Worth the Fall (The McKinney Brothers, #1)(43)

Usually by touchdown in Virginia he was on his fiftieth mental run-through of the op in preparation for the shitload of paperwork that fell to him as senior chief operator. But he hadn’t had a single thought in the past twelve hours that didn’t revolve around Abby.

He didn’t particularly like this feeling of not being in control.

He unloaded his gear, putting a bit too much feeling into it.

“What’s up, Chief?” Decker asked.

He hadn’t talked to Abby in almost two weeks, that’s what. And he’d told her he’d call, which had been purely idiotic. He never knew where or when he was going to be—exactly why he didn’t have relationships, why he didn’t make plans to call or anything else. Yet the words had tumbled out before he could stop them, so unwilling he’d been to let go of their bond.

“Looks like you’re thinking mighty hard,” Decker said, walking past him. “Not to mention Uncle Sam’s toys you’re slamming to hell.”

“Yeah. I’m good.” Maybe it was just worry, a general concern, since he’d looked after her and the kids all week. Possibly he needed closure, reassurance they were safe and sound and all was well.

“Hey, Chief, anyone ever been scrubbed for passing gas?”

Matt looked up at Corey Chapman—Chappers—a young, good-natured kid from Louisiana.

“?’Cause I swear that dude’s ass bubbles are gonna get me killed one day.” He gestured to Rocky, who flipped him off without turning around.

“See.” Chappers pointed. “He knew I was talking about him without even looking.”

Matt laughed as the guys lobbed insults like brothers.

“What’s the deal, Mount McKinney?” Rocky shouted across the room. “Nobody climbed your mountain in a while?”

Matt smiled at the name. It’d originated because of his climbing skills, but it didn’t take long for the guys to throw a sexual spin on it. Women liked him and he’d enjoyed many over the years. Thus the nickname.

Decker grinned. “What happened at the beach, McKinney? You losing your touch?”

Corey picked up his bag. “He’s old as Methuselah. That’s his problem.”

“Everybody’s old compared to you, dickwad,” Decker said. “Do you even shave?”

“We working on the house tomorrow?” Corey asked.

The guys might throw insults like grenades, but when they had downtime they always migrated back together. Usually at Matt’s, though the location changed; his place was always nearly uninhabitable. He had a small refrigerator, a mattress, and a flat-screen TV. That’s all he moved from house to house. Maybe that’s why. They drank, watched sports, and, if they were lucky, got to knock out a wall.

“I’m not sure,” Matt answered. He was scheduled for a few days leave, days he rarely took. He envisioned Abby and the kids. Tried to picture where she lived, the house, the area. He had an intense need to know, and his brother had planes and pilots at his disposal.

Rocky opened and took stock of his gear locker. “What about it, McKinney? You holding out on us?”

“Not cool,” Chappers said, doing the same. “We were crawling through swamp shit while you were sipping girlie drinks.”

Parker sidled up close. “Hey, uh, Chief. Everything okay? You’re not having any…you know…”—he looked pointedly at Matt’s pants—“problems are you?”

Matt figured he was joking, though with Parker it was hard to tell. He clapped a hand on the big man’s shoulder. “No, man. I’m all good in that department.”

But he was an idiot.

To think he could just walk away from her cold.

He needed to see her. For a day, an hour—just to convince him she was okay. Rolling the idea around in his head, it was suddenly inconceivable he would never see her again.

“So, what’s up? Don’t leave us hanging,” Rocky said.

It was close to 0100. He’d have to wait to call her tomorrow, or he could shoot her a text. Not give her a chance to say no.

“You guys can hang at the house if you want. I’ve got somewhere I have to be.” Matt walked out to the sound of whistles and kissy sounds and basically all manner of middle school taunting. He smiled as he left, at their brand of humor and at the thought of seeing Abby.

—

Abby sat at the kitchen table, looking at the pile she’d just unloaded from the kids’ backpacks. The amount of papers that came home with four children was inconceivable.

Jack stood by her chair. “Mom?”

“One minute.” She read over the field trip form, muttering to herself.

“But, Mom, I have to tell you something.”

“Okay.” She grabbed a pen and began filling out the form. “Get a snack if you want.”

“Mom?”

“Hmm? Sack lunch, kids wear jeans, no soda.

Jack inched closer to her and fiddled with the fabric of her shirt. “I did something.”

Abby stopped what she was writing and looked at her son.

Jack looked out the window as he spoke. “Well, see…”

Uh-oh. What was that look? “Jack. What did you do?”

“I found your phone.”

Her phone had been missing for two days. She’d checked all the usual places—the couch, the car, Gracie’s favorite pink purse. The only place she hadn’t looked was the playroom, and she’d cringed at the thought of her phone lost in that toy jungle.