“Do you want me to stay here with you?” my best friend asks, her hand slipping into mine. Piper Ross, the epitome of proper southern manners and my lifesaver since the day the two men who had mattered most to me were sentenced to jail. Her hand feels like it’s on fire, or, rather, mine feels like ice. Either way, I need the support right now.

“Or I can go to your house and handle visitors so you can have some time for yourself,” she adds.

The thought of dealing with anyone right now makes my stomach roil. “Thanks,” I whisper gratefully as another lump forms in my throat. I’ve known of only one other person as sweet and kind as Piper, and that’s my other best friend, Brooklyn Reeves. Morgan. She’s Brooklyn Morgan now.

As if she’s reading my mind, Piper continues talking. “Brooklyn would probably do a better job, but you’re stuck with me,” she says seriously. If we weren’t at a funeral, I’d punch her in the arm right now. We’ve been working on her self-esteem issues for years, but her mother has a way of undoing any progress Piper makes with a single withering glare.

Like she’s doing now. Mrs. Ross’s dark eyes narrow and her mouth pinches. Heck, she probably thinks we’re being rude for talking, even though the ceremony is over. Okay, so she probably thinks I’m rude for talking, and I’m corrupting Piper in the process.

Much to Mrs. Ross’s obvious displeasure, Piper and I have been best friends for years, but it’s a weird friendship. She’s quiet. I’m loud. She’s proper while I have no clue if the fork I’m using is the right one.

But I love her to death because she’s never backed down from being friends with me, even after Jase went to jail and everyone else at school looked at me like I was contagious.

I fight the urge to stick my tongue out at the woman, if only because I don’t want to embarrass Piper. And…I want to make Miss Myrtle proud. She attempted to teach me to be a lady. It’s the least I can do to act like one at her funeral.

“I’m never stuck with you.” Turning to Piper, I see the tears running down her cheeks. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to be strong. “Besides, pregnant women are moody as all get out. And so are their overprotective husbands who won’t let them fly clear across the country because of their stupid due date.”

Actually, I had been relieved Brooklyn’s doctor had put her on travel restrictions. As much as I love the girl, she isn’t a part of my past. She didn’t know me before everything went down. She only knows the tough woman I’ve become. The same one who’d hired her to help me manage Gardner’s.

Swallowing around that lump in my throat, I manage to say, “Could you go deal with everyone?”

Piper smiles and squeezes my hand. “Take your time.”

I don’t want to take my time. I want everything to fast-forward and be over with already. I want it to be next week. A year from now. Any length of time that would put distance between me and death…and Seth.

“Thanks,” I whisper before she walks away. Turning my attention back to the grave, I struggle to maintain my composure. The workers are already at graveside and pulling away the blanket of Astroturf covering the mound of dirt beside it.

The world seems to shrink. The thought of all that dirt falling in on her…I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and then open them again, only to find Seth’s gaze on me.

My feet start moving before I can stop them. His eyes widen slightly, and my chin goes up. I can be the bigger person. I can talk to him like it’s no big deal he’s here after being gone for so long. That it’s no big deal he cut me out of his life without a real explanation.

My hands clench into fists, and I stuff them into the pockets of my winter coat before he sees them. “I’m sorry for your loss,” I say, inwardly relieved at how controlled my voice sounds.

“Thanks,” he replies in a gruff voice I’ve never heard before. I want to cry at the sound of it. I want to slap him, too. I want to know why and what the hell’s his problem. Most of all I want his stupid, muscular arms around me while he whispers, It’s okay.

He starts to leave, but I stop him by stepping slightly in front of him. “How long are you staying?” The question comes out more sharply than I intend.

Seth gives me a look and runs the side of his thumb right under his bottom lip, just like he did when we were together. “I’m not sure.”

I cross my arms over my chest, trying to hold myself together. If I don’t, my heart is liable to fall out and onto his feet, where he can grind it into the ground once more. “What do you mean you’re not sure?”

Seth

Distance and time are supposed to dull feelings and memories, but seeing Rowan like this, so beautiful and vulnerable, brings them back to the forefront in an instant.

Only years of military training and discipline prevent me from touching her, when all I want to do is take this beautiful girl in my arms and hold her. All I want to do is kiss her sweet lips and say that I’ll do anything for her, so she won’t ever cry sad tears again.

During the funeral, I couldn’t bear to take my eyes off her. She’s what kept me grounded when the preacher began to say the words I knew were coming. Over and over, I mapped the new curves and planes of her face, a face that had changed from that of a fresh-faced teenager into a proud and strong woman’s. When her eyes met mine, baby blue like the ocean, full of salty tears I knew she refused to let fall, I nearly lost it.

My hands are still clenched into tight fists. I relax them, stretching my fingers and feeling them pop.

“Seth—how long? I have things to do besides wait for you to grow a set and speak to me,” she snaps and I bite back a grin. That’s my girl—direct and ballsy as hell.

“As long as it takes,” I say. Yeah, so I have less than two weeks right now, and that’s not enough time to convince her to forgive me—hell, the timing’s all wrong, but what can I do, other than stay the course? I don’t expect Rowan to give me another chance. Nah, I don’t expect it, but I’m going to do my damnedest to convince her to see things my way.

There’s something about war that makes a man feel like a mortal instead of a god. There’s something about the bodies and wounds and lack of second chances that everyone who died over there didn’t get. For me, it was enough to make me question my nursing of this hatred for Rowan and her brother. It was enough that I realized all I thought about was her—seeing her, touching her…making love to her again.

War and death give you a perspective like nothing I’ve ever experienced, not even prison.

“Care to elaborate on that?”

“We can talk later, sure.” I’m not here to talk about the past right now, or the future. I’m fully in the present, burying my grandmother. Later, when it’s just the two of us and we’ve had some space to calm down after our first meeting in years, I’ll apologize for fucking up her life. For wanting her to suffer and for discarding her like a used piece of tissue. Self-loathing washes over me, coating me with guilt. So much damn guilt.

From all the letters and phone calls with my grandma, I know Rowan was special to her, that Rowan made her days and nights easier just by living there. My grandfather died a few years before I went to jail, leaving us alone. He had been a good man, a man who worked with his hands and had started an auto repair shop with my grandmother. Funny enough, she was the one who taught him about engines.

As an only child, my grandmother had learned about engines and cars from her dad. She had become fascinated with torque, and horsepower, and the way a piston forces expanding gas into the cylinder.