Man of Honor (Battle Scars #3) - Diana Gardin Page 0,2

got dealt? No-count daddy who ran when you was just a baby, mama who drank herself silly…” Mr. Harris shakes his head, scowling. “Wasn’t fair for a good kid like you to have to deal with it. But you done good, boy. Despite it all.”

The lump is back.

Tenfold.

He shuffles off, leaving just a few more townsfolk to greet me and give me their condolences. It’s so strange to accept them. Although I’d been sending my mother a percentage of my income ever since I first left home, I never could bring myself to come back and face it all again. Looking down at the shiny, cherrywood casket brings all kinds of regret bubbling to the surface. I should have come home. I should have done more than just send her money. I knew that she was drinking herself into the ground. I should have done more for her.

Should.

Should.

Should.

Too late now. She’s gone. All I have left is the life I’ve built for myself back in Lone Sands, North Carolina. Small cottage on the beach. Full-service auto shop I started and built from the ground up. A few friends I call family.

I have to move forward with my life.

I know that. But then why do I feel so empty?

The Challenger races up the interstate, seemingly just as charged up and ready to unwind as I am. Rather than sorting through Ma’s things and packing up her house to sell myself, I hired a packing company. Dredging up those memories and digging around in that part of my soul would accomplish nothing. I’m done with Blythe, Georgia.

From its spot in the cup holder, my phone catches my eye as the screen lights up. Guess I never turned the sound back up after the funeral. Just as well. I don’t feel like talking to anyone.

Curiosity forces me to check the caller ID.

Dare. Dude’s been blowing up my phone all day.

But today…I can’t even force myself to check in with the one man who’s like a brother to me. Dare Conners and whatever he has to say can wait until I’m back in the right headspace. I know he’ll understand.

I place my phone back in the cup holder and continue driving, way too fast, back to North Carolina.

A couple of hours later I’m breezing into the town limits past the old wooden WELCOME sign and breathing an enormous sigh of relief. But I bypass the turnoff that’ll take me to my house and instead head for one of my favorite places in the world. The day of my ma’s funeral has come and gone, and night has fallen. Pulling into a parking spot, I shut off the Challenger’s ignition and step out into the night. Even in late January, the air here is moist, if also chilly. I take a deep breath, letting salty oxygen fill my lungs again. Exhaling, I stride up to See Food and let myself inside the restaurant.

Bypassing my usual table, I pull up a stool at the bar and focus my gaze on the plentiful choice of bottles behind Lenny. The middle-aged restaurant owner lifts a brow. “Rough day, Drake?”

Grunting, I nod. “The roughest.”

“Hungry?” Her eyes are kind as they search my face.

“Could always put away a basket of your coconut shrimp, Lenny.” I find a smile somewhere deep inside and lay it on her. “And why don’t you go ahead and pour me a stiff whiskey. Neat.”

Now her eyebrows pull together and lift toward her hairline. “Must have been a really bad day.”

She busies herself with a bottle of Jack and I take a minute to glance around me. On a Friday night in the middle of winter, See Food isn’t as packed as it would be during tourist season. But it’s busy with the local crowd, and the few waitresses are bustling around in jeans and boots. See Food’s laid-back atmosphere is what draws me here, and the second-to-none seafood is what keeps me coming back. It’s warm, it’s familiar, and right now it has the ability to make me forget for a little while.

The crowd tonight is easy, not rowdy. Full of men who want to drink and girls who want a good time. There’s no live music at See Food in the winter, so the notes floating out from the speakers is a playlist of low-key Southern rock mixed in with country hits.

I’m almost desperate with the need to get lost. Burying my mother dredged up all kinds of darkness I thought I’d buried a