Page 50 of Pretend You're Mine

I leaned back in my chair, running a hand through my hair again, the tension easing just a little.

Me: Hey. What’s up?

Trent: Just checking in. You up for meeting today?

I glanced out the window, watching the people rush by, bundled up against the cold. I could use the distraction, a break from my own thoughts.

Me: Yeah, I’m up for it.

I gave him the location of the coffee shop nearby.

Trent: Sounds like a plan. See you there.

I tossed the phone onto the bed, the screen dimming as I slipped on some clothes. Maybe this was what I needed—a change of scenery, a chance to talk things out, to feel a little less stuck in my own head.

I got to the coffee shop early, settling into a corner booth with a view of the door. The place was warm, the air fragrant with the scent of espresso and freshly baked pastries. It was a welcome change from the cold outside, but my thoughts were anything but comfortable. I kept my hands wrapped around the coffee cup, letting the heat seep into my fingers as I waited for Trent.

The bell above the door jingled, and I looked up to see him stepping inside. He cut a broad figure—tall, muscular, his dark hair just starting to show threads of gray. His stride was uneven, a limp marring the confidence in his gait. He spotted me, his lips curving into a faint smile as he made his way over.

I stood up to greet him, and we clasped hands in a firm grip, the kind that spoke of shared battles and unspoken respect. He lowered himself into the booth with a grunt, stretching out his leg like he was trying to find a comfortable position.

"Still giving you trouble?" I gestured to his knee, raising an eyebrow.

"Every damn day," he muttered, rubbing the scarred joint through his jeans. "Better than the early days, though. You remember those?"

I chuckled, leaning back in my seat. “You were stubborn as hell. Refused the wheelchair after surgery, swore you’d walk out of the hospital on your own two feet.”

He smirked, a glimmer of the old fire in his eyes. “And I did, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, after you nearly passed out trying. Damn near gave the nurses a heart attack.”

We shared a laugh, the kind that only people who’d been through the worst together could.

“Remember that time in Fallujah?” Trent’s voice softened. “When we got stuck behind that supply truck, and you nearly lost your mind because you thought we were going to miss the extraction?”

A laugh bubbled up unexpectedly, catching me off guard. “Yeah, you kept telling me to chill out, like getting left behind wasn’t a big deal. Meanwhile, you had that busted radio and a pocket knife, acting like we’d just MacGyver our way out if things went south.”

Trent’s grin widened, a flash of nostalgia lighting up his face. “Hey, you know I had a plan. Just... maybe not the best one.”

“And I wasn’t about to find out if it would’ve worked,” I shot back, shaking my head. “That extraction point was our lifeline. Last thing I wanted was to be stuck out there with you, a broken radio, and your wild ideas about fashioning a distress signal out of god knows what.”

Trent chuckled, a low rumble. “I mean, come on, I would’ve figured something out. But yeah, we got out of there in one piece. Close call, though.”

I nodded, the memory settling like a stone in my chest. Back then, it was life and death, but now it felt like a lifetime ago—something we could laugh about over coffee, even though the stakes had been so high.

I cleared my throat, trying to shift the conversation. “How’s the family?”

He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the table. "Mel passed a while back. Cancer. It was quick. Thank God for that, at least." His voice grew rough, each word like a weight.

My chest tightened, a dull ache settling behind my ribs. “I’m so damn sorry, man. I wish I’d known.”

He shrugged, but his eyes were distant, focused on a point somewhere beyond the coffee shop walls. “Ava’s with my parents today, but... I need to find a babysitter soon. They can’t keep up with her forever.”

I nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in my throat. “She’s lucky to have you, though. And she’ll grow up knowing her dad’s a fighter.”

Trent’s lips twitched, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah. Some days I feel like I’m losing that fight, though.”

The silence settled between us, heavy with unsaid things. Trent shifted his gaze back to me, his expression softening. “Enough about me. How’ve you been holding up?”

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