Chapter Fifty-Three

Katy

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing!”

He shakes his head, pointing to his ears, as I stomp around at his feet, angrier than I’ve ever been in my life.

I can’t stop the words coming out of me as I do everything but lunge at him.

“You. Stupid. Son. Of. A. Bitch!”

His smirk turns into a broad smile, and my anger goes inferno.

“Good to see you too, Scottie.”

“What in the hell are you thinking, volunteering to go back there?”

He pulls his gloves off, wiping his brow, and it’s then that I notice he’s shirtless, wearing just his dark jeans and well-worn gray leather boots. He’s grown his hair out longer, so it rests in waves on his head. Bronzed muscle shimmers in the sun as rivulets of sweat trickle down, coating his skin. My mouth waters at the sight of it. In mere seconds, I’m brought back to the side of that boxing ring. Nostalgia, for what seems like ages ago, tugs at my heart.

I can’t lose him.

His words cut through my gawking. “I’m thinking I’m a soldier, and it’s my job.”

“You’re so full of shit!” I counter.

Golden eyes drink me in, and I realize my chest is heaving, my boobs spilling out of the tank I’m wearing.

His eyes flit away before I feel the warmth of them.

He takes a step toward me and blows out an exaggerated breath. “I know what happened back there was hard on you.”

“Hard on me?!” I screech.

He grips his water bottle and takes a sip as if we’re having a casual conversation. “On both of us. It was torture. I won’t deny that,” he says, capping it before setting it on one of the tires.

“By feeding me that line, you’re denying everything!”

“And what exactly is it you want me to admit to now?”

My silence seems to piss him off.

“What? No quick reply? Tell you what, I’ll talk real talk when you’re ready for it. For now, let’s get to work.”

“What?”

“You’re pissed, I understand why, but it changes nothing. My guys need me. I’m going. And seeing as how the last time I saw you, well,” he says, pulling a tattered ball cap from his back pocket and pulling it over his eyes, “well, it seems you have different demands. Frankly, I’m finding it hard to keep up. So, I figure since you have all this damned aggression to work through, and I have a month’s worth of work to catch up on, why not help me? I mean, we are buddies, right?”

I’m shaking my head adamantly as I speak. “Tell them you’re having second thoughts, after a psych eval—”

“Passed it,” he says easily.

Ripping at my hair, I stomp the ground between us. “Well then go seek counseling, raise a red flag. Tell them you’re having dark thoughts…or something!” I’m yelling at the top of my lungs, and he’s basking in the sun, staring at me like the crazy lady I am.

“You’re not going back there,” I shriek.

“It’s done, Katy. Let it go.”

“I will not let it go!” I step up to him as his eyes drop. “Not so soon, not now. God, not ever!”

“Katy.” He speaks low, his voice a painful whisper in comparison to the emotion I need him to feel. I want fear, where there is none. “You think this argument isn’t in the head of everyone who has a soldier to lose?”

Opening my mouth to speak, I’m cut off by his indifference.

“But I’m not your soldier.” It’s not a question, but it spirals me into further panic.

“Aren’t you the one who said you don’t have to be attached or have a family to matter?”

He rubs his hands together and separates them through the air dismissively as he speaks. “You can stand here yelling at me all day, but it’s not going to change the facts. I’m going.”

“You are so fucking immature.”

“So you’ve told me numerous times.”

“This is serious,” I snap. “This is so serious.”

“Is it? What’s changed? I’m a soldier. I’m infantry, and there’re still bad guys to catch. It’s what I’m good at, but I must admit,” he leans in, “I’ve got shrapnel in places one should never have shrapnel.” He presses his lips together to gauge my reaction.

He’s cracking a joke. A fucking joke.

I can’t lose him. I can’t.

My heart is lurching toward my chest as tears fill my eyes.

A cloud covers the sun, and we’re temporarily encased in shade. He’s refusing to look directly at me.

“Look at me.” His eyes dart to mine, and I see it there, the hesitation. He’s hiding from me.

“You matter. You matter.” I take a step forward. “You matter. You matter,” I stress, my voice cracking. “You matter so much.”

I feel him with me for endless seconds before he shakes his head, breaking our spell. “I’m sorry you came all this way to be disappointed, Scottie.”

“It’s not too late,” I argue. “There are things—”

“Good to see you, Katy.”

“We’re not done talking.”

“Oh, we’re done,” he assures me with a sarcastic drawl, as I fight to keep where I stand.

He starts the tractor, and as I stand there calling his name, he rolls away from me.

Pissed and feeling dejected, I stomp back to my car, fuming, as the sun beats down. Texas never has acknowledged spring. Inside the car, the tears flood as I pull up my GPS and catch a glimpse of him through the windshield.

I‘ve already lost him in life. I can’t lose him to death.

But it feels like he’s already thrown himself on the grenade.

Slamming my hands against the wheel, I let some of my anger go and then bury my head on it.

For the last three hours, I’ve been out of my mind, searching for him. I spent two of them breaking speed limits. Once I had gotten to Chappell Hill, I stopped, asked around, and got the name of the road along with some bum-fucked directions. The last half hour was spent frantically turning onto every damn driveway on Carper Road. The process of getting to him was mostly a blur as the never-ending adrenaline surged through me. That same adrenaline still fuels me as panic consumes me. My anger only seems to amuse him, which has the fire in my belly burning brighter.

I have to get through. I have to.

By the time I look back up, he’s making good time on his tractor, drifting further and further away. He’s hiding from me—from us, the way I’ve been. Either way, I’ve spent too much time running from what hurts me, what scares me, and when it comes to Christopher Briggs…the way I feel.

I’m not your soldier.

Liar. That’s what I wanted to say. But I’m on thin ice as it is, with my tantrum. I have to figure out a way for him to take me seriously. But the truth is, it doesn’t matter what I say, what I want, or how I feel. It’s done. And he doesn’t seem to want to have a damn thing to do with me.

He’s still gliding around the property, acting oblivious, as I watch him from where I sit in my Jeep.

I loved him inside that bunker because there were no consequences. I allowed myself to feel for him because I wasn’t in danger of losing my family there. In that place. How did I feel about him outside of it? Before. I was dangerously attracted to him before we were captured, but my love and loyalty to Gavin broke that spell, enough for me to be able to look at him with objective eyes. Even then I was fighting.

Pushing down my self-loathing, I allow my heart to admit here and now that I came too close to falling before that ambush.

His kiss still burns my lips; it’s embedded deep. I still long to talk to him. I miss him. And he’s batting me away like I’m some fly.

“Fine,” I say, throwing my shoulders back. “Fine,” I say again, as tears roll down my cheeks. “Go be a soldier.”

Not meaning a word of it, I buckle my belt and start pulling away when something in the barn to my left catches my eye.

A motorcycle.

Swallowing, I tilt my head to get a good look at the helmet, but I already know what I’m going to see.

Purple flames.

“Oh, my God,” I cry out, my heart plummeting.

He was there, on my worst day. Noah’s party. He was there, looking through my bay window. He was there, yards away. Eyes flooding, I search through my windshield to see him staring right at me before he jerks his head away.

“Briggs,” I cry hoarsely, knowing he can’t hear me.

Seconds tick by as I try to calm my heart into doing the sensible thing, but I’m not sure I even know what the hell that is anymore. What I do know is that I’m done with denial.

Exiting the car, I wander over to a beautiful and restless thoroughbred who assesses me through a white-painted fence. He’s got the eyes of an old soul, and we stare at each other for minutes before he moves toward me. I hold my hand out, and he nudges it before I thread my fingers through his mane. I speak low to him as he prods me for more attention.

“Hey, Houdini, did you know your owner is a complete jackass?”

His voice sounds behind me. “I’m pretty sure he figured it out early.”

I keep my eyes trained on the horse.

“You’re right. I’m angry. And I can’t keep living like this.”

“You have to give yourself time.”

I shake my head because that’s not what I meant. I can’t keep living as a heart divided.

“They’ll wait, Katy.”

I don’t bother to correct him.

“What about you?” I ask.

“What about me? I’m good. I’m working.”

I’m not the only one who isn’t ready for real talk.

“Fine.” I turn to see him staring at me as if I’m not real. “Put me to work, Briggs.”