“Hey,” Mick said, playfully chucking her chin. “Don’t look like that. You’re breaking my heart.”
“Yeah…well…I’m afraid you’re both going to break mine,” she confessed with a sniffle.
“What?” Mick was taken aback. “No. Never. Why would you think that?”
“You said it yourself. You and Eddie have been together for ages. Where do I fit into that dynamic?” She shrugged. “Maybe this is the reason you two haven’t been able to find a third to complete your trio. No one wants to be the odd man out.” She scooted back her chair and grabbed her iPad. “Especially me.”
Mick didn’t say a word as she gathered up her purse, found her car keys, and headed out to the garage. She ignored the painful lump in her throat as she slid into the front seat of her car and hit the button on the garage door opener hooked to the sun visor. Somehow she managed not to cry as she backed out of the driveway and onto the street. Shallow as it sounded, the thought of having to fix her makeup held the tears at bay.
Whitney’s commute seemed shorter than usual. Her distracted mind made her nervous, so she continually fought to keep her focus on the traffic instead of the troubling thoughts swirling round and round in her head. Clearly, the honeymoon phase was over.
How could she have been so foolish? Jumping blindly into a new job and a new and very complicated relationship was just plain stupid. If she’d been a man, she’d have accused herself of thinking with her dick instead of her head. As it was, she blamed it on her overactive libido and those stacks of erotica she read. Everything was rainbows and ponies in fiction. In real life? Not so much.
Whitney parked her car in her usual spot and took a moment to check her reflection. She applied a quick coat of lipstick, grabbed her purse, and slid out of the car. The small red compact beeped reassuringly after she hit the lock button on her key fob. She sucked in a deep, cleansing breath and shoved her personal problems to the far corner of her mind. She had a job to do and refused to let her sex life interfere with her professional one.
Still in a rotten mood, Eddie flopped down in a booth at his favorite diner and stared at the lunch menu. The rest of his team had given him a wide berth. He didn’t blame them. He was being an absolute bear. What he needed was a swift kick in the ass.
Eddie rubbed his hand down his face and tried to force the looping image of Whitney’s hurt expression from his mind. He’d been such a jackass to her. It was wrong, really wrong of him, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Apologize? Sure, but how?
He’d considered calling or texting, but he knew she had a very busy day. The last thing he wanted to do was rattle her nerves. He’d already done enough damage for one day.
Why had he snapped at her like that? He kept running the scenario, and it never made sense. Her question had made him uneasy, and he’d overreacted. He didn’t like to think about those tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. Three rounds of combat had done a number on him. If it hadn’t been for Mick and his insistence that Eddie attend private therapy, god only knew where he’d have ended up by now.
Probably staring into a bottle every night…
But he’d avoided that rather-ugly possibility. He’d learned to deal with the stress and trauma. He rarely experienced violent or painful dreams. His flashbacks were mostly gone and only very infrequently triggered. He avoided most violent films and video games. He made a point of talking out messy crime scenes with Mick who wasn’t afraid of a little gore and always listened without judgment.
Thinking back, Eddie realized he’d never spoken of the firefight that ended his military career with Whitney because she’d never asked. She wasn’t the typical woman with a near fetish for men in uniforms. Most of the women Eddie had dated liked to ask probing questions about his time in the Army. His usual tactic was to give a succinct answer and quickly change the subject. He didn’t want to be the star of some woman’s military fantasy. He didn’t want to relive the horrors of war to play into some gal’s sex dream or to satisfy morbid curiosity.
Eddie sat back against the cracked-leather seat. Whitney knew he’d been in the military. She’d commented on the pictures in his room once or twice in those early weeks of their roommate arrangement, but she’d never pried. She’d simply nodded and left it alone. Somehow she’d known it was off-limits.
And he’d yelled at her for finally feeling comfortable enough with him to ask.
God, he’d really fucked this one up.
His inner psychiatrist pushed for answers. Why had he blown up like that? Why had he told her it wasn’t any of her business when, clearly, it was?
Miranda.
He shuddered inwardly at the very thought of that lying bitch. She’d been one of those war-hero junkies. She’d been his nurse in the VA hospital where he’d been sent for treatment and therapy. Man, he’d been so blind and stupid. He’d fallen for her hook, line, and sinker.
And then she’d met Mick and had happily become the filling in their man-sandwich, so to speak. Eddie had allowed himself to dream. He’d envisioned all those things he’d been craving for so long only to have his hopes dashed.
Those old scars on his body were like the physical manifestations of the emotional wounds she’d inflicted. He didn’t like to talk about them because it brought up all those old memories of Miranda, memories he preferred remained buried.
But those were his hang-ups and didn’t give him the right to snap at Whitney like that.
He sighed heavily and dug in his pocket for his cell phone. His finger moved over the screen as he dialed the only person he trusted for advice.
“About damn time you call!” Mick’s irritated tone carried across the airwaves.
“I know,” Eddie agreed. “So-how do I fix this?”
Whitney steered her car into the open spot in the garage next to Mick’s, noting Eddie had parked his truck in the driveway. Her stomach churned at the sight of his vehicle. That meant he was home, and they would have to talk about breakfast. The bigger question would also arise. Where the hell was this relationship going?
For a moment, she considered backing out and heading to a friend’s house to crash for the night. Running away from an uncomfortable confrontation was so much more appealing than facing it head-on. Oddly, Whitney had no problem with directness when it came to work. She’d fired lazy interns and told off pushy publicists without blinking an eye, but this? This scared the shit out of her.
She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel as she tried to decide whether or not to flee. After a minute of waffling, she growled in frustration and killed the engine. Her finger stabbed the garage door button, and she reluctantly climbed out of her car. She slung her purse over one shoulder and gathered her courage before marching into the lion’s den.
Whitney stepped into the kitchen from the laundry room and immediately noticed the brown paper bag on the counter. Cartons stamped with the logo of her very favorite Italian restaurant were stacked on either side. Someone had uncorked a bottle of wine. She snuck a peek in the fridge and discovered that delicious chocolate and caramel cheesecake she always ordered at that restaurant.
Her attention was drawn away from the delectable dessert in the fridge by the sound of voices from the living room. She placed her purse on the counter and went to investigate. What she found knocked her for six as her British girlfriend, Rebecca, would say.
There were collages everywhere. White poster boards covered in pictures sat on the couch and chairs and were propped up against the wall. Eddie kneeled next to a photo box and flicked through the contents. There were stacks of video tapes and CDs in jewels cases all around Mick’s perch on the coffee table. His laptop was out and surrounded by a dozen thumb drives.