Chapter 6 C6

"Oatmeal about six this morning." She blinked up at him. "What if he doesn't make it?"

The terror on her face hurt him. "The fact he's conscious and talking is a good sign. She wouldn't perform the surgery if she believed he'd never pull through. I know you're afraid-"

"You don't understand." She wrenched from him.

"Then help me."

As quickly as the fight had filled her, it left. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't yell. You're very kindly letting me lean on you."

"I'm also the only one around to hear your fears and frustration. So let me have it. I'm a tough guy. I can handle whatever you need to dish out."

She shook her head. "I'll be fine."

"You're like a bottle of soda someone shook up. I can see you bubbling under the surface. Yank the lid off and spew." He tried to smile to lighten the mood. "I'll help you clean up the mess when you're done."

"I don't let loose like that. Ever."

"Maybe you should, pretty girl."

He couldn't push her anymore if she wasn't ready...but someday she'd pop the top on all that repressed tension. Then, watch out. Brea with her hair down and her gloves off would be a sight. One-Mile hoped he was there for that.

Hell, he hoped he provoked it.

For now, he led her to the cafeteria, got her a sandwich and a salad, then encouraged her to eat.

"Thank you for staying with me," she said as she pushed away the rest of her turkey on wheat. "You didn't have to."

"I did." He would be here for her as long as she wanted him. Probably longer. She just didn't know that yet.

"You barely know me."

He shrugged. "I want to know more."

But now wasn't the time. In fact, his moments alone with her were likely ticking away. Soon, the parishioners, Mama Sweeney, and probably Cutter the asswipe would show up. Brea would feel obligated to give them her attention and support. Then he'd be in her way. He had to maximize his time with her now.

"Later," he added. "Focus on your dad today."

"You know it will never work between us."

"Besides the sex thing, which I already answered, why not?" One-Mile was expecting a lot of blah-blah and bullshit about Cutter and their budding love or whatever the fuck she thought they shared.

"I don't know you."

"We can fix that. I'm game. How about you?"

She shook her head. "I know what you do for a living."

She didn't like it, but she also didn't understand that he was doing the world a goddamn favor by offing scum. "Good. Then we won't have to have that awkward conversation. What else?"

"You scare me."

He had to give Brea credit; that was honest.

One-Mile took a risk and held her hand. "I said I'd never hurt you. I meant it."

She squirmed in her seat. "Not that kind of scare."

So he made her heart race and her female parts tingle, huh? And she'd never felt that before? Cutter must be a literal wet noodle in the sack, but that wasn't his issue. Getting her to see a future without the Boy Scout was.

He dragged his thumb back and forth across her so-soft palm. "It's the good kind of scare."

She didn't look convinced. "Are you this adamant with every woman you pursue?"

It was a fair question. "No. But I've never met anyone like you."

"You really don't know me."

"I know my gut tells me that I shouldn't let you get away."

"Pierce..."

"One-Mile. Pierce was my father."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

It wasn't good, but she loved her dad, so she'd probably never comprehend the bleeding asshole his had been. "Having someone else's name can be like wearing a too-tight jacket."

She seemed to weigh his words. "At least it's a nice name. And you could make it your own. But I can't, in good conscience, call you something that celebrates another person's death."

Of course not. She only saw the loss of life, not the fact that if he hadn't pulled the trigger for that fateful one-mile shot, a terrorist had been prepared to blow up a marketplace filled with women and children simply because American servicemen had been there. Still, now wasn't the time to push her more.

"If Pierce makes you more comfortable, fine." He'd rather her call him Pierce than not call him at all.

"Why don't you and Cutter like each other?"

"Are you asking me questions to take your mind off your worries?"

She sent him a faint smile. "I might be."

Reading people could sometimes be the difference between life and death. "Try not to worry too much."

"I don't think I can stop it."

One-Mile palmed her crown, feeling the softness of her hair as he pulled her closer. "Think positive. You done here, pretty girl?"

She looked at her half-eaten sandwich and nodded. "We should get back to the ER."

He'd rather linger where it was unlikely anyone-especially Cutter-would find them, but Brea would feel better if she were closer to her father. "Let's go."

Sure, she could find her own way through the hospital, but he couldn't resist settling his palm on the small of her back and guiding her to the crowded room that smelled like antiseptic, puke, and fear. When they arrived, a tall man who looked like an older version of Cutter and a tiny woman who shared his eyes headed straight for Brea.

She bolted for the woman. "Mama Sweeney!"

"Oh, baby girl..." The older woman hugged her fiercely. "We're here for you and your daddy. Try not to fret."

"That means the world to me." Brea turned to the other man. "Thanks for coming, too, Cage."

One-Mile hung back, gritting his teeth as the other man folded her into his big arms.

"Of course," Cage assured. "I don't have to be back in Dallas and on duty until midnight. I'm sure my little brother will turn up long before then."

"Most likely." Brea's stilted smile didn't quite mask her worry.

"I left him a voicemail on our way over. But you know Cutter isn't the sort to disappear all night without a word. Of my two boys, he's the good one," Sweeney teased as she elbowed her older son.

Cage rolled his eyes. "You only think that because he's better at fooling you."

Brea's boyfriend had been out all night? And his family wasn't even trying to reassure her that Cutter hadn't danced the mattress tango with another woman?

Maybe they thought he was working. One-Mile knew better.

"Hush," Sweeney scolded Cage before she settled Brea into the nearest chair. "Honey, sit down before you fall down and tell us the latest from the doctor."

Brea did, looking alarmingly pale by the time she glanced his way. "Did I forget anything?"

"No."

Cage zipped a cautious stare his way. "We haven't met."

"Sorry." Brea jumped to her feet. "Cage, this is one of Cutter's peers, Pierce Walker."

"I prefer One-Mile." He stuck out his hand to Cutter's older brother.

As they shook hands, nothing on Cage's face said he'd heard the name before. "Good to meet you. Which branch did you serve?"

"Marines. Sniper."

Understanding dawned as Cage nodded. "Hence the nickname. Hell of a kill shot, man."

He'd rather not talk about it with Brea listening. "What do you do?"

"I'm a cop in Dallas."

It fit. Cage had that sharp, gritty edge he never saw on a salesman or an accountant. "Glad you could come before you have to get back for your shift."

"Always. She's like my sister." Cage stared him down. "You a friend of Cutter's?"

He and Bryant would become pals on the twelfth of never as hell was freezing over. "We just work together."

Cage's face closed up. Obviously, he'd read between the lines.

Brea tugged on Cage's sleeve. "You don't have any idea where Cutter is?"

"I don't. He dropped you home after the party, and we went out for a beer. I left the bar when they shouted last call. He stayed to, um...talk to some folks."

Folks who were female, no doubt. That lying motherfucker was covering his brother's ass. Was Brea too trusting to believe her boyfriend was cheating? One-Mile wanted to strangle Cutter. If Brea ever gave him a chance, he wouldn't dishonor her like that.

"I hope he's not hung over. I got concerned when he didn't show up for church this morning. I'd planned to go by his apartment after my errand, but then Jennifer Collins called..."

Cage slid into the seat beside her and gave her hand a squeeze. "He'll turn up."

Yeah, hopefully not smelling like skank. Oh, he'd love Cutter to do something stupid enough to prompt Brea to sever their relationship, but she didn't need the stress of finding out her boyfriend was a two-timing douche today.

She squeezed Cage's hand in return. "I know."

"Brea," a familiar deep voice called from the sliding double doors.

Speak of the devil...

As Cutter strode toward them, heads turned. Cage and Mama Sweeney looked relieved to see him.

Brea stood. "You made it."

"As soon as I got Mama's message." When Cutter reached her, he enfolded her in his arms, lifting her off the floor and against his body while she buried her face in his neck with a sob. "I saw you'd called. Why didn't you leave a message?"

"You might have been busy, and I didn't want to be a bother."

Was she kidding? She should expect her man to drop anything-everything-when she needed him. He sure as hell would if Brea belonged to him. Had Cutter given her a reason to think he'd put her last?

"Bre-bee, you're never a bother." He set her on her feet and cupped her face. "I'm always here for you. I always will be."

She gave him a shaky nod, rife with thanks.

That was it? She wasn't going to ask the bastard where he'd been all night and why he hadn't answered the phone until three o'clock in the afternoon?

No one else seemed to think it was odd, either. Sweeney hugged her son. Cage gave his brother a shoulder bump. Then they updated him about her dad's condition.