Page 33 of Delta: Retribution

Javier nodded. “With Marlena. That’s nice and all, but—”

“But what?” he growled.

“It’s not you.”

Trace stopped. “Don’t you think I know that?”

“And a date? I mean, if you’re going to crack up, give a dude a little warning. Okay?”

His temples pounded; his throat squeezed tight. “What if…”

What the fuck was he even saying?

Javier’s face pinched. “What if what?”

He shrugged, temples still pounding. “I like her.”

“I get it. She seems like a cool girl. You two obviously have some history together, small world and all that.”

“I have a good vibe with her.” His heart started to race, his thoughts jumping in for good measure. “She’s funny, a little broken. So am I. Completely fucked in the head and…”

“And?” Javier crossed his arms.

Trace sucked in a long breath, dropping his head back to stare into the sun. “I’m never going to find those dog tags.”

Javier’s eyes hardened. Seconds ticked by. “We know.”

Deep in his chest, anger turned into a growl. Trace ran his hands through his hair. He’d seen the pictures from the improvised explosion that took out Michael’s armored vehicle. He’d seen how the wreckage had been torn apart by fucking nomads. The tags were gone, along with everything else.Fuck. He wanted them back. It was his only goal in life. His sole focus, getting him thrown off SEALs, getting him… “Fuck!”

“Trace, buddy, take a breath.”

He bent over, ducking his head between his knees. “I like the girl.”

“I don’t know if it’s a good thing or not. I’m worried you might hop from one obsession to the next. I’m worried that, until you deal with Michael’s death, like really handle your shit, you’ll always chase what you can’t really have.”

“The tags.”

“And the girl.” Javier gave him a sad smile. “We get the green light, and we’re gone. No more happy college-girl fuck buddies.”

Trace paced the sidewalk, his stomach knotted, his mind dry heaving incoherent thoughts.

“Hit up your Screen on the Green. Hang with her. Have a good time.” Javier sighed. “And give yourself a break, Trace. Your brother’s with the good guys—tags or not.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Trace had no idea why one beer and losing a game of pool would make him reevaluate the direction of his life or give him an insight that everyone else, apparently, already had. He nodded a good-bye to Javier and headed toward his car. Michael. Dog tags. Marlena. Fucking Screen on the Green. So much shit rambled through his brain.

He clicked the Charger unlocked and closed himself off from the world in the front seat. With a turn of the key, Trace revved the engine and hung on to the steering wheel, trying to take his mind off it all. He couldn’t. His mind wandered, leading him to pick up his phone and search “Screen on the Green,” confused about why he had focused on a stupid gathering. Maybe Marlena had something to do with all of it.

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