She grasped my hand and gripped tight as hell.
“I miss you,” I whispered, not looking down at our hands, yet still memorizing the warmth radiating from every fingertip. I felt it in my soul, in my bones: we were meant to be together, just not how I’d originally thought.
Trace squeezed tighter. “I miss you too, Chase.”
“I’m sorry,” we said in unison, finally looking into one another’s eyes. I reached across the seat and pulled her in for a hug. Her smell was so familiar, but this time, I didn’t react in the same way. There was no desire to do anything except hold on to one of my best friends. Regardless of how things ended between us. I’d give my life for hers. Still.
“Not as sorry as I am,” Trace said in a small voice. “Chase, you promised me you’d never leave, but you did.”
“Trace — I got married. I had to—”
Her head shook against my shoulder. She pulled back and reached for my hand again, our fingers locked with each other, “Getting married is one thing, but you promised you’d never leave. When I thought Nixon—” Her throat cleared. “When I thought he died, you made me a promise. Please keep it.”
“I promise.” I licked my lips and squeezed her hand tight within mine. “I won’t leave you. I mean it when I say I miss you. I miss your laugh. I miss your smart-ass comments and your stupid cow keychain. I miss it, not because I still want it for myself — I think, well… I think I’m finally over that hurdle or at least I’m trying to be. I just miss our friendship.”
“Threatening people on my behalf and buying me ice cream isn’t just friendship, Chase.”
“It isn’t?” I laughed. “Then what is it?”
“It’s friendship on fire.”
“So we’re burning up again?” I released her hand and smirked.
“Always.”
We both exhaled and leaned back in our seats, happy in the silence of the moment.
Mil was still talking to Nixon. Correction, Nixon was talking to her, and she was trying her best not to punch him. At least that’s what I was getting from their freaky body language.
“She hates me, you know,” I said aloud.
Trace followed the direction of my gaze and snorted. “You’re an idiot.”
“Huh?” I flipped around in my chair. “Didn’t we just have this really special talk? Nice moment? Water under the bridge?”
“Right.” Trace smacked me on the shoulder. “Doesn’t mean you’re not still an idiot. That girl,” Trace pointed, “is head over heels in love with you. She’s just afraid.”
“And you get that? What? From her predatory glance in my direction every few seconds?”
“Kiss her.”
“I have,” I said defensively.
“Not like that, Chase.”
“I don’t know what you—”
“Not out of anger.” Trace sighed optimistically. “Kiss her because you want to.”
“And if she punches me in the face?”
Trace pulled out a magazine and shrugged. “Then make sure she gets the left side so your bruises match.”
“Wow. In another life you could have been a marriage counselor.”
Trace laughed just as Nixon walked up. “You guys good? Because if you aren’t, I’m going to freaking lose my head.”
“We’re good.” I nodded, still a little pissed at Nixon’s attitude toward Mil. I got it. He was trying to make her strong by tearing her down, making her weakness nonexistent. But still, she was my wife. I didn’t have to like his methods.
“Mil needs you, Chase.” Nixon gave a curt nod and plopped down next to Trace.
“Does Chase need a shield or body armor before he goes into enemy territory?” This from Trace.
“Nah, just protect your balls. You should be fine.” Nixon chuckled and planted a kiss on Trace’s lips.
“Bastard.” I walked off toward Mil and cringed when she directed her glare at me. I chanted Trace’s words in my head, just kiss her, kiss her, kiss her like — I stopped in my tracks. A few guys were trying to get her attention. Oh, hell no.
I lunged for Mil’s arm, pulled her against my body, and crashed my mouth onto hers, all before she could even gasp for breath.
She sucked in my every exhale — like I was her lifeline. My mouth worked against hers, tenderly nipping at her lips. My hands dove into her silky hair. I’d always loved that hair, but it was like my mouth was jealous of my hands and vice versa. I broke the kiss and moved my lips to her neck. A curtain of hair fell across my face; it may as well have been velvet.
“Chase—”
“Stop talking.” My mouth found hers again, and I was lost. Damn it. Trace had been right. I allowed myself the small opportunity to forget about everything around me and memorize her.
“Chase—”
“Not now, Mil.” I growled against her mouth.
“I think,” Nixon’s irritating voice sounded behind me, “what your wife is trying to tell you is that it’s time to board the plane.”
I broke away from her, my body trembling from adrenaline.
“Good show.” Nixon laughed and walked off.
I, however, could not walk.
I stared at Mil. She stared right back.
“Why’d you kiss me?”
It took me a few seconds to find my voice. “You’re my wife.”