Page 11 of Relinquish

I hop in and fasten the safety belt. “They forgot the order of onion rings, so I had to wait.”

“Onion rings? I don’t remember you ordering any onion rings.”

I shrug and pull into traffic. “I guess I forgot to order them when I called.” Yeah, I’m beyond pathetic. The second I saw Lola, I needed an excuse to study the curve of her cheek and how the light shone on her hair, so I ordered onion rings. I haven’t been an idiot over a girl since I was sixteen. “It’s not like you were going to suffer from heat exhaustion or anything. I left the truck running.”

Tyrone’s a bloodhound when he gets on the trail of a potential love match. After years of struggling to gain his girlfriend’s family’s acceptance, his engagement to his college sweetheart has warped his brain. Now all he sees is bullshit hearts and flowers. Everywhere.

“Hmmm.” He frowns, opens the bag, and grabs a handful of French fries. “Have you given any consideration to Truman’s offer to get back into the field?”

My teeth grind together. “I’ve told you how I feel. From now on, I’m only taking responsibility for myself.” I switch on the blinker and pull into the passing lane. When I was discharged from the military, I vowed to never have anyone depend upon me again.

“You’ve fully recovered, so that’s not holding you back. Unless you’re not telling us something.”

When I saw Tyrone getting beaten by a couple of bullies years ago, I should’ve kept walking. But back then, I didn’t mind my own business. Hell, I couldn’t let a couple of punks beat up on a kid who weighed sixty-five pounds when soaking wet. From that point on, Tyrone and his younger foster brother, Daniel Slater, were up my ass worshipping me like I was Superman or something.

“I’m fine. No lingering problems.”

He tilts his head and stares as the streetlights intermittently fill the cab with faint lights. “I don’t understand. You’re great at thinking on your feet and making snap decisions. The field is perfect for you, so why are you denying your calling?”

My jaw clenches until it feels like I can shred a nail between my teeth. Don’t answer. Shit. If I don’t answer, he’ll never let it go. Even if I do answer, he won’t let it go. “I made a mistake, and because of me, people were injured.”

“That’s bullshit. You don’t make a move without considering all the consequences. If you weren’t the one calling the shots, more people would’ve been hurt.”

Anger radiates through me. I made a miscalculation and must live with it every day. My shoulders burn with tension, and a wave of regret floods over me. “You weren’t there, so you have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m tired of being responsible for other people’s safety. I can’t do it anymore. The blind faith the other soldiers had in me was misguided. I’m not someone they should’ve looked up to.” I shudder. And the hero’s welcome I received when I returned home made it even worse. I didn’t deserve to be labeled as a hero.

Tyrone raises his hands in surrender. “I’ll leave it alone, but I hate seeing you beat yourself up. You don’t deserve it.”

“Enough,” I snap. “You weren’t there, and I’m not going to discuss it anymore. I’m perfectly content using my computer training to stay behind the scenes doing research and letting the other guys do all the glory work.”

Tyrone’s undying belief in me is wearing thin. It’s impossible to live up to those standards. Fuck. I’m not even trying. We’ve been over this topic ad nauseam. If Tyrone and Truman keep pushing the issue, I’m going to walk and find a new job. The computer training I received in the Navy can translate into something besides following money trails, tracking communications, strategizing rescue missions, and hacking into shit.

I pull into the parking lot of my condo. “Have you heard from Daniel?” Yes, it’s a blatant attempt to change the subject, but here’s to hoping it works.

Tyrone unbuckles his seatbelt. “Not for a few months. Mom said she spoke with him a couple of weeks ago, but as usual, he was vague about his whereabouts and what he was doing. She worries about him.”

Stella Kavanaugh is the rock of our hodgepodge family. As the foster mother for myself and foster-to-adoptive mother for Tyrone and Daniel, she kept us together. Without her, I’d never have made it into the military or survived the aftermath upon my return.

As we walk to the front of the building, I rotate my shoulders. “I’m sure he’s fine. He always lands on his feet.” Daniel hangs with some rough characters, but he can hold his own.

“I know.” Tyrone yanks on the door handle. “He has more lives than a cat.”

“At least Stella has you. Her other boys have given her more gray hairs than she can handle. Is she still helping with the wedding plans?” If I can keep Tyrone occupied until we reach the fifth floor and get him in front of the television to watch the game, I might survive this interrogation.

Chapter Eight

Lola

I refold the spreadsheet I’ve spent the last several hours poring over back to its original position. Red ink dots the pages, marking the areas of inconsistency. It looks like an evil editor has gotten a novice’s manuscript. “I think I’ve got it all highlighted. We should have a strong case to present to our client.”

“Good. We’re about to wrap this project up.” Jason clicks on the wireless mouse at his terminal, moving quickly from one screen to the next without looking in my direction.

Overhead, multiple televisions and computer monitors display a variety of news programs from around the globe. The drone of everything from the local news to the world financial markets drones on until I no longer notice it.

Jason and I are the last remaining soldiers working in the computer lab as everyone else left for the evening. Most people would choose a more active social life over clicking through computer screens and rifling through reams of printouts on a Friday evening. I know Jason’s excuse. He’s a computer geek. But what’s mine?

Right. The only individual interested in me since I’ve arrived in town is Cade, and that was an attempt to get me to leave.

Not that I’m interested in him. I’m not. I’d rather wash my hair or clean out a cat litter box. And if I keep repeating that to myself, I might believe it.

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