Fighting For Brittney

by Tl Reeve

  Her friends answered with a resounding, “yes,” and she laughed. Maybe they did need to have a little fun before peak spring tornado season hit.

  Chapter 2

  Things like this, always made Dexter “Dirty-D” Walsh’s skin crawl. He didn’t feel like they had to be thanked for doing their job. It came part and parcel with being a firefighter/paramedic. He took a beer from the cooler and stared out over the field. People came from all over to show their appreciation. Even though he didn’t like it, he’d been grateful for their kindness. Also, if they made a little money for gear and equipment, even better.

  He hadn’t always thought of himself as a firefighter. He’d been a Navy Corpsman. Saving lives and prepping those who’d been hurt in combat for surgery had been a passion of his. With the training he received, he figured when he’d been done with serving, he’d become a doctor or a surgeon for the Corps. Maybe work at one of the National Naval Medical Centers, saving soldier’s lives when they came home. Unfortunately, his dreams were dashed when he’d been shot in the arm.

  It'd been a freak thing too. Because of the way he'd been positioned over one of his unit members, the bullet hit the radial nerve, leaving him with permanent damage, not to mention a broken humerus bone. He underwent two corrective surgeries, but neither worked. He couldn't hold a scalpel properly without his hand twitching or his fingers going numb after short periods. When it became apparent he couldn’t fulfill his duties properly, the Navy had given him an honorable, medical discharge and thanked him for his service.

  Thanks to Uncle Sam, the Navy paid for his tuition and within two years, he graduated from college with a Bachelor of Science degree for Nursing. Since he’d had five years of combat training and in the field practical training/use as a corpsman, the credit requirement for him had almost been fulfilled. However, once he joined the team at the hospital, he’d been given the shit shifts.

  Dexter made it work. He had to prove himself as a corpsman and he'd prove himself just as capable as the women he worked within the emergency room. There were days he came home in scrubs that weren't his after gunshot victims bled out on him or after he'd been covered in vomit because some sorority girl or frat guy couldn't hold their alcohol. He'd help deliver a baby a time or two as well when the mother had been farther along in her labor than any of them anticipated. He'd been drooled on and pissed on, but through it all, he loved his job. It'd been one of his friends at the hospital that told him about the VFD and Pops needing a few guys who were more than a basic EMT or First Responder. Dexter jumped at the opportunity and hadn’t looked back yet. He loved his job and he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. Now, he split his time between being a nurse at the hospital and the VFD.

  He gazed out over the picnic tables and paused as a woman stood up and started in his direction. She looked familiar. Her long blonde hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, and her bangs fluttered in the breeze. Someone from the table said something and she smiled. Dexter knew that smile. He’d only seen it twice, but he swore he’d never forget it. It got him through some rough times in the sandbox, more so when he’d come home. If the woman was who he thought she was, she also had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen along with an infectious personality.

  When he told her—Brittney—he never did one-night stands while still buried deep inside her, trying to catch his breath, he hadn't been lying. His mom would have whooped his ass for disrespecting himself and the woman he'd been with. However, the idea of leaving home and quite possibly never returning muddied those waters for him. He'd gone full, bareback—another thing he didn't do—and lost his head to the situation. Yet, he never forgot her. Never let go of the connection they'd made. It'd been hot and fast and all-consuming—crazy as it sounded. When he came home, he went back to the bar, hoping she’d return—stupid on his part, but in those first few days, hope had been all he had.

  Now, sixteen...shit, seventeen years later, there she was, crossing the field to where he stood next to the coolers filled with beers, soda, and water. I wonder if she ever became a weathergirl. He hadn’t seen her on any of the local stations, but it didn’t mean anything. Dexter made himself a little taller and pasted a broad smile on his face. He couldn’t wait to say hello. Instead, Buff stepped in front of him, cutting off Dexter’s view of Brittney.

  “You’re blocking the beer, man,” Buff said, pointing to the cooler behind Dexter.

  “Sorry.” Dexter side-stepped the ice chest so Buff could grab a beer.

  “No worries,” he said. “You look distracted.”

  Dexter had been. “It’s nothing.” When he glanced up again, the woman wasn’t anywhere to be found. He chided himself for being so stupid. He’d been so sure it was her, he more than likely assumed it was her. Or, could have all been in his imagination. A want to see her again, so he projected her onto someone else.

  “Yeah, sure.” Buff tapped the lid with his knee, closing the container with a thud. “Why you look like you’ve lost your best friend then?”

  He snorted. “I’d have to have one to lose them.”

  Buff laughed. “Whatever, brother.” He smacked Dexter on the shoulder as he walked away.

  Dexter finished his beer, then went in search of some food. The guys were rotating their grill services for the guests who’d come to the celebration. He’d been scheduled to man the steaks and sausage links from three to six, the prime time for everyone to eat dinner. With as large as the crowd had grown since the party began, he had a feeling it would only get bigger before the evening was over with.

  “Dexter,” Pops said, a Tootsie Pop pushing against the inside of his cheek. “What can I get you?”

  “Thigh and leg and some of the baked beans,” he answered.

  “You got it.” Pop’s placed the barbecued chicken onto the plate along with a serving of the beans. “You enjoying yourself?”

  “I am,” he answered. “Didn’t think this many people would come out for it, though.”

  “There’ll be more. This is a community event. Everyone and their mothers come whenever we have a cookout.” Pop’s winked at him. “Eat up, you've got duty in a little while.”

  “I’ll be ready for it.” Dexter took his plate then sauntered over to one of the empty tables to eat. His crew had been spread through the picnic area, either greeting people or flirting or in some cases, sitting with their families.

  “Hey, big brother.” Jackie joined him moments later. “Have you seen Marcus?” When he told his siblings about the celebration, both wanted to be there.

  He shook his head. “No. Not since we arrived.”

  She frowned. “He’s been ho’ing around. I know it.”

  Dexter laughed. “Careful now.”

  Jackie frowned. “He's worse than a damn tomcat, Dexter. I swear that boy has more girlfriends, then Carter has pills.”

  He shook his head. “You’re just like mom.”

  Jackie shrugged. “It’s true.”

  It was. Whereas he and Jackie had decided school and the military, Marcus went in a much different direction. He went into creating apps and building his small business to make his money. So far, their brother had made a tidy sum of money and if his next app hit, like Marcus expected it to, he’d be set for life.

  “When he’s rich and we’re still peons...” Dexter took a bite of his lunch.

  “Who said you’ll be peons?” Marcus came up beside them. “I plan on putting you both to work.”

  Dexter snorted.

  Jackie rolled her eyes. “Slow your roll, black Steve Jobs.”

  Dexter spit out the water he’d taken a sip of as he laughed. “Damn, Jackie.”

  “Why you gotta be cold, woman,” Marcus muttered, sitting down beside her.

  “Why you gotta be a dog?” Jackie snapped.

  “Okay, children,” Dexter said. “Simmer down.”

  “I should hit your boss up and see if he wants in on this app,” Marcus said, wiggling his brows.

  “Sweet
baby Jesus, no. I don’t need you peddling your wares to my boss.” Dexter shook his head.

  “Both of you are cold,” Marcus said. “Maybe I won’t hire you after all.

  “Oh no, brother! What will we ever do for work?” How Jackie had mastered their mother’s syrupy-sweet sarcasm, Dexter would never know, but whoever hooked up with her, would have their hands full.

  “Sweep streets?” Dexter cocked a brow.

  “Good idea,” Jackie said.

  He rolled his eyes.

  Jackie had always been dedicated to school and her art. However, the second part—her art—took a drastic turn after she watched a few makeup tutorials on Youtube. She applied the same passion she had for canvases when it came to people. Though she didn’t get into the whole prosthetics or FX creativity; she came in afterwards and added the paint and makeup to finish the looks. She also did the makeup for several actresses as well during award season. On the side, she had her own web channel to teach young people, young black girls and boys most importantly, how to do what she did. Like she always told Dexter, kids were the future might as well give them the tools to succeed now, instead of when they lose their motivation.

  “Well, if you’re both done,” Marcus said. “I’m going to grab a bite to eat.”

  “Don’t leave mad, bro,” Jackie said. “Just leave.”

  “I’m not mad,” Marcus replied.

  “Really, because I thought I saw a track of tears.” Jackie drew her finger down her cheek.

  Their brother flipped them off. “You’re both assholes.”

  Jackie cackled. “Ah, I think we hurt his feelings.”

  “You maybe,” Dexter said. “I was too busy eating lunch.”

  Jackie snorted. “Whatever. He needs to slow his roll.”

  Their sibling rivalry had been epic at some points in their life and non-existent at other points. After the floods in Houston, where their parents lived, they’d put their differences aside to help relocate their mom and dad to someplace safe—which also happened to be San Antonio where Jackie and Marcus called home. Dexter lived between Tarpley and San Antonio, so he was close enough to work at the hospital and the fire department. It also meant, due to him being the reliable brother, he checked on his parents more often than not. They weren’t, according to Jackie, spring chickens anymore.

  “You’re acting like you’re already there yourself,” Dexter said.

  “I have a job, a condo in Los Angeles and an apartment in San Antonio. I’m straight.” Jackie narrowed her eyes. “However, not all of us went into the military or college and came out with cushy jobs on the other side. Some of us worked our asses off and still do.”

  “And Marcus is still working his ass off like you and I are, just in a different capacity.” Dexter didn’t want to argue with his sister, but between the three of them, Jackie and Marcus were sometimes like oil and water—they didn’t mix.

  “He hustles.” Jackie placed her fork on her plate then turned to Dexter. “Do you know he went to mom and dad for an ‘investment?’”

  Dexter cocked a brow. “Haven’t you done the same?”

  Her cheeks pinkened as she lowered her gaze. “I paid it back the first month I had a job. Mine was only to buy my first kit.”

  Dexter took a sip of his water while contemplating his next words. “Has Marcus taken money before and not paid it back?”

  “No, but—”

  “But what?”

  Jackie frowned. “It was a lot of money this time, like ten thousand dollars. What if mom and dad never see the money again?”

  Dexter sighed. Their parents would do whatever it took to make sure he, Jackie, and Marcus had everything they needed through life. Dexter always gave back to them, whether it was adding a cushion to their down payment on the house they moved into after their home insurance paid out on their policy or picking up a bill here and there. Still, even though they bought a smaller house, his parents would be paying it for years to come. Loaning Marcus money when things were tight, dug into Dexter’s crawl. He only hoped his brother didn’t let them down.

  “I think Marcus has a valuable lesson to learn here if he fails. However, I don't want him to. I want him to succeed, so should you.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Jackie acquiesced.

  “I'm the older brother, of course, I'm right.” He grinned. “Now, finish your lunch. You’re looking a bit too skinny for your own good.”

  Jackie flipped him off. “I look fabulous.”

  She did too. Jackie, before she got her degree and found her calling, had been an introvert. She covered herself up. Hid under a veil of sarcasm or silence. Dexter worried about her for a long time. Then she found herself. The transformation had been astounding. Jackie went from being a gangly girl from Houston to this bombshell from Los Angeles.

  “How’s your beau?”

  His sister quirked a brow. “Beau? How do you know I’m not seeing a woman?”

  “Okay, how’s your girlfriend?”

  She laughed. “I’m single and playing the field, brother. You?”

  “Living the bachelor dream.” He grabbed his trash. “I have to go man the grill. Have fun while I’m working and don’t be too rough on Marcus while I’m gone.”

  “I can’t make any promises.” She gave him a coy smirk.

  “Figured as much.” Dexter headed over to the trash bins that had been set up around the area to keep people from littering and dumped his trash.

  He couldn't say what Jackie told him about Marcus didn't bother him, it did, but their brother also had been the frugal one of them. Their brother could make a hundred dollars' worth of groceries stretch for a month. He could also live on the bare minimum so he could reinvest his money into his app company. If Marcus needed the loan, he had to have shown their parents what he would do with it and where every penny would go.

  Dexter shrugged it off. He wouldn’t worry about it now. They were supposed to be celebrating. Having fun. Tomorrow he’d talk to Marcus and make sure everything with his company was on the up and up.

  “Ready to take over,” Short Shit said, handing him the spatula.

  “On it,” Dexter replied.

  “Pops said something about another delivery of burgers should be here within the hour.” He unclipped the radio at his hip. “If you run out before then, call out. Someone will bring you more from their coolers if they have them.”

  Dexter clipped the radio to the lip of his pants pocket then snatched the towel from Short shit’s shoulder. “Perfect. Go eat, man. I got this covered.”

  “Think I’ll go watch people get dunked in the tank.” He pointed over to the dunking booth and watched as one of the guys splashed into the water.

  The woman who’d dunked him, turned to the crowd as they cheered and laughed. Dexter thought the woman was Tank’s sister, but he couldn’t be for sure. He shook his head. “Looks like fun.”

  “I’d let her dunk me.” Short Shit shrugged.

  “Bet you would. Get out of here.” Dexter shooed him away while laughing.

  “Just saying,” he said, walking away.

  For the next few hours, he worked in silence occasionally saying hello to those who stopped by his booth to grab a burger. The hot humid air had cooled slightly as more clouds rolled into the area. There wasn't any rain in the forecast, but it didn't mean anything. If there was enough moisture in the air, they could have a downpour that lasted five minutes.

  Dexter wiped his brow with the towel after placing three more patties on the flame. The large fan behind him did nothing to cool him off and he could understand why they rotated out after a while. No way in hell anyone could work in those conditions for long. When his relief showed up, he reminded the guy of the same thing Short Shit told him. Someone would be around with more burgers in an hour and use the radio if he needed anything.

  As he exited the small booth, he caught sight of the woman who'd captured his attention earlier. This time she walked alone, checking out the different
stands. The group of people she'd been with, were nowhere in sight. Yet, he didn't make a move. He stood there like a dumbass, staring at her as a fucking stalker would. He wanted to kick his ass for not saying something. For all he knew, the woman wasn’t who he thought she was, and he could let it go with a simple greeting.

  However, if she was...

  “Bro,” Marcus said, coming up beside him. “I’m heading out.”

  Dexter glanced at his brother. “Sounds good. Did you get enough to eat?”

  Marcus nodded. “I did.” He glanced down a second before speaking. “Look, I know Jackie told you what I did with mom and pops, but I know she didn’t tell you everything.”

  “It’s not my deal. I do hope you come through on your end of the loan though.”

  He nodded. “I will. As soon as this app launches, I will return the money with interest. It’s what I promised mom and dad, and what I promise you. It’s not a bad investment.”

  At least his brother left off the usual, you'll see when pitching to Dexter. “You never overextend yourself, so I already know it will be a success.”

  Marcus hugged him. “Thanks, man. Look, we should have dinner next week and I'll show you everything.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll send you my schedule so we can meet up,” Dexter replied as Marcus stepped back. “Hey, do me a favor, cut Jackie some slack, she’s worried about our parents.”

  His brother nodded then waved. “See you.”

  He shook his head, his gaze tracking his brother as he made his way through the gaggle of tables and patrons. Dexter let out a slow breath. His siblings were going to be the death of him. And, once more he lost the woman, he thought was Brittney, in the crowd. If he hadn't seen her a second time, he'd swear he'd had heat exhaustion. She was there, he could feel it and as he grabbed a bottle of water out of the designated cooler, he went in search of her. He figured, if he didn't, he'd be left to wonder if it was Brittney or not.

  He decided to try the game tables set up by the dunk tank. If anything, he'd spend a little money and get his mom a stuffed bear. She collected the hell out of them, and she'd get a kick out of a carnival bear. As he rounded the corner, there she stood, her back to him, a softball in her hand. She aimed at the three metal milk jugs. The object of the game was to knock all of the jugs off of the table and nine chances out of ten, no one could do it. The games as far as he was concerned were rigged for the operator, not the participant.