Page 8 of Guarding Bristol
“That’s you, isn’t it?”she asked quietly.
Dragging his eyes up from the photo, he met her gaze.Now that he understood the connection, he could see a bit of resemblance in their coloring and eyes.“Where is he?”he asked instead of confirming it.
How the hell had Eric’s sister found him?And why?
She hesitated a moment, and he knew what she was going to say before she spoke.“He died a couple years ago.”
Damn.“I’m sorry to hear that.”Moreau had been a great soldier and an even better person.
She lowered her gaze, nodded.“He...struggled a lot.It started when he came home from that first deployment and got progressively worse.But the toughest part was when he left the military.He couldn’t adjust back to regular life, didn’t feel like he fit in anywhere, and couldn’t relate to anything anymore.”
Yeah, TJ knew the feeling.
“His drinking got out of control.He wound up on the streets for a while.”
Hell.A guy like Moreau had wound up homeless?Fucking broken system.
“But he made it out,” she said with a proud smile that belied the slight wobble in her voice.“For a while.Unfortunately, not long after that he was killed by a drunk driver.I know he would appreciate the irony.”
Fuck.“I’m sorry,” he said again, her pain clear in her face and voice.“He was a good guy.”
“Yes, he was.”She blew out a breath.“Anyway, Cassie—my stepsister,” she clarified, aiming a thumb over her shoulder to indicate the woman inside, “was over the other night and saw this picture.She thought this might be you and had told me you’ve been living down here, so I thought...”
“Thought what?”
She opened her mouth, closed it.“I thought I would come and see if it was you and find out if you needed help with anything.”
“I don’t need your help.”The answer was immediate and instinctive, the sudden spike in anxiety catching him off guard as much as her offer.It was almost a crawling sensation along his skin, a mounting need to get away from her.Or get her away from him.
“Okay, but please at least just take this,” she blurted before he could turn away, holding out a business card.
“What is it?”He wasn’t going to contact her.
“A potential job with good benefits.They’re a specialized residential reno company based in Crimson Point that work mostly on heritage homes, and they exclusively hire veterans.I was told you only work part-time here, so if you’re up for a change of scenery and a move to the coast, they’re looking to hire more people on full-time.They also provide their full-time employees with housing.The owner is an Army vet too.He said to call him if you’re at all interested.”She offered the card again.
TJ reluctantly took it, staring at her as he tried to figure her out.Or at least her angle.Was she for real?She’d driven up here from the coast to find him, not even knowing for sure it was him, just to check in on him and offer him potential work?Who did that shit?
She licked her lips.“I know all this must seem pretty presumptuous of me, but I just wanted to meet you and see if you’re okay.Eric would have wanted me to.”
He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had checked in to see if he was okay.Or given enough of a shit about him to care how he was.He was so used to being unwanted and invisible to the rest of society, he didn’t know what the hell to make of her standing in front of him now.
“My number’s on the back,” she added when he didn’t say anything, and clasped her hands behind her.The motion pushed rounded breasts that he definitely should not be noticing against the fabric of her dress.“In case you need anything, or...want to talk or whatever.”
It was too much.That crawling, panicky sensation was unbearable now, a constant alarm clanging at the back of his head.“I don’t need anything,” he said gruffly and turned away, the thud of his boots sounding hollow on the wooden steps.
As hollow as the emptiness inside him.
It wasn’t until he was on the other side of the site that he realized he still had the card in his fist.He started to crumple it up.Then stopped, thinking about Eric.
Cursing under his breath, he tucked the fucking thing into his jeans pocket, tugged on his work gloves and got back to pouring concrete, hoping that the day’s hard labor ahead of him would make him stop thinking about Eric Moreau’s sister and her pretty, storm-blue eyes.
