Everlasting (Family Justice Book 6)

by Suzanne Halliday

  After snapping the heart lock shut, he slid it around on her neck until it sat just so. It really did suit her. The thought fired up an idea. Special occasion collars. They could start a collection—each one would hold a special and hopefully filthy memory.

  “Purr for me, kitten,” he growled. “Purr for me until my cock makes you scream.”

  They’d survived a major hurdle and landed firmly on the other side—standing stronger from the experience. In another month, they’d be married, and maybe then they could put the past where it belonged—in the rearview mirror.

  They had a life to live and babies to make. It was time to focus clearly on the future.

  At a stoplight, Heather reached for the insulated tumbler filled with ice water that was her constant companion these days. Taking two quick sips, she put it back in the holder and turned up the volume on the radio just as the light changed.

  She sang her heart out on the approach to home. Her current musical obsession was a country song called “A Long and Happy Life.” The lyrics set up camp in her head and played on a loop. Until recently, she’d never heard of a group called Delta Rae, but then again, until Justice happened, country music hadn’t appeared on her playlists very often.

  Taking her time as she moved through the heavy evening traffic, Heather was anxious to get home. It hadn’t been a tough day, but she’d made a couple of big decisions—acted on one or two—and now, all she wanted to do was leave it all behind and enjoy some family time.

  Family. Just the word could make her sigh.

  A year ago, she was slogging through a bitterly cold East Coast winter while trying to figure out her fucked-up life and her relationship with Brody Jensen.

  Today, she was thriving under the brilliant Arizona sun, was engaged, had a dog, a daughter, and most surprising of all, she was throwing the reproductive dice. If she and the conservative teacher-turned-scruffy desert rat who was the love of her life could catch a break, there was every likelihood that a baby was in their future.

  Making the turn for their development, she got excited thinking about what awaited her at home. Brody had picked Bella up from school—he texted much earlier to let her know. It was an unusual thing for him to do. The canine program kept him more than busy, but her man’s love for the sweet little girl he moved heaven and earth to locate brought out a side of him that she found heartwarming. And sexy.

  Glancing at the two clickers on her visor, she punched the first one to open the security gate. At the end of the driveway, she activated the other clicker to open the garage door—and as Brody had taught her, she checked the rearview and side view mirrors. Situational awareness was a new term in her vocabulary, but Brody insisted on it. So did the security chief at Justice who had actually made all the Justice Ladies sit through a security briefing.

  Pulling forward, she parked in the garage and remained in the car until the heavy door slid shut. She didn’t mind if the guys thought the women were following orders when each of them did that last thing, but all the girls knew better. They waited and watched to make sure nothing slithered, jumped, or ran into the garage while the door was open. They all did the same thing when pulling out too—wait and watch till the door shut. Angie scared the shit out of their whole crew a few months back when she told them a harrowing story about discovering a snake in the garage at her parents’ house. No thanks. It was Chief Winston who pointed out that the best weapon was their eyes—so eyeballing shit became a standard order for every day.

  “Life in the desert,” she muttered aloud.

  Reaching across the back seat because she opened the door on the wrong side, Heather stretched her fingers until they hooked around the straps of a brown paper bag filled with books and writing supplies. She’d gotten excited at the Barnes & Noble in Flagstaff when a regular doctor’s visit put her in the area. The kids’ section was a treasure trove of delights, and it was a wonder she hadn’t melted her credit card. Bella would love that she grabbed two copies of the child’s favorite chapter book, The Night Fairy, for the reading room at the Double M.

  Brody had read her the story over and over and over. Reading together was one of the first rituals they formed after he claimed her as his daughter. As a result, Bella Mia Jensen had a serious love affair going on with the written word and anything and everything having to do with illustration.

  Entering the code on the security pad, she stepped into the house, dropped all her burdens in the little hallway, and brushed off her hands as she turned and walked into the airy, open two-story foyer. Right away, she knew something wasn’t right.

  Bella was sitting on the last of the steps that led to the upstairs family area. Georgie was pressed protectively against her side as she calmly stroked his head.

  “Hey, sweetie,” she called out. “What are you up to?”

  Her little hand motioned to wave Heather closer. She leaned on the stairway balustrade and patted the dog on the head. That was when she saw the back of Brody’s head. He was in the great room, sitting on the sofa, with his back to the front door.

  “I took Georgie outside,” Bella informed her matter-of-factly. Caring for her dog was her most important responsibility—something she took quite seriously.

  The child glanced toward the great room. “Daddy has an achy head.”

  “He has a headache?”

  “No,” Bella assured her. She became quite serious and repeated the same words. Carefully. As though she’d been coached. “An achy head.”

  George licked her fingers. Heather looked toward Brody. He made a motion with his hand, and she froze. Way back when, during the years they spent together in a PTSD survivor’s group, the members used a hand signal when shit was getting real. In all the time she’d known him, Brody had never needed to use it. She had always been the one with issues and manic behaviors.

  She bent down and kissed her daughter’s cheek. “You did good, baby Bella. Thank you for taking care of Daddy till I got home.”

  Whispering with six-year-old earnestness, she gave Heather all the further information she needed in one sentence. “When he picked me up at school, Daddy said he needed his girls.”

  Heather straightened and considered the options before her. If Brody was having an episode, he wasn’t trying to hide it. Good. She didn’t want to create a false narrative.

  But what to do about Bella? She could shoo her upstairs and out of sight, but somehow, that option didn’t feel right. Bella was their daughter. She was a part of what was going on. Blowing sunshine up the kid’s skirt was just plain stupid, and the girl was far too clever and opinionated to put up with being treated like a baby.

  Instinct told her to keep everything normal. She extended her hand and said, “Come on then. You can set the table, and then I’ll show you what’s in the bag I left by the door.”

  She steered Bella away from the great room and got her set up in the adjoining dining room instead of the smaller family table in the breakfast nook where they usually congregated. “Two napkins,” she reminded her. “And let’s use the blue dishes tonight.”

  “Yes!” Bella hooted with a little skipping jump. “I like the blue.”

  Kids were so easily distracted that Heather had to chuckle. She’d gotten the hang of the parenting thing pretty quickly. Her mom was hella proud.

  “I’m going to go check on Daddy, okay? When you’re finished with the table, will you bring your laundry bag downstairs? We should wash your gym clothes.”

  Next to about a million other things, one of Bella’s favorite activities was doing laundry. She loved the whole process. Uncle Drae had even made her a sturdy stepstool for the laundry room so she could help put things in the washer. She also had strong opinions about which detergent they used. You hadn’t experienced life until trapped in the detergent aisle at the store, unscrewing lids and sniffing all the containers while a kindergartener calls the shots.

  Heather made sure Bella was fully engaged in her tasks before going to Brody. She came up f
rom behind, announced her approach with a discreet cough, and bent over his head. With her hands on his shoulders, she planted a kiss in his hair.

  “I’m here, babe.”

  He took one of her hands and rubbed his face into the palm. His grip didn’t feel desperate, but she sensed his upset. Before another moment went by, she asked for what they jokingly referred to as a meter check. A chance to gauge whatever was happening at any given moment.

  “On a scale of one to ten …”

  He rubbed his face on her hand again and held tight. “Five and a half. Maybe six.” She released the breath she was holding when he added, “Now that you’re here, four.”

  “And Bella? Do you want me to ask April and Mark if she can hang out with Amy for a while?”

  “No,” he quickly replied. “She’s part of me, and I’m not gonna hide this from her. It was closer to an eight when I picked her up.”

  “She helps, doesn’t she?”

  “More than she knows.”

  “Okay,” Heather drawled. She kept her hands on his shoulders and occasionally hugged him from behind. When he was ready, he’d turn around. She understood what he was doing and willed all the white light and love her heart could produce to surround him.

  “Then, dinner it is. Give me thirty minutes and I’ll throw something together.”

  “Tacos,” he mumbled. “Can you make tacos?”

  Tacos ranked pretty high on the list of comfort foods their quirky family enjoyed. They could get Bella to do almost anything if tacos were the reward.

  “For you? Sure. Can I get you anything, babe? No alcohol,” she reminded him.

  Alcohol and a PTSD episode might begin as friends, but it was a relationship doomed to failure, and failure was simply not an option.

  His head dipped back on the sofa and eyes brimming with torment met hers. “Can you get me two Advil and a little glass of milk?”

  Kissing his nose, she smiled into his troubled gaze. “Coming right up.”

  Moving calmly was a terrific challenge when what she wanted to do was run around like a maniac. But their deal was that only one of them got to be crazy at a time—so calm was her only option.

  She gave Bella an encouraging fist bump when she passed the dining room. With that situation under control, she hastily poured a small tumbler of milk, grabbed the container of pain meds, and hurried back to Brody. He was sitting forward and had his head in his heads.

  Shit.

  “Here,” she said quietly. He held out one hand. She dropped two tablets into his palm, waited while he popped them in his mouth, and then pressed the small glass into his hand. As he drank the milk, she rubbed his back.

  Spying the remote control on the sofa next to Brody, she reached for it and turned on the surround sound to a familiar satellite music station that played soothing soundscapes.

  Hovering would only make him tense, so she gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be right here in the kitchen if you need anything.”

  Twenty minutes ticked by in slow motion. The tacos were almost ready to serve and Bella was still upstairs gathering her laundry when he finally moved. She tried to school her expression when a kitchen island stool scraped the floor.

  When he sat down, she yanked open the refrigerator, pulled out a big pitcher of herbal iced tea, poured him a glass, and pushed it in front of him. Reflex told her he’d better rehydrate.

  They’d spent too much time in therapy together to bother with a setup, so she barely reacted when he started explaining.

  “I was deep in the compound this morning, overseeing a training exercise. They fucking used live ammo and ...” His voice dwindled to nothing. Not even a whisper.

  Oh, my fucking god, she thought. He walked into a live fire exercise. Goddammit.

  He tensed when she rubbed his shoulders, but she didn’t stop. “Did you know what they’d be doing, or were you taken by surprise?”

  He grunted. “Had no fucking idea. That shithead Mike is done as far as I’m concerned. Been covering his stupid ass for months. He shoulda been monitoring the pups. I’ve got other shit to do.”

  Heather was sure of one thing. If Brody didn’t can the other guy’s ass, she’d make Alex do it. Keeping Brody away from gunfire was rule number one. There was no excuse for what happened today, and when she finished taking care of him, some heads were going to roll.

  Now she knew and there was no further reason to discuss it. This totally unexpected episode was the direct result of his exposure to a trigger. The biggest, baddest, most terrifying trigger of them all. Gunfire.

  So she moved them away from the darkness and into the light with a complete change of subject.

  “I turned over the day-to-day operation at the family center to my team and worked out something smarter with Meghan. I’d rather concentrate on the big picture stuff. Maybe write a few grants or do some targeted fundraising for mental health issues.”

  He nodded but didn’t engage.

  “And guess what?” She plopped a lid on the pan of cooked taco meat and wiped her hands on a towel. “It turns out that we’re all making some changes. Lacey, Victoria—even Meghan. I think she’s almost got Sophia convinced to step in as the managing director.”

  All of a sudden, Brody looked at her and asked, “Would you be upset if I went for a ride?”

  “Now?”

  “Yeah,” he answered. “Can’t get that sound out of my head. Need to replace it with the wind.”

  She went to him. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

  Taking his scowling face in her hands, she made him look at her. “We don’t do sorry, and it’s perfectly fine if you need to take the bike out.”

  There was no way she would let him leave if he felt bad about putting himself first. Sometimes, a person just had to do what felt right.

  “I love you,” he murmured.

  “Hey,” she softly chided. “Don’t look so worried. You’ve got this.”

  “It’s been a long time,” he muttered darkly.

  She ruffled his ridiculous long mane of hair and smirked. “Go on, you. Have your Jax Teller fantasy moment. I’ll save you a couple of tacos.”

  “Tell Bella—”

  She cut him off. “Don’t worry, sweetie. That girl’s a champ. She knew what to do. I’m so proud of her.”

  Slapping her forehead, she muttered, “Oh, damn. I forgot the cheese,” and ran to the refrigerator. When she turned around, he was on top of her.

  “I’d be lost without my girls.”

  She hugged him tight and shooed him from the kitchen, calling out to him as he walked away. “It was the Tantra lounger, ya know. That’s what sucked me in. Not your ride or die bullshit.”

  He was laughing as the door to the smaller garage shut.

  “Just another day in paradise,” she said to the empty kitchen.

  17

  Cam, Drae, and Alex almost fell over laughing when they came across Calder mumbling to himself at the back of his think tank-slash-Tony Stark workshop. It was pretty clear he hadn’t been aware of their approach when they heard him grumble, “Thinking about rocket ships to Mars but can’t get a tiny fucking vibrator to work.”

  “Aw, dammit.” Drae sniggered. “Does that mean Alpha Balls are a no-go?”

  Calder whipped around on a swivel chair and glared at his intruders.

  “Nah,” he spat out. “They work. How about you give them a test run, St. John? In your ass.”

  Alex was pretty sure Cam and Drae almost lost it right then and there. Their howling laughter was downright hilarious.

  “Dude,” Cam shouted to Alex with a series of gestures. “You hold him down, and I’ll take off his pants.” He chased Drae around the workspace, giving him a chance to have a little chat with his uncle.

  Calder glanced at the official Justice Comedy Team who were acting like a pair of twelve-year-olds.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Any luck with that matter we discussed? I really need to know w
hether my idea will work. I need to know how close you can monitor.”

  His uncle gazed at him with a shrewd intensity. It felt like a diagnostic exam.

  “Is time running out?”

  Alex didn’t hesitate with his reply. “Yes.”

  His uncle delivered an unintentional swift kick to his gut when he asked, “Before the babies?”

  He grimaced. “Right now, I’m hoping to get through Parker’s wedding.”

  “Does he know? Have you told anyone yet?”

  “Not saying shit until I have to.”

  Calder nodded. “When the time comes, I’ll be ready. Your idea took a bit of finagling, but my geek resources run deep. I’ve developed something that will make GPS seem like it came from the Stone Age.”

  “Aw, cut it out, you motherfucker,” Drae yelped. He was rubbing his head as Cam pitched things at his face.

  “What the hell is wrong with them?” Calder asked.

  Alex chortled, snickered, and snorted in rapid succession. “So much, man. So much.”

  He barked out a command. “Men! Front and center.” Cam tossed a few more things as Drae batted everything aside while they made their way to a mocking at-attention lineup.

  “St. John,” Alex drawled. “Tell your daddy about the Star Wars thing.”

  “He’s not my daddy,” Drae grumbled and narrowed his eyes.

  “Yes, I am,” Calder sanctimoniously declared. “Married to your wife’s mother. By definition, that makes me your dad.”

  “Shut up, you old pervert.”

  Cam tightly clamped his mouth shut and made a sound that had a suspicious giggle ring to it. Even Alex had to admit how funny it was when Drae acted like a baby about this.

  At being told to shut up, Calder held up a fist and mimicked a slow, grinding crank of his middle finger unfurling —complete with sound effects—and curled his lip in a sneer.

  “Are you three finished?” Alex drawled. He crossed his arms and gave them all, even Calder, a reminder of his Major Marquez alter ego.