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“Where’s Heath?” Franny searched the ballroom. “Have you seen him?”
Aubrey looked over, cheeks pink and eyes a little glassy from too much champagne. “Not in a while. Did you look outside?” Someone grabbed her hand to gush over her diamond, and she turned away.
Of course Franny had looked outside. And inside. Down the hall, in the bathroom, and even in her own car. Not a sign of him anywhere. Now she twisted her hands together as she sought out Finn. He stood in the center of a group of men outside on the lawn, all of them smoking cigars and laughing.
“Finn?” She tugged his sleeve.
“Hey, Franny.” He put one arm around her shoulder and drew her close. “What’s up?”
“Have you seen Heath?”
“Hmm. Not for a while.” He glanced around the lawn, now dark and filled with shadows. The last fireworks had died away, and a chill came off the water. “I’m sure he’s around somewhere.”
Franny checked her phone. No text. No call. Would he really just leave? Was he mad? Had she done something wrong? She flipped back through memories of the last hour and found nothing. She’d barely moved from her corner by the buffet table, except once to help the servers in the kitchen. Tears rose to her eyes.
“Hey,” Finn said. He took the cigar from his mouth and hugged her. “I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe he just had enough and decided to call it a night.”
She nodded. That didn’t seem right. How would he get back to town without a car? She supposed he could have called a cab, or even walked the mile back to the main road and then hitchhiked. But without telling her? “Maybe. Thanks,” she said, and walked away to find a quiet space.
“You’ve reached Heath Garrick,” said his voicemail recording when she called. “Please leave a message, and I’ll call you back.” She hung up, her hands shaking. She took a long breath and then dialed again.
“Hey, it’s Franny,” she said when the voicemail picked up this time. “It’s almost nine-thirty, and I’m getting ready to go. Can’t find you. Call me when you get this.”
She stood in the shadows for almost ten minutes, staring at her phone. The moon rose over the bay. No call. No text. Finally, with her heart in her throat, Franny went inside, said her goodbyes, and hurried to her car. Maybe she’d see him walking along the road. Maybe he’d be at the Hideaway waiting for her.
She pushed the other maybes, the darker possibilities, far back in her mind as she drove home in silence.
###
HEATH WASN’T SURE HOW far he’d gone when the ground beneath his feet changed from dirt to sand. One mile? Two? Maybe farther than that. The fireworks no longer arced and echoed above him. The pines thinned to make way for scrub brush, then reedy grass, then nothing except sky. He stood on the beach at the far end of Lindsey Point, his chest heaving. His feet hurt, his legs ached, and he had scratches on his arms and face. He reached up and realized at some point he’d lost his tie.
“Shit.” What a cowardly, pansy-ass thing to do. Yet it hadn’t felt cowardly at the time. It had felt like survival, like everything he’d had to do every day and night in the Army. A single explosion had thrust him right back into that mindset.
Your risk for PTSD is high...this disorder manifests itself in a lot of different ways...
Heath forced himself to breathe normally. He walked down the beach, feet sinking into the sand. He pulled out his phone to check the time. Less than an hour had passed since he’d been standing on the lawn talking to Finn. Franny had left him a voicemail, but he didn’t listen to it. What the hell would he say if he called her back? He’d warned her. He’d told her he was no good, damaged, bound to hurt her feelings, and here was proof. He couldn’t even spend a few hours at a party like a regular human being.
With only faint light from the moon and stars above him, he took his time walking along the beach. The waves rolled into the rocky coast, splashing in rhythm. Heath put his phone away and looked out to sea.
He’d never felt so lost in his life. Even during his first few days at basic training, and his first terrifying nights in Afghanistan, he’d still been aware of his purpose, a focus on the flag that was bigger than he was. Determination and pride had driven out the fear and then driven him to succeed. He’d been a soldier, a damn good one, for seventeen years. He pushed himself through every physical limitation and beyond. He led men and defeated the enemy.
What was he now?
He jumped at a rustling in the woods. He hadn’t noticed any wild animals during his blind rush from the party, but now he peered into the trees. Deer? Squirrels? He hoped they didn’t have bears in Lindsey Point. The rustling came again, closer and louder. That sounded bigger than a squirrel. Heath backed away. Best bet was to head for the road and see if someone might pick him up and give him a ride back to town.
That seemed like a long shot, though, given the way he looked right now. He wasn’t sure he felt like telling anyone why a guy dressed for a party was covered with scratches and dirt and wandering the beach after dark.
Heath froze as a fat skunk waddled from the underbrush.
“Oh, no. Oh, shit.” He’d been sprayed once as a kid and never forgot the horrible smell. It had lingered on his skin for days. I’m not a threat, he tried to telepathically tell the animal. You have a whole beach and a whole woods to walk around in.
But the skunk didn’t get the message. It waddled closer, then stopped, sniffed, and raised its tail to the sky.
Heath turned, ready to run. If he got a good enough jump, he might be out of range when the animal did let loose. Then something else rustled. Not another one. Leave it to him to stumble upon a pair of lovebird skunks pissed off and ganging up on him. He glanced back in time to see the three-legged stray dog hop toward the skunk. It growled, its teeth bared. Then, to Heath’s utter surprise, the skunk turned around. The dog barked, and at that, the skunk waddled back into the woods as fast as it could.
A rush of breath left Heath’s lungs. “Thanks, buddy.”
The dog eyed him. Heath expected it to growl again, but it must have recognized him from all the scraps he’d tossed it, because it hopped toward him with its tail wagging. Funny-looking thing, borderline ugly, black with some brown along its haunches and bright yellow eyes.
Heath reached out, and to his surprise, the dog let him pet it. He could feel every bone, ribs and hips and skull, and his hand came away caked with dirt and sand. “You’re a mess, buddy.”
The dog barked in response, though whether agreeing or protesting, Heath couldn’t tell. He squatted down and petted it again. This time the dog leaned into him, as if it hadn’t felt human touch in a long time. Maybe ever.
“I’m a mess too,” he added. His legs still shook with leftover adrenaline and the effort of bolting through the woods, and after a minute he dropped to a seat. He’d probably ruin a brand new pair of pants, but it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be wearing them again anytime soon.
Two seagulls swooped low overhead, squawking and searching for food. Somewhere behind him, Heath could hear the low rush of cars driving by. Other than that, silence wrapped around him. His eyes drooped with exhaustion. The dog nestled next to him and nudged Heath’s leg with its nose.
He looked around, taking stock. Possibly, he was trespassing. Probably, he’d wake up with one hell of a backache. But right now, he didn’t have the energy to move. He yawned. The dog rested its chin on his leg, and that was all it took. Heath curled onto his side, found a swell in the ground to rest his head, and went to sleep.