Page 32 of Fighting for Valor
“No.”
Dax takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose before setting them on the table and turning towards me. Up close, in the light, the scars around his eyes look so much worse. Shiny, burned skin, irises so pale, they’re almost gray. Yet, I swear he sees me. All of my shame, everything I did. He knows. Even though I refused to tell them much of anything. Couldn’t. It’s hard to confess what you don’t remember.
“I know it’s only been a couple of months, Rip. It’s not fair that we’re pushing you like this. We had years to get ourselves straight. And we did a shitty job of it.”
The corner of my mouth twitches, and if my crimes weren’t playing in a loop in my head, I might let myself smile.
As the server drops off our food, I stare at my short stack of pancakes. Ford, Dax, and Ry all have huge plates of food. Me? I barely eat. Most days, it’s all I can do to force down the bare minimum of calories to keep myself alive and give me enough energy to work out and spend the daylight hours walking. Reminding myself I can go anywhere I want.
I stab a small wedge of pancake and swirl it in the lake of syrup. “The last time I touched a computer, even though I wrote a whole program to obscure the kid’s GPS location, I ended up giving Faruk everything he needed to find Lisette, Mateen, and…” I risk a glance at Ford, “Joey.”
The marine straightens and waves his fork at me. “If you think for one minute that Joey and I blame you for anything that happened, you’re wrong.”
“You should.” I push back from the table and stand up. “I’m the one who tracked her in Turkmenistan. I’m the one who researched Alpha Thalassemia and found out she was the only expert in the world who might be able to help Mateen. She was taken because of me.”
Ford rises and gets right in my face. I have to tip my head up to meet his gaze. My heart rate skyrockets, and I take a step back. “Don’t,” I whisper, and the look in Ford’s eyes…he realizes how close I am to losing my shit.
Ford rests a hand on my shoulder, and for once, I don’t pull away. “Ripper, I’d give anything…everything…to erase what happened to Joey. To make it so she never had to experience those horrors. But…” he shoves his hands into his pockets and smiles, “it brought her back to me. You brought her back to me. You got us all out when Faruk’s men were after us, and you bought Nomar enough time to get Lisette and Mateen to Kandahar.”
“But—”
Ford frowns. “But nothing. We’re square. More than square. I owe you…everything. But if you disagree, consider joining Hidden Agenda—or whatever off-the-wall name those two come up with—a way to pay me, Joey…anyone you think you wronged…back.”
“Rip?” Ryker stands next to Ford, and fuck. I didn’t realize how tall the older marine was. “You don’t have to decide now. But…think about it?”
I’m too tired to argue with him. Too ashamed to admit all my reasons for refusing. And for the first time in a while…hungry. So I nod and sink back into my chair. Maybe for an hour, I can pretend to be a normal guy, sharing a meal with his friends.
Chapter Fourteen
Cara
I’m on edge as the Saturday breakfast crowd thins out. Too many people, too little sleep, and one of the dishwashers reeks of cigarettes today. The constant cloud of nicotine surrounding him makes my stomach roil, especially when mixed with the scents of eggs, cheese, and toast.
I miss my routines. The relative silence of the JSOC kitchen when I’d arrive at 5:00 a.m., my staff filing in one by one, each one of them able to adapt to my…unique challenges.
How I can’t concentrate with music playing. How I depend on lists. How interrupting me while I’m speaking is like sending a horde of shiny squirrels to distract me, each of them playing a different musical instrument.
Even with all that, though, I was the best. And they all knew it.
“Cara, get a move on!” My boss slaps the metal counter three times and makes me jump.
“Dammit, Barry. Don’t do that. If I’d had a plate in my hand…” He might be my supervisor, but I can give as good as I get—most days. “And how the hell do you think I’m going to deliver the Benedicts when Louie hasn’t finished them yet? The hollandaise needs another thirty seconds.”
Louie tips his head. “Nice catch, Cara. You should be behind the stove.”
If only…
I wave him off. “This is enough for me, Chef. I get to watch you work your magic every day.” It’s not, but I can’t risk anything else. I only let myself cook at the food truck because they pay me under the table.
“Well, I am pretty damn talented,” he says with a smile as he finishes the hollandaise sauce and pours it over two dishes containing poached eggs on English muffins, then wipes off the splatter before handing me the plates.
In ten minutes, I can take a break. Hide out in the employee locker room and put on my headphones, launch my meditation app, and for a few minutes, pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.
Except, after I drop off the Eggs Benedict, I notice the customer sitting alone at the end of the counter. Crap. He wasn’t supposed to be here until closer to noon. Taking a deep breath and throwing my shoulders back, I march over to him.
“Hi! I’m Cara and I’ll be your server. What can I get you?” I ask brightly.
“Just coffee,” he replies. His fingers tap rhythmically against the Formica counter, and as I set a cup, saucer, and napkin down in front of him, he meets my gaze. “Price went up. It’s two-eighty.”
