Last True Hero (11 page)

I
just spent the best day ever with the girl I never saw coming. And I was a U.S. Army
Ranger
, for Christ's sakes. There isn't
anything
I can't see coming. Everything about her throws me off my game. Her wild curls, her epic-movie-length legs, her casual, sexy style. Her rosy scent, her dark, smoldering eyes, and her spunky attitude. I've never met a girl like her. It's like all those qualities combined were created to fit inside my world.

As I get ready to go out with Chase and Drake tonight, a new thought makes me cringe. With Chase around, my world really isn't safe enough for Berkeley. The idea of putting her in danger because of my brother enrages me. A sense of innate, primal territoriality engulfs me just as sure as if I'm covered in flames.

A knock sounds on my door, and I look up into the open doorway. Drake stands there, his face all broken up into one of his goofy-ass grins.

“Ready? I need a shot, like yesterday. Can we go, or are you still
primping
?”

I've never primped a day in my fucking life, and Drake knows it. My hair is still damp from the shower, and it'll dry while curling up all around my neck like it always does. I'm wearing a low-maintenance T-shirt and jeans, and I shove my feet into a pair of black combat boots as Drake stands there watching.

“Look, man, I know you're jealous. But if you want me to give you some tips on how to look your very best, all you have to do is ask.”

“Fuck you.” Drake throws the insult over his shoulder as he walks back down the hallway.

“No thanks, Drake, maybe after a few beers!” I call back with a chuckle.

The three of us pile into the Challenger and weave our way through Lone Sands. It is a touristy destination, so there are several places we could choose from to go drinking tonight. I texted Berkeley to let her know our plans, but I haven't heard back from her yet. I know I've just spent most of the day with her, but the absence of her by my side feels wrong. Like I'm missing a limb. Considering I've been close to missing a limb more than once, I consider myself an expert on the subject.

We pull into an overflowing parking lot, and I'm reminded that this is the first time I've been out with my friends, to have fun in a place as ordinary as a bar, in longer than I care to admit. A smile that starts inside my heart touches my face, because this place could be home for me. When was the last time I had a true home? Before my parents died? Before I lost everything I ever cared about when their car went over the side of that bridge? Before I nearly ceased to exist in a country I'd never even visited before I nearly died there?

We have to stand in line for a few minutes at the door, but the line moves quickly and we're inside in no time. We choose a high-top table near the bar and sprawl out. I look around, and the place rocks a relaxed atmosphere, a beachy vibe that can't be faked. I sigh, utterly relaxed, and think that the only thing missing is Berkeley.

A waitress in a short khaki skirt, flip-flops, and a bikini top stops by our table. Chase's eyes nearly pop out of his head, and Drake offers her an appreciative grin.

“What can I get you boys to drink tonight?”

Since my comrades are too busy ogling the generous cleavage spilling out of her top to answer, I decide the first round is on me.

“We'll take a pitcher of whatever you have on tap, something dark. And keep 'em coming.”

She shoots me a flirty smile, and then spins around to get our pitcher.

“So smooth, asshats.” They deserve an endless amount of smack talk for that, but I leave it alone.

Drake shrugs. “She's smokin' hot.”

Chase agrees, shaking his head to clear it. “So, I meet your girl and she looks like a sweet slice of heaven, and then I come here and the freaking waitress just walked out of
Penthouse
. I might never go back to Florida. The hot girls here are so close you can reach out and touch 'em.”

I glance at Chase. Something's not right. He's talking a big game right now, but it's obvious there's no real heat behind it. My radar goes crazy, signaling that I need to find out what's up.

Drake shoots him a sharp look, too. I know Drake isn't happy about Chase being here, because he knows he's hitting me up for cash. But he's been tolerating his presence because he's my best friend. I don't know how long his patience can hold out, though.

“You'll find your own slice of heaven when you get your shit together back home.” My voice is low, with a note of warning.

Chase has never been one to heed warnings. “Yeah, but I don't have my brother back there. Maybe I should start fresh, ya know? Lone Sands seems like my kind of place.”

Drake opens his mouth, unable to contain himself any longer. “You're about the last thing Dare needs in his life right now, dude.”

Chase regards him coolly. “Yeah? What makes you the expert?”

Our waitress interrupts Drake's response by slamming our pitcher down in front of us. She
thunks
frosted mugs down in front of each of us and says she'll be back when our pitcher needs a refill.

Drake and Chase go right back to ignoring each other and looking around the bar, and I groan inwardly. These two are gonna be great company tonight. I drain half of my beer in a couple of gulps, then stand.

“I'm gonna take a piss,” I announce. “You two. Either become BFFs in the time that I'm gone, or at least learn to tolerate each other. Because if you don't, I'm cutting our night short when I get back.”

I pull my phone out of my pocket to check for missed messages or calls. I sigh when I see there's nothing.

Guess it's going to be a Berkeley-Free night.

Two pitchers of beer later we're all feeling a little looser, although Drake stopped drinking after two mugs. He's grumbled twice about not being the driver next time.

Chase is still sitting at the table with us, which surprises the hell out of me. Normally by now he would have begun making his rounds. He always finds a table full of girls and pulls himself a comfy seat right in the middle of them. Chase has always been the social butterfly. He has this magnetic personality, a charm about him that just draws in members of the opposite sex like waves to the sand. I've never been able to hang with him when it comes to meeting girls. It was another story when I met Berkeley; I couldn't
not
talk to her. But usually, I'm more standoffish. I've always let women come to me.

But Chase is a hunter, and he likes the game. If he didn't have such a knack for getting himself into trouble by hanging out with the wrong people I'm pretty sure he could be anywhere he wanted in life. He could have a successful career; he's smart enough. He could have a woman in his life that loves him; he's lovable enough. But instead, he makes one bad choice after another, leaving me to clean up his messes.

Tonight is so different, I know something's off. He's just sitting here, draining beer after beer and acting like he sees nothing and no one around him.

When he gets up to go to the bathroom and disappears around a corner, I contemplate going after him.

But then Drake and I are suddenly joined at our table by a slim, rough-around-the-edges-looking girl whose jet-black hair is cut into a short, uneven cut that's streaked with purple hair chalk. She gives us both a hard look, and then darts a furtive glance around the bar.

“Can we help you?” Drake's amused tone draws a glare from our new little guest. She's like a dark, Goth-looking pixie. Who's scared shitless of something. Or someone.

“No. And I can't help you, either. But I thought you should know…your friend over there?” She jerks her head toward where Chase disappeared. “Doesn't have much time left before they get him. They know where he is, and they want their money. Got it?”

My eyes narrow and I reach out and grab the pixie's wrist. “You're talking about my brother, Chase?”

Her eyes lock on my hand where it's grabbing hers, and she frowns up at me. She's obviously refusing to speak again until I let her go, so I do, but lean in farther to peer into her face.

“
Who
knows where he is?”

She takes another furtive look around. “Look, I shouldn't even be sitting here. My boyfriend…I just know what I know, okay? And you look like nice guys, and I hate all this shit anyway. I just thought I'd warn you. Do what you want with it.”

Before I can grab her again, she's up and moving away from the table like a stormy little cloud. I cut my eyes to meet Drake's.

Drake's face is unusually hard, and he shakes his head slowly. “He's fucking out, man. I want him out, tonight.”

I emit a frustrated groan and run one hand through my hair. “I understand that, Drake. But shit…he's my
brother
. I'm supposed to just let him go back to handle this shit himself?”

“No way in hell I'm letting you go down with him, Dare. You know me better than that. Chase made this mess himself. He's gotta deal with it. Did you hear what she said? She said
they want their money.
That sound like he's told you the whole story?”

Fucking Chase and his shady mess. I look around the bar, running a hand through my hair agitatedly, and then back at Drake.

“No, I guess he hasn't.”

I glance toward the door, where the pixie disappeared, thinking about what my next move is going to be. As I'm staring absently at the exit, the face I've been missing the entire night walks in the door.

The tightening in my chest that was caused by the redhead is loosened when I see Berkeley's curls and brown eyes coming into the bar. Maybe she got my texts and just decided to meet me here instead of answering them. I stand up, ready to go over and get her, when the guy entering behind her places a hand on the small of her back. He guides her farther into the bar, and then they swing off to the right. They continue walking until they find a small table for two in the corner, and they sit. She never even glances my way.

I sink back down in my seat, heavy lead suddenly filling my limbs.

So, Berkeley decided to come out tonight. But she's not here to meet me. She's here with another guy.

Drake sees my face, and opens his mouth to ask what I saw, but I hold up a hand. I pick up my half-empty mug and drain it before I speak.

“Berkeley's here,” I finally manage to spit out.

Drake's eyebrows lift. His dark, closely shaved head swivels around to search for her. “Yeah? You gonna go get her?”

I want to go get her. I want to yank her away from the
motherfucker
who had the gall to touch her and ask her what the hell she's doing. But I don't have the right to do any of that. We never said we were dating. Shit, she even told me her life was complicated. But having the fact that she's with someone else, maybe that complication she was talking about, thrown in my face when I'm not expecting it is tearing me apart right now.

I take a deep breath, blowing it out slowly as I focus on Drake's face. “She's not here alone.”

Now his grin disappears and he locks his gaze on my face. “A dude?”

I nod.

He sits back in his chair, tapping his middle finger against the side of his cheek. “Go talk to her.”

“I told you, she's not alone.”

“Who gives a shit? You spent the whole fucking day with her. Not to mention all the other times it's just been you and her. She owes you an explanation, and if the dude wants to cause a ruckus, I'll be right behind you. Go talk to her.”

I nod, standing. Somehow, my heavy feet carry me across the bar and to the secluded table where she's chosen to sit with…him. Somehow, I get my face together so it's not all broken-looking, and smooth it over with what I hope is a passive expression.

“Hey, Berkeley.”

She looks up, surprise filling her features. Her amber eyes go wide, and the corner of her bottom lip is immediately caught between her teeth.

The guy she's with is military. There's no way to disguise it, I can just tell. He's a different brand of military than Drake and I are, though. He's got the telltale short haircut, and the straight posture that goes with someone yelling at you a hundred times to stand up straight. But that's where the similarities end. He's wearing clothes that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. A crisp pair of expensive jeans and boots that look like he's only worn them once. A T-shirt with shiny shit spelling out the letters of the brand. He's probably a little younger than me, and by the look of his unblemished, unlined face, he's seen a hell of a lot less horror than me.

He's just starting out. Probably hasn't seen any action yet. Maybe he went to college first. Yeah, that's definitely it. He's a prep school guy, then straight to OCS to be shot out of the gate as an officer. I earned my ranking by way of a much tougher route.

“Dare,” she says, her voice strained. “This is my
friend
Grisham.”

She emphasizes the word
friend
, and I don't miss it. I relax a little until the guy stands up and offers his hand. His face is tight, he doesn't like the fact that I've broken up their little party, or the way she introduced him.

“Grisham Abbot,” he says gruffly. “Berkeley's
friend
, for now. But if I have anything to say about it, she'll be my
fiancée
soon. You are?”

Son of a
bitch.
I see red, and I know that if I don't walk away from their table right now, I'm gonna hurt him. And that would hurt Berkeley. She told me they were friends, and he thinks they're more. It's a situation I can't get into the middle of, not when my vision is starting to blur with the rage piling up inside of me. Maybe she'll explain it to me one day, maybe not.

All I know is I have to get out of here. Now.

So, without even looking at her again, I turn around and walk away.