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CHAPTER ONE
PAST
CALLUM
Cal,the package begins,I know you don’t want to hear from me, but I figure someone has to man up and be the one to reach out, and it may as well be me. I know how you feel about me, and I understand, but there are some things you should know.
If my gut is right, and you may disagree, but you may not, then you may be in danger. I would have called or emailed, but I wasn’t sure if you’d have taken it. Everything you need to know is in this package. If you want me to drop it, I will, but Ryan deserved better. We all did.
I’m available if you want to talk.
Miss you, brother. Be well.
Ford
Twin flames of grief ignite in my chest as the piece of paper with the familiar scribble crumples in my hand. The box lay innocently on my stoop, an unwelcome reminder of a past I want nothing more than to forget.
I down the beer I’m drinking and unlock the door, then kick the package through with the toe of my boot. It skids across the scuffed wood floor and lands underneath the jutting expanse of the bar. I leave it there like a live grenade that I want fuck all to do with.
Instead, I get another beer after tossing the other, retreat to my favorite recliner, and turn on a random sports channel for the white noise. I drink two more before my phone rings, interrupting the buzz I’m trying to work on.
When I see the name on the phone, I consider ignoring it, too. Must be a day for blasts from the past, but I have no real interest in a history lesson.
When the number calls again, I sigh and answer.
“Hello, Gwen,” I answer, even saying her name has me going for beer number four.
When she speaks, I trade the beer for whiskey.
Hard liquor is the only way to deal with ghosts and the woman who ground your heart under her worn red cowboy boots like it was nothing.
CHAPTER TWO
PAST
CALLUM
She’s a beautiful bride.
Once upon a time, I thought she’d be mine.
I glance around the full church auditorium and wish I’d given in to bringing the flask of whiskey with me. Now would be the perfect time to sneak off to the bathroom and take a swig. Or maybe more than one.
But something tells me the congregation would notice if the man of honor snuck off to get shitfaced.
My mom would kill me.
My brother would kill me.
I’ve already had more than enough of trying to convince them that I’m happy for Ian, and I am.
Shit, maybe I’ve done so much convincing, I’ve actually convinced myself.
I tug at the collar of my tux and wish I was in the middle of the desert, wearing fifty pounds of gear in the freezing cold, with mortars going off around me. Fuck me if the world doesn’t seem a whole lot simpler when it feels like it’s about to end. It’s something I’ve never been able to explain to anyone in my life and have them understand, except her.
And now, I’m about to stand by and watch as she marries my brother.
Life sure has a funny way of kicking you in the balls sometimes.
