Page 62 of Trust

Once they were settled with beers, Zane studied his cousin. “I never heard how your departure from the Navy went.”

“A hell of a lot better than Asher’s if gossip is to be believed.” He lifted the bottle to his mouth and took a gulp. “A decade as a boat guy was everything I could’ve hoped for. High risk, high adventure. Lots of good done.”

“I heard you pulled Colt’s team out of a dicey situation a couple of times.”

“Sure did.” He threw Zane a wink. “Not that I’m talking about it, though.”

“The baby of the family is always the most talkative and the one with the least fear.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” He shook his head. “Worry not; your brother has found his home on the Teams and is making a name for himself, just like Rorke did.”

“Wouldn’t expect less.”

“And how’s your transition going?”

Zane drained his beer. “Not as much of a catastrophe as you’d expect.”

“Guessing that pretty lady from down the lane is helping.”

“Not sure about that.” He ran his hand over his neck. “It sure is testing me, though.”

“As all good things do.” Linc tipped back in his chair. “God isn’t going to give you the good stuff unless he or she is sure you can handle it.”

“For the record, war is a hell of a lot easier than love. And anyone who tells you differently is full of shit.”

“The fact you used the L-word pretty much answers my next question.”

“I was speaking metaphorically.”

“You don’t have a figurative bone in your whole damn body, but I’m not gonna bust your chops too much. You go on and enjoy the fantasy that Olivia is just a distraction.” Linc shook his head. “But when you’re done rolling around in your own bullshit, know that if you want a lover, then you gotta be a fighter.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Fight to do the right thing. In life, love and the pursuit of whatever is formidable. Including vanquishing those memories, you like to lug around.” Linc smirked. “If you’re in hell right now—swing! Channel that heartache, soul-ache, and whatever other kinds of ache you got and fight for the right thing.” He tipped his chin. “You won’t forgive yourself otherwise. Don’t start bowing now.”

Zane plunked his empty bottle down. “And what made you think I was kneeling to anything?”

“Those heavy shoulders you got.”

The small dog in his lap whined, and he decided God was bringing in the heavy guns. He hadn’t spent a day in his cousin’s company in years. Yet here he was, laying down the truth like a damn preacher. And it wasn’t because Linc was prone to give people advice—because he wasn’t. The man lived hard, played hard, and rode odds that never should’ve worked out for…anyone. He lived by his own code and counsel and expected others to do the same.

“You ever consider that what you’re feeling has been well earned?”

“Happiness?” Zane asked.

“Yeah!”

“Didn’t think I deserved something like that.” He rubbed his finger over the bottle in his hand.

“That’s about the dumbest thing I’ve heard you say because you have paid the piper and are due for some righteous blessings.” He shook his head. “The battlefield is where peace is won. Joy is on the other side of a skirmish. Conflict isn’t the opposite of joy; it’s the path to it. The road in.”

“But…”

“Instead of calculating how many lives you didn’t bring home, count the ones you did.”

“Damn, when the hell did you become so freaking Zen? Did you sneak off to an ashram while stationed in San Diego?”

“Don’t knock my mental health, man. It was a long-fought battle, and not one step was easy.” Linc pushed himself out of the chair. “So, tell me about your girl. Does she have any pretty sisters or friends?”

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