Page 49 of Rescuing Rebel

The tension between them is thick in the air as they look into each other’s eyes. Jeb reaches out and strokes her cheek with his thumb, tracing it along her jawline.

With Charlie team at seven members, with the addition of Stitch, I’m the odd man out for this first round. The rest of the men pair off, fighting harder than usual, bleeding off excess tension. Good-natured trash talk and roughhousing fill the air. The sharp echo of flesh striking flesh mingles with grunts of effort.

We cycle through several rounds, taking turns challenging each other and pushing our skills to the limit.

The mood is light, but there’s an undercurrent of seriousness too. These men know the stakes and how deadly our mission could become. Training is as much psychological preparation as physical.

After training, we hit our favorite local pizza joint. Beers in hand, the mood grows celebratory as we reminisce over past missions. When we arrive, the bar is filled with locals celebrating the end of a long day. The delicious aroma of melted cheese and yeasty dough fills the air. After finding a table, we order several pizzas and plenty of beer.

We laugh hard and drink more. Moments like these bring us together and solidify our brotherly bond.

As the night winds down, the others break off to mingle with female patrons, their boisterous laughter fading into shadowy corners and out the back door. They’re blowing off steam before we ship out. I watch the others pair off. Several female admirers inundate Jeb at the bar where he’s picking up drinks for himself and Stitch. Although, he doesn’t seem interested in anyone other than Stitch.

She notices the bevy of women vying for Jeb’s attention, and her expression quickly sours. "Ugh, those skanks need to keep their paws off what's mine.”

I can’t help but chuckle at her jealous streak.

“Jeb’s just being polite.”

“He could be a littlelesspolite and tell those bitches to back the fuck up.”

“Don’t worry about Jeb. He’s not a player.” I switch topics, asking Stich about her childhood and how she’s feeling about her training.

“Why aren’t you out there joining the fun? You don’t hook up at these things? Are you gay?” She toys with the straw in her soda.

“Is that a problem? I’m not, but it shouldn’t matter.”

“Nah. I know you’re not.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“I dunno.” She pulls at her hair, her irritation rising. “All the other guys are pairing off for the night. Several ladies are wiping drool from their mouths, staring you down, begging for a chance at you, but you’re not biting. Why not?”

“Just not interested.” I rub the back of my neck, irritation rising.

“It’s Rebel, isn’t it?”

I shouldn’t be surprised she knows about Rebel, but it catches me off guard.

“I’m just not interested,” I repeat myself, not interested in talking about Rebel with Stitch.

“Rebel’s a ghost. No reason for you to sit on the sidelines.”

“What if I like the sidelines?”

“You’re a horrible liar.” Her eyes glint with mischief. “But suit yourself.”

This girl, barely a woman, knows how to push my buttons. Ignoring my silence, she stands and stretches her arms above her head. When I don’t answer, she rolls her eyes at me.

“To each their own.”

I pointedly ignore the dig, though her words hit their mark. My traitorous thoughts drift to memories of a passionate night on the beach so long ago. How can I be interested in bedding another woman with thoughts of Rebel filling my mind?

Stitch seems to read my mind, her gaze softening knowingly. Without another word, she pats my shoulder and turns her attention to Jeb.

“I’m not lonely,” I defend myself, but even as I say the words, my thoughts drift to a pair of intelligent emerald eyes and a curtain of fiery red hair. My heart twists with a now familiar ache.

Rebel, where have you gone?

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