Page 92 of Cross My Heart

“I’ll stay away,” I affirm, and he smiles. It gives me whiplash, but I shouldn’t care what she does with her life anymore. Or who she spends it with. I should just be happy for her. “You take care of her.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that with me,” he spits out. “I’m not a piece of shit like you.”

I sigh, because I know I deserve that. “You’re right. I’m so?—”

“If you apologize again, I’ll beat your ass right fucking here.”

“Okay.” I nod. “Let’s talk about the bar.”

He smiles at that. “Now we’re talking.”

I spend the next hour going over everything relating to the bar. The books, the employees, and how much money it takes to run it. He hangs on to my every word, and by the end of my spiel, he makes me an offer I can’t reject. It solidifies my future by Noah’s side, so I take it, shaking hands with him. It feels like my friendship with him is ruined too, but I can’t hold it against him. I know I fucked up.

Austin gets up from the barstool and looks me up and down, a look of disgust on his face, but he says his goodbyes with a stoic face. He doesn’t want this deal to get ruined, and neither do I. The faster I sell this place, the faster I can start my new life with Noah by my side. He exits the bar, and I can finally breathe again.

Wiping the bar top, I look at the time on my phone. My messages are still unanswered, and I don’t have any missed calls. My stomach is uneasy, and all I want to do is go home to him and hold him all night. I know he’s probably in his head right now, having nightmares as I stand here and serve customers who don’t mean shit to me. All because I want to be a good boss to my people. I don’t want them to feel deserted, like I don’t care. Especially now that I’m selling the bar. I want Austin to have a seamless transition, including not having to hire any more people due to my absence. But as my hands shake and the pit in my stomach grows, I know none of it matters anymore.

I have to go home.

I need to lay eyes on him.

It’s probably nothing. I’m more than likely overreacting. But I can’t help myself. It’s finally me and him against the world, and I’ll be damned if anything happens to him because I was here. I’ll be damned if he wakes up from his nightmares alone and scared, probably under the bed again. I’ll be fucking damned if I let him hurt without me by his side.

So I throw the rag on the bar top and excuse myself, going to the assistant manager to have a word with her. I explain that I have to leave earlier, and she nods and says she’s got me. To not worry. So I don’t.

I get in my car and blow out a big breath, exhaling all the air out of my lungs. My heart is beating erratically, and I can’t seem to get it to slow down no matter how many deep breaths I take. My hands shake on the steering wheel as I grip it, and I peel out of the parking lot with every intention of speeding the entire way home. But life has other plans for me, and I'm stopped at every single red light.

Taking my phone out of the cup holder, I dial Noah and turn up the volume on the Bluetooth. It rings and rings and rings, then goes straight to voicemail. As if he cut off the call. Rejected it. That pit in my stomach? It’s now a fucking ocean, deep and endless. It feels like an earthquake has taken over my insides, my limbs trembling violently as I pull up into my driveway, and when I take out my phone there’s one unread message from Noah.

Unlocking my phone, I read it over and over.

My blood rushes in my ears, then turns to ice.

And then I fly out of my car, headed toward the front door.

Headed to him.

Chapter 46

NOAH

The red haze of the sun blinds me as I look over into the distance, trying to make out the outline of what looks to be vehicles speeding toward us. I shield my eyes by cupping a hand over my brows to better understand what is quickly approaching, only to gasp.

A convoy.

An enemy convoy.

“Michaels!” I shout, but in his haste to reach me, he steps on something he shouldn’t and suddenly he’s airborne. “Jeremiah!” I scream this time.

The blast hurls us all through the air, and when I hit the ground, my ears begin to ring. I get up slowly, on my hands and knees, and feel unsteady getting to my feet. I look back out into the distance to see the vehicles approaching even faster, and bullets connect with the tank behind me. I sprint over to Michaels and drag him to safety, right behind our vehicle. His leg has been blown off, and he’s screaming, the sound piercing my ears until my hands begin to shake. I put my M4 on the dirt next to me and reach over to assess the extent of the damage.

There’s blood everywhere, soaking into his combat uniform and pooling under me and onto my clothing. I can hear my squad engaging with the enemy, and now it’s a symphony of rounds as they connect with metal, casings raining down on us. Even though I’m supposed to be able to deal with this situation—it’s what I’m fucking trained for—my vision blurs as tears spring to my eyes. He’s my best friend. My battle buddy. Not him.

Not him.

Reaching for my bag, I pull out a tourniquet and get to work quickly. His whimpers fill my ears, and my hands tremble violently as I finish and pick up my rifle. I scoot him under the vehicle slightly as I begin to receive fire, but somehow a bullet ricochets and lands right between his eyes. I stare at him, stunned, and when the next bullet hits me in the chest, I gasp in pain. I’m protected by my fighting load carrier vest, thankfully, but when the next round lands against my helmet, my vision begins to blur at the edges from the hit to my head. Right as I’m fighting against the edge of unconsciousness, I feel my cheek meet the dirt. Footsteps crunch on the dirt road, and I watch as body after body drops.

My friends.

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