Page 51 of Eight Years Gone

Their view out the window was fantastic as the moon shined brightly on the water. “It’s stunning.”

“Here you go, folks,” the waitress said as she walked over with their order, setting three huge slices of green pepper, onion, and pepperoni pizza in front of Grace.

Grace smiled politely. “Thank you.”

“Sure thing, honey.” Then the woman set three slices of sausage and jalapeno pizza in front of Jagger. “And that’s for you.”

Jagger smiled. “I appreciate it.”

Their waitress took a step back. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Maybe some more water,” Jagger suggested.

The waitress smiled. “Sure thing.” Then she walked off.

Grace breathed deeply as she picked up two slices of her pizza and set them on Jagger’s plate as he did the same, putting one of his slices on hers. “This smells so good.”

He rubbed his hands together. “I’ve been waiting all day to dig in.”

She went about plucking the jalapeno pieces off her pizza, enjoying the flavor of Jagger’s favorite toppings but not the heat. “You know, they have that pale ale you like.”

He shook his head. “I don’t drink.”

She frowned because he’d always had a beer or two when they went to a party. “At all?”

He shook his head again. “I gave it up. I was drinking too much.”

She stopped plucking at her pizza. “Oh.”

“I found myself coming back from missions, reaching for a bottle. After four years of doing the work I did, it was getting harder to compartmentalize the things I would do or see. At some point, I realized the booze was becoming a crutch—that I was starting to need it the way my mother and brother had seemed to need it, so I stopped. I also decided not to re-up.”

She reached over, touching his hand, remembering well enough the stories he’d shared of his life before they’d met: strange men in and out of the house, on-and-off domestic violence, food insecurity, and neglect.

The one time Jagger had taken Grace into his world—the only time she’d met his mother, Jasmine Tennyson had been drunk. “I’m sorry.”

He covered her fingers, giving them a gentle squeeze as he sent her a small smile. “I’m good.”

She smiled back, finally understanding the wary harshness she often saw in his eyes. Long ago, he’d escaped his old life when her father had extended Jagger an invitation, but his career had taken its toll. “Good.”

He gave her fingers another gentle squeeze before he moved farther back in his seat. “Let’s dig—”

“Master Jagger. Hi, Master Jagger,” a couple of elementary-age kids enthusiastically waved as they walked by with their family.

Jagger smiled. “Hey, Mason. Hey, Chance.”

“We’ve been practicing our poomsaes,” one of the boys yelled over his shoulder.

Jagger nodded his approval. “Show me Tuesday night.”

The kid beamed. “Okay.”

Jagger chuckled, shaking his head as he looked at Grace again. “That’s Mason and Chance. Mason’s excited about his poomsae.”

Grace grinned, finding Jagger irresistible. He’d always been so good with kids. “I noticed.”

Chuckling again, he picked up his first pizza slice as Grace did the same, both of them touching their pieces together in a toast. “Enjoy.”

“Enjoy,” she said, blinking as she bit in, chewing slowly as she glanced from her plate to his, only now realizing what they’d both done.

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