Page 22 of What I Should Have Done

“A thumb war? What is that?” she asked.

My mouth fell open. I thought everyone knew what a thumb war was. “You don’t know what a thumb war is?”

“No, I don’t know what a fucking thumb war is. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be asking.”

A wicked grin spread across my face. “Shit, give me your hand. I’ll teach you.” I reached out, ready to clasp her fingers in mine.

Chapter 8

SCOTTIE

His massive, calloused thumb slammed down on top of mine—again. “Rematch! Now!” I demanded. We were both lying prone, facing each other. Something more casual had settled over us, and for the first time since learning what my assignment was going to be, I felt a modicum of calm.

“You really think, after I’ve won every round so far, this time will be different?” he asked, releasing my thumb from beneath his. As rough as sandpaper, as strong as steel, his fingers clung to mine like it was the last thing keeping him here—keeping him grounded.

“Absolutely.” I tapped to the side of his hand. “One.”

“Two.” He moved his thumb to the side of mine.

“Three, four, I declare a thumb war!” I blurted out and attempted to ram my thumb on top of his before he had a chance to move it out of the way.

It obviously didn’t work.

“Can I ask something more personal? And you won’t get…mad?” I hesitantly questioned as our thumbs wrestled. He was purposefully going easy, dragging out this battle, as over and over again, I managed to evade his maneuvers.

His tongue flicked out, running across his lips. “Depends.”

Drawing in a breath for encouragement, silence settled calmly between us. “Your tattoos,” I slowly began, breaking the gentle serenity. He didn’t look up from our clasped hands. Not a sound passed his mouth that briefly drew my gaze. Maybe I’d misjudged him initially. “Other than the one on your shoulder, why are they only around your abdomen or lower back?”

His thumb faltered, this time not on purpose, and I slipped mine out from beneath his without much force. “The Greek statue and mythology theme is really cool, except… I mean, I know I only saw them briefly once, but—”

“But you’re extremely observant,” he finished for me. Not with the exact words I had planned to use, but that was the gist of it.

“Hazard of my training,” I said, hoping to provide him with whatever reassurance he needed. His blond lashes ducked over his eyes, hiding his piercing irises from sight.

And he stopped moving, pulling his hand from my own. Shifting upright, he sat back on his heels and stared over my head. Still, not a word slipped off his tongue. His expression fell, drowning in memories that I almost regretted asking about.

At least he didn’t get mad, but whatever my question ignited in him twisted his rather unexpectedly intense and handsome features with pain.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered and pushed myself up to my feet. Twisting my hair back up into the bun, I paused. He didn’t move. His eyes remained forward, unblinking, not reacting to my presence in the room. “I’ll let you be,” I added, waiting for another half a second for him to do something, anything. But his chest barely moved as if breathing was no longer a requirement for him.

And just as I turned to leave the tent, the flap flew open and in walked Bernie. “Hello, you two, what’s going on…here…?” His voice began chipper and teasing as always, but as his eyes settled on Mikey’s still figure, the brightness softened. “He okay?”

My eyes remained on Mikey, tracing the outline of his frame. Hardened. Burdened. A mystery to yet unfold. “I asked him about his tattoos,” I quietly muttered, and Bernie closed his eyes.

“Let’s go grab some air, maybe clean our rifles.” Bernie immediately slammed a hand around my arm, spun on his heel, and dragged me out of the tent.

“What are you doing?” I asked, prying his fingers off my skin. Stumbling over my feet, Bernie didn’t budge as he pulled me farther and farther away from Mikey and our sleeping quarters. Weaving around tents, past chatting soldiers and a couple men fighting in the dirt, he finally stopped.

“Mikey doesn’t talk about them. Ever. And we don’t ask,” Bernie bluntly stated, finally letting me go. He faced me. Not an ounce of humor coated his face. The sun had already chipped away at his cheeks, turning them pink, but the red blooming across his skin had more to do with my question than the rays beating down upon him.

“Why not?” I asked, digging my heels in.

Bernie pulled his lips into a thin line and his green eyes darkened beneath his brows. “I just said we don’t ask. Mikey didn’t exactly have the greatest childhood, and anytime you ask him about it, that happens. So, just…don’t ask.”

“He got tattoos before he was eighteen? His parents were okay with that?” I couldn’t believe my ears.

“His parents…” Bernie ran his hand over his jaw and shook his head. “That’s for Mikey to tell you. Now, gym or weapons? Pick.”

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