By four in the morning, I'd made the decision to reach out to Paul as soon as the clock showed a civilized hour. He'd never been one to pull punches. Whatever I needed to do here, he'd set me straight.
Because heaven knows that's exactly what I need right now.
Like a lot of businesses here in Anchor Point, the restaurant was situated in an old Cape Cod – style house with a tiny gravel parking lot outside. It was pale gray-typical of seaside buildings. I would've bet money the paint they'd used had been called "driftwood" or some variation thereof. Against a backdrop of mist and clouds, the whole place could've passed for a black-and-white postcard if not for the bright-blue sign propped up on top of the roof's dark shingles.
At a table by the windows, I looked out at the ocean. The weather wasn't pretty, so the seas were predictably rough. Just the sight of the whitecaps made the floor rock beneath my feet. I'd long ago broken the habit of holding on to my drink if I was near stormy seas-my brain had finally accepted that the table wasn't going to move no matter how big the swells were-but I could still feel the motion of the ocean sometimes.
I shook myself and shifted my attention to the menu.
I'd arrived early, but not five minutes after I'd sat down, Paul strolled in too.
You have no idea how glad I am to see you.
I played it cool, though, and grinned as I laid down my menu. "You're early. Haven't broken out of that military indoctrination yet, have you?"
Paul chuckled as he took the seat opposite me. "Are you kidding? I'll never break out of that as long as the assholes down at the golf course cancel my tee time if I'm not there twenty minutes early."
"Oh, the suffering you endure." I clasped my hands over my heart. "How do retirees withstand such hardship?"
"It's a rough life, but someone's gotta live it."
"Uh-huh." I ran a finger around the rim of my water glass. "Your other half didn't mind me running off with you for a couple of hours?"
Paul laughed. "I don't think he minds getting rid of me every now and then."
"Must be why he doesn't mind you golfing every other day."
"Hey, it works out for both of us. I'm not going to complain." His amusement faded, and he tilted his head slightly and raised his eyebrows. "All right, I left my crystal ball at home, but the spirits are telling me there's something bothering you."
Okay, so we're diving right in, are we?
I gulped. "Is it that obvious?"
"I've known you for how many years?"
"Fair enough." I sighed and rubbed my neck. "So I took Clint to California with me. To spend Christmas with Charlie and Maxine."
"Okay. How are they doing, by the way?"
"Good. Good. And the trip was great. Clint's really . . . I mean, he's . . ." I folded my arms on the table. "We go pretty well together."
"So I've seen. And knowing you, the fact that you two go so well together is part of the problem."
"It is the problem." I blew out a breath. "Damn. Am I that predictable?"
Paul nodded, and the bastard didn't even bother offering a joke or a comment. No, he was giving me absolutely no diversion from the topic, and he was leaving it to me to fill the silence.
Well, this was why we were here.
"Now that we've been seeing each other for a while," I said, "I don't know how I ever thought things wouldn't get serious. It just makes sense to feel like this for him."
Paul's eyebrows climbed his forehead. "Whoa. I never thought I'd hear you say that about a man."
"Neither did I." I wrung my hands under the edge of the table. "It takes a lot for me to want to be in a relationship with someone. Always has, even before Dion died." I leaned back, subtly pressing against the hard-backed chair to stop the growing spasm beneath my shoulder blades. "The thing is, there are only a handful of things that have ever hurt like losing Jessica. And nothing that hurts more than losing Dion. I don't know if I could handle falling that hard for someone and losing them a third time."
Paul nodded. "Yeah, I can see that." He started to say something else, but the waiter showed up right then.
"Can I get you two started with anything?" he asked with cheeriness that seemed almost offensive at the moment. "Maybe an appetizer?"
My stomach turned. The thought of eating anything made me want to gag.
Paul glanced at me, then handed his menu to the waiter. "Just an iced tea for right now. We might get something else a bit later."
"Me too," I said.
"Okay, sounds good." The waiter left, and our conversation stayed on pause until he'd come back with our drinks.
"Anyway." Paul watched me as he poured a packet of sugar into his iced tea. "You were saying? About Clint?"
"Yeah." I rested my elbows on the table, but didn't touch my tea or my water. "I don't know. I guess . . . maybe this is just moving too fast, you know? I've known him, what? Three months? If I feel this way about him now, how is it going to be in six months? Or a year?"
"Better?"
I met Paul's eyes.
He leaned over his folded arms. "Look, I get why you're scared. I really do. And I can't imagine how hard it's been to move on after Jessica and Dion. But maybe this is your shot. Maybe the third time's the charm."
The air stopped in my throat, and a memory flashed through my mind of Clint using that phrase as he'd pitched softballs into a stack of milk bottles. I dropped my gaze. "A pessimist might interpret that to mean the third time is the one that'll-" The words kill me didn't make it past the tip of my tongue. Still avoiding his eyes, I muttered, "The one that'll finally do me in."
Paul studied me for a long moment. "Listen, I don't want to downplay how tough this is on you. I can't even imagine. But what was it some grizzled old ex-pilot told me once?" He inclined his head. "Something about even if it blows up in my face, nothing's worse than looking back and wondering what might have been?"
"I know. Except I'm kind of afraid of what could happen. Because I know what can happen. And I'm fucking terrified this time because to be honest . . ." I hesitated, a weird mix of shame, fear, and God knew what else churning in my stomach. "I haven't felt like this about someone since Dion."
Paul tensed. "Wow."
"Yeah. I guess . . ." I inhaled slowly. "Dion and I had a lot of valid reasons to stay apart." My own words made me wince. "I mean, I loved him. I always will. But what choice did we have? There was so much on the line . . ."
"I know," Paul said softly. "I can't imagine anyone blames you for the choice you made. The choice you both made."
"Except . . ." I winced.
"What?" He paused. "Talk to me. It's just us. Whatever you need to say, that's what I'm here for."
My throat tightened, but I finally managed to speak. "Even though Dion and I weren't together, God . . . I loved him. So much. And I think I'm scared to death to feel that way for someone else because I know how much it hurts to lose them. Maybe it would have been different if we'd been together, and things had gone bad, and by the time we broke up, we were done with each other. Kind of like when Jessica and I divorced. I mean, that one hurt like hell, and it took me a long, long time to get over her, but Dion . . ." I cringed. "I know, I'm harping on the past. And I'm probably a complete coward. But every time I look at Clint, and every time I realize how much I want to be with him, I'm fucking terrified of how much it's going to hurt when he's gone."
"When?" Paul shook his head. "Jesus. You're already completely resigned to him being gone?"
I moistened my parched lips. "Why wouldn't I be?"
He stared out at the ocean for a solid minute, and so did I. What was I supposed to say?
Paul turned toward me again. "Look at me, Travis." When I did, he held my gaze with unflinching eyes. "Let me ask you something."
I swallowed. "Okay . . ."
"If you had it to do over, and you knew from the start how things would turn out with Jessica and with Dion, would you have done anything differently?"
The question was a punch to the chest. I sat back again, slowly releasing a breath. "I don't know."
"Think about it for a minute. And ignoring the fact that without Jessica, you wouldn't have Kimber. I mean specifically your relationship with your ex-wife."
I ran my thumbnail along the edge of the faux-leather placemat. "With Jessica, I don't know. I really don't. But with Dion . . . yeah, I absolutely would have done things differently."
"Really?"
I nodded.
"In what way?" He studied me. "You would have pursued something with him?"
"I . . ." Chewing my lip, I stared at the table. "Probably not, no. I think it would have been better for him if we'd never made any kind of connection."
Paul didn't speak for a long moment. When he did, his tone was soft. "You still blame yourself, don't you?"
Every day of my life.
I looked in his eyes again. "Of course I do."
"Travis, Dion's feelings for you aren't what killed him." Ticking off points on his fingers, Paul went on, "A messed-up policy that kept him from dating men. Pressure to have a wife and a family so he could move through the ranks. Even more pressure to toe the line so he didn't lose his kids in the divorce. The complete and utter system failure that kept him, Charlie, you, and God knows how many other vets from getting treated properly after-"