CALLEN (Second Chance Novels Book 3) (6 page)

"I'm curious to see you outside of the prison, too."

She quirks her brow. "I accept that. Then we'll both work on hiding ourselves and figuring each other out. This should be quite an evening."

I keep eye contact with her. "You feel the need to hide yourself?"

She tilts her head and gives nothing away. She simply responds, "Like I said, this should be interesting."

"Then I'll pick you up at seven. Dress for five-star."

She quirks her eyebrows again.
 

"Let me write down my address," she says as she reaches for a sticky note, containing any further reaction to the extravagant nature of the restaurant.

I chuckle. "I already know it."

With that, I leave her subtly gaping behind me.
 

Now I need to call Ledger and get a table tonight at his best property.
 

I get in a workout and a shower in before I pull a crisp charcoal suit from my closet. Choosing a tie takes some effort, knowing she'll read into any choice I make. Anything with red would indicate power-tie, which is not my goal for the evening. No, I'm looking for something neutral. Anything pastel would be inappropriate for an elegant evening, and anything too dark she would see as somber. I can't let her in on the depth of my grief.
 

I opt for a light gray tie with subtle purple pattern. A perfect windsor knot and brushed-nickel cufflinks finish the look. I can work my charm to the hilt with perfect subtlety. If my actions play accordingly, she'll assume she's seeing all sides of me, and give up on all the scrutiny.

I arrive at her small, but very well-kept house exactly on time. I thought about bringing her a single daisy, but such a move would be overkill. I swear I'm strategizing this dinner with the level of planning I employed to overthrow an African warlord.

"Callen," she greets with a smile as she opens the door.

Holy mother of…

Quinn Porter is
beautiful
. Feminine, gentle curves hidden in her work attire are accented perfectly in her fitted dress. The dark green fabric complements her flawless skin, and her glossy brown hair falls in gentle waves to her shoulders. Subtle, classy makeup accents her soft features, leaving me in awe.
Beautiful
may not be strong enough a word. The definition of woman stands before me, and I have to gather my wits simply to greet her.

"Quinn," I smile softly as I lift her hand to kiss the knuckles with socially-appropriate reverence. I notice the contrast between her fingers and the rough, semi-swollen knuckles of my own hand. Maybe I shouldn't have kissed her hand like that, but my lips seemed to act on their own. I remain in confused awe I can't seem to contain. What the hell is happening to me?

Without permission, though, my brain flickers to a memory of Evvie in her own elegant dinner dress at the museum function when I first met her. I remember her beauty. Her blond hair and ivory skin float through my consciousness, and I'm hit with how deeply I love her.
 

I love her. I failed her. And somehow, standing at Quinn's door makes me guilty of being unfaithful to her. Working dinner or not, an evening out with a beautiful woman is wrong, at least until John Bennett is in the ground.

I'm sure my face falls, because I can see Quinn's reaction to my sudden change in mood. Thinking as quickly as I'm able, I act as though I have an incoming phone call.

"Excuse me, I have to take this," I say apologetically as I step a few paces away. I can feel Quinn watching me closely as I fake my way through a nonexistent conversation. When I go through the motions of hanging up, she's still eyeing me.

"Is everything ok?" she asks.
 

"No, I'm sorry, there's an emergency at work. We'll have to postpone. I'm so sorry."

With no other goodbye, and in a state of chest-aching grief, I walk quickly to my car and leave Quinn at her door, assessing me all the way down the street.

Life was so simple when I lived without emotion.

An hour after I get home from Quinn's, I remain in my car with my head dropped back to the headrest. I stare at my house, the one I shared with Evvie for less than a week. She wasn't there long, but I remember every moment. Her presence sweetened the entire house and made me appreciate the concept of a home, maybe for the first time ever.
 

I enjoyed many firsts with Evelyn. The experience of dedicating myself with my heart rather than a sense of duty changed the very concept of action for me. I can't say I
enjoyed
waiting to be with her, but I did enjoy honoring and respecting someone I cared about. The most important first however, was love. I loved Evelyn, which also brought my first experience with true grief in my life outside the Army.

With a deep sigh, I pick up my phone and dial the one person who knows every side of this. She's the only person I've really talked in depth about my feelings for Evvie. "Shelby?"

"Hey, Cal," she says in an understanding tone. This isn't the first evening I've called her looking for an ear. "Need a drinking buddy?"

"I really do."

Shelby hangs up and is at my house within a half hour. She's struggling with her own grief. Not only did she lose her relationship with Mason, she lost both of her parents since then. I don't think she's told anyone but me. Her sense of loss is too great to talk about casually, and she's prone to locking her emotions inside anyway.

I hand her a shot glass the minute she's through my door. She clinks the tiny glass with mine and tosses the fiery liquid back.
 

"It's that kind of night," she nods.

"Yeah," is all I can say. She looks at me with understanding.

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not enough alcohol yet. You?"

"No."
 

We both chuff a sad sort of sigh before downing another shot.
 

Two more later and I gaze at her glassy eyes. The alcohol helps me break the silence.
 

"I was supposed to be on a date tonight."
 

Shelby's eyebrows shoot up. "You were?"

"Yep. I took one look at her and bolted. She was beautiful. Too goddamn beautiful."

"Callen," she scolds. "Don't do that to yourself. It's ok to move on."

"Hypocrite."

She frowns and steers the conversation to me again. "So who'd you almost take out?"

I tell her everything, straight down to the reason for the date and my utter confusion about Quinn Porter. Shelby listens as always. That's one of the things I love about Shelby. She cares and doesn't judge. Mason may be my brother, but Shelby has become my best friend.
 

"What about you, Shelby? How are you about your parents?"
 

"I wish I had a sibling to help. I'm still dealing with probate. My parents didn't plan well. They probably thought they had time to do it later."

"I can help you," I offer.

She shakes her head. "No, you have enough going on."

I tilt my head in annoyance. "You can rely on me, Shel. Not everyone is going to leave you."

"Ha. My parents. Mason. Cam. No, I'm learning to do life on my own."

I sigh at her drunken pity party and smirk at my own. I'm about to pontificate on true friendship when Shelby asks a question.
 

"So…," she starts with her head cocked to the side. "How'd you get the nickname
Bash
?"

Her deliberate change of subject makes me smirk. "That's a lifetime ago."

"From your Army days with Mason?"

I shake my head. "Long before Mason joined the unit."

Shelby waits for me to talk, and stares pointedly at me. "Do I need to pour you another shot?"

I chuckle. "It really isn't a big story."

"Bullshit. If that were true, you'd tell me without the pathetic brush off."

I smirk and shake my head at her again. She's too damn smart for her own good. Shelby shakes her head and waits for me to continue. I tap into my training and fall into a practiced show of nonchalance. She doesn't need to know how much the memory affects me. The name
Bash
is pinioned at the turning point in my life. I hand my glass to her in an obvious surrender and wait for her to fill the glass with Jack.
 

"To stories better left untold," I toast.

"And to the pansy-ass soldiers afraid to tell them," she clinks.

We both toss back the shots, too drunk to notice the sting. I sit with my elbows on my knees and stare at the floor for a moment. I chuckle before I start.
 

"Ok, my first year of Special Forces, I was training for person-to-person combat. We didn't play it half-way for practice. Each fight was real. And I was good."
 

"Cocky little bastard, aren't you?" Shelby grins.

"Accurate little bastard," I correct with a smile now. "After a month or more of training in different forms of combat, I was put up against the only other new member of the unit. We went at each other like animals, each trying to demonstrate our dominance. At one point I shouted
I'll bash your fucking head in
."

Shelby furrows her brow in confusion. "That's it? You said the word
bash
once?"

"No," I say thoughtfully. "The senior leader of the unit pulled me off and dragged me to the wall where he pinned me, forearm to throat. He stared me in the eye with more darkness than I ever thought would be possible. Scared me half to death."

The memory sits with me strongly, and I take a moment to collect myself before I continue. Shelby waits patiently, and I appreciate the hell out of her for being the friend she is. After a deep breath, I force more words.

"He stared me down and then drew back hard, but only faked an iron jab to my gut. I flinched to the point of cowering. He looked at me in disgust, and all he said was
I thought so
."

"His point?" Shelby asks after I hesitate again.

"He told me never to trash-talk again. Inducing fear comes from confidence rather than arrogance. Quiet knowledge of superiority wins the fight. Within a split second he was my brother again, no darkness or disgust. His actions stood as a singular exhibition of manipulation, strength, and priority. He clapped me on the arm and took me back to the mat where he fought me himself."

"Jesus," Shelby said.

"Yeah. His demonstration changed my life completely. I learned to study people so I could do what he did, and to show people only what you want them to see. Keen manipulation is stronger than a bullet. My nickname reminds me of that lesson every time I hear it."
 

"
Bash
," Shelby nods.
 

"That's me," I smile at the memory.

More conversation and another shot later and we're both emotionally drained and beyond drunk. "You should stay," I offer my best friend, closer to me now than ever. "I'll take the couch and you can have my bed."

"
Your
bed," she says with slurred sympathy, swaying as she stands. "Because the guest room is still a shrine to Evvie."

I smirk at her. "Yeah. And you still have the only damn rose Mason ever gave you."

"We're both pretty fucked up," she smiles sadly as she weaves her way to my room.
 

I scrub my hands along my face again and crash backwards along the length of the couch. I prop my feet up on the arm and stare at the ceiling until I thankfully pass out.

My headache pounds through my head as consciousness taunts me within my groggy hangover. In a pain more severe than the headache, my mind rolls through my short time with Evvie.
 

She had been staying with me after we came back from our week on the boat. My friends set me up with a home. I shared it with Evelyn.
 

No one realized she stayed in the guest room rather than my bed. I remember her speak of her convictions.
I've been married to him for fifteen years. The lower he sank, the higher my standards. I can't let that go or I'd destroy the only part of myself I was able to keep. Please understand.

I did understand. I hated the life she'd been saddled with, and I hated her need to keep herself from me when I knew she wanted me. We both understood our connection, and we both agreed to handle things the only way she knew how.

In spite of our obvious attraction, we kept our distance. In spite of my skills as the quintessential über-soldier, she was killed.
 

Only a week after we moved into my house, I failed her. I left to go to the grocery store for a goddamn bottle of wine. I wanted to toast to her future, and in doing so, I let it be taken away. I was complacent, relaxed, and happy to have her with me. I didn't see the ten minute window as a threat, especially when no one outside of my circle knew Evvie was staying with me. My house was purchased under an alias through a corporate front. I was convinced everything was fine, and I figured she could use a few minutes to herself.
 

I should have known. I should have goddamn fucking known.