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“What was your cat’s name?”
“Pascal.”
“An orange tabby, right?”
“He was a mix. Longer hair but a total mutt. We got him from the pound.” She smiles fondly.
“He was a cute guy.” He greeted everyone who entered the Watson home unless Sage was bed bound. Then he camped out on her bed, like he knew she needed him.
The cat died when we were in high school. All I remember about it is Sam saying the surgery would cost thousands and his parents couldn’t afford it, and I remember Sage crying and saying she wished it had been her.
“My cat now is a lot like Pascal. But he’s about twice the size.”
“Jinx?”
She grins. “Yeah. I hate that he insists on being an indoor-outdoor cat, but I suppose when it comes down to it, everyone’s got to live their best life, right? For Pascal, that meant tons of treats. For Jinx, it’s hunting time.”
“He’s a hunter?”
“Oh, yeah. He brings gifts.” She raises her eyebrows and then scrunches her nose. “Gross gifts.” She pushes forward and leans against the wall. All humor is gone, and her eyes narrow, studying me. It’s a side of Sage I’m not sure I’ve seen before. “The way you look when I talk about Sam. You don’t believe he’s alive.”
The last thing I want is to kill Sage’s hope. It’s one of her beautiful traits. But I saw Sam die. Max searched for his remains with me. The explosion incinerated everything within half a block radius.
“Knox?”
My hands grip the nearby railing that lines the wall around the top of the building. “What did they tell you?”
“Who?”
“The Navy. When they reached out?”
She blinks. Her eyes are glassy. Oh, sweet thing, please don’t cry.
“They said he was missing in action. Presumed dead.” Her soft touch warms my wrist. “Were you there?”
“Yeah, I was.” The saliva in my mouth builds. I swallow instead of spitting because Sage is beside me.
“Tell me about it.” She leans against the wall, crossing her arms over her belly, below her breasts. “I want to hear what happened.”
An image of the bar flicks on. The wobbly barstool. The shattered mirror behind the liquor. A broken man’s altar.
“You were in Syria,” she prompts.
“Yep.” Damascus. Off duty. We were heading out in the morning. One night out. Alcohol wasn’t officially sanctioned, but the bar across the street from the hotel wasn’t deemed dangerous. “There were bullets fired. Down the street. Nothing we should’ve gotten involved in.”
Nothing we were supposed to get messed up in. Not when everyone knew we were American. Even out of uniform. One look at us and they just fucking knew.
“Sam went to check it out.”
The weight of the random girl on my thigh, the dusty air, the grit on my skin, it all comes back.
Sage doesn’t want to hear this.
“Please tell me.”
“More shots fired. Rapid. Assault rifles.” With a great amount of reluctance, I set the woman aside. Stepped outside, scanned the street. “Sam entered the building…this abandoned wreck of a building… and it exploded. A massive explosion.” The searing heat is as much a part of my memory as the stench.
“And that’s why…”
