That’s how he felt when he left Delaney at the airport: empty. Having kissed Marissa good-bye and watched her truck head west for San Diego, he now knew how loneliness felt. It was an ache, ever present at the base of his throat, sometimes sending twinges into his gut. The dragon inside didn’t bother to rumble or huff, a stillness so unusual he wondered if the damn thing needed antidepressants. She was gone. He was here, contemplating a newfound appreciation for those who were left behind when Marines went off to war. The unexpected knock on his apartment door Sunday afternoon found him in his new apartment, drinking a beer, half watching the football game while he unpacked. When he opened the door a hand reached into his rib cage and fisted around his heart and lungs. Not from joy, but rather from utter shock, because Delaney stood in the hallway. She wore a black jacket over jeans, and her black leather purse hung from the crook of her arm. The vacation tan couldn’t hide the twin spots of color high on her cheekbones.
