Memories of Us
Kennedy L. Mitchell
Published by Kennedy L. Mitchell, 2018.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
MEMORIES OF US
First edition. December 10, 2018.
Copyright © 2018 Kennedy L. Mitchell.
Written by Kennedy L. Mitchell.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Play List
Ackowldegements
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Prologue
WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED.
A thick fog clouded my thoughts as I attempted to open my eyes. Their heavy weight made it feel like I’d been asleep for days. I tried to shift in the soft bed, but my legs and arms wouldn’t cooperate.
Nothing was working as it should.
“You’re okay son.” Pappy’s gruff voice cut through the fog easing a bit of my growing apprehension.
After several attempts my lids lifted. I took several slow blinks to clear away the remaining haze. Pappy sat in the chair next to my strange bed. The room was large, but not one I recognized.
White walls. White sheets. Monitors.
“Where the hell am I?” I gritted out as I pushed to sit up.
“A facility,” he responded.
“What kind of facility?” I held my head between my hands and attempted to focus on the last thing I remembered.
Nothing. Not a single damn clue to what I was doing in this place or how I ended up here.
“A detox center inside a rehab facility.”
“Why am I here?”
Pappy’s gray brows rose high on his forehead. “You don’t remember?”
“Fuck. What did I do this time?” It had to do with drugs or booze that much I was certain. I didn’t remember details but being a coke head was something not easily wiped from my memories. “Is Caleb here too?”
Pappy’s lips dipped in a slight frown. “No son just you.”
Right. So whatever I did didn’t involve Caleb. Good.
“You don’t remember her?” Pappy asked leaning forward like he was asking the most critical question of his life. As he leaned forward, a few papers slipped from his lap and floated to the floor.
His question shot a bolt of fear to my core. Her? If I did anything to a woman while high that she didn’t want, like my fathers living legacy, I'd never recover.
“No, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Like the weight of the world was removed from his slumped shoulders Pappy leaned back and gave a sigh of relief. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Brenton. Don’t worry about that; everything is fine. You’re fine.”
“Why am I here?” I bellowed. Frustration boiled the blood in my veins. Dumb ass memory needed to fucking start working.
Locking his green eyes with my own, he gave a small smile. “Fate, my dear boy. Fate brought you here.”
Beneath the frustration, something else simmered. Something that told me that he was not only wrong about the fate shit but also holding back the truth.
Chapter 1
Brenton
THIRTEEN YEARS LATER...
“Yeah, I'll be there,” I said through a deep exhale to the man on the other end of the line. “Thank you for calling and the condolences. I'll see you at the ranch for the funeral in three days.”
With a deep West Texas drawl, the older man detailed the specifics of the service before ending the call with another “He was a good man” sentiment.
I slipped the phone back into my suit breast pocket as I moved toward the wet bar. The dark liquid of the various half-empty bottles called to me, begging me to pop one open for a quick swig. With a steady, focused hand, I reached past the whiskey’s siren call to grab the near-hidden bottle of Perrier. It had been my mind trick during rehab and still was. With a little lime added and enough ice, it took the edge off the constant urge that simmered just below the surface for something stronger.
Bubbles rose to the rim of the crystal highball I had pulled from the cabinet above. Drink clutched in hand, I stepped out onto the penthouse balcony and leaned against the warm metal railing. Bright green lights glowed a few blocks over from downtown Dallas’s Green Monster. The unobstructed view of the famous building was one reason Caleb and I chose this building, this exact loft, what seemed like a lifetime ago.
Back then, having a place large enough to host all our friends at one time, along with great proximity to the high-end clubs we frequented, was the priority. Some people might call those the good old days. Maybe for them, those who leached off us for so long, they were. For me, not even close. If I looked back now, from what little I remember of those years, I'd see a lonely, shallow shell of a boy who was on a fast track to nowhere.
But tonight there was no raging party, no Caleb begging me to join him for a wild night out. Tonight it was just me, the busy streets forty stories below my feet, and fizzy water. After the five-hour therapy session earlier, the quiet was exactly what I needed.
Ice snapped and shifted in the highball glass from the unbearable eighty-five-degree heat. As suffocating as it was, something was reassuring about the Texas summer heat that I'd in some ways missed the past few years. To a true Texan, it was merely a reminder of the constants in our lives. Your life could be shit, you could have no clue which way was up, but you could count on it being balls hot during a Texas summer.
After today, and the unexpected call just now, I needed that specific comfort.
Dead.
Gone without me there. Hell, I hadn't been back in years. Too busy was always the excuse, but looking back at the wasted opportunities to see the old man, was I really? Yes, this was the most extended leave I'd taken since joining the army, but would it have killed me to fly over and see him one weekend? I should’ve stayed after Caleb's funeral months ago instead of jumping on the jet moments after the final prayer.
I pressed the sweating glass against my forehead and rolled it back and forth in an attempt to settle the self-accusing direction of my thoughts. Pappy knew why I had to leave and never come back; surely he didn't hold it against me in the end. His death wasn't a big surprise—the man was ninety after all—but I guess I still thought there was more time before this moment. Maybe a future weekend when I could've flown out to see him, show him who I'd become since being the prick he knew: the idiot teen through my young adult years when I terrorized his ranch hands, stuffed enough powder up my nose to kill an elephant, and fucked any willing female.
Most importantly, I wanted an opportunity to show him I wasn’t my father, or my brother for that matter. But now that chance was gone, and he'd never know that I wasn’t the person I used to be.
Well,
mostly. I'd grown from a spoiled prick to an arrogant jackass, if you believed the few girls I'd dated.
With a sigh, I downed the last few sips and tipped my gaze to the bright night sky. Against the lights of the city, not a single star blinked. Hell, with the pollution, even the moon was barely visible. At Pappy's ranch, the stars peppered the sky every night when I visited during those extended summer stays and holidays. Those stars and the vastness of the night sky were my favorite part of the family estate.
Long-forgotten memories flitted to the front of my mind, urging a small smile to curl the edge of my lips. That ranch, those nights, fueled my obsession with the sky, which drew me to the career I now love.
Damn, when was the last time I even thought of that place?
Most of the memories were hazy at best, diluted by those years filled with copious amounts of coke and booze consumption. There was too much I didn't remember, not only from those trips to the ranch but also from life here in Dallas before rehab. Even though it sucked, missing pieces of my life, it never nagged or worried me. What did keep me awake at night, kept my mind reeling, was the ever-present sensation that I'd forgotten something, maybe even a someone, that I shouldn't have—something or someone important. But how do you pinpoint the cause when nearly six years of your life were blurred?
Vibrations against my chest pulled my attention back to the present. I wiped the dampness from my hand to snag the phone once again. Brow furrowed, I stared at the bright screen that flashed with an unknown number. Considering it came minutes after the previous call about Pappy's death, there was no doubt who I'd hear on the other end of the line.
“Yeah.” Turning on the heels of my thousand-dollar shoes, I strode back into the loft and straight for the wet bar. No doubt liquor would make this conversation easier, but no way would I let Dad be the reason I fell off my thirteen-year sobriety wagon.
“Did you hear?”
“Yeah.” The gurgle of the clear fizzing liquid pouring into the glass echoed in the otherwise silent loft. A pang of guilt and loneliness hit at the reminder of my solitude.
No. Not going there now. Caleb made his own damn choices.
“Bastard finally kicked it. Damn. Have you heard when the lawyers will disburse the estate?” Dad asked. Steady bass and a loud giggle filled the background. Of course he was at the strip club minutes after his father died. And Dad wondered why Pappy never approved of who he became and how he dwindled his trust.
“No.” Fuck, the conversation was already too long. The thick vein in my neck beat faster and faster with my rapid pulse. The dark granite of the bar was cool beneath my grip when I latched on to steady myself. Each breath grew shorter with the building anger and resentment. “What do you want?” I said through clenched teeth.
“Let's go out and celebrate, son. Tell your boss you need to head home for the funeral. Bring a few of your buddies with you. Damn, I should plan a damn parade. The mean bastard is finally gone.”
Funny, the mean bastard in my life was still alive and well and wouldn't let me off the fucking phone.
No way could I tell him I was already in town. First, I didn't want to see him, and second, I couldn't tell my father the reasons behind the two weeks’ leave I’d started three days before.
I couldn't tell anyone.
Two weeks to figure my shit out before reporting back to base. Two weeks to get my head back on straight so I could fly again. Safely.
I shook my head to bring my focus back to the conversation. “I'll be at the funeral.” The large swallow of sparkling water burned down my throat, easing a bit of the growing tightness. “The man who called mentioned it would be at the ranch in three days. I assume you're going?”
“Damn, I miss your brother right now. He'd go out with me to celebrate this momentous occasion. When the hell did you get so damn boring?”
He cannot be serious.
Closing my eyes, I attempted to will my blood pressure to lower. Unfortunately, it didn't obey the direct command. He missed my brother, his son, who was dead because of the lifestyle he coaxed us both to need. No sign of remorse, just pissed he didn't have someone who would go party with him.
Sweat beaded along my temples and neck. I set the phone down on the bar and shrugged off my jacket. After hitting the speakerphone button, I snapped off my cufflinks and rolled up my right sleeve then left.
A loud, obnoxious giggle flooded the apartment. If I weren't so damn pissed at the whole fucked-up conversation, I'd roll my eyes at the typical scene playing out on the other end of the phone. My father, such a class act.
“Shhh,” he chuckled into the phone. “Brenton, hey, I gotta run. I'll call the attorneys to see when the estate will be divided out. I could use that money to support the next club venture. Hopefully he didn't pour it all down the drain on those dumbass cows.”
Right. Fucker. All he cared about was making the next dollar, which he then shoved up his nose or down some dancing girl's G-string.
When he hung on the line, a sense of dread settled deep in my gut. Staring at the phone, waiting for the next bomb to drop, I popped each knuckle. Twice.
“Oh and listen.” I glared at the phone. “When you come into town, you might want to lie low. Not make a big deal that you're here, you know, but with this news, every gold digger in Dallas will be looking for a payday. Who knows what accusations will come out just for some damn hush money.”
Hell, not again.
“What did you do?” I seethed. The glass trembled at my lips as I attempted not to chuck it across the room.
Being away from this place for so long, I'd forgotten who Dad was. Who I was. The son of a slimy, washed-up multimillionaire. Our family name forever tainted by the multiple assault accusations against him and the failing strip club empire he kept pouring money into.
“Nothing. It's nothing. Call you tomorrow when I know more.”
Everything blurred as heat simmered beneath my skin, flowing through my veins and ticking up my temper with each rapid heartbeat. With a raging bellow, I flung the expensive glass across the room. The crystal splintered against the concrete wall, sending shards scattering along the floor.
My chest heaved as sweat dripped down my temples to my cheeks and neck.
Fuck that bastard.
Sealing my eyes shut, I focused on the deep breathing exercises I'd learned to lower my stroke-level blood pressure.
The first “episode” happened moments after the call notifying me of Caleb's death. The second happened the day after the exhausting twenty-four-hour turnaround from Kentucky to Dallas to attend the funeral. I chalked those up to shock and exhaustion, but then it happened again. And again. And again.
Now here I was once again on the verge of blacking out. Darkness encroached from the corners of my eyes, soon to cut off my vision completely. My muscles trembled and weakened.
Slowly, carefully, I shuffled to the long leather couch and fell onto it. The cushions conformed around my back and thighs with a soft thump.
Deep breath in.
Deep breath out.
Shit, this couldn’t happen again. It had to stop. I had to find the cause and the cure by the time I was due back to base. If I couldn't, there was no way in hell I could risk my brothers' lives for the sake of my pride. No, if I couldn't get my head back on straight, I'd file for medical discharge no matter how devastating it would be. And it would be. The army, flying, my brothers—it was all my family and life. They saved me, and I needed them as much as they needed me.
Chest puffed out in a deep inhale, I paused at a light knock at the door. Slowly I blew the air out through my nose and waited. Another knock came seconds later, a bit louder, persistent that time.
Who the hell knew I was home?
I pushed off the couch with a groan and gave myself a minute to steady. The first step was tentative, the next stronger until I was convinced the episode was over and I was strong enough to meet whoever was here with the strength and confidence of regular Brenton Gr
aves.
It was bullshit that the word “episode” was even in my damn vocabulary nowadays. But really, what did I expect from Caleb's sudden death combined with years of hoarded anger, a high-stress job, and a fucked-up childhood? It's a wonder this didn't happen sooner, honestly.
Not bothering to look through the viewer to see who was there at such a late hour, I yanked the door open, ready for anything.
A tall blonde stood just over the threshold, hand raised ready to keep knocking at the now-nonexistent door.
“Sorry, I heard a crash and thought....” Her smile pulled wide, exposing brilliant white, straight teeth. “Hi, Bren.”
Should I remember her? Hell, all those buried memories. Maybe she was the someone I'd been attempting to recall. But staring into her empty blue eyes triggered nothing, no flick of emotion or recognition.
I gripped the back of my neck and flexed my fingers to alleviate the tight tension building as I shot her a confused look.
“Right.” She laughed. “It has been a while. It looks like you've kept the place though. Too many good memories to let it go?”
“Sure.”
Her smile dropped, and she took a step closer, putting us toe-to-toe. A strong waft of expensive perfume saturated my nose and caught in my throat. “Sorry about your brother. Guess we all thought Caleb would grow out of it eventually. We still saw each other until... well, you know. It all happened so fast, and I'm just grateful I wasn't in the car with him that night.” Tears welled at her lower lids, but still, I stood unaffected. “I miss him.”
Nope. Not going there. Especially not with a damn stranger.
“Hey listen, I just rolled into town and—”
“Can I come in?”
I should’ve said no, but I'd love a way to blow off steam, and she was pretty enough. I didn't have to guess why she wanted to come in, where her mind was. Between being the wealthiest bachelor in Dallas and the military groupies back in Kentucky, it was always the same.
With a shrug, I opened the door wider and gestured inside the loft.
Memories of Us: A Second Chance, Amnesia Romance Novel Page 1
