“Fine.” My blood runs cold at the sound of Devin’s voice. “I understand. Do whatever you’ve got to do.”

“Don’t be like that,” I plead. “The dinner means nothing, and I’m going to cancel it, just like I’m going to find a way to get off work. I promise you, I will try my absolute hardest to make sure I’m there with you the entire time you’re home, okay?”

“Okay.”

What? That’s it?

“Devin, I—”

“Look,” he says curtly, “I’ve gotta go pack. I’ll email you my itinerary. You just let me know if you’re able to rearrange your busy schedule.”

“Excu—” I pull the phone back and stare at it.

Did he just hang up on me?

“Katie?” I look up at the sound of my mom’s soft voice and find her standing in the doorway of the kitchen. “Is everything okay?”

“Josephine passed away.”

“Oh no,” she croons, stepping further into the room. “What happened?”

“I …” It hits me all at once that I didn’t even bother to ask him how his mom died, and I instantly forget that I’m mad at him. “I don’t know.”

“How’s Devin holding up?”

“Not good, from the sounds of it,” I answer, looking down at my phone and then up at her. “He’s shutting down.” I should know. I was the queen of shutting down for several months. “I can hear it in his voice.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing he has you, isn’t it?” she says, pulling me into her arms. “Because you know a little something about that, and maybe you’ll be able to help when you get to him.”

“How did you know I was going to him?” I ask, pulling away from her just a fraction.

“Because you love him.”

“He’s your lobster,” Maggie sings, sashaying into the room with Bailey following close behind.

Mom laughs and gives her a sidelong glance. “You and that damn lobster.”

“Hey,” she says, holding up her hands, “blame Phoebe.” She walks up to the table and grabs my work schedule. “What’s this for?”

Mom fills her and Bailey in on what little I told her, and then Maggie turns to me. “I’m off those days; I’ll pick them up for you.”

“Really? Maggie, you just made my freakin’ year.” Stepping out of Mom’s arms, I walk straight over to Maggie and pull her in for a hug.

“That’s what friends are for. Plus, Sean is out of town, so the extra work will keep me out of trouble.”

“I love you, Mags. You know that, right?”

“Of course you do,” she says and laughs, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “What’s not to love? I’m amazing.”

“And conceited,” Bailey mumbles, earning herself a slap on the arm from Mom.

“I’ll owe you big time,” I say at the same time Maggie pulls away from me.

“Nope.” Gripping my shoulders, she spins me around and leads me to my bedroom. “You owe me nothing.” Pulling my suitcase from the closet, she tosses it on the bed and opens it up. “You’re my best friend, Kit Kat, and I want you to be happy. Now get packed and then I’ll help you book a flight.”

“Thank you.”

“You can thank me when you see the lingerie I’ve got waiting for you at home. I’ll get it for you later, but you’re taking it with you.”

“First, I’m not taking lingerie with me.” Because how fucking embarrassing would that be if I took lingerie and then we didn’t even … bowchickawowwow. “Second, why in the world do you have lingerie for me? You just found out about this trip.”

“It was something I picked up for your bachelorette party, but since you went all Runaway Bride on me, I figure I’ll give it to you now.”

“I didn’t go all Runaway Bride,” I argue, giving her my best pouty face.

“Semantics.” She waves her hand through the air, and I can’t help but laugh at her crazy ass. “There was going to be a wedding, now there’s not. We don’t really need to hash it out any more, especially since you’ve got more important things to do.”

Spinning on her heel, Maggie walks out of the room and I’m left staring at my empty suitcase, wondering what in the hell I’m going to pack. My gaze drifts to the picture of Devin and me that’s tucked in the frame of my mirror. I walk over to my dresser, pick up the photo and run my thumb across it.

“Ten years,” I whisper to myself. Closing my eyes, I send a silent prayer up to the big man … God, or my Dad … right about now, I’ll take either one.

Please don’t let him break my heart again.

“I’d Hate To Be You When People Find Out What This Song Is About”—Mayday Parade

“KATIE? HELLO?”

All I hear is static before the phone line clicks and switches back to a dial tone. I slam the receiver into its holster and run my hands through my hair, trying my best to calm down. Of all the times for this shit to cut out.

I take a deep breath in and reach for the phone again before stopping myself. I wonder for a moment if I even want to call her back. I don’t know if I’m pissed, jealous, or maybe both, but right now all I want to do is spend time with my men—who also happen to be my friends. And when I want to escape these thoughts of Katie and my mother, they’re the best antidote available.

I rise to my feet and head toward the exit, all the while doing my best to pretend she wasn’t planning on seeing Wyatt and fighting to shake thoughts of them together … holding each other, kissing each other, fuck—

No. Hell no. I’m not fucking going there.

The chopper came just as expected at 0600. The quick ride to the Green Zone was a blur as the rhythmic whip of the blades forced my tired eyes shut. Navas spent several hours the night before pulling everything out of me, though I fought tooth and nail against it. And as I now sit at the military air terminal waiting on the C-130 to arrive, my eyes burn while scanning the enormous room full of hundreds of other military personnel funneling in and out. I try and catch sight of one I may know, as unlikely as it is, because in this moment of total isolation even in this crowded room, all I want is familiarity.

What I really want is Katie, but all I can think of right now is that she needs space … that as much as I want to talk to her, as much as I want to see her, she does have unsettled business and I can’t get in the way of that—no matter how much I may need her. She tells me that she’s over Wyatt, that what they had is in the past, but how can it be when it just ended? I want to believe her, but a tiny voice in the back of my head is holding me back, keeping me from believing that I ever had a chance. So I spend the next thirty minutes running our phone conversation through my head, and when my plane finally arrives, I breathe a sigh of relief.

The C-130 flight to Germany went by in a flash, and as I shuffle onto my second-to-last flight of the day, a nine-hour trip across the Atlantic, I’m actually grateful for the ridiculously early chopper—and even Navas for his hours of concerned interrogation—because my sleep on the C-130 flight was better than any I’ve gotten in a very long time. I think, more than anything, it’s the knowledge that—at least for now—I’m out of harm’s way.

In usual cruel fashion, thoughts of my guys come into focus. Seeing the snug, pleather Lufthansa seats in rows before me, I can’t help but feel guilty that I’m not back there with them. If something happens to one of my men while I’m gone, I don’t know what the fuck I’ll do.

I pour myself into my seat and slip the window shade open.

Light comes in waves through the little oval window, first blinding me, then exposing the busy airport tarmac and gorgeous city of Frankfurt. I’m taken aback by just how different this place is compared to where I’ve just come from—how oblivious these people are to what others are going through at this very moment.