Chapter 1

Sunday

Present Day

“Sunday, c’mon, you gotta come with us tonight!” Bria pleads. “You haven’t really been out since you’ve been home. Cut loose a little.”

I look at my oldest friend and smile. “You know that’s not fair. I’ve spent most of the past two years having surgeries, and doing the recovery rehab work. Makes it hard to go out when your ass is covered in a protective bandage, and you’re wearing those ‘lovely’ compression garments. Besides, who the hell is going to want a freak like me? Even with all the surgeries, my left ass cheek, and thigh are horrible looking.”

“The right guy isn’t going to give a fuck,” Bria states. “Jonas was a pussy.”

Bria’s comment has me laughing out loud. “Oh my God. Tell me how you really feel,” I tease, the laughter evident in my tone.

“Well, he was! I mean, let’s get honest for a second, okay? If you had married him and stayed the course, eventually, shit would have started sagging and wrinkles would have formed. And if you had kids, you’d have that pooch thing going on with stretch marks, too. You might have gained weight or hell, I don’t know, lost a limb due to some obscure thing. He obviously didn’t have what it takes for the long haul, honey. I look at pictures of my grandparents when they got married, and they were both skinny and young. Now, my grandma is short and round, but my grandpa? He still worships the ground she walks on. He sees her inside, not the outside that doesn’t stay firm and youthful.”

“Fine, I’ll go, but only because it’ll get you off my ass.”

“We’re gonna have a blast and you know it,” Bria cheers, going to my closet. Thirty minutes later, I’m decked out in skinny jeans, an emerald green silky tank top, and my tan boots. Bria corralled my hair into a French braid, and I had applied a light coat of makeup. “Alright, you’re good to go, let’s blow this popsicle stand,” Bria advises. “If you get any prettier, I won’t have a shot at catching myself a man.”

“Whatever. You know you get your fair share of guys.”

“Not when you’re around, I don’t,” Bria retorts as we close and lock the doors, then head down to my car.

“Where are we going, anyhow?” I ask once we’re in the car, and buckled up.

“Ike’s.”

Shit, I like Ike’s, but sometimes, Jonas is there, and the last thing I want is to run into him. He married someone I knew from school, and now, lived in the same fucking town. If it weren’t for the fact I own my home outright, and my parents lived in the same town as well, I would have packed up and moved.

“What if… fuck… what if he’s there tonight?” I ask my friend.

“You ignore him, just like the other thousand times you’ve seen him around town.”

“It’s just that any time I do see him, it brings all of that pain back to the forefront.”

“I know…”

I cut my friend off, saying, “No, you have no fucking clue. I was lying in a hospital bed on my fucking stomach, my ass and leg pretty much open to the world when he came with my folks once they were notified. I saw the revulsion on his face. He looked like he wanted to puke. Then to break it off like he did? Yeah, no. No one knows how I fucking feel about him, or the situation. I know he probably wants to apologize, but I don’t want to hear it, or see him. Ever.”

Bria reaches her hand over and squeezes mine hard. “I’m sorry, Sunday. I don’t know about the physical pain you’ve endured, although I suspect it was far worse than what you’ve shared. I do know, though, that not all men are like him.”

“Let’s just have a great time, okay? Don’t think I’ll be meeting my Mr. Forever tonight, anyhow.”

“You never know,” she says, suggestively wiggling her eyebrows.

“From your mouth to God’s ear.”

Jett

Sitting at a table that”s in the back, hidden in the shadows, I’m sipping a beer when she walks in. Fuck, she just gets more gorgeous with each passing year.

No way she’ll wanna get involved with you, asshole, you’re a single dad, and a loser.

Shaking my head at my negative thoughts, I raise my hand for another beer. I can still watch, and maybe, just maybe, get a dance or two from her to store in my memory banks.

Sunday Cross was a breath of fresh air in high school. Her outgoing personality, and kindness toward others even when they were mean, was admirable. I grimace remembering how Stacey used to treat and mock her. God, what a fuck-up that was, staying involved with Stacey for all those years.

I should have broken it off with her, and gone after the woman who still consumes my thoughts, still to this day.

Only, I was young and dumb. Now, I have a child and am a single father trying to make it on my own. What woman would want to be involved with someone like me? My baggage alone from all the shit Stacey pulled is enough to have anyone running away, screaming in fear.

Face it, Jett, Stacey sucked you dry in more ways than one, then left you holding the bag.

Growling at my inner voice, who hasn’t shut up since I saw Sunday walk in, I down the rest of my beer. If I keep this shit up, I’ll need to get a sober ride home. Dusty deserves one parent who gives a fuck about him. I smile, thinking of my tow-headed little guy. At nearly eleven now, he’s sturdy, like I was at that age, according to my mom, and so curious about everything. Raising my hand, I catch my waitress’s attention and once she comes over, I ask for a glass of water for myself, then tell her to get whatever the two women are drinking, and put it on my tab, once I point out Sunday and Bria to her. Hopefully, it’ll start a conversation.

* * *

“Jett, thank you for the drinks,” Sunday shyly says, once she makes it over to my table.

“You’re welcome. Do you want a seat?” I ask. “It’s kind of crowded here tonight.”

She pulls out a chair, and sits down so we’re able to look at one another, which is good because that means I’ll be able to hear her when she says something.

“Right? Normally I’m not up for something like this, but Bria insisted, and you know she always gets what she wants.”

I can’t help it, I start laughing, because even though they were several grades lower than I was, in this small town, everyone knows everyone else, so Bria Chandler and her escapades are well-known.

“She forced you out, huh?” I ask in response.

“Yeah, she said no one remembered what I looked like, or some shit,” she teases. “Shit, I’m sorry I swore. Dammit, I did it again.”

My laughter erupts again, because now she’s got a very becoming blush staining her cheeks. “Sunday don’t apologize for swearing. Hell, Dusty’s first word was not ‘dada’!”

Her laughter rolls through me, causing my heart to beat a little faster. I know from the newspaper articles that she was severely injured while deployed, and since she’s been home, her focus has been on getting better, so she hasn’t been out and about all that much.

“My vocabulary definitely increased significantly while I was in the military,” she confesses, grinning at me. “Not like I can be mistaken for a guy, but I was one of a handful of women in our unit, so I got used to it.”

“I hate you got hurt,” I convey. “That any of you were injured, to be honest.”

A look I can’t decipher crosses her face before she takes a deep breath and responds. “Thank God none of us were killed. I just wish we had seen the signs ahead of time.”

“From what I understand, it was your quick thinking that kept all of you from that fate.”

She shrugs, then takes another sip of her drink. “True, but even still, it’s not one of my fondest memories.”

“I can’t imagine it is. Are you okay now?”

“They’ve done all the surgeries they can to make the repairs, now, I just need it to completely heal so I can decide what to do next.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

A flush crosses her face before she replies, “I’m thinking of finding a tattoo artist to see about covering the scars. The only thing is it would be a huge piece.”

“What are you thinking about getting?” My curiosity about her is all-consuming at this point; I want to know everything about her down to the smallest detail.

Instead of answering immediately, she pulls her phone out of her pocket, and opens up her pictures before sliding it in my direction. “I was thinking about something like this,” she states, as I start flipping through her photo gallery.

“Damn, these are spectacular,” I murmur, my eyes captivated by the flowing vines and flowers. Interspersed are dog tags, denoting the others who were on the mission with her. “These are the men you were with?” I ask.

“Yeah. I wanted to turn that shit storm into something beautiful.”

“Have you reached out to the tattoo artist yet?”

“I have an appointment next week for him to see the area. I know I can’t start on it yet because the skin is still healing, but I want to know what it’s going to cost, plus he’ll have an opportunity to create the design.”

“It’s going to look awesome when it’s done.” Hearing the music change, I ask, “Would you like to dance?”

I feel like I’m in ninth grade again, waiting with bated breath for her response.

“I’m not as swift on my feet as I used to be,” she admits.

“That’s okay, I’m no Fred Astaire.”

She giggles before nodding. “Since I’m no Ginger Rogers, we should be okay then.”