Page 27 of Gorgeous

Push back.

“It’s called a romper, Major Jameson.I suggest youGoogleit if you’re confused on the current fashion trends.”I want to adddickto the end of my statement but I refrain. I also refrain from admitting that I chose the shortest romper that my ass likes to eat, and that I personally would have rather kept my shorts and t-shirt on, but I don’t.

Because he deserves it.

And he started it.

Cade doesn’t answer me, and I’m not sure I want him to since I can literally hear his teeth grinding as a muscle in his jaw works, flexing back and forth in censored rage. With my head held high, I match his hard stare, my arms crossed. I’m not about to show weakness to this man.

“Okay, children, let’s not argue fashion decisions.” Hayes breaks our standoff, stepping in between us and giving Cade a slight shove through the door. “We need to talk,” he tells Cade, who still hasn’t torn his eyes from mine.

Hayes pushes at his chest again, trying to get his attention. “Major?”

Cade still has his hate glare locked on me, and well … I’m fucking tired of his shit this morning.

I flip him off and mouthassholeat him.

I swear he growls and tries to push past Hayes, who now realizes his major is about to lose his calm, and orders a red-faced Cade, “Your office. Now.”

I try hard not to smile and stick my tongue out like a child when Hayes yanks on his arm, pulling him from the doorway.

I fail.

Cade and Hayes have been locked in his office for twenty minutes. The kitchen is clean, no thanks to Mason and his empty promise. He’s been MIA since he ran out of here claiming he needed to call Anniston.

The whole house is eerily quiet.

I don’t like the silence or the tension I feel like I created. I wish I would have known cooking was Vic’s trigger, but from the reactions of the guys, they didn’t know either.

Killer, Mason’s dog, whines at the back door to be let out, and I open it when no one else comes out. I’ve seen Mason let her run loose in the pastures so I’m sure it’s okay. The question is: Where is Mason? Shouldn’t he be around?

I step outside with Killer, watching her dart around and chase a random squirrel. The air is thick with moisture but the sun beating down on my back feels heavenly. You know what the McCallister Jameson Foundation needs?

A pool.

A humongous pool where I could lounge in a chair and watch five chiseled bodies do the breaststroke the entire length of said pool. What is Anniston thinking not having a pool?

Killer barks, darting for the pond down the hill, and I take off after her not wanting anything to happen to her. Not that she isn’t capable of taking care of herself. She’s a trained military dog, for goodness’ sake. Death and battle are her specialty. She’s probably killed a man or two. Make sure nothing happens to her … yeah, right. She should make sure nothing happens to me.

I’m panting, sweat running down my forehead when a beautiful sight pulls me to a stop.

Skipping rocks, along the edge of the pond, is Vic.

A military green t-shirt stretches along his back, his tan cargo pants stuffed into his boots. Vic is the man you see on all the billboards enticing you to join the Marines. He was bred for the military, with his short hair, strong jaw, and unforgiving eyes. Along the water’s edge, he stands tall, his towering body looking larger than the trees in the distance.

Killer plants herself beside him, watching the rocks skim along the water’s surface. He reaches down at her arrival and grazes his hand along her head, between her ears. I slow, taking measured steps until I come to a stop on the other side of Vic. Bending at the knees, I lower myself to the ground and draw my knees to my chest.

Side by side, we stare out into the horizon, Vic skipping rocks, Killer snapping at the dragonflies, in comfortable silence until Vic breaks it with his raspy confession.

“He was six.”

This feels remarkable. Something that will forever be a memory for me.

I don’t respond, and Vic keeps going. “He was such a picky eater. My wife and I tried everything.” Vic pauses, watching the water ripple. “We were taking him to Disney World that summer, and I told him that if he didn’t eat, he wouldn’t be big enough to ride the rides.” With a faraway gaze as if he’s locked in a memory, Vic chuckles to himself. “We started making everything into Mickey Mouse to encourage him to eat. Fruit. Vegetables. Even his sandwiches were in the shape of Mickey ears.”

A tear falls onto my hand and I want to tell Vic that I don’t want to hear the rest of his story. My heart already feels as if it’s been wounded and he hasn’t even gotten to the climax of his story yet. But something tells me he needs to purge, and he’s chosen me to confide in. So I suck up my feelings and stay strong for him even if my chest squeezes painfully.

“They deployed me two months before we were set to leave.” A shaky breath vibrates out of Vic and then he clears his throat, dropping the bomb I’m not prepared for. “Kai, my son, was killed a week later in a house fire. He gained six pounds that summer. He was big enough to ride most of the rides but I never got the chance to tell him.”

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