The Summer Deal (Wildstone #5)(94)

When he finally turned to them, both Caitlin and Heather lifted their arms in greeting, and he obligingly bent to hug them one at a time, murmuring something too low for Maze to hear. Whatever it was seemed to comfort them both, and it did something deep inside Maze to see their honest emotion, something she herself had a hard time revealing on the best of days—of which this wasn’t. Didn’t stop her from soaking up the sight of Walker. He wore dark jeans, work boots, an untucked blue button-down stretched taught over broad shoulders, and . . . a sling holding his left arm tight to his body. Dark aviator sunglasses covered his eyes, but she didn’t need to see them. That sky-blue gaze of his was burned onto her soul.

There’d been a time when he’d smiled at her with warmth, affection, and hunger. There’d been even more times when he’d made her laugh, made her feel—back in the days when she still could. All of it was long gone now as around them the air went thick with memories, some of the best and worst memories of her life.

Maze did not lift her arms in invitation.

And he did not reach for her.

“Maze,” he said simply and gave her a single curt nod. She got it, but even after all that had happened between them, a little tiny part of her yearned to see that old spark of pure trouble in his eyes, accompanied by that bad boy smile, the one that promised a thrill and had never failed to deliver.

Caitlin pulled something from her bag.

A bran muffin.

Walker didn’t do cake, or any junk food for that matter, never had. He ate to fuel his body, which of course showed since he looked like a lean, hard-muscled fighting machine. Food wasn’t a pleasure button for him like it was for her. Nope, Walker had other pleasure buttons, something she sometimes relived in the deep dark of the night.

Taking the muffin, he let out an almost inaudible sound of amusement before turning to stare at the gravestone while slowly, and clearly painfully, lowering himself to the chair.

“What happened to you?” Maze asked him softly.

He shrugged with his good shoulder and took a bite of the muffin.

She turned to look at Heather and Caitlin.

Caitlin looked pained, but said nothing.

Heather was biting her lower lip like she was trying to hold back, but finally burst out with “He got shot.” Then she slapped her hand over her mouth.

Maze sucked in air. “Shot?”

“On the job,” Heather said from between her fingers. “He’s on leave.”

Walker sent Heather a long look, and she tossed up her hands. “Whatever, Walk. You all know I don’t keep secrets anymore, not for anyone.” She began to chew on her fingernails, painted black and already bitten down to the nubs. She switched to waving a hand in front of her face. “And now I’m sweating.”

Maze, Heather, and Walker had all come from vastly different but equally troubled backgrounds by the time they’d landed in the same foster home—run by Caitlin and Michael’s parents—that long-ago summer. After The Event, the one that had unintentionally scattered them all far and wide, Maze and Heather had been fostered into new, fairly decent families within a few months of each other. Walker had ended up in a group home, ageing out of the system less than a year later. From there, he’d gone into the military and then the FBI. The rigorous discipline had molded him, given him a sense of purpose and a way to channel his demons. It’d toughened and hardened the already toughened, hardened kid.

But Maze knew him better than most, or at least she had. Very few understood that beneath the edgy shell he wore like armor beat a heart that would lay itself down for the people it beat for. Once upon a time, she’d been one of those people.

“The leave is temporary,” Walker said. “I’m going back next week.”

Heather’s eyes filled. “You almost died.”

“But I didn’t.”

Maze’s gut clenched. As kids, they’d all had hopes and visions of what they wanted to be when they grew up. Walker had wanted to run a bar or restaurant. He’d wanted to be surrounded by friends and be able to take care of them by feeding them. Simple dream, really, but it spoke of his deep-seated need to have those few trusted people in his life close to him. That was all that mattered.

He’d ended up going in a very different direction. Maze wasn’t sure why exactly, but her working theory had always been that he figured giving a shit had never gotten him anywhere, so why try.

“You almost died?” she asked softly.

He looked pained as he swallowed the last of his muffin. “I’m fine.”

“But—”

“Drop it, Maze,” he said in a warning tone that she imagined probably had all the bad guys’ gonads retreating north.

Good thing she didn’t have gonads. She opened her mouth to tell him that very thing, but Heather pointed to the carefully tended gravesite and said quietly, “I love the wildflowers you planted last year, they’re all blooming now.” Ever their peacemaker. At nineteen, Heather was the youngest, and therefore remembered the least about that long-ago night. She’d never been able to process bad stuff, and the rest of them always shielded her the best they could.

Caitlin smiled her thanks at Heather, but it wasn’t her usual two hundred watt. If Heather was the group’s soul, Caitlin was their heart. “I was out here last week to pull the weeds.” She paused. “Without using Daddy’s tractor.”