Page 9 of Under Pink Skies

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Kameron laughed, clutching his torso as he shook. “Good point, Harvey. That too.”

It always took me by surprise how much better I felt when I let go of things associated with my uncle. Anna and I had talked at length in the last few weeks about how I kept holding onto things out of a misplaced sense of guilt. My childhood had mostly sucked. But I wasn’t that kid anymore. I hadn’t been for a long time.

It was okay for me to let go of the things that didn’t belong in the new life I was creating for myself.

I turned my head at the sound of panting and footprints coming from the road behind us. Lucas Morales came running up, jogging in place as he stood beside me. Lucas glanced down at his watch, giving me a thumbs up and a grin.

“I still run a five-minute mile,” Lucas panted. His shoes kicked up dust from where he was still running in place.Insufferable bastard.

I rolled my eyes.

“We can’t all have a perfect PFT score, Morales.”

“My therapist says it’s good for me to have an outlet,” Lucas replied.

“Every active duty Marine uses fitness as an outlet.”

Lucas’s mouth dropped open.

“That’snottrue. And frankly, offensive. Take it back.”

My grumpy facade cracked, and I smiled. “No.”

“Alright gents, there’s the first truck,” Kameron said, practically beside himself with glee as the first dump truck turned onto the gravel road. “I’ll stay here to direct traffic. Harvey, you’ll stand about 300 yards behind me here. Since the road is still unmarked, I don’t want anyone getting lost on the way to the barn and accidentally running over a chicken.”

I grimaced.

“That’s morbid.”

“Morales,” Kameron continued, ignoring me, “can you jog the half mile back to the barn and point out the loading zone? I also don’t want these guys dumping landscaping rocks in the paddock.”

Lucas looked delighted at the idea of running back. He was probably the only person who would feel positively thrilled at being told he needed to run back to the place he’d just come from. We all had our vices and crutches we used to deal with the things we’d been through in our lives, but Lucas seems to have taken that to another level.

At some point, we needed to talk to him about finding an outlet other than fitness, but Lucas was only three months out of the service. He barely had his civilian legs about him. The man could keep running.

“Aye aye, cap’n,” Morales said, and with a mock salute, he was off, jamming his earphones back into his ears and fist-pumping as he ran down the driveway toward the main house.

I couldn’t help but admire the dedication. It had been a long time since I’d been half as dedicated to anything as Lucas was to staying in shape. I was still lifting, but running was a different story. A man had his limits.

I did as Kameron had instructed, walking the 300 yards back down the gravel road. I flagged the dump truck drivers to continue down the road, all of whom gave me a small wave of thanks. There were only three trucks of supplies in this run—namely, gravel and landscaping rocks. Kameron was already in contact with some local lumber farmers and millers to locate locally sourced supplies for the rebuilding, but they wouldn’t have those supplies to us for at least a few weeks.

Kameron had spruced up the back area of the barn, including the gazebo which was barely standing. The massive project of renovating the barn intimidated Kam but repairing and landscaping the outside of the venue seemed like a logical first step.

Lucas helped the trucks dump their loads in the designated areas, and once they’d made their way back down the gravel road and out of Winding Road Farms, I started back toward the farmhouse.

The farmhouse was the hub of Winding Road. Not only did it boast four bedrooms—what Lucas had taken to fondly calling the “barracks”—and three full bathrooms (a luxury the Marine Corps would have never granted us), but the dining and living rooms had become communal working spaces. We were all invested in Kameron’s vision, and as much as the three of us liked to joke around with each other, we could be serious when we needed to be. Kameron’s work was saving lives. Hell, it had saved ours. And knowing the full story behind why Kameron had begun this work made me even more proud to be part of it.

I put on a pot of coffee for all of us to have a late-morning pick-me-up. I kicked my alcoholic tendencies with the help of Winding Road, but caffeine was the one addiction I knew would follow me until the end of my days. Four years in the military—most of which were spent actively trying to avoid dealing with any of my issues—lent itself to a caffeine addiction of the highest order.

I’d kick the habit one day. Probably.

Kameron burst through the front door with Lucas hot on his heels.

“I made coffee,” I said, nodding my head toward the kitchen as I took a seat at the dining room table, which was currently covered in paperwork. We had an unofficial tradition of a morning meeting every day, so we would all be on the same page about what needed to be done.

“Thanks, but no thanks. Can’t mess with my gains,” Lucas said as he finished chugging his water bottle. I blinked at him.

“If caffeine messed with gym gains, the American military would be in serious trouble.”