6. Jack

6

JACK

S uzie sips on her soda and sets it down on the wooden table. She looks at me expectantly, her sharp eyes suspicious.

I've thought about this moment so many times over the last three years, the moment I'd explain to Suzie why I left like I did. She'd nod, all understanding and sweetness, and then we'd kiss and make love and pick up exactly where we left off on that crazy two weeks one autumn when she was a student and I was on military leave, not a care in the fucking world.

But now that she's across from me, tiny creases at the corners of her eyes, her mouth turned down in a suspicious line, dark smudges under her eyes, and her hair pulled back in a sensible ponytail, everything I'd planned to say feels inadequate.

She's no longer the trusting student in awe of everything from the old country. Suzie's grown up. There's a hesitancy about her when she's around me, but also a new confidence in the way she carries herself, in the way she's not giving into me. I'm not going to get out of this with a charming smile and some pretty words.

I've only got one shot at convincing Suzie to give me another chance. And for the first time, I'm terrified I might fail.

I glance around the restaurant, buying time. The walls have a glossy shine, and the scent of fresh paint lingers in the air. It's been newly decorated, but the structure is old. A group of local men are gathered around the dart boards.

One of them leans too heavily on his right side, indicating an injury. The one going for the shot shakes a little, but he still gets a bullseye. The men are fit, despite being at an age where most men let themselves go.

They're ex-military is my guess. Short hair, muscular, injured. I wonder if we crossed paths. The one with the limp is drinking non-alcoholic beer, and he keeps glancing over at the little boy in the kids play area.

"This is a nice place. Family friendly."

Suzie folds her arms in front of her chest. "I didn't come here to talk about the restaurant, Jack."

I run my hand over my stubble. Now that the moment of truth is here, I don't know where to start. Probably with an apology.

"I'm sorry I left the way I did. It wasn't my intention to leave you like that."

Her eyes narrow. "Do you mean leave with no note, no text, no phone call, or do you mean the fact that you blocked my number and never answered any of my calls or texts again?"

There's no anger in her tone, and that makes it worse. I behaved like as asshole. She should be angry at me, but this resignation is worse.

I take a swig of my beer and wonder where the hell to start. "There are things you don't know about me."

She snorts. "There are a lot of things I don't know about you, Jack. Your last name for starters."

"Bligh. My name is Jack Wilbur Bligh."

"Wilbur?" She smiles. It's brief, but it's a smile at least. "Your middle name's Wilbur?"

"Named after my grandfather. He was killed in the Second World War."

Her face falls. "I'm sorry."

I take another swig of beer and shift in my seat. "He was awarded the Victoria Cross posthumously. He left my grandmother with a medal for bravery and my father in her belly. It wasn't until well after the war that they released the details of my grandfather's regiment. He was one of the founding members of the SAS, the British Elite force."

Suzie takes a sip of her drink and sets it down on the table, probably wondering why the fuck I'm telling her my family history and still not about myself.

"My grandfather was a legend to me growing up. My father went into the armed forces, and I joined up as soon as I was old enough. I grew up on the stories of my grandfather, and when I enlisted there was only one regiment I wanted to go into."

Her sharp mind picks it up immediately. "You went into the SAS?"

I nod and take another sip of beer. It's odd to talk about this after so many years of secrecy. The British government doesn't even talk about the SAS, and I didn't tell anyone I was in. Not even my mother. She thought I was still in the Parachute Regiment I first enlisted in.

"I was in the SAS when I met you. I was on leave visiting friends. I couldn't talk about it; I couldn't tell you."

Suzie sits back and folds her arms over her chest. "That's awfully convenient, Jack."

I take another swig of beer. "You don't believe me."

"It sounds like more bullshit to tell a gullible American. But I'm not that impressionable student anymore. I'm not going to believe you're some kind of James Bond."

I shake my head and suppress a chuckle. "James Bond is M15. If I was M15, we wouldn't be having this conversation. The SAS is equivalent to your Green Berets, but we're more discreet. You don't tell anyone, and you don't get photographed."

"You expect me to believe that?"

I let out a long slow breath, remembering that day three years ago. "The call came for an assignment while you were out. When the government says jump, you jump. They sent a car to pick me up, and when the car comes, you get in. It doesn't matter what you're in the middle of doing. I had a bottle of wine in my hand I'd picked up for dinner and two slices of cheesecake. I had to leave, Suzie, and I couldn't give any indication of where I was going."

"Not even a note, Jack? You could have left a note?" There's a flare of anger in her voice, and the layers of past hurt skim to the surface.

"Not even a note. It could have compromised you and the team."

She snorts. "So all these men just disappear when they're called, leaving their friends and girlfriends to wonder where they are. Sounds like bullshit to me."

"Once it's serious, you can ask for a background check. Then you can share minor details. But we'd only just met, and you were foreign. I thought there'd be time. I thought when I came back, I'd insist on the background check and then I could be more open with you. But by the time I came back, you'd gone."

She looks away and frowns. "I tried to find you, Jack. Your phone didn't work."

"No phones allowed on mission. I handed it over as soon as they picked me up. It's protocol. Nothing personal. I hated it, but there was nothing I could do. It was supposed to be a quick mission. A few days, a week at most. But it drew out, and three months later when I got back to the village, there was no sign of you."

"I came back here."

"You gave up your studies?" Suzie was so passionate about English history. It surprises me that she would've given it all up.

"My mother was dying. I came to be with her."

My heart goes out to her. I missed so much, and I hate that I wasn't around for her. "I'm so sorry."

"She fought the cancer for a lot of years, and it finally caught up with her."

I ache to take her hand, to pull her close and provide the comfort I should have given her at the time. "That must have been hard. I'm sorry I wasn't there, Suzie. I tried to contact you, but your number didn't work."

She takes a sip of soda and looks down at the table. "I didn't need my UK SIM anymore."

It seems odd that Suzie wouldn't keep in touch with her university friends. I'm about to ask why she didn't go back to finish her studies, but the food arrives.

A tall man with cropped hair and lines etched around his eyes brings it out, and Suzie greets him like an old friend. "Hey Corbin. How's Angie and the kids?"

"They're good." The man gives me a quick glance and I recognize the way his eyes travel over me, taking in every detail in one quick look.

"Are you ex-military?" I ask.

The man nods, and a smile plays on his lips. "Is it that obvious?" He holds out his hand. "Corbin Mathews, Second Marine Division."

"Jack Bligh, former British Army." It's an old habit to keep my military credentials to myself. I'm telling Suzie because it's the only way she might forgive me, but I'm not about to broadcast the fact that I was in special forces. "I worked with some of your team in Afghanistan."

We chat for a while, trading war stories, dancing around what isn't classified and keeping it general. I've become good at keeping conversation not focused on me.

"If you're sticking around, come join us veterans for a beer sometime." He indicates the men gathered around the dart board. "We meet every week for a drink, although it's becoming a daycare center lately."

Corbin leaves us to our meals, and Suzie raises her eyebrows at me. "You talk a good talk Jack, but do you have any evidence?"

Her question makes me smile, because I know my girl and I came prepared. Suzie studied ancient and medieval English history; evidence was the basis of her studies.

I pull a folder out of my bag and show her the photos of me in uniform. The ones from the field, scruffy and unkempt, not looking like regular soldiers but blending in when needed. Then the photos in formal uniform.

She peers at them for a long time. "I don't see any insignia."

"You don't with the SAS. We don't shout about who we are or what we do. We aim to fly under the radar."

She hands back the folder, and the suspicions are still there, but a little less. I'm getting through to her.

"Okay, you were in the military, but how do I know this SAS stuff is true?"

"What other explanation is there for leaving you like that? Come on. I'm not an asshole."

She raises an eyebrow at me like she doesn't agree. I wonder where the carefree, happy student I met went, and I hope like hell I wasn't the one responsible for the heaviness that surrounds her.