Page 28 of Dalliances & Devotion (The Truitts 2)

David dipped his head back and rested it on the window, the vibrations rumbling down his spine.

“You need to confront this.” Will scowled. “You’re still mixed up and if you don’t watch out, you’re going to do something foolish like get me and Meg hurt.”

“I’d never do that.” At least not on purpose. David rose and paced, tutting to himself. “Promise me you won’t tell Thad?”

“Have I yet?” Will’s tone remained placid but his eyes hardened. “I also won’t tell about the other stuff.”

“What other stuff?” David froze.

“Don’t play the fool with me. Or insult my intelligence.” Will smirked a little. “I may have been born at night but it wasn’t yesterday. I was there at New Year’s. I have no idea what you did at the Jewish holidays but when we arrived—the way she looked at you, the girl near licked her lips.”

His friend leaned back, kicking up his legs on the side of the chair. “Not that you were much better. You

followed her around like a lost lamb, hanging on every word and finding every excuse to brush her hand or side or bosom. But not like it was the first time. Like you were coming back for more.”

Wasn’t Will supposed to be the strong, silent type? Where did that go?

Oy, his head hurt. He rubbed his temples. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

His partner crossed his ankles and narrowed his eyes. “Whatever it was, whatever happened between you two, it hurt, at least in the end. Her attention made you bolder and more confident, while her rejection made you—”

“Meshuggenah?” David snorted a little because that was apt. He’d run into enemy fire, twice. Without bullets.

“If the boot fits.” Will nodded a little, as if he was sharing the same memory. “What it was for her, who knows? But for you, it was more than infatuation.” He straightened a little and cocked his head at David. “And now?”

David pursed his lips and shoved his hands into his pockets. Hard. He sighed. “There’s desire, at least on my end. I’m different and she’s different, but I want her—like she is now.”

He couldn’t face his partner, but it didn’t matter. The man was staring, his gaze fell hard on David’s back.

“And her? How does she feel?”

David shook his head before glancing over his shoulder. “I don’t know. I mean, I suppose she’d engage in the same activities if I offered, but more than that?”

The two men sat in silence for a long moment. Will was the first to open his mouth. “You’re afraid. You’re afraid she’ll only offer what you had last time and you won’t be able to say ‘no.’ And you’ll feel and want more than she does. And you’re afraid of rejection. Again.”

“I’d hope I’d have more self-control now.” David shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter much. None of that matters because she’s a client and her safety is paramount. I owe Thad and I... I’m a mess because she can’t die, which is all I should and need to focus on.”

With a loud creak, Will rose. In an instant he was at David’s side, palm on his shoulder. “You wouldn’t let any innocent person die.” Will lifted his eyes to meet David’s. “You might not trust yourself, but I trust you. That’s why I call you whenever there’s a sign of trouble. I know you’ll always come, always help.”

“Even if I care more about my own glory than what’s right?” He was grumbling and acting like a momzer—a bastard—but it was hard to stop.

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response. You’re really lucky that actions speak louder than words.” An audible eye roll. Will straightened his jacket and neared the exit.

“You’re too good to me.” David sighed. “You’ve been working all day. You’ve done enough. Let me patrol. You need to—”

“Don’t argue with me. Yes, I’m a better friend than you deserve right now but that’s not the point. Right now, you need sleep more than I do.”

Before David could find a retort, Will had shut the door.

He reached over, grasped his satchel, and rooted around until his fingertips grazed over the latch to the secret compartment.

Hands trembling, he paged through until he hit the beginning. The very first letter. He held it to the light, even if he could recite it from memory. Somehow, reading the large, curling handwriting in dim light again...

Dear Mr. Zisskind or David or is there something else you want me to call you: You said you’d be willing to write me. Do you still want that? I very much do, clearly. Though I’m not very good at it, as you can see. Truth be told, this is my sixth attempt at anything. I would’ve torn it up but paper is in short supply. Anyway, I enjoyed your company during Passover, both at the table and after...

His stomach flopped as he sipped the tea Meg had forced him to drink. He should’ve had wine. Or whiskey. Recalling those years required something stronger than the warm, comforting liquid. They demanded a good burn.

It was as if it was only yesterday that he was sitting in a tent in northern Virginia, itching the damned bug bites he’d received on the march.

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