Page 7 of The All-Inclusive

“Okay, I’m going.” I swallow and wait for the words to sink in. A bright little tingle starts at the base of my spine and swells up. “I’m going to the Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club.”

Camille puts her hand over mine. “You call the shots, Sara. This is your chance to learn what you want.”

Trent.

I don’t say that out loud, but he’s what I want. Deep down inside, for as long as I’ve lived, I’ve only hungered for him.

But Trent’s not an option, so I pick up my drink and draw back my shoulders. “I’m ready,” I tell them. “Let’s toast to new beginnings.”

The clink of our glasses sends the sharp sting of tears to the back of my throat. But I swallow them down, steeling myself for whatever’s to come.

For a future I can’t wrap my head around now.

CHAPTER 2

TRENT

“Where are you supposed to be again?”

I glance at my cousin and shrug. “The Middle East.” That’s as much as I’m able to tell him. For the record, I didn’t lie to Sara.

I really did go to Pakistan.

But my team’s hostage rescue took less than ten days from insertion to extraction. Since then, I’ve been holed up in Kenosha, Wisconsin, drinking myself into a stupor alongside the cousin who’s more like a brother.

I pick up my beer and take a few gulps. It’s warm and a little bit flat, which feels like the best I deserve at the moment. “How was work?”

“Fine.”

“Cool.”

“Yep.”

That’s one of the reasons I came here. Beck isn’t one for heartfelt emotional banter. He runs a private security firm after cutting his teeth in the Navy like me. His husband, Cam, is more likely to press me for details, but right now it’s just Beck and me getting drunk in this dim little bar.

I haven’t stopped hating myself since I got here. Since before that, to be honest. Way before Pakistan, or even before I busted my ass to become a SEAL.

I miss Sara so much that my chest aches like somebody’s standing on it while whacking me in the balls with the butt of a rifle. I’ve experienced that, so I know.

That feels like a tickle compared to how I feel now.

On the barstool beside me, Beck clears his throat. “How long are you staying?”

I sigh. He was bound to ask that eventually.

“Fuck, I don’t know.” Dragging a hand down my face, I stare down at my beer. “My commander granted me ten days of emergency leave.”

That’s on top of what I’d already scheduled for wedding stuff. I’m aware that I’m risking my career, but it’s tough to summon the energy to care.

Beck sips his beer. “That the longest you’ve been away from the teams?”

“Yep.” By a long shot.

“Damn.”

“Yeah.” There’s probably a reason he’s asking. “Is Cam getting sick of me crashing on your couch?”

“Nah, man. You’re cool.” He scratches a dried fleck of food on the edge of his glass. “It’s nice having you here. The kids dig you.”

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