Page 4 of Corey
Survivor’s guilt was a bitch. Knowing he’d failed tore him up inside. Shredded his soul.
Staring at the water swirling down the drain, he blinked his wet lashes. Hot tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and guilt punched him in the heart harder than that fucking sniper’s bullet.
He didn’t make promises anymore.
???
Thank Christ the nightmares didn’t come every night like they used to. But they still came often enough considering the event happened almost twenty years ago. The anniversary of the ill-fated mission was fast approaching, and Corey tamped that thought down fast.
“Lock it down, Emerson,” he ordered himself, reaching for another small puzzle piece. He sat at a table that gave him a perfect view of the rear of his property—endless forest, a river winding through the trees and the small building where he forged steel blades. After studying the colors and shape of the piece, he looked down at the half-completed jigsaw puzzle laying in front of him. The image was an eagle soaring over a lake. It was nine-thousand pieces and the box touted the title as “Free.”
He hadn’t felt free in a very long time.
Working on challenging puzzles was one of his coping mechanisms, as was forging blades and chopping wood. And, of course, baking. The past couple of weeks had been especially tough—probably since the anniversary was bearing down on him—so he’d lost himself in a frenzy of pastries. Glancing over at the kitchen counter stacked with Tupperware containers filled with cookies, bear claws, croissants and cinnamon rolls, he knew it had gotten out of hand. He’d even tried his hand at a cherry strudel.
When the depression finally eased its chokehold, like it inevitably did, Corey found himself ready to escape the cabin. He could go for a brisk walk, but it was cold outside. Besides, he needed to force his ass to be social before he turned into a complete hermit.
Corey also needed to unload twelve containers of baked goods. That meant a trip to Old Glory, the bar Brandon Ward, a former Delta Force guy, owned and where his friends routinely hung out. Either that or open a bakery. And that might prove to be too much social contact for his coping skills.
After snapping another puzzle piece into its correct place, Corey stood up and stretched. Rolling his neck, he tried to work out the seemingly permanent kinks. Time to put some clothes on and face the world. As much as he loved the rustic cabin with its high beamed ceilings and open layout, sometimes, after a particularly rough go of it, it felt stifling.
He walked through the living room and into his first-floor bedroom, Storm on his heels. After exchanging his worn T-shirt and sweatpants for a blue plaid flannel shirt and a pair of worn jeans, he dropped down into a chair and pulled on a pair of old work boots.
“I won’t be long,” he told the wolf, grabbing his truck’s keys off the dresser. “Hold down the fort, okay?”
Storm looked up at him with soulful, golden eyes. Other than Murph, the wolf was his best friend. They understood each other on some primal level he couldn’t explain but was grateful for every single day.
Back in the kitchen, Corey stuffed the Tupperware containers into two brown grocery bags. Out of nowhere, a wave of dizziness hit him. Leaning a hand on the counter, he wondered why he felt so exhausted. Maybe it was just all the emotions he’d been dealing with lately, or maybe he was on the verge of getting sick.
The weather had turned cold, and December was the snowiest month of the year. Montana was currently in ski season, and the crowds had come back a few weeks ago. He didn’t do well in crowds anymore. It was one of the reasons he’d moved to Cielo Springs after he’d separated from the military. Truth be told, he was more comfortable living in a rustic cabin halfway up a mountain than in some fancy apartment in a crowded city.
Corey had spent the last twenty years telling himself the safest way to live was alone. The hope of finding someone special had faded away a long time ago. He was too fucked-up emotionally and had a helluva lot of baggage that he didn’t expect any woman to deal with. But now that his Motley Crew of former military buddies were finding women to spend their days and nights with—hell, theiryearswith—it made growing older by himself a little harder.
In the past twelve months, Brand had found Julia, and they were already engaged. Murph had been reunited with his wife Ellie, the love of his life who he thought had died. And, mostrecently, the ever-grumpy Chaz Madden had married Lottie, adopted her little girl, Reya, and they were expecting. Corey wasn’t sure what was going on in Cielo Springs, but two of his friends who’d claimed to be sworn bachelors were now so madly in love, they practically had little hearts floating in their eyes.
With a shake of his head, Corey pulled his coat on, locked the front door and put the grocery bags in the back seat of his truck. A quick glance up at the gray sky made him frown. It looked like a storm was brewing. The kind that would drop a few feet of snow up on the mountainside. His cabin’s heat had conked out last week, but he’d fixed it. He was handy like that. Now the generator was on the fritz, so he’d look into that disaster waiting to happen when he got back. Luckily, once he got a good fire blazing, it warmed the cabin up pretty quickly.
The truck’s engine roared to life and gravel crunched beneath the tires as he headed down the long winding road that dumped him at the edge of town. Old Glory was on the opposite end of Main Street, so he cruised past the small shops and a couple of restaurants. Tourists roamed up and down the street, keeping the small businesses alive and well.
It didn’t take long for Corey to reach Old Glory. The bar was a hole in the wall, but cozy and popular, and he barely found a parking spot. The place was jam-packed tonight. Good for business, not great for Corey. But he’d sit at their usual table in the back corner beside the fireplace and drink a beer to help him chill out.
After turning the truck off, he sat there for a minute, hands clenched around the steering wheel. “C’mon, Cor,” he whispered, giving himself a pep talk, “get your ass in there and attempt to be social. Normal, like everyone else.”
Readjusting to civilian life was a constant struggle for him and, truth be told, he’d never been able to fully do it. It felt good to be part of a team again, though. Mitch Evans, Julia’s father, sent them on clandestine missions that were too hot for spec ops to handle. So far, they’d taken down a drug lord, decimated Indonesian pirates and neutralized a mafia kingpin.
Maybe Mitch had contacted Brand about a new assignment in the last few weeks. Since Corey had been MIA—meaning he ignored text and phone calls—he was curious. In the end, that’s what got his ass out of the truck. If he couldn’t deal with his problems, at least he could run from them.
Grabbing the grocery bags, he headed inside. Just like the parking lot predicted, the bar was hopping and at capacity. Pausing on the threshold, trying not to feel overwhelmed, Corey looked over to where his friends always sat—and there they all were, talking and laughing with each other.
Pulling in a deep, steadying breath, he started walking toward them. Lex spotted him first and grinned a bright-white smile. Alexander “Lex” Battle was the playboy in their group, still snagging women with ease at forty-five. He knew all the right things to say, and Corey rarely saw the former Navy pilot with the same woman twice.
“Well, if it isn’t the Mane Attraction,” Lex announced cheekily, and the others greeted Corey. “The Facial Fortress, Whisker Wonderland, Beardacus Maximus!”
“Shut up, Lex,” Corey said good-naturedly, setting the bags down on the table then bumping knuckles with the other man before repeating the gesture with Chaz, Brand, Jayson, Xander and Murph. He ran a self-conscious hand over his beard. Maybe it was time to at least trim it up a bit. But he used it to hidebehind, and it had been a very long time since he’d been without it. Hell, it was like his security blanket.
Weston “Murph” Murphy pulled the empty chair out beside him. “Have a seat, Cor.” His friend frowned. “You okay? You look a little pale.”
Corey shrugged a shoulder. “I think I might have a cold coming on. No big deal.”
