the door and put a hand on his arm. “Jeremy, we’re friends. Right?”
Friends. What a pale word to describe what he wished they could be. He swallowed that
down. “Friends, yeah. Of course.”
“Don’t go away mad, please? I’ll forget it; we’ll just go on from here, okay?” She
smiled so genuinely that he ached, knowing he was walking out the door instead of
getting to touch her again.
“Sounds good.” And though it took way more effort than it should have, he stepped
outside and closed the door behind him.
His duty to his father wasn’t something he could shrug off. And Madison… God love
her, but she just didn’t fit into that plan.
Not to mention he had a duty to his friend—his best friend—not to screw things up
with his friend’s sister. Hell, what would happen if they dated and it ended badly?
Nobody would be happy.
No, he couldn’t risk that. His friends were everything to him. And Madison was a friend,
as she said. He couldn’t risk losing one of his friends over something he could control.
He had enough issues in his life without pushing away people who supported him. No.
He and Madison, much as he wished, were never going to work.
***
This is so working.
Madison propped her back against the door and slid down to the floor, butt plopping
on the carpet, grin spreading over her face. The timing of his visit was a little
ahead of her schedule, but who cared? She hadn’t expected to see Jeremy again tonight
after dropping Veronica off at Tim and Skye’s place. Still high on excitement from
the plans they made for the apartment while watching a movie, Madison was prepared
to come home and crash.
But Jeremy showed up. And apparently had something crawling under his skin, since
he came ready for a fight. Or confrontation. Or something.
Madison could think of several better uses for all that energy, but he wouldn’t be
ready to hear them. Not quite yet.
But his reaction to her normal, everyday actions, like taking off her freaking sweatshirt,
was the real triumph. She hadn’t planned it, hadn’t even meant for that to happen.
Who the hell could predict a guy would drool over a freaking sweatshirt? But he clearly
couldn’t help himself. And she wasn’t going to argue with that. If he got sex-nymph from her unzipping a hoodie and shaking out her ponytail, who was she to say no?
He wasn’t ready yet, she reminded herself as she stood and walked back to the bedroom
to get ready for bed. Still battling some unseen demons. That was just like Jeremy,
to be in his own head and not able to separate what he imagined and what was real.
The man was so internal compared to the other guys it threw her off.
But she’d work that out with him if it killed them both. Which, God knew, it just
might. He wasn’t one to give up once he dug his heels in. But she wasn’t one to give
up a fight once she picked the battle.
It was war. And all was fair game.
***
Jeremy waited for his supply guy to call back. And waited. And waited. After calling
the office and getting the Marine’s voice mail, he let the phone drop back to the
cradle with a small clash.
“Damn. He knows I can’t move forward without his say-so.” Jeremy doodled on the notebook
in front of him, then let his wrist go lax and sketched a little, free form, letting
the pen move as it wanted.
Nonsense shapes started taking form, connected and interlocked somehow. And then he
saw a profile. Profile of a dead woman. Trying his best to stay zoned out—something
he’d never done before—he let his hand work, let the scene take shape. Let the pen
capture as many details as possible before he couldn’t stand it any longer. He ripped
the drawing out, set it aside, turned to a fresh page, and started scribbling down
as many notes as possible.
Her hair. Her eye color. The expression on her face as she’d died. Body placement.
Who killed her? He didn’t know yet. He’d