LITMIR.BIZ

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the baby, now almost one, couldn’t pick his uncle out in the crowd.

      Bruce waved back. Yeah, he could count his blessings. Parents who loved him, a younger brother who worshipped him—most of the time. And an older brother he envied.

      From his vantage point he could see the JROTC Drill Team forming up outside the double doors, which had been opened wide for the occasion. They wore white ascots, white gloves and black berets with their junior paramilitary uniforms. Wooden rifles painted white with black plated accents added just the right snap to their routine.

      Behind them stood the color guard.

      And behind that line of flag bearers he caught a glimpse of Mitzi and Estrada in deep discussion. Even though Estrada was an active duty reservist and taught JROTC at the high school, it seemed odd that the coach would be wearing his dress uniform on a game night.

      Then Bruce caught a glimpse of the folded jersey in Estrada’s hands. Number fifteen. Zahn.

      Realization hit Bruce with the full force of a rocket-propelled grenade.

      “Can I see that program?” he asked the couple seated next to him. Sure enough, Freddie’s number was being retired tonight. And no one had bothered to tell him.

      Not Mitzi. Not his family.

      When the hell had he become the home less guy?

      KEITH LAUNCHED a three-point shot at the buzzer and Englewood edged out Alameda 86–85 for the win. In the midst of all the excitement, Mitzi stopped trying so hard not to notice him.

      Bruce knew, because he’d spent the entire game watching her. He wasn’t going to make a scene. This was Freddie’s night. He just wanted to know why she felt the need to exclude him. Why Estrada had stood at the podium while he sat on the sidelines.

      Only one of them had been Freddie’s friend and teammate. On the court and in combat where it really counted. And it wasn’t the schoolteacher. Of course, only one of them could say he’d let both Freddie and Mitzi down.

      Bruce remained seated while the crowd filed out around him. Fred Zahn Sr. caught sight of him and waved on his way out the door, presumably to head off the crowd before they beat him back to the Broadway Bar & Bowl.

      “We’ll meet you over at the bowling alley,” his mom called out as she and John passed by his bleachers. “Lucky said they’d give you a ride.”

      Lucky and Cait were slower to cross over to his side. They had Chance’s baby stuff to haul, and Cait had to be at least eight months pregnant.

      “You just going to sit there?” Lucky stood at the foot of the bleachers.

      “I’m wondering why nobody bothered to tell me they were retiring number fifteen tonight.”

      Cait tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “I’m so sorry, Bruce,” his beautiful, blue-eyed sister-in-law apologized. That’s all he wanted, an apology. Lucky got an “I told you so” as Cait balanced Chance high on her hip to compensate for her baby bump.

      His brother wasted no time in clearing the bleachers two steps at a time against the thinning crowd. “I guess we all just assumed Mitzi would say something.”

      “Yeah, well, she didn’t.”

      Lucky stopped below him with one foot resting on the step above. “At least Keith—”

      “He didn’t.”

      Lucky seemed surprised by that. “Well, you made it, that’s what’s important. Cut us some slack. We’re happy to have you home, but a little advance warning would have been nice. Nobody knew you were flying in on that red-eye this morning. Or that you’d even taken the recruiting assignment. Last I’d heard you were hoping for something closer to San Diego. Communication works both ways, little bro.”

      Bruce shifted his gaze to center court. Now that the bleachers were cleared, players headed to their respective locker rooms. Coaches paused to shake hands. The visiting and assistant coaches followed their teams, while Estrada went back to the bench where Mitzi waited for him.

      “Don’t go there,” Lucky said, forcing Bruce’s attention back to him. “She’s moved on.”

      “I’m aware of that.”

      “So come spend time with the family. We’ll have pizza and beer and maybe even bowl a few frames if the lanes aren’t already too crowded. We can listen to Keith brag about tonight’s three-pointer at the buzzer and you can shut him up with all your state championship wins.”

      Lucky had bragging rights of his own. He’d been a point guard in his day.

      Bruce shook his head. Any other night he would have. But that half sandwich and half bag of popcorn already felt like lead in his gut.

      “Can we at least give you a ride home?”

      “I’ll walk.”

      Lucky hesitated.

      “I’m fine,” Bruce said. “Just tell them I’m tired after a long first day and that early flight.”

      It wasn’t far from the truth and at least got his brother moving in the right direction. Lightening Cait’s load by carting the baby and the diaper bag to the exit, Lucky shook his head at something his wife said.

      Bruce hated pity more than anything. But coming from a guy who’d traded his motorcycle for a minivan, what an insult.

      He knew it wasn’t going to be easy seeing her with another man. He just hadn’t known it was going to be this hard.

      The Englewood High School coach had taken off his uniform jacket sometime during the game and looked like the real deal with his loosened tie and rolled-up sleeves, sweating out the win with his team. Bruce refused to look away as the other man put his arms around Mitzi.

      A touch here. A brush there. Enough already.

      The couple exchanged a few words and a casual kiss, which put the pink in her cheeks. Estrada sent Bruce a look on his way to the locker room, intended to keep Bruce in line.

      Finally the crowd dwindled down to two.

      The tap of her heels echoed as she crossed the court. She was wearing her service dress blue uniform tonight—a dark navy blue skirt and suit jacket with gold buttons worn over a white blouse with a black neck tab.

      The same uniform she’d worn to Freddie’s funeral. After which she’d rushed straight to Bruce’s hospital room. He’d been groggy from surgery and that long flight out of Germany.

      It was his hand she’d been holding then.

      She’d had such a sad smile.

      Now look at her. A spring in her step.

      And a promotion.

      The gold on her left sleeve identified her as a chief petty officer. He knew she carried her white gloves and black-and-white combination cap in her left hand, keeping the right hand free to salute—even though the Navy and Marine Corps did not salute uncovered. And that the overcoat draped over her arm hid two gold stripes, one for every four years of service.

      She wore her dark brown hair braided and pinned.

      He liked it when she took those braids down. She couldn’t wear it that way in uniform, and out of uniform a ponytail was her default hairstyle.

      Except in the bedroom.

      Knowing that he couldn’t have her didn’t stop him from wanting her.

      She stopped at the foot of his bleachers. “Do you need help getting down?” What made that question worse was the sincerity in her voice.

      “I’m not a cat stuck up in a tree. You don’t have to call the fire department, Chief.”

      “Allow me to rephrase my question, Calhoun,” she said with equal sarcasm. “Are you coming down? Or am I coming

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