Handle Me

On the bright side, she could mark one-night stand off her bucket list. And with the boy she’d had a teenage crush on. Oh, look, a twofer.

In the quiet silence, she could hear the engine on Ty’s rental turn over. The sound of his tires crunching across pavement, picking up speed as he fled from her neighborhood. From her life.

It hurt. Not that she’d necessarily wanted to wake up with his strong arms cradling her close. That would have been infinitely more awkward than sitting there alone in her misery and embarrassment.

This way, she didn’t have to confront what she’d actually done. It was a little late in life for her to be adding stupid experiences to her resume, but maybe better late than never.

Besides, with Ryan gone, she’d likely never see Ty Colson again.

And that was the way she wanted it.

Really, it was.

2 (#ulink_83270bd3-749a-5c60-a8c9-895bd49f819c)

Four months later

TY STARED AT the perfect house in front of him. Exactly the kind of place he’d expect Van Cantrell to own.

The street was quiet, a subdued neighborhood full of older homes. The kind with gentle laughter, sunny yellow walls and a kitchen with a mom making waffles and chocolate chip cookies.

The kind of home he’d never had.

The kind of life he’d never realized was possible until he’d met Ryan in the second grade. And learned that sporting bruises and going to bed with a rumbling belly weren’t normal.

The neighborhood seemed sluggish. Ty missed the normal weekday rush of people leaving for work. The kids who would likely be running up and down the cracked sidewalks in a few hours were still snuggled under their sheets, dreaming of lazy summer mornings and the remaining weeks with no homework.

Two weatherworn rocking chairs sat on the wraparound front porch, swaying in the hot Texas breeze. Just waiting for someone with a steaming mug of coffee to curl up against the wooden slats and enjoy what little respite the morning offered before summer’s oppressive heat seeped in.

A memory burst through, one he’d been pushing back for months.

Van, sitting in that exact spot, her feet pulled up underneath her. Body slumped, shoulders rounded with grief. A beautiful, golden sunrise gilding her exhausted, tear-stained face.

He’d sat there in a different car, on a different day, and been a voyeur to her pain. He’d wanted to comfort her then. But he’d fought the urge to go to her, wrap her in his arms and wipe each of her tears away.

Because he’d known it was better that way. For both of them. After the night they’d shared together in that tree house...

In that moment, being close to her and seeing the anger and accusation in her eyes again would have destroyed him.

Now silence settled over him, harsh and heavy, pressing tight against his chest. He should get out of the SUV he’d rented at the San Antonio airport—get this over with—but he couldn’t seem to make his body move.

This was the moment he’d been dreading for the last several weeks. But it was as inevitable as it was filled with regret, and guilt, and a grief so bone-deep he couldn’t begin to exorcise it.

The only way he’d gotten through that last trip home was by numbing himself with whiskey...and Van.

Ty’s stomach churned and his hands, still wrapped around the leather-covered steering wheel, went white with tension. Sweat that had nothing to do with the heat trickled down the back of his neck.

God, he didn’t want to walk inside. Didn’t want to look into her gorgeous, pain-filled eyes.

There was no way to fix what was broken—for either of them.

But that didn’t stop him from wishing he could roll back time and change everything. He’d give anything—absolutely anything—to bring Ryan back.

A soft whimper sounded from the backseat and a cold, wet nose nudged against his shoulder. Ty pulled a sudden gulp of air into his lungs, grateful for the jolt, which prevented him from spiraling into a familiar mental tailspin.

The last thing he needed was for Van to find him stalling in her driveway. She knew he was coming this morning. Hell, he hadn’t even bothered to check into his hotel first. Better to get this over with.

Carefully unwrapping his fingers from the wheel, Ty reached back and scratched behind Kaia’s ears. She let out another sound, only this time it was full of pleasure. Leaning her head against Ty’s shoulder, she angled her body for a deeper rub.

“I know, girl,” he whispered. “You’re almost home. It’s almost over.”

At least he could make things better for her. Kaia had been through as much trauma and grief as he had. As Savannah had.

He was really hoping that Kaia’s presence would give Van some small measure of comfort. He knew the dog desperately needed some love and affection. He’d fought for months to bring her home because he knew it was what Ryan would have wanted.

Kaia let out a short, sharp bark.

Pushing out a gush of air, Ty tried to laugh. The sound was off, rusty and forced. “I guess it’s time to get this over with.”

Forcefully pulling his gaze from the house, Ty climbed from the car. He opened the back door wide and gave the command for Kaia to jump down. He didn’t bother with a leash. A Belgian Malinois, she’d been trained as an SSD, a specialized search dog, and had spent the better part of five years scenting for explosives and bombs, primarily following voice commands. She was extremely intelligent and very obedient. All of their dogs were.

It was hard not to be partial to his own partner, Echo, waiting for him back in Afghanistan, but he was just as comfortable with Kaia.

The dog’s long, lithe body stretched forward, then didn’t hesitate, bounding from the SUV, and landing on the ground with a stuttered gait. The loss of her left front leg barely even slowed her down.

But Ty remembered. The sight of Ryan’s soot-covered, broken body in the rubble. Kaia, her fur matted with blood—Ryan’s and hers—lying over him. Protecting him. Unwilling to move even as a burning fire raged just feet away, her hair smoking from the heat.

Ty recalled the pain and sadness that had filled her eyes when he had finally reached them, pulling his best friend and the dog who’d tried to protect him to cover—it had been too late to save Ryan. And Kaia had almost lost her life as well.

Weeks of surgery and therapy. Months of waiting for her to be medically cleared, released from service and then pronounced adoptable before he’d been able to even make the argument she should be sent home to Ryan’s family. A trip that he’d paid for out of his own pocket since the military didn’t cover the expense of transporting retired dogs to their new homes.

Worth every goddamn penny. It was the least he owed his best friend.

Ordering Kaia to heel with a simple hand gesture, Ty turned from the car, but then stopped a step away. The dog followed his lead, even without a command, pressing her shoulder against his thigh to compensate for the loss of her limb.

The porch was no longer empty. Van stood there, arms crossed over her chest, watching him. Watching them both.

Her expression was...unreadable. Distant and closed. But that wasn’t unusual when he was around. Did she remember the last time they’d seen each other? Or had she been so affected by the alcohol and grief that the memories had disappeared?

Those memories, the way her body had felt against his. The scent of her skin. The tangy, tempting taste of her mouth... He remembered every second.

But, even if she did remember, he fully expected Van to pretend she didn’t. Because they both knew that single night was a...well, mistake was the wrong word because it implied he hadn’t wanted it to happen, which definitely wasn’t true. That night had been a fantasy, even as he’d known Van was grieving and wanted nothing more than a physical release from the pressure of her loss.

It was clear from her expression that the remote, disapproving woman he’d grown to expect was back today. Van hadn’t always been that way with him. There’d been a time when he’d considered her as much a friend as Ryan. But it had been a long while since that was true.

Her skin was still creamy pale. Her hair, loose and blowing in the soft morning breeze, a rich, dark brown that bordered on black. Her eyes were a pale green and he knew, up close, they had flecks of golden brown shot through them.

But it was the tilt of her chin that always got him. The cool, calm bravado she approached everything with. Competence and confidence. Van’s philosophy was very much to fake it till you make it.