Girl Gone Viral (Modern Love #2)(10)

Samson set the electric kettle to boil and measured out the grounds while Jas fetched the mugs and cream for Samson. “How have you been?” Jas asked, because that was what you asked friends, even friends you were mildly embarrassed to talk to.

“Busy as hell with boring corporate stuff.” Samson leaned against the counter.

“Meetings for the new merger?” Rhiannon and Katrina’s dating app was merging with Samson’s aunt’s dating website, and it had kept Rhiannon and Samson busy in L.A.

“Yeah. Rhiannon and my aunt love each other, but they’re both two strong-headed CEOs. They need a pretty face to buffer.” Samson poured the hot water over the grounds. He brought the press over to the counter.

Samson took a seat on one of the stools. “I see you’ve added some new rosebushes.”

Jas remained standing and folded his hands in front of him on the counter. “Trying to get them in before the first frost.”

“How are your orchids doing?”

“Good.”

Samson rolled his empty mug between his palms. “Does this feel as awkward to you as it does to me?”

Jas tensed. The good thing about not having many friends was that he didn’t really have anyone to confide in, which meant no one later brought up the unpleasant things he told them.

But last week, when Samson had caught him moodily digging up some weeds in the garden at the big house, Jas had cracked. I got a call from an old friend, had been the first words out of his mouth, and then it all came out. They’d sat in the sunshine, Samson quiet while Jas had spoken.

So now he did feel awkward, damn it. “I don’t feel awkward,” Jas lied.

Samson poured the coffee. “I know awkward when I see it, man. What I don’t know is why.”

Because Jas had felt good after he’d told Samson everything, for a few hours. Then he hadn’t.

When Jas didn’t speak now, Samson nodded. “Look, I don’t have many friends.”

Jas squinted at that, because it made no sense. Samson was too . . . what was the word? Charming.

Samson nodded. “At least, not ones I’ve made in the last ten years. Except for Rhiannon, and Katrina, and, well, you. So I know it can feel weird, telling someone something personal. I haven’t told anyone what you told me, not even Rhiannon.” Samson shrugged. “I know it feels weird, letting someone in, but it can be helpful too.”

Jas wrapped his hands around the warm mug. “I didn’t mean to, uh, burden you.”

“Hardly a burden. If you feel embarrassed, you don’t have to be.” Samson braced himself on his elbows on the counter and nodded. “You know they used to call me the Lima Charm?” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Jas nodded.

“I thought that meant I couldn’t show anyone anything but a smile. I hid everything else. It worked, until it didn’t.”

He had a feeling Samson didn’t tell many people how he felt about his nickname and the pressure to be a smiling face. Jas opened his mouth, then closed it again, the words slow in coming, but they emerged. “You’re right. I’m not used to telling anyone my problems.” The friends he’d had via forced proximity, in the Army or as part of a security team, were all scattered across the world now. They occasionally connected, but he was isolated here. Which had been what he’d wanted.

Samson took a sip of his coffee. “You’re going through something. We all go through things. I didn’t run and google you or anything, by the way. I only know what you’ve told me.”

“Thank you.” Googling wouldn’t bring up much. The military had kept McGuire’s trial under wraps as tightly as possible, and fourteen years ago, the news cycle hadn’t been quite like it was now.

Jas thought the man had gotten off pretty lightly for flagrantly disobeying orders and wounding two people, including Jas: a twenty-year sentence, and he’d been out in five years with parole. The pardon McGuire was now rumored to be up for would lift his parole restrictions. It would be like nothing ever happened, except for the scars Jas carried.

McGuire was an apple-cheeked Midwestern boy, the son of a prominent prosecutor and a judge. His pardon would make news in a way his trial hadn’t. Surely some enterprising journalist would try to track Jas down for a statement.

Jas controlled his full-body shudder. Exposure. Plus, the potential emergence of all those memories he’d spent fourteen years shoving down deep, so deep he’d never have to think about them. He’d run away after the trial, and a big part of him wished he could run away now.

“Hey,” Samson placed his hand on Jas’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Jas. There are things I have trouble thinking about, too.”

That, Jas believed. Samson’s parents’ and uncle’s tragic deaths were public knowledge.

“You can talk about the stuff you feel comfortable talking about, and not about the things you don’t. That’s how I operate with my friends, okay?”

Friends. Another shot of that good feeling, like a drug coursing through his veins.

Tell him about Katrina, too.

Haha, nope. Jas wasn’t going to magically be able to spill everything. Some things, though, might be okay. “I am . . . concerned about the thought of this pardon.” Concerned was an understatement. “My friend who called me about this is pretty well-connected, and she’s put in calls to a couple of people higher up to let her know which way the wind is blowing.”