Page 27 of Issued

I’m sorry.

Two words that should be simple enough to say. But putting my business on display for the public isn’t my thing. Though, after Brittney’s scene two nights ago, people who don’t even know a thing about me now know I’m broken. Leave it to my ex’s sister to tell the world I’m the emotional equivalent of Humpty Dumpty after his fall from grace. All of my pieces are glued back with such haphazard carelessness that I can’t remember what it feels like to be whole. Or what it feels like to go through life without falling apart, without being forced to admit my own weakness.

I drag my hands over my face, my heart in my throat, as I do my best impression of a kicked puppy in the middle of Shaken & Stirred. Taya catches sight of me, slams down her tray, and turns on her heel to stalk off in the opposite direction. My body trembles and I dig my nails into my scalp, wishing for the hundredth time that my stubborn wife had acknowledged me when I’d tapped on her door last night. Or the night before. This whole thing could have been handled in private. Although, shit, guess that cat had gotten out of the bag two days ago. Until then, Bear had been the only one who knew about my TBI, but now everyone knows. Everyone who was within earshot of our table.

But the way Taya leapt to her feet to defend me. She’d been all fiery eyes and blazing cheeks, a hellcat ready to attack on my behalf. Hope bubbles in my chest for a second before I viciously squash the feeling. Taya deserves someone normal, someone who can stand up to the light of her scrutiny without cutting her on all his ragged, imperfect edges. She deserves someone better than me.

But right now, we need to put on a performance for my superiors and any of the committee attending the function later tonight. My jaw aches and I’m grinding my teeth together as I flag down the hostess. “Can you get her? It’s important.”

Inara crosses her arms, her eyes boring into me. “Me importa tres pepinos.”

“Please?”

She turns, flinging her hand at me in a dismissive wave. “Sure.”

Inara heads into the back. Despite her snarky claim that she cares more about cucumbers than what I think is important, a minute later, Taya makes her way toward me. I force a smile, but the muscles in my face tighten and twitch. Taya stops in front of me, her forehead a collection of unhappy little wrinkles. With one hip cocked and her arms folded beneath the small swell of her teacup breasts, she’s the personification of feisty disapproval in a server’s apron and non-slick shoes.

“What do you want?”

“There’s a mandatory work party and I need you to come with me.” Not the best start, but I’m fully prepared to apologize and grovel for a date rather than show up in front of my commanding officer without Taya on my arm. This is my shot to prove that I’m committed to the IPP program.

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

I want to turn around and leave, but I’m already down to the wire. Maybe I’ll just toss her over my shoulder and make a run for it. Taking a deep breath, I try again. “I know you’re mad, but I need your help. We don’t even have to talk or stand next to one another. We’re basically carpooling to an open bar. This is important. If my C.O. doesn’t think I’m trying to make the IPP program work, I’m screwed.”

Her body slumps, but her eyes remain locked with mine. “When?”

“Tonight.”

“Are you serious?” Her voice is high pitched and more than a little accusatory. “You literally waited until the last second?”

“Not exactly.” I glance at the time on my phone. “We actually have about three hours.”

She swells like a puffer fish and her hands lift, fingers curling into claws. “I get off work at ten. I have to find coverage. And even if I go, I can’t stay late. I have plans with Inara and I’m not canceling.”

“Fine. We’ll leave early. As for coverage...” Glancing beyond her, I take in the mostly empty restaurant. There are maybe three occupied tables and a group of servers are at the bar gossiping and watching the overhead television with the captions on. “I think you’ll be fine.”

A soft growl escapes her as she turns to look at the scene herself. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

A legitimate concern, if my memory of her closet holds true. A veritable ghost town, the nicest things in there were fancy jeans and some dressy sleeveless shirts. “Most people would have packed more when they move to a new state.”

Her bottom lip trembles and her fingers drum against the side of her thigh.

My hand reaches out on its own accord, hungry to touch her, to offer some sort of comfort for once, but she turns away. Sighing heavily, I run my fingers through my hair and edge a little closer, angling my head to one side so I can see her face in profile, if nothing else. “I wasn’t trying to be a jerk. When I was in your room the other day, I noticed your lack of clothes.”

She hesitates at first but finally shrugs one shoulder in practiced dismissal. She turns to face me, unable or unwilling to make eye contact. “I didn’t pack much because there wasn’t much to pack.”

I reach out slowly, painfully aware I’m treating her like a spooked horse, but unsure of what else I can do. My fingertips brush down the length of her bare arm and it sends electricity crashing through me. “What do you mean?”

“There was a fire.” She chokes on the words. “Everything that wasn’t reduced to ashes went into my bags.”

My stomach coils and the ache in my chest grows claws. Clearing my throat, I motion toward the tables. “See how early you can get out of here. I’ll wait for you.”

Her eyes narrow and the frustrated wrinkles in her forehead deepen. “Didn’t you hear a word I said? I don’t have anything to wear.”

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