Grey Skies - A Military Romance (Complete)

Grey Skies: Chapter 12

"Whoa." Max held up his hands before him. "Sorry."

"Excuse me." She sidestepped the burly man, kicking herself for noting his broad chest and solid biceps. "Need to check on the turkey."

He shifted out of her trajectory and pulled a beer from the fridge. "Are we okay?"

"What?"

"I mean, you... well, you left without... I don't know if you want me here."

"Of course I do." The light in his eyes made her insides twist. Best to nip this budding crush, or whatever this was right now. A long time ago, she'd set certain rules. She could play, but the moment her flavour of the week caught feels, the meal was done. One bite of dessert and she'd pay the bill and leave him. Living in the same house, she wouldn't be able to ghost Max. "You're Finn's friend. He needs you."

"You know about..." His beer bottle swung toward the door.

"I've been living here for two months. Hard not to notice." She cocked a hip. "It's getting worse. He spends too much time locked away in that office of his. I always suspected he was drinking in there, but now its spilled over to dinner and evenings. Something's gotta give."

"It's that bad?" Sophie nodded and Max's mouth turned south. "He was never much of a drinker."

"What about you?" Max's fingers curled around the bottle. "Do you drink much?"

His grip relaxed. "Only the occasional beer when off duty."

"Which you are now."

The long sigh seemed like a mixture of relief and maybe remorse. "Two entire months."

"Are vacations in the Navy usually that long?" She uncorked a bottle of white and poured herself a glass, Max watching her every move. The tart liquid did nothing to quell the thirst she'd developed in the last few minutes.

A hint of a smile played on Max's lips. "We call it leave, not vacation. No. it's pretty rare. I deferred my time off for two years."

"You've been at sea for two years?"

The smile crashed and burned. "No. I had duty on land a few times."

"You must be exhausted."

"Actually, I like the life. Things are... simpler when I'm on board. There's a routine." His gaze flickered to hers. "A rhythm. I know what to do and when to do it."

"I get that." She ran her finger along the cotton dish towel sitting on the counter. "In the restaurant there's food prep, then guests start arriving and meals to be made until the end of the shift, when it's time to clean up. There's an order to things."

"Order. That's it."

A bell chimed, and Sophie remembered the reason she'd come to the kitchen. "Excuse me, I need to check the bird."

"I'm looking forward to a home cooked meal. It's been a while." Max took a sip of his drink. "I chose the best holiday to be here."

"Actually, I'm not a fan of Thanksgiving."

"Really? Is it the turkey? I know some people find it too dry."

"Not the way I make it." She released the tension in her shoulders. Max wasn't purposefully insulting her cooking. "I met my fiancée on Thanksgiving. We were both volunteering at a shelter, serving the community a meal."

"You're engaged?" The question pressed into the tender spot under her ribs like it did every time her past came up. Which was less and less these days. Emily's voice filtered in from the living room. Once upon a time, Emily and Thomas had been friends, so close they'd all spent holidays together. Now his name was a memory and Thomas never came up in conversation.

Intent on her mission, Sophie checked the thermometer on the turkey, then her watch. The bird was on schedule. She had another hour before the potatoes had to be on. "I was."

"Oh." She could feel his stare on her back, hear him shifting closer.

The question "what happened" hung in the air between them like a thick fog. Far too many times she'd told this story, yet it was particularly painful today. For the past ten years, she'd spent this holiday with the Harrington family, eight of those years without her fiancée. His parents and younger brother treated her like she was family, even though she'd never officially became Thomas's wife. Today was the first time she'd strayed from the traditional Harrington gathering. Not making the trip to New York felt like a betrayal.

Glass of wine in hand, she took a seat beside Max at the breakfast counter. "He died."

The beer bottle in Max's hand froze halfway to his mouth. "I'm so sorry."

"It's fine." Except it wasn't fine. One day she and Thomas sat on the veranda of his parent's place finalizing plans for their honeymoon, the next, her life was ripped away from her. "It was a long time ago."

"The pain of losing someone you love never goes away." There was a softness in his voice that spoke volumes. He'd lost someone as well. Her friends had lost family members and Emily had thought she lost Finn, but she got him back. No one she knew understood the agony of being left behind. Of having someone they loved just disappear with no chance of them returning.

She was drawn to that pain. Saw it in his sad eyes. "You lost someone too?"

He nodded and a damn somewhere inside of her cracked. Perhaps it was the fact of sitting here, in the quiet of the kitchen, with another person who could comprehend the constant ache of having half of their soul missing while happy couples laughed in the next room.

Max's thumb traced the line of her cheek and the gentle touch reverberated through her, an echo of the tender moments they'd shared in this house five months ago. "Don't cry," he pleaded.

She blinked, and the world blurred. It had been years since Sophie cried. The months after Thomas died, she'd shed enough tears to fill a bathtub. Eventually she learned to bury her grief, paint on fake smiles and walk around pretending to the world she wasn't broken inside. Layer upon layer of gloss patched over the fissures of her broken heart and she moved through the world as if she were whole. Eventually, she almost even believed it herself. Then Thanksgiving rolled around and the temporary band aid peeled away, revealing the same old wound that never healed.

Here, in the warmth of this kitchen, Max looking at her like he saw the cracks, she couldn't keep up the masquerade. He withdrew his finger, and Sophie missed the comfort his touch had offered. "What happened?"

"His mother killed him." Her hand flew to her mouth as if she could take the words back. She hadn't meant to say that. "I'm so sorry. I don't know where that came from. He was in a car accident, hit by a drunk driver."

Max's forehead crinkled. "His mother was driving?"

"No, no. She wasn't in the car. It was late at night, and he was on the way to pick up his brother. The other driver ran a stop sign, pushed Thomas's car off the road the man was going so fast."

"That's horrible. But why did you say his mother killed him?" Max's fingers inched closer to hers where they sat on the granite counter.

"He..." The memories of that day flooded in, and she focused on the fine grey lines that thread through the material of Max's tie. "He survived the crash, but barely. They had him on life support for about a week, and someone had to make a decision. The doctors said his organs were failing, and he'd never wake up." A hand landed on hers and she closed her eyes, focusing on the warmth it offered. "Someone had to make a decision. I wasn't family. His mother gave the order to shut down the machines."

"And you've never forgiven her?"

She shook her head. "Evelyn had no choice. I can see the logic. But my..." she placed her hand over her heart. "I don't know how she could do it. He was still there. Still alive."

The damn burst and years of guilt and resentment at her not quite mother-in-law's choice spilled out of her in silent sobs. Her fingers dug into the soft cotton of Max's shirt as she leaned into his embrace. Solid arms held her, and she soaked up the comfort.