"It was a suicide bomber."
I turn my head toward him. He said it so quietly that I wasn't sure I heard him correctly. He's staring out the window past me, eyes glazed.
"I know you didn't ask. But you're the first person I've actually wanted to tell. We were training members of the Afghan army, and one of them had a vest on under his clothes. Got four of our unit, including my best friend."
He looks up at me, though his mind is somewhere else behind his eyes. The thousand yard stare. I've heard of it but never seen it before, though somehow I recognize it immediately. I want to reach across the console and take his hand in mine, but something stops me.
"Maybe you're right. Maybe there's safety in being strangers," he murmurs. "Hell, most of the time I just want to head out into the wilderness and never come back."
I smile sadly and nod. See? I was right. The other shoe always drops. I always manage to be attracted to the completely unavailable men. This one's so damaged he doesn't even want to be a part of society anymore.
"I'd say I'm sorry, but I know it's not pity you're looking for," I murmur. "Whatever it is, though, I hope you find it."
"Hope," he repeats. "Hope," he murmurs again, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. I leave him to them, turning back to the window.
The plane begins its descent in earnest. Soon the pilot lowers the landing gear, and we make a smooth touch down. As the plane taxis to the gate, the passengers around us undo their seatbelts and turn their cell phones back on. I reach under my seat for my purse and stand up as the jetway is attached. Luc appears at our row with the man's crutches.
"You go ahead," he says.
I nod and step around him. I'd like to say something, but with Luc standing there and the other passengers walking past, it feels awkward. I turn back, and all I can do is smile. He nods, and I follow the rest of the passengers into the terminal.
I walk quickly, trying to shake off any lingering emotions and leave them on the plane. This is the start of my new chapter, and I can't be bringing a bunch of emotional baggage with me. Physical baggage, though, is a different story.
I wait for my suitcases at the carousel. It takes a while for them to be unloaded from the plane, and I grab a trolley to help me carry them out. Finally, the alarm sounds, and I spot the first piece of my luggage, followed closely by the second and third. I heave them onto the trolley and pull it out toward the pickup area.
I take out my phone and scroll through my emails, searching for the one from my dad's assistant, telling me the make and license plate of the driver's car. I told him I could just take a taxi, but he was quite insistent, and he got his way as usual.
"Ms. Stratton?" a voice says. I look up to see a short, balding man smiling obsequiously at me. He gestures behind himself to his stretch limo. "May I take your bags?"
"Um, sure," I murmur. "Wait, no," I say, as I find the email. That car's been sent for me, actually." I nod to a burly man in a dark suit standing by a similarly dark Escalade. I double-check the license plate, and give him a wave. "How did you know my name, though?"
"Recognized you from the society pages. My client missed his flight, so..." he trails off with a shrug.
"Ah, gotcha." I turn toward the Escalade. Hi! I'm Lex," I introduce myself to the large man and shake his hand. He almost breaks mine with his monster grip.
"Ma'am," he says formally. "Let me get your bags." He loads them into the trunk as I hop in the backseat. When he gets into the driver's seat and shuts the door, I lean forward.
"What's your name?"
"Roger Gleason, ma'am."
"You don't have to call me that. You can call me Lex." He pauses, seeming to waver. I glance out the tinted window and spot the veteran. He's got two duffel bags slung across his wide chest and is still walking with his crutches, glancing around, probably looking for the taxi line. And I'm the one who gets a driver. I know we said we'd go our separate ways, but I can't just leave him struggling like this.
Roger starts to pull away. "Hang on a sec," I tell him, and roll down the window. "Hey, stranger! Need a ride?"
He glances up. "I can handle it."
"Alright, then let's just say I want the company." I turn to Roger. "Help him with his bags, will you?" I murmur. Roger hops out and takes the duffels. The veteran frowns, but lets him. He stares at the car for a second, then walks toward it. I shift over to the other seat so he can take the closer one, and push the door open for him. He lays his crutches on the floor and then hops in. Roger gets back in the front seat and looks in the rearview mirror.