Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“Don’t bring that BS into this. You don’t love me. You never would have done this if you did.” Ben stalked out of the kitchen, leaving Maddox to scramble awkwardly off the floor and find his cane to limp after him.
“Wait.” Maddox called as Ben approached the door to his old room. “Don’t leave. We can work this out. I know you’re mad and hurt—”
“I’m not hurt.” Ben grabbed a bag and started tossing clothes in it. “I’m pissed. And I’m leaving because I promised the LT I wouldn’t deck your cowardly ass.”
“You want to hit me? Go ahead.” Now Maddox was getting a bit worked up himself. In all their years of friendship, they’d never come to blows. “I’ll give you that we should have talked sooner, but you want to hit me for loving you? For choosing a future where I get to live my dreams? For trying to give us a shot? Hell, if a future together scares you that much, go ahead. Do your worst.”
“You already did.” Ben brushed by Maddox on his way toward the front door.
And Maddox couldn’t argue with him there. No punch could hurt as bad as the look on Ben’s face. No kick was ever going to level him as much as Ben’s admission that being on the team with him meant more than a future together. No slap could sting like Ben walking out, the snick of the lock reverberating every bit as much as a grenade blast, killing any chance of the future he wanted so desperately.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ben had never been so grateful for the absurdity that was the tradition of honeymoons than the moment he let himself into his dad’s house. He’d thought about heading to Hillcrest, getting trashed at one of his favorite bars, but the prospect of an empty house and full liquor cabinet was even better. Dropping his bag in the kitchen, he headed for the built-in bar in the family room, flipping on lights as he went because his mood was plenty dark already.
And only when he’d downed a double shot of his dad’s Pappy Van Winkle bourbon did he let his fists unclench. He’d driven here largely on autopilot, having to force himself to keep breathing, to not pull over and break down. He was surprised he hadn’t bent the steering wheel in half. He flopped onto the nearest sofa, taking the bottle and glass with him. He couldn’t believe Maddox had done this to him. Left him like this. What in the fuck was he supposed to do now?
Wasn’t like he could quit the teams himself, just to spite both of them. He’d already signed his own re-up paperwork, and the Navy wasn’t going to look kindly on “I can’t serve without my best friend” as a reason for changing his mind. No, somehow he was going to have to go in to work tomorrow, see the LT, go on this training mission—
Fuck. He downed another double. He didn’t want to do this. Couldn’t do this. For twelve years, Ben had had the absolute rock-solid faith that Maddox had his back. Pushing up from the couch, he stalked across the room, not even sure where he was headed until he ended up in front of the wall of pictures next to the mantel. There they were—scarcely more than kids, arms around each other as they celebrated BUD/S graduation. There they were at Marilee’s wedding, Maddox hanging back the way he always did, on the edges of these family pictures, but there nonetheless. Birthdays. Thanksgivings. Weddings. Maddox cropped up over and over, always there for every big event.
Ben’s gaze went back further, trying to find who he’d been before Maddox. Far less muscles, that was for sure. Brash though, defiant grin on his young face in a photo with his dad and Camilla. And there he was with Marilee in front of a Christmas tree, both little enough to look jazzed about the presents they were holding, his parents behind them—
Wait. Why the fuck did his dad still have pictures of her in his house? She’d left. Left them all in the lurch. It had been the middle of a school year for fuck’s sake. He still remembered that he’d never finished his poster on the presidents because there had been no glue sticks, and his dad was too busy trying to figure out childcare to worry about something as small as a class project. She’d been there one day, something Ben had taken for granted, a constant presence of snacks and homework help and carpools. And then...gone.
Just like Maddox was about to be gone too. All those jokes. All the hands up. All the well-timed shots. All the shared meals and shared flights and shared runs. Every last bit of it, gone. Damn it, he’d counted on her. On him. Fuck, he wasn’t even sure who he was mad at anymore, just that the bourbon was burning his throat, but not burning away the pain in his heart.