Damn Wright (The Wrights 2)

Dylan forced the dark thoughts away and bent his head to kiss Cooper’s fingers. “You’re one lucky boy, Coop. One really lucky boy.”

“Damn right,” Gypsy said, getting into the driver’s seat. “He’s got me for a mom.”

Dylan smiled and nodded, then pulled his finger from Cooper’s grip and slid into the passenger’s seat.

Gypsy pulled into traffic. “You must be tired. How long was your flight?”

“Multiple flights. I’ve been traveling for forty-eight hours.” Sleeping in airports. Waking in cold sweats from nightmares. Drinking to numb the pain.

He looked at Gypsy. Her dark hair was short and wavy, showing off her high cheekbones and killer smile. But the shadows beneath her eyes, more pronounced in the shadows of the car, told him more about what was going on inside her.

“God, it’s so good to see you,” she said, her smile bright, her spirit high. “How long are you staying?”

That was still up in the air. He didn’t know where life would take him now. “Few weeks. Tell me about this living situation again. I really don’t m

ind getting a hotel. I don’t want to put anyone out.”

In truth, he’d rather go to a hotel. Then he’d have somewhere to decompress when shit hit the fan, which was inevitable.

“Never,” Gypsy said. “There’s plenty of room. Miranda moved into her new house with Jack a couple of weeks ago. Her trailer is all ready for you.”

His shoulders relaxed a little. At least he’d have his own space. “Tell me about Marty again.”

“He’s in his late fifties. He’s sort of like Miranda’s father figure. He dated Mom for a time. He walked away from her bullshit after about a year, but stayed in contact with Miranda. He’s a Gulf War vet. Missing a leg, but you’d never know he wasn’t born with his prosthetic.”

Missing a leg slammed Dylan back in time, to the shock of running his hands down Amir’s legs and finding them gone above the knee. To Amir bleeding out in a pile of rubble and holding Dylan’s hands so tight, he cut off the blood supply.

Pain erupted at the center of Dylan’s body. His mind twisted and slid sideways.

He pulled in a deep breath and blew it out as a slow, controlled stream of air. Mind in the here and now, he reminded himself.

When he found his voice, Dylan asked, “Marty doesn’t mind me staying? I’ll pay rent, help out around the place, whatever he needs.”

“I’m sure he’d love to have someone to talk to. Since he sold me the bar, he’s been trying to help with Miranda’s business or fussing over his mother, Elaina, who also lives on the property. But I wouldn’t suggest paying for anything. You’ll hurt his pride.”

“It would hurt mine not to.”

Gypsy laughed. “You two are going to get along just fine.”

“So, tell me about this bar of yours.” Dylan listened to as many of the details as he could, but his mind kept trying to scramble out from under him.

The streets were so clean. The buildings so well kept. The streetlights fascinated him. Just the infrastructure that had to exist to create a power source, run the power lines, set up the lights, and pay for the electricity to keep them on all night would be nothing short of a miracle in the majority of the Middle East. Paved roads, fast food on every corner, lighted gas stations every block. Walmart, grocery stores, fancy restaurants.

“Dylan?”

He sucked a breath. “Yeah, yeah. It sounds great.”

“What sounds great?”

He glanced at her, then looked out the windshield. There were so many cars on the road and they were all staying in their lanes or politely signaling before moving over. No horns, no shouting or swearing, no near misses with a herd of goats or a stray cow. It was all so damn civilized.

“I’m sorry. I’m suffering serious culture shock right now.”

“I bet.”

“So, Miranda,” he said. “I guess I burned a pretty big bridge when I didn’t come home for Mom’s funeral.”

“Don’t worry, I took that bullet for you.”