Soldier's Choice by Morgan Blaze Page A

them this morning,” she said as she tucked the phone back and reached for the door. “You can just let me know when you decide which one you want.”
    “Luka.”
    She couldn’t look at him. “What?”
    “Still friends?”
    A wave of fury spread through her, and she gripped the doorknob hard enough to hurt. She couldn’t tell if she was more pissed at him, or herself. “Yeah,” she said tightly. “Still friends.”
    Before he could react, she yanked the door open and strode out.
    * * * *
    Reese managed to hold out a lot longer than he expected. He went back to the kitchen and chatted normally with Georgia for another half hour, until their mother came back from church and the two of them headed for the mall in Greenway. Once they’d gone, he started on the downstairs den, which he planned to gut before he knocked down one of the walls to extend the living room.
    In the middle of hauling old furniture from the den to the basement, his phone went off. He finished bringing the armchair he was currently wresting with down, and then sat on the stairs and watched the messages from Luka come in. Images only, no words. Not even a hello.
    After the last photo, he received a two-word text. That’s everything.
    He’d already battened down the emotional hatches. It should have hurt, but he felt nothing. He hit reply on the text and tapped in Got them, thanks. Then he debated whether he should add a smiley at the end.
    Five minutes later, he sent the message as written.
    He downloaded all the images to his phone and picked three to send to Brett. The Wizard of Oz one, a storm-frothed lake seen from a beach strewn with bright plastic toys, and a woman from behind poised to enter a dark forest populated with gleaming eyes. Definitely not the painting of him. Even with all of his defenses up, that one stirred something deep and painful, something he just couldn’t face.
    He tapped out a message— Here’s some of her stuff, let me know what your mother thinks —attached the images, and sent it. Then he headed back upstairs determined to work until he couldn’t move.
    An hour later, he was boxing up the hundreds of books that lined two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along the back wall when a message came in. He pulled his phone out. It was from Brett.
    Allow me to translate Mom’s ecstatic screaming and fits of artistic joy. She says yes. How soon can you get her work here?
    He smiled in spite of himself. He still hadn’t figured out how he’d actually get the paintings without her knowing, but maybe her brothers would help out with that. They had to know how good she was. He replied: Thanks, man. Will get them out ASAP, she doesn’t know I’m doing this. She’s never shown before.
    It wasn’t long before the next message. Hell of a surprise for her. Mom says by Wed? She has this big monthly event for local artists, tons of guests, they’ll love this stuff.
    Perfect. Somehow, he’d find a way to get them by Wednesday. Will do, I’ll try for tomorrow night. Be good to see you.
    He moved to put the phone back when it buzzed again.
    Same here. Your girl is amazing, can’t wait to meet her. I’m jealous.
    “She’s not my girl,” Reese whispered to the empty room. “We’re just…friends.”
    Something in him snapped. A black curtain of rage descended like a shroud, and with an incoherent roar he ran at the shelves, batting the heavy books to the floor in cascading piles, throwing a few of them hard across the room to crack the plaster walls. He ripped one of the shelves free and used it to bash a lamp on a small end table into splinters. Picked up the table and beat it against the floor, breaking it into senseless chunks.
    With a single harsh sob, he collapsed against the wall and slid to the floor, where he let the blackness take him.
     
     

Chapter 9
     
    Luka spent most of the day avoiding her brothers, until they finally got the hint and left her alone. She didn’t want any sympathy or teasing, and she