Stay: A Second Chance Badboy Romance

by Melinda Minx

They must not have seen us, because they keep racing across the packed dirt road, two klicks away, then one klick.

  When they are only a few hundred meters away, we get the order to open fire.

  For the first time since I landed in Iraq, I squeeze the trigger. My rifle kicks a bit, just like it did in training. And there’s the crack of all the other rifles firing, just like in training. But now we are shooting at human beings instead of targets.

  The jeeps immediately swerve and fan out chaotically. I see men jumping out and rolling. Others fall out lifelessly. Did one of my bullets hit them? There’s no fucking way to know. Maybe I just killed a man, or maybe I missed by fifty feet.

  Either way, I fire again. I gotta get back home to Sophie, and I have to protect my brothers. Not to mention my actual brother.

  Eric’s face is stone-cold as he fires. He’s suddenly serious and collected for the first time in weeks.

  We both keep taking shots, even as the jeeps and Ba’athist soldiers start to form a line along the boulders below us.

  When we first opened fire, it was a shooting gallery. Every shot was free—the question was just how good our aim was. Now that the hostiles are all behind cover—either behind jeeps or boulders—we have to get shots off in the split second when they expose themselves.

  But the hostiles don’t show themselves unless they are firing, too. Muzzle flashes erupt all along their line.

  I hear the first gurgling scream from our side only seconds after the enemies open fire. It’s from somewhere in front of us, lower down the ridge.

  Eric and I keep our focus on following Bacchus’s orders. If we can just hold here long enough, reinforcements will arrive, and we’ll push them back.

  I duck behind the boulder, sight across my rifle, and pop out. I adjust my aim and squeeze off a controlled burst toward one of the exposed hostiles, and before I can even see if I hit, I duck back for cover. This is how we were trained to shoot; to minimize the time we are outside of cover to maximize the efficiency of the shots we take while exposed.

  “Big Steel! Little Steel!” a voice shouts from below. It’s Murphy’s deep, rumbling voice. “They hit Willis! He’s fucking dead! I’m pinned down here. Must be like twelve fucking guys trying to hit my black ass! Those racist fucks!”

  “Just stay behind cover,” I shout back down to Murphy. “Once reinforcements are here, we can come for you.”

  “Fuck that,” Eric hisses. “We should go get him now.”

  I grab Eric by the arm, holding him so tight that he’ll rip his arm off if he tries to break free.

  “Murphy!” I shout back down. “If you stay in cover, can they hit you?”

  “Nah, Big Steel! They can’t hit me. I just can’t fucking move.”

  I look Eric in the eye, and he finally nods.

  “Alright,” I shout back. “Stay put, we’ll get you as soon as reinforcements are here.”

  “Hold for three more minutes!” Sanchez’s voice echoes through the rocks.

  Shit. It’s only been two minutes? It felt like at least twenty. Only two things in the universe can warp time like that: the gravity of a black hole, and war.

  “What the fuck!” Murphy screeches.

  Then I pop out just in time to see the rocket. It whizzes toward us, and I dive back for cover.

  First I feel the deep rumble beneath my feet, from deep within the rock, then I hear the explosion.

  “Aghhhhhhh!” It’s Murphy’s voice. “I’m hit!”

  I look at Eric, and before I can grab him again, he jumps out of cover.

  “Fuck!” I shout. My hand is in my pocket now, touching the shredded remnants of the letter to Sophie. I put it in my pocket to remind me not to do anything stupid. Not to get myself killed. It’s a reminder that if I die, she’ll never hear my last words. She’ll never hear how I really feel about her.

  But Eric is as good as dead without me, so I jump out of cover and chase after him.

  The moment I’m out of cover, I see the line of jeeps below us. Some are on fire, but only a few seconds after I’m out of cover, I hear bullets whizzing past me.

  Eric is crouched below another boulder, but this one is too small to fully protect him.

  “Eric!” I shout.

  “I got this,” he says, and then, as if he’d just tempted fate, he wails and falls to the ground.

  I see the red blossom out across his gut, and I charge toward him, slide down beside him on my knees, and drop my gun. I go flat on the ground to avoid getting hit, and Eric opens his mouth to speak, but blood gushes out.

  “Mason,” he gurgles. “Fuck, Mason!”

  Murphy’s voice finally dies down. He’d been screaming the whole time, but now he’s dead silent.

  I press my hands to Eric’s stomach to stop the flow of blood. I press both palms down against it, but I feel Eric’s life oozing out around my hands.

  “No use, bro,” he says. “I can feel it’s over.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I shout at him. Then I scream. “Medic! Fucking medic! Man down!”

  “Medic can’t bring me back from the dead,” Eric mumbles. “Sorry I got you into this, Mason. Make it out for—”

  He starts to convulse, and I hold him tight, as if preventing him from shaking will keep him alive somehow.

  The convulsions stop after only a few moments, and I know then that my little brother is fucking dead. Bullets cut through the air right above my head, and I’m tempted to just stand right up and let them cut me down.

  Sophie would be alone then, wouldn’t she? But maybe that’s for the best. Maybe she doesn’t need a man like me. A man who can’t even keep his own fucking brother alive. I was right by his side, all I had to do was hold him there. And I got distracted and let him go. And now he’s gone.

  If I can’t protect Sophie, then what good am I to her?

  16

  Mason

  I wake up drenched in sweat. That fucking scene plays itself back not just through my memories, but through my dreams. It’s not enough to live through my brother dying in my arms one time, it has to keep happening over and over, again and again.

  I’ve never become numb or desensitized to it. It’s never gotten any easier. But living through it so many times finally helped me to get through it. It might have taken over a decade, but I did get through it. It came close to breaking me at least a dozen times, but I held on. I endured. And now I’m back, ready to face my mistakes. Ready to make good on my old promise.

  I wash my face, take a shower, and clear my head. After an hour or so, after I’ve gotten some food in me, the nightmare fades away back into my subconscious. I start to look forward to the future rather than dwelling in the past.

  As the sun begins to set, I get ready for my date with Sophie.

  I’d toyed with the idea of still not going all the way with Sophie tonight. Maybe I’d go down on her again, let her get me off, and stop her there. But no, my balls hurt bad enough last time I did that. Denying Sophie what I know she wants is a fun game, but it costs me something, too. Because I want to fuck her tonight just as bad as she wants to fuck me.

  I’ll give it all to her tonight, and I’ll give it to her so good that she won’t leave me. Sure, she can take that job in Boston, but she’ll beg me to go with her.

  I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, what I want to do with my life, and Boston is as good a place as any to start a business.

  I drive up to her place and knock on the door. I’ve got a new jacket and an actual shirt that isn’t flannel. Not a tie, though, that’s going a bit too far for a dinner date at a Greek place. It’s a nice Greek place, but not tie nice. There’s very few places around here where a tie wouldn’t be complete overkill.

  Hank opens the door. He nods to me. “She’s still getting ready, come in and have a beer with me?”

  “Thanks,” I say. “I’m driving though.”

  “Ah, right,” he says. “You don’t mind if I keep drinking this?” he says, holding up the bottl
e.

  “Go ahead.”

  We sit down across from each other, him on the recliner, me on the sofa.

  “You hear Sophie is interviewing for Pfizer?”

  I smile. “Yep, looks like your plan worked out.”

  He grins. “I feel a lot more sad than I thought I would, to be honest with you. I’m so happy for her, but I’ll be here all alone again.”

  “Boston isn’t too far,” I say. “She’ll miss you, and I’m sure she’ll visit often.”

  “She gets pretty buried in her work,” Hank says, sipping his beer. “It’s hard to get her to come up for air when she’s working on a new paper or new experiment. You wanna help keep her balanced, Mason.”

  “Me?” I say, pointing to my chest. “What makes you think—?”

  “You know,” he says. “Don’t act so cocky, then suddenly be modest. You know you’ve got her, don’t you?”

  I let out a dry laugh. “I hope I do, Mr. Sinclaire.”

  He points to me, with the bottle still in his hand. “I like you, Mason, I always have. I still like you, for whatever reason, and I think you’re good for my daughter. Don’t prove me wrong.”

  “I’ll be good for her,” I say. “Um, I mean I’ll be good to her, too, Mr.—”

  “Hank,” he says. “Call me Hank, son.”

  I nod.

  I wait there with him until Sophie comes downstairs. She’s got on another dress, this one’s red.

  I stand up when she enters the room, as if seeing her forces my body to its feet. “Damn, Sophie…”

  She grins. “So I look good?”

  “Sure as hell do,” I say, eyeing her up and down. This dress is even tighter than the last one, with a lot less frills. It’s more straightforward, and it leaves little to the imagination. Not that I have to imagine much, I can just remember what she looked like when I peeled that last dress off her.

  “You bought some new clothes,” she says, taking my white collar in her hands and smiling.

  “Yep,” I say. “I got a couch, too.”

  Hank stands up now. “I thought you two went out?”

  Sophie laughs. “Dad, I’m thirty-three years old.”

  “Ah,” he says. “Right.”

  “She looks a lot younger,” I say, smiling and taking her hand. “Ready to go?”

  We shrug on our coats on and step outside.

  “You mind if we take my car?” Sophie asks.

  “What’s wrong with mine?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” she says. “But my car has trouble starting in the cold, I want to make sure the battery doesn’t die. I try to drive it every night to keep it going.”

  I frown. “If the car has trouble starting…”

  “Don’t worry,” she says. “There are jumper cables in the trunk.”

  It strikes me as a bad idea, but I don’t want to argue with her, I just want to get to the restaurant, eat, and then get her home with me.

  “Keys?”

  She hands them to me, and I start the car up without issue. “Seems fine to me.”

  “As long as it stays warm,” she says.

  Stockton is a good 45-minute drive away, and after ten minutes, there are snow flurries falling.

  “I hope when we get out of the restaurant,” Sophie says, “that it’s suddenly all covered in puffy white snow. That’s one of my favorite things in the world, when you go inside somewhere in the evening, like a bar or a restaurant, and when you come out around midnight, everything is covered in pure white snow. Not a footprint to be seen…”

  I smile. “You might just get your wish.”

  Ten more minutes, and the car is stuck. I hit the accelerator, but the tires just spin in the slush.

  “Shit,” she says. “I jinxed it, didn’t I?”

  It’s a snow storm, it hit suddenly and fierce. There is howling wind rocking the car, and the heater from the running car is the only thing keeping us warm. There’s almost no visibility. These back roads will not be at the top of the list to get plowed, so we’ll be stuck here for a long time if I don’t get out and push.

  “Stay here,” I say. “When I tap on the windshield, hit the gas a bit.”

  I open the door and step out into the howling gale.

  The cold hits me hard, and I trudge through the snow to the back of the car. I get a grip on the back bumper, then I thump the windshield.

  The wheels spin, throwing up muddy snow on both sides of me, splashing onto the sides of my coat. I push.

  My feet slip, but my boots get traction, and after a few good shoves, the tires catch, too, and the car lurches forward.

  I sigh in relief; that was easier than I expected. I just had to get a little bit dirty.

  I open the door and get back into the car.

  Sophie laughs, then covers her mouth in embarrassment. “God, I hit the gas too much and got muddy slush all over you. I’m so sorry.”

  I smile. “You’re good, any less and we might not have gotten the car out.”

  I start to drive again, trying to stay closer to the center of the road, away from the muddy runoff.

  “You smell that?” Sophie asks.

  I sniff. I don’t smell anything at first, but then an acrid burning smell hits my nostrils.

  There’s a beep, and the battery light goes on.

  “That normally happen?” I ask.

  “The battery light, yeah, but not the smell.”

  “Shit, Sophie, I think—”

  The engine whines, the sound turning high-pitched, and then all sounds cut off. The car shuts off.

  We coast forward a bit, and I pull over to the side of the road, as we lose all momentum.

  I turn the key, but there’s no sound.

  “I think your alternator is bad,” I say.

  We sit there in silence for a long moment. As if both of us respecting the engine’s death will somehow bring it back to life.

  “Can we...jump it?” Sophie asks.

  I shake my head. “No, the battery is drained and won’t charge now. It’s not an issue of jumping.”

  “Shit,” she whispers.

  “I’m going to call a tow truck.”

  I grab my phone and start to search for a number. There’s luckily still reception out here. It could be that the alternator belts are just off, and I could fix them, but even that wouldn’t help us now. Not with a dead battery.

  “Sal’s Towing. This is Sal.” I put the phone on speaker so Sophie can hear.

  “We’re trapped out on the road between Tuckett Bay and Stockton,” I continue giving him more details describing exactly where we are. “Can you get out to us soon? Our car is dead and we have no heat.”

  “Ehh,” Sal says. “You gotta wait a few hours. A lotta’ other dumbasses getting caught in the snow tonight—”

  “Dumbasses?” Sophie snaps. “Is that how you treat your customers? By insulting them?”

  Sal laughs. “Listen, lady, ain’t no other towing company around here got more trucks than me. You need me, so I can call you whatever I want. You want me to add you to the list or not?”

  I put a hand over Sophie’s mouth. “Yes, add us.”

  “Alright,” he says. “You’re on. Probably it’s gonna’ be like two hours. The driver will call you when he’s close by.”

  I hang up the phone.

  “That asshole!” Sophie says, as I remove my hand from her mouth.

  I shrug. “Look, we don’t want to freeze out here. You wait in the car, I’m going to go out onto the road and try to flag down anyone driving by. They can take us into town and we can wait somewhere warm until your car gets towed.

  “We could just call my dad,” she says.

  “In this storm, it will take him close to two hours just to get out here. And he’d risk getting stuck himself. Let’s just wait it out.”

  Sophie starts to zip up her coat. “I’ll go out there with you. Cars are more likely to stop for a woman.”

  I grin. “You don’t think anyone would stop f
or me?”

  “You look kind of scary, Mason.”

  “Bundle up real good, then,” I say. “It’s cold.”

  17

  Sophie

  I instantly regret offering to go with him. The moment I step out into the storm, the freezing wind numbs my face. What is falling is more like little chunks of ice than soft fluffy snow, and it hits my cheeks in huge, needly gusts.

  Mason reaches over and tightens my hood, then he takes off his scarf and wraps it around my neck, covering most of my face.

  “You look vacuum-packed now,” he says. “Maybe they won’t even be able to see that you’re a woman.”

  I punch his chest. “They can tell by my size.”

  “Maybe you’re a young boy?”

  I hope he’s just teasing me. “You really think I look like a boy?”

  He flashes an insufferable smirk down at me, then turns away from me to approach the roadside.

  I grab him by the arm as we wait. Having him close to me helps to keep me warm. I take another step toward the road, and I start to slip. It’s iced over.

  I slide and completely lose traction, but Mason somehow stays anchored, and he pulls me back up against his body.

  “Don’t go wandering off,” he says.

  We wait for a long time, but no cars pass by.

  “It’s been over thirty minutes,” I say, my teeth chattering. “And no cars.”

  Mason looks at his phone. “It’s been eight minutes, Sophie, not thirty.”

  My eyes widen, which lets more cold wind hit them. I instantly regret it. They start tearing up.

  “Eight minutes?” I ask, hoping he’s teasing me again. “You’re joking, right?”

  “Let’s play a game to make the time pass faster,” he says. “I spy something white.”

  I elbow him. “Not funny. Tell me something that happened in the last sixteen years. Anything to pass the time. To help me forget the cold.”

  “I was in Iraq for a while,” he says. “I forgot the cold then. We cooked eggs on rocks. You had to keep drinking water or you’d run out of sweat.”

  I feel so cold now that it sounds as if he’s describing some form of alternate reality. A place where the laws of physics are different.