Page 98 of Ruined Vows

But I’ve finally got brothers here. Brothers who’ve got my back and always include me. And none of them like Elmer’s.

We all gotta grow up sometime.

“Sorry, man.” I kick at the floor with my boot. “I got a seat already.”

Disappointment washes over his face as if I just punched him in the stomach.

This is why no one likes Elmer’s. He’s got no game face. He takes everything so personally, and it shows plain as day on his face. That, and he never stops talking. He doesn’t know when to let other guys talk, and if you try to just low-key befriend him, he thinks you’re suddenly his best friend and sticks to your ass like Elmer’s glue. I was just his newest target.

But seeing him still just standing there, staring up so disappointed at me while the sandy wind whips his hair all crazy, makes me feel like shit. So I call down, “Maybe I’ll catch you later, huh?”

And just like that, his face brightens back up, which makes me feel like even more of a piece of shit.

Art just shakes his head beside me. “Man, you gotta stop giving him hope like that, or he’s gonna be stuck to you for the rest of the tour.”

I shrug. “It’s not that long. Maybe if we can just get him to shut up, he can hang around in the background.”

“No one can ever get Elmer’s to shut up,” Banjo says from behind me.

“Maybe if we glued his mouth shut,” says Art, always ready with the comeback.

Everyone laughs at that.

I shake my head at them and lean back against the side of the Humvee, letting my eyes fall shut. My eyes are so goddamn gritty, and I swear it always smells like BO, motor oil, and smoke on these transports. I can’t imagine ever getting this goddamn smell out of my nose.

I try to picture Angelique Boyer. Art brought her up on the computer the last time we got internet privileges. Some guys have folks back home they want screen time with. Not Art and me. I roll Angelique’s name around on my tongue. She was smokin’ hot. I betshesmells nice. Nothing like this truck full of stinking grunts.

I’m still trying to envision Angelique when the fucking blast hits?—

No one even screams until it’s too late.

—And then it’s just my voice screaming in the dark.

And someone yelling my name.

“Isaak. Isaak, wake up! Isaak!”

My eyes pop open as I shoot up in bed. I look around but can’t see a thing in the total darkness.

“What?” I shout, my arms flailing outwards. “What is it? Where?”

I suck in a breath of air, expecting diesel-choked smoke.

Instead, the air is fresh and smells feminine. Something sweet, maybe floral. A woman’s shampoo.

“Isaak?” comes a quiet voice. From the other side of the bed. As in, from the floor.

I blink hard, all my wits suddenly flooding back in.

“Kira!” I scramble over to the other side of the bed, my eyes finally adjusted to the darkness to recognize and remember I’m in Domhnall’s guest bedroom.

Of course I am. Where the fuck else would I be?

And there, laid out on the floor, is Kira. She’s on her back, lit by a tiny shaft of moonlight coming through the bottom of the blackout curtains.

“Fuck. Are you okay?” I ask, reaching down for her hand.

She takes it and pulls herself up to a sitting position, then climbs back on the bed. “I’m fine.” She pulls out her mussed ponytail and redoes it.

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