Bare Knuckle: Vegas Top Guns, Book 5 (35 page)

“Oh? Show me proof.”

He looked away. Rather than taking some perverse pleasure in his lack of answers, Trish was only getting more sick to her stomach. What she’d said was right; she hadn’t rated a stray thought.

He gave a thick-throated grunt.

“And now I’m not worthy of a reply,” she said. “Perfect.”

That hysteria she’d held in check, that ice under her skin…all gone. The perfect scapegoat—the only scapegoat she needed—was still propping up a goddamn hotel wall. He might as well have been a statue. She surged off the bed, unzipped her duffel and began filling it with what she’d need for her last night walking the ring.

“You know, I took your affection and dedication to your brother as proof that you were a good man. Quiet, sure. Slow to open up. But hell, I was too. Now it looks different. It looks like you have a heart so small that it’s only got room for one person. Too bad I didn’t know that before I fell in love with you.”

She paused in the middle of packing her makeup case. But it was too late. She’d said it.

“You…?”

“Forget it, stud. Such fabulous taste in men I have. From bruisers and slimy sugar daddies to you. At least I knew where I stood with them. You stripped me down, and this is my reward. I can’t say it’s been worth it. I’d have preferred a little spending money and a new bracelet.” She flicked her eyes toward the clock on the grimy nightstand. “I have to get going. Can we wrap this up?”

He pushed away from the wall, like a bear lumbering out of a cave—disoriented after a long sleep, blinking against the light. “I want to make it up to you.”

“Fuck off.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I.”

“I’m not letting you stay here.”

She poked a hard finger against his breastbone. “You don’t get a say. Not one goddamn word! I’m done playing beauty and the beast.”

He pulled back. Shock registered across his warped frown. “What?”

“You heard me. Here I’ve been trying to open up enough to help you heal. I’ve been turning myself inside out, hoping you’d give back in return. I’d been called a Barbie before, you know, but I’d always smiled and taken it as a compliment. Only you made it sound like an insult. Woke me up. Made me see how deep I was hiding. So I’ve been trying my damnedest to turn into a real person.”

“Don’t give me that self-pity shit.” He scraped his forearms in an uncharacteristically anxious gesture. “You’re a real person and you know it.”

“And you? Do you feel real?”

“Oh, come on. What the hell?”

“Tell me what it feels like when people stare. Or when kids ask their moms what happened to you. Or I bet when your buddies looked sideways at each other, wondering if you were back up to snuff. Then tell me the names of the doctors you’ve seen for advice on reconstructive surgery.”

He bared his teeth in a nasty grimace. “That isn’t your business.”

“Oh, I know that. Loud and clear, sugar. Little of your business is my business, unless it involves a camera and my tiny ass in the air.” She stepped forward, chin upthrust, and she did something she never thought she’d do. She looked at his scar and conjured her most disgusted expression. “You think other girls will bang you for reasons beyond consolation or curiosity? Nope. You’ve got so many no-trespassing signs stitched on your face that I need my eyes examined.”

“You’re pissed. I get that. Now shut the hell up.”

One last touch. She gave his tense biceps a squeeze and a pitying smile. It was that or break down completely. She was traipsing on the edge. He jerked away as if burned.

“So big and bad,” she said, throat tight. “Maybe it doesn’t matter to you when people judge you by your looks. Maybe I’m nothing but a wilting flower when that judgment hurts me. You can quietly chastise me for the times when I need a few extra pretty defenses, but you wear the same defenses up and down your face.”

Hurt.

Actual hurt.

She saw it in his eyes before he locked it down.

Oh, she was so done with this.

She grabbed her sweater off a hanger, because no way in hell did she let her clothes touch the floor or the furniture.

“So that’s that,” she called over her shoulder. He hadn’t moved. “Now you know what it feels like when someone you trusted turns on you. Loses faith. Doesn’t have the balls to be a kinder soul.”

“Trish…”

Heavy bag over her shoulder, she stalked toward the door. Only a little farther now. Soon she’d get free of this nightmare.

“I have places to be. I hope your pictures will be enough. And I hope Carey knows what he’s getting into with you once he’s clean. I bet he’ll be feeling pretty fresh and shiny. He’d be better off without your lack of faith holding him down. I know I will be.”

Door. Numb fingers. Turn the knob. Walk out. Close it behind her. Don’t run. Keep moving.

But no mantra could stop the tears that blinded her walk to the bus stop. She sobbed. Her heart burned like a firework blowing up in her chest. The pain had nowhere to go but out, out, out. She furiously wiped her cheeks. A stooped-back woman at the bus stop eyed her curiously but said nothing.

When a ’67 Camaro peeled out of the parking lot and screamed down the road, Trish turned away. She’d already given Eric way more candor than he deserved. If he had the guts to look in the rearview mirror, he wasn’t going see the heartbreak streaming down her face.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Eric didn’t think framing professionals often got cussed out when they called to say orders were ready. So he managed to hold his tongue, even when he picked the damn picture up and took it back to his loft.

He unwrapped all the packing materials and stripped away the paper. He propped it against the spot he’d originally intended for it to hang, on the south-facing wall, next to the wall of windows. He’d planned to watch the play of light over perfection from bed every morning.

The irony was that he’d picked a shot where Trish was happy—her toes pointing toward the ceiling, lying flat on her back, grinning at the camera. She wasn’t happy anymore. In fact, she’d given him the most effective fuck off of his life.

She was haunting him.

Trish stared at him from against the wall, while he got ready to leave the loft again. He didn’t want to. Picking up that damned picture had been hard enough. He wanted to spend the rest of his Sunday getting his drunk on. But a squadron didn’t miss roll call.

When the roll call was also your boss’s farewell party, it became absolutely mandatory.

No go was no fly, and Eric had risked that privilege too many times.

He’d known he and Trish wouldn’t last, but he’d always assumed he would have her pictures once she left. Technically he did. In reality… He wasn’t getting a damn thing off them. No hit. Only sadness. His chest hurt when he looked at her.

Due to the sheer number of people expected, Fang’s wife, Cass, had hornswoggled him into having the party at her parents’ house. Eric drove all the way out to Henderson. He thought about putting the top down, but that reminded him of Trish. She had so freely admired his car and loved having the convertible open.

He parked at the end of the block for an easy exit. No way he was staying any longer than he had to.

As soon as he walked into the backyard, he was pinned. Mike and Liam all but grabbed him by the arms to hustle him toward a corner of the garden.

Liam started in on him first. “What the hell happened? Sunny said you took off without telling Trish.”

“Not your business.”

“Great. So it’s true. That’s priceless, dipshit.” Mike crossed his arms, maybe shooting for intimidation.

Eric would have to give a shit in order to be intimidated. His chest was a gaping maw of pain. All gone.

“Sack up,” was all he said.

“Nice.” A sneer shaped Liam’s mouth. “We all know you’re not the classiest dude, but that’s low.”

“Then listen to this,” Eric said to the man. “I’ve spent my whole career feeling responsible for my brother. I joined the Air Force. He got wasted. I heaped on the guilt. But you know what? He’s on his way back.”

Liam and Mike exchanged confused looks, probably because Eric’s explanation sounded like they were being dressed down. Couldn’t be helped. He was a volcano, and this was the best he could do to keep from exploding altogether.

“Carey told me he didn’t need my guilt trip weighing him down. Same goes for you, Christiansen.”

“What the hell did I do?”

“You’ve been dogged by what happened to me, how you should’ve been there in Canada—maybe dropped out of the sky instead of me. But fuck that. You kept your wife. Had your daughter. The world’s a better place for both.
I’m
on my way back, and I need you to drop the guilt-ridden shit. Officially. Right now.”

Liam blinked, mouth hanging open. His shark smile was long gone. “Well. All right, then.”

He held out his hand, which Eric shook. One hard pump. One firm nod. Walls down. Shoulders relaxed. Both of them. It felt damn good—a cooling balm for the many wounds he had yet to heal. At least he could have his friend back.

Luckily Princess broke into their
Oprah
moment by standing on top of a wooden patio table and clinking a glass with a fork. She was wearing a skirt, of all things. Her hair was a neat, smooth curtain. She looked completely put together, not at all the legendary wild woman of the 64
^th
.

Why couldn’t Eric do the same?

Maybe if everyone would let him leave the past alone. There was no moving on when he wore the crash on his face, a mask he would never be able to remove. Seeing his brother happy and releasing Liam from a guilt prison should’ve been enough.

Not even close. He needed more. Trish should’ve been there with him, poised and happy on his arm. Instead she would spend the night in that motel out of
Psycho
.

“Listen up, bandits,” she said. “As of first thing tomorrow morning, I’m back in the air!”

A loud cheer rose up from the packed backyard, full of airmen and some civvies. Maybe people from Cass’s work? Even Eric couldn’t help a tight nod of approval. Leah Girardi belonged in a Viper. No two ways about it.

“That’s because as of midnight tonight, I’m your commanding officer.
Suckers
.” She grinned when the groans matched the cheers. Her expression, however, sobered when the heckling died down. “I wouldn’t be standing here right now without the support of the 64
^th
and the undying courage of three men in particular. Strap Happy.” She raised a glass toward Mike. “You know all that I’d say but can’t.”

Liam grinned and elbowed Mike in the ribs, then took Kavya from Sunny when she joined them. Mike only nodded to his best girl, his expression quietly radiant with pride.

“But Mike wouldn’t have looked twice at the hot mess I was a couple years ago. I wouldn’t be a major. I wouldn’t be on the verge of leading the best fucking pilots in America. Hell, I probably wouldn’t be in the Air Force anymore. Down to brass tacks, I wouldn’t be
me
…not without Tin Tin and Fang.”

Her voice tightened with what must’ve been tears, which Eric could hardly believe. She tossed her hair back and swallowed. Always tough as nails. Always Princess.

“Jon, Ryan.” She found them in the crowd. “You’ve been my best friends for almost five years. I don’t know why you stayed with me. I really don’t. But I’m grateful, and I’ll never forget what you’ve done to make my life amazing.”

“Because we won’t let you forget,” Jon called. He raised his glass with an indulgent, dimpled smile.

“Save it, butt munch.” She matched his grin. “Because, really, the man of the hour is not the almighty Tin Tin. It’s not even Major ‘Fang’ Haverty. No, we’re here to celebrate our incredible, fearless, nearly former leader, Lieutenant Colonel Haverty—and more importantly, his tolerant-as-hell wife Cass.”

The pair stepped forward to receive fond wishes and kissed one another when catcalls made it inevitable. Damn, Fang looked solid. Squared away. Confident and happy. Cass Haverty was a cute redhead with a smile that could power the Strip’s electrical grids. They were radiant. Eric’s eyes burned watching them, but he couldn’t look away. He stood there, letting his regret and loathing fester into something dark.

He needed light. He was tired of living in the shadows. But life didn’t always shake out into gold-glittered endings. People couldn’t make everything okay by wishing. Yet even Carey had been brave enough to let love into his life.

Meanwhile, Mike helped Leah down from the patio table. Eric saw him whisper something in her ear. Her dark, perceptive gaze jumped to Eric’s face, and she made a beeline for him.

His new boss.
Joy.

“You gonna be polite, pit bull?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“Funny, I always figured polite meant you didn’t walk around wearing an expression that says you want to go ten rounds with everyone in sight.” She sat on a carved wooden bench. The way she spread her arms across the back meant no room for him.

“Is this an official meeting?”

“Do you need it to be?” Leah lifted her eyebrows. Arrogant. But then she’d have to be to be female, and a major, and in charge of the Aggressors.