“He was going to see his dad; I’m not sure where he is.”
“Well call him, for fuck’s sake, and find out.”
“You’re really fuckin’ bossy, you know that?”
He flipped me off as I tried Ian. Finally on the fifth ring, he picked up.
“Hey,” he said, no endearment, no warmth, so I knew he was still with the SOG guys. Even though we were married now, he wasn’t letting those guys know anything about his personal life until he was ready.
“Hey,” I sighed. “Did you get over to see your dad yet?”
“No, I had to reschedule. The op took way longer than I thought it would. We just got done, so we’re over at Cortland’s gettin’ a beer and some food.”
“You and the guys?”
“Yeah.”
I cleared my throat. “So I guess you’re not meeting us for drinks and then dinner?”
He was quiet.
“Ian?”
“Shit, was that tonight?”
“It is.”
“Fuck.”
“No, it’s fine, don’t worry ’bout it,” I soothed. “I’ll call Aruna and have her keep the dog, and I’ll meet you at home later.”
Again he was silent, and I couldn’t tell if it was because he wasn’t listening to me—drinking with a lot of guys was distracting and loud—or if he was thinking. I could hear a lot of noise in the background, so I was guessing it was hard to hear.
“What?”
Nope. He was distracted. “I’ll talk to you later,” I told him.
Nothing.
“Ian?”
“Yeah?”
“Bye,” I said and hung up. Of course I was disappointed he wasn’t going to meet me, but I understood too. Ian wasn’t going out on missions with his unit anymore. He was an ex–Green Beret now, so the camaraderie of men in life-and-death situations, that was still something he craved, whether he wanted to cop to it or not. So while I wanted to see him, I got it.
Sharpe and White were both looking at me.
“What?”
“Not a thing,” Sharpe assured me, standing up. “C’mon, let’s see if I have a shirt that’ll fit over all the muscles that my partner’s been noticing.”
It took a second, and then, “Oh, fuck you,” White grumbled, punching the keys, grabbing the half-eaten apple I passed him and taking an angry bite.
Sharpe cackled as we walked away.
WHEN SHARPE, White, and I made it to Howells and Hood over on Michigan Avenue, I discovered Eli had invited several guys from his gym to hang out, as well as the rest of the team. Eli had already had more than a few drinks; I could tell from the way he wrapped his arm around my neck and gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
Whenever one of us had family in town, the rest of us always showed up to meet or hang with them because it told members of our team that the people who were important in their lives were also important in ours. Ian not being there was kind of shitty, but since all the rest of us were—except Kowalski, who had a legitimate reason—I hoped he wouldn’t notice.
I thought we were getting dinner, but apparently Ira never got a chance to play pool at home, so when the others bailed to get food—none of us ever ate at the same place we drank, I had no idea why—I stuck with him and Eli, figuring any sports bar we hit would have at least a burger.
We cabbed it over to Milwaukee to find the pool hall Eli wanted to try crowded, even though it was a Wednesday night. Inside it was hot, and blaring classic rock made it impossible to speak to the person standing beside you without your mouth at their ear. It worked out great: we had enough guys to play teams, and the more drinks Ira had, the louder he got, which was funny since he came off all buttoned-up and buttoned-down, but with a few more beers in him, he was ready to start a fight.
“Such a nice Jewish boy,” Eli laughed, pinching his cousin’s cheek.
When I was bent over, ready to shoot, someone pulled my phone from the back pocket of my pants. Turning, I found Eli grinning at me, answering a question from a guy leaning into him. As soon as I was done shooting, having sunk the three ball in the side pocket, I straightened, and Eli bumped into me, put an arm around my neck, and snapped a selfie of us with my phone. He was texting someone, but I was winning, so I didn’t care. It wasn’t as easy to do as usual because the purple silk shirt I had on was tighter than I normally wore. I did actually have a wider chest, broader shoulders, and bigger biceps than Sharpe.
Once everyone got hungry, I talked them all into Superdawg because it was close. We could walk, and with so much alcohol in our systems, we needed carbs.
“Where’s the ketchup?” Ira asked after we were done ordering.