Page 56 of Mile High Salvation
Carter kisses her temple and she looks up at him like he hung the moon and stars.
I’ll never get used to them together, but my best friend treats my little sister like she’s his world, and I’m forced to shut the fuck up. For the rest of my life.
I grab a white porcelain plate and dish up some pasta with a vodka tomato cream sauce and a big helping of broccoli. I leave the bread alone because my body needs a serious tune-up and those kinds of buttery carbs along with the pasta aren’t going to help my goal. I take my plate and a bottled water to the massive dining room table that looks out to a sparkling pool in their backyard.
I scoop a bite of pasta into my mouth. An explosion of flavor hits my tongue and I bite back a groan when it hits my senses. More guilt floods me as I remember what the villagers ate back in Africa.
Ignoring that, I use my fork to indicate the yard. “So, she finally talked you into a pool, huh?”
Carter chuckles. “What Taryn wants, Taryn gets. Even if we can only use the damn thing for like four months out of the year.”
“Five, if the weather’s nice in October,” she chirps. “Grumpy.” She leans up and kisses his stubbly cheek.
“Well, I’ll be utilizing it the summer. Along with your basement gym,” I comment, savoring the garlicky butter on the broccoli.
“Anytime, man.” Carter looks at his wife. “Get him a house key.”
“Already on it,” she says, jumping up and digging in her purse on the entryway table I can see from the dining room. She returns with a gleaming gold key. “Here you go, bro.”
I chuckle and shove it into my sweats pocket. “Thanks.”
Taryn reaches over and squeezes my bicep. “No gyms in Africa?”
I frown. She has no fucking idea.
“Only my own workout. One hundred push-ups, one hundred sit-ups, and a jog around the camp every night.”
Carter smirks. “I don’t expect anything less from you, my friend.”
No, my arms aren’t as yoked as they were when I left, but a few weeks of weights will rectify that. I continue to eat.
“I want to hear all about what you did over there,” Taryn says between bites.
Do you, though?
I smile and say, “Iwillfill you in, but not tonight, sis. I’m thoroughly exhausted.”
She nudges me and cuts a piece of lasagna with the side of her fork. “Come on. I’m dying to know.”
I glance at Carter, whose jaw ticks as he cuts his gaze to his wife. He forces a smile—a move I’ve seen him do a hundred times—and says, “Tar, hon. Let’s let him tell his story when he’s ready, huh?”
“I guess,” she replies. “You do look tired, Eric.” She places a hand on my arm.
I take another bite of food and a big swig of water, trying to muster up the courage to ask the next question. As the sounds of clinking and scraping fill the silence, I decide to ask.
“So, how’s Christa?”
They both freeze, and I realize I’ve asked the wrong thing.
“What?” I query.
“Why do you ask?” Taryn responds.
I drop my fork and stare at her, incredulous. “Why do you think? I fucking miss her.”
She cuts a look at Carter, and then looks back at me. “Well, she’s... coping. Keeping busy.”
“That’s the shit you texted me when I was halfway around the world. How is shereally?” I ask, my jaw clenching at her elusiveness.