A Christmas Call of Duty (Sweet Christmas Kisses)

5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Shay

W ith the flashlight wedged under my arm, I balance two small plates and a couple of plastic forks on top of a pie tin as I nudge open the break room door with my hip.

"Oh, hey! Let me help you." Colt pushes up out of his seat, but I shoo him back.

Geez, this guy and his whole chivalry act. A girl could get used to this sort of thing if she wasn’t careful. "Don't worry. I got it." I set the pie tin down next to the oil lamp on the coffee table in the center of the waiting room, then take one of the folded-up blankets and use it as a cushion to sit on.

Colt hovers over the pie and squints. A goofy grin stretches across his face. "No way! Is that what I think it is?"

I raise a suspicious brow. "Well, if you guessed pie, you'd be correct."

"Yeah, but that’s not just any pie. That looks like buttermilk," he says, his excitement now palpable. "My mom makes the best buttermilk pie in three states. At least, that's what she claims."

Hearing Colt talk about his mom makes my heart squeeze. They must be close judging by the way he talks about her. "Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but this is just something Dr. Weber's wife dropped off last week. I can't vouch for its three-state-winning quality."

"Guess we'll have to be the judges of that, won't we?" Colt's eyes sparkle in the dim light, and I find myself looking away.

I use one of the forks to slice into the pie while Colt watches my every move with child-like wonder. He's like a little kid on Christmas morning. It's kind of cute. Almost cute enough to forget that he's Zane's brother. And how I'm only one deployment away from a total meltdown in the dating department. But I don't. I push the feeling aside and focus on getting the pie on a plate instead. Whatever Colt's story may be, I remind myself, it doesn't have to change anything. Come morning, we can both go our separate ways, and that'll be that.

I hand Colt his plate, and he does nothing to help my resolve. On the first bite, he closes his eyes, and I swear I hear him moan with pleasure. "Mmmmm. Oh yeah. This definitely takes me back," he says. "You know, we moved around a lot when I was a kid, but no matter where we were, Mom always made buttermilk pie for special occasions. What about you? What’s your favorite kind of pie."

I try to imagine having a mother who was actually present, let alone one who baked my favorite pie for special occasions. I shrug. “You know, I don't even think I have a favorite pie,” I say, oddly surprised by my newfound revelation.

“Shay. Everyone has a favorite pie,” he deadpans.

“Ummm no. Apparently, everyone does not.”

“Sounds like a challenge if you asked me.”

I roll my eyes, trying to shake the thought of pie-tasting with Colt from my mind. Because—I’m sorry, but—pie-tasting bears far too much of a resemblance to cake-tasting. And trust me, girls like me can’t go around casually tasting cake with guys who look like him and not expect to have their hearts broken. I’ve dated my fair share of military men, and I know from experience that it never ends well

"Well, it’s not,” I say matter-of-factly, ignoring the heat I feel rising to my cheeks. “So, what constitutes a special occasion, anyway?"

Colt smiles another stupid handsome smile, but at least he doesn’t press the issue. "You know. The usual stuff. Holidays. Birthdays. The occasional backyard barbecue. Zane and I..." He pauses, and his expression changes slightly at the mention of his jerk-face brother. "We used to fight over who got the last slice. Almost came to blows a few times. Once, I even tried to convince our mom he was allergic to buttermilk."

I smile at the thought of a cocky, high-school version of Zane breaking out into hives. "Did it work?"

Colt shakes his head, still smiling. "Nah. She saw right through it. But she did start making two pies after that. Guess that was her way of keeping the peace."

I take a bite of my pie, savoring its sweet and tangy flavor on my tongue as I consider how to respond. The silence stretches between us, and for the first time, I notice how quiet it is outside. Maybe the storm is finally letting up. Not that it matters—the roads won't be drivable until the town sends out their snowplows. And fat chance of that on Christmas Eve.

Colt clears his throat. "So, uh... what's the story between you and my brother, anyway?" He pauses when he sees me tense up. "Sorry. Probably none of my business. But I just… know how he is."

I tighten the grip around my fork. A part of me wants to brush off the question and change the subject like I did with talking about my favorite flavor of pie, but there's an even deeper part of me that aches to get it all out in the open. "Like I said before. We dated," I admit, keeping my eyes fixed on my plate. "It... didn't end well."

Colt nods slowly. "I'm sorry to hear that. Zane can be..." He trails off, searching for the right word.

"A self-centered jerk?" I offer, surprising myself with a wry smile.

He chuckles softly. "Yeah, sometimes. And like I said before, I’m a good listener, Shay. Sometimes talking helps."

Hearing the way Colt says my name weakens all my defenses, and I realize he must have read my name badge. I hope he doesn’t think I was rude for not introducing myself earlier. I hesitate, weighing my options. Colt doesn’t seem anything like his brother, but even if I can trust him... how much do I want to relive? And how vulnerable am I willing to get with a man I’ve only known for a handful of hours?

"It's... complicated." I pause and mindlessly move bits of pie around my plate. "We met at the gym. It was totally cliche, but I'll admit, he was a charmer. Told me he was 'impressed by my form' and wanted to show me a few tricks to get the most out of my deadlift."

Colt winces. "Sounds like Zane alright. Always finding a way to show off."

"Cheesy, I know. But it worked. What can I say? I'm a sucker for weight training." I smile, realizing Colt is the first person I've ever talked to about Zane—unless you count Brandon.

I look over to see Brandon curled up in the corner beneath the Christmas tree with Jack sleeping on the welcome mat beside him and smile at their instant bond. "Everything was great until about a month in. That's when he started canceling on me last minute and taking days to return my calls. Then, when he'd finally reach out, he always had some convenient reason for why it took so long. He always blamed it on some drill or training exercise, but every excuse he had was one I’d heard a hundred times before. And I got tired of it, you know?”

Colt leans back in his chair and looks at me like I'm some complex math equation he's trying to solve. "Is that why you two broke up?"

"I don't know. I guess. I mean, I tried to be understanding. It’s not like he’s the first military guy I’ve dated. But Zane had a special way of making me feel like I'd always be taking a backseat to his career. And I hated myself for how insecure it made me. So, I broke things off.”

Colt's expression softens. "Relationships in the military… they can be tough. Even for guys like Zane."

"Wait… So, now you're defending him?" I try to keep my cool, but his words open a floodgate of emotions I've been holding back for way too long. “Geez, that is so typical. You know, this is exactly why I can’t date guys in the military,” I say with a scoff.

“Shay I wasn’t defending his actions. But I’m not sure you understand how hard it is trying to balance a social life around everything else we might have going on.” When he speaks, his voice is calm and void of any threat. I’ll admit, it’s not how I expected he’d respond. But while his tone may be enough to make me question whether or not I’m overreacting, it still doesn’t change the hurt I feel.

"Look, I get it. I'm sure military life is tough. And I can’t imagine how any of you do what you do. But I’ve lived here almost all my life, Colt. Military guys are all I’ve ever known and at the end of the day, they aren’t reliable. You said it yourself. It’s too hard to balance a relationship around your job, and I don’t need guys like you or your brother making me feel like I’m some crazy person for thinking I deserve to ride shotgun every once in a while.”

“I never said you were crazy. Or that you don’t deserve more. Shay, look at me.” He pauses, then continues only when I look up to meet the fiery smolder in his eyes. “You’re smart. Beautiful. Funny. And strong. If you asked me, I’d say your only problem is that you keep picking all the wrong men.”

I hold his gaze for a moment longer before I feel something flicker inside. My heart wants to hold on to all the amazing things he said until they become the only truth I know. To have him get out of his chair and come kiss me so hard that my lips still feel it a year from now. But that last part. This is where reality sinks in. Because Colt is right. The real problem here… is me.

“Yeah, well I didn’t ask,” I snap, tearing my eyes away from his.

Colt's face falls as I push away my plate, realizing suddenly that now I’m the one who’s broken. Only, not even the beaming ray of sunshine sitting across from me can fill all my cracks.

Without another word, I rise from my spot on the floor and move quickly toward the corner of the room to retrieve Brandon, startling Jack in the process. As if sensing how wounded I am by my own words, Jack picks his head up and licks my hand. A silent tear falls from the corner of my eye. Sorry bud. The damage is done.

I return to the couch with Brandon cradled in my arms and stifle a sob. What is wrong with me? And what’s with the all the sudden waterworks? I never cry. And I certainly don’t let other’s opinions of me get me down. Do I? But what if Colt is right? What if I’m so messed up that I wouldn’t know a good thing if it smacked me in the face? Or landed on my doorstep?

An awkward silence hangs heavy in the air as I settle back onto the cushions, pulling a thick blanket around us both. Colt remains seated across from me with eyes fixed on the floor and an expression I'm unable to read. And even if I could, why would I want to? He probably hates me by now, and who could blame him?

Wanting to avoid him for the rest of the night, I shift my gaze and focus on the window instead. I fish my phone from my pocket to check the time. It's almost eleven, and my notification tab is lit up with new likes and messages from Cupid’s Hub. With an exasperated sigh, I close the screen and chuck the device at a throw pillow on the opposite end of the couch. It makes an impact with a soft thud, then falls onto my feet, but I don’t bother moving it.

I let out a deep sigh and sink deeper into the couch, absentmindedly stroking Brandon's fur until I feel my nerves start to unwind. Aside from the occasional crackle from the oil lamp and Jack's soft snoring, the silence begins to feel peaceful.

As I drift in and out of consciousness, my mind is consumed by thoughts of the other Ralston brother. His kind eyes—eyes that I'm now terrified to look into—are so different from Zane's, despite being the exact same shade of green. Just thinking about them makes my stomach flutter. And for a moment, I allow myself to wonder what it would be like if things were different. If maybe we had met under normal circumstances.

I steal another glance at Colt, who's sitting alert in his armchair like some statue of a Greek god. Hercules, I remind myself. Guilt creeps its way into my stomach as I recall my harsh words, but pride keeps me from apologizing. At least for now.

I pull the blanket tighter around me as if it's going to shield me from the uncomfortable truth. This is not how I imagined spending my Christmas Eve. Not by a long shot.