Page 128 of Reeves

"I told you. I parked in the wrong spot."

Ridge crosses his arms. His jaw works like he's chewing on beef jerky. "But why were you there in the first place? That's an hour away."

I shrug. "Needed to clear my head."

Ridge falls into step beside me. "Isn't that where Charli Parsons is from?"

Busted.

"Yeah. Good memory."

"So you just happened to end up in the same town where Charli lives to clear your head?" His voice drops on her name, watching for my reaction.

My pulse jumps. The pills haven't kicked in yet, and sweat drips down my back.

I step past him, heading toward the Stone Intermodal satellite office. He stops walking, but I keep moving because I want the questions to stop. He catches up in three long strides, planting himself in front of me.

"Please tell me you aren't jumping back into that drama cesspool with her. You two couldn't decide if you hated each other or wanted to jump each other's bones from one second to the next. Surely you've outgrown that bullshit."

Some things never change.

"There's no drama, Ridge. Except your reaction to me seeing an ex-girlfriend." My voice sounds hollow even to me. She’s not just an ex. Not even close. And I’m sure as hell not opening that door. And there's that tiny detail of the fact that we share a son.

"Holy shit." Ridge's eyes widen slightly. "You saw her, didn't you?"

The noise from the docks fills the space between us. Cranes swing overhead. Men shout instructions. Metal clangs against metal.

"Yeah. I saw her." The words are thin against everything I’m not saying.

"Jesus, Reeves." Ridge rubs his hand over his face. "You can't just relax and enjoy your two weeks off, can you? Why would you see her?"

I stare at the ground. Benjy's laughter rings in my ears.

"It's complicated. But it's fine."

It's so not fine.

"And you're shipping out on Friday. What's the point?" Ridgecontinues. "You looking for one last blaze of chaos before you disappear again?"

The question hits closer than he knows.

"It wasn't like that." It was nothing like that. It was pancakes and pirate traps and my son's fingers wrapped around mine. It was Charli's breath against my neck while she slept.

Ridge studies me longer than normal, like he knows there’s more. His eyes narrow. I'd bet a hundred dollars he's trying to decide how far to push this.

"Fine," he says finally, exhaling hard through his nose. "Not my business. Let's talk about the security protocols I wanted to go over."

Good. He decided appropriately. We start walking again, the moment broken but not forgotten.

Ridge leads me through a maze of shipping containers, nodding at workers who step aside with quick salutes. The noise is constant—metal clanging, engines rumbling, orders shouted over radios. It's organized chaos, which I understand.

We reach a small office building at the edge of the container yard. Just outside, a glass-enclosed bulletin board catches my eye.

An Army Tank Show flyer is taped to the glass.

Sunday. Gulfport. Real tanks, climb inside, military gear on display.

That's only about a half hour from Benjy. And it's today.