Page 9 of Served

“How do you stay so positive all the time?”

Felix sets his fork down, thinking. “After I lost my leg, I figured I had two choices: let it define my whole existence, or make it just part of my journey.” He shrugs. “I chose door number two.”

“Just like that?”

“Hell no.” He grins. “I was a mess for a while. Angry. Depressed. Back in Nebraska, I was driving my dad nuts. But eventually I realized I was still here when many of my brothers weren’t. I felt I had a responsibility to live well—for them, you know?”

The words hit me like a physical blow. Jason used to say something similar on his bad days, when the nightmares came. “So… Live well. That’s the mission.”

Felix’s eyes soften. “Exactly.”

Our gazes lock, and I feel something terrifying and wonderful all at once in my chest.

“We should probably get to work,” I say, breaking the moment before I do something I shouldn’t.

Like kiss him.

What am I saying? Honestly, Letty.

For the next hour, we sort through photos, tweak various layouts, and make calls to some of the families of fallen service members. Felix is organized and efficient, and his sense of humor keeps things from getting too heavy. Every time he makes me laugh, it feels like I’m reclaiming a piece of myself I thought died with Jason.

At one point he leans over my shoulder to look at a list I’m compiling, his breath warm on my neck, and it’s all I can do to stop myself from turning and pressing my face into the curve of his throat. His cologne is subtle—white musk and bergamot—and I find myself leaning slightly back into the solid heat of his chest.

“You have beautiful handwriting,” he murmurs.

“Catholic school,” I reply, my voice embarrassingly breathless.

“That would explain the bossy streak,” he teases, and I elbow him playfully.

“I’m not bossy!”

His laugh vibrates through me. “Yes, ma’am. Anything you say, ma’am.”

A loud crack of thunder shakes the building, making me jump. The lights flicker once, twice, then plunge us into complete darkness.

CHAPTER 4

FELIX

I can barely make out Letty’s face, but I hear her breath catch.

“You okay?” My hand had instinctively sought hers when the lights went out—whether for her sake or mine, I’m not sure.

“Fine,” she says, her other hand brushing my forearm—just a fleeting touch, but it scorches through the rumble of thunder outside. “Just startled. Storms here can get…intense.”

Tell me about it. My pulse hammers as her warmth spreads through me.

The door to the conference room opens, and a flashlight beam shines over us. Talia’s silhouette appears in the doorway.

“Sorry about this, folks,” she says. “Storm’s knocked out the power. The generator’s running, but it only covers the emergency lighting in the hallways and guest rooms.” She sweeps the flashlight beam over the food on the table. “Don’t worry about the food. I’ll get it cleaned up.”

“I can help…” Letty offers, releasing my hand.

“Nonsense. I insist.” Talia starts stacking the plates.

“Thanks, Talia,” I say. “Save me those leftovers for tomorrow?”

“You got it.” She hesitantly adds, “If you want to keep working, your room should have a lamp or two functioning.” There’s a pause. “If you’re both comfortable with that arrangement, of course.”

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