Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Buck swallows air, his throat bobbing once as his gaze stays level. “I understand why you don’t believe the official story.”
“And what do you believe?” What I’m really asking is what he knows. This man knows.
In my mind, I’m leaping out of my chair, screaming, and pounding him with my fists until he tells me everything, even things that may hurt worse than the story I was told. Instead, I sit quietly, fixing him in my gaze, as my son sleeps peacefully in the room behind me.
Again, he swallows, slower and longer this time, dropping his eyes to the ground before he looks back at me. “I’m not authorized to discuss it.”
To his credit, it seems to visibly pain him to say this, and I honestly wasn’t expecting anything different. I know a little about military NDAs, and I understand sensitive information.
Early in our relationship, I used to ask Tyler about his work, just wanting to know what he’d been through so I could support him, but he wasn’t allowed to talk about their missions. It wasn’t long before I stopped asking, so he wouldn’t be tempted to break his oath.
Buck leans toward me, bracing his big hands on his knees. “I can’t talk about the past, but I can deal with what’s here, and I’m taking this seriously.”
Still not touching his tea, he launches into a series of questions about the house I’m living in, whether I rent or own, and whether I need to get approval from my landlord before installing security equipment.
He asks me to accompany him on a quick walk around the house’s exterior, where he takes notes on doors, windows, shrubbery, and neighbors. When we’re back inside, he asks about the location of our fire extinguisher and checks the date on it. I can tell he’s itching to test the smoke detectors, but I assure him the batteries are fresh and tell him I’ll test them tomorrow, when my son isn’t sleeping.
Finally, he asks me for my phone number, and gives me not only his, but also the numbers of the other two men who served with Tyler.
“From this point forward, you don’t have to handle this by yourself,” he says. “You call me. Even if it’s something that seems small.”
CHAPTER 4
ELENA
After a fitful night of sleep, I’m up early with time to spare before I have to wake T.J. up for school. I'm usually good at separating work from home life, but the fire has my brain shifting into administrator mode before the sun rises.
The school is my responsibility, and the situation calls for tighter security. Getting it out of my head and onto paper, I make a list: Bus line supervision. Visitor check-in. Emergency contact updates.
I'll control what I can, and handle the rest when it arrives.
With more time to spare, I decide to look through the box in the den closet that holds some of Tyler’s military things. Among the photos, I find the one I’m looking for, a picture of him with his last team.
I locate Buck in the picture immediately, but it takes several seconds of scanning faces to identify the other two men. It’s easy to see why I didn’t recognize any of them here in town. I never saw them much in San Diego anyway, but in addition to changes in their grooming, the men look different now, weathered in a way that goes beyond typical aging. The picture was only taken four years ago, but they look like they’ve been through a decade of hard times.
Not that their world-weariness has made them unattractive. Not at all.
I wish, for my sake, it had.
I was surprised Buck didn’t ask how I ended up in the same town as all of them. Maybe Tyler had shared his dreams for the future with his brothers-in-arms, and Buck connected the dots when he saw me.
Things feel different now, knowing three men from my husband’s past are nearby. A little part of me feels a glimmer of comfort about their proximity, but a larger part of me is wary, for multiple reasons. They know things I don’t, and it’s hard not to let that bother me.
I tuck everything carefully back into the box, including the piece of my heart that lives with these things, and slide it back into the closet. It’s time to get Tyler, Jr. out of bed.
He’s not a morning person, and maybe that’s because he often doesn’t sleep well.
After some cajoling, he gets up, gets dressed, and joins me at the table for breakfast, where I slide a plate of French toast sticks in front of him.
“Think you’ll finish your LEGO project tonight?”
He pauses with the spoon mid-air, and thinks for a moment before answering. “Yes, depending on how much homework Mr. Nash gives us.”
There’s so much in T.J. that reminds me of Tyler. That pause before answering a question. His long fingers, and how strong his grip is. He flies through building projects, and chooses to challenge himself with difficult kits.