Free The Heart You Carry Home by Jennifer Miller Page B

Anything for a glimpse into his world—and his head. She’d tried to bone up on information so she’d know what questions to ask him. But during their conversations, he was either too tired to talk, or they’d had a bad patrol (whatever
bad
meant, he never explained), or he was too stressed due to new orders from HQ. Nothing Ben told her was consistent. It was like running a race where the ground continually shifted beneath your feet.
    Becca often felt lonelier after talking to him, but she refused to believe that all was lost. There were moments when he still laughed. When he shared some funny detail or anecdote. And he always signed off by saying, “I love you, Chicken.” Other women were
baby
or
sweetheart
or
hon
. But it was there, in the silly nickname Ben had given her, that Becca felt him close, as he had been before. So she continued to hope. And she continued to read and study and prepare. Just in case.
    Kath asked no more questions. She walked to Becca, who had drifted to the far side of the kitchen, and reached for her, but Becca did not want comfort and pulled away.
    â€œI’ve been thinking, honey,” Kath said. “If you want to go with your dad to Utah—”
    Becca looked up with surprise.
    â€œWell, why did you run to him if not for advice? For some insider knowledge? So he happens to be taking a trip. Even better. Perfect for bonding.”
    Becca stared at her aunt with genuine confusion. She’d run to King because she could think of no place else to go. To speak of bonding was absurd. Traveling with her father, she’d be nothing more than extra weight on the bitch pad. Once she explained all of this, Kath’s face grew stern.
    â€œSit down, child,” she said and Becca obeyed. “I’m not saying you did wrong trying to get inside Ben’s head but there’s only one way to really know a person, and that’s to be with them.”
    â€œI know that now.”
    Kath sighed. “I don’t think you’re being honest about why you went to King. You could have called me. But you called him. And if he hasn’t given you what you came for, then just letting him go on his merry way would be a real waste.” Kath’s stare was more powerful than truth serum.
    â€œHe can’t advise me unless he opens up, and we both know he won’t. It’s not like I can guilt him into sharing.”
    â€œNot guilt him, honey, communicate with him. Your father’s not so great at that, but I don’t think you’re giving him enough credit. You can’t expect him to do a thing for you, though, if he doesn’t realize he
has
to. And besides, you’re not staying here cooped up with me. I’m an old misanthrope. You’re young and adventurous. At least I thought you were.”
    Becca remembered what Bull had said about confronting her fears. And her aunt was right; this cabin was the physical edge of what she knew—like one of those invisible fences that keep dogs from running into the street. Her father’s motorcycle would be more than sufficient to bust through. “Maybe I’ll talk to him tonight,” she said, searching Kath’s face for encouragement.
    â€œCome on.” Kath breathed, exasperated. “You need to confront him soon and be forthright. Say you want to go with him. You’re a runner, Becca. It’s not in your blood to stand still.”
    Just then, the growl of motorcycles blasted the windows.
    â€œThis is a horrible idea,” Becca said, but she marched outside anyway. Partly, she was allowing herself to be baited; she was not a person who stood still. But mostly, she wanted to show her aunt that King had zero interest in helping her.
    â€œRides like butter,” King was saying to the others. “I mean, it cruises like a yacht.” Reno and Bull saw Becca first and they must have noticed something in her face or her walk, because they hopped off