Page 4 of Operator
When he swings for me, I block his arm and pop one back, my knuckles crunching against his jaw. It dazes him enough that I’m able to get him in a fireman’s carry. He struggles, which only makes slogging through the desert sand a thousand times worse, but I’m not leaving him behind.
“Fuck. What the fuck was that?” Burke echoes when I find him crouched behind a dilapidated shack.
“Hell if I know,” I answer.
“Where’s Tate?” Tyler asks. I shake my head in response. His eyes dim. He and Tate had been pretty close.
We were all close.
Closer than brothers.
Losing one of our team was like losing a limb.
Except I wasn’t so sure we’d survive it as easily.
CHAPTER THREE
PRESENT
GWEN
I measuremomentous occasions in my life in increments of Callum.
And I hate myself for it.
I met him the day my family moved to Sweet Creek, North Carolina.
He joined the military the year I graduated high school.
I lost my virginity to him in the back of his black and chrome Dodge Ram the summer between my freshmen and sophomore years at college. That stupid truck. Every time I even see something remotely close to it, my heart leaps. Even after all these years. Ian used to think I had a thing for trucks, so he surprised me with one when I graduated college. If he’d known the real reason, it would have killed him.
Even worse, Cal was the best man at my wedding.
And he still hasn’t come to pay his respects to my husband—his own brother, even though it’s been a year since the funeral.
I don’t know why my mind drifts to him, now of all times. I’ve long since gotten over Callum Reece. It had taken years. Years of distance. Of therapy. Years of loving a good man who I didn’t deserve.
Now I’m paying for it.
“Gwen?”
I glance up at the grocery store clerk, who has a patient but concerned look on her face. In front of me, the payment terminal beeps in an annoying cadence. Flushing, I enter my PIN according to the prompts. “Sorry,” I say with a half laugh. “I must have spaced out.”
Her expression is kind, sympathetic. I can’t explain why it pisses me off. “That’s alright. I understand.” Once my transaction processes—which seems to take years—the clerk tears off the receipt and hands it to me. She says, “Have a nice day, Mrs. Reece,” but her eyes say how much she already knows those words are an empty nicety. She knows I won’t be having a nice day. Probably knows I haven’t had one in nearly a year.
Longer, if she believes the gossip.
The burden of living in a small town is everyone knowing your business.
The receipt crumples in my fist. My nails bite into my palm. Two other customers in line behind me mirror the clerks’ sympathetic expression. My tongue sticks to the top of my mouth and bile stings the back of my throat. This is why I do curbside delivery. I curse the app for malfunctioning on the one day I’d be better served by playing homebody.
I should have taken up my parents’ offer to move with them to Arkansas with them after Ian died. It would have been the smart thing to do, to get away from this place, which holds so many memories. The good…and the bad. It would have saved me the absolute horror and embarrassment of everything being dredged up again when Callum finally decided to come back.
Which was inevitable.
He should have come back for the funeral, and I’ll never forgive him for missing it. But Callum never did what anyone else wanted. He marched to the beat of a drum only he controlled, and no amount of pleading or reasoning could ever get him to change his mind.
I’d know.
