The Edge of Us (Crash and Burn Book 2) Page 10

  I gripped the steering wheel of my FJ, seeing Zeke’s silhouette in the rearview mirror. He was standing in front of the hotel entrance, his hands shoved in his pockets.

  “Get out of the car, Naomi,” I said to myself. I’d had more courage counting down the seconds before my team charged into an enemy camp in Yemen. “Get out of the fucking car.” I barked the words like I was a new militia recruit then scrambled for the handle, pushing my way out. I smiled when my feet touched the pavement, and Zeke smiled back.

  “Did you have problems with the food?” Zeke called, strolling across the lot.

  “Oh shit,” I said, reaching for the white plastic sack that had been riding shot gun since I’d left the Chinese place.

  I’d felt off ever since Trex and I had walked away from the soldier in Deep Echo, and I couldn’t shake it. Now I was meeting Zeke for the closest thing I’d had to a date since Matt was last home on leave.

  I kicked the FJ’s door shut, lost in that thought only to realize when I snapped back to the present that Zeke was standing two feet away, grinning like an idiot.

  “I wasn’t sure you were going to get out of the car,” he said.

  “Me either.”

  He took the sack from my hand and signaled for me to follow him inside. We walked together, but it felt too slow and forced, like he knew I was only pretending Plan B—me dropping the sack and peeling out in the FJ—wasn’t imminent.

  Zeke didn’t seem as nervous as I felt. Why the hell not? And why am I nervous? Spending time with him wasn’t a date date. We were eating takeout in his hotel room and maybe watching some pay-per-view.

  Zeke put one hand in the pocket of his gray sweatpants. Between those and his well-worn t-shirt, I felt better about my attire. My hair was pulled up in a messy bun. I might’ve put mascara and lip balm on, I couldn’t remember.

  He stopped just before the door sensors tripped, taking the white plastic sack from my hands. “Uh … Naomi?”

  I stopped, swatting away the gnats that had been drawn by the light from inside. “Yeah?”

  “Just ignore the guys.”

  “What? Did you tell them I already put out?”

  “No,” he said, horrified. “No, they just … love giving me shit. Especially since I took out Darby, and now you’re coming by.”

  “I figured that would be normal around here,” I said, looking up at the hotel. I thought about Trex’s news and the timeline. “This is none of my business, but … did you sleep with her? Darby?”

  Zeke made a face. “No. She’s not like that.”

  I couldn’t tell the truth, so I just kept my mouth shut. Darby had to have gotten pregnant right after Zeke and right out of the gate with Trex.

  He continued. “I haven’t told them you were coming, but they might say something. My roommate is out with his girl, so we’ll at least have some peace and quiet.”

  “Thanks for the warning. I’ll try not to cry.” I took a step toward the entrance, but his voice stopped me.

  “I was thinking more along the lines of you not kicking anyone’s ass. I work with these guys. Some of them are my bosses.”

  “Fine,” I said, unimpressed.

  “You look great,” he said with a small smile.

  I looked down. There was nothing special about my jeans, tank top, and flannel shirt. My boots weren’t even tied. “Uh … thanks.” I pointed to the sack. “I hope they got your order right.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m like a garbage disposal, I’ll eat almost anything.”

  With a tiny lean to the side, Zeke set off the sensors, and the doors swept open.

  “You should,” I said, walking alongside him. “You’re one hike away from weighing the same as me.”

  He laughed out loud. “Come on, now. I’m lean, but I’m not that lean.” He patted his stomach, sounding like he was beating a tree trunk. “Still got the ol’ six pack.

  “Who doesn’t?” I asked.

  He turned to me. “Prove it.”

  We both pulled up our shirts just enough to display the rippled skin beneath. He wasn’t kidding. He was solid.

  “I stand corrected,” he said, staring at my abs in awe.

  I put down my shirt, and we made our way through the lobby. Men and women were ambling about with mugs of beer in their hands. They were all talking until those we passed paused to take notice. I could see why Zeke was so uncomfortable. He knew the spotlight would be on us once we were inside. His friends knew we were seeing a lot of each other and were curious.

  “Sorry,” he said under his breath.

  “I’ve walked through more hostile crowds,” I said, stopping at the elevator bay. Darby had been standing at the bar discussing something with Reese, the female mechanic, and the bartender. She didn’t notice us, even when a fourth of the group stopped talking, including Reese.

  Zeke pressed the button, holding on to the takeout sack with both hands. It crunched every time he shifted or moved or breathed, which was a lot. At least he was nervous now too.

  The lobby was clean, which surprised me. I figured the hotshots would be staying in a dump to save the government money, but the paint was fresh, the baseboards clean, and there was a hint of carpet freshener in the air. The building was old, but the owner took pride in his business, making me feel better about Trex staying there.

  The elevator doors parted, but just before we stepped inside, I saw two men poke their heads around the corner to peek at us.

  Zeke saw them then looked at me to see if I did. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbled, embarrassed.

  He hurried in, pulled me with him, and pressed the second-floor button once, the button to close the doors several times until they sealed shut.

  I chuckled.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “It’s kind of funny.”

  He looked up. “I just don’t want you to break one of their arms and take them out for the season.”

  “Oh. That’s what you’re worried about.”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “You do have a temper.”

  “I mean … you’re not wrong,” I said, unable to argue. The doors opened, and a tall man bulging with muscles and covered in tattoos stood in front of us, holding a basket of laundry and seeming confused.

  “Hey, Zeke,” he said, watching me walk past him.

  “Hey, Taylor. I thought you were already at the café?” Zeke said.

  He looked at his watch and stepped into the elevator after Zeke stepped out. “Me too. Forgot some shit.”

  “This is Naomi,” Zeke said.

  “Nice to meet you,” Taylor said with a charming grin as the doors closed.

  “He’s bringing laundry to a café?” I asked, following Zeke down the hallway.

  “His girlfriend works there and lives in the apartment above.”

  I nodded once, looking around. “Gotcha. I figured I’d see Trex in the lobby.”

  “He might be in his room. You wanna stop by and say hi?”

  “Nah. I see him Monday through Friday at work.”

  Zeke seemed relieved to hear my answer. He slowed down and touched a card to the small black rectangle. Once the lock clicked, he held open the door and gestured for me to go inside. The lights were on, it was clean, and didn’t smell like a locker room.

  “You didn’t have to clean just for me.”

  “Taylor and I aren’t neat freaks, but we both like to keep shit picked up. That’s why we room together.”

  I sat on the bed. “Let’s eat. I’m starved.”

  “Oh,” he said, looking down at the sack in his hands like he’d forgotten he was holding it. He set it carefully on the bed, taking care not to tip anything over.

  I cleared my Styrofoam container several minutes before Zeke—which he found amusing. He twirled noodles around his fork and put it all in his mouth, savoring each bite. He chewed, took a sip of his water, and then cleared his throat. “You drink, eat, and fight l
ike a dude. What else should I know?”

  “Nothing really.”

  “You don’t wanna tell me your story?” Zeke asked.

  I pointed to the intricate tattoo on his forearm. Tall trees, some with leaves, some without; birds flying overhead, all over black ground that broke up and faded out near his wrist. “Tell me about that.”

  “You met Taylor in the hall. His brother is a tattoo artist in Illinois. I went back home with Taylor a few times and knocked out this bad boy. It’s the black.”

  “The black.”

  “The burned-out area the fire’s already been through. The place we couldn’t save, which—ironically—is the safest place to be.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “That’s pretty deep, Zeke.”

  “Shut up,” he teased.

  “I’m serious. You surprise me.”

  “Good,” he said, trying to suppress a grin. He finished his dinner, packed it up, and threw everything away. He turned on the television but kept it on mute, then sat in the ugly green chair next to the bed. I was thankful for the space. It was always hard to tell what was next when meeting someone new. That was the most stressful part. Do we talk? Do we flirt? Do we fuck?

  “What were you pissed about yesterday?” Zeke asked. He sat back, crossed his legs on top of an ottoman just as ugly and just as green as his seat, and relaxed, clearly settling in for a while. Hell, I’d rather awkwardly turn down sex than talk about my feelings.

  “It had to do with work. My boss is an old friend, and he made some decisions I didn’t agree with.”

  “Such as?” Zeke prompted.

  “Let’s just get something out of the way. I’m not allowed to talk about my job.”

  “Okay,” he said immediately.

  “Okay?” I repeated, defensive. I was so unprepared for such quick acceptance that my response carried an unnecessary acerbic tone. I cleared my throat to start over. “Okay.” I said it softer this time, even if it was forced.

  “Where are you from?” he asked, unfazed.

  “Arizona.”

  “Oh, yeah? What part? I have cousins in Phoenix.”

  “Everyone has a cousin in Phoenix.”

  He smiled. “You know, if you don’t want to talk, just say so. I can turn on a movie if you want.”

  “You invite me over and are okay if we don’t talk? Are you always this agreeable?”

  He thought about my words then shook his head. “No. Want a beer?”

  I nodded.

  He stood, walked across the room to the mini fridge, and pulled out two beers, using a bottle opener to pop the tops. He handed one to me and returned to the ugly chair.

  “Sasabe,” I said.

  “Pardon?”

  “I’m from Sasabe, Arizona. My father founded modern militia.”

  “Modern Militia?” he asked.

  “As opposed to the militias formed during the US Revolution.”

  I waited for him to be impressed, to ask more questions, to give me that look of confusion and awe the few who I told inevitably succumbed to, but he simply swigged his beer and nodded.

  “That explains a lot,” he said.

  The corners of my mouth turned up, and I looked down. “I guess so.”

  “I’m from up north.”

  “What does that mean? Canada?”

  “Kremmling.”

  I shrugged.

  “Colorado. About an hour and a half south of the Wyoming line.”

  “Figures.”

  “What does that mean?” he asked, genuinely curious.

  “I’ve been around my fair share of Colorado boys. You’re all outdoorsy, flannel-wearing, tree-hugging, sledding, hunting, fishing nature lovers. I’m surprised joining the forestry service in some capacity isn’t a rite of passage for all of you.”

  “What did you do? Before whatever you’re doing here?”

  “I’m a Marine.”

  “Still?”

  “Once a Marine always a Marine.”

  “Is that how you met Trex?”

  Be careful. Darby didn’t know about Trex’s past, and he didn’t want her to.

  “Trex was my husband’s best friend.”

  Zeke looked down at the band on my middle finger. “How long have you been a widow?”

  I pulled at my messy bun, feeling my hands begin to slick with sweat. His question was the very reason I avoided interaction with anyone new. “A while.”

  To my surprise, Zeke didn’t seem to mind my answer. He didn’t tense up or sigh. His shoulders were more relaxed than they were when I arrived. He had to have been thinking something, but he had a hell of a poker face.

  “He passed away a few years ago,” I clarified.

  Zeke’s cheeks filled with air, then he blew out, and his eyebrows shot up. “Damn. That fucking sucks.”

  I blew out a laugh, surprised. It did. Matt dying did fucking suck, but no one had ever put it quite so truthfully. “Yeah.”

  “Sorry, I’m shit at intense emotional stuff. I can give advice and empower someone all day, but the second they tell me about something sad and personal, it’s like my brain glitches.”

  I waved him away. “It’s fine. There’s no protocol for dead husbands. Trust me, I’ve heard it all. I like your response anyway. Better than thoughts and prayers.”

  Zeke chuckled. “What the hell does that even mean? They feel sorry for you before sending one up to the Almighty? What good is that going to do? The shit has already hit the fan at that point. If the Lord was going to help, you’d think he woulda done it before you needed those thoughts and prayers.”

  I laughed, the light feeling spreading throughout my entire body. It was the first time I’d felt better after telling someone about Matt’s death. Zeke got extra points for not wanting to know the details.

  My phone buzzed. I checked it, seeing an unknown number had texted me. I tapped the screen and knew immediately who it was. I rolled my eyes, tapped out a reply, and put down my phone. Zeke started to say something, but it buzzed again.

  I silenced it.

  “Is that your dad? Are you past curfew?”

  “Worse. One of my bosses.”

  “Oh, shit. Did you get called in?”

  “I don’t get called in. It’s a day job. My boss… It’s complicated. We’re both from Sasabe. We were childhood best friends. We were sort of each other’s first loves. We broke up when he got engaged to the woman he’s married to now. Like I said…”

  “Me inviting a girl who can beat my ass to my hotel room is complicated. What you just described is a clusterfuck, Naomi.”

  I giggled. “True.” I checked my phone again. “He lied to me, and it would appear that he now knows that I know.”

  “Uh oh. What are you going to do?”

  “Not respond to his texts. That’s all I can do for now.”

  “That’s actually torture. My ex used to do that shit to me right after we broke up, and I hated it. It’s like getting a finger stuck in a bullet wound.”

  “Have you been shot before?”

  He frowned. “Have you?”

  “A few times.”

  “Shut up. Are you serious?” When I stared at him blankly, he squirmed in his seat—something I enjoyed immensely. “I haven’t … been shot. Or shot at.”

  “What is that?”

  “What?” he asked.

  “That look on your face. What does that mean?”

  “You want the truth?” he asked, preparing to tell it.

  I nodded.

  “I’m struggling with how inferior I feel around you, and every time you tell me something about yourself, it makes that feeling worse.”

  “Wow. You’ve got stones telling me that.”

  He shrugged. “You asked for the truth.”

  “And you just give it, huh?”

  “Why not?” He watched me, not waiting for my reaction but studying me, trying to figure me out.

>   “I’ve heard I take some getting used to.” I stood. “You’re sort of the same.”

  He smiled at that.

  “Another beer?” I asked.

  Zeke looked at his bottle, still almost half-full. “I’m good.”

  “Mind if I…”

  “Go for it,” he said.

  I grabbed a second bottle from the mini-fridge and popped the top, sitting back on the bed. I smiled at the bottle. “This is good. I like this.”

  “Yeah?” Zeke said, a new light in his eyes.

  “Yeah. What are you doing later this week?”

  Zeke seemed deflated. “I’m on the mountain tomorrow. We’ll be up there for about ten days then cycle out, take a few days off, then we’re back up.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s unfortunate.”

  Zeke pressed his lips together, struggling with whatever he was about to say. “Becca and I broke up not long after I took this job. I tried dating a flight attendant hoping she would understand my schedule, but I think us both being so busy made it worse.”

  “We’re not dating.”

  “I didn’t mean that, I just meant…”

  “I know what you meant. And it’s cool.”

  “Just text me when you’re back.”

  “You don’t have do that, you know. I mean … I like that part of you. But it’s just one part of you.” I offered a half smile, and relief softened his features. “I’m going to text you,” he said.

  “Good.”

  He leaned forward, holding out his bottle. I clinked mine to his, and we drank with a smile.

  chapter thirteen

  fire

  Zeke

  “W

  ipe that grin off your face, Zeke, it’s creepy,” Tyler said, digging just ahead of me.

  The sun was beginning to set. We were hungry and tired, and all we had waiting for us was sleeping bags on the ground and some MREs. Tyler had been sullen all day, but we were twelve hours in, and he was still hacking at the ground like it had insulted his mother.

  His girlfriend, Ellie, had been following us around different fires with her camera doing an ongoing story for the local magazine. She was talented and didn’t complain about the hikes, the cold, or the dirt—a nice surprise for a girl whose dad regularly dined with politicians and went to business meetings with people like Elon Musk and Bill Gates. Tyler was still nursing a bruised ego after she unleashed her wrath on him when she was denied access to the mountain.