Mark nods. “I’m glad you’re looking out for her.”
It’s the closest thing I could get to brotherly approval of my relationship with Iz, and I can’t help feeling warm all over. “Thanks, man.”
I’m out the door in an instant, trudging through a thin crust of snow to reach Izzy’s front door. Austin’s car is gone, which means he already collected Brian and left. A thrill ripples through me at the thought of spending an evening alone with Iz.
But as I step up to the front door, I see two figures inside. Dante stands facing Izzy, hands clenched at his side. She’s staring him down, not fearful, but definitely not happy.
When he takes a step forward, I don’t stop to think. I just shove through the door, banging it against the wall as I storm through in time to hear the words that make Iz blanch.
“…better watch your back.”
I clench my fists and shout at him. “Get away from her, Dante.”
He turns, eyes flashing surprise. Maybe it’s my dramatic entrance, or maybe the use of his real name. Glaring at me, he holds his hands up with palms facing out. “We’re just talking, Parker.”
I ignore him and face Izzy. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. We really were just talking.”
Dante lowers his hands but doesn’t make a grab for the gun strapped to his ankle. I’m unarmed, but Izzy’s block of kitchen knives sits two feet away with the gleaming chef’s blade on the end. I could grab it if I had to, but I don’t get the sense that’s necessary.
I keep my eyes on Izzy. “You want me to let you get back to your conversation?” I watch her face, gauging her level of discomfort. If she’s in trouble, I’ll know.
She shakes her head slowly and turns back to him. “Dante was just leaving. Weren’t you, Dante?”
He looks at me and scowls. “Deadeye.”
I blink. “What?”
Dante clears his throat. “Your nickname in the Army. How’d you get that?”
Holy fuck. “Haven’t heard that in years.”
The fact that Dante has means he’s dug deeply into my background. He’s still staring at me, waiting for a response. There’s no reason not to share, and maybe a good reason I should.
“Military physicians learn basic Army marksmanship, but I took it a step beyond that.” Way beyond. Anytime I wasn’t with patients, I was practicing at the range. “Got pretty good with a pistol.”
Dante looks at Izzy, gauging her expression. “He mastered rifles, too. Even a Mk-19.”
“Automatic grenade launcher,” I say for Izzy’s benefit. “How the hell do you—”
“You were an expert shot.” The nod he gives is completely unreadable. “Not normal for an Army doc.”
“It is if you’re hoping to get assigned to a Ranger unit.” That was the plan, a more combat-based experience than most military physicians get.
But it was what I wanted. I stare at Dante, willing myself not to blink. “Is there a reason you know all this?”
Shrugging, Dante takes a step back. “Have a good night.”
And with that, he strolls out the door. I watch to make sure he’s really gone before I step to Izzy’s side. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I—” She stops herself and swallows. “Thank you for coming.”
“He threatened you?”
She nibbles the edge of her lip. “Not exactly.”
“Not exactly? He told you to watch your back.”
She winces like it stings to hear the words again. “It wasn’t a threat, exactly. I don’t think.”
I don’t know what to make of that answer, but Iz looks small and cold and my urge to pull her into my arms wipes out all my other urges for the moment. I step forward and open my arms, giving her the choice. She leans into me, burrowing her face against my chest. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad I’m here, too.” I stroke her hair, wondering what I’m missing here. If there’s something Iz wants to say to me. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
Her head moves against my chest as she nods. “Yes. What’s Deadeye?”
I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of her hair. “A nickname,” I tell her. “Passing basic Army weapons training earns you a badge. Most Army docs call it good with that.”
“But not you?”
I pause, then shake my head. “You’ve gotta hit at least 23 targets out of 40 to earn the marksmanship badge. Thirty of ‘em gets you one level better—the sharpshooter badge.”
“What’s after that?”
I swallow hard, remembering the buck of the rifle. The dream of where that skill might take me. “Expert. You have to hit 36 out of 40.”
Izzy draws back to study my face. “How many did you hit?”
I hesitate. I’ve never liked to brag.
But once upon a time, I took pride in this. “Forty,” I tell her. “Every year, four years running. Guys started calling me Deadeye after that. It’s—a compliment, I guess.”
“I see.” The way she looks deep into my eyes, I think maybe she does. “This was part of your plan. A military career.”
I nod, arms still wrapped around her. Her heart thuds against my chest, and lamplight flickers in her eyes. “I planned to do a couple tours,” I admit. “To eventually be assigned to Ranger Regiment.” How fucking proud my dad would have been.
Realization flashes in Izzy’s eyes. “But you came home when your dad died.”
“Yeah.” I swallow hard, conscious of the lump in my throat. “I was ready to sign on for a second tour, but my mom needed me, and my sister—well, her marriage fell apart within a few months of the wedding.”
She nods as her green gaze holds mine. “So you know what it’s like to make sacrifices for family.”
“Yeah. I do.” I’m not sure why she’s dwelling on this, but it seems to matter to her. “I had a plan once. A set of goals that I worked really hard to hit.” I take a breath, trying to think of how to phrase this. “Plans change. The future you think you’re destined for—it can become something different in the blink of an eye. Sometimes, that’s tragic. But sometimes—sometimes it’s the best thing that could happen.”
Izzy watches my face. I wonder if she hears what I’m telling her. Never in a million years did I see myself falling for a Southern European duchess who’s bound to return to her home country.
But here we are and maybe—if we’re really fucking lucky—plans could change again.
“What are you thinking?” I ask softly.
Izzy takes a breath. “I think we both understand duty.”
It’s an odd thing to say, and I’m not sure how to take it. “You mean military service or family?”
“Both.”
I shake my head slowly. “Family’s about love, not duty.”
Iz gives me the tiniest of smiles and tightens her hold around my waist. “Could you do something for me?”
“Anything.” It’s a normal turn of phrase, but I swear I’d walk naked through the produce aisle if she asked. “What do you need?”