Garrick sat at a grey, chipped Formica table in the base canteen, nursing a beer, grateful for the distracting warmth of rough alcohol in his bloodstream. Along with the low hum of conversation from the others in the room, it helped to take his mind off the shit-storm in his brain. He was still trying to decide the best way to approach Anna. Persuading her to give things between them a chance was proving to be the hardest thing he had ever done.

He was unhooked from the IV system, his body stuffed with steroids. Jamie Edwards, their chief medic, had insisted, worried about a delayed reaction to the plant toxins. Afterwards, Garrick had gone to his own bunk where he’d lain on his bed for at least two minutes before getting up and slamming the intersecting wall between the bathroom and bedroom with the palm of his hand, cursing. The jolt had echoed up his arms to the rigid, corded muscles of his neck.

He needed to speak to Anna, but he had no idea where to begin or if she would even listen to him. She had slipped into science-geek mode with Julia, so he had left the two of them under Violet’s supervision, relying on V to sort Anna out with a shower and fresh clothes. And he still had to deal with Fox. His mind ricocheted. What if Anna was wrong about the hive? The risks involved in approaching the Chittrix on their home turf were enormous.

Reality got the better of him, and he threw on a t-shirt and found himself in the canteen. During the day, it served up basic meals the inhabitants of the CB required. In the evenings, it served lethal beer for those brave enough to drink it. Alcohol, he decided with weary judgement, would stop the endless chatter in his brain.

His mind played over Anna’s face, memorising every smooth sweep of freckled skin and lashes. He’d always wanted a normal life and someone to share it with, but he’d assumed it was beyond his reach. He’d been so wild in his youth, and later, it was something that was incompatible with the SAS. And then, of course, aliens had arrived on big chunks of rock, and the definition of normal got thrown out the window.

But now it shimmered in front of him like a mirage. A possibility. Garrick wanted Anna to take a chance on him. He just didn’t have any bloody idea how he was going to achieve it. Typically, he had chosen the most stubborn woman left on the planet who thought she was better off on her own. And now she wanted him to help her take a bomb far into the bowels of the Chittrix hive. Brilliant or insane, the jury was still out.

He sat beneath the tinny speakers of the canteen sound system to avoid speaking to anyone. Music blasted across the nearly empty room, loud enough to make conversation uncomfortable, obligingly obliterating the cascade of irrational thoughts bouncing around inside his head.

And then there was Fox. Fox was still reluctant for anyone else to leave the base in the next few days. He’d made that more than clear. Even if they did have a new weapon against the Chittrix, placing it within the hive was a seriously risky endeavour.

Garrick looked up at a thump from the canteen entrance. Violet stormed through the doors with a scowl on her face that Garrick recognised from their childhood. He took another slug of his beer. Going by Violet’s face, he was going to need it. The swing-doors bounced, handles denting the battered walls further. His sister was capable of dissembling the entirety of the CB without any help from invading aliens.

It was late, and only a few stragglers were left sitting in a small huddle. There was no one for Garrick to hide behind, but he found himself ducking his head anyway. He took another wincing mouthful of the sour-tasting liquid, hopeful it might make listening to Violet easier. He doubted it.

Violet made a beeline to where he was sitting, bumping down beside him abruptly, making the table wobble. She leaned in to his ear to make herself heard.

“Thought I might find you down here feeling sorry for yourself.” She picked up his drink and took a long slug. She screwed up her eyes and shook her head. “Shit, how do you drink this stuff?”

“Can’t a guy have a drink, V?”

Violet frowned. “Really?”

“Spare me the pep talk.”

“Normally I would, but what the fuck are you doing down here?”

“Coming up with a plan. And quit swearing.”

Violet shook her head, messy hair falling over her forehead. Most days, she ignored everything he said. Nothing new there, he thought through the pleasant numbness of the alcohol. He picked his bottle back up and took another bitter mouthful.

“Spare me the big brother routine. Sitting here drinking this is not coming up with a plan. It’s avoidance. You’re avoiding her.”

“Believe me, Anna Ward can take care of herself.”

Violet reached across and took the bottle out of his hand. She drained the remains in one slug then slammed it back on the table, coughing. “I saw the way she looked at you, and the way you looked at her this afternoon.” She pointed at him. “There’s only one thing a man should be doing with a woman who wants him like that, and mostly it involves throwing her over your shoulder and hauling her off to some dark cave so you can smooch up close and personal.”

Violet waited for him to answer.

Garrick remained silent. He didn’t need telling. He’d spent the last six months subsisting on revenge. Now the need for vengeance had slipped, replaced by the woman who had lodged herself in his battered heart. But he didn’t know how to convince her to give them a chance. Didn’t know where to even begin. He was rudderless.

“I’ve tried V. She won’t let me in.”

Violet’s eyes searched his face, and then softened. “That’s loser talk Garrick, and you know it. You can’t avoid her because she’s being awkward. Nothing good ever comes easy.” Her eyes widened as she raised her eyebrows. “Feisty can be good, you know.”

Garrick shook his head in disbelief, and despite himself, a grin crept onto his face.

“You have a filthy mind, V.”

“You can’t avoid grown-up shit, and that’s what you're doing now.”

Damn. His sister saw right through him. It pissed him off mightily.

“She’s really got under your skin, hasn’t she?” Violet paused, her voice tinged with compassion.

Garrick grunted, wishing she’d disappear and take her perceptive sixth-sense crap with her. His emotions were laid out on the table, leaving him vulnerable and exposed.

She placed her hands on either side of his on the cheap wobbly table. Her voice gentle. “I saw how she was with you earlier. She couldn’t take her eyes off you. No matter what she says, her body language is revealing the complete opposite, and the crazy shit is that you feel the same way, otherwise why else would you be down here sucking up gut-rot?”

“I thought if I gave her some time to think things through…”

Violet snorted back a laugh. “Being down here is not showing her you want to be with her. What’s she going to think? You have to speak to her. Actually, you need to do more than speak to her.”

She blew a strand of auburn hair off her face, checking out the nearly empty canteen. “You’re not perfect, but you are a good man, and you need to cut yourself some slack.”

Garrick’s forehead creased. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that Anna would doubt him. He wanted to give her space, not lose her. He stood up, his thighs shoving the table back in a long screech.

V swatted him across the backside “It’s good you’re still alive in there.” Her face was serious. She didn’t wait for a reply, instead she smoothed her shirt across her flat belly, and readjusted the handgun tucked into the holster on her hip. “Hurry up. I’m not going to twist your arm again.”

Garrick took a few steps and then broke into a run.

Why was V so bloody right all the time?