for a gun that wasn’t there. “Shit,” he said, his mouth dry and his eyes blurry. It was later than he normally woke, but now, as thoughts started forming, he knew exactly why he felt like a war was at his door.
It was Adam’s birthday.
He needed coffee. After throwing off the sheet, he stumbled to the coffeepot that had been programmed to brew three hours ago and managed to pour himself a mug. He put it in the microwave and hit the button before he went to the bathroom. After he’d splashed his face with ice-cold water and taken care of business, he retrieved the blessedly hot coffee. Leaning his hip against the counter, he sipped from the mug, hoping his head would clear some more before he made any decisions.
By the time he finished his second mug, he knew he was going to have to go for a run despite the late hour. It was already hotter outside than he liked it, but there was no getting around the fact that he’d think more clearly after he’d done a few miles. He’d stayed up till three listening to Sabrina, while trying to hide just how much he wanted to beat the crap out of her worthless boyfriend. Luckily, Tiffy, who also knew the problem, had stuck around and offered Sabrina a safe place for the night. No denying she’d go back to the bastard. She always did.
Wyatt pulled on a pair of running shorts and a T-shirt, then stuck his key in his pocket, grabbed his cell to put in the other one, but stopped as he noticed the text message.
It was from Peter, Adam’s grandfather. Wyatt didn’t need to open the text to know what it was about. They wanted him to come to dinner tonight. To celebrate.
He put the phone in his pocket and left his apartment, stopping when he saw Becky halfway up the stairs.
“You’re going running now?”
He nodded. “Got up late. Bad night.”
“Sorry about that.” Becky looked polished, as if nothing could possibly be wrong with the day. Her strawberry blond hair was up in a neat twist, her dress a pale floral, sandals with a moderate heel. Of course, her makeup was perfect for a Navy officer’s wife. Except when she got close, he could see that even makeup couldn’t quite hide the red tinge along her lower lid. “I’m sure they’ve called already.”
“Texted.”
“They’re learning. They want to be experts by the time the kids are old enough to have their own phones. Or at least can spell.”
“Josh can spell.”
Her anxious expression needed no translation.
“Hey, he writes his name like a champ.”
“You don’t have to go tonight,” she said softly. “Unless you’ve said something to the contrary, I’ve already told them you have to work.”
“Do you want me to go?”
Her shoulders drooped. “I don’t want to go. But the kids do. They like that there’ll be cake and ice cream. In fact, I’m on my way to drop them off. They get to help with the frosting and decorations.”
“And what about you?”
“I’m going to spend some quality time by myself, doing nothing. I haven’t had that in a while. I’ll join them later.” She turned to stare out at the sea. “It always starts out as a party but then...well, you know. It’s more like an annual tribute now. I mean, not that I begrudge them. But every holiday it’s the same.”
“I know. It’s hard.”
“The family is wonderful, and I love them all so much. But it’s almost three years now, and I worry that at Peter’s and Yvette’s ages, hanging on to the grief will hurt them.”
“Those kids of yours help keep them going. And you’re like one of their own.”
She looked at him again, her blue eyes welling. “So are you.”
His breath caught. “They’ve known me a long time.”
“Anyway, go for your run. The car’s going to get too hot to leave the kids in it. And yes, smart-ass, all the windows are open, and they’re drinking their juice boxes.”
He took the next three steps to get close to her. “I never doubted it for a moment.”
His hand went to her arm. “Look, I’ll go tonight.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“I promise it won’t kill me.”
Becky shook her head. “I think it’s good to start weaning everyone. Next holiday we’ll just do a pop in, or something.”
“Are you sure? Because I can—”
“I’m sure.” She nodded, turned and hurried down ahead of him.
Watching her, the way she straightened when she got near her SUV, hearing Josh say, “Mom, guess what?” made Wyatt ache. He’d never get the hang of the different holidays. But Adam’s birthday was the worst. It always felt as if Wyatt were intruding if he went, that he was just a terrible reminder of what everyone had lost.
Maybe even worse, was that he’d never wanted Adam’s grandparents to think he was trying to be a substitute. Even if he wanted to be, he’d be lousy at it. Adam had been a great husband and father. Wyatt had been told several times that he was a nice guy, but a lousy boyfriend. And as a husband? A dad?
Hell, now he wasn’t even the good son.
That got him moving, racing down the stairs straight past the already-open bar to the sand. It really was late. He’d have to dodge people. Not that he minded. He needed his mind to be on his gait, his time. No one but him gave a shit, but he liked to beat his best time once a week. He’d already done that two days ago, but who cared.
In this heat, it would be difficult. He wanted difficult.
Even with hustling, his thoughts couldn’t stay just on his pace despite the rhythm he worked to establish. He kept thinking about Peter and Yvette, and how they would decorate the house with a banner they kept, and how Adam’s pictures would be all over the mantel and the walls, and in the kitchen, and in the hallway. Interspersed with photos of the grandkids and wedding photos. But Adam’s portrait was the only one with a black ribbon around it.
How they loved his friend. The two of them used to gorge on Yvette’s packages of cookies and candy whenever they knew where the unit was going to be. She’d always sent double, knowing Wyatt would steal half, and borrow the extra socks.
His mom had sent stuff, too, but she’d never been extravagant. Not with food or supplies, or letters for that matter. Too busy being an officer’s wife. With the Marshes, including Adam, family always came first. In Wyatt’s family, it was duty.
“Hey, what are you doing here so late?”
Wyatt recognized the voice before he spotted Delia, who was standing at her stall at the fish market. How was she already almost sold out? He checked his watch. Damn late. And nope, hadn’t broken any records. Down by six seconds. It didn’t matter.
“How are you, Delia?” he asked, slowing to a crawl, wishing he’d brought his water bottle. He rarely forgot it.
“You’re sweating like a pig. You want some water?”
“Yeah, thanks. That’d be great.”
The stands were cooled very pleasantly with misters and fans, and the ice that was constantly replenished under the morning’s catch. He could see from the scarcity that the local chefs had been by, not just for the restaurants, but for the hotels and B&Bs, and then there were the locals, who knew when to show up. He’d often gone home with a fish so fresh it’d barely stopped wiggling. One of the great joys of living near a fishing village.
“So this reunion, huh?” Delia said. “Damn prep school a-holes.”
“They’re not all a-holes.”
“No. That’s ’cause