CALLEN (Second Chance Novels Book 3) (4 page)

"Ranch hand," he announced mildly. "Hard work. Kept me in shape."

"Spades in a rodeo," Mason grins.

Spades simply shakes his head with a mild grin. Suddenly Riggs jumps up on the bar. "I have an announcement to make," he belts out grandly.

"That you're getting the hell off my bar?" Ledger asks in amused annoyance.
 

"Much better than that," Riggs directs at Ledger in an average speaking voice. Returning to his grand bravado, he continues. "I'm looking for a gorgeous woman to accept a free drink and flirt with me for the next hour."

Mason cracks up and I can only grin at Riggs and his big personality. He hasn't changed a bit.
 

"You!" he says, pointing to a red-head sitting at a high-top with several friends. "May I buy you a drink?"

The girls at the table all giggle as the red-head shrugs and stands. Riggs jumps straight down from the bar and transitions into a perfect gentleman's bow.
 

"M'lady," he says as he kisses her knuckles. "Yon bar-keep will attend to your parchèdness with the libation of your choosing."

"Margarita," she smiles in total amusement.

Riggs turns to Ledger. "Good sir, a margarita for the lady of my life."

Ledger shakes his head with a grin, and the rest of us make room for our new companion.
 

"Your name, m'lady?" Riggs asks grandly.

"Holli Butler," she says with a smile.
 

"Holli," Riggs bows again, kissing her knuckles this time. "I shall ask you to sit on this stool and allow me to warm you with my arm."

"Then I shall say yes," she speaks formally. "Thank you, kind sir."

With a woman in his grip and a beer in his hand, Riggs grins like an idiot. "Ok, continue."

I clap my hand on his shoulder. "God, I've missed you," I laugh.
 

Ledger refills my beer as I ask the question I've been wanting to ask since we invited these two to join us at Delta Security.

"So what made you two leave the Army? I heard you left less than a year after Mason was discharged."
 

Spades speaks up for almost the first time.
 

"Politics," he said plainly. "Griff got promoted, and took out his hatred of Mason out on us. He bumped another team to top spot and made up stupid shit for us to deal with. When we became obsolete, service was pointless. We left."

"Who's Griff?" Holli asks, joining in the conversation around us. Mason's face darkens a shade most wouldn't notice. Spades remains his stoic self, so I answer.

"Griff is a grade-A asshole who destroyed most of the lives in his path, including ours."

"Oh," Holli says more subdued at the new tone of the conversation.
 

Riggs forces us to keep the evening light, as usual. He lifts his glass high and announces grandly again, "To grade-A assholes!"

Riggs continues his comedy routine, often drawing Holli closer. She obviously enjoys his attention, and flirts with him as promised. Suddenly Riggs points to the clock. "Your promised hour is up, m'lady."

He sweeps her into his arms and dips her low where he proceeds to kiss her deeply. When he releases her, she laughs flirtatiously. Riggs kisses her knuckles.
 

"Have a lovely evening," he says in a gentlemanly way. He turns to us and asks plainly. "Who's couch am I sleeping on tonight?"

Holli stands awkwardly. A mixture of surprise and insult plays across her face for being dismissed. I don't bother getting involved. He only asked for an hour anyway.
 

"You can crash at my place," I say. "Spades can stay with Mason. He won't bother the love birds as much as you would."

Ledger shakes hands with the new members of our little society. Mason can't stop grinning as he grab's Spades' shoulder in a brotherly gesture.

"I guess you're bunking with me tonight," Mason says. "No cuddling, though."

Spades simply shrugs and follows Mason out the back entrance. I lead Riggs out the front door and to my Monte Carlo.
 

"You still drive this piece of shit?" he grins.
 

"A little respect," I mock offense. "She made a good mobile home for a while."

He shakes his head and then looks at me. "Yeah. My truck was good at that, too."

I smirk at the change in our circumstance over the last few years. I don't think any of us would have predicted the events that brought us all to Second Chance tonight.
Second Chance.
Hell of a concept.
 

Riggs and I stay up nearly all night filling each other in on the last few years. He spent much of his time like I did. Gambling, drinking, and women occupied his world.
 

"I did my morning PT on the side of the road," he laughs at himself. "Push-ups, sit-ups, miles of jogging, right out in the open air. I stayed south during the winters. Never bought myself a coat."

"I thought I was the only idiot who lived like that."

"Great minds," he smiles. "So what brought you here?"

I tell him everything from Ledger and Cam's story up to the day I met Evelyn.
 

"Best week of my life," I admit sadly. "Thanks for staying scarce on the boat."

He nods his "you're welcome."
 

I take a deep breath and drain the contents of another bottle. I look him in the eye and tell him the crux of our situation. "It's my fault she's dead."

Riggs raises his eyebrows as I continue the entire story. I confess to my plans for revenge. The weight of my grief now rests on my brother's chest, too.

"I'm in," he states darkly. "Need me at the jail or background tactical?"

I clench my jaw and my fists, which stops him flat. He may be an obnoxious jokester, but he carries a depth of understanding few could equal.
 

"Got it," he says in clear acceptance, all hints of his earlier humor gone. "But if you need a single damn thing, I provide."

As I drive home the following day from the jail and another meeting with Quinn, I'm hit again with how much I miss Evelyn. Being at Stoneridge in close proximity of her husband boils the hatred, and acutely reminds me of the woman I mourn. I miss the body I never touched in intimacy. I miss the golden flow of her hair when she allowed the tresses from the tight twist her husband dictated. I miss the soft expression on her beautiful face when she looked straight into me.
 

In spite of my undying loyalty to her memory and respect for our shared celibacy, I've dealt with my grief by over-compensating in the opposite direction. In recent weeks I fell into old habits as a form of comfort. Random, detached sex allows for escape, and represents my only reprieve from being at the jail and stewing over my mission points near the bed where Evvie slept. My face darkens at the thought of Evelyn's peace. She won't rest yet.

Tonight, again, I go looking for a willing woman for a form of masturbation more pleasurable than my hand. I use these women for a warm body, making no promises but a singular hot night. I deliver every time, fucking women the way I never would have
fucked
Evvie. She would have experienced nothing but love from me until her body asked for more.

As I drive to a bar, however, my thoughts of Evvie hit me too hard. As sick as my line of thinking may be, I dive head-first into the shallow end of my grief. A blonde beauty with a similar grace to Evelyn may somehow allow me to connect with a woman I never had. I imagine myself moving with Evvie's body, and I feel the need to experience a moment such as that. A stand-in will be a weak shadow of the true experience, but will be all I'll ever have.
 

When I find a woman to fulfill that fantasy, I'll admit to her the truth. I'll play on her sympathies, I'll charm her delirious, and I'll enjoy her efforts to assuage my need for another woman.
Sick
may not be a strong enough word, but at least I'll be honest. The need for such company pulls at my grief. Within a half-hour, I con my way into an exclusive club I'm not a member of. I don't pay attention to where I am, only to whom I'm looking for.
 

Sitting alone on a pedestal too posh to be considered a bar-stool is a scattered trio of high-class women, one of which is a slender blonde. From the seductive, graceful angle of her seated posture, she is elegant enough to fulfill my fantasy, though pales in comparison to the woman I love. I'm certain no woman could achieve the kind of sweetness and internal strength Evvie combined with the deep, true beauty I saw in every part of her.
 

I nearly shake my head at myself as I approach the slender woman I'll use tonight. I compartmentalize my opinion of myself as I sit next to my Evvie-stand-in and order some pretentious drink. I don't allow myself to smile, which is simple on a night such as this. As expected, my sadness draws the woman next to me into conversation.

"Planning to drink away your mood?" she asks in a kind, subtly-flirtatious voice.
 

I offer a sad chuckle. "If only such a thing were possible."

"I think we've all been there," she offers in understanding and an obvious attempt at connection.
 

I sigh for two reasons: to sell my act and to release a fraction of my inner-frustration with my behavior.
 

"I guess we have," I nod as I turn to her and offer her a sad, appreciative expression. I introduce myself, and the slow chase is in motion. "Callen Reed."

"Tipton Montgomery. Nice to meet you," she smiles in both sophistication and attraction.
 

Jesus, her name is as pretentious as my drink. I think of Evelyn's lack of pretentiousness in spite of her station, and I miss her all the more. The blonde in front of me, however, will have to do.
 

We drink in silence for a moment until I order her another Merlot as a thank-you for her willingness to talk with someone who's probably not very good company right now. My manipulation is in full swing, and she's already drawn into her role as my therapist for the evening.
 

Within two more sips of our expensive drinks, Tipton's hand is on my arm and she's gently asking for the cause of my sadness. I speak only one word.
 

"Grief."
 

Her head tilts in sympathy as she asks, "How long ago did you lose her?"

I smile sadly at her. "That obvious?"

"Callen Reed, a heart-sick man is easy to recognize."

"You're an insightful woman," I softly compliment.
 

Within the next half-hour, I slowly tell her my story in enough bits to draw her closer to my singular need. She listens in honest sympathy, keeping her hand on my arm. When I speak my last sentence, I secure her as mine tonight.
 

"You remind me of her," I admit shyly as my final manipulation. "She's the only woman I've ever loved, and you're so much like her. Honestly, I like being reminded. Thank you for talking with me this evening."

With a squeeze of my arm, she leans in and gently kisses my cheek. She then leans her temple on my shoulder and laces her hand through mine. Her body language demonstrate my obvious success.
 

After delving so deep into my memories of Evelyn and my shallow connection with Tipton, my need for her comfort is acute. I allow my body language to demonstrate the same.

I take her cheek gently in my hand and kiss her tenderly, allowing myself only a moment on her lips. A moment, however, is all I need to transform Tipton into a hazy vision of Evvie. Tipton looks deeply into my blue eyes and speaks her offer to be my Evelyn tonight.
 

"I can't," I lie. "I don't want to use you. I don't think I can be with someone so much like her. You'd only be a fantasy. That's not fair to you."

Those final five words of my manipulation stand as the most honest sentence in a sea of the white lies.

"Callen, I'm lonely tonight, too," she admits quietly. "I'm drinking away my own sadness. Let me help you so we can both feel better. Let me take you home. My penthouse is only a few blocks away."
 

I take her honest acceptance and offer her a final codicil to this sad arrangement.
 

"This can't start anything, Tipton. Being with you might be too painful, and I can't replace her. I'm desperate for you tonight, but this will end as soon as it starts."

"I already understood that, Callen," she says kindly. "But I appreciate your honesty."

I'm not a total bastard.

I kiss her once more and pay for both our drinks. She takes my hand and we walk from the establishment to her posh top-floor apartment.
 

"Why are you sad tonight?" I ask quietly.
 

"All men aren't as honest as you," she says with her own quiet sadness.

Maybe I am a total bastard.
 

"Come here," I say softly as I pull her into my arms to kiss her deeply. I absorb her sadness which reminds me of Evvie's. My fantasy takes hold as I unpin Tipton's hair from the upsweep so similar to my love's blonde twist I once released in the same way. Only once.