Page 28 of The Bridges I've Burned

She remembered what I’d said last night.

“I’m not here to mend fences.”

She didn’t even wait for any sort of acknowledgment. I watched as she gave Macon a dazzling smile and patted him on the shoulder.

I felt a twinge of jealousy, seeing how at ease she was with him.

“Take care of my girl,” he told her.

“Always do, Hot Cop.”

He rolled his eyes, chuckling under his breath.

Marin followed close behind, and I once again looked away as the two lovebirds whispered sweet nothings in each other’s ear and kissed each other good-bye. The door finally shut, and then it was just the two of us.

Nearly a decade and a half worth of silence settled between us. A clock ticked somewhere in the house. A bird passed by the window and cawed.

I let out a huff.

“Your accent is gone,” he commented. “There’s not even a hint of twang anymore.”

I shrugged. “Got me laid for a while.” I grinned. “West Coast girls love a Southern boy, but I eventually just sort of lost it.”

More like dropped it. On purpose.

After a few years of living on the West Coast, I had gotten tired of being asked where I grew up every time I opened my mouth. It had been like being dragged back to that sad little house over and over again.

“Got a few more tattoos since I last saw you.” He motioned to my arms, making my gaze drift downward. I had no idea why. It wasn’t like I didn’t know they were there.

I’d ditched the hoodie today, and I was sporting a vintage Rolling Stones tee, ripped black shorts, and a pair of Converse. With that much skin showing, all the tats were out on display.

“Once you get one,” I said, “it’s kind of hard to stop. I’m surprised you never got one, being in the military.”

He shrugged. “Never really had anything I wanted to put on my body permanently,” he confessed. “Although I’ve been thinking of getting something before the wedding as a surprise for Marin.”

I winced. “You want to get your fiancée’s name? Isn’t that a little risky?” I mean, the guy already had one divorce in the rearview.

“Nah,” he said, a wide grin spreading across his face. “We’re a done deal. She’s it for me.”

Although our parents’ marriage had been a train wreck, I knew others were not. Lance and his wife, Tilly, had proven that to me. I knew real love existed out there, and I hoped, for my brother’s sake, that he’d found it this time around.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Macon said softly as we both headed over to the living room. He went and sat in an oversized gray chair, and I took the sofa directly across from him. “I hoped you’d come, but I never?—”

“I wanted to come to the wedding,” I lied. I didn’t want to come to the wedding. Not even a little. “But I’ve got a lot of things going on right now, so I wanted to at least show up for this.”

He looked up at me, his expression shredded. “You can’t make it to the wedding?”

I shook my head. “Sorry, man.”

He visibly pulled himself together as he sank further into his seat. “No, it’s okay. You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

I winced. He was being way too nice.

“Where are you staying?” he asked, throwing a foot over his knee.

He was in better shape than the last time I’d seen him, which was something, considering he’d been just a few years out of boot camp then. He no longer had the intense buzz cut or the severe edginess that had surrounded him though.

When the wedding invite had first come, I’d looked at that picture of the two of them and thought, No way—there was no way two people could be that happy.

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