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The moment Brent was on dry land, he glared daggers at Mike.
“I should fuckin’ sue you.” He glowered, pulling a very wet cell phone out of his pocket.
“Actually,” Captain Mike said as he nodded in the direction we’d been walking in earlier. “I just saved you from getting a couple-thousand-dollar ticket from that cop right there. You should be thanking me.”
We all turned to see a cop watching with his eyes hot.
“I’ve personally witnessed him giving at least four other people tickets today,” Mike assured us. “You’re welcome.”
Biting my lip, I turned away and widened my eyes at Luca.
Luca grinned wickedly and curved his arm back around my waist.
“Have a good one, Captain Mike. We’re going to fish your spot,” Luca said.
Brent and Dr. Cromwell stayed behind to do whatever they were going to do.
Luca and I didn’t wait for them.
And we ended up having one hell of a time fishing.
Well, he did.
I stayed where I was and watched my man do all the heavy lifting.
And in the end, we caught enough fish to even have dinner with.
***
“How do you feel about this recipe,” I read it off to him.
It was about an hour after the sun had set, and once again, we were avoiding the rest of our group.
A text came in while I was reading it to him, and he picked it up and glanced at my phone with a grimace.
“Who is it?” I asked once seeing his expression.
“Dr. Cromwell asking for that ‘insolent captain’s’ name.” He laughed, placing the phone down on the counter. “Why does he even have your number? Isn’t that weird?”
I shrugged.
“I’m assuming one of the other residents gave it to him,” I guessed. “What do you think about the recipe?”
He got up and walked to the kitchen. “Let me see if we have all of the ingredients for it before I say let’s make it.”
I admired his bare back as he went, my eyes scanning down his muscular form.
One particular spot caught my attention, and without thinking I decided to get up and ask him.
I lifted my hand once I got to him.
“What happened here?” I whispered, running my fingers along the length of his back.
There was what looked like a brand there.
Something that I could almost make out but wasn’t sure what it could possibly be.
“You really want to know?” he asked.
Did I?
I wasn’t sure.
I thought I did.
Which was why I said what I said next.
“Yes,” I confirmed. “I do want to know.”
“It’s a burn of my gun,” he said softly. “From as far as the doctors can tell, they heated the metal of my gun, then pressed it to my back as a brand.”
My breath hitched.
“And this?” I asked, pressing against the squares.
“Dog tags,” he answered.
I leaned closer, and my breath hitched.
“Those say Maldonado,” I breathed.
“Yes,” he confirmed.
I didn’t bother asking how or why.
He didn’t know.
I could practically see the frustration rolling off of him.
“If I’d seen this when I still thought you were Malachi,” I said. “I would’ve had some serious questions.”
He snorted. “I did have some questions. I have a lot of them, actually. But nobody seems to have the answers. Hayes might… but when he was done talking in there… I think he’s even more fucked up than I am, even though he doesn’t look it. I swear to God, he spaced out about ten times there, and I thought he was going to have to be given something to calm him down after. He’s just as fucked up, if not more so, than I am.” He paused. “I’m beginning to think that maybe not having my memory might be a good thing.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
Instead, I pressed my lips against his burns—or brands like he was calling them—and changed the subject.
“I know this might sound morbid,” I said softly. “And it’s not something that you can remember, but a couple of months before you left, you had a buddy that died over there.”
He didn’t say anything to that.
He couldn’t, because he couldn’t remember.
His shoulders did stiffen, though.
I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my face against his bare skin between his shoulder blades.
“You didn’t tell me that you were doing it,” I told him. “Only after you’d already done it.”
“Done what?” he pushed.
“Well, a few things,” I said. “You made me the medical power of attorney should anything ever arise with your death.”
He turned until he was facing me so that he could look into my eyes.
Those eyes, no longer like Luca’s but still somehow his, bored into me.
“You also made me executor of your will. Then you made me swear never to open your second letter until I was completely graduated from school,” I said. “Do you think it’s okay to open that letter now?”
He frowned. “What letter?”
I pulled away from him almost reluctantly and walked to my purse where I’d kept that letter for a long, long time.
