Page 9 of Montana's Bravest

“Get over yourself.”

“Just remember I’m in the process of learning to be you,” I quip.

Much as I want to convince Mark to take a shot at romance—at Ivy Forbes—I admire his stoicism. He declares himself ‘happily married to the job,’ and he’s living it. It’s a way of life that takes some getting used to. But I know it’s the only way if I want to stop myself from suffering the unwanted effects of falling in love.

For a while, I was under the illusion that having a relationship was the answer to my lackluster existence. They say it’s against human nature for men to be alone. I believed if I found the right woman, then things would fall into place, and my life would have meaning.

I found her.

Only to realize I was wrong.

One day I returned early from a mission in Venezuela, body and mind drained from an incident that almost cost Mark’s life. I couldn’t wait to be back in my girlfriend’s arms, to be comforted and loved. Instead, I caught her with another man, tearing each other’s clothes off in my fucking bed. He was apparently a lawyer who commanded five hundred dollars an hour, and she fell head over heels.

That was the last time I was betrayed, but not the first—as if I had it written on my forehead:Cheat on me.

The only way to recover from that kind of setback, and to avoid falling into the same trap, is to be like Mark—heart locked, head buried in work. These days, the person I go home to is a German shepherd named Maximus, a veteran dog who tries to give me domestic bliss mainly by tiring me out with his antics.

“It’s got nothing to do with a girl,” Mark affirms with a tone that tells me our imminent discussion is about business.

“See you tomorrow, then,” I end the call.

The sun has burned off the fog when I hit Manhattan—my old stomping ground. It hasn’t changed. People pass me by—tired faces, happy faces, and those in between. A group of menin suits rush into their Mercs and BMWs. They’re probably lawyers, like the man my ex-girlfriend favored over me.

No doubt a lot of people see their jobs as a means to an end. I saw my professions that way too. Don’t get me wrong. It was an honor for me to serve my country as a SEAL. And my stint as a fighter—legal and illegal—had made me a man. I’m also humbled by the trust my clients have given me as their guardian. But at the end of the day, what I’m doing is a job that pays the bills.

But…

My perspective has changed since the moment Noah Forbes came into the picture. The boy wasn’t my job—he was my duty.

Mark isn’t the only one who has something on his mind; I do too. I’ve been thinking about how we can make Red Mark a company that makes a real difference—beyond our responsibilities and job satisfaction.

I land in Helena at night. I drive an eighty-mile route from the airport to home, dreading the silence. The thought of making supper for one and lying in my cold bed doesn’t help either. Maximus is my clown, and I’m excited to see him again, but sometimes his presence highlights how lonely life can be without another human to go home to.

I shoo away my self-pity as I arrive home to a strange-looking Maximus.

A neighbor has been looking after him, and the dog should be happy to see me, but his greeting is anything but. We’ve been together for a month, and admittedly our bonding still needs work—at times we both try to be the alpha of the house. Mark often calls Maximus my ‘heartbreak hound,’ because I adopted him not long after the debacle with my ex, but my dog has proven himself a man’s best friend—he’s always there when I need him.

“Hey, Tri-pawed,” I call him, trying to get a reaction.

Maximus lost one of his front paws in battle, hence I call him Tri-pawed from time to time. The dog usually growls hearing it—I don’t think he’s smart enough to know the meaning, but he definitely knows I’m teasing him for something.

Maximus stays listless, lying on his side with his legs extended.

“What’s up, buddy?” I pat my furry companion. Charles Schultz famously said that happiness is a warm puppy, but this big pup whining under my touch is more than warm. His eyes look heavy, and even the slightest move he makes looks laborious.

My heart rate kicks up. I can’t handle another loss, even a dog.

I gather him up in a blanket. “Hang in there, buddy. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

After an overnight stay,Maximus just got sprung from the vet’s, now riding shotgun in my truck, giving me that ‘traitor’ look dogs are so good at.

“Quit the sad eyes, Max,” I tell him, answering another call. “Yeah?”

“Where the hell have you been?” Mark’s voice has that edge of concern.

“Sorry, man, my battery died. I just left the hospital.”

There’s a pause. “Hospital? You good?”

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