Delta: Retribution by Cristin Harber Page A

quotient to be up for discussion. “Dates aren’t really my thing.”
    “Stability isn’t really your thing.” Ryder walked over to the table. “Dates are for stable, sane people.”
    “You should talk.”
    Ryder shrugged. “I’m not taking a pretty sorority girl on a date.”
    “She’s not in a sorority.”
    “And that’s not the point, my friend.”
    No shit . He scrubbed his face. “God, I’m getting caught up in this girl.”
    The waitress arrived with his beer, and Trace stepped up to the pool table. Brock broke, ran the table, and left him with a couple of crap angles when it was his turn. Brock had a knack for staying in tune with their conversation and keeping his focus on the game. Trace sank his shot, missed the eight ball, and finished off his beer. Funny how something so boring could relax him. So, burying himself in Marlena wasn’t the only option, after all.
    He nodded to the guys as the waitress cleared off the tables. “Alright, I’m out.”
    “What’s the final verdict?” Ryder asked. “Where are you taking her?”
    “Shit if I know.”
    With a tray full of bottles, the waitress walked by, smiling. “Screen on the Green opened on campus this weekend.”
    He turned to her. “Screen on the what?”
    “Didn’t think you boys were from around here. Screen on the Green. They set up a big silver screen, and you watch a movie while sitting on the grass.”
    All of them stood there, stupid.
    The waitress smiled. “It’s great, I swear.”
    “Like a picnic, sweetheart?” Ryder didn’t look convinced, but at least he’d come up with something to say.
    “Something like that.” She shifted the tray. “Crazy fun, I promise.”
    “Right. Thanks.” Okay, Screen on the Green. He might never live down the ribbing after doing something like that. But maybe it was worth thinking about.
    Javier sidled up to Trace, calling over his shoulder, “Back in a minute, guys. Need to talk to my boy.”
    “What?”
    Javier paused then let out a slow breath. “Is this about your brother?”
    The question hit like a throat punch. “No.”
    “Look, we all know your birthday’s coming up.” Javier followed Trace to the front of the bar. “You’ve been a little all over the place since you joined Delta. Being that we’re stuck stateside, I think we’re all just worried about you.”
    He knocked the door open, and sunlight burned his eyes. “I’m fine.”
    “Spending time with the chick—”
    “Marlena.”
    Javier nodded. “With Marlena. That’s nice and all, but—”
    “But what?” he growled.
    “It’s not you.”
    Trace stopped. “Don’t you think I know that?”
    “And a date? I mean, if you’re going to crack up, give a dude a little warning. Okay?”
    His temples pounded; his throat squeezed tight. “What if…”
    What the fuck was he even saying?
    Javier’s face pinched. “What if what?”
    He shrugged, temples still pounding. “I like her.”
    “I get it. She seems like a cool girl. You two obviously have some history together, small world and all that.”
    “I have a good vibe with her.” His heart started to race, his thoughts jumping in for good measure. “She’s funny, a little broken. So am I. Completely fucked in the head and…”
    “And?” Javier crossed his arms.
    Trace sucked in a long breath, dropping his head back to stare into the sun. “I’m never going to find those dog tags.”
    Javier’s eyes hardened. Seconds ticked by. “We know.”
    Deep in his chest, anger turned into a growl. Trace ran his hands through his hair. He’d seen the pictures from the improvised explosion that took out Michael’s armored vehicle. He’d seen how the wreckage had been torn apart by fucking nomads. The tags were gone, along with everything else. Fuck . He wanted them back. It was his only goal in life. His sole focus, getting him thrown off SEALs, getting him… “Fuck!”
    “Trace, buddy, take a breath.”
    He bent over, ducking his head between his knees.