She nodded and kept walking, trying hard not to look at her sister and Razor’s house as they passed by, but failing miserably.
Sure enough, Aine’s fear of humiliation manifested itself when her eyes met Striker Ellis’ as he was standing out on the deck. She gave a little wave, looked away, and picked up her pace.
“Who was that?” asked Stuart.
“Just someone who works with my brother-in-law.”
3
Seeing Aine with another man didn’t hurt as bad as Striker though it would—it hurt a hell of a lot worse.
She looked happy, though, didn’t she? The split second when their eyes met hadn’t given him enough time to say for sure.
He watched her walk away with the man he knew was Stuart Anderson, owner of Anderson’s Plumbing and all around “nice” guy. Stuart’s age had bothered him when Striker looked him up, but at thirty-one he was seven years his junior, and instead of being sixteen years older than Aine, Stuart was only nine.
Monk came out the slider, stood next to him, and handed him a beer. “Thought you might need one,” he said.
“Thanks, man. I must look pretty miserable for you to string five whole words together.”
Monk flipped him off and took a swig of his own beer. “The reason I don’t laugh at everyone’s jokes about how I never talk isn’t because I’m shy or whatever the hell you all think about me; it’s because they stopped being funny years ago.”
“I know,” said Striker. “It’s just easier to give you shit than it is to face how effed up my own life is.”
Monk nodded. “Saylor and I went out for dinner with them a couple of weeks ago.”
Saylor was Razor’s sister, and Striker had heard that she and Monk were spending time together, but he didn’t know to what extent. “Aine and Stu?”
“Yeah, but don’t call him Stu. He hates it.”
“Were you the offending party?”
“Nah, someone else at the brewery said it.”
Striker scrubbed his face with his hand. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, Monk, but does she seem happy?”
“He’s a plumber.”
Striker turned his head and studied the man next to him. “So?”
“You’re a former CIA agent who is now a partner in a black ops firm. You oughta be able to figure it out.” Monk held up his empty bottle. “Want another?”
Striker nodded. “Thanks, man.”
The sun was just about to set on a day he’d been avoiding for eight months. He knew he’d see Aine McNamara again since her sister was married to one of K19’s founding partners. He’d just hoped he could finagle his way out of it for several more weeks, or even months. Long enough that he could be certain she’d moved on and was happy. If she hadn’t, or wasn’t, he might be tempted to tell her that he’d made a horrible mistake when he ended things with her, and beg her to take him back.
Striker couldn’t do that, though; he was every kind of bad for Aine. She deserved to be with someone who was closer to her own age, someone whom she could build a life with rather than jump into one that was already established. Also, someone who didn’t travel ninety percent of the time. The plumber probably never traveled, at least not for work.
There were other reasons they couldn’t be together, but he hadn’t told her that.
Monk came out to the deck, handed Striker the beer, and then went back inside, leaving him alone with his thoughts. It was a place where he really didn’t want to be, so he went inside too.
“Doc and Merrigan have been delayed. They’ll arrive at zero seven hundred tomorrow,” said Razor. “You can hang out here and eat or go to the hotel, whichever you’d prefer.”
Ranger and Diesel motioned with their heads to leave, and Striker was happy to join them. It had been a long day, and since they were on East Coast time, it was three hours later for them.
“You can take the SUV,” Monk told them, handing Striker the key.
“Can we give you a lift somewhere?”