Page 34 of Will Bark for Pizza
“Grandpa passed out in his recliner?”
“With reruns ofM*A*S*Hplaying? Yep.”
We shared a smile, and dammit if my heartbeat didn’t skip. There was something about this redhead that just messed with my internal workings. I barely knew her, but now that the connection was made, I realized I knew her a lot better than I should. Her brothers talked about her all the time while we served. She was a part of their childhood stories, woven into their history.
“Have a seat,” I offered.
She wrapped her arms around her chest, revealing a hint of shape beneath the oversized sweatshirt that hung nearly to her knees. I couldn’t quite make out the words on the front of it, but it had something to do with being a writer and the warning that came with it.
“I really should get to bed.”
“Your bed’s not going anywhere.”
What was I doing?
She glanced down at Husker, then at a chair next to mine, and finally, she came closer and sat. Husker circled her chair and ended up in the gap between our seats.
“I’d offer you a beer, but I don’t drink.”
She ran her hand along the back of Husker’s neck. “I wouldn’t accept it if you did.”
“I thought we were past the serial killer accusations,” I teased, poking a stick through one of the larger openings in the grate to move around the burning sticks and keep a healthy space between us. Husker helped, but I didn’t know if that’d be enough to ward off the magnetic pull that seemed to exist between us.
“I don’t drink. Anymore.”
I wanted to ask why. Hell, I wanted to ask a whole lot more than that, but I sensed her hesitation. Instead, I offered up a piece of my story I rarely shared, hoping it would put her at ease.
“My dad’s an alcoholic,” I said. “It made him mean and unpredictable.”
“So you’ve never touched a drop?” she guessed.
“I wish I could say that.” I let out a heavy sigh and sat back in the chair, gazing up at the star-filled sky. It wasn’t as though I’d never seen a night sky like this one, but until Colorado, I’m not sure I ever appreciated the peace it offered. I had the overwhelming urge to share everything with Red, but the good sense not to. “I haven’t touched a drop since my first deployment. Ten years ago.”
“Do you miss it?” she asked.
“No.”
“I don’t miss it, either. But it’s only been a year.” She stole a side glance at me I pretended not to notice, as though waiting for me to admit I knew something about her. I was curious, but offered up nothing. She went on. “I don’t think I’ll ever miss it, either. There’s something incredibly freeing about that, you know?”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
Because I did know. My father was a prisoner of alcohol,among other things. I wondered many times what his life would have become if he’d been able to control his drinking. Been able to stop afterjust one beerlike he said so many times. Maybe we could have been the happy family I always wanted.
But despite the disease I knew it was to him, he had a choice to give in or to fight it. He chose not to fight it.
“What about your sister?” Kira asked.
“She drinks socially. Or she did, before the twins.”
“How old are they?”
“Just turned four. Lexi and Liam.” I nearly pulled my phone from the pocket of my flannel jacket to show her the latest picture of them, but I caught myself before my fingers wrapped around it. It was better if we kept things as impersonal as possible. I didn’t know how long Kira would be in town. I learned over dinner that she resided in Omaha, and surprised everyone with her unannounced visit. I just had to survive the few days she was here without doing something reckless.
“Your mom?”
“You ask a lot of questions,” I said, firing her earlier accusation from the lake back at her. It came out flirtier than I intended, but that didn’t seem to stop me from flashing her a half smile.
She tucked her knees beneath the oversized sweatshirt, her painted toes dangling from the edge of the chair. I still couldn’t make out what the words said because she kept her arms wrapped around the front of it.
