Page 48 of The All-Inclusive

He sounds distracted as I step over the threshold, inhaling the faint scent of cedar and sea salt. I catalogue details like I’m scouting a terrorist hideout.

There’s a desk in the corner holding an oversized laptop and several thick books on military history. There’s a fern in a pot by the window, and his blinds are half open to showcase a fat wedge of starlit sea. There’s a dresser that holds a trio of photos in frames, along with a small stack of laundry. His bed isn’t made, and I catch myself wondering how many people he’senchantedthere recently.

“Can I help you, Trent?”

I turn to find Logan has crept up behind me. The guy’s pretty stealthy for a jarhead. He’s shirtless and wearing a loose pair of blue plaid boxers. His short, sandy hair looks like he’s been running his hands through it.

My tongue feels unusually thick. “I wanted to talk to you for a sec.”

His forehead furrows. “Is this about Sara?” He crosses his arms and I notice a scar on the left one that I hadn’t noticed before. “Let me stop you right there if it is. I won’t discuss other guests unless they give their permission. The situation’s already kinda awkward with you being here and?—”

“It’s not about Sara.” My eyes zero in on the trio of photos arranged on his dresser. On one smiling face in particular.

I step to the edge and pick up the rustic steel frame. A fist grips my stomach as I stare at the two men in uniform.

One of them is Logan.

The other—“You fucking know Scott Heath. Likeknowhim know him.”

I glance up to see him look puzzled. “I told you I did.”

“I thought you just served together.” Holy shit, this changes things. “You’re actuallyclose.”

“Yeah.” He’s still got his arms crossed, staring at me like he’s trying to see through my skull. “Is there a question here?”

So many of them. I set the picture down and shove both my hands in my pockets. “So you know each other well.Reallywell.”

Realization flickers in his eyes. “Not like that, no.”

“But you’re bi.”

“Yep.” A hint of a smile tugs his mouth. Is the son of a bitch laughing at me? “Want a beer, Trent?”

“Yeah, sure.” God, I suck at this. “Sorry I’m being a dick.”

He laughs for real and goes to the fridge in the corner. “Why don’t you head out to the balcony. Is Deschutes IPA okay?”

“Yeah, great.” Pretty damn cool he’s got beer from Oregon.

I hate how I’ve found myself liking him.

I shove open the sliding glass door and step onto a platform that’s almost as big as my driveway. Logan’s got a corner unit, which must be one of the perks of working here as long as he has. Grasping the railing, I take several deep lungfuls of sea air. The smell of the ocean calms me like always, and so does the rustling of breeze in the palm trees. It’s a nice night, all speckly skies and a moon throwing sparks on the water. I can see why Ash and Camille like living here.

By the time Logan joins me, I’ve almost got my heart rate under control.

“You’re welcome,” he says as he hands me an icy-cold bottle.

“Thanks.” We got that backwards, and he probably did it on purpose. Trying to keep me off balance or whatever.

I’d be annoyed, except I’d do the same in his shoes.

“Scott saved my life.” He twists the top off his beer as he says it, waiting for me to do likewise. “We were on a mission in the Gulf of Aden. I slipped and went into the water and Scott jumped in after me.” There’s a pause as he gulps down a swallow of beer. “The other men in our squad—all eight of them—didn’t make it back.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

I’ve lost teammates as well, so I know how it sucks. “Sorry, man. That’s rough.”

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