Bring Down the Stars (Beautiful Hearts Duet #1)(80)

My heart pounded. It was impossible not to notice Weston’s post-Boot Camp physique. He’d been fit before but now, standing there in jeans, a dark shirt, and black jacket, the changes were tangible. Catlike—graceful and lean, but with a new, dark and dangerous beauty.

“Hey,” he said.

His expression stony. As usual. Half-scowling under furrowed brows and all at once, I was pissed. Angry at Connor’s unpredictable silences. Angry at the stupid wars of the world. Angry at farms that fail and hearts that give out. Angry at the tears that won’t stop coming. And angry at Weston for looking fucking beautiful and filling me with a confused desire to either slap the scowl off his face or kiss it off…

“Hi,” I said, shrugging the last thought away. “Would you like something?”

“I wanted to talk,” he said. “If you’re free.”

“I’m free. We’re about to close. Coffee?”

“Not tonight.”

He went to his usual table in the corner. I followed, untying my apron. He waited until I sat before sitting, then folded his hands on the table, long fingers laced. I tried to imagine those hands holding a gun. Weston taking careful aim at another human. Sadness and fear welled to the surface again, wrapped in anger at both he and Connor for putting themselves in danger.

“I wanted to see you,” Weston said in a low voice. “Talk to you. It’s been a long time.”

“You must be busy getting ready for deployment.”

He nodded. “Lot of shit for me and Connor to pack up.”

“Oh really? Packing?” I asked, my lip curling. “That’s a full-time, 24/7 job, is it? Is that why Connor’s been so quiet?”

“No,” Weston said in a low, heavy voice.

I shook my head and let my teary gaze drift to the table between us. “I feel like I’m on a roller coaster I didn’t want to ride in the first place. But once I got on, I took the ride. Up, down. High, low. And now I can’t get off.”

“I get it.”

“Do you?” I snapped. I held up my hand before he could answer. “Never mind. I don’t want to talk about him right now.”

“Understood. I came here to talk to you. How’s your dad? And the farm?”

“Dad’s better,” I said. “Still weak. I don’t know if he’ll ever be as strong as he was before. Not after a quadruple bypass. And the farm is suffering.”

“Tell me.”

“Not much to tell. It’s the same farm story since time immemorial. Things are tough, the debts pile up, and a bank pounces.”

“How much debt?”

“Not an impossible amount, but it’s more than we have.” I shot him a look. “And that’s all I’m going to say.”

“And what about your Harvard application?”

“Non-existent.” I gave him a tired smile. “I’ve been a little distracted.”

“I’m sorry,” Weston said quietly.

“Why are you sorry?”

He shrugged, cracking his knuckles. “As a friend. I’m sorry you’re in pain, Autumn.”

My vision swam and I swallowed hard. “I lied. I want to talk about him. How is he?”

“Scared,” Weston said. “We’re not supposed to admit that, but we are.”

“It’s no excuse to cut me off,” I said.

“No, it’s not.”

“I swear, Weston. It’s like the guy who wrote me from Boot Camp is gone. Vanished.”

Weston nodded slowly, fingertips worrying between his brows. And said nothing.

“You were with him,” I said. “You know him better than anyone. Why would he write to me like that if he wasn’t prepared for how it would affect me?”

“I don’t think he was thinking that far ahead,” Weston said. “Or how it would affect you. He wasn’t thinking about whether they were too much or not. Or what you would expect when he got back. He was thinking about himself. And relief. And getting through the day.”

“Why?”

Weston thought for a moment. “Basic was hell. All day long, every day, no thought was our own. We had only orders to follow. No opinions. No feelings allowed. Only pushing our bodies to their limits and beyond. Then classes. Then more PT. Total physical and mental exertion like that wrings you out. You can’t cry but some days you want to. At the end of the day, we had one hour of personal time to decompress. We poured ourselves out in that one hour.”

“You did too?”

He nodded.

“To who?”

Who do you pour yourself into, Weston?

He shrugged. “Different people.”

I held his gaze a moment, absorbing this. “But Boot Camp is over and now everything’s back to normal?”

“Nothing is normal anymore.”

This time, when the tears came, I let them fall.

“And it won’t be again, will it? I’m scared about what you two will see or have to do. I’m scared it’ll erase Connor’s smile. I’m scared of what will happen to me, waiting here for you to come back. But you will come back, Weston. Both of you. You have to.”

It was on me then. Wave after wave. I covered my face with my hands, drowning in it. A scrape of chair legs and Weston was lifting me to my feet, pulling me against his chest. I buried my face in his shirt, grabbed two tight fists of his jacket. He stroked my hair as I both pushed into the fear and clenched my hands to pull it apart.