Hard Way (18 page)

Sunny slid her hands to his waist and dug her fingers into his sides. She nodded.

“So let’s go home, okay? Not retreating or running. We enjoyed ourselves. Or at least I did.” He kissed the top of her head, then pulled away to flash a tentative grin. “You?”

“Yes. I did.”

“Then let’s get outta here.”

He laced their fingers together with assurance and calm, and led her out through the center’s double doors. The proud line of his back made him seem even taller—an even more impressive man.

This… This was the husband she wished she’d never lost.

Chapter Seventeen

By Friday, Dash was in a fantastic mood. It wasn’t without caveats. He and Sunny had spent the week slowly easing back from their persistent, unbearable tension. They sparred, they fucked hard enough to tie his mind into knots, they slept in the same bed—but they had yet to make love. And Sunny had yet to rescind the declaration that glinted between them like piece of glass on a beach.

Maybe he was buoyant. That was a better word.

Then again, his father had arrived in town Wednesday evening. They had yet to dine with him or even see him. Things between Dash and Sunny were too tentative to add the old man into the mix. They’d light that Molotov cocktail soon enough, at Colonel Bandry’s retirement party.

Hopeful? Yes, Dash could still claim he was hopeful.

Fantastic, buoyant, hopeful…

Until that morning.

First, he’d overheard Sunny on the phone with Representative Rueland’s personal assistant. Sunny would be flying back east in nine days. He’d leaned against the wall of their bedroom, head bowed, realizing how easy it had been to take the previous week for granted. Sure, they were still edgy and had a lot to talk about, but they’d gone grocery shopping. They’d made fun of a stupid horror movie, laughing at each other when they flinched. And Sunny had called him a hero when he unclogged the bathroom sink.

What did it matter? She was still leaving. In nine days.

Then came the morning briefing on base. He sat next to Eric, puzzled that Mike had taken position in the front row next to Leah.

“He’s too good for us now,” Eric said with a sly grin.

Major Ryan “Fang” Haverty strode into the room with a confidence and bearing that quieted the room. He simply looked
right
. The perfect leader.

Dash had never enjoyed a tenth of that assurance while wearing his uniform. He glanced around. The briefing room was filled with the most elite pilots in the world. Their job was to play the bad guys in dogfighting exercises against allied airmen, with the aim of teaching them how not to die. Some had flown for a decade to earn the experience and recognition to be awarded the sought-after assignment. So why did Dash feel increasingly out of place? Disconnected?

His troubles with Sunny weren’t to blame, and that made him more uneasy. If it didn’t have anything to do with his marriage, where was this coming from? The pressure of Colonel Gene’s expectations tightened his stomach. He could only imagine how much worse their relationship would get if the almighty colonel learned what a mess Dash was making of his life.

“Listen up, bandits.” Murmurs and chatter ceased with Fang’s customary greeting. “A few announcements. First off, as of today, Major Girardi is a bandit in spirit only. She’s been transferred to the Support Squadron at the Weapons School until my reassignment sometime next year. You’re stuck with me a little longer, but at least you won’t have the Princess shooting your lazy butts out of the sky.”

“But I’ll be riding your butts next summer,” she piped up. “Fang’s a chump compared to me and you know it.”

Fang crossed his arms, fighting a smirk. “I’d take official issue with that insult, but you’re not my problem anymore.”

“Think you can handle her, Strap?” Tin Tin called from the second row.

Mike turned to surreptitiously flip the kid off. “If not, I’ve got all of Operations to cover me.”

“Let me know if you need help,” Eric chimed in.

Leah shook her head. “I’m putting all of you on my shit list. I cannot
wait
until next summer.”

Dash grinned and others chuckled along. The announcement wasn’t a surprise. A change of command took time, and considering Leah’s wild-child past, it made sense to see if she could maintain her newly squared-away persona through an earthbound stint. For a natural flyer like Leah, it must be the equivalent of a year of purgatory.

From Dash’s vantage, he saw Mike take Leah’s hand—a brief squeeze before they readjusted their professional armor. She’d be fine. Better than fine. Mike had become the rock she needed to keep the best things in life in perspective, and in return, she’d breathed ambition into a man who hadn’t known his ass from his elbow. A matched set.

Back to Sunny. She and Dash had been that way once. But when? When had they genuinely been on the same page? He honestly couldn’t remember. Delusional, maybe, but he’d thought it was until very recently. Maybe that wasn’t the case. Maybe even since before moving to Vegas, they hadn’t quite…
fit
.

Now it would be a thorn in his brain. They’d gone off the rails years ago. Figuring out when and why would mean figuring out how to close the rift.

“If we’re all done harassing the major,” Fang said, “we have other business to attend. I have this month’s assignments, including the Maple Flag at the end of the month.”

“Christ.” Dash put his head between his hands. In the chaos of his personal life, he’d completely forgotten about the upcoming joint combat simulation with the Canadian Royal Air Force. That was the last assignment he needed. He sure as hell didn’t want to leave town before she did, cutting nine days down to seven.

“Gimme that one,” Eric said. “Shoot down some Canucks. Find some Eskimo poon. Good times.”

Dash groaned. “You are disturbed, you know that?”

Eric only grinned. The bruiser was so overt with his Neanderthal ways that Dash was left to wonder, not for the first time, if he hid deeper waters. Everyone had secrets, as Dash was certainly discovering.

“So.” Fang cleared his throat. “Tin Tin, you’re heading to the Weapons School as well. Four-week assignment. Use that freaky head of yours and get their syllabus in order with this year’s new data.”

“Yes, sir.” The young playboy actually looked stoked about spending a month in an office. He was a weird kid to figure out.

“Kisser, Brunch, Flattop, Charm School and Lollypop, you’re off to Little Rock. Time to brush up on fighter support for the C-130 airlift rescue training. Have fun.”

“Shit,” Eric muttered. “Babysitting.”

“Think of it this way.” Dash couldn’t help his grin. “You’ll get to visit exotic, exciting Arkansas.”

“No Eskimo babes there.”

Fang went on with his list of assignments, including a few roadshow stops and test mission support. All of them outside of Vegas, but all of them short term. A day or two. The longer the list continued, the more dread Dash accumulated beneath the skin. His name had yet to be called.

“Okay, last one. This Maple Flag’s primary objective is to counter electronic warfare tactics. Some hunter/killer drones want to play chase. Since we’re sharing airspace with the Eagles over at the 65
^th
, I need a half roster. Everyone who was on B Team for last week’s operations is heading to the Great White North.”

“Fuck,” Dash said under his breath.

The timing couldn’t have been more of a disaster.

“Anyone I didn’t call, you’re staying put and flying MiGs for a change. No way can we simulate enemy aircraft if we get too comfortable in our own planes. Enjoy the change of pace.”

Jon raised his hand. “Can I change my mind?”

“Wasn’t your mind to change, Tin Tin. You and your calculators and slide rules have fun.” Fang set aside his clipboard. “And every single one of you should’ve cleared your calendars for Colonel Bandry’s big to-do tomorrow afternoon. Twenty-five years of service is nothing to sniff at, and she deserves props.” He clapped once. “But for now, it’s off to class with you miscreants. Meeting adjourned.”

“I didn’t join the Air Force to go back to school.”

“You went to school, caveman?”

Eric was scowling as he stood, but he gathered his mission folders with an efficiency that belied his grousing. The man worked his ass off.

More than ever lately.

Dash recognized in a detached way that his friend had become less of a hardcore party monster. His lapses in mood usually coincided with some shit his little brother got into, but he was as likely to talk about that as Dash was to confide his marital problems.

Sometimes it was best to shut up and drink.

Dash elbowed him. “Bar tonight.”

Eric raised his brows. “You suddenly grow a pair? Lay down the law with Sunny?”

A flash of trepidation wasn’t bright enough to eclipse his need to get the fuck out. Just for a night. Their taboo games aside, he’d been on his best behavior since her return. Being able to breathe without wondering which inhalation would send her packing—that would be a relief.

“Screw it.”

Eric clapped him on the back. “Nice. Hey, Strap. Up for some brewskis tonight?”

Leah’s shrug was enough to have Eric mutter something like
whipped
. Mike only grinned that chilled-out Zen grin of his. Why did Dash feel the need to bash his best friend’s face in?

Damn, he was strung tight.

“Sure thing,” Mike replied. “Apparently I’m amusing when I’m slightly sloshed.”

Eric made a face. “I don’t want to know. Really. Let’s bug out, man.”

“I gotta talk to Fang for a minute,” Dash said. “See you in class.”

“Don’t mess with that stick up his ass. He might like it. Seeing him smile would be creepy.”

But Dash was beyond the jokes and usual trash talk. He waited until the major was alone on his way to the offices, then fell into step beside him. “Sir, a moment?”

“Sure, Dash.”

“Sir, would you consider reassigning me? The Maple Flag…”

“What of it? It’s been eighteen months since you participated in an exercise that involved hunter/killers.”

“I know.” He coughed into his fist, wondering if the tension in his chest would ever let up. “This is rougher to say than I’d have thought. Shit. Permission to speak freely, sir?”

Fang stopped and turned to face him. “Dash, c’mon. What is it?”

After a deep inhalation, Dash met his curious gaze. Fang was the only man in the squadron taller than him, but probably outweighed him by thirty pounds of muscle. Funny how he could still size a guy up like that. It used to be automatic—another part of assessing an opponent’s strengths and weaknesses.

“It’s me and Sunita. We’re having trouble.”

“Damn,” the major said under his breath. “I’m sorry to hear that. Recent?”

“Yeah, but probably longer. It’s been… If I’ve seemed distracted, that’s definitely the reason.”

“I noticed.” Fang rubbed the back of his neck.

“Sir, I’ve never asked for anything like this. It’s…damn. I think it’s important.”

Dash stood his ground as Fang assessed him in that way only a practiced leader could manage, weighing the needs of the individual against what was best for the squad. Dash should’ve aspired to that sort of position one day, but the idea of it made his blood go cold.

“Okay,” Fang said at last. “I’ll see what I can do. But that means I expect you both in counseling.”

“I hope it’ll be that simple, sir.” He tacked on the sign of respect because he was
really
done talking about this. And he couldn’t fucking wait for quittin’ time.

By the time he finished his third Jack and Coke, Dash suspected his night was going to be a mess. By the fifth, he
knew
it was. Everything he said should’ve been funny. That was his unofficial job, like it was Tin Tin’s job to be a pervy little shit and Eric’s job to hate the pervy little shit.

That evening, it was apparently Mike’s job to poke at all the places Dash didn’t want to talk about.

“Man, what is up with you?” At least his Zen smile was gone. He was three sheets to the wind and looking pretty damned relaxed. Hell, maybe this was worse.

“None of your business, Strap. Unless you wanna fess up what it’s like to bang a superior officer.”

“Keep it civil, please.” Mike raised his glass. “Instead let’s work on getting Kisser hooked up with some sweet lil’ thing.”

Eric set his empty beer glass on the table with too much force. Drunk as well. Good. Dash wanted company. “Any sweet lil’ thing of mine will know how to shake her ass and strip on command. No compromising.”

“Nuclear scientist, then,” Mike said.

“Maybe veterinary grad.” Dash wiped his forehead. He was sweating in the sweltering bar, which was closing in on him like a wire rattrap. “Or computer game beta tester.”

“Bite me.” But Kisser grinned. “She’ll be hot and won’t be able to resist me.”

Mike nodded to the beer glass. “Did I miss your chaser of LSD? Dipshit.”

“Let’s go back to you and sweet Princess Leah,” Eric said, his grin turning nasty.