"Right. You didn't." But being one of the walking wounded of an ambush from Cupid, Lucas recognized the signs.
"It's just awkward seeing her around."
"I can see how that would be tough." He could use a shot himself tonight.
"And her family."
Lucas paused middrink. "They know you, uh, did what you did?"
Hunt's head jerked up. "Hell, no! Her father would kill me. Slowly. Painfully. Staked out with buzzards to pick at my remains. And I'd deserve it."
"Wish I had some advice for you."
"I don't expect any. She's moved on anyway, so there's nothing to do."
Moved on but she still wouldn't speak to Hunt?
Lucas scratched the back of his neck. He wasn't a romance expert by a long stretch, but it seemed that neither one of them had moved on.
And he was an expert on being stuck in the past.
Footsteps sounded in the hall, pulling Lucas back to the present and duties. Thank God for all the guards on base, inside and out, so he didn't have to worry as much about Sara and Lucia.
The doorway filled as Bo Rokowsky charged though with his ever-present guitar slung over his back, more crewdogs straggling after him. The copilot had even stayed behind in a craft after an emergency landing once to pick up his guitar.
Rokowsky slung the instrument onto his bed, back to the room. "Does anybody besides me smell roses?"
Crap. Lucas checked his flight suit for stray petals. He'd forgotten all about lying around in those flowers with Sara.
Before he could say anything—not that he had an idea what—Rokowsky turned toward the room.
And screeched to a halt. His eyes locked on Lucas and went wide, his shoulders bracing. "Hello, sir."
"Hello, Captain." Lucas stood. "I'm heading out so everyone can sleep."
They also needed to unwind, something that wouldn't happen with a commander around. Even if the commander magically turned into a true softie, he was still the boss. "Good night."
Lucas nodded to the other crewdogs, not surprised to find them hanging out together. The whole squadron had been through a lot with deployments to the Middle East, some more bonded than others because of the shoot down—Hunt, Rokowsky, Price and Max Keagan, who'd gone undercover on a flight with them.
Price leaned closer to share a joke with Hunt. The pilot's smile was tight, his eyes not holding.
Good God.
Hunt had slept with Price's college-aged daughter? If the loadmaster found out, Hunt would be lucky to get off with just buzzards. No wonder Hunt felt so guilty.
Lucas ducked into the hall. Hunt's words about friendship rattled around in his head along with what Sara had said about letting her care for him, too. That made for scary crap, opening himself up for her.
If he was in charge, no one could get too close. He'd been scared as hell of letting her crawl under his skin five years ago. The more she meant to him, the more it would hurt if he screwed up and lost her. Now he knew exactly how much it hurt, which had turned him into even more of a coward.
Rather than dropping to his knees in gratitude over having a second chance with her, he'd tried to lock her out of his heart. As if he'd ever had any luck with that before. He wasn't just a coward. He was a bigger idiot than Hunt.
But he was trainable.
Time to do his best to fix the mistake because he absolutely would not lose Sara again. He did an about-face away from the briefing room full of charts, back toward his quarters where Sara and Lucia—and his future— waited for him.
Nodding to the guards, he reached for the door, opening quietly so as not to wake them. Light from the hall cast a muted glow over the stark space and Sara's empty bed.
Was she in the bathroom? The door was closed. He checked Lucia, the kiddo on her side under the sheet, her eyes squeezed shut tight.