“Well, you know,” I say with a small, humorless chuckle, “if I tell you…”
I let my voice trail off.
“You’d have to kill me?”
I shrug. It is probably true, though for the first time in my life I actually have an opinion about it. I wouldn’t really mind telling her and almost feel compelled to do so, but I know I can’t.
“I was in the Marines,” I finally speak quietly. “I trained in Virginia, was injured in the line of duty, and honorably discharged. Please don’t ask me anything else.”
Her fingertips cross my cheek gently.
“I won’t,” she promises. “I’m sorry.”
I know I am giving her the wrong impression, but it is better than an outright lie, and I can’t give her more details about my life afterwards. What would I say anyway? Oh, by the way, you just fucked an ex-Marine sniping expert turned hit man for a Chicago mob boss. Have a great morning.
Yeah…not likely.
Breakfast is quiet, and she joins me for a walk around the area with Odin after we’re done. I want to ask her what exactly she plans to do today, but I find I’m a little anxious about her answer.
I don’t want her to leave.
It makes sense, really. I haven’t spoken to a single person since I drove to Pinon for gas over a month ago, and I only asked the sales clerk to confirm the price on a liter of Gatorade. Before that I hadn’t said a word to a soul since leaving Chicago.
“It’s temporary.”
“What, until you find someone better than me and send them out to remove me more permanently? I’m not stupid, Rinaldo.”
“So you claim, yet here you still stand.”
“Fine. I’ll go.”
There’s a touch against my arm, and her fingers slide from my elbow down to my hand. A second later our fingers are interlocked, and the sensation is both welcome and nerve-racking.
“Do you regret it?” Lia suddenly asks.
For a brief moment I think she can read my mind, but then I realize she’s thinking about last night. Or this morning. Whatever.
“I’m a guy – we don’t regret sex.”
She snickers and shakes her head as she looks down to the ground in front of her feet. Her mouth immediately turns down, and she bites at her lip. I squeeze her fingers slightly, and she meets my eyes again.
“I don’t regret it,” I confirm, and she smiles genuinely.
“I’ve never done that before,” she says softly. “I’ve never been that…spontaneous. You read me so well – better than he ever did.”
“Does ‘he’ have a name?”
She eyes me for a moment.
“William.”
“William is an asshole,” I say definitively. She smiles again, but the smile is a sad one.
“He wasn’t always,” she says. “When we were in school, he was so sweet and so different from the other guys. He grew up on the reservation near my hometown. He was…exotic, I guess. I think I also believed all that talk of alcoholism in Native Americans was bullshit.”
“Just because it’s a stereotype doesn’t mean it never fits,” I murmur.
“Very true.” She nods her head. “My dad loved him, and I think when he passed away…my dad died of cancer two years ago…”