Semper Mine (Sons of War #1)(14)

By the end, I’m laughing again. Captain Mathis has a wry, subtle sense of humor that catches me off guard and a deadpan delivery that makes me wonder if I’m supposed to laugh or not.

“Not what you thought?” he asks with another of the faint, half smiles.

“Okay, my turn.” Composing myself, I spend a few seconds righting my story then share it. “Sawyer Mathis was born as a statue in a garden near a witch’s cabin. One day, the witch made him human, and sent him out to win her battles with the garden gnomes that were invading her lands. Handsome, dashing and indestructible, Sawyer won every battle, until he came across the dragon Katya. She swallowed him whole one evening but he turned back into stone in her gut and was stuck there forever.”

He’s smiling more widely this time. Dimples form in his cheeks that turn his features from handsome to almost charming.

“Isn’t this more fun?” I ask.

“I would’ve preferred to be a garden gnome to an orphan.”

“Oh. You’re an orphan? No family at all?”

“Not since I was two.”

“That’s sad,” I murmur, studying him. “Is that why you’re in the Marines?”

He raises an eyebrow. “I’m in the Marines because the man who set me straight was a Marine. He taught me a few things about life, and I decided I wanted to be like him.”

“What do you mean set you straight?” I ask. “You had to have been born like this.” I wave at him.

“Not exactly.” He doesn’t seem to want to answer for a minute but finally relents. “I was in a gang for a few years as a teen, on a life path that would’ve put me in jail, if he hadn’t stepped in.”

I don’t want to, but I feel bad for Sawyer Mathis. I don’t envision a dark upbringing when I look at him. My family is my world. I can’t imagine what it would’ve been like to grow up without my brothers and parents, to resort to a gang life. He doesn’t say it, but I’m pretty sure that means he grew up pretty poor, too.

We’re nothing alike and even more of opposites than I initially thought.

“What about you?” he asks. “What’s your story?”

I shrug. “Your story is interesting. Mine is kind of boring.”

“I doubt that. You seem to cause trouble everywhere you go. I’m sure you’ve got some good stories.”

“You heard Brianna,” I reply. “Spoiled trust fund baby with no plans for the future who likes to club.” The sarcasm in my words is heavy enough, I expect him to move on. He’s easy to talk to and listens intently, but I’m ready to retreat into my shell once more. I’m not here to make friends, especially with him.

“I don’t see any of that,” he says.

Eyeing him, I lean back. “Not so detail oriented?”

The flare of anger is in his gaze but disappears quickly. I’m starting to think I can get more of a rise out of him than he wants to acknowledge.

“I imagine that’s what you want people to think about you,” he replies. “Katya Khavalov is passionate, a woman with a big heart that makes up for her complete lack of discipline in any area. She’s creative and smart enough to do anything she wants with her life, loyal to the death, and beautiful. There might or might not be a sweet center beyond her crunchy exterior. Most people are too afraid of her to find out, which is the way she likes it.”

Crunchy? My face is hot by the time he’s done. Uncertain what to think about anything he’s said, I clear my throat.

“Sawyer Mathis likes to hide behind an icy exterior, to replace emotion with discipline and routine. He knows he can’t lose anyone or anything, if he doesn’t get attached, and if he does lose someone, it won’t hurt as much as it could. He’s brave and strong but alone. Always alone.”

We gaze at each other, neither speaking. The others are enjoying themselves around us. Every one of my interactions with Sawyer somehow skirts the shallow end of the pool and plunges into the middle of the ocean. I can’t help wishing I hadn’t proposed straying from the instructions. Maybe then I wouldn’t have learned a thing or two about the man I need to hate that makes me think of him differently.

I have a feeling he won’t be the first to break the thick tension this time. I rack my brain for a topic so benign, even we can’t mess it up.

“So …” I say. “Do you have a speech for tonight?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good.” This is so awkward. I’m not even certain why it is. Do we have a connection or did we piss each other off more? Shouldn’t I know one way or the other?

He pulls out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and hands it to me. I unfold it and start to read. I’m not surprised he’s gotten it down word for word. He’s not the kind of person to wing it, the way I would.

Frowning, I reach the end. “This is awful.”

“Really?” He eyes me, as if suspecting I’m picking a fight again. “Why?”

“This is so impersonal and … I don’t know. Canned. Like a report or something. The Iceman thing might work in combat, but you’re talking to a bunch of kids who lost a parent. You should try to connect to them more.”

He’s quiet. I wish I could read him, at least a little. Is he remotely open to what I’m saying?