Finding Our Reality (The Reality Duet #2)

Chapter 12

ELLA

I’m staring at the brown liquid of my Long Island Iced Tea when Will places a plate of bright orange cantaloupe in front of me.

“Ahh, trying to ease the bad mood with fruit.” Holt nods in appreciation at Will. “Smart move.”

I ignore their banter, popping a juicy piece of fruit in my mouth. Cullen’s been making some sort of fancy cantaloupe and mint cocktail for the past few weeks, so this won’t be the first time I’ve had one my favorite foods as a bar time snack.

Will tosses me a napkin. “I wish you would tell us what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong.”

Will cocks his head. “Your eyes are bloodshot, and your eye makeup is smudged. I could be wrong, but I don’t think that smoky eye was specially applied for your night out with your uncle and cousins.”

Uncle Ray clicks his tongue. “Leave the girl alone. She’ll tell us when she’s good and ready. Besides, if we think about it real hard, I’m sure we can solve some of the puzzle. We might not guess the what , but somehow, I don’t think the who will be all that hard.”

I swing my foot back and forth against my barstool. “I’m glad my life provides so much amusement for you.”

Holt steals a cantaloupe ball from my plate. “Hey, we all have our spot in the sun for a while. Just think back a few months ago. You couldn’t turn on any news channel without seeing my face and hearing some dumbass commentator say my life was over because I couldn’t play football anymore.” He thumps his chest, smiling. “Now, look at me.”

I snort. “Unemployed and drinking at the bar.”

Holt chuckles. “Hey, I’m just weighing my options.” He turns to Will. “On a side note, may I say how disturbing it is that you even know what a ‘smoky eye’ is?”

Will flips him the bird before turning to help a customer.

Just a couple of minutes later, the front door flings open so loudly, it catches all of our attention. Anxiety and tension quickly drown out the noise of the music and bustling crowd. Ry’s standing in the doorway, scanning the room. Unfortunately, the bastard looks drop dead sexy. I guess he showered. His hair is wet, and small beads of water are rolling down his neck. He hasn’t shaved the past couple of days, and the brown stubble on his face and jawline make him look absolutely dangerous.

He’s wearing a green T-shirt with a gray hoodie jacket and jeans. The green really draws attention to his eyes.

And the muscles around his collar bone.

And his firm chest.

Damn that green T-shirt.

Ry takes a breath when he sees me. Rolling his shoulders, he charges across the barroom like an elephant thundering across the savanna. Holt immediately jumps from his barstool and presses the palm of his hand against Ry’s chest. “Whoa, there. She’s upset. She hasn’t told us what happened, but I’m pretty damn positive you have something to do with it. It might be best if you turn around. None of us bought a ticket to the shit show tonight.”

Ry narrows his eyes and stares down at Holt’s hand. Ry definitely doesn’t like someone’s hand being on him. In confrontation. In challenge. A fight between the two of them would probably be the brawl of the century.

I should step in. I should intervene. Oh well, I always do what I shouldn’t do. This should be no exception. I turn my head back to my drink, listening to them talk about me like I’m not even here.

Uncle Ray clears his throat and calmly takes a drink of his beer. “Holt, take your hand off him, son.”

Respecting his father’s wishes, Holt does as he’s told. He doesn’t sit back down, though. He stands sentry in front of me, blocking Ry from part of my view.

Uncle Ray leans across the bar, grabbing Cullen’s attention since Will is busy with other customers. “C, get Crutch a beer, will you?”

Cullen slides a cold beer bottle into Ry’s hand and Uncle Ray nods, urging him to take a drink. I’m glad no one’s getting thirsty in this standoff. Come on, people! Can’t you see I’m falling apart over here!

I just found out the love of my life nearly died.

I mean, I just found out the ex-love of my life nearly died.

“So,” Uncle Ray places his empty bottle on the counter, “you wanna tell us what happened?”

Ry looks at me, trying to gauge my feelings. I put my hand up, shielding my face from his prying eyes. About this time, Will walks up to join the guys. Sighing, Ry glances around at the men of my family. “I didn’t tell her about my service injuries. She caught me in the gym. She saw it.”

Uncle Ray nods. “Oh. I see.”

Holt clears his throat, shifting his weight from leg to leg.

“I just need to talk to her.” Ry’s voice cuts like a knife, slicing through a small layer of my steel armor. “Lulu, please. Can we just talk for a minute?”

I ignore him.

Will tosses his hand in the air. “Hey, a table just opened up in the back. Why don’t you take a load off? Maybe Ella will feel like talking in a little while.”

Ry licks his lips. Chugging the rest of his beer, he slaps the bottle on the shiny wood countertop and walks off toward the back of the bar.

Holt sits back down and Will tosses my empty fruit plate in the trash. No one says anything for a long time. We just sit, listening to the Aerosmith song pumping through the speakers.

“If you hate him so much, why are you so upset?”

“Holt, did you really just ask me that? You know why. No matter where I go, no matter what I do, Ry will always be a part of me. There’s nothing I can do about that. Just because I hate him, doesn’t mean that I wish him harm.” I twist my glass around in a circle. “He joined the military to get away from me, to run away. And it nearly cost him his life, by the looks of it. How am I supposed to deal with that? He ran to danger because of me.”

Will shakes his head. “There’s a million different ways for someone to run away. Not every guy running away from his hometown joins the military. You may think he joined the service just to get away from you, but he joined because he felt a higher calling, a need to serve, a duty to his country. More importantly, a desire to grow into a man he could respect. We’ve talked about his time in the military. And I can tell you right now, that there are only three things in life that Crutch seems truly passionate about. And two of them are being a Marine and being a cop.”

Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask. My voice croaks, “What’s the third?”

Will shrugs. “You.”

Dagger. To the heart. “I thought none of you talked to Ry about me.”

“We haven’t. We don’t. But I don’t need to have a conversation with him, Ella, to know that he’s explosively passionate about you. The way he looks at you? It’s the same way I feel about Raylee.”

And what do I say to that? I have no choice but to hear him out. I peek back at the table. Ry’s leaning forward clutching his head in his hands. Growling, I snap at Will. “Hand me a beer, dum-dum.”

Wrapping my purse around me, I weave my way through the crowd, balancing the beer bottle in one hand and my Long Island Iced Tea in the other. His head snaps up when he hears the chair scrape across the floor. Wordlessly, I slide the fresh drink across the table to him. I don’t say anything. No one said I had to make this easy for him. It sure as hell isn’t easy for me.

“I didn’t tell you about my injuries.”

Obviously.

“I wanted to.” He tosses his head back and forth. “Then again, I didn’t want to. It’s hard to explain.”

I raise my glass, rubbing my lips back and forth across the rim. There must be a drop of alcohol there because my bottom lip starts burning.

Ry chuckles, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head. “You always have to bust my balls, don’t you?”

“Do you expect any different?”

“No, I guess not.” He sighs. “I wanted to tell you because it was a big part of my life. It is a big part of my life. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was worried. I was worried you wouldn’t care. After what happened twelve years ago, it wouldn’t surprise me if you wanted to see me get run over by a bus. But I was also worried that you would care. Care too much. How can I let you care about me when I left? When I did what I did? I don’t deserve your compassion, your worry, or your thoughts.”

I lick my lips, praying for patience. “You’ve always been very good at trying to tell me what to think about you. Don’t you think it’s time you left that up to me?”

“I guess so.” He leans forward, hooking his calloused finger around mine. “So, what do you think of me?”

I pull my hand away, folding it in my lap. His touch, no matter how small, stirs passion. And that’s not something I need to feel about him.

Not now.

Not ever.

I ignore his question. “Tell me what happened.”

“It happened in South Sudan.”

“Not Afghanistan or Iraq?”

He shakes his head. “I was deployed to Afghanistan for a while. Then, I was sent to South Sudan to help guard the US Embassy. We were driving in a convoy, taking the ambassador to a meeting at the Presidential Palace. There was an IED. We had to abandon the vehicles.” He shrugs. “And then, there was another IED. I got a little too close for comfort on that one.”

He’s so nonchalant. It’s like he just told me he burnt his finger on the hot stove. “Who did it? Who set the IEDs?”

“Doesn’t matter…this group or that group. There are always people out there who wanna hurt other people.”

My voice sounds shaky. “Did anyone die?”

He rubs his fingers across his lips. “Yes. Some really good people.”

My chest feels heavy, like a ton of bricks is sitting on top of me. I can’t help it; I reach around and fondle my scar. “Did you nearly die?”

“No. It was bad, but not life threatening.” He smiles, lifting his left arm in the air and pumping it like he’s lifting weights. “See. I’m fine. Completely fine.”

“Well, it’s pretty damn obvious you weren’t fine. Or else you wouldn’t look like an eighteen-wheeler drug you across the interstate. What damage was done?”

“Shrapnel. That was the worst of it. It basically imbedded metal and plastic along the back of my shoulder blade and top of my bicep. A larger piece of metal sliced part of my upper arm away,” he points to the area where I saw the large circular scar. “When I went down, I tore my rotator cuff and a ligament. It could’ve been a lot worse. I’m actually pretty lucky.”

I cough, clearing my throat. “Lucky?”

“Yes, Lulu. I made it out alive.”

I stare at him. “They sent you home after that?”

“Yeah. It was a long recovery.”

“How did you become a deputy? Doesn’t the injury rule you out?”

“Nope. I just had to pass their physical fitness test and receive clearance from a doctor. And trust me, their physical fitness test is nothing compared to the Marines.”

There are so many questions. I furrow my brow in thought. “When?”

“Our convoy was hit the day before my twenty-fifth birthday. I was sent home. Received a medical honorable discharge. I spent that whole year rehabbing and working out like some kind of damn steroid addict. Took the first deputy test on my twenty-sixth birthday.”

No wonder his body looks so good. Apparently, he’s kept up with the regimen.

“You don’t have any lingering problems?”

“The shoulder surgery went perfect. But you can’t have shrapnel injuries and not have some lingering problems,” he says, with a glance at his shoulder.

My hand flies to my mouth in horror. “Oh my god. It’s still coming out of you, isn’t it?”

He sighs softly, “The body knows what should be there and what shouldn’t be there. So, yeah, it works its way to the surface, just small pieces. But, it’s fine.”

“It’s fine?” My voice raises. “You have pieces of debris coming out of your body, and you say it’s just fine? Are you delusional?”

His jaw clenches and his hands ball into fists. I’ve pissed him off. “No, Lulu. I’m realistic. I’ve got it good. I can see. I can hear. I can walk. I can talk. I can work and provide for myself. I can wipe my own ass. All major accomplishments in my book. Especially if you had seen what I’ve seen.”

My heart pounds against my ribcage, snuffing the fight right out of me. “I didn’t mean it like that. I apologize.”

He drags his hand across his stubbled jaw. “I know.”

“You must have seen some terrible things.”

He sits back, spreading his legs in front of him. He studies me, long and hard. Smirking, he takes a long drink of the beer, downing half of it in one swallow. “Go ahead and ask me. I know you want to.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t beat around the bush, Lulu. I like you when you get to the point.”

He can be so arrogant sometimes. “Fine. Do you suffer from PTSD? You say you’re fine physically, but you went through a major trauma. Are you doing okay?”

He leans forward, preparing to tell me a secret. “Listen to me, Luella Margaret Hill, I saw a lot of fucked-up shit when I was in the service. People blowing themselves up just to a make a point. Terrorists shooting little kids just because they happened to be in the vicinity of us troops. Men beating their women just because they walked more than a quarter mile away from their home. But none of that gives me nightmares. None of that keeps me awake at night. The only thing that makes me toss and turn is you.”

He slams his chair back. Swinging the beer bottle from the table, he stalks away to the bar.

Well. What am I supposed to say to that?