The Perfect Holiday: A Bad Boy New Year Romance

by Mia Ford

  I pressed the gas pedal and drove slowly into the intersection.

  I never saw the drunk guy in the pickup truck that T-boned us on Kenny’s side.

  It happened so fast. That’s what people say after they survive a car crash or an attack of some kind that just came out of the blue. It happened so fast. I didn’t have time to react. I never saw it coming…

  I always wondered how that could be. How could something happen so fast that you couldn’t see it coming? How could your world change in the blink of an eye?

  I didn’t remember the sound of metal crunching or glass breaking or tires squealing or Kenny making a sound as the pickup slammed into us at fifty miles an hour, throwing me hard against the driver’s door and impacting Kenny’s body with enough force to snap his neck and kill him instantly.

  When I came to I was sitting on the back bumper of an ambulance with an oxygen mask over my nose and a blanket around my shoulders. The EMT was telling me how lucky I was. A few scratches and bruises. Nothing broken. Pupils were fine. No concussion. Lucky. He kept calling me lucky. I didn’t feel lucky.

  “My brother?” I asked. I looked past him at the carnage in the intersection. The pickup had literally impaled the old Chrysler, crushing the passenger side. The driver of the pickup had crashed through the windshield and was lying under a sheet twenty-yards down the street. The driver’s side door of the old Chrysler was hanging open. The EMT said they’d used the jaws of life to pry open the door and get me out. A wrecker was hooking to the back of the pickup truck to free it from the side of the Chrysler. There were three other EMT’s and six firemen standing back, waiting so they could pry the dead body of my little brother out of the mangled wreck.

  “My brother,” I said again.

  “They’re gonna get him,” the EMT said, putting a hand on my shoulder, giving it a pat. “We need to get you to the hospital for some x-rays, make sure you have no internal injuries.”

  “I can’t leave him,” I said, trying to stand up. My legs failed me. My head went swimmy. I blacked out.

  * * *

  The x-rays showed no internal damage. The left side of my body was scraped and bruised from hitting the door. I had minor cuts from flying glass. Somehow, I had come away with fewer injuries than I’d normally sustain from one of my old man’s beatings.

  I was just fine.

  I could get dressed and leave.

  Your shirt was bloody, the nurse said. Here’s a scrub shirt you can wear home.

  Your parents are waiting outside.

  My brother...

  How is my brother…

  Goddammit, tell me about my brother…

  Your parents are outside.

  They’re waiting for you.

  They’ll talk to you about your brother.

  They didn’t have to tell me that Kenny was dead.

  I had seen his crumpled, bloody body inside the car before I passed out.

  I put on my jeans and boots and the scrub shirt.

  It hurt a little to walk, but I was okay.

  I walked down a long sterile hallway.

  My parents were in the waiting room.

  My mother was sitting in a chair with a handkerchief to her nose. When I walked in she didn’t even look up. I knew what she was thinking. Why him? Why did I live and why did Kenny die? Why couldn’t I been the one? I was thinking the same thing myself.

  My father saw me coming.

  He got up from the chair and stood watching me with his shoulders hunched and his thick arms at his side and his hands balled into tight fists. His face was red. His eyes were red. He had been crying. I had never seen my father cry. I didn’t know he even had the ability to cry.

  As I got closer, I could see his face contorting into a mask of rage and hate. He looked like a mad bull about to charge. I knew what was about to happen. I didn’t care. I put my hands in my pockets to keep them out of his way and headed straight toward him. An easy target. One he knew well.

  This time I couldn’t blame him for wanting to beat the hell out of me.

  I had killed his beloved son.

  I hoped he would take the opportunity to do the same to me.

  * * *

  “You…” That’s all he said. You…

  I stopped a few feet from him. I could feel the heat of his anger washing over my face like a harsh wind blowing through a bonfire. I stuck out my chin and closed my eyes. It was the first time I had ever welcomed a beating from him. I wanted him to hit me. I wanted him to beat me to a pulp. I wanted to feel the pain of his fists on my face and his boot in my ribs. I held my breath and waited.

  Then… nothing.

  I slowly opened my eyes and stared at him. He was still there, eyes red, nostrils flaring, fists balled, the veins at his temples throbbing.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “You…” he said again. “You killed my boy…”

  I frowned at him. I glanced down at my mother, who had buried her face in the kerchief. She was rocking back and forth like an autistic child.

  “Yes,” I said, my eyes locking with his. “I killed Kenny.”

  “You…” His eyes overflowed with tears and he shook his head. “Goddamn you…”

  “Yes, goddamn me,” I said quietly. “Now, hit me.”

  His forehead cut into deep lines. He frowned at me from beneath his bushy eyebrows. His fists stayed at his side. Tears ran down his cheeks. Snot streamed from his nose and over his lip. He growled at me. “What did you say?”

  “I said hit me, you son of a bitch. Hit me like you always do.”

  I had never seen my father look confused before. He blinked quickly and shook his head. “You just need to go. Don’t come home. Don’t ever come home again.”

  I was stunned more by his words than I had ever been by his fists. He put a hand on my mother’s shoulder. I had never seen him touch her out of affection, only out of anger and violence.

  I don’t know why I didn’t just walk away. Kenny was dead. I didn’t love my parents and they didn’t love me. The only thing bonding us together was gone. It would have been so easy to just sever the tie and leave.

  But I didn’t.

  I wanted him to hit me.

  I wanted him to beat me senseless like he had done so many times before.

  His unwillingness to take his anger out on me was unacceptable.

  I had gone from punching bag to nothing.

  I wasn’t even worth the effort of his beatings anymore.

  I was nothing more than a bad smell that he thought he could wave away.

  No.

  No, goddamit, he was not going to get the satisfaction of sending me away, not without something to remember me by.

  I slowly took my hands out of my pockets and pushed him.

  Hard.

  I’ll never forget the look of shock in his eyes.

  “What the fuck are you doing, boy— “

  I hit him just once.

  In the nose.

  As hard as I could.

  I could feel his nose breaking against my fist.

  The cartilage splitting and the veins popping open.

  The blood gushed from his nostrils.

  It covered my hand before I could pull it back.

  It washed over his face and shirt.

  His knees buckled and he went down hard, cracking his head on the floor.

  I stood there with my fist cocked and ready, but it was done.

  He was not getting up.

  There were hospital guards there now.

  They grabbed my arms and pulled me back.

  I was big and strong and out of control.

  I elbowed one of the guards in the nose and knocked out the other with one punch.

  I started for my father. I wanted to kick him in the ribs so he’d know how it felt. I wanted him to clutch his sides at the pain of just taking a breath. I wanted to do to him what he had done to me my entire life.

  Then, chaos broke out around me.

  Do
ctors and nurses running, hovering over the old man.

  Three cops appeared, coming out of nowhere with handcuffs and tasers and metal batons.

  They beat me until I went down, then one of them pushed a knee into my spine and clamped the cuffs hard around my wrists and dragged me away.

  The last thing I saw was my mother’s face.

  She lowered the handkerchief and looked down at the old man.

  She looked at me.

  And smiled.

  * * *

  I spent two nights in the county jail because no one was willing to bail me out. I didn’t even bother to use my one phone call. It would have just been a waste of breath.

  I was being charged with assault and battery.

  The hospital guards were fine, no permanent damage, but the hospital was pressing charges.

  My old man had a broken nose and a mild concussion from his head bouncing off the hard floor.

  He was already home, according to the public defender they assigned to me, who, by the way, was about as useful as tits on a two-by-four. He said I was facing two years in the state pen. It was his idea to plea me out if I’d join the military. He was an ex-Navy man. He called the recruiter and the judge.

  Two days later, Gulf Breeze was just a distant memory.

  I should have never come back.

  I should have just left well enough alone.

  CHAPTER 19: Annabel

  I didn’t have the luxury of calling in sick so I could hide out in my bed with the covers pulled up over my head, lamenting the fact that the only man I had ever truly loved had cheated on me yet again. I mean, I didn’t know what I had expected from Shane. It was not like we were a committed couple. Hell, I hadn’t seen him in over a decade and then I go and throw myself at him the first day he is at home?

  Could I really blame Juju for doing the same?

  Could I blame Shane for being receptive to what she was offering?

  Of course, I could.

  Shane Mavic was a cheating, lying piece of shit and he’d never convince me otherwise.

  So, for the next three days I forced myself to get out of bed in the morning and go downstairs to the office and serve my patients well and drag my feet back up the stairs at night.

  The pets of Gulf Breeze needed me.

  I would not let them down, no matter how much I wanted to just crawl into a hole and die.

  * * *

  “’Who’s next?” I asked Wendy after coming out of exam room 3 where I’d just finished cleaning the anal glands of an obese Chihuahua named Nacho. I know. Gross. Most of my job is gross, but somebody’s got to do it.

  Wendy handed the patient folder across the desk and nodded at exam room 2. “Juju Wheeler is here with Pumpkin. Annual shots.”

  “Shit,” I said without thinking. I hadn’t told Wendy what had happened, but she knew Juju and I had a history and could tell something was up with me.

  “Do you want me to have Juan do it?” she asked.

  I took the folder and shook my head. “No. I’ve got this.”

  I paused outside the door to take a deep breath, then opened the door and went inside. Juju was standing next to the exam table. Pumpkin, her toy poodle, was sitting on the table enjoying getting his ears scratched.

  “How have you been, Annabel?” Juju asked tentatively. Her smile was shaky. The skin around her eyes was tight with tension. She was not her usual bubbly blonde, over-the-top self. To the contrary, she looked like a nervous wreck.

  I tugged on a pair of latex gloves and glared at her. I was forcing myself not to cry. “Look, Juju, I will take care of your dog, but we’re not going to be friends. So, let me do what I need to do so you can leave.”

  “I understand,” she said quietly. “I just want you to know that— “

  I held up a hand to hush her. “Just… save it.”

  I checked Pumpkin’s weight and vitals. She was young and healthy. No issues other than having an owner who was a cunt. I picked up the syringe and started to give Pumpkin her shots. The syringe was trembling in my hand.

  “I can’t do this…” I said, shaking my head. “I’ll have Juan come in and do the shots.” I snapped off the gloves and reached for the door.

  “Annabel, wait,” Juju said. “There’s something you should know.”

  I shook my head at her. “I’m not interested in hearing anything you have to say, Juju. Please. Just don’t ever talk to me again.”

  I opened the door and started to go through.

  Juju raised her voice. “Annabel, stop! You’re going to want to hear this,” she said.

  “Why would I give a shit about anything you have to say?” I asked.

  “Because you are about to let a good man get away,” she said with a heavy sigh. “And I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t tell you the truth.”

  CHAPTER 20: Shane

  “Well, I reckon that’s it,” Uncle Seth said as he watched me toss my duffel into the back of the rental car. “Wish you’d hang around for a while. We could catch up. Do some fishing.”

  “I’d like to, but now that the house is done I need to get back,” I said. “I appreciate all your help. I wish you’d let me pay you.”

  He held up his hands. “You gave me a car and a truck and a houseful of furniture, son. We’re square.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “And I appreciate you taking mom’s dog, too.”

  He smiled. He’d never admit it, but he had bonded with the little white dog right off the bat. He had scooped her up and said he was taking her home to Wilma. The next day all he could talk about was how fucking cute that dog was.

  “Happy to help,” he said. “Wilma loves that little dog.”

  “That’s good to know.” I took a moment to look over the front of the house. It looked a hundred times better than it had a week before. The roof had been replaced, the siding repaired and painted, the windows replaced. Inside there was fresh paint and carpet and appliances. Juju’s sign was in the yard. I told her to take whatever was offered and email me the papers for signatures.

  I opened the truck door and slid in behind the wheel. Seth leaned in the open window and let his voice go soft. “You ever coming back?”

  I shook my head. “No, sir.”

  He nodded like he understood. “Okay, well, you take care. You know where we are if you need us.”

  “Thanks, Uncle Seth. You take care.”

  I put the truck in gear and drove slowly away without looking in the rearview mirror. I took the long way around so I wouldn’t have to go through the intersection where Kenny died. I crossed the railroad tracks on the south end of town and turned toward the highway.

  I’d be at the Houston airport in a couple of hours and back in Afghanistan by tomorrow.

  I would never see Gulf Breeze again.

  I kept telling myself that was just fine with me.

  CHAPTER 21: Annabel

  “You just missed him,” Seth said after I screeched to a halt in front of Shane’s parents’ house. He was loading tools into the back of his truck. He tugged a kerchief from his back pocket and took off his hat to wipe the sweat from his face. “Is everything all right, Doc?”

  My head swiveled on my neck. “No, it’s not,” I said, my fingers tightening around the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. “How long ago did he leave? Where was he going?”

  “Probably ten, fifteen minutes. Have you tried to call him?”

  “Yes, but he’s not picking up.”

  Seth nodded and scratch the stubble that covered his chin. “He’s flying out of Houston this afternoon. He’s headed there now.”

  “Shit,” I said, slamming my palms against the steering wheel.

  “He’s gotta stop for gas,” Seth said with a knowing smile.

  I blinked at him. “What?”

  “He’s in a rental car. You have to return it with the tank full or they charge you some ungodly penalty.” He narrowed his eyes to squint into the distance. “If you leave now you
might catch him.”

  “You think?”

  He grinned and drummed his fingers on the door. “You’ll never know unless you try.” He stepped back and hitched his head to the side. “Go on. What are you waiting for?”

  CHAPTER 22: Shane

  I was going to wait until I got closer to the Houston airport to fill up the Navigator, which guzzled gas like a frat boy at a keg party, but the gas light came on right before I started onto the interstate. There was a Midway Truck Stop at the Gulf Breeze exit now. I pulled up to the pump and shoved the nozzle in and gassed it up while I went inside to buy a Mountain Dew and some snacks for the trip.

  The truck stop was busy with travelers going and coming from Galveston, mostly truckers and riggers. The place smelled like grease and oil and sweat and burnt hot dogs. I plucked a large bottle of Mountain Dew from the cooler, a plastic-wrapped bear claw from the pastry rack, and a large bag of Ranch Doritos. I’d miss these things when I was back in Afghanistan. Might as well have a picnic on the road to Houston because I’d be back on the SEAL diet of mess hall food and field rations tomorrow.