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“You talk to that chick every week. She must be giving you something.”
“Show some respect,” Mark said. “She’s a widow. Her husband was my friend. When he got hit, he had less of a chance than the guy we lost today.”
Tommy sobered instantly. “Sorry, man.”
Mark nodded, apology accepted, as he pushed through the door. In the break room, Mark opened his laptop, the one he’d quickly set aside when the mission had dropped. While he waited for it to connect, he glanced down. Blood covered his shirt. No way he could talk to Amy like this. He pulled it over his head and tossed it aside.
“Mark?” Amy’s soft voice filled the quiet space followed by her image on the screen. She held a cup of coffee in her hands, her blond hair loose and flowing over her shoulders. When she was out working with her dogs, she always tied it back, tucking her long bangs behind her ears. But it was early still in Oregon, not even six in the morning. He knew she woke up hours before the sun every Sunday for this call.
Keeping in touch and maintaining their friendship meant something to her. Even though part of him wanted to sever ties with everyone back home, he couldn’t let go of Amy. She’d already lost so much, burying her husband at twenty-eight. If there was anything he could do to help her, he would.
For months after Darren’s funeral, they’d played the memory game, writing up long lists and sending them back and forth. She reminded him of some of the best parts of growing up in Heart’s Landing. She’d made him laugh, and once or twice, her list had reduced him to tears.
“I’m here.” He studied the screen. Amy kept her computer on her kitchen table. Through the window behind her, he could usually see Oregon’s coastal range. But today, on an early October morning, it was too dark. Part of him missed those mountains and the smell of the ocean in the air.
Mark turned his attention back to Amy, taking in the dark circles under her blue eyes. He forced a smile. For her sake, he put on a front, trying to be the fun-loving guy she remembered, not the jaded solider. “Amelia Mae, you look exhausted. Are you sleeping?”
“Hmm?” She drew her lower lip between her teeth, running her tongue back and forth, her gaze fixed on his bare chest. She hadn’t even noticed his smile. She’d been staring at his muscles. Maybe she was reading the words tattooed across his pecs—so that others may live. Or maybe she was just plain looking.
And that look, combined with the way she nibbled on her lower lip, swirling her tongue as if she wanted to taste, maybe touch, spoke to part of his body that had no business participating in their weekly chat.
Hell, this was Amy. But one more second of that look and he’d freaking want her. Every beautiful, blond inch of her.
Mark closed his eyes, pushing the thought away. He couldn’t go there. And dammit, he should have taken the time to find a clean shirt. He’d loved Amy for years, but never in a let’s-get-naked way. They’d been friends since high school. Nothing more. Not a chance.
Still, he wasn’t blind. Amy was gorgeous. But wanting what he couldn’t have...he knew better.
“What happened to your shirt?” she asked, finally looking up at his face.
“Bad day.”
“You lost someone,” she said softly.
“American. Special Forces.” She didn’t need to know the details, to picture the man bleeding out in the helicopter. He’d probably already said too much. Amy’s husband had been a SEAL. Darren had died over a year ago, but Mark knew the grief still weighed heavily on her.
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded. What was there to say? He was sorry, too.
“You can talk to me, Mark. I’m here and I’m listening.”
“Are you trying to make me tear up?” he said, forcing a lightness he didn’t feel, not by a long shot.
“We can joke and laugh if you want. But if you need to get it off your chest—”
“He’d lost both legs. Bled out in the helicopter. We couldn’t get him to a hospital in time. It sucked. Just plain sucked.” He rubbed his hands over his face. He’d been kidding about crying, but now he wasn’t so sure.
“We can wait and talk next week,” she said. “If you need to clean up. Rest.”
“No, my shift’s over, and I’ve been looking forward to catching up. The shower will still be waiting for me when we’re done,” he said. “But I can grab a shirt.”
She shook her head. “No. Don’t worry about it. I was just...surprised.”
There was a long pause. Mark wondered if the screen had frozen. But then Jango, the dog that had served with his best friend, appeared in the background. The Belgian Malinois was technically retired after years of working alongside navy SEALs, sniffing for bombs and weapons in war zones, but Jango didn’t act like a senior citizen adjusting to a life of chasing balls. Years of training, combined with natural instincts, might always prevent the dog from relaxing. Instead, Jango followed Amy as if she was his new handler.
Mark cleared his throat. “In your email, you said you had something to tell me. Big news.”
“I do. And you’re the first one outside of family to know about this.” Her face lit up like a kid’s on Christmas morning, and he damn near fell off the couch. He hadn’t seen her that excited in years.
