Page 16 of Home for Justice
He took the pie, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Maybe we can talk more later?”
Her eyes lit up, and her smile widened. “I’d like that.”
As he made his way back to the long table, his plate filled with food and a brownie on top, the ghost of her touch lingered on his skin. Tyler felt lighter than he had in days. Maybe weeks. Perhaps since the call that had changed everything.
The table was filled with Cory’s coworkers and their families, a spread of former special forces and their partners, and the warmth of camaraderie filled the room. Today wasn’t about missions or rank. It was about memories, shared loss, and honoring the kind of man who brought people together even after death.
The chair reserved for him faced the buffet, and he was grateful for it. It gave him the perfect view of Justice. She moved from table to table, offering food, refilling trays, and greeting familiar faces. He bit into the apple pie, and as soon as the flavors hit his tongue, he blinked. It tasted just like his grandmother’s special recipe. Grandma Cecile had always vowed not to share the recipe, and he now wondered if she had decided that the pretty Justice was the perfect person to pass it to.
It hit him again… Justice was here. Not just at the wake. But here, in this town. His neighbor. What were the chances? He didn’t want to leave it up to fate. Not again.
Standing, he murmured something about needing more dessert and weaved his way through the tables, heart thudding with a strange mix of nerves and hope. But as he neared the edge of the room, he spotted her off to the side, her back half turned. Her phone was pressed to her ear, and her entire posture had changed.
Gone was the calm, composed woman from moments before. Now, her brows were drawn together, her mouth set in a tight line. Something darkened her features, but whether frustration or anger, he couldn’t be sure. The sweetness in her expression had vanished, replaced with something sharp and private. Tylerfroze, watching the tension coil through her body. Something had changed.
“I’m coming. I’ll be right there,” Justice said sharply, her voice clipped as she ended the call.
She dropped the phone into her purse with more force than necessary and tugged the strap across her chest in one smooth motion. The strain in her posture hadn’t faded, but the moment her eyes lifted and landed on him, standing just a few feet away, everything in her seemed to shift again.
Her features softened. Surprise flickered across her face, chased quickly by something gentler. Without hesitation, she closed the distance between them and placed her hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry, Tyler,” she said, her voice low and urgent. Her fingers curled slightly against his sleeve. “I have to go. I hope this doesn’t come off as rude, but I need to check on my dad.”
Concern flared in his chest. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, he’s fine.” She waved her hand in a vague gesture that didn’t quite match the tension in her brow. “Just… something we’re dealing with.”
Even as she offered the explanation, her eyes flickered with an unknown emotion. He wanted to know more, but it wasn’t the time or place.
She drew in a breath, visibly grounding herself. “Please accept my deepest condolences again for the loss of your grandfather. My dad spent so much time with him over the years. And I’m sorry I didn’t do more after your grandmother passed. I should’ve…”
Tyler shook his head, stepping slightly closer, his voice soft but sure. “There’s nothing to regret, Justice.”
For a heartbeat, she seemed poised to say more. Her lips parted and then closed again, the moment slipping away beforeit could become something more vulnerable. “I really do have to go,” she whispered.
Her hand dropped from his arm, and he missed it the instant her touch left him. The warmth of her palm still lingered in his skin like a fading echo.
Without another word, she turned and moved quickly through the crowd, weaving between tables, nodding vaguely at someone who called her name. Then she was at the door, slipping out into the bright afternoon beyond.
Tyler stared after her. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, the sound muffled by the sudden clatter of a dropped fork somewhere behind him.
He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, frustration humming just beneath his skin. He should’ve asked if he could see her again. Should’ve said something before she disappeared.
But even as he turned back toward the table, his mood already shifting, a grin crept over his face. She was his neighbor. Not a fleeting stranger. Not a mystery woman who would vanish again. She lived just down the road. And whether fate was feeling cooperative or not,I will see her again.
9
“Justice, honey, I don’t want you getting caught up with Jordy or Debbie,” her father’s gravelly voice came through the phone. “I’m pissed enough for both of us, but it’s taken care of.”
Her grip on the steering wheel tightened. She had called her dad once she was on the road. Her heart slammed against her ribs. “I specifically told him not to bother you in the hospital. Not during recovery. Not for the first few days at home. I made that crystal clear.” She nearly growled the last words, fury curling hot and wild in her gut.
When Tina had called to warn her that she’d had to ask dad’s visitors to leave when she heard loud voices, Justice knew exactly who had come. Her dad’s deadbeat brother, Jordy, and his equally loathsome wife, Debbie.
The tires churned on the pavement as she sped toward the hospital, the landscape blurring past her windows. The beauty of the late afternoon couldn’t cool the fire burning in her chest. Of all the days… Jordy and Debbie had to choose today to stir up their usual self-serving drama.
She hadn’t even had time to process everything from the funeral. Not the bittersweet memories. Not the ache of seeing Charlie’s casket lowered into the earth. And certainly not theman who’d nearly unraveled her with nothing more than a look and a soft-spoken “I’m glad I get to see you again.”
Tyler Marconi. She hadn’t recognized him at first. The man from the hospital’s presence had been quiet grief, his voice rough with sorrow, his strength barely holding him upright. She hadn’t connected him to the photos she’d seen scattered throughout Charlie and Cecile’s home over the years.
In those framed snapshots, he’d been younger, his hair longer, his beard fuller, always in uniform, a distant figure standing shoulder to shoulder with other soldiers. Sometimes in sand-colored camo, and sometimes beneath jungle leaves.
