by Jane Slate
Grace shrugged and stared out at the lake.
“You really shouldn’t be here,” she said, flicking the butt of her cigarette.
“Miller wouldn’t like it.”
Landon snickered.
“Aw, were buddies. I doubt he’d care.”
Shows how much you know, Grace thought. She remained silent and tensed her jaw, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Hey,” Landon whispered, reaching for her hand. “You alright?”
“I’m fine,” she replied drily.
“That doesn’t sound too promising,” Landon replied. “Come on. I know it’s been awhile, but you should know I can read you like a book. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Grace looked over at him sideways and furrowed her brows.
“It’s been eight years,” she said. “I’m not the person I was back then.”
Landon took a drag of his smoke and stared out into the darkness. Grace’s children were playing with sparklers by the lake.
“You and Miller made a couple of beautiful kids,” Landon commented, changing the subject.
Grace looked at him.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
For a few brief moments, neither one of them spoke.
Landon was the one to break the silence.
“You still haven’t told me what’s wrong. It’s obvious that you’re upset—”
Grace sighed.
He just wouldn’t give up.
“Alright, fine,” Grace replied, clipping him off in midsentence. She rolled her eyes. “It’s Miller. He’s been different since he’s come home.”
Landon was quiet. He looked at Grace, willing her to continue.
“Just...he’s been different,” she shook her head and bit down on her bottom lip. “I don’t know.”
Grace wasn’t sure what to say. In Falls Creek, nothing came before brotherhood. Anything she told Landon could have easily been relayed back to Miller.
Landon nodded in understanding and kicked at the grass. He stood up straighter and cracked his fingers then his neck, blowing a ring of smoke from between his cracked lips.
“We went through a lot over there,” he commented after a few brief moments.
It wasn’t an excuse as much as it was the truth.
Grace ran a hand over her head and brushed her hair away from her face. She could feel Landon’s dark eyes burning against her face, willing her to look at him. He stuffed his cigarettes into the pocket of his leather cut.
“It’s harder for a guy like Miller. It was his first tour,” Landon continued, speaking more to himself than to Grace.
She couldn’t help but relax in his presence. There was a soothing quality to his voice. He was the only person in the entire world who she didn’t feel like she had to be perfect for.
It had always been that way.
“I know,” Grace whispered. “It’s just, the intimacy is gone.”
A warm blush spread over her cheeks. She cringed as the words fell from her mouth. A look she couldn’t decipher spread across Landon’s face. He furrowed his brows and blew a stream of smoke from his nostrils.
Grace tried her best not to notice how handsome he looked. He had only gotten better looking with age. He wasn’t prim and polished like Miller, but his ruggedness offered a certain appeal.
He was relaxed and affable despite nearly dying. It was the opposite of everything Grace was feeling.
“I don’t know if he loves me anymore,” she continued.
Her voice faltered and cracked. There was agony in the truth.
Landon shook his head and held up a hand to stop her.
“He does,” he answered matter-of-factly. “You and the kids were all he talked about over there. Granted, I didn’t ever put it all together. My fault, I guess. There aren’t too many Grace’s in Falls Creek. I guess I should have realized it.
He was rambling.
Grace hugged her chest and took a deep breath, running her fingers along the cracks in the wall they were leaning against. A lump surfaced in her throat. She could feel Landon staring at her, his gaze hot and intense.
He never stopped trying to dissect her.
“Even so,” Grace continued, finding her voice. “The lack of intimacy has been...”
She shook her and fell silent, too embarrassed to continue speaking.
“Come on,” Landon said with a nudge. “It’s just me.”
The way he looked at Grace made her feel vulnerable and on full-display. She opened her mouth to speak again but she couldn’t find the right words to quantify the dry spell that had leaked its way into her marriage.
“We’re not…” she began.
“What?” Landon interrupted, nodding for her to continue.
“Fucking?”
Grace blushed and looked away from him. She pursed her lips and fidgeted with her hands.
“Do you have to be so crude?” she bit back in a hushed tone, looking around to make sure no one else was in earshot. Brash talk never ceased to make her feel uncomfortable.
Landon shrugged and flicked the butt of his cigarette.
“Aw, relax. No one can hear us.”
“What would you prefer I call it? Having sex? Making love?”
He emphasized the last two words with a well-timed snicker. Grace rolled her eyes at him. She tried to walk away, but he reached out to pull her back. His touch sent a shiver down her spine. He stared at her with a flirtatious grin, fully aware of the effect he was having on her.
He was cocky and confident. The pinnacle of masculine sensuality, and Grace couldn’t help but feel small in his presence. Ever since she had married Miller, she had played things safe, and Landon was anything but.
“It’s just fucking,” he said, waving a hand in the air. “Call it what it is.”
His voice was strained and there was something in his tone that Grace recognized as jealousy.
“Whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes.
Landon nodded out at the lake and changed the subject. He pointed to a patch of trees and Grace followed his train of vision.
“That’s where we parked,” he said quietly. “Remember? The last time we saw each other?”
“Of course,” Grace interrupted.
How could she forget?
“You know, he just needs time,” Landon said after a few minutes, getting back on subject.
He stretched his arms out in front of himself and cracked his fingers. His shirt rode up just enough to reveal his happy trail.
Grace swallowed hard as her eyes fixated on his hard stomach and the tight columns that accentuated his pelvic region. He tipped his head and cleared his throat, staring up at the night sky.
“He loves you. Just give him awhile.”
He sounded so sure of himself.
“You and Miller have been together for what? Eight years? Hell, that’s longer than I’ve been with any woman,” Landon continued. “You owe it to each other to make it work.”
He nodded out at Grace’s children.
“To them.”
His voice sounded far away and sad. Grace could tell he was reflecting on how different both of their lives would be had he never left.
“I guess you’re right,” she replied flatly.
Landon scrapped a hand over his facial hair and remained quiet. He looked at Grace and squared his shoulders, his dark eyes lingering against hers.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered, tearing her gaze from his.
“Like what?”
Grace shook her head.
“You know how.”
Landon laughed a sad laugh and raised an eyebrow.
“You think I’m checking you out,” he said, but it was more of a statement than a question.
Grace started to shake her head before nodding.
“Well, I’m not,” Landon lied.
He waved a hand over Grace’s appearance. She watched in silence as his dark eyes took a slow tour of her body, from her tousled red hair to the tips of her
heels. He smirked, slumping his shoulders.
“I mean, objectively speaking, you’re alright. But…”
“But?” Grace countered.
“But you’re off the market,” Landon finished.
His expression was tender and perplexed.
Grace fidgeted.
“Right,” she whispered, swatting at a mosquito. “Of course.”
Landon pushed away from the wall at the catcall of a brooding man in the distance.
“Lan!” he called out. “Come on, there are a couple babes who want to meet you!”
Landon looked over at Grace and shrugged.
“You better go,” she said with a soft smile. “Babes await.”
Landon snickered. He reached out and lifted Grace’s chin so that she was looking at him. She twitched and swallowed hard, feeling suddenly light headed as his calloused fingers grazed against her skin. A heat surfaced in his eyes and a muscle flexed in his jaw.
“I’ll see you around,” he whispered huskily, his breath warm against her neck.
The sexual undertones in his voice were evident. Grace sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes never leaving his. With shaking hands, he pushed her back against the wall and brought his palms beneath her dress and up her thighs as he embraced her.
He tensed his jaw as his fingertips moved along the outline of her cotton panties. A soft murmur escaped Grace’s throat. She hugged him back, looking over his broad shoulders to make sure her children couldn’t see them.
They wouldn’t understand.
No one would.
Finally, Landon broke the hug and pulled away. A soft blush crept across Grace’s neck. A dam inside her broke as one emotion after the next flooded through her. She tried to stifle them, but it was no use. She couldn’t remember a time in recent past that she had felt so uninhibited.
Landon was her catalyst and the reaction he sparked inside of her was electrifying. With a single touch, he had sent her down the rabbit hole and catapulted her into deceit.
But damn if it wasn’t sweet.
Grace shivered and watched as he stepped away. He looked back at her once and smiled before disappearing between the trees to where the rest of the guests were scattered.
“Mommy!” Grace’s daughter, Lily, called out to her, tearing her from her thoughts. “I’m hungry!”
“Alright honey,” Grace called back, pushing away from the wall.
She tore her eyes from the patch of trees Landon had disappeared between and walked towards the lake.
“I’m coming.”
Three seasons passed and then a fourth.
Thanksgiving came and went. As did Christmas and Easter. And when a year had passed since Miller had come home, he began to breach the subject of going back.
It didn’t seem to matter that he had barely lived through his first tour.
Grace wrung her hands together and paced across the wooden floor of their bedroom. Her pretty face was etched with worry. She pleaded with Miller to stay as he buttoned up his dress shirt and slid his feet into his boots.
Today was the day. He had filled out the paperwork and was going to re-enlist. It didn’t matter what Grace or anyone else thought about it.
Grace willed herself not to cry.
He hated it when she cried.
Instead, she broke down inside. She had done everything in her power to help him. She had given him time. Escorted him every week to therapy. Filled his prescriptions for lamotrigine and lithium - mood stabilizers. But nothing had worked. The war was part of Miller, and until it was over, he wouldn’t get any better.
She looked over at her youngest daughter Ella. She was three, born shortly into Miller’s first tour. She stared back at Grace and held tight to the edge of her crib, her brown eyes big and sad.
It was like she knew she was doomed to be raised without a father.
The thought alone made Grace feel light headed. She picked Ella up and set her down in the living room on the couch beside her brother, Henry. When she reentered the bedroom, Miller was knotting his tie.
“Miller, you don’t have to go back,” she begged. “It’s not like they’re drafting anyone.”
He shook his head and hovered in the doorway with his hand on the frame. He didn’t turn to look at Grace as he spoke.
“I’m going,” he answered, his voice stern and uncomforting. “It’s my country and I’m going to support it. Now, you’re just going to have to accept that, aright?”
Grace shook her head. She couldn’t and she wouldn’t accept it.
Not again.
The first time had been bad enough. She couldn’t imagine what Miller would come back like next time.
If he even came back at all.
He sighed an audible sigh.
“You act like I’m leaving you for another woman,” he retorted, his voice low.
Grace grabbed him by the arm and forced him to look at her.
“Sometimes I think you love this country more than you love me,” she whispered.
Her voice cracked. She looked away from him and crossed her arms over her chest, blinking back tears.
“More than you love us,” she added, nodding over at the door.
Miller pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear and shook his head, taking her face in his hands. He brushed his thumb along her cheek, wiping away her tears.
“Now you know that’s not true,” Miller said sternly, lifting Grace’s chin so that she was looking him in the eye. “I don’t want to go. I have to go.”
She let the tears fall freely then and tensed her chin. She could see the stubborn sense of false patriotism in his expression. There was nothing she could do and she knew it.
“Please,” she whispered a final time, but Miller refused to relent.
He leaned in closer, hesitating a few inches away from his Grace’s lips for her approval. She responded and closed the distance between them, pressing her mouth against his. They remained like that for a few moments before parting.
He whispered one last thing in her ear before leaving.
“Don’t worry so much.”
Grace couldn’t help but find his words ironic.
She listened as the front door slammed shut and succeeded into a fit of sobs.
Chapter Six
Landon swallowed back a shot of straight whiskey in a weak attempt to drown out his thoughts. It burned going down, but he always was a masochist. He chewed on the end of his smoke and eyed his brothers as he poured himself another round.
Kade helped himself to a shot and swallowed it back. He rolled a joint and lit it, taking a puff and passing it to Nash who did the same.
“You’re one crazy mother fucker,” Nash said.
He eyed Miller and nodded.
They were seated at the bar of the SOW clubhouse.
Shortly after Nash had returned home from Pakistan, his father signed the Club over to his son without warning. He cited Nash’s transformation as the reason, stating that he felt he was finally ready to run Sons the way it needed to be run.
With pride and honor.
It had only taken surviving a bloody war for him to gain the man’s respect. Regardless, Nash accepted the opportunity and slid into the role of President, recruiting five of the finest men he knew to run the club alongside him.
Kade was the only civilian.
Landon listened as Nash spoke and took a long sip of his beer, remaining silent. Miller, however, had a case to plea. He had healed up nicely in the ten months since they had arrived home, but he wasn’t anywhere near right in the head.
He couldn’t have been.
After everything they had lived through, he was already talking about wanting to go back.
“What about Grace and the kids?” Landon inquired skeptically, lighting a smoke. He looked at Miller sideways, cocking his head. “What do they think about this idea?”
Miller was quiet. He scratched his face and sighed. His eyes were bloodshot and glazed over. He had already drank
himself under the table but that didn’t stop him from helping himself to another round. He swallowed back each shot without flinching.
“It doesn’t Matter anyway,” he announced stoically. "They won’t let me back. I tried to go re-enlist today. They turned me away.”
Nash slammed his fist on the bar and slapped Miller on the shoulder goodheartedly.
“Good,” he said in satisfaction, blowing a ring of smoke from his nostrils. “There’s no winning this war.”
"We’re chasing an enemy we’re not equipped to fight.”
Landon and Kade nodded in agreement. Miller shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. He turned to look at Landon.
“Well?” he questioned somberly, slurring his words. “What do you think, Lan?”
Landon furrowed his brows and said nothing.
The war had treated Miller badly.
It had treated them all badly. There were scars that couldn't be fixed or healed, not even with the passing of time. Doctors called it PTSD. Post-traumatic stress disorder. The anger, the hate and the fear that they carried with them.
But Miller was the most adversely affected.
He lacked any sort of sensitivity and rationality and Landon wasn’t in the mood for a debate with him. He slapped a twenty on the bar to cover his drinks and stood up, sliding on his leather cut.
Nash and Kade nodded goodbye to him. Miller shrunk in his seat and sighed. It was then that Landon decided that he wouldn’t leave him without a response.
“I think what you want to do is noble as hell,” he told Miller, squeezing his shoulder. “But you aren’t any more ready to go back than we are.”
With that, Landon exited the bar, stepping out into the darkness. It was a beautiful night. The kind of night he lived for. The only source of light were the stars and moon. He straddled the seat of his bike and started up the engine, pressing down hard on the throttle as he navigated to his trailer.
It was Monsoon Season. The only time of the year when the thick heat cooled to something more tolerable. Thunder boomed above him, accompanied by lighting.
Landon entered his tiny trailer and stepped inside his bathroom, turning on the shower and shrugging off his clothes. He looked at his reflection. A war-scarred face and darkened eyes stared back at him.
He didn't recognize himself.
