And she was.

But his father would have torn that apart like a vulture.

Due to the way that night went, the discussion of what Hattie did for a living didn’t come up.

That red dress would have pushed it in that direction, and it would have been Hattie in the firing line and Axl blowing his stack.

So yeah.

It was good they avoided that.

They got in his Jeep and she picked Supreme Queen Grayfur to call out good-bye to Cleo so he was smiling when he got behind the wheel.

But that smile didn’t last long.

Hattie didn’t miss it.

“You’re not okay,” she said.

“I’m fine,” he lied.

“I’m sorry this stuff is hanging over all you guys’ heads.”

That wasn’t what he was thinking about.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“Like you said, it’ll all be okay,” she assured him.

Shit.

“I know. That’s all good. I’m not worried about that, Hattie.”

“Okay,” she said hesitantly.

Shit.

She did not need to think he was worried about that, because she was being super chill about all that was going down. She hadn’t freaked once.

But if she thought he was worried about it, she might start worrying about it.

“That piece is titled ‘Tripped.’”

“Pardon?”

“The one in the window. It’s titled ‘Tripped.’”

She said nothing, but he felt her gaze keen on him.

“I had a buddy in the service. We were tight. He stepped on a land mine.”

She gasped.

Yeah.

That was not even close to it.

“Axl,” she said gently, her fingers curling on his thigh.

“He was in front of me. I saw it.”

“Oh my God, Axl.” Her fingers squeezed tight and didn’t let up.

“So,” he cleared his throat, “yeah.”

“So that piece…called ‘Tripped’…is a representation of a land mine exploding?”

Yep.

She got it.

“Yeah.”

“Why…I…it’s…” She pulled it together. “It’s an amazing piece, but why do you have it?”

“A vet who’s a friend of another buddy of mine, also from the army, got into art when he got out. That’s his thing. Making stuff like that into what you see in my living room.”

“Making an instrument of death beautiful?”

She sounded horrified.

“Fucking with your head that an instrument of death could be beautiful. It’s not. It’s hideous and destructive. It’s a political statement that the men who sit at desks, never in danger, never even under imminent threat, should be very clear in making decisions about when and why they send men and women into that. The cause should be just. It should be to protect our loved ones and our way of life. Not protect their financial interests.”

“Although I hope it goes without saying that I agree with all of that, I hate to say this, but I didn’t get that from that piece,” she said carefully.