Free Broken Soldier: A Novel by Clara Frost Page B

“Sure.”
    Paul looked at her knowingly, his lips curling up with a hint of a smile.
    Emily grabbed her towel off the back of the tub and climbed out. The second her skin hit the air, she felt the cold. It was like every pore in her body closed up all at once and the towel she wrapped around herself didn’t do anything to help. “See you inside,” she told Rafa, then ran for the house.
    “Sorry for being such a wet blanket,” Christa said once they were dressed and in the kitchen. “Paul and I got into it on the way up here and he really twisted the screws on me.”
    “You guys going to be alright?” Emily took out the vegetables she’d brought earlier, and started chopping.
    “We’ll be fine. It’s not always easy living with a lawyer.” Christa sliced some chicken quarters and dropped them into a wide pan. They sizzled and popped when they hit the hot oil. “He can’t ever admit he’s wrong.”
    “I don’t think that’s a trait unique to lawyers,” Emily said.
    Christa added rice to a paella pan, sprinkling in a few strands of saffron. “Maybe it’s just husbands. But to answer your question, we’ll be fine. Eventually.”
    “That’s good.” Emily passed her the cutting board full of vegetables. “You feel like talking about it?”
    “He was just talking about Rafael’s opportunities away from Colorado, and when I reminded him that Rafa would be leaving you here, Paul didn’t think it was a big deal.”
    Emily pursed her lips. Her best friend and her husband were fighting about her? “Chrissy, don’t get upset with Paul. He’s Rafa’s best friend. He should take his side.”
    “But--”
    “No, really. I’m glad Rafa has a friend. And if he does need to go, he and I can work that out. You and Paul don’t need to let it come between you.”
    “So have you and Rafael talked about his job situation?”
    “Not yet. Did Paul say anything else about it?”
    Christa shook her head. “He talked to Paul about it earlier in the week. Sounded like he was really torn up on what to do.”
    Emily took comfort from hearing it, though she felt guilty at the same time. It wasn’t like he was going back to Afghanistan, but regardless of what she told Christa, she wasn’t sure how their relationship would survive if he was halfway across the country.
    “I need another drink,” Emily announced.
    “Me, too. Give me a second.” Christa arranged the vegetables atop the rice, and put a cover over the pan. “This way.”
    “I brought beverages,” Emily said.
    Christa raised an eyebrow. “Mom keeps the bar stocked. We can raid her stash.” She led the way to the living room.
    Emily hadn’t even realized there was a bar, but it was manifestly obvious when Christa opened the doors. What had looked like an entertainment center was actually shelf after shelf of bottles. A slide-out counter-top had a sink above and a small fridge below.
    “I need something strong,” Christa said, pouring a generous measure of tequila into a shaker. “How about you?”
    “Just wine,” Emily said. She wanted to keep her head about her. Just in case the evening took a turn for the amorous.
    Christa made it through her margarita and halfway through another before the boys came back inside. Emily set her wine glass aside half finished.
    “Uh, hon,” Paul said, sniffing. “Are you intentionally burning something?”
    Christa slapped her glass down on the bar, nearly knocking it over, and leaped to her feet. “Oh, crap.”
    Emily chased her into the kitchen, Paul’s laughter following behind. A cloud of smoke was rising from the chicken. The rice hissed angrily when Emily took the cover off.
    Christa killed the flames, but Emily could see that the damage was done. The chicken was burned on one side, and the rice was a tar-black glob of stickiness in the paella pan. Even the vegetables were blackening on the edges.
    “I forgot about it,” Emily said.
    “Me, too.”
    Paul and Rafa filtered into the kitchen,