Semper Mine (Sons of War #1)(68)

In a sweater, jeans and ballet-style shoes, I head downstairs. My hands are clammy, my blood humming with hope, dread and disbelief.

Sawyer is seated at one of the fire pits, two mugs of steaming cocoa in his hands. I draw a deep breath of the chilly winter air and the scents clinging to me from the event before approaching with what I hope is calmness.

I sit down beside him, too aware of the distance between our legs, the firm shape of his swimmer’s thighs.

He offers me a mug, and I take it wordlessly.

I’ve had a list of things I wanted to tell him, if I ever had the chance. I can’t think of one of them right now.

In fact, I can’t think of anything to say. I give him a sidelong glance. He’s always so calm and put together. Is he anywhere near as nervous as I am?

Nope. Not Iceman.

Frustrated, I take a sip of cocoa and glance at his. He hasn’t drunk any, and he’s gripping it tight enough for his knuckles to be white. I realize he’s a little uneasy, though I’m not sure how to take it.

“So … how’s life?” I ask finally, needing something to fill the silence.

He meets my gaze, brow furrowed, like I’ve asked him what his shoe size is instead of the more general question.

I laugh, a little giddily.

“We were never good at small talk,” he replies. Setting the cocoa by his feet, he reaches into his pocket. “I brought you something.”

I can’t imagine what he might have. He holds out his closed fist, and I set down my cocoa and hold out my hands.

He drops dog tags into my palm. I lean forward, towards the fire, to see the name stamped on them better.

Mikael N. Khavalov

My breath catches. I read his name again.

“I though you should have them,” Sawyer says softly. “Riley found them out on a mission recently.”

I didn’t think it was possible for Sawyer to pull these emotions from me once more. I no longer feel anger but sorrow and an intense yearning to see my brother again. These are his. Something he touched, something he kept with him at all times.

Something Sawyer knew would mean the world to me and brought them to me from all the way around the world.

“Thank you.” I manage not to start crying. I can’t believe how sweet the gift is or how thoughtful Sawyer was to hang onto them.

Leaning back, I wrap my hands around them. I wish they were big enough to hug. It takes me a moment to recover.

“Let me guess – you came back to bring them to me.” I try to lighten the mood.

“Something like that.”

I sneak a look at him and find him gazing at me. Sawyer is so damn hard to read. I want to strangle him right now, because my emotions are completely at his mercy while he’s playing it cool.

“You don’t approve of all my shoes, do you?” I don’t know where the words come from. I think I need to pick a fight. I do better when I’m mad at him.

“If they make you happy, I don’t care,” he says then leans back in the chair. He rests his head against the edge, gaze on the fire.

“You should’ve told Petr you were coming back,” I say. “How long are you staying?”

“Two or three days.”

“That’s it?” I’m embarrassed by the disappointment in my voice.

He glances at me.

“It’s a long trip back for two or three days,” I add quickly.

“Yeah.” He’s amused.

I’m struggling, and he’s got to be laughing internally. This coffee date isn’t working. I’m too stressed out.

“Stop trying to be crunchy and relax,” he orders quietly.

“I can’t relax!”

“Let things unfold, Katya.”

I don’t know what the hell that means, but fire is moving through me, along with anticipation. My face grows warm, and I decide there’s no really good response. I rest back in the bench.

For a second or two, until I’m still long enough for my thoughts to take off again.

“No. I can’t do it,” I say, straightening. I face him and brace myself for what I have to say. “I owe you an apology.”

He’s listening. I can’t look at him. This is hard enough.

“I can’t even list the things I need to apologize for. There’s too many,” I add with a frustrated sigh. “But mainly I think it’s for … hurting you. I think, of everything, that’s what bothers me most. Because you didn’t deserve it, and I was angry. Well, I’m always angry. Totally different topic, but I was wrongfully angry this time. And I made a promise that if I ever saw you again, I’d tell you that I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Katya.” He takes my hand and squeezes. “I understand the grieving process.”

“That’s a terrible answer.”

“What would you rather I say?” he asks, chuckling.

I consider, afraid anything I say is going to dive back into the deep end. I’m not sure I’m ready for that. Normally, I relish it, but tonight … with him … and me not knowing if he feels anywhere near what I do …

I’m tired of being hurt. I don’t want to risk my heart and soul tonight and end up devastated.

“Make it up, like we did introductions at camp,” he suggests.