Page 1 of The Cold Ride

1

War and death were my constant companions.

Funerals were a way of life in my career. But saying goodbye to someone you cared about was never easy. And this one was different. Regret swamped me. I should have told him. Confessed my sins and begged for absolution.

But it was too late.

As I parked my red truck on the street in front of Wyatt’s house, a sedate blue ranch with ivory shutters the man kept in pristine condition, the memory of the moment Wyatt called me with the news of Evan’s suicide filled me.

After I’d hung up, I stared at my phone while my brain and body were frozen. Before I answered his call, Evan had been alive and serving in Afghanistan. All it had taken were a few words from Wyatt to dispel that notion. Rage and grief mingled in a toxic concoction, and I hurled my phone at the wall, not caring that it had broken apart and landed in pieces on the carpet.

Inhaling a deep breath, I brought myself back to the present. In the days since, I tried to wrap my head around Evan’s passing, but it felt surreal. He and I hadn’t always gotten along, but that didn’t mean I didn’t love the ornery son of a bitch. How the fuck could he do that? Why? It didn’t make sense to me.

I grabbed my bag with a change of clothes. We were meeting at Wyatt’s because he had informed us all at the funeral that Evan had sent a package. And we were going to eat, drink, and open the fucker up. I was one of the last ones here. Lucas’s big chrome Harley was parked in the drive beside Aiden’s black Mustang. And there was no missing Wyatt’s ancient tan Ford. Which meant the only one missing from our impromptu gathering was Ben. But I knew he’d be along shortly.

I headed inside without knocking. For something like this, Wyatt left the front door open. It’s not like anyone would mess with us. We were Navy SEALs and could take out any home invader with ease. And since we buried one of our own today, none of us were in the mood to be fucked with. I heard them out in the backyard but took my time and changed in one of the spare bedrooms, swapping my dress blues for jeans and a tee. We’d be spending the night since all of us would likely be passed out drunk before nightfall.

The moment I stepped onto the back patio, I was hit with the scent of grilling meat. My stomach grumbled. At least Wyatt had the foresight to make sure we had food for the wake.

“James.” Aiden toasted me over with his beer.

I grabbed a cold one from the cooler and took a seat in one of the patio chairs. Aiden and I clinked our cans together. “It’s been a fuck all of a day, hasn’t it?”

“It has been that. Wyatt, when are we going to eat, man? I’m starving.” Lucas asked, rubbing his stomach. But then, Lucas was always hungry. You wouldn’t know that by looking at him, but the dude ate like a fucking horse.

The cedar picnic table was already set for dinner. But the box on top of the table garnered my attention. It was the package from Evan. It had to be. And the guilt I’d lived with, the secret I’d kept for a decade, that I’d hoped one day to beg his forgiveness for, would always be a lead weight around my neck.

There would be no absolution for me. I would take my sins to the grave. At that thought, I chugged half my beer. There was no way I’d get through today sober.

“Look who finally decided to make an appearance.” Aiden toasted Ben as he joined us on the patio. Jesus, Aiden was already halfway drunk. Just how many had he pounded already? His white boy skin was as red as his hair.

“Yeah, had to stop and grab some more so we could watch you puke your guts out later.” Ben teased with a laugh.

“Just because Aiden can’t hold his liquor—”

“Hey!” Aiden interrupted me with a scowl and gave me the finger.

I glanced at Aiden with an eye roll and a sigh. “Dude, you fucking know you can’t. You’ve never been able to in all the damn years we’ve known you.”

“You never know. One of these days, I will.” Aiden drank his beer and glowered. I would worry about him with as much as he was drinking, but he only drank when we were together like this, so I wasn’t worried.

“And then we’ll be atyourfucking wake,” Wyatt spoke with his back to us. His black hair was buzzed short, and he had this stoicism that rippled off him. He didn’t move from his position at the barbecue pit to address us or even look our way. But that was Wyatt; he was a man of few words.

“Like what you’ve done back here, Wyatt.” Ben added cases of beer to the cooler and grabbed one before snagging a seat on one of the lounge chairs.

“Appreciate it,” Wyatt said, flipping the steaks. I was close enough to hear the greasy fat sizzle.

“So, what’s this package Evan sent us? And did he send it before?” I asked with a grimace. It felt fucking morbid. Opening a box he sent us now that he was gone.

“Of course he sent it before he put a bullet in his brain. Do you really think he sent it afterward?” Lucas shook his head with an eye roll.

“I know. That’s not what I meant. Shit.” I swallowed a swig of beer and studied the can. That wasn’t what I meant at all. I meant before he made the decision to do it. Because I wondered how long he had been thinking about it.

Wyatt finally said, “We’ll open it after we eat and find out together what the dude was thinking. It’s the only proper way to do it, I’m thinking.”

“And when’s that going to be? I’m starved,” Lucas complained.

“The steaks are almost done. If one of you Nancys wants to grab the potatoes out of the oven, we can eat in five.” Wyatt informed us.

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