two by six boards from the stack on the far side of the hangar, propped them on his shoulder, and made his way to the dock. The smell of freshly milled lumber filled the air as he balanced the boards with his right hand. Reaching the dock, he set the boards on the sandy ground. After power-washing the dock yesterday, he’d noticed a few boards that needed to be replaced. When he’d asked Zeke to borrow his truck for a run to the lumberyard, the old man had smiled and shook his head even as he’d handed over the keys.
“Son, those boards are just fine.”
Maybe they were. But Jared needed a project, and this was as good as any. He’d not only bought the wood and screws but two five-gallon drums of water-resistant, environmentally safe stain. Resealing would be his next project.
The rain had finally stopped, and the sun was out. His T-shirt hung from his back pocket, and a tool belt rode low on his Levi’s. He grabbed a pry bar and got to work.
Earlier, he’d dragged the radio out of the hangar, found a classic rock station, and cranked the volume as high as it would go. As AC/DC sang about the “Highway to Hell,” sun beat down on his back, and his biceps bulged as he worked the boards loose. With all the work he’d been doing outside, his tan had deepened to a rich golden brown.
The first couple of boards popped off easily, but the others proved to be a bitch. Banging on the end of the pry bar with a hammer, he forced the bar under a board and strained until he heard it squeak free from the timber supports.
“This is a step up. From top gun to no fun.”
Jared paused, the pry bar in his hand. “You never could follow directions worth shit.”
Kenny Hart stood at the end of the dock, looking like he’d just stepped off the beaches of Malibu. Not for the first time did Jared wonder what the hell women saw in him. He was a pain-in-the-ass pretty boy who’d been crowding Jared’s wings ever since he’d joined the squadron two years ago. Hart looked like he was modeling for a damn magazine in designer jeans, a foil-print T-shirt, and some high-tech shoes Jared would rather go barefoot than wear.
Jared looked around Hart to the parking lot. A glossy black Porsche glistened under the sun. “Your girlfriend lend you her car?” It was a sissy-ass car, and they both knew it.
“All the rental place had. Jealous?”
“Yeah. That’s it.”
Kenny turned the volume down on the radio. Jared considered it sacrilegious to mess with the Boss, especially when he was belting out “Born to Run,” but obviously Kenny had no such compunction.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Would you believe I grew up around here?”
“No.”
Kenny just shrugged, and Jared got the feeling Malibu Ken hadn’t been lying.
“I came to offer my services.”
Jared braced a foot against the dock and pulled back on the bar. “Services for what?” He grunted as the board began to work free.
“Best man, of course. I figure there was only one reason you’d need a tux. And I am the better man.”
The board came loose. Jared crouched back, setting the pry bar down. He reached for his T-shirt and wiped the sweat off his forehead. “The day you outfly me, Hart, will be the day I’m six feet under.”
“I am outflying you. You bailed, remember?”
“Shut the fuck up and hand me that board.”
Kenny glanced at the stack of new wood. “Sorry. Might get a splinter, and then how would I stop the proud papa from holding a shotgun to your head during the ceremony?”
Jared shoved the shirt back in his right rear pocket. “There’s no wedding.”
Kenny took off his Oakley sunglasses. “Then why the need for a tux?”
“Who are you? The goddamn National Enquirer?”
“They’d probably pay me a pretty penny for the scoop on why the navy’s top gun walked away at the height of his career.”
Jared walked down the dock and straight past Hart. He didn’t stop until he was in the hangar and in front of the fridge. He opened it and pulled out a cold one. He twisted off the cap, took a drink, and shut the door with his foot.
Kenny didn’t wait for an offer. He opened the fridge and grabbed his own bottle. “So, what do you think? Do I have a story for them or what?”