Kira Sinclair - Handle Me

Van’s eyes popped open.

Ty.

Oh, shit.

Van rolled onto her side and pushed against the hard plywood floor. Her stomach bubbled unhappily. The walls around her wavered.

But a creaking sound filtered through her misery.

For the first time, she realized she was alone. And she hadn’t fallen asleep that way.

The sky was mostly gray through the large window, with fingers of pink and orange just starting to streak across. Van crawled over and used the ledge to lever herself up—just in time to see Ty, his shirt hanging from the pocket of his slacks, shoes dangling from his fingers, sneaking across her parents’ lawn toward the back gate.

She should be grateful he was walking away so she wouldn’t have to face him.

But she wasn’t.

Hurt, anger and indignation slammed through her, causing her sick stomach to roil even more.

God, she would never drink again.

Part of her wanted to go after him. To yell at him, for leaving, for making her feel amazing last night, for dragging her brother into a situation that had ended up killing him. For letting her get drunk and then taking advantage of her.

She wanted to blame Ty Colson for every single thing that was wrong with her life.

But she couldn’t.

Last night, she might have been drunk and reckless, but Ty hadn’t pushed. He hadn’t done anything she didn’t want. As much as she wanted to paint the man as an asshole, she knew him well enough to realize that if she’d said no at any point, he would have stopped.

Instead, she’d begged him for more.

Oh, God. Van sank back down onto her haunches and dropped her head between her knees. Sucking huge gulps of air through her nose, she willed her stomach to settle.

She would not throw up. She would not throw up.

This was better.

Ty had given her something last night that she’d desperately needed. Solace, laughter, release. A chance to forget, even if only for a few moments.

The fact that she’d never felt so whole and connected with anyone else was something she’d simply have to deal with. And get over.

On the bright side, she could mark one-night stand off her bucket list. And with the boy she’d had a teenage crush on. Oh, look, a twofer.

In the quiet silence, she could hear the engine on Ty’s rental turn over. The sound of his tires crunching across pavement, picking up speed as he fled from her neighborhood. From her life.

It hurt. Not that she’d necessarily wanted to wake up with his strong arms cradling her close. That would have been infinitely more awkward than sitting there alone in her misery and embarrassment.

This way, she didn’t have to confront what she’d actually done. It was a little late in life for her to be adding stupid experiences to her resume, but maybe better late than never.

Besides, with Ryan gone, she’d likely never see Ty Colson again.

And that was the way she wanted it.

Really, it was.

2

Four months later

TY STARED AT the perfect house in front of him. Exactly the kind of place he’d expect Van Cantrell to own.

The street was quiet, a subdued neighborhood full of older homes. The kind with gentle laughter, sunny yellow walls and a kitchen with a mom making waffles and chocolate chip cookies.

The kind of home he’d never had.

The kind of life he’d never realized was possible until he’d met Ryan in the second grade. And learned that sporting bruises and going to bed with a rumbling belly weren’t normal.

The neighborhood seemed sluggish. Ty missed the normal weekday rush of people leaving for work. The kids who would likely be running up and down the cracked sidewalks in a few hours were still snuggled under their sheets, dreaming of lazy summer mornings and the remaining weeks with no homework.

Two weatherworn rocking chairs sat on the wraparound front porch, swaying in the hot Texas breeze. Just waiting for someone with a steaming mug of coffee to curl up against the wooden slats and enjoy what little respite the morning offered before summer’s oppressive heat seeped in.

A memory burst through, one he’d been pushing back for months.

Van, sitting in that exact spot, her feet pulled up underneath her. Body slumped, shoulders rounded with grief. A beautiful, golden sunrise gilding her exhausted, tear-stained face.

He’d sat there in a different car, on a different day, and been a voyeur to her pain. He’d wanted to comfort her then. But he’d fought the urge to go to her, wrap her in his arms and wipe each of her tears away.

Because he’d known it was better that way. For both of them. After the night they’d shared together in that tree house...

In that moment, being close to her and seeing the anger and accusation in her eyes again would have destroyed him.

Now silence settled over him, harsh and heavy, pressing tight against his chest. He should get out of the SUV he’d rented at the San Antonio airport—get this over with—but he couldn’t seem to make his body move.

This was the moment he’d been dreading for the last several weeks. But it was as inevitable as it was filled with regret, and guilt, and a grief so bone-deep he couldn’t begin to exorcise it.

The only way he’d gotten through that last trip home was by numbing himself with whiskey...and Van.

Ty’s stomach churned and his hands, still wrapped around the leather-covered steering wheel, went white with tension. Sweat that had nothing to do with the heat trickled down the back of his neck.

God, he didn’t want to walk inside. Didn’t want to look into her gorgeous, pain-filled eyes.

There was no way to fix what was broken—for either of them.

But that didn’t stop him from wishing he could roll back time and change everything. He’d give anything—absolutely anything—to bring Ryan back.

A soft whimper sounded from the backseat and a cold, wet nose nudged against his shoulder. Ty pulled a sudden gulp of air into his lungs, grateful for the jolt, which prevented him from spiraling into a familiar mental tailspin.

The last thing he needed was for Van to find him stalling in her driveway. She knew he was coming this morning. Hell, he hadn’t even bothered to check into his hotel first. Better to get this over with.

Carefully unwrapping his fingers from the wheel, Ty reached back and scratched behind Kaia’s ears. She let out another sound, only this time it was full of pleasure. Leaning her head against Ty’s shoulder, she angled her body for a deeper rub.

“I know, girl,” he whispered. “You’re almost home. It’s almost over.”

At least he could make things better for her. Kaia had been through as much trauma and grief as he had. As Savannah had.

He was really hoping that Kaia’s presence would give Van some small measure of comfort. He knew the dog desperately needed some love and affection. He’d fought for months to bring her home because he knew it was what Ryan would have wanted.

Kaia let out a short, sharp bark.

Pushing out a gush of air, Ty tried to laugh. The sound was off, rusty and forced. “I guess it’s time to get this over with.”

Forcefully pulling his gaze from the house, Ty climbed from the car. He opened the back door wide and gave the command for Kaia to jump down. He didn’t bother with a leash. A Belgian Malinois, she’d been trained as an SSD, a specialized search dog, and had spent the better part of five years scenting for explosives and bombs, primarily following voice commands. She was extremely intelligent and very obedient. All of their dogs were.

It was hard not to be partial to his own partner, Echo, waiting for him back in Afghanistan, but he was just as comfortable with Kaia.

The dog’s long, lithe body stretched forward, then didn’t hesitate, bounding from the SUV, and landing on the ground with a stuttered gait. The loss of her left front leg barely even slowed her down.