Off Base(35)

Cullen’s stomach bottomed out. He knew what Beck wanted to talk about. This conversation was long overdue.

“You can’t tell me whatever it is, too?” The hurt in Huntley’s voice was undeniable, and he pushed down the urge to assure her she could stay. Looking out for her was instinctive, but Beck was right. She didn’t need to be here for this shit.

Cullen motioned for another round of shots. More drinks were poured and he downed his glass in one motion. Beck didn’t touch his. “Had a feeling this wasn’t just a friendly get-together.” Cullen waved at Beck’s glass. “You going to drink that?”

“I’m good, man,” Beck replied.

Cullen downed it.

“I didn’t realize we were getting drunk tonight.” Huntley blinked those big blues of hers, staring at Cullen with a hint of disapproval. Clearly, she wasn’t leaving. Not so surprising. She usually did what she wanted.

Cullen looked her up and down and felt a flash of irritation again. With an internal curse, he slammed back another shot and let the alcohol slide down his throat. So not cool, man. Her brother is right here.

Over the years, he’d kept dirty thoughts at bay when it came to Huntley. He rarely let himself appreciate the dark blonde hair that fell to the middle of her back. Or her curvy legs. Like nuns and cousins, she was off limits. “I didn’t realize you needed to be consulted.”

“Is that how you speak to my sister?” Beck inhaled. “We’ll have this discussion later.”

Huntley looked good tonight. There was no denying. Too good. Not that she wasn’t pretty, but she was never a wear-makeup-every-day kind of girl. She was the fresh-faced farm-girl type. You ever heard the one about the farmer’s daughter…

Beck shifted beside him again, and Cullen eyed him, guessing his injuries must be paining him. Just another side effect from the mission that had killed Xander. Hell, Beck could have died, too. Cullen should be grateful, he supposed, that Beck had made it out. And he was, except Xander was gone. He couldn’t quite shake that even though it had been months now.

Cullen stared straight ahead, catching glimpses of his stony reflection in the mirror behind the bottles of liquor. Sullen Cullen. He knew that’s what people called him, and he didn’t care. Hell, ever since he was a kid people called him that. Other kids. Teachers. When you never stayed long in one place, you forgot how to smile and make friends. What was the point? By the time he got to know anyone, he’d be gone again.

Now, here at Black Rock, it wasn’t his job to make friends. His job was to train soldiers in explosive ordnance disposal so that they saved lives. Xander was one of the first he had pushed to enter the program. One of the first he trained. One of the few he’d let in. One of the few he called a friend.

And now he was dead.

“It’s about Xander, isn’t it? You finally gonna tell me what happened over there?” He gestured for another drink and watched as the bartender poured it. “When you called to tell us he wouldn’t be coming home, I knew you were holding back. You’re a shit liar, Beck. Out with it. How’d he die? What the hell happened over there?”

As much as Cullen dreaded it, he needed to finally hear it. He’d been waiting to hear this.

Beck lifted his massive chest on a heavy breath. “If I could keep this from you forever, I would, because there’s no sense in both of us feeling guilty, Cullen. But it’s going to come out in the casualty report this week and I want it to come from me.”

Cullen remained very still. Even Huntley looked uneasy.

Beck sighed. “We were extracting a group of POWs. They’d been there a week, but we couldn’t get close enough or get an accurate count…”

Cullen listened to the steady recounting, the scene flashing clearly in his mind speaking only when Beck paused. “Finish what you have to say,” he ground out.

“He got it wrong. The explosive went off and half the tunnel caved in. Most of us were in an offshoot that remained standing.” Huntley leaned against her brother. Beck wrapped an arm around her and looked at Cullen. “This isn’t on you. No amount of training—”

Cullen shook his head. If it wasn’t on him, whose fault was it? He was the one who persuaded Xander to go into EOD. The one who trained him. It was on him and no one else. His fist shot out, sending the shot glasses crashing behind the bar. Bullshit. He shoved back his chair and took off toward the bar exit.

He didn’t need anyone to tell him how to feel. Not even Beck.

He just needed to be alone.

*

Huntley’s boot heels clacked on pavement as she hurried out of the bar after Cullen. Of all nights to don a pair of heels, it had to be a night she was required to run.

Cullen’s longer legs put him far ahead of her. She focused on his gray T-shirt and jeans as his lean body cut across the parking lot. Sweet Jesus, these boots were murdering her feet. “Cullen, wait!”

He continued like he hadn’t heard her, striding a hard line through the parking lot and stopping beside his truck. She ran the last bit of distance, determined to catch up with him even if she broke an ankle in these death contraption boots.

“Cullen!” She was almost to him now. The soles of her new boots skidded across loose gravel and her arms flailed at her sides until she regained her balance.

He lifted bloodshot eyes to her, and she knew they were only partly red from alcohol. The news he’d just gotten had hit him hard. The guilt of Xander’s death was etched into every line of his face.