into her impossibly long hair, drawing her deeper against me.

I’d imagined this kiss a million times when I was a kid, lying in the darkness of my childhood bedroom. I always felt guilty afterward, hearing my father’s voice in the back of my mind, telling me the weakness of the flesh was a sin. But it felt so good, those fantasies, a mixture of deep longing and painful release.

The reality of it, though, the feel of her against me, was so much more than I could ever have fantasized.

I drew her bottom lip between my teeth and nibbled a little, making her giggle. She pulled back, that sparkle dancing in her blue eyes.

“Aren’t you the dirty boy!”

“Surprised?”

“Continuously.”

I smiled, pleased for reasons that were too numerous to count. She squeezed my thigh lightly and pulled away, climbing off the tall bar stool.

“Why don’t we take this conversation somewhere else?” She glanced at me almost shyly. “I have a cozy little room at that motel down the street.”

I tilted my head slightly, a response on the tip of my tongue, but she laughed before I could push it off.

“Wondering if your fellow church members would approve?”

The implication pissed me off, considering some of the things my father had said to me this morning.

“Fuck them,” I said, jumping to my feet and slipping a hand over her ample ass. “Let’s go.”

Surprise widened her eyes, injecting something else—uncertainty, maybe—into their depths. But she took my hand and pulled me toward the door. I followed her little blue rental car to the motel, which was just half a mile from the bar. It was a little mom-and-pop sort of place, a row of seven units just off the highway. It was clean but worn, comfortable, but clearly used.

She walked around the room, picking up loose pieces of clothing and paperwork as I stood in the doorway.

“Sorry.”

“Been here a few days?”

“Nearly a week.”

She stowed most of her things in the small closet in a corner of the room. She slammed the door closed, hesitating once it was closed, like she didn’t know what to do now that I was actually there. I was getting the impression that she really hadn’t expected me to take her up on her offer.

“You still don’t drink?” she asked, gesturing toward a bottle of whiskey sitting on top of the little microwave provided with the room.

I shook my head.

“Too bad.”

We stared at each other for a long moment, the awkwardness almost overwhelming. I wasn’t sure if I should cross the room and snatch her up in my arms, or turn and leave.

“I came here once with a bunch of girlfriends after prom,” she said. “Sophomore year. I wasn’t supposed to be part of the group, but Reggie Wallace asked me. Remember?”

“It was my senior prom.”

“You took Kari Lawson.”

“Because her father and my father were friends at church, and they thought we’d be a good match.”

“I watched you dancing with her from across the gym. I was so jealous that I could have burst, I think.”

“I saw you. You looked amazing in that ice blue dress.”

She blushed. “I bought it months before prom, just hoping…” She sighed. “My mother thought it was a waste of money, but I bought it with money I made babysitting the Carlsons’ twins.”

“Your mother was an interesting lady.”

“She was. Still is. She moved to San Jose with her fourth husband last fall.”

We’d all known about Ms. Ellington at school. She had a reputation in town for sleeping with any man who looked her way. Everyone knew when she hooked up with Coach Rogers because they were not very discreet about their public displays of affection. I knew that hadn’t been an easy time for Whit because she once cried on my shoulder about it.

Whit brushed her hair back from her face, her eyes falling on that bottle of whiskey again. “That was the first time I was ever drunk. One of the girls stole a bottle of tequila from her father’s liquor cabinet. We passed it around and told stupid stories about our dates.” She smiled at the memory. “Not very mature, but entertaining.”

“Well, I guess I’m glad I took Kari home early that night. I can only imagine what she might have said about me.”

“Oh, you came up. Several times, actually.”

“Did I?”

“I wasn’t the only girl at that particular party who had a crush on you. You broke a lot of hearts that night, my friend.”

That surprised me. I wasn’t unpopular in high school, but I wasn’t the captain of the football team, either. I was one of those boys who was always on the fringe, popular by association. Not the one that girls mooned over between classes, or the one that girls purposely designed their route between classes in order to run into.

“Who?”

She shook her head. “I’m not telling.”

“I think you’re making it up.”

“No.” She crossed in front of the bed, coming toward me like standing close to me would make it easier to convince me. “Jenna was always mooning after you. She was so mad that I rode the same bus as you.”

“Jenna Alexander?”

She groaned. “You made me tell you.”

“It wasn’t that hard. You wouldn’t make a very good spy.”

“Good thing I never aspired to be a spy.”

She sidled up to me, her hands brushing against mine as we stood face to face in the open doorway of her motel room.

“Are you coming in?”

“Am I invited?”

“Most definitely.”

She tugged me toward her. I looked down into her slightly upturned face, feeling once again like I was back in high school. I could almost see her in that ice blue dress, see the way the dim lights in the gym made her eyes glow. It had crossed my mind that night to cross the length of the gym and pull her out onto the dance floor, to dance with her the way her date clearly had no intentions of doing. I should have done it then.

I was going to do it now.

I slid my arm around her waist, tugging her hip against me. She seemed surprised once again when I began to sway, but she fell into my rhythm without hesitation, without pulling away. She even giggled a little in the back of her throat.

“I was afraid to run into you,” she said softly, even as she moved closer, pressing her cheek to my shoulder.

“Why?”

“Because I was afraid you wouldn’t remember me. Or you wouldn’t be pleased with the changes in my appearance.”

“What changes?”

She groaned. “You were always polite to a fault, Matthew.”

“Not polite. Honest.”

She scraped her fingers against the side of my neck, her lips softening as she looked up at me. “You can’t really be this perfect, can you?”

“No one’s perfect.”

She reached up and kissed me lightly. “You’re as close as it gets.”

Our lips found each other again and again as we danced there in the small space between the door and her rented bed. My hands slipped over her back, sliding over her round ass, memorizing its curves. She touched my chest, her hand pressed to my pounding heart as her tongue conducted an exploration that was both promising and innocent, curious. I imagined this was what it would have been like ten years ago if I’d crossed that gym. If I’d overcome my fear and done what I’d wanted to do that night.

Second chances. I’d had quite a few of those these past few months. Was this another?