It was one of the reasons she didn’t let people in.
Steven gave her one last, long, scorching glance. “We’ll finish our conversation later.”
She swallowed and watched him go, heart racing and palms sweating. What was up with him tonight? She glanced at Holt. He watched her skeptically. She shook her head. “Don’t ask.”
“I have a feeling it’s none of my business, so I won’t,” he said, his voice soft. “He’s different around you, though. Like a completely different guy.”
She turned to him. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve known him a long time. A lot longer than I have.”
“Yeah…” She moved into his arms and smiled up at him. He was attractive, in that hot, nerdy way. She had a feeling Lydia hadn’t stood a chance when they’d met. There was something about Holt that was irresistibly charming, and he had a way of making you like him with nothing more than a smile. “But he fought with you overseas. In some ways, you know him better than I ever will.”
“We only crossed paths once or twice. Different branches.” He shrugged. “But it was enough to learn what kind of man he is. I only really see him relax around you. When he was dancing with you just now, and laughing, it was like looking at a completely different guy. It’s weird.”
She sought out Steven. He chatted with Lydia, laughing, but Holt was right. He wasn’t relaxed. He was tense. Alert. Aware. He kept glancing around the room, his gaze falling on Lauren every so often, as if making sure she was still there.
Holt cleared his throat. “He needs you. You make him happy.”
“He has me,” she said quickly, focusing on Holt again. He watched her seriously, as if he thought she might not mean it. “Always has.”
Across the room, Steven laughed and kissed the top of Lydia’s head, then walked toward the bar. Getting yet another drink. It’s all he did lately. Maybe she should try and come up with a way to help him. To get him to see why he wasn’t really making it better.
Why he needed to focus on the good things in his life…
And stop drowning himself in the bad.
Chapter Three
Three hours later, Steven walked down Main Street alone, passing the laundromat with a shiver, and cursed the cold Maine night air. Even in summer, once the sun went down, the cold took over and chased away all signs of warmth and brightness. Why he hadn’t moved to a tropical paradise by now, he had no fucking clue. But he remembered the three reasons he stayed in this godforsaken place.
Lydia. Holt. And Lauren.
Damn. He still couldn’t get Lauren out of his head. Had to be the booze.
His phone buzzed, and he pulled it out. He stumbled a bit, the drink he’d pounded back before leaving hitting him. After that last one, he almost brought a brunette that slightly reminded him of Lauren home with him. Almost tried to pretend she was Lauren, so he could bang her out of his system, so to speak.
But that inner voice hadn’t been quieted by booze yet, and he left before he uttered the words that would have him hating himself come morning.
Catching himself before he hit the sidewalk, he squinted down at his phone. Recognizing the name immediately, he swiped his finger across the screen. A taxi had dropped Lauren off at her place an hour ago, before he’d had it leave him at another bar. What did she need, this late?
“Long time, no see.”
“It’s me.” She paused, and added, “Lauren.”
“Yeah. I see that.” He glanced at his phone again. “It’s after midnight. Why the hell are you still awake?”
She breathed heavily. “I just got out of the shower, and I hear something out in my living room. Footsteps.”
He gripped the phone tightly. He couldn’t drive, but he had legs—and he could sure as hell haul ass to her place. “Lock the door. I’ll be there in ten.”
“Thanks.”
The numbing effect of the whiskey was gone, and his stomach churned with fear he wouldn’t make it to her in time. That something would happen to her…and he’d fucking lose it. He hung up and glanced up at the street sign, then took off, full speed.
As he ran, he tried to slip into a battle-like calm, a mask he wore all too well. It didn’t work. There was no calming down—not when Lauren was in danger. He’d fought insurgents, ISIS agents, and every kind of monster one could imagine.
But someone hurting Lauren?
It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. It made him want to hurl, shoot someone, pound his chest, and scream in agony—all at the same time.
It made him lose his motherfucking mind.
He reached her road in record time, his breathing still even and labored, as he counted it off in his head. Brick exterior. Four concrete stairs. Wrought iron railing and window bars. Lauren’s red Mazda he’d helped her buy. To thank him, she’d made him his favorite cupcakes. Red velvet.