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Ryker scowled. “I deactivated that account ages ago. I’ve had so many radiation treatments I practically glow in the dark. My sterility is more than a possibility. It’s a promise.”
“Not all women are sniffing out sperm donors. Bunches of them are looking for love, I hear.” Tarun’s mouth curved in a smile. “Quit being so doom-and-gloom and get yourself out there. Date someone. If you find the right person, you can always adopt, like my parents did.”
Ryker gave a soft snort, careful not to wake Elise, who’d fallen into a milk-drunk sleep, formula oozing from the corners of her mouth. He eased the bottle from her lips and used the blanket to sop up the mess.
“If dating and falling in love is simple, why haven’t you done it?”
Tarun’s gaze was steady. “Because of the dreams. Same as you. Or are you going to tell me the blanket and pillow I spy behind this ’72 VW front end is folded up there because you lack storage?”
Ryker flinched, regretting that he’d told Tarun about his night terrors; how he sometimes relived the IED explosion and the memory of the Marine brother he couldn’t save, and how the sight of the vehicle’s yellow front end bolted to the wall of his garage calmed him. It was ridiculous—the part-metal man crouching behind his metal safety blanket wishing for the nightmare to release its claws from his heart, wishing for the morning, wishing…
But of all the people in this world, Tarun understood. Too well.
“I know I’m lucky to be here. We’re both lucky to be here.” Ryker examined Elise’s face, slack with the kind of innocent sleep he hadn’t had in years. “But when my mind rebels with PTSD moments, and this bone shit acts up, ‘lucky’ feels more like…”
“Cursed,” Tarun finished, his gaze glancing off the metal surfaces of the garage like a ricocheting bullet. “While I was training the next batch of recruits, I met a girl at Camp Lejeune. She worked on base at the day care. We dated a few times, then she slept over. I thought it was all cool, except the next morning I found her locked in my bathroom. She’d slept in my tub. Apparently, in the middle of the night, I’d given a solo performance of the ‘Best of Afghanistan,’ a one-man soliloquy. Super stirring. But she didn’t stick around for a curtain call.”
Ryker knew better than to offer a hug or dole out some form of pity. All his friend wanted was to be heard without judgment. Understood. And nothing said you cared like a little game of PTSD one-upmanship.
“That’s nothing. I protected five innocent civilians from baby food jars today.” Ryker gave his friend a rundown of this morning’s adventure at the grocery store. He played up the ridiculousness, channeling his younger brother’s humor and ability to lighten the mood until, finally, they were both hooting with laughter.
Elise’s eyes opened and she gave a perfect imitation of his sister-in-law’s green-eyed glare until they swallowed down the rest of their hilarity.
“Wait.” Tarun wiped the leaking tears from his eyes, still chuckling. “She gave you her numberafteryou herded them like goats? Sounds like a keeper. Or at least a good segue into the dating market.”
“It wasn’t her number. It was a coupon to my mother’s place.” He didn’t tell his best friend that when he met Bryce their connection was like a spark plug to his chest. For the first time since leaving the Marines, his heart had chugged to life. But like becoming a gunnery sergeant, having a happily ever after was no longer in his future.
Ryker forced thoughts of the woman out of his head. Best he be like the metal in his leg: sturdy, reliable, without emotional rust. Like a robot.
Tarun leaned against the VW front end. “You need a service dog, my friend. I’d have one, but you can’t still be serving and qualify. Vazquez got one—a German shepherd named Valor—and he says it’s a game changer. I can’t force you to date, but I can hound you about getting your application in to Paws of War.”
“Done,” Ryker said. “Submitted it right after you lectured me at Thanksgiving. Got my paperwork in from Dr. Kirkland to show I was in therapy and everything. The wait list is almost two years, so don’t go tattling to everyone about this. My family will get their hopes up, Drake will call his publishing contacts to pull strings, someone will write a freaking article about it, trying to get me moved up the list, and it’ll be smeared all over hell. This is my journey. My load to carry.”
“No tattling. Roger that.” Tarun gave a salute with only his middle finger. “But for the record, it’s not only your load. You are surrounded by people who love you, and—”
“Where are they sending you next?” he asked Tarun, his voice clipped.
Tarun took the hint and changed the subject. As his best friend launched into a story about his promotion, Ryker held a baby who wasn’t his and listened to a career path forever gone from his reach. He nodded along, smiling and saying all the right words.
Just as if he were a real boy.
Chapter 3
But what if he really was Superman?” Cecily asked as Bryce drove them to dance class. Her eight-year-old niece had to yell the question to be heard over Addison’s full-throated singing of “You Can Fly” fromPeter Pan.
“He’s not.” June scowled at her younger sisters from her spot in the shotgun position. “Quit kicking my seat, Stinky.”
“Don’t call names.” Bryce shot June a death glare, which her oldest niece matched with the same competitive intensity that Bentley had, and the jab of pain at the memory of her brother made Bryce blink rapidly, gripping the wheel hard.
“What? She smells like feet. And spoiled milk.” June sulked, staring out the passenger window. “Maybe if you made her take a bath like arealparent—”
“He’s not Superman,” Addison piped up, halting her song mid-chorus. “Mr. Ryker’s a pirate, but now he’s tired again. He tol’ me so.”
“Tired?” Bryce asked, frowning as she turned in to the dance studio’s parking lot. The man had seemed anything but tired—the only thing exhausting about him was his continual reappearance in her dreams since their encounter earlier in the week. “He said he was tired?”
“No, he said he wasretired.” June huffed out an annoyed breath. “A retired pirate.”
“That’s a pirate who is tired all over again,” Addison explained in her “that’s what I said” tone of voice. “He’s got a baby and they make you re-tired every day. Right, Aunt Beamer?”
