into his lungs. “Well.”
Vance didn’t like the way his chest was beginning to tighten. Keep that cool. He ignored the feeling and tried for politeness. “How are you, Dad?”
His father tied an efficient knot in the plastic and set it down at his feet. “Tired,” he said, sounding irritable. “About this time every year it occurs to me what a damn lot of work we go through for Picnic Day and I swear this will be the last one ever.”
Vance thought his father did look worn. He’d made a brief stop at the house eight months ago—on the eve of his latest deployment, as a matter of fact. His imminent leave-taking had gone unannounced—instead, he’d broken the news in a brief email once he was already out of the country, sparing himself the discomfort of witnessing his mother’s certain dismay. Sitting in the kitchen with her that night, drinking coffee, he’d had a glimpse of his father. The other man had come in, they’d exchanged nods then he’d gone back out.
Though the contact had been brief, Vance was sure the spokelike lines bracketing the outside corners of his father’s eyes were deeper now. He looked thinner, too, the wear in the leather belt around his 501 jeans testifying that he’d cinched it to the next hole. “You should get Fitz and Baxter to do more of the work. I ran into Uncle Roy and he said Bax didn’t even show today.”
“It’s my ranch,” his father replied, his voice tight. “My decision.”
“That’s right.” Vance worked hard to hold back any flicker of reaction. “It’s always been up to you.”
Then he turned to the truck, his chest feeling as if it was wrapped by a belt fastened even more tightly than his father’s. Breathe, he told himself. Be calm.
“You’ve hurt your mother,” his father called out.
Old news, Vance thought, suddenly as weary as the other man claimed to be. “I’m sorry for it,” he said. “When I go back, I’ll try to send a few more emails.”
“Emails.” His father made a sound of disgust. “Is nothing serious with you?”
Vance hung on to his calm with everything he had, even as he spun to face his father again. “War is pretty serious. I take it that way.”
The older man’s mouth set in a harsh line of disapproval. “You’re determined to go back, then?”
Vance hesitated. Under the circumstances, he could request a medical discharge, dispensing with the remainder of his service obligation. But then what? Right now it was a question he didn’t have an answer for. “I’m going back.”
“What about your girl?”
What about her? he almost asked. Layla had no place in his future. “It’ll give her a chance to dump me,” he said, pissed at how bitter he sounded. “There’s a precedent for that, as we both know.”
His father winced, then his voice took on an almost conciliatory tone. “Vance, your brother...”
“No.” Just like that, the calm was gone, a spike of rising anger in its place. And all the bitterness he’d kept at bay flooded him, his fingers curling into fists. He couldn’t listen to his dad defend Fucking Perfect Fitz. Not now.
Not ever. God, Vance thought, he never should have returned here for Picnic Day.
His father appeared pained. “Look—”
“I don’t want to talk about Fitz.” Vance’s chest was tightening again, but now the pressure was all from the inside. His temper was lava-hot and ready to blow. “Or about that.”
“But you landed on your feet, son, like you always do. You’re with Layla.”
Layla. Thinking of her did nothing to reduce that suffocating heat building inside him. Just admit to it, he urged himself, because you’ve always been a lousy liar. Tell him she’s nothing to you. Clear up this stupid charade. “Layla is—”
“I hope you’re about to say something really nice,” the woman herself put in, emerging from the gloom into the circle of light surrounding the cupcake truck.
Surprised by her sudden appearance, Vance stared at her. All day, even when he’d held her in his arms on the dance floor, he’d avoided really looking at her. Now here she was, in a little dress the color of fertile earth and decorated with swirls of gold and bronze. Her shoulders were bare, her long legs revealed from an inch above the knee down to her gold-strapped sandals. Her skin gleamed with a light tan. You have to know how pretty you are, he’d told her when they’d arrived.
“So damn pretty,” he murmured now.
She smiled at him. “That will do.” Then