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“You didn’t answer my calls last night,” he says, whirling around and walking backward. “I wanted to give you a heads-up about the mission.”
“I didn’t answer your call because I was at an opera concert,” I tell him, rubbing my jaw. “I had a good night after that and didn’t want to bother myself with a dick like you.”
A lopsided grin quirks his lips. “You, at an opera concert with a girl? You hate stuff like that.”
I snort. I actually do hate stuff like that. It’s always too romantic and gives off the wrong signals. Once, I followed a girl to a cinema, and she thought we were officially a couple. It was a nightmare to get rid of her. It’s been a year and she still drunk-texts me. I do a pretty good job at hitting the trash button every time.
“Not when it’s with Anya,” I answer honestly, the memory of her warm smile and sparkling eyes still fresh in my mind.
Nathan raises an eyebrow, a knowing look crossing his features. “Ain’t that the girl from the bar the other night? The one who stumbled around drunk?”
I nod, recalling how her laughter had filled the air and how effortlessly she had charmed everyone around her.
“You two hit it off already?”
I normally have a good time discussing my sex life with my friends, but I’m not discussing Anya with him. I know he’s going to pester me about it forever. Nathan is two years younger than I am, but I swear he’s like a teenage boy with raging hormones sometimes. I guess twenty-six is still pretty young though. I was literally wild at that age. “I’m not talking about it, dude.”
He holds a hand to his chest. “You’re hurting my feelings.”
I grimace at him. “You want me to put a bullet through your chest? I’m certain I’ll be hurting you then.”
I turn in my phone and wristwatch to the men at the door and we saunter into the building.
“Does she know you’re leaving?” Nathan asks.
“She doesn’t.” I pause and swallow hard. “What use is it? She’ll suffer if she waits and I don’t come back. I don’t want that for her.”
Nathan’s smile drops. He looks sober suddenly, which is really rare. “We’re not dying on this mission, Brandon. And you’re a fucking idiot for leaving without a word.”
We’re not dying, I repeat to myself. But deep down, I know the truth - being pulled away from life for yet another deployment is taking its toll on me. The thought of leaving Alessa behind, of missing out on precious moments with her, fills me with unease. Is it because she needs me around more, or am I simply getting too old for this? Or perhaps my worries stem from the fear that I'll never find someone again who can compare to Anya.
CHAPTER 5
Anya
If I ever find him, I'll tear his throat out," I mutter in disbelief, unable to comprehend that the seemingly genuine and kind guy would leave me without a word. We had such a great time together, and I was convinced he was the one for me.
With a sigh, I bend down to pick up the puppy that I assisted in delivering earlier today. The mother bares her teeth at me, and I bare mine right back at her. Despite my anger, taking care of this little pup helps calm me down.
It’s been an entire month since that night with Brandon. He’d left before I woke up, and the asshole didn’t even care to leave his number or a note.
He just disappeared into thin air as if he’d never existed. Looks like I read him wrong after all. All that gentleman act was just to get in my panties, and he vanished the moment he did.
“Relax,” Gianna says over the phone. “Maybe something happened. Maybe he died.”
“Then he better stay dead.” I don’t mean it. No matter how upset I am, I don’t want Brandon dead, but it’s hard to be nice when he made a fool out of me. I rest my back on the wall behind me as a wave of dizziness hits me. I’m stressed out.
As if struggling with my final-year project wasn’t enough, I have to think of Brandon and the tiny possibility that something happened to him. I wonder if aliens dragged him out of my apartment or something.
Gianna chuckles. “You and your temper. How are you holding up, girl?”
“Aside from Mr. Moore trying to kill me with his assignments and the fact that I get dizzy and want to throw up most of the time, I’m fine.”
Mr. Moore is my final-year project supervisor. I swear the man is obsessed with draining me. I got a call from his vet nurse to help with a c-section for one of his huskies this morning. The poor dog had only one puppy in her and was long overdue, but her cortisol level was too low to induce labor. He’d planned the elective c-section two weeks ago, but he chose to inform me today because apparently, I should’ve known. He’s not wrong though, I should’ve known. That’s the only way I can ever be a good vet.
“Are you sick?” she asked with concern.
“Stressed. But I’ll make out time to visit the hospital when I’m done with work today.” I reply with a weary tone.
