“You think I do?”
“No. It’s hard to imagine.” Her eyes find mine. “How did you survive it?”
“A different way of thinking.”
“You got used to it?”
“I was a pilot. Usually on my own. I’m not sure I could charge into battle on the ground.”
“Is that part of why you left?”
I nod.
“I guess, it sounds obvious that way. Follow orders and sleep on a cot? Or don’t follow orders and sleep next to your wife.” She frowns at the word wife. She doesn’t like the sound of it.
I know why I tense at the word.
But Eve is young. Without the baggage of a failed marriage.
Is she afraid of commitment? Against the patriarchal notion of marriage? Jealous?
I want her jealousy. I want her to hate that I loved anyone else, had anyone else, promised myself to anyone else.
But that’s ridiculous.
I’m ridiculous. I need to focus on sautéing garlic. Not on silly fantasies.
She continues, “Your brother? Did he serve?”
I shake my head. “No. He’s worse than I am. Can’t stand being told what to do. And after our father died and I married… someone had to be there for our mother.”
“She’s still in London?”
I nod.
“How old is he?”
“Thirty.”
“A lot younger.”
“Hey.”
She laughs. “You are older.”
“You like that I’m older.”
“Maybe.”
“You do.”
She pulls an imaginary zipper over her lips. Turns to her chopping.
I focus on cooking. Stirring the garlic, adding onions, boiling pasta.
She finishes, sets the knife on the counter, turns to me. “I am sorry. About your dad. Was it hard to lose him?”
“It was. Not so much because I missed him, though I did. Because I lost the chance of ever really knowing him. I always told myself things would be different when he was older. When he retired. When the two of us had time. But that never happens. No one ever finds time. They make it or they don’t. And he made his choice. His job over us.”
“Do you think he saw it that way?”
“Probably not. But it was that way. You must understand. Your mother—”
She nods. “She made her choice.”
“And your father?”
“My daddy issues?” She laughs, though it’s more sad than anything. “He tried. For a while. He was never sober, really, but he held it together for a long time. He wasn’t there. I couldn’t count on him to make dinner or walk me to school or hug me when I cried. But he did work enough to keep us afloat. Addie and I figured out the rest. But after… I guess you already know, that she overdosed on her anxiety medication. That she was in the psych ward.”
“Not the details.”
“She has an anxiety disorder. She wasn’t taking care of it. And Dad disappearing for weeks… showing up at school wasted. It didn’t help. So when he disappeared that time, I didn’t ask if he was coming back. I changed the locks. I forged his signature. I did what it took to survive without him. He sent cash every so often, but otherwise we were on our own.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She… I still worry about her. So much. I don’t care if I never see my father again. But if I lost Addie… I don’t know if I’d survive that.”
I move closer. Pull her into a soft embrace.
She wraps her arms around my waist. Melts into me like a drop in the ocean.
Like the two of us are destined to float together until the end of time.
I don’t know what to say. Where to move. How to handle the need in my veins.
There are too many things I want to say. Too many things I want to ask. Too many bridges I want to cross.
I’m lost in the fucking ocean when a sound interrupts me.
The doorbell.
Then a familiar voice.
“Put your clothes on. You have company.”
Eve jumps backward. Looks up at me with surprise in her eyes. Asking me to explain.
“My brother,” I say. “He’s supposed to arrive Friday.”
Which means negotiations in London aren’t going well.
Which means the three thousand miles between me and my past are going to melt.
I can’t avoid this forever.
I can’t avoid it at all.
He’s here and he’s going to tell her. He’s going to tell her things I don’t want her knowing.
And there’s nothing I can do to stop him.
Chapter Forty-Two
Eve
“Tyler. Though I go by Ty.” Ian’s brother offers his hand. “You must be Ian’s current obsession.”
I make my grip as strong as I can. But it’s not as strong as his.
He has an overwhelming presence. Like Ian’s, but different. Less burdened. More dangerous.
He’s wearing jeans—actual jeans—and a t-shirt. His tattoos are visible. His dark eyes are filled with fire.
Somehow, he’s more open and more closed at once. Or maybe I’ve learned how to read Ian.
That doesn’t seem possible. There’s so much about Ian I don’t know. So much I want to know.
I release Ty’s hand. Focus on this moment. And not how much I want to unlock Ian’s heart. “Everyone says that.”