Today, the armor had cracked and he’d begun to break down bit by bit.

He should have been prepared for this. How many people had he lost in his lifetime? He should be over it already.

Except he wasn’t.

Jase stood outside in his backyard. There was a full moon tonight. Locusts buzzed. Crickets sang. The combination was pleasant and should have soothed him, but he hated all of it. Brook Lynn wasn’t here to share it with him, and she never would be. One day she might even share it with someone else. Someone without a record.

He drained the beer in his hand then threw the empty bottle into the trash bin he’d carried out here. A six-pack waited on the porch table—his second of the evening.

“You want to tell me what’s wrong?”

Beck’s voice. Jase didn’t bother turning around as the back door slid shut and footsteps sounded. “No,” he said.

“How about the reason Brook Lynn stopped coming around making my dinner?”

“Nope.” He popped the cap of another beer, drained half the contents.

“Well, okay, then.” Beck grabbed a beer for himself.

“You aren’t going to push for answers?”

“No.”

“Why? Never mind. I know why.” Jase gave a harsh laugh. “I don’t know how many ways I can say it, but you guys really need to get over your guilt issue.” He drained the rest of the bottle, swayed on his feet. Had that been a sneer in his tone?

“I will always feel guilty for what we did,” Beck said quietly. “Or rather, what we didn’t do.”

“You shouldn’t.” Had the situation been reversed, had one of them taken the blame and told him to stay quiet, he would have done it, despite his feelings on the matter. Because that’s what they did for each other. Whatever the others asked.

He threw his bottle at a tree, the tinkle of broken glass filling the night. Brook Lynn had accused him of not feeling. Well, he felt. Despite his armor. He felt so much he suddenly choked on it. Bitterness, resentment. Hate. So much hate. Guilt of his own. Sorrow and remorse. Pain—oh, the pain, still there in his chest, growing worse with every second that passed. It was just better for everyone—including himself—if he didn’t allow himself to feel so strongly.

“She left me.” He pushed over the table. The remaining beers hit the ground, the tops blowing off. Liquid guzzled out. He was panting, fighting for every breath. “I told her about prison, and she cut and ran.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Beck cupped the back of his neck, applied pressure. “You and I both know just because something is going on one day doesn’t mean it will be going on the next. I’ve come to know that girl. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. Which makes something I’ve done especially stupid.”

Confusion penetrated his haze. “What have you done?”

“Not important right now. I’m certain Brook Lynn won’t stay gone.”

Beck hadn’t seen the panic in her eyes, hadn’t heard the fear in her tone. “You’re wrong.”

“I wouldn’t make a statement like that unless I was one hundred percent confident,” his friend said. “I know women. Well. Like, really well. Like, really really—”

A small spark of humor. “I think I get it.”

“She just needs time. Imagine if she’d led a life you knew nothing about.”

“I would want her, no matter what.”

“You would also need...say it with me...”

“Time,” they said in unison.

The loud crunch and grind of heavy metal forcibly changing shape suddenly echoed. He and Beck shared a look of concern before taking off in a sprint. The first thing Jase noticed as he rounded the corner to the front yard were the headlights blinking on and off—West’s headlights. Smoke curled from the hood. A hood wrapped around a tree.

Jase quickened his pace. “I thought he was in his room.”

“He was.”

“West!” He reached the door first—the mangled door. He and Beck had to work together to wrench it open. West spilled out, blood dripping from the center of his forehead.

“Call 911,” Jase said, catching West before the guy hit the ground.

“That tree had it coming,” West slurred, the scent of alcohol pungent on him.

Oh...hell. “Forget 911.” The law would only make things worse. “Let’s get him inside.” Jase slung his arm around West’s left side, and Beck came up to his right side. They acted as crutches, leading him toward the door.

“You could have killed someone,” Beck muttered.

“How? Didn’t drive anywhere,” West said. “Would never. Just reparked my car.”

“And purposely hit the tree?” Jase asked.

“Told you. Tree had it coming.”

“This,” Beck ground out.

Jase knew exactly what he meant. This was how West self-destructed around the anniversary of Tessa’s death.

Beck added, “Get ready. It only gets worse.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

LIFE SUCKED.

Just when Brook Lynn had started to get things together, to step through the heaven-on-earth door, fate had closed in behind her, tied a blindfold around her eyes, forced her to turn in a thousand circles and step through the hell-on-earth door.

How could she have been so wrong about Jase? How could she have pegged an ex-con as a cop or a soldier?

“Okay,” she heard Jessie Kay say, “you’ve moped enough.”