Growl (Winter Pass Wolves Book 2) by Vivian Wood, Amelie Hunt Page B

first thing that came out of his idiot mouth.
    “Pax?” she said, leaning forward and adjusting her screen. In the background, Pax could see that she was at Camp Callum, the Marine base closest to Winter Pass. He’d gone through Fort Callum during basic and recognized the place with ease.
    “Shit. Are you okay, Brooke?” Pax frowned. “Is someone dead?”
    Brooke gave a watery sigh and shook her head. Her hair was down and her strawberry blonde curls bobbed with her every movement.
    “No, no…” She glanced away, almost cringing. “I just wanted to apologize in person. I mean… not in person. As close as I can get…”
    “Brooke, are you drunk right now?” Pax asked, confused by behavior.
    “No! I mean… a little. That’s not the point,” she said, her brows descending in a scowl.
    “And what is the point, exactly?” The back of his neck prickled, and Pax realized that everyone in the room was listening to every word Brooke said. Being military, he was used to having zero privacy, but at the moment it rankled him.
    “I’m sorry, Pax. That’s all I came here to say.” Brooke’s jaw tensed, her stubborn side coming out. “To say goodbye.”
    She stood up, clearly about to bail.
    “Brooke, wait! What the fuck!” Pax said, heedless of his audience.
    She glanced down at the screen and shook her head, her chest rising and falling. Several long seconds ticked by, then she vanished. A second later the Skype call went dead, leaving Pax staring at an apologetically blank screen.
    He shoved to his feet, baffled. He had exactly zero idea what Brooke was talking about, but he knew someone who surely did. Blowing past all the guys in the tent, he went looking for Chase.
    He found Chase and Harlan slacking off in the Dead Zone, one of the few areas of the camp without cameras or senior officers. The spot was nothing more than a couple of folding tables with chairs, shoved between two bunk tents. At the moment, his friends were the only occupants, and they were passing a slim glass bottle of amber liquid back and forth.
    Pax stormed over to them, ready to demand answers. Chase surprised him by offering up the whiskey, and Harlan shot Pax a sympathetic glance. Whiskey was a bad, bad sign. Good stuff was hard to get over here, and usually the Triad only bothered to procure it in response to the blackest kind of news.
    “I take it she told you,” Chase said.
    Pax grabbed the whiskey and glared at Chase.
    “She, meaning Brooke?” he asked.
    Chase nodded.
    “She apologized. That was it.”
    Chase mumbled a curse and closed his eyes for a moment.
    “Fucking Brooke. Of course. Leave me to do the dirty work,” he muttered.
    “In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re already broken up. No need to go all Dear John on me,” Pax growled.
    “Pax—” Harlan tried to intercede, but Pax took a swig of the whiskey and pretended not to hear.
    “You fucking Harbins,” Pax said, stabbing a finger at Chase’s face. “Always so goddamned closemouthed.”
    “She’s engaged!” Chase shouted. His words rang through the air, invading Pax’s brain far too slowly.
    He started to form some kind of words, protest Chase’s statement, but nothing came. It made a sick kind of sense. She’d dumped him, declaring herself done with moody soldiers and lonely nights . She’d vanished from Pax’s life, removing herself without a word. And then, out of the blue, she’d called to apologize…
    “Son of a bitch,” Pax said, dropping into a chair.
    The whiskey was for him. To help him cope with the wrecking ball that had just swung through his life and taken out a chunk of his heart.
    “Yeah,” Chase sighed. “Take a drink, pass it on.”
    Pax took a long guzzle, sighing at the burn in his chest. He passed it to Harlan, who clapped Pax on the shoulder before taking a shot.
    “I thought she was…” Pax stopped himself from saying the one . Saying that aloud made the whole thing too real, and he wasn’t ready for that yet. He