LITMIR.BIZ

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slid open.

      “Wait!” Bruce stopped her before she could push through to the lobby. “Here,” he said, removing the spare key from his key ring. “Keep the car. I’ll walk back to the station.”

      “You can’t walk all the—”

      “Then I guess I’ll have to run,” he said, squaring his shoulders.

      “That’s not what I meant.”

      “Yeah, I know what you meant, Chief. I’ll park the car in a handicap spot where you’ll be sure to find it.”

      She expected him to fall on his ass.

      Maybe he would, but he’d be damned if he was going to fail without trying. He’d never give up the fight, no matter how low she set her expectations.

      Eighteen months earlier

       Baghdad, Iraq

      “HURRY UP, you lazy son of a gun,” Freddie taunted as Bruce and his charge ran behind the truck, trying to catch up to the slow-moving vehicle.

      Bruce threw his weapon over the tailgate. Hopping onto the back bumper, he reached behind to help the new kid up and over. Lieutenant Luke Calhoun slid down to make room for them. Bruce declined with a shake of his head.

      Stepping over first Luke’s, then Freddie’s outstretched legs, Bruce acknowledged Alpha and Bravo squads with a nod. The six men on the opposite bench were all Navy SEALs. While his side, a combo of Recon Marines and Navy SEALs, grumbled about having to make room for seven, the truck could hold twice as many in a pinch.

      “Move your ass over, Freddie,” Bruce said, squeezing himself and the new kid into the middle of the bench seat to the left of Freddie. There was nowhere he’d rather be than right here. This was his home and these guys were his family.

      Luke literally. And Freddie soon to be.

      “Gum?” Freddie offered.

      “Thanks.” Bruce pocketed it for later.

      Taking a moment to catch his breath after almost missing his ride, Bruce leaned back against the canvas cover of the supply truck and closed his eyes. Not only was he late getting back, he’d been put in charge of their newest team member, a young hospital corpsman by the name of Manuel Henriquez.

      “Jeez, wipe that grin off your face or I will,” Freddie threatened.

      “Can’t,” Bruce said, his grin the only thing visible beneath the brim of his helmet.

      “You just spent three days in Dubai with my sister. Humor me,” Freddie insisted.

      “Never even left the hotel room.”

      “Too much information, bro.” Freddie elbowed him in the gut, hard. “You’re not married to her yet.”

      “O-kay.” Bruce let out his battered breath. “I deserved that. But I’m still smiling.” He tugged his brim lower so Freddie wouldn’t have to see the satisfied smile on his face.

      “Just make sure she’s the one still smiling or I’m going to kick your ass from here to Timbuktu.”

      “Where’s Timbuktu?” Henriquez asked.

      “West Africa, Mali,” Luke answered, around Freddie. Luke was a college grad, an officer, and as such the lieutenant in charge of the operation.

      A really smart guy. Imagine coming halfway around the world to discover that about your own brother. Half brother. They had the same father—not that Bruce held that against Luke.

      Bruce peeked out from under his helmet at Freddie. “You think you can kick my ass all the way to West Africa? I’d like to see you try.”

      “How far is not the point. The point is I can, and I will,” Freddie boasted. “Mitzi loves you,” he said in all seriousness.

      Bruce shoved his helmet back. “I know.”

      “This isn’t high school. You don’t get to break her heart again. Not and have me as a friend. Marriage is for real. You hurt her…”

      “I’m not going to pretend we have it all figured out. With her there and me here it’s going to be tough.” They were having to shout above the grinding gears of the diesel engine, making this conversation a little less private and a lot more uncomfortable than Bruce would have wanted. “We love each other. We’ll find a way to make it work.”

      “Why now?”

      “Why not now?”

      “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of a war zone. Chances are you’ll make my baby sister a widow before your first anniversary.”

      “Thanks for that optimism.”

      Freddie’s family had moved next door to Bruce’s when they were both eight. They’d been best friends ever since. Bruce’s relationship with his best friend’s little sister was a lot more complicated.

      They’d been on again/off again since high school. Being in two different branches of military service didn’t make it easy to be together. But in high school she’d been his first love. His only love.

      And he’d been hers.

      She wasn’t the only woman he’d been with since then. Just the only one who mattered. When they were together they were inseparable. And when they were apart?

      Well, he used to drive himself crazy thinking about it. Finally he drove himself crazy enough to propose.

      Before Kuwait it had been eight months since he’d last seen her. Eight very long months. He’d been reading between the lines of her emails. There was this guy, her crew chief. Nothing serious as far as he could tell. Just the way she dropped his name every now and again left Bruce thinking.

      And thinking was dangerous.

      “I don’t want to lose her.”

      “Fear is not a reason to get married.”

      “Reason enough.”

      “Couldn’t you have said you knocked her up? I could respect that, at least.”

      It was Bruce’s turn to elbow his future brother-in-law in the gut. “Mitzi’s not pregnant.”

      “Too bad. I was kind of hoping you’d take her away from all this.” Freddie spread his arms to encompass the thirteen of them sweating it out in the oppressive heat of the truck’s interior.

      The thought had crossed his mind. But Mitzi wouldn’t have gone along with that and he was far more afraid of her kicking his ass than of her brother’s threats. “We’ve agreed—”

      “Don’t wait too long to make me an uncle.”

      No kids.

      DRESS SHOES WEREN’T MADE for running. But Bruce managed the distance without a serious slip. Thanks to his new all-terrain leg, he could push himself further than before. Pavement gave way to gravel and he didn’t miss a beat. Slowing to a stop, Bruce propped himself against the metal fire door at the back of the recruiting station to catch his breath.

      There were days like today when he felt unworthy of the uniform. He loosened his tie and dragged it through the collar. As if he’d let everyone he cared about down.

      The sock on his right foot was soaked through from the melting snow. His left foot, too—he just couldn’t feel it. But his stump throbbed a constant reminder of all that had changed. Eyes closed, he let the sensation take him back to Iraq. He’d been about to say No kids.

      Or maybe he’d said No kids. He couldn’t remember.

      How tragic if those were his last words to Freddie.

      Don’t wait too long to make me an uncle.

      The RPG had ripped through the truck then.

      If

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