Page 18 of Echoes in the Storm
“I feel as though it’s the final betrayal if I don’t.” She tips her head forward, her hair sliding to curtain her face as she picks at the edge of the muffin with her nail. “I’ve been trying to think of ways to keep the place, ways to make it work. I’ve been thinking about turning it into a B&B, but I’m not sure if that would be enough separation for him.”
I can’t be sure what happens in the seconds that follow, only that wherever she goes when the voracious woman finally silences, it seems to absorb all of the negative shit that had begun to surface with her admission about the house. She quietly picks at the food, only the slightest movements made as she brings the crumbs to her lips. A gentle northwest breeze lifts the ends of her hair, giving the sun a chance to catch the lighter tips. She’s beautiful, and although I think she knows it, she chooses to ignore it.
“Anyway.” The face that lifts to meet me doesn’t belong to the same woman. A smile splits her lips despite the fact her eyes are still dead. “Tell me more about you, Duke. What’s your story?”
“Not much to say.” I shrug, turning the coffee cup in my hand. “I’m between jobs at the moment, kind of deciding where I want my life to go next.”
“What did you used to do?”
“Army.”
Her eyebrows shoot upwards, a slim finger lifted to point at the chain around my neck. “Sothat’swhy you wear that. Is that your tags?”
I nod.
“That’s so cool.”
Fuck—she’s just like everyone else. “No,” I snap. “No, it’s not.”
Silence falls between us, and although I can see her fight to keep it that way, she caves and keeps talking. “I didn’t mean to piss you off. I’ve just never met anyone who served before. Thought you might have some cool stories about being overseas, you know, experiences to share, that people like me who’ve never been in a plane might not have had the chance to have.”
“Count yourself lucky, then.” I snatch up what’s left of the muffin and chew it angrily before swallowing and continuing, “Not all those experiences are great ones, and if I could trade places with somebody who’d never left this great country of ours, I would. But at the same time, I probably wouldn’t.” I laugh bitterly. “And you know why? Because trading places with somebody would mean they’d have to experience the bullshit I did. I couldn’t do that to a person, even if I didn’t like them.”
“Well, I apologise for being so fucking naïve, then.” Cammie bundles her rubbish and rises from the table, marching over to the bin with it. “We’ll get your bag out of the car, and then I’ll leave you at Archie’s.”
Fuck.This is why I don’t bother with people anymore. She asked an honest question. How was she to know what I went through, why I was medically discharged? And yet, like the douchebag I am, I took it out on her.
Because that’s who I am now—a man who blames everybody he meets for bullshit they’re not even aware of.
Unless you’ve been there, you just don’t know. And that’s not her fault. Hell, it’s not even mine. It’s nobody’s. Yet I just lumped her with it as though she should burden all the blame for the horrors that fucked me up as a man.
“I’m sorry, Cam.”
“No.” She whips around and marches back to the table, stopping by my side. “That’s the second time you’ve had to apologise to me for losing your temper, and you know what? It makes me think you’re not the kind of person I need to be around.”
She has a point.
“Let’s get my fucking bag then, and be done with it.”
“Let’s.”
I trail behind, my tail firmly tucked between my legs as she marches ahead, struggling over the chain on her own rather than accepting help from me again. Not a word is spoken as we cross the intersection again to her car, which for a chatterbox like Cammie, is kind of poignant.
I can’t imagine many people piss her off to the extent that they actually get the silent treatment. And what’s weirder is, after wishing she’d shut the fuck up for the better part of a day, I miss her voice.
She pops the trunk on her car, and wrestles my pack out of the back before dropping it unnecessarily hard on the road.
“Thanks for the place to stay.” I don’t even look at her; I don’t deserve to meet her eyes.
“Best of luck, Duke.” She makes no bones about getting in her car and turning it on, signalling that she’s ready to leave. I heave the pack up to my shoulder, and after checking the way is clear, cross the road to Archie’s workshop.
Her motor runs behind me, the soft hum of the engine as it idles. The urge is too strong as I reach the door to the office, so I give in and look back at where her BMW stays stationary on the roadside. From this angle it’s too hard to see what she’s doing. The fact she hasn’t chosen to drive away yet, to me, means one of two things: she’s checking I make it over here okay, or she’s too mad to think straight.
Knowing the effect I have on people, I’m going with the latter.
Cammie
Duke swaggers across the road toward Archie’s shop. Bets are on the bastard not feeling the slightest bit guilty about his attitude.