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her restraint.
    Van rounded the corner. “Hey, guys.” His expression darkened, then turned into an outright grimace as he glared at Marco’s grip on her hand. “You all right, Alyssa?”
    Marco released her and she said, “Yes, of course.”
    Then Marco was gone, disappeared around the corner from where she’d come moments before. From down the hall, there was a thump against the back door as if it had been punched open. A moment later, the click of it shutting echoed just loudly enough for her to hear.
    What just happened?
    All at once, she became aware of Van staring at her. She attempted a small smile and continued down the hall to the locker room.
    He followed and entered right behind her.
    “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked as he worked at his combination.
    She opened a locker and dropped in her purse. “Yes, I’m fine.”
    Van slipped into his chef’s jacket but left it unbuttoned over a white T-shirt, then ran a hand over his spiky blond hair. “Look, Alyssa, you mind a little unsolicited advice?”
    Her belly squeezed with dread. She secured her lock and turned to face him. “I suppose not.”
    He crossed his arms. “You might want to stay away from Marco Vieri.”
    “What?”
    “Guy’s got a quick temper and a loner complex a mile wide.”
    Alyssa shook her head, unable to find words. She’d never heard a less likely description of Marco in her life, despite how uneasy their conversations had been. Frowning, she opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off.
    “Look, it’s your life. And no doubt he’s a hero ten times over.” Van’s face softened, like he regretted his next words. “But I’m telling you, not everybody comes back from war…right.”
    Her throat went tight, her gut dropping to the floor and the room doing a little spin around her. “You’re wrong,” she managed to say, but was he really?
    Van frowned. “I don’t think so. I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped.” He looked at her for a long moment, then left.
    Alyssa shuffled over to the world’s ugliest blue couch—clearly a used piece donated to the cause—and sat heavily, her hands falling loosely into her lap. What’s going on, Marco? The uncomfortable, forced conversations, the dark circles under his eyes, the anger she felt roiling under the surface… Her first urge was to call Brady. Not that she could, or would. But after all Marco had done for them, the idea he was in trouble or in any way hurting made her insides vibrate with the need to help him, comfort him, just be there in case she could do the littlest thing for him.
    “Hey, there you are,” came a voice from the doorway.She looked up and found Eric leaning in around the jamb, a bright smile on his face. “You ready to help me?”
    Had it been a half hour already? Crap. She’d never managed to make her way to Pete, but she supposed she could do that later. Maybe helping with this would clear her mind and allow her to figure out what to do. “Uh, sure.” She pushed off the couch.
    “Did you remember to punch in?”
    “Oh. No.” She looked to the table beside the door, where an ancient beast of a time machine sat below a rack of cards. “Pete didn’t have a card for me yesterday.” But it was there today. Alyssa pulled it from its slot and held it above the machine. She’d never used one of the old punch machines before. “Like this?”
    “Here,” Eric said, grasping the card. His fingers brushed hers and Alyssa tensed. Eric was attractive. Nice. Uncomplicated. Yet her body didn’t warm to his touch even a little. She couldn’t help but compare that with the head-spinning adrenaline rush touching Marco elicited. “Turn it this way. Then slide it in and the machine stamps it.”
    She did as he instructed. The machine made a loud clack ing noise, and then she returned the card to the slot. “Thanks.”
    “No worries. Come on.”
    Eric went down the hall to the right with a three-tiered metal cart, but Alyssa’s gaze strayed