Page 43 of How Much For A Broken Heart?

“You took out everyone who came at you. There was the potential to secure some of those guys, but you killed them all.”

“I knew more than all of them,” he said in a dead tone.

“But if we’d just?—”

“No!” August was quiet for a moment, then his expression grew somber, his voice barely audible. “If you’d seen what some of them had done…” His dark eyes brightened with emotion, but he shut it down as quickly as it had flared.

Fuck. I was done sitting here, mired in memories and what-ifs, and not having anything to do.

“You wanna get out of here for a bit?” I stood and retrieved the wheelchair from the corner.

August seemed surprised but nodded. I helped him, making sure he was comfortable before wheeling him out. He didn’t even bitch about having to use the chair.

“Water,” I said, recalling our conversation in the safe room. “Let’s get you to the ocean, Navy.”

The path to the small beach was quiet, and it was a typical April day in Maine, the snow that had blanketed the ground now a memory. Still, the chill in the air was enough to make me glad I was wrapped up, and I reached over and shoved August’s beanie lower, so it covered all of his ears and almost his eyes.

He didn’t scramble to avoid me or shove me away. He let me care for him.

Maybe, he’d even let me hug him, hold him close, and maybe even kiss him? Again, with this? Yep, I needed air. I was going mad.

As we reached the pebble-strewn beach, I parked us by a large rock that kept us out of the chilly wind. August was taking in the view, the expanse of the ocean stretching out before us.

“We don’t get many moments like this,” I said, staring over the water.

August nodded; his eyes fixed on the horizon. “Men like us. No, we don’t,” he agreed, then he glanced up at me.

“There was one morning, I was patrolling… overseas… and the sunrise was cool as fuck.”

“Nice description there,” August deadpanned.

“Well, it was big and empty and orange and pink. I’m a fighter, not a poet.”

I think I heard him chuckle. Or it could have been the murmur of the ocean.

“Where did you serve?” he asked after a while.

“Boiling hot deserts and ice-cold mountains. What about you?” I moved to sit on the rock next to him.

He considered me for a moment, then shrugged. “Classified.”

Asshole. “I dated a SEAL once.” His eyes widened. “Lasted exactly three fucks and a blowjob. All in one night. Impressive stamina.”

“We don’t do relationships.” He smirked, then his smile dropped. “Although, there were moments when I was with James, and I know it was all pretend, but yeah, moments when I imagined it could be real.” He flushed scarlet, probably embarrassed to have revealed so much.

I reached over to tug at the damn beanie again given he kept pushing it up. “What was James like?”

“Kickass, focused, worked at the DA’s office, knew what he wanted, and he wanted to root out the bad guys and be a good dad, all at the same time.” August shrugged.

I squeezed his arm, and he didn’t pull away, and for some stupid reason, I kept pushing.

Why did I do that?

“Annie is up in the house; I’m sure she’d love to hear about her dad?—”

“No. I said fucking no. Get me back to my room,” he demanded, shields in place, self-deprecating humor gone.

“Let’s just?—”

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