A Beautiful Distraction(31)

“Yes, gorgeous. I’m sure,” he answered. Then, slowly removing his hand from her thigh, he clasped his fingers around her chin, holding her eyes to his. Then he kissed her once. “Until next time.”

• • •

Rafe started his Jeep and waited for Fallon to safely pull onto the road before he left the parking garage. He was tempted to follow her home to ensure that she arrived safely, but he had to remind himself that she’d driven herself home late at night long before he’d spent a good portion of the night fucking her in her car.

The tires of his Jeep squealed as he turned the sharp corner out of the parking garage and headed toward his hotel. He was flying out of Denver early to visit his family, and the morning was going to come way too quickly. With the sound of Fallon’s moans and the feel of her body coming undone around him still fresh in his memory, he was going to need another drink if he planned on getting any sleep tonight.

The light on his phone flashed from the passenger seat. Three missed calls. Two from his buddy Wright, and one from Graham.

Just as he was about to call Wright back, his phone lit up again, Wright’s number appearing on the screen.

“What’s up, Wright?”

“Murano? It’s Stella.” It was Wright’s wife, her voice panicked. He could practically hear the tears raining down her face.

“Stella, what’s wrong?”

“He . . . he . . . I don’t know what to do. He just snapped . . .”

“Try to calm down. Tell me what happened.” Rafe’s intuition thrummed loudly in his ears. He hadn’t known Wright long before they’d deployed, but he was a damn good man, good soldier, and Rafe never imagined he was a ticking bomb. Wright was one of the silent ones, the ones you never anticipated to go off. But Rafe just knew. Something must have triggered him.

She didn’t answer.

His eyes flashed to the rearview mirror; then he swerved across the intersection, swinging his Jeep back around. “Where’s he at, Stella?” His foot locked down on the accelerator, gaining speed as he headed back toward the interstate.

A quiet sob muffled into the phone. “Stella!”

“He’s in the garage.”

Relief crept through him, but it was chilled, icy, not at all the comfort he was hoping for. “Are you okay?”

There was a moment of pause; then she inhaled. “Yes.” Her answer was unsure, scared, and the hiccup induced by her tears only intensified his concern.

“The boys, where are they?”

“The twins are asleep in their cribs, but I sent Michael home with the babysitter. I didn’t want him to see—”

Fucking panic slammed him in the gut. “See what?”

“He was with us one moment and then . . .”

Goddammit. “I’m on my way.”

“Murano?”

“Yeah?”

“Hurry.”





CHAPTER EIGHT


Rafe made the hour-and-a-half drive from Denver back to Fort Carson in fifty minutes. Every second of every minute ticked away with a loud threat, his pulse joining rhythm with the silent, foreboding click of passing time.

He had relocated to Fort Carson only a few months before they’d deployed, but in that short amount of time Wright and his wife treated Rafe like part of their family. Bonds were formed quickly in this world, forged together by duty, strengthened by family, trusted with blood. But pasts were rarely shared.

Shadows consumed everyone, every soldier. They all had parts that cloaked the good. Soldiers didn’t come back from the hell they’d been through unscathed, without earning war-inflicted darkness. Fuck, Rafe had more than he’d like to admit. But Wright, he was supposed to be one of the rare ones, awarded with peace of mind, free from the shit that threatened to haunt him.

Dammit.

The front door threw open and Stella rushed outside as Rafe pulled into the drive. Eyes strained and swollen, worry creasing her mouth, she threw her arms around his neck as he stepped out of his Jeep. Tears flooded, dripping onto his shirt as he hugged her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to call. Graham is on his way here too.”

“Fuck, Stella, what’s goin’ on?”

Sniffling, she wrapped her short fingers around his hand and led him toward the house. “He just . . . hollowed.” She stopped inside the door, her breath catching in violent, jagged hiccups. “We . . . fed . . . the boys . . . dinner . . . and went to a . . . late movie . . . just to get out of the house . . . just the two of us,” she cried, her words broken by the sobs convulsing through her.

“Stella, what happened?”

Stella swallowed hard, fingers trembling as she wrapped her arms around herself. She tried to force the tears away, her face flashing with worry and pain. “He was driving . . . we were on our way home. The car in front of us swerved . . . on and off the shoulder, losing control . . . Then suddenly it had a blowout. We heard the tire pop. Tommy jerked, yanking the car into the other lane. We were so lucky there was no oncoming traffic.”