Page 23 of Second Chance Savior

Standing, I tugged on my jeans. I’d stripped down to my tee and boxers to sleep. My gun was tucked beneath the couch, so I grabbed it as I fixed my holster in place.

A furry streak of gray darted past me, and I yelped, falling back onto the couch.

Snickering came from behind me. “You woke Cleo. She doesn’t appreciate that. She’s testy first thing in the morning.”

I looked back. Charlie was there in a soft-looking top and leggings, a mug of coffee warming her hands.

“So am I.” My sleep schedule had been erratic since my teenage years, but my Navy teammates had known not to speak to me for at least fifteen minutes after I woke up. I needed that time to become my usual upbeat self. Exercising helped, but it would probably be weird if I broke out the calisthenics right now.

“Do you want coffee?” Charlie asked. “Or are you still weird?”

“I’ll take tomato juice, if there is any.”

“Ugh. Gross.” She tilted her head, beckoning me to follow. “I think Brynn has some. Come on.”

This was an improvement over last night. I hoped it meant Charlie was going to be reasonable.

I made a quick detour to the bathroom, then met her in the kitchen. “Where’s your friend?” I asked.

She found a can of tomato juice in Brynn’s pantry and popped the tab, passing it over. “Napping. Brynn kept an eye on things while you were asleep.”

I nodded. That was good. The FBI agent was taking my warnings seriously, even if she didn’t trust me. “Was it you who tucked me in?”

Charlie glanced away and sipped her coffee. “You looked like you needed rest. You have shadows under your eyes.”

“Those are permanent. But thanks for the blanket.” I gulped half the can of juice, ignoring the way she studied me. “Ready to talk more now?”

She groaned. “Can’t I finish my coffee before discussing who wants to kill me?”

“We can talk about something else. Remember that archery bet we had that summer at your parents’ house?”

More groans. “Why on earth are you bringing that up?”

“I was dreaming about it.”

“It’s embarrassing to recall. I was such a brat that summer.”

“So was I. If we can’t make mistakes as teenagers, when can we make them?”

Charlie smiled a little at that.

“But once we stopped fighting, that was a great summer,” I added. “Maybe the best.”

She set her coffee mug on the counter. Traced a finger around the rim. “Are you trying to make some point about how we should team up? Do you remember how that stupid archery bet turned out? Eventually, yes, we stopped fighting. But we created a mess in the meantime.” She pointed between herself and me. “You and I? We’re not a good combination, River. We don’t work well together.”

“I disagree. We do just fine when we stop keeping score.”

“How eloquent. But I don’t feel like strolling down memory lane with you. I don’t like where it leads.”

“Because of Ross? The breakup?” My gaze strayed to her ring finger on her left hand.

More images flashed through my brain of the few times we’d seen one another in the last decade. Like the day after my brother had put a ring on that finger. Each one of those moments was branded on my memory.

I smiled as if none of it affected me.

Being close to Charlie was like touching a live wire. It could make me feel more in a second than I usually did in a year. And afterward, it tended to leave me feeling burned out on the inside. Raw.

Aching, like some key part of me was missing.

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