CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Riggs

He stepped out onto the curb from the Battle Buddy meeting. His heart was heavy, back to the same raw feeling as during those months of physical therapy.

Dorian clapped his shoulder. “Wanna grab a bite?”

He shook his head. “Not hungry.”

A strong wind dragged the clouds across the sky, a storm clearly imminent from the darker horizon.

Riggs welcomed it.

“Then let’s go sweat it out.’ Dorian unlocked his car with the key fob.

“How many meetings does it take until it doesn’t feel like this?”

His friend crossed his arms. “A few. Depends on how much you share. But this was your first meeting. You did exactly what you’re supposed to do. You listened. The next meeting, you might feel comfortable enough to share.”

“There’s nothing comfortable about the topic.”

“I said comfortable enough.”

Riggs dragged his hand over his face. Praying for rain. Thunder. Even lightning, crack open the sky to avoid dealing with the feelings.

“Your penchant for comedy clubs and jokes aren’t enough to get through this, Riggs.”

“They’ve worked so far.”

“They’ve masked things. Delayed the inevitable.”

He squeezed his truck keys in his fist. The metal edges dug into his skin. He focused on that sting, directing all the energy and ferocity into that bite. “We saw a lot of shit on that tour, man.”

“Yep.”

“So much hatred. Spewing at us from every direction, including from the sky.”

Dorian rested against his car. “And you’re still here.”

I’m still here.

“Murphy isn’t.” The name felt raw in his throat. The first time he’d said his friend’s name since that day.

“True. But I like thinking he’s up there on our side. Putting in a good word for us, before it’s our time.”

“Since when did you turn religious?”

He smiled. “Grace says that a lot about her daughter. It stuck with me.”

A bitter taste filled his mouth. Every time he thought about Dorian’s girlfriend, Grace, he was sad. She was a widow, her husband and young daughter had been killed in a car accident years before. She’d since become a strong advocate for pediatric transplants and organ donation, her daughter’s heart now in the body of a little boy, the son of a famed Hollywood celebrity to whom she’d grown close to.

Dorian’s relationship with Grace had evolved from neighbors in the same high-rise condo, to toxic, second-hand limelight, to finally true love.

He was happy for his friend. No other man deserved better.

The rest of unit had seemed to all move on with their lives without so much as a stumble. So, that was the way he’d carried on. Moving forward, going back to the familiar…horses.

When that hadn’t held the demons back, he’d tried Dorian’s path with the Knights. That’d seemed to be sufficient enough the last two years. He’d not had any nightmares until recently. Riggs had assumed because of pleasing women, turning lamenting into laughter.

“What’s your gut telling you right now?” Dorian asked.

“Run.”

“Where are you running to?”

“Anywhere, man.”

He tilted his head, and paused for a long time. Then he shoved his keys back in his pocket. “Let’s go.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s see where you end up.”

Riggs blinked. “Are you high on something?”

Dorian jogged down the sidewalk. “Catch up, slow ass. I’m beating you already.”

“Storm’s coming.”

“You’re absolutely right. Better outrun it.”

“You’re so juvenile.” Riggs followed, his legs felt like weights from the gym.

“Says the guy who still thinks pull my finger is funny.”

Skylar

An incessant knocking pounded on her door.

A downpour hammered her roof. Only a complete idiot would be out in this. Or someone with more nefarious reasons.

Skylar grabbed the baseball bat from behind the door, and opened it.

Riggs stood on her porch, dripping wet and heaving as if on the verge of cardiac arrest. He slicked back the hair that’d dangled over his eyebrows. “Skylar,” he panted.

“Are you all right?” She set down the bat and stepped out onto her porch.

Another man stood at the end of the sidewalk, also soaked to the bone. And smiling. He was shorter than Riggs, but broader shoulders, with dark hair and goatee.

“What the heck’s going on?” she demanded.

“I ran here,” he managed between breaths.

“I can see that. Why didn’t you drive?”

“No, you don’t understand.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I ran here. I had no idea this is where I wanted to go, but I ran until my feet stopped. I looked up, and we were here.”

“You’re not making any sense.” Skylar pulled him forward, out of the rain. “Who’s that?”

“Dorian. Marine buddy of mine.”

“You’re just letting him stand in the rain?” She stepped to the side and called to the man. “Come inside.”

He came to the porch, and shook her hand. “I’m Dorian. Nice to meet you.”

“What’re you doing out in this?”

“Just some training.”

“Get inside, both of you. It’s a nasty storm.”

“What, this? This is nothing.” He held out his hands, letting the water soak him further. “Tell Riggs I’ll meet up with him later.”

A crack of thunder vibrated the walls. “Please, let me at least drive you wherever you’re going.”

“No, thanks. I’m good. I think he will be, too.” He winked, and started jogging down the sidewalk.

Skylar closed the door behind her. “You have some weird friends.”

Riggs peeled off his shirt, standing in her living room with a sheen across his bare chest. A small water spot emerged under his feet. “Dorian’s a pain in the ass, but he knows what he’s doing.”

He stepped forward, and cupped her cheeks. His skin was cold.

“We have to get you out of these clothes, or you’ll catch—”

His frigid lips covered hers. Moved across her mouth, and his tongue dipped inside to taste her.

Giving in tasted so sweet, kissing him back. God, the way this man made her feel. Safe, and simultaneously in danger of losing her heart.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes were full. A flurry of emotions swirled in those blue irises, with a touch of gray lining the pupils. “I was so angry. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t focus. Dorian dragged me to a Battle Buddy meeting, and it only made me angrier.”

“Angry about what?”

“Everything. The shit I saw, the hatred all around us…started to grow in my heart. I tried to bury it with humor all this time, but I’m really just deflecting. My mind was so cluster fucked, and I just ran. And this is where it led me.”

She placed her hand over his heart. “Slow down, Riggs. What happened?”

He covered her hand with his. “You trusted me by sharing your grief. I haven’t shared mine with anyone.”

“Okay.”

“It’s not okay. I didn’t let any of it out because I thought it was weakness. I didn’t want to disrespect him by complaining about anything. What right did I have to whine about what happened, when I lived and he didn’t?”

“Who?”

Riggs moved her hand over his scar. “Craig Murphy.”

A strand of hair fell over his forehead.

She brushed it back. “Tell me about him.”