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His competitive drive, which had thrust him to the top of his industry, took hold. Pushing aside everything else, Eric focused on hitting the target. But by the time the sun edged behind the mountain peaks, Georgia had three arrows embedded in the tree. And Eric had one.
He shook his head as he headed out to collect the arrows while Georgia did a victory dance. “No need to gloat,” he called over his shoulder.
“Come on, every win deserves a victory dance. You and Liam taught me that when you finally let me play flag football with you in high school. And I just won a week’s worth of gumballs.”
He marched back to the picnic area with the arrows. “We’re not kids anymore, Georgia.”
Eric regretted the words the moment they crossed his lips. Every time he looked at her, he grew more and more aware of that simple fact. Her jeans hugged the curves he wanted to run his hands over. The fabric of her shirt brushed the smooth skin of her stomach and low back. Georgia was a lot of things—but she wasn’t a kid.
She froze midtwirl. “No, we’re not.”
Her words were heavy. It was as if he’d reminded her of everything she’d seen and done, experiences that, at twenty-six, pushed her far away from childhood innocence. He couldn’t begin to imagine what she’d witnessed, but he knew it had stripped away pieces of her, while at the same time adding to the woman he’d known. She’d come home wild, scared, and—against all odds—determined to push past it all. He wanted to help her find her way, but he didn’t have a clue the right way to go about it.
Eric picked up the blanket and spread it on the grass. “What happened the other day at the cookout, when you hid in the trees—is it just crowds that frighten you?”
Georgia knelt and began pulling items from her bag. Fried chicken, potato salad, green beans, and biscuits. Still not saying a word, she withdrew two cans of beer and handed him one.
“Thanks.” He took it, sitting on the blanket across from her. “If there is something that scares you, I’d like to know. If I’d known that crowds made you feel like a target, I would have cancelled the picnic or moved it to another location. I want you to feel safe. Always. And I want to help you through this. Let me in, Georgia. Let me help you.”
GEORGIA SIGHED, SHAKING her head. The space between them felt thick, weighed down by his words. This wasn’t supposed to be a night of serious conversation. But Eric knew her. Better than most. If something touched a nerve, he noticed. And unlike most people, he didn’t look the other way.
She studied him, compiling her thoughts as if they were pieces to a puzzle. He leaned back on his elbow with his long legs stretched out before him. He’d changed out of his office slacks and into jeans when he got home and saw her gassing up the four-wheelers for their date. But he’d kept the crisp white button-down sleeves rolled up.
Part businessman, part rough lumberjack—it was a potent combination. She wanted to laugh and joke with him. Maybe kiss him. Not talk about what scared her or what kept her up at night, why she needed so much more out of every single day just to feel alive.
But she needed him to understand that she was handling the feelings that threatened to strip away the ground beneath her feet. She was pushing forward the only way she knew how. She didn’t need to hand over her problems to him and wait for him to unlock the secret to putting the pain of losing friends, of bearing witness to death, behind her. What she wanted from him was very different.
“I’m not broken,” she said, opening the prepackaged food containers she’d picked up at the store. “Yes, crowds make me nervous sometimes. But I deal with it. I just need some time to put things in perspective.”
He picked up a chicken leg. “I never said you were broken.”
“Broken, cracked, mentally unstable.” She shrugged. “It’s all the same thing. And I know Liam thinks I’m on the brink of some sort of epic meltdown. But I’m not.” She would never let that happen. Whatever it took, she’d fight it.
“Can I ask you something?” Eric said.
“Sure.” She reached for the potato salad, craving the familiar taste of comfort and home.
“Why’d you enlist?” he said. “After college, why didn’t you move back here? I know Liam was pushing you to come home. So what made you wake up one day and join the army?”
Georgia stared at the creamy mix of potatoes, celery, and spice. Her brother had asked that question again and again. She’d always told him the same thing: because she’d wanted to, plain and simple. But there was more to it.
“I know the reason you gave to Liam,” he added. “But there has to be something else. You joined knowing we were at war. You had to know it would cost you.”
“I did.” She looked at him. “But I didn’t lose anything I can’t reclaim.”
Her sleep, her sense of security—she could and she would find those things again. She’d lived through it and come out whole, at least on the outside. On the inside? She could fix that. As long as she didn’t push too far too fast and respected her boundaries, she could put herself back together.
“But you didn’t need to go.” His voice held a hint of sadness and a touch of desperation, something she rarely heard in his words. “Georgia, I’m proud of you. Knowing you were over there, risking your life, it scared the shit out of me. And your brother too. He h
id it well, but Liam was terrified.”
Georgia set the food aside, her appetite slipping away. “I know. And I’m sorry for that. When I graduated, I had no idea what I wanted to do. You and Liam, you both knew your future was here, waiting for you. But I didn’t know where to go or what to do with my life. I needed a purpose. And I needed to do something on my own and see what was out there. The army gave me that. From the day I started basic training to the day I came home, being a solider, it challenged me.”
She looked over at him, searching the strong, hard lines of his familiar face to see if Eric understood. She had a feeling her brother never would. How could she expect them to understand what it was like to be a woman who wanted so much out of life, but didn’t know where to turn? She’d grown up on the fringe of the middle class and lost her parents, one after the other, to cancer while she was in college. Then she’d graduated knowing only two things about what she wanted for her future—adventure and purpose.
“And I don’t want being at war to be the last big thing I do with my life,” she said softly.
“It won’t be,” he said, his voice firm, as if issuing a command.
