Deploy

by Jamie Magee

  “I cussed your grandmother, Declan!” she raged as they stormed through the airport. “I told her she had no right to spring this on you and she said you knew!”

  Declan turned sharply and glared down. “They’ve been trying to put the memory of my brother in the ground for years! They’ll put me there before I let ‘em.” Then he turned as if his words were not daggers, as if the dread of him leaving had not turned her emotions inside out, for some reason, more so this time than any other.

  Once Declan showed up at his father’s bar, his long arm rushed across the bar top crashing the drinks, flyers and food—everything there—to the ground.

  The bar was full of Rawlings’.

  “He is not gone!” Declan roared. He lifted his chin in the stillness of the bar, as he peered into the aggression that soared through his blood. The people who made him strong, strong enough to not give up. “Do you think he’d quit on you?” Declan demanded. He kicked the stool. “Do you think Nolan would give up so it would be easier on him?” He glared at his dad, at his brothers. “Maybe if you fucks were not so busy trying to put him in the ground this shit would be handled by now.”

  Chasen got in Declan’s face, and Declan slugged him. It was on then. Tobias tried to pull them apart, and instead took a hit he felt he had to return, then Atticus and Boon climbed in.

  Even Nash was in the mix. Cousins, friends, military friends—it was an all out brawl.

  Then all at once Missy Rawlings stood on the bar and yelled, “I’ve called the law. You know what that means!”

  They did. If they were enlisted it wasn’t the local law that would be the issue in their lives, it would be the MPs.

  A lot of people scrambled to leave then, but the core of Declan’s family stayed right there.

  “It’s that easy for you?” Declan yelled at all of them. “Three years and that’s it, forgotten, don’t fucking matter anymore!”

  “You know that’s not true!” Chasen said, willing to go at it again. He’d lost more than one son and the only way he was getting this one back was by kicking his ass a time or two. “You cannot be over there fighting, away from home, thinking of this shit. Shit that needs an end.”

  “This isn’t about me!” Declan raged. “You’re going to nail my brother’s coffin shut so I can be at peace when I’m gone—peace! Are you fucking kidding me?” he said as he pointed right at Justice, making her flame with her famous blush.

  He’d made her feel like dead weight. A burden he had to carry. Pointing her out, saying with her as his, he had no peace, he’d always be at odds. Justice didn’t hear the rest of the fight. She left. She gathered from Dawson hours later that no one went to jail. Missy had been bluffing.

  The fight between Declan and his dad went on for hours, same with his brothers. At the end, his threat was lethal. “Stay away from me and my own.”

  To Declan, ‘me and my own’ was Nolan and Justice.

  Dawson didn’t get much further with the story, Declan pulled up just before dawn and both Bell and Dawson left.

  Declan paced her room like a lion. She didn’t even bother to ask him ‘what now’—she knew his moods and this was a dark one. Hers wasn’t all that peachy either. Whisky and a flame dancing side by side, an explosion was inevitable.

  Even if she got in his face, laid out how he made her feel, how out of all the shit they had been through, tonight he hurt her more than ever before—he’d never hear her. Declan was too pumped from this fight with his family, ripped at the thought that everyone had given up but him.

  All at once, Declan pulled her up and had her against the wall. He stared deep in her eyes as he stripped her panties from her and then pulled her arms over her head, holding her in place with one hand as his other reached to hold her thigh on his hip.

  Hard and fast, heart pumping, frustrated thrusts were what came at first, but then somehow they slowed, the tension in his shoulders left and he bowed his head to her shoulder. She felt him shudder, and could have sworn she felt a tear slide down her chest.

  “We can’t keep doing this,” he said through a pant.

  She reached for his face, to see his eyes, to read the answers his lips wouldn’t tell.

  Declan jerked his head away as he stepped back.

  “You need a better tomorrow, a better everything than I can give you.”

  Rage came to her as she moved but he turned his back as he put his clothes back together. “You deserve a family and a man that won’t forget about you when you’re outta sight,” he said as he left her room and went down the steps double time.

  “You son of a bitch!” she yelled after him, but he never looked back, not even once.

  She grabbed her robe and was down the stairs in a beat, right on his heels.

  “I’m not your fucking burden! If you leave me now, there is no coming back. You hear me? I can’t handle this!”

  She doubted she meant a single word. She really did, but her emotions were rampant. He had left her sick all night, torn up inside, broken. Saying she could not take it anymore was her self-defense. Her survival. It was her telling him he was not the only fucking one that felt this shit with Nolan, who lived with the pain.

  He stopped then, and turned to face her. “Handle what?” he yelled.

  “You! You not making plans. You not letting me in. I’m not doing it anymore. I’ll stand by you till the day I die. If you want to wage war on your family because they give a fuck about you, fine. I’ll wave your fucking flag. But I am not baggage. I’m not an issue for you to deal with. I need to know what the fuck is going on. The plan.”

  “You think this is a war?”

  She shook her head. “Don’t start. This isn’t about your career. Not now. Not at this moment. It’s about you and me and how you have put your life on hold since the second Nolan vanished!”

  He ferociously pointed at his chest. “Because I’m the only one who cares!”

  “Bull. Shit! I care, Declan. I care. I owe Nolan everything.”

  “Do you now?” he said with a sarcastic flinch of a grin. “Something I need to know about?” he said as it turned into a snarl.

  “Yeah,” she said in the same tone. “He told me you were a stubborn son of a bitch and to just give you a second to come ‘round.”

  A sardonic shake of his head then a smirk came to him as he opened his truck door. “Yeah, well, he told me he had a ‘take’ on you, and he was keeping it in place until I was right for you.”

  “And?”

  “You want a tomorrow with me? I can’t fucking give it to you because the one son of bitch on this planet that has my number that could swear to me this,” he said as he pointed between them, “is not a tragic mistake is missing. And until he’s found. No. I will not fucking look forward.”

  With that he slammed his truck door shut and went to back away. She picked up rocks, slinging them at him, a few actually hit home, but then he was gone.

  ***

  Declan didn’t call, not once. Three weeks later, in the middle of the night a text came in that read: I’m sorry.

  She tried calling him back but he didn’t answer. And he didn’t respond to any texts. She knew he was gone then. Heading out on his tour.

  A month past that point as she hugged the porcelain god at five in the morning—fighting a stomach virus that had lasted far too many days, one she had called dread, stress, food poising, everything—the idea that a part of him was with her in a real way slammed into her.

  Seven tests later she knew it was.

  Twenty years old, single, and pregnant, with far too many dark secrets and demons in her past.

  Justice stayed in denial for weeks, and even when she came to terms with it, she kept her secret. Her head stayed in her studies and work, only now she studied harder, and worked a little more, planning for the road ahead, a tomorrow.

  Dawson had landed her a job at the hospital long before Justice came back to Bradyville. It paid more, had better insurance, and allowed her to ha
ve more days off to focus on the last part of school.

  Justice had no idea what Declan said to his family before he left months back, but his threat of them staying away from her, and the memory of Nolan must have held some weight. That or they knew him and her were over and the protection of belonging to one of theirs had faded.

  She didn’t hear from them. She barely saw them. Sometimes she’d come home and see Boon or Atticus leaving from where they had cut the yard or dropped something off, but it was even more months down the road before either Boon or Atticus really talked to her and it was an odd conversation, about the weather. She knew they were wondering why she had a blanket wrapped around her on warm day as she read on the porch.

  The blanket’s purpose was to hide the low riding baby bump that was more than noticeable if not carefully hidden.

  No one knew she was carrying Declan’s baby, not even him. Well, her grandmother clearly knew something was up, so did Dawson, but they also knew Justice—she’d talk when she wanted and not before.

  “Are we going to talk about this?” Bell asked when they brushed by each other in the kitchen and the undeniable bump made itself known. Bell only asked because if her math was right, they had to be close by now.

  “Nothing to say.”

  “We need to plan. You need to take care of yourself.”

  “I have and I am.”

  Bell looked down, then up at her. “Whatever he said he didn’t mean it.”

  “Yeah, but did I mean what I said?” Justice asked, walking away. Her hormones were not her friend and hadn’t been for some time. It was the only real complication she’d had, her feelings were a bit too available to her. Which made her think. A lot.

  In some way, she got where Declan was coming from when he said it was crazy his family could just move on from Nolan. Forget. About how insane it was for them to be jubilant one instant, and cut off the next.

  It felt wrong to her to just give up. To let someone in, only to forget them down the road when it became hard with circumstance.

  It felt wrong long before she knew what it was like to be forgotten.

  The Rawlings’ had been there in the past when she needed them, and when she didn’t need them, at the drop of a hat.

  Not now.

  One family fight and she was all but estranged. It was that easy to be pushed aside. Conditional.

  “Justice!” Bell said charging after her. “You didn’t mean it, whatever it was. It’s about more than you and him now.”

  “It always has been,” Justice said, glancing back. “There has never been just me and him. I will not trap him. I’m not a burden. This is my family,” she said, putting her hand on her stomach.

  Bell sighed, seeing the same stubbornness that she knew had pushed her to stand strong when most would crumble.

  Bell’s glance moved to her stomach then up. “You knew what you were getting into. I told you when you were seventeen. That’s a Rawlings, and you can’t hide this forever. No matter how mad you are.”

  Justice’s eyes welled but she didn’t cry, the tears were more from anger. She was trapped and she knew it. And she also knew deep down this was the only prison she wanted to be in.

  “He should know. At least him,” Bell pushed.

  Justice swayed her head. She’d thought about it, constantly. Telling him this, giving him something else to shoulder with the way they left things—she’d yet figure out how, and now time was almost up. He’d be back, and the Rawlings turning cartwheels in her stomach would be present and accounted for.

  Justice honestly didn’t know who would show up first. When she finally made it to the doctor, after the denial went away, she was near her second trimester. This baby was created during one of their bouts of heaven, right after they found their way back to one another. If it wasn’t for the family upset that tore them apart, more than likely they both would’ve been more than aware a baby was coming before he left on his seven-month tour.

  Before Bell could push a little more, use the doubt she saw in Justice’s eyes, the doorbell rang and Justice pulled it open yelling, “What!” at the teenage kid on her doorstep, who jarred back.

  After looking at her like she was crazy he held forward a grease stained box. “I think this is yours.”

  Looking at him like he was insane and not caring that he thought she was, she took the box.

  Inside was another box that had her name on it.

  “What is this?”

  “Letters you wanted to mail I guess, lady. I don’t know. I found it in the toolbox attached to the truck my granddaddy bought off you for me. It was the old Chevrolet he paid for in cash—‘member?”

  Justice only stared at him like he was a fool. They had sold all her father’s stuff, piece by piece. His old truck he used to drive around town was one of the last things to go, mainly because it was attached to the trailer that almost went up in flames.

  The Sheriff told them to leave all of the shop stuff be for a long while. Finally, Bell sold the truck and trailer, determined to get the house down to only one lien.

  “I cleaned that truck out myself,” Bell said with wide eyes.

  “Yes, ma’am, you see the toolbox had a lower compartment. I didn’t find it till I pulled it off a few days ago so we could paint it. Got it looking sweet,” he said with a nod behind him.

  Seeing her father’s truck in the drive, no matter what color it was almost made Justice retch.

  “I meant to bring it by a few days ago, but it was too hard to get a ride all the way out here.”

  Justice went down to her knees, holding the box to her as if it were a lifeline, shock in her gaze.

  “You all right?” the kid asked, getting in her face, but by then Dawson was coming down the stairs two at a time and Bell had her arm around Justice.

  They were Nolan’s letters. His words, his last words...they were in her hands.

  ***

  Nolan hadn’t addressed them, a few were not even sealed, just a single name on each.

  Justice wanted to rip them all open, read every word and then pick up the trail and find Nolan. Slay that one demon—fix their family and give the love of her life peace.

  Providence was at her house within the hour. The letters did more than give the Rawlings’ closure and a way to hear Nolan’s voice once more—they changed the timeline. Nolan had circled back; he’d made it to Justice’s house.

  Knowing her father could’ve crossed Nolan unnerved Justice all the more. Any time her father was brought up, any of this was brought up—Murdock came back around and she could not deal with him.

  She didn’t even want to deal with the Rawlings. How could she look at them and see pieces of Declan? She’d miss him all the more and be reminded that the boy had changed her in ways that were now everlasting.

  The fact that Declan hadn’t called, emailed, texted, written, nothing—didn’t help anything at all. It gave Justice enough doubt and anger to think a little longer on how she was going to break her news to him...their news.

  When the letters were given to the Rawlings, Justice was dressed in a baggy sweatshirt and stayed at a distance. Her eyes never met anyone’s for very long.

  There were more arguments. No one wanted the Sheriff’s office involved, but they had little choice if it meant the timeline changed. Justice left in the middle of the fight, she’d heard it all before.

  A few weeks later, she was sitting at her favorite coffee shop, drinking water and studying, when someone pulled the chair across from her out.

  When she looked up she met the troubled gaze of Chasen Rawlings. At first, she feared the worst and nearly retched. She didn’t turn crimson but white as a ghost.

  She was pissed at Declan. But the fear that he was hurt or worse...it haunted her just the same. More so now than ever. Chasen swayed his head, reading her, and telling her that was not why he was there.

  After an odd silence, he slid the letters that were addressed to Declan toward her. “If you send them, he
’ll read them.”

  Justice arched a brow, doubting as much. Declan had broken his own personal record when it came to ignoring her. His final text: I’m sorry, could have been read a million ways. And not to mention she knew by now, he could have sent something, called.

  “You know more than I do,” she said finally.

  The glint of surprise in Chasen’s eyes was something she’d never seen in Chasen. “That so.”

  “Cut ties,” she said sharply so the emotion would not show.

  Chasen’s expression fell. He thought for sure Declan at least had her. The only one he’d bothered to speak to was his grandmother, and it was nothing more than where to send the care packages.

  “Whatever he said he didn’t mean it.”

  “I’m pretty sure he did,” she said with a smile that was just as angry as sad.

  Chasen looked to the side. “I’m worried about you.”

  “Why?” Her tone was sharp, and in her mind, rightly so. No one was going to take care of her...or her son. She had this.

  “The Sheriff is being an ass and every time he is that Murdock boy lingers a bit too close to you.” Chasen also knew of the shit Tobias and Providence were digging into, even though it seemed far from Justice and more than likely was, it still bothered Chasen.

  “Haven’t seen him.”

  Chasen nodded stiffly, noticing the glint of fear in her eyes. “Yeah, since that boy managed to get a nasty scar on his arm he’s kept his distance...still.”

  Justice paled once more.

  Chasen nodded once. Yes, he knew. He didn’t know exactly what Murdock had done, but he could guess. Even if he was wrong, he still knew Murdock hurt her in some way— he nearly broke her and his son.

  “Murdock having a tiff with my boys, hanging close to you every time this stuff with Nolan comes up has me uptight.”

  Justice dropped her gaze. She could imagine what it looked like from his perspective, but from her point of view, Murdock only got twisted when either Declan threatened to take her away or someone came too close to questioning her father’s death.

  Murdock knew she was armed and dangerous, and by now he was bound to know that Dawson was always with her—and she could kill him with her bare hands, without even breaking a sweat.