Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 69536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Apparently I didn’t measure up.
At six feet three inches and two hundred and seventy pounds, I was actually considered small for the defensive tackle position that I played.
But that was so long ago. Fifteen years now. Fifteen years and three tours later…
“Tell me something else,” she says.
“I’ve been working for the Wolfes, freelancing for a couple years.”
“How did you get that gig?”
“My buddy Leif and I came back from our last tour, and we were…”
Fucked up. That’s what I want to say, but I don’t want her asking questions. We were getting some help for our PTSD, and one of our therapists mentioned that the Wolfes were hiring for independent security.
“…looking for work,” I continue. “We heard Reid Wolfe was hiring for security, so we went to see him.”
“Oh. That’s good. Right?”
“Yeah. Good.”
It is, in its way. The Wolfes pretty much give us carte blanche. We’re allowed to break laws, as long as we cover our tracks and keep a low profile.
Of course, ex-Navy SEALs can hardly keep a low profile.
We take up every room we enter.
But if there’s one thing we’re good at—besides taking up a room—it’s leaving no trace. I haven’t broken a lot of laws since I’ve been back on American soil. The few I have broken have been negligible.
I’ll never be caught because I’m that good at covering my tracks. And even when I’m not? The Wolfes’ money is very good at covering my tracks.
I’m thankful when our food arrives. I’m tired of talking. I don’t particularly like talking about myself, because so much of who I was got left overseas.
And I don’t tell anybody those stories.
Not my parents, not my brother, not my sister.
And certainly not the beautiful women sitting in front of me.
I can’t lay that on her—not after everything she’s been through.
So I smile at her, pick up my fork, and cut off a piece of my lasagna. I stuff it in my mouth and chew. As usual, it’s nothing compared to my mother’s, but I take another bite.
And I relish not talking.
8
ASPEN
“I have the address,” Buck says to me after he pays our check. “I assume you told your parents you were coming.”
He assumes. Interesting. No one should assume anything about me. Hell, I don’t know what I’m going to do between one moment and the next. How can anyone else?
“I haven’t.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Oh?”
“Funny. I left Manhattan, just got on a freaking train. I was ready to come here. But I never thought about what I would do once I got here.”
“But you came to see your family, right? To see Brandon?”
“Part of me did, yes.”
“And the other part of you?”
“I just wanted to be here. In Colorado. I wanted to see my mountains. Feel the open air.”
“That’s kind of hard to do in downtown Denver.” He smiles.
I return his smile, and I’m amazed at how easy it is. “Yes. You get it, don’t you?”
“I think so. We’ll get a hotel for the night. Tomorrow we can regroup. I’ll take you wherever you want to go. If you want to see your parents, that’s where we’ll go. If you want to see Brandon, I’ll find him for you, and that’s where we’ll go. But if you just want to see the mountains…”
“That’s where we’ll go?”
“Absolutely, Aspen. That’s where we’ll go.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket, starts typing. “I can get us a couple rooms at The Four Seasons. It’s a few buildings down.”
“Perfect,” I say.
I’m not sure I’ve ever stayed at The Four Seasons. When I was traveling with the volleyball team, we were treated well, but we were never put up at the best hotel in town. In fact…that last place… Someone took me right out of there.
“All right. Our rooms are reserved.”
“Already? That was quick.”
“The Wolfe name gets things done. You ready?”
I nod.
“I’ll just leave the car in the valet parking for now. We’ll walk.”
“Okay.”
He lets me lead as we leave the restaurant, but it feels all wrong. He’s just being a gentleman, but even though this is my city, I feel…out of place. So much has changed in five and a half years. Even in downtown Denver.
This restaurant—it used to be a place called Palomino.
Not that I ever went there.
But I did spend a lot of time on the Sixteenth Street Mall, hanging out with friends, shopping. We saw a few shows at the Paramount Theater, ate at the Paramount Café. Then we’d get on the bus and head back to Boulder, to campus.
Buck and I enter the hotel and walk across the marble lobby. Buck checks us in and hands me a key card.
“We’re on the tenth floor.”
I nod.
“Do you want to do anything? The bar’s open. We can get a drink. They have an indoor pool. You feel like a swim?
A swim.
That would take the edge off.