It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, thought Scar Walker as he pulled himself out of the ocean water. He’d surfed all morning, and it felt good. Dang good. He hadn’t been back to San Diego in over two years. He certainly hadn’t surfed at Coronado Island since high school.

Being back in San Diego held mixed blessings for him. Yesterday, he’d been in a series of long meetings with the contractors, the architects, and the project manager for his Kincaid-funded ‘Sparring for Vets’ project. It was a dream for Scar to be able to make his idea a reality, and he loved being in charge of it.

Unfortunately, the staff he’d found in San Diego didn’t quite share his vision yet. Scar had kept trying to make it clear it wasn’t just a regular gym. This gym would be a hangout for military vets, of which San Diego had a lot. There were many guys who needed somewhere they could go to spar and chill, and they needed a different atmosphere than they wouldn’t find in most gyms.

The architect did have a good idea to put a juice bar and a coffee shop in it. At first, Scar had balked at the idea; he didn’t want the vets to feel like they had to buy something if they came in. After talking to Anthony Kincaid—his friend from Texas and the gym’s main financial backer—they’d decided to offer free coffee, with other items for sale if the guys wanted fancier stuff. The money could go to paying vets to work there. Yes, that sounded like a great solution to Scar.

Trudging up the beach, he looked over at the U.S. Naval Base, where the government did BUDS training, and thought of the six years he’d spent as a SEAL. They were the best years of his life, and he missed them. He grunted and rubbed his left shoulder, thinking that the bullet wound was more than an injury—it symbolized the end of being a SEAL. After the injury, he’d been given the boot. They had all but said, Thank you for your service to our country. Now, go figure out your own dang life!

He lay back into the sand, feeling the rising sun start to heat his bodysuit. Surfing had been a solace for him his whole life. Getting up early and surfing the public beaches had been his tonic for being poor, for a mother who’d left them and then died of cancer, and for a father who’d turned violent when drunk.

He reflected on his current circumstances. After being a SEAL, if he hadn’t been able to join the Titans’ practice team two years ago, he didn’t know what he would be doing with his life. His brother had always wanted him to come home and help with the tour company. No way. Never gonna happen. Too much family in his life was not something he could handle. His thoughts drifted to his brother, who lived roughly twenty minutes away in Carlsbad. Scar would be seeing him for breakfast. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms after their father’s funeral two years ago.

Sitting up and shaking himself back to the present, he stood and stripped off the rubber suit. Staying in it too long after surfing was death to a newbie’s skin. He reached for the gallon-sized carton full of fresh water he’d brought with him and chugged it, then poured the remaining water on his head, down his arms, and over his whole body.

He gathered up his board, put his suit over his arm, and slipped on his flip-flops. He trudged back to the beat-up 1969 Cougar he’d pulled out of the storage unit. His father had loved this car.

Scar sighed and stopped short of the rack on the back, slipping the board in it. Without caring who was around he began stripping down to nothing—the beach was pretty empty at the moment anyway—he took out another gallon of water and drenched himself. He put on a different pair of pants and a T-shirt. There was a delicious bacon, eggs, and waffle place for tourists nearby.

After dressing, Scar got the old car fired up and eased his way through the streets, taking his time. With the sun just barely up, it was perfect, bringing back memories of hanging out with his brother on the beach. Bonfires and volleyball, it’d been fun.

Then he remembered joining the Navy, and his brother telling him he would hate him for the rest of his life. His brother had pretty much kept that promise. At their father’s funeral, Scar had hoped they could mend things, but his brother had still been angry that he’d left him all those years ago.

Scar roared into the little lot of an old mom-and-pop diner and shut off the car. His stomach growled, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten.

As he strode in, he noticed the place was busy. The ambiance wasn’t stellar—the door stuck when he pushed it open, and there were clear signs that bacon grease was constantly cleaned off the walls, off of everything—but it smelled heavenly. That, combined with the maple syrup, made any visitor ignore the possible health code violations, which were as prevalent as the aroma of bacon.

Sitting at one of the tables, he closed his eyes and waited to be served, going through each discernible scent in his brain. The coffee was strong and poignant. The waffles and syrup were sweet and crisp. Ah, the taste would be perfect. The bacon was always crunchy and cooked exactly like he liked it. The eggs never disappointed, fluffy and seasoned just right with salt and pepper, no runniness about them. Scar hated runny eggs.

“Brandon.”

Scar opened his eyes and felt the annoyance from two years ago descend upon him. His brother refused to call him anything but his real name. He nodded and replied in a formal, clipped tone. “Steven.”

His brother sat, flaring his nostrils. “Glad you finally left a note after Dad’s been dead, what? Two years?”

Great, they were starting the fight right off. Scar didn’t put any gasoline on the already ignited flame.

His brother was shorter by two inches, but he was built. Even though he was younger and they’d once been best friends, Steven never listened or valued anything Scar said anymore. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Already Scar regretted leaving that note yesterday. “This was clearly a mistake.”

His brother narrowed his eyes before turning to the menu, which consisted of one laminated page. “Let’s just order. We’re already here, and I wanted to see you anyway.”

This took Scar by surprise. “Why?”

He heard the pop of a pen top, and his eyes flitted to the waitress. He did a double take. She had fire-red hair and bright green eyes. She was beautiful, and Scar had been around quite a few beautiful women. “What can I get you?” she asked without preamble.

Unable to stop himself, he flashed a smile. “Wow, a woman who gets straight to business. I like that.”

Her eyes met his, and she glared at him before turning to his brother. “What would you like?”

Without missing a beat, Steven rattled off his order. “Eggs, scrambled. Toast, wheat. Bacon. Water.” He shot Scar a superior look, then picked up the menu and put it in the holder on the side of the table. “Thank you.”

Her eyes swung back to Scar. She looked bored already. “What would you like?”

“Coffee, black. Bacon, greasy like a pig’s backside.” He laughed at his own stupid joke, uncomfortably aware of his brother’s gaze. “Eggs, light. Waffles, fluffy like a cloud. The maple syrup, smooth like …”

She rolled her eyes.

Scar shifted a bit in his seat. His brother didn’t find him funny and he didn’t know what he’d done to tick the waitress off already. He flashed her his best smile, the one he’d practiced in the mirror to use on the media, though he would never admit it to anyone. It was the one he would use if he were ever to accept an award or be recognized for saving the team from failure. “And a beautiful woman serving me. What more could a man want?”

Scowling, she didn’t write, but simply surveyed him. “Listen, soldier. You may be looking for a good time, but you can stop looking here.”

There were lots of vets around these parts; she was obviously hit on by them quite a bit. But he wouldn’t let her shut him down in front of his brother. “Sweetheart, I was a soldier, but believe me, you wouldn’t be my idea of a good time.”

She stuck her chin in the air. “Well, then, we’re agreed.” With that, she slipped away.

A slow rumble of laughter sounded from across the table, and his brother wiped at his eyes, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Man, I’m glad to see you still haven’t lost your charm.”

Scar cursed at him, regretting this meeting more and more. His brother just laughed harder.

The waitress hurried back over to put a water and a coffee on the table, not meeting their eyes.

“Thank you,” Steven said.

Scar just watched her rush off to bus another table. She grabbed two glasses and a stack of four plates before heading to the back and disappearing behind the swinging doors. He hated to admit the woman was attractive, and maybe her pissed-off attitude was too. Yeah, Scar could appreciate the allure of a feisty woman.

Turning his attention to the other customers, he saw some obvious tourists tapping away at their phones. They must have found a local’s favorite and wanted to give the place a try. Through the front window, he could see heavy machinery lounging, ready for construction. Maybe they would give this place a facelift and try to pretty it up. It made him sad to think about it. Why did things need a facelift to be prettied up? He just liked them real, the way they were.

It was stupid how many press people asked him about the scar that went from the top of his left eye down his face to the bottom of his left cheek. What had happened? they wondered out loud. Sometimes he would make something up. Sometimes he would tell them to mind their own business.

He clutched a fork and started fishing ice out of his water.

“So how long are you here for?” his brother asked, breaking the silence.

Focusing on Steven, Scar lazily twirled the fork in his hand, still scanning people walking in the diner. He’d been trained to be aware of his surroundings. It was a habit he was unable to break. “Three weeks, four tops. I’m working on a project to help military vets.”

“Really?” Steven crossed his arms, looking irked. “So you’re not here to see me at all. You’re just here for some pipe dream as usual.”

It stung, his brother bringing up the fact they hadn’t seen each other. Give him an enemy to take down, a ball to get down the field, but don’t make him do this. Why had he left that note for his brother yesterday? “I wanted to see you, idiot, or you wouldn’t be here.” The words came out rougher than he meant them. Or had they? Okay, maybe he did mean them that way.

“I don’t know, Scar.” Steven said the nickname with an edge to his voice. “We have crap we’ve needed to figure out since Dad died, but you—” He gestured sharply. “—left me to figure out the business all alone.”

Scar’s heart rate spiked. “I had an attorney draw up papers and send them to you, giving you the whole company. But you never signed them and sent them back.”

Steven rolled his eyes, lifting a hand with a dismissive wave. “Whatever. And then, since you weren’t saving the world as a Navy SEAL and trying to get yourself killed, you decided to go and join the Titans’ practice team. When are you going to realize it’s not cool to go get the crap pounded out of you every second? Didn’t your injury in that godforsaken place teach you anything?”

Scar took a minute to evaluate Steven. Was he really this upset about Scar’s wellbeing? That would be a change. Instantly, he dismissed the thought. Steven had never respected the accomplishment of becoming a Navy SEAL or making the practice team for the Titans. “I sent you tickets both times we came to San Diego. You never showed up, bro.”

“Because it would have been such a huge inconvenience for you to get your butt down to the dock?”

“Not the point,” Scar said, wishing again he’d never set up this appointment.

“It is exactly the point! Dad gave the company to both of us!”

Just at that moment, the waitress appeared with a couple of their plates. She didn’t seem to be listening, even though he didn’t know how she could not be listening. After situating it all, she held up a finger. “I’ll be back with the bacon.” She rushed off.

He and his brother held each other’s eyes for a brief moment, and he watched as his brother pulled in a long breath.

“You have to keep your voice down,” Scar said, trying not to sound patronizing.

Steven reddened. This was exactly what he’d always done: stuff his anger. He picked up a fork. “San Diego is your home. We always talked about what we would do with Dad’s business. Do you remember that? How it was our dream? And we would raise our kids together.”

This reminder of the past ticked Scar off. He stabbed a bite of egg without paying any attention to it and shoved it in his mouth. At the first bite, he realized the eggs were over easy. He hadn’t wanted over easy. He almost spit it out, but managed to swallow.

The waitress was back, sliding the other plates next to them. “How is it?” she asked, not looking at him, but at his brother.

“Great.” Steven nodded.

“You got my eggs wrong,” Scar said, shoving the plate a bit toward her, all traces of his earlier flirtation gone.

She jerked to face him, glancing at the eggs. “No, I didn’t.”

“Uh, yeah, you did.”

“You said ‘light’ eggs. That means over easy.”

Scar was seething now—not just at her, but also at his brother and his talk of dreams. “Light means not burnt, rubbery scrambled eggs.” He pointed at his brother’s plate. “Like his.”

Narrowing her eyes at him, she picked up the plate and turned on her heel. “Fine.”

Scar’s heart rate kicked up a notch as he watched her go.

“Nice,” his brother said. “Scare off the poor waitress, why don’t you? Couldn’t you just give her a break and eat the eggs? No, Scar Walker can’t have his eggs messed up.”

Scar refused to pin his brother to the wall and throttle him; he wouldn’t give his brother the satisfaction. Instead he focused on his pancakes, dribbling the syrup onto them. “Whatever.” At least this breakfast would be over soon.

For a few minutes, he and his brother ate in silence. The waitress brought his new plate of eggs to him and didn’t say a word. Neither did Scar. Was he being a jerk about it? He didn’t care.

Finally, his brother pushed his plate back and said, “So …”

Not knowing how to respond, Scar was tentative. “So?” What did his brother want?

He looked rigid for a moment, then let out a long breath. “Maybe we can just try to be normal or something.”

Scar frowned at him.

Steven lifted a hand in expectation. “Act like brothers or something.”

Scar let out a light laugh. It was ridiculous, thinking they could have a normal breakfast. Wasn’t that what he’d wanted when he’d left the note, to have a normal conversation with his brother? Steven was the one who’d come with a chip on his shoulder, but he didn’t point this fact out. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Steven let out another breath.

Scar didn’t know if he could stand all this breathing.

Steven gestured to him, searching for something to say. “So how is it playing with the Kincaids?”

Scar was a bit shocked by the question. Did his brother really want to know about his football career? He tried to answer it as normally as possible. Wiping his mouth, he flashed an arrogant smile. “They’re good guys, but I’m gonna push up to first-string this year.” He winked. “Zeus is going down.”

A slow smile crept onto his brother’s lips. He put his fist out. “Well, yeah you are. You’re a Walker, after all.”

Scar fist-bumped him, a bit amazed by this turn conversation.

For a few moments neither of them spoke, but he sensed Steven had something else to say.

Finally, Steven leveled with him. “I’m glad you left a note on the boat. Granted, I’d like to have your number, but I’m glad you contacted me.” He sighed. “Things are happening. Life is changing. I still have hope that we can change too, bro.”

This caught him off guard. His brother was making peace? Scar studied Steven’s face again. He looked older somehow, like a lot older. “What’s going on with you?” Scar asked, hoping he wouldn’t regret it.

Steven picked up a napkin and systematically ripped it into tiny pieces. “Just found out Kari is pregnant.”

Kari had been Steven’s girlfriend since high school. Shocked, but not wanting to respond the wrong way, Scar plastered on a smile, hoping it didn’t look fake. “That’s great.”

Letting out a skittering breath, Steven put the last vestige of the napkin down. “Not really. I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to be a father. I’m planning to ask her to marry me.” Steven’s tone was carefully level, but he was terrified—Scar saw it in the way he ran his fingers through his hair, then swallowed, picking up the water with a shaking hand.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Scar said, meaning it. “We can’t do worse than Dad, right?” He thought of all the times his father had hit him for no reason at all.

Steven scoffed. “That’s what I’ve been telling myself.”

Scar continued to eat, not wanting to think about his father and the bad childhood they’d had. He and Steven had stepped up to run San Diego Cruises. He’d been sixteen and his brother only fifteen when their father had turned into an alcoholic. “You got this, bro. Listen, I’m sorry, but after the funeral, I just couldn’t stay. I left you to manage it all, and …” He trailed off.

His brother waved a hand. “I’m not interested in the past, Brandon, but I would like to be in your life now. I know it might not be in San Diego, but you could come by and go out on a tour with me while you’re here. Tell me about your project.” He gave him a lazy smile. “I’m sure it involves you wanting to save something by sacrificing yourself, but I’ll listen.”

Holy crap, were they actually getting along? Feeling hopeful, Scar thought about what he’d said about his phone number. He didn’t have his phone with him; he’d left it at the hotel because he was going surfing. “I’d like that. Let me give you my number.”

His brother shrugged. “I left my phone in the truck.”

Scar got up and took a pen off the hostess stand, then scrawled his number on a napkin. “Here.” He shoved it at his brother. “Call me so I have your number. I’ll come by, and we’ll talk.”

His brother grinned. “Sounds good. Do you remember what Mom used to tell us growing up?”

Scar had mixed feelings about this line of thinking. “You mean before she left?”

“Yeah, before … all of that.”

“Tell me.”

“Lately, I’ve been thinking we have to try to take the best from Mom and Dad and what they left us. Do you remember what she used to tell us after we fought? Love is simple. You love each other; you forgive each other. That’s how it works. Wash, rinse, and repeat.”

Scar hadn’t thought about that for a long time.

The waitress was back. She ripped off a paper from her pad and directed her comment to Scar. “Your beautifully scripted receipt, sir.” She dropped it on the table between them. Her words were clearly intended to mock him, though he wasn’t sure how.

His brother laughed, reaching for the receipt, but Scar beat him to it. “No, bro, when I’m home, I pay. Please, it’s the least I can do for leaving you with everything.”

Acquiescing, his brother stood. “Yeah, it is.” He hesitated, then smiled. “Especially since you run with those big dogs on the Titans now. Woot!” He made a fist-circling motion.

Unable to hide his delight, Scar grinned, standing and high-fiving his brother.

“I have a tour, so I’ll catch you later.”

“Great.” Scar watched him go and decided maybe things could be different.

* * *

Later that night, Scar’s phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number, so he didn’t answer it. Only naïve or lonely people answered phone calls from unknown phone numbers, right? Whoever it was didn’t leave a message, and after a bit, an uneasy feeling settled over him. He couldn’t get the number out of his mind. Even as he watched SportsCenter on the hotel TV, he kept wondering who would’ve called.

On the SEAL force, he was known for his intuition. These days it was what made him good at being a quarterback. He had intuition about more things than a human could concentrate on at a time, and it made it possible for him to get the ball down the field while avoiding eleven elite athletes doing everything possible to rip his head off.

A thought popped into his mind as he was getting ready for bed. Maybe it was Steven. Duh. Yes, of course. He picked up his phone and called the number.

After two rings, a woman answered. “Hello.”

Her voice scattered his thoughts. “H-hello?”

“Who is this?” she demanded.

“Who is this?” Scar asked, with a bit of military snark in his tone. “You called me a half hour ago.” He kept his voice stern.

She hesitated. “Is this that jerk from this morning? What, did you get my personal number to call and give me crap about your eggs?”

The feisty redheaded waitress’s face popped into his brain. “Is this …? Are you that waitress?” He scoffed. “You called me first.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, you did. I’m calling you back.”

“I did not call you.” With that, she clicked off.