I spend the next several hours chatting with people and eating some of the best barbecue I’ve ever had, but I find that my gaze continues to land on Sylvie Davis.
I believe what Boomer said. The man isn’t known for lying. If anything, he tells the truth, even when it’s something one of us doesn’t want to hear. I also know I wasn’t drunk the night I spent with that woman because I’m not the type of man to make decisions like that while intoxicated, but for some reason, I just can’t pull that night with her from my memory.
She looks like a good time, like someone I would’ve had fun with.
She also sneers at me each and every time she catches me watching her. It seriously decreases my chances of building a night of new memories with her, but I also know from experience that despite her apparent hatred for me, it doesn’t completely wipe that chance of it.
I’m good with women, and I have been for as long as I can remember. I’m always down for a good time, but I also don’t bark up trees that require too much work.
Her actions today were two-fold. I now understand the anger she expressed before walking away. I think I’d be upset if I spent a night with someone and they didn’t remember any of the details, considering I always commit a hundred percent of my energy when I’m with someone.
It’s the look of interest that gives me hope.
I never make promises to any woman. There are too many opportunities in the world for me to include manipulation when finding someone to spend some time with, so I know for a fact, I never made a commitment to her. Even though I can’t remember her—and what a fucking shame that is—I know I didn’t tell her I’d call the next day or that we’d spend more time together past the night we shared.
With what Boomer told me, I shouldn’t even be looking in her direction, but I also can’t seem to pull my eyes from her either.
“He was different when he came back.”
I drop my eyes to the woman in the wheelchair, feeling a little guilty that I haven’t been giving her my full attention like she deserves.
“War—”
“Changes people,” she interrupts on a long sigh, as if she’s heard those three words more than anyone should in a lifetime and it’s left her physically exhausted.
Men and women with combat experience aren’t the only ones to continue suffering once they get home. Spouses, children, family, and friends all bear the scars of battle without even having to enlist. I’ve seen it happen too many times to count, and it’s also why I try to keep my distance from everyone.
I can laugh and joke, but forming any kind of real bonds with the people around me while I was on active duty was something I worked diligently against. I didn’t want to suffer if someone didn’t make it back, but more importantly, I didn’t want anyone else to suffer if my card was punched, either.
I saw how much my mom suffered after my dad was killed in the line of duty as a police officer. It ate at her daily until she could no longer handle the heartache and ended it all one night with a bottle of pills.
I press my palm into my chest, trying to ward off the ache that never seems far away, despite it being over a decade since I got that call.
I’ve never wanted to add to my grief by getting close to anyone just to end up losing them, and it hasn’t been all that hard to maintain.
Until I got to Cerberus several months ago. The men and women I work and live with at the clubhouse have made it difficult to keep my distance, to keep from depending on them and having them depend on me.
We’re like a huge self-made family in the middle of the desert, and for most, that would be an amazing thing. It’s one of the biggest stressors in my life because I know the damage it would cause me if one of them didn’t return from one of our missions.
Although I’m discharged from the Marine Corps, my life hasn’t changed much. I still suit up and head into dangerous places, only now we fight to save trafficked men, women, and children rather than furthering the security of the country through the Armed Forces. It’s rewarding work, but still very dangerous.
We’re a well-oiled machine, but I’m not ignorant of the fact that any one mission could end in an unfavorable way for us.
This doesn’t seem to be as much of a concern for the men and women around me. It’s as if some fairy came and sprinkled love dust on all the idiots around me. Legend and Grinch were already here when I arrived in New Mexico, but they are now head over heels in love. Harley lost his wife, but within a year, somehow managed to find love again.
I feel like I need to wear personal protective equipment around the clubhouse, so I don’t get covered in whatever it is that makes people come to the clubhouse and fall in love.
I chuckle at the thought, knowing it’s absolutely ridiculous. Love hasn’t ever, nor will it ever, be something for me.
I’ll continue to work hard, and fuck even harder.
I look over once again at Sylvie, a smile tugging at my lips when I see her smile down at an old man in a wheelchair.
I’m not one to go back for a second round, but seeing as how I don’t remember the first, I can’t help but want to face the challenge, to give us both a night neither of us will forget.
Chapter 3
Sylvie