Soldier Mine (Sons of War #2)(13)

“You don’t think that’s a problem?”

“Putting the pies in the corner?”

She nods.

“As long as there’s a logical flow to everything. You can’t have people jamming up the process of getting food, eating or exiting to the latrines.”

By her puzzled expression, it’s not the answer she expects.

“Look, Bev,” I say. “You know what you’re doing. I have no idea how to help, unless you need more money. In that case, I’m useful to you. Otherwise, I’ll just get in the way. Why not call me if you run into a problem that needs to be elevated, and I promise to fix it?”

“You’re very different than Katya,” she replies. “Katya would have a meltdown if I told her about the pie tower.”

“I trust you,” I say and rest both hands on her narrow shoulders. “You can put the pies wherever you want.”

She brightens once more. “I have to show you the decorations!” She moves away towards a hallway leading to a storage room.

I trail, even less interested in decorations than I am pie towers. I know what this celebration means to the town and my family, so I do my best to chime in when prompted.

Two hours later, I head to my doctor’s for a quick pre-holiday checkup and return home. There’s another text waiting for me, and I pause to read it, not recognizing the number.

Claud bought me a phone. PLEASE don’t tell her I texted you. I’m going to ask her again about karate. (Todd) Either his sis really doesn’t want anything to do with me, or she has something against letting Todd learn karate. The sense of puzzlement that’s followed me around since I met her returns. I can’t imagine it’s me.

Unless it’s the leg.

I hate this sickening sense of insecurity. The man I was before wouldn’t have felt it, and I can’t shake it. I send Todd a quick response.

Got it. If you need anything, let me know.

I tap send and then read over Brianna’s texts again. She’s asking me to go as her date to the Thanksgiving feast Thursday.

I’ll be there anyway. Theoretically, there’s no harm in saying yes.

Except that I’d be perpetuating the cycle of insecurity.

Let’s go as friends, I respond then sigh. I can’t just say no, and I need to.

I have the urge to talk to family and dial my sister as I walk into the house. She answers on the first ring.

“Are you dying?” Katya demands.

I laugh. “No. Haven’t talked to you in a while.”

“A week, Petr.”

“I keep forgetting Sawyer’s out of town.” A twinge of envy slides through me. He’s the commander of my old team, and the entire spec-ops team is overseas for a mission. I’d give almost anything to be with them. God, do I miss those days!

“Yeah,” she sounds glum. “You coming to visit me?”

“Not this week. I have to talk to Bev about pie towers and shit.”

“Ooohhh. I almost forgot it’s Thanksgiving this week! Just tell her not to put them in the corner like she tried to last year.”

I snort. “She knows what she’s doing.”

“You are way too nice, Petr.”

“Yeah,” I agree, mind on Brianna. “I think I am sometimes.”

“What’s wrong?” Concern is in her voice. “The Army isn’t trying to take you go overseas are they?”

“Nah. I’m grounded from that,” I answer. “They let me make my own hours and everything. I’ve got a cushy recruiter job.”

“Which you hate.”

“It’s something.” Not what I want, but it does keep me in the military.

“You sound down, Petr.”

“Maybe a bit. It’s almost the holidays. You’re away, and Mikael is gone,” I admit. “Baba says you need to give him three grandkids by the way.”

“Tell Baba my husband has to stay in country more than a few days for that to happen.”

I smile at her spicy response.

“Petr, tell me you aren’t giving Brianna the time of day.” Hyper vigilant about being my little protector, Katya asks me this question almost every time we talk.

“Trying not to.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means … I don’t want to but keep doing it.”

“Petr!”

“I know.” I push open the door to my bedroom and drop onto the couch facing the hearth, nudging my shoes off as I prepare mentally for her lecture.

“You are far too good for that bitch,” she starts. “You want me to beat her up again?”

I laugh hard, recalling the incident between the two almost a year and a half ago, when Katya punched Brianna at a summer camp we sponsor every year for the children of parents who were slain in battle.

Katya sternly gives me an earful and finishes with, “Why do you keep going back to her?”

“I don’t know,” I respond.

“No, really? Why?”

“A little insecure, I guess.” I stretch out on the couch and gaze at the ceiling.

“Well you have to stop, Petr. You have no reason to be insecure.”

She’s right, even if her delivery tends to drive off those she’s trying to help.