Bourbon Nights (The Barrel House Series Book 3)

by Shari J. Ryan

  I don’t remember the last time I cried. It might have been when Abby died. But hearing every word Melody just said to me, knowing it’s everything I have ever needed anyone to tell me, tears fill my eyes because a love like this … it’s beyond any form of perfection; it’s surreal and almost undeserving.

  “I had to kill six people while I was over there. I’ve never told anyone that.”

  I wait for her face to contort with disgust, but her expression doesn’t change at all. “And you’re alive because of it.”

  “I’m a murderer.”

  “No, Brett, you’re a hero who sacrificed his life to protect his country.”

  “Please don’t call me a hero. Please. I might lose faith in humanity if I see myself that way.”

  “Okay,” Melody says, reaching her hand over to mine. “I know more about PTSD than you think I do. I have done more research than I care to explain, and it wasn’t out of fear. It was because I love you so much that I want to do whatever I can to support you, if and when you need that kind of support. I also know that everyone experiences PTSD differently, and there is no telltale sign of any one person’s symptoms. PTSD won’t go away, which is why I want to embrace the reality of what you live with, so you will know that you are never alone.”

  My gaze falls to my bouncing knees. “I’m sorry for anything I said to you tonight that sounded rash.”

  Melody pushes herself up on the couch and scoots next to me before pulling herself onto my lap and wrapping her body around mine. She places her hands on my cheeks and kisses me so gently her lips tickle mine, forcing me to smile the way she knows I can’t control.

  “I wanted to go out to dinner tonight for a reason,” she says.

  She pulls back and stares into my eyes. “What reason?” I ask.

  Melody doesn’t respond. Instead, she wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me harder. “Take me to bed,” she whispers into my mouth.

  I’m not sure I understand why we would go out for dinner so I could take her to bed later, but she knows I wouldn’t argue with a command like that.

  Her hands slide up my shirt, and her fingernails drag down the core of my body. “Okay, okay. Go upstairs,” I tell her.

  Melody has the devil in her eye as she slides off my lap. “You need to stand up and follow me,” she says.

  I do as she demands, following her quietly up the stairs. I’m thankful that we moved Parker’s bed to the other side of her bedroom, so she doesn’t notice when we come upstairs together.

  We walk into our room, and my heart thuds for a quick moment before Melody’s hands are sweeping up beneath my shirt again. “I think it was you who once told me that distractions are the best way to switch our thoughts,” she says.

  I want to tell her I’m not sure if any distraction in the world will make me forget about what happened tonight, but I’m willing to try for her. She unbuckles the belt on my pants, pulling them down to my ankles as she kneels in front of me.

  I close my eyes, blocking out what the darkness usually holds and I replace it with the sensations of Melody’s mouth, bringing my mind to a place of pleasure. I weave my fingers through her hair as I press my head into the wall, trying not to move, breathe too hard, or make a sound. She’s good at this—turning me on, making me weak in the knees, but I can only take so much before I need to be closer. I lift her hands and pull her to her feet. I step out of my pants, and I spin her around until her back is against the wall. I pin her hands above her head so that I can reach all the right spots on her neck and collarbone. I claim her mouth, being more forceful than I can control, but she enjoys it when I lose the ability to maintain composure. I lift her shirt and pull it off, sliding my hand down the front of her pants until her knees buckle.

  I lift her and carry her to our bed. Her arms are around my neck. Our lips are tangled in a frenzied motion as if we’re searching for air in the wrong places. She guides me inside of her, and I hold her against me with one arm. I use the headboard for support with my other arm. I take her in, devouring her, feeling every single movement and twitch in her body as her breath skates off the base of my neck. “Yes,” she cries out in a whisper.

  “Shhh,” I remind her.

  We’ve worked very hard to remain quiet during our nightly sexcapades. It’s mostly her who loses control over the words and sounds she releases when she’s close. I hold her harder when I feel the need to scream. I focus on the way her skin feels like silk against my hand and the way her hair feathers along my arm—the way her thigh squeezes against my waist as if she might fall if she holds on any looser. The friction between us mixes with sweat when her nails dig into my shoulder blades, and her mouth falls open with a soundless scream. Her body jerks against mine, and I respond with a similar motion, going, going, and going until I’m too weak to hold us up. I fall to her side and curl my body around hers. I embrace her as if she’s a part of me.

  “You wanted to have dinner at a restaurant so you could take advantage of me later?” I ask.

  Melody turns to her side and traces a circle around the eagle, globe, and anchor Marine emblem tattooed on my chest. “No,” she says.

  “I think I’m confused.”

  “Do you remember a conversation we had a couple of months ago—we were lying here just like this?”

  I think back, realizing I am a lucky son of a bitch to have a wife who enjoys sex at least four times a week. “I—ah—there have been a lot of times,” I say with a soft laugh.

  “There have been a lot of times, which means I don’t know how pregnant I am, but I am most definitely pregnant. I was going to tell you at dinner tonight.”

  My lungs feel like they’re collapsing. I can’t breathe, but tears return for the second time in one night after going years without losing control of my emotions. “Wait—you’re—”

  “We’re having a baby,” she says.

  After wiping my tears away with the back of my arm I smile as I stare into Melody’s eyes. She might think she knows every deep dark thought that goes through my head, but one thing I feared the most was something I never talked about. I’ve been afraid that I wouldn’t be able to have a child because of the amount of crap I endured overseas. I hoped. I know a lot of the men that served alongside mer have gone on to have families, but the living conditions were so bad and I didn’t know what I was ingesting. I was tossed around from the rumblings of nearby grenades and wondered if parts of me had been injured. I didn’t know, and it’s been a fear of mine, a silent fear. I thought maybe that’s why I was given Parker. “We’re having a baby,” I repeat in a whisper, placing my hand on her stomach.

  “Parker will finally have a baby sister or brother just like she’s been begging for since before we got married,” Melody says, giggling.

  “The perfect family,” I say. Perfect. I’m not perfect, but hopefully I’m capable of contributing to the part of my life that is.

  “I threw the word perfect out the window before I met you, Brett. I told you about my silly white-picket-fence dreams, how shallow they were in comparison to what life is really about. If we never had a baby together, I still have the perfect family; you, me, and Parker. Now, it will be even more perfect.”“Lucky,” I repeat.

  “Tonight, a mistake was made, but we’re not going to remember this day for a mistake. We’re going to remember tonight for the good news, for the new adventure, and for a wish coming true. Tomorrow, we’ll look for help, and the day after that, we’ll start working together to get better. We’re in this life as a unit, and we’re going to stay this way no matter what.”

  There is more I have to tell her. There’s more I have to say, but it can wait. There are other parts of me that tick when she’s not watching, and I owe her that honesty. I owe her the truth. The monster inside of me needs to be killed so I can be what she needs, what Parker needs, and what our unborn child will need.

  Tonight wasn't a breaking point like Melody might think. I just slipped and acted on an urge I couldn’t cont
rol. I’m not sure I can be fixed with therapy or any medical interventions, but I have to find a way out of my head before I fall too far and fail my entire family. It’s all on me. I have to fix this.

  25

  When I wake up from a nightmare, I can shake it off most of the time. When I wake up from a stupid mistake, I know it will stick to me like humidity on a hot Carolina day.

  “I was thinking,” Melody says, turning over in bed. Our mornings typically start with Melody thinking out loud. I tease her about it, but I wonder if her brain ever stops.

  “No way?” It’s my usual response, followed by pinching her cute nose.

  “You remember the letters … ” she says.

  The letters—our first real argument—the elephant in our corner closet. I’m not sure how I’d forget about “the letters.”

  “Did you think I forgot?” I ask sweetly.

  Melody wraps her hair around her ears and gives me her knowing grin. “No, I just—”

  “Let’s leave the letters where they are,” I suggest.

  I sometimes wonder if she’s gone into the shoebox to sneak a peek at the letters, but I don’t think she would be able to keep her thoughts to herself.

  “Brett, I had no idea about them, and I don’t want to live with the guilt forever.”

  This isn’t about her guilt.

  “I believe you. I have never doubted the truth, but those letters were meant to be read then, not now. I can’t even remember what I wrote.”

  Melody doesn’t realize she’s chewing her lip or glancing up at me with her sad puppy-dog eyes. It’s just the look she gives me when she feels bad about something. “Maybe remembering will help you come to terms with what happened then as opposed to what you’re thinking about now.”

  “No, I don’t want to. Honestly, if I were going to do anything with those letters, I’d like to shove them up Ace’s ass. I was in combat, writing what could have been my last words and he had the goddamn nerve to hide them in a box so you wouldn’t find them.”

  And there it is. My uncontrollable enragement about the stupid letters. She knows this conversation never ends the way she wants it to. I don’t understand why she continues to bring it up.

  Melody tosses her head back into her pillow and groans. “He apologized. What else should I do?”

  He apologized. My ass. He sent the box to us a week after we got married, with a note saying: “Sorry I never gave these to you.” That was it.

  I wanted to call him myself and read him the riot act. Who does something like that? I didn’t know who the hell Ace was until Melody moved home. They weren’t even dating when I first started sending the letters. They were roommates or something.

  The way our conversation is going is more or less the way our original argument started. Of course, I was far more heated when I found out this guy was stealing her mail for more than two years. He owes me an apology, a real one, not just to Melody. I know it’s a petty thing, but I want to ask the guy if he read all my letters before burying them somewhere. My heart was scattered in words throughout each page I wrote to her. I never expected a response since I didn’t get one after the first letter, but I at least thought she might be reading them

  “Nothing,” I say.

  “I’m sorry I brought it up,” she replies.

  “I want to burn the letters and never think about them again,” I tell her. Through the heat of my anger, I remember the news she gave me last night about our baby, and I shouldn’t be upsetting her. I should be pampering her. Shit.

  “Okay, let’s just put this conversation about the letters on hold. When I find a therapist, I’ll see what they think about re-reading them. Is that fair?”

  “That’s fair,” she says, holding up her pinky. I wrap my pinky around hers. “Everything is going to be okay.”

  “So, you don’t know how far along you are? I think it took a minute for everything to sink in last night, and by the time I came up with a million questions, you had already fallen asleep.”

  “No, I just took the test yesterday while you were picking up Parker from school. I need to call and make an appointment today.”

  “I can’t wait for every part of this—to do this with you.”

  “Do you think Parker can keep this a secret until we know more?” Melody asks. I think she’s asking because she knows Parker can’t keep secrets, but she was planning to tell us last night, so I’m not sure if she’s rethinking things now.

  I squint one eye closed. “I think we both know the answer to that question.”

  “I think that’s why I put it off for so long during dinner last night. I was worried about telling her and having something happen, or—you know, if it doesn’t work out this time. I don’t want to hurt her.”

  Those thoughts didn’t cross my mind. I didn’t have to think about this stuff when Abby was pregnant with Parker because I didn’t find out until I returned from my deployment, and Abby was already eight months pregnant.

  “This is all new for me, despite what you think. I was gone during most of Abby’s pregnancy and didn’t see a whole lot, and I don’t think I paid attention in health class, so I might be a little ignorant about some of this,” I admit.

  “It’s not like I have instructions either. I guess we’ll just go with the flow,” Melody says, clambering out of bed.

  “Okay, so let’s see what the doctor says, then we’ll tell Parker.”

  “Yes, that sounds like a plan,” Melody agrees.

  Before Melody can take her next breath, there is a pounding on the door. “Tell me what?” Parker shouts.

  “To get ready for school,” I reply in the same shouting tone.

  “I have this weird feeling Parker sits outside our door to hear our secrets,” I whisper to Melody.

  “You know, this could be hard on her too since neither of us are biological to her. I think we should try to do some special activities for Parker overt the next few months, so we make sure she knows this baby,” she whispers the word, “won’t change how much we love her.”

  “How did I end up with you?” I ask, dragging myself out of bed.

  “I believe it was some weird twist of fate,” she says, tying her robe together at her waist.

  “We have four shipments going out today. There’s a water delivery, and the latter tun is making a weird noise, so I have someone coming in to check out the pressure sensor,” Melody spouts off.

  “I love when you talk dirty to me,” I tell her.

  Melody makes her way over to me, wrapping her arms around my waist, her hands slide down my backside. “Oh yeah? Wait until I tell you about the color of the current mash in the vessel.”

  I jerk my head back. “Okay, too much,” I say with laughter.

  She smiles up at me, and I lean down to share in her happiness, selfishly wanting all of her smiles on my lips.

  “Ew!” We hear from outside the door. “Please stop. I need to leave in ten minutes.” Parker was my biggest cheerleader when it came to bringing Melody into our lives. I wanted to be cautious and slow with the way our relationship fell together during Harold’s passing, but Parker saw life a little differently. She continuously reminded me that Melody needed us, and we could bring her some happiness. It was always a “we.” Parker was looking at engagement rings before I was. It’s almost as if Parker chose Melody just as much as Melody and I chose each other.

  Parker has only recently taken up an early tween attitude of making sure there is no visual affection happening in front of her. Naturally, we do it just to push her buttons, but she isn’t quiet about her feelings on the subject.

  “I’m getting into the shower. I’ll see you at the shop,” Melody says, pressing up on her toes to give me one last kiss before I have to throw some clothes on to take Parker to school. I’ll shower after, then head down to the shop.

  When I walk out of the bedroom, I hear Parker talking to Melody. “Tell me. Tell me. Tell me. Come on; you know you want to tell me.”

 
“Hey,” I call out to Parker. “What’s going on.”

  “I want to know what the secret is.”

  “There’s no secret.” I’m lying, and Parker knows it. I can’t lie to her.

  “Later,” Melody tells her. “You’re going to be late for school.”

  Parker grunts and throws her arms around Melody. “Fine. Love you, have a good day,” she mutters.

  “You too, Park. Love you!” Melody says, closing herself into the bathroom. She gets to walk away from the conversation, but I’m standing here with a set of eyes staring me down.

  “Tell me,” she says.

  “You don’t scare me, princess. Sorry.”

  Parker narrows her eyes a little more and takes a step closer. “Oh, yeah?”

  God, she looks like Abby, right down to the way she scrunches her nose. “Yeah.”

  In any case, I’ll take the good with the bad at this age. She’s able to get herself ready for school in the morning. She gave up the tutu obsession just over a year ago, so as long as she has an array of neon-colored leggings and ten pairs of shoes to choose from, she’s happy. I just have to check her backpack to make sure she has her homework and the right shoes on her feet for whatever special class she has today.

  By the time I get into the truck, Parker is settled with her book out on her lap. “How’s Harry Potter?” I ask, peeking in the rearview mirror before backing out of the driveway.

  “How's your secret?” she responds.

  “Parker.”