“Forgiveness is between him and God,” Bran insisted. “It was my job to arrange the meeting.”
“Man on Fire,” Maddy blurted.
Despite everything, Bran felt himself smiling. This was their thing. Intoxicating physical chemistry, hurt feelings, and misunderstandings aside, they shared a mad love for the cinema.
“Huh?” Rick blinked, his face doing that scrunchy thing again.
“They’re here because I invited them,” Maddy said, forgoing an explanation for their brief tangent.
The blood loss was making Bran a little light-headed. And when he dragged in a steadying breath, Maddy’s sweet scent—that intoxicating aroma of fruit and berries he remembered so well—invaded his nostrils, making him grip the seat for a whole new reason.
Why did he have such a reaction to her? And how was he supposed to continue to fight it?
By remembering what the alternative is.
Annnnnddddd…there was that.
“I was hopin’ they’d stop by tonight and regale the girls with stories of the Santa Cristina,” Maddy added.
Mention of the teenagers had her swallowing what Bran knew was a lump in her throat. But that’s all she allowed. Just that tiny indication she wasn’t as fine as she seemed.
“As for the machine guns…” she continued, only to trail off and bite her bottom lip when a particular stitch caused her trouble. She finally managed to tie off the thread—much to Bran’s relief—and finished with, “You got me.” She turned inquisitive eyes up to him. “Why do you guys run around Rambo-style all the time?”
“Old habits are hard to break,” he allowed.
That seemed to be explanation enough because she nodded and turned back to finish the last two stitches.
“We were about two miles out when we heard the gunshots,” Bran told Rick. “And we decided we better drop anchor, swim over, and investigate.”
“So if you don’t mind me asking,” Rick said, “how is it that two Navy SEALs living on a remote island happen to know an oil heiress from Houston?”
The young park ranger’s expression was a little… Was that jealousy Bran was seeing? Narrowing his eyes, he decided, Yeah. It’s jealousy.
Which was sort of funny. Ranger Rick had probably only been legal for a couple of years. And to think Maddy would have any interest in a wet-behind-the-ears—
Although there had been the sweet smile she’d given the guy while they’d shared that whispered exchange a couple minutes ago. Not to mention the familiar way she’d squeezed his arm. And chicks were suckers for dimples, weren’t they? Ranger Rick had the kind of dimples that could hold an ounce of liquid when he smiled. The bastard.
So maybe Maddy was interested in the young stud and—
Red edged into Bran’s vision at the idea of Maddy in the ranger’s arms. He could picture Rick kissing the soft skin on Maddy’s throat. Imagine Maddy wrapping her arms around Rick’s shoulders and arching into his caresses. And suddenly, the monster inside Bran roared to life, bringing with it a memory that snarled and snapped, nipping at the heels of his mind…
“Bran, baby,” his mother whispered as she shoved him into the coat closet. “Be quiet, okay? And no matter what you hear, you don’t come out.” Her big, dark eyes were frantic, the soft skin around them showing fading bruises.
“Yes, Momma.” He nodded, his lower lip quivering.
“You fuckin’ bitch!” His father’s voice boomed from the front of the house. “I saw the way you were looking at him!”
Bran burrowed back against the wall when his mother closed him in just as she had countless times before. Just as she surely would countless times to come. Darkness filled the closet. Only a thin sliver of light showed around the edges of the door, and the smell of old wool drifted down from the coats overhead to mix with the faint aroma of pee that lingered from the last time he was in here.
He’d tried to hold it. He’d pinched himself until he was bruised, bit his lip until he tasted blood, but eventually he hadn’t been able to stand it. It had hurt so bad. And he’d had an accident all over the wood floor.
He would not have an accident this time. He would not make Momma clean him up when all he wanted her to do was lie on the sofa and watch Little House on the Prairie. She smiled when she watched Little House on the Prairie. He figured it was because Pa Ingalls was always so nice. Pa Ingalls never screamed and hit. Pa Ingalls never pushed or shoved or called anyone bad names.
When Bran grew up, he was going to be just like Pa. Not like Daddy. Never like Daddy…
“Donny.” Momma’s voice was soft and low. “Calm down, my love. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” Daddy thundered, and Bran closed his eyes when Momma cried out at something Daddy did to her. “I saw the look you gave the mailman!”
“Donny, I swear I didn’t—”
A sickening sound, a familiar sound, like the one Bran’s basketball made when he tossed it against the side of the house, blasted through the door of the closet, followed closely by Momma’s cries.
Bran curled into a ball on the floor. His legs to his chest. A terrible ache clutched at his belly until he thought he might throw up the macaroni and cheese Momma had made him for lunch. He covered his ears and willed himself not to be sick.
“Donny, please!” Momma begged. “I swear I didn’t do anything! I love you! Only you!”
“You don’t want the mailman?” Daddy demanded.
“Of course not, Donny! I don’t know what you think you saw, but I promise you it was nothing. You’re the only man for me.”
For a long time everything was quiet. Bran could hear each of his breaths. They sounded funny. Like when he ran really fast for a really long time.
Then Daddy said, “Oh, Loraine!” And his voice was no longer raised. Instead it was kind of muffled like he’d taken a big bite of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? I didn’t mean to hurt you. When I see you with another man, it just makes me so—”
“I know, Donny.” Momma was using her feel-better voice. The same one Bran heard when he fell down and scraped his knee. “I know you didn’t mean it.”
Bran could hear the sound of kissing coming through the door. That meant Daddy was done. He wouldn’t hit Momma anymore.
“You won’t open the door to that man ever again,” Daddy said between kisses. “You hear me, Loraine? You let him drop the letters in the box.”
“Of course, Donny,” Momma said.
For a long time, no sound breached the quiet except for the smack of kisses, the rustle of clothes, and Bran’s catching breaths. Then Momma gasped, “Donny, we can’t.”
“Why not?” Daddy asked. “You got your period or something?”
“No.” Momma’s voice was halting, careful. “R-remember you told me I could take Bran to see a rerun of Bambi at that theater in the South Ward?”
“That’s tonight?”
“Yes, that’s tonight. You could come with us, Donny,” Momma said, and Bran shook his head even though no one could see him.
“To a ridiculous cartoon about a bunch of silly animals? I’m a full-grown man, Loraine. I ain’t got time for that kiddie shit.” Bran blew out a relieved breath, wrinkling his nose because it smelled bad, like sour milk.
“But it’s Bran’s birthday and—”
“And I’ll start celebrating with him when he’s old enough to drink a beer and tell a good joke,” Daddy said. “You go, Loraine.” Then the sound of his work boots on the floor carried toward the front of the house. “I’ll head down to the pub and raise a toast to Bran’s birthday with the boys.”
Only after the front door slammed did Bran dare push up to his knees. And then the closet was opening and there was Momma, bending down to him. Her face wasn’t bleeding this time, but a ring of purple bruises was forming o
n one side of her jaw.
“You ready to go watch Bambi, birthday boy?” she asked, smiling. But it wasn’t her Little House on the Prairie smile. It was her fake smile.
“Can’t we stay in?” That sick feeling in his stomach was swirling around and around.
“But you’re turning five today,” Momma said, her dark eyebrows pulled down. “We can’t stay in on your fifth birthday. We have to celebrate!”
Bran wasn’t sure what the word celebrate meant. But he was sure he wasn’t going to like it. Still, if Momma wanted to go…
“Okay, Momma.” He took her hand and let her lead him from the closet. “But first I needa go potty.”
“Can you do it yourself or do you need me to help you?”
“I’m a big boy now,” he told her, puffing out his chest. “I can do it myself.”
“Okay,” Momma said, playfully swatting his bottom when he turned toward the bathroom.
Closing the door behind him, Bran walked over to the toilet and lifted the lid. It smelled strongly of the cleaning stuff Momma used. She was always scrubbing. Daddy liked a clean house.
Bran waited a little while, long enough to fool his mother into thinking he was peeing, before he flushed. The moment the toilet made its loud whooshing noise, he bent over and threw up every last bite of his macaroni and cheese…
“It’s a long and sordid tale,” Maddy said, dragging Bran back to the present.
“Sorry.” He shook his head, trying to jostle away the sense of impotent rage that always came with memories of his miserable childhood. “What’s a long and sordid tale?”
“How we know each other,” she said, digging back into the medical kit to pull out a rolled length of Ace bandage. While he’d been sucked down Memory Lane, Maddy had finished stitching him up.
His chin jerked back, his brows drawing together. “It’s not sordid,” he insisted.
“Well, then it’s just a long tale. One we don’t have time for.” When she bent down to grab the loose end of the bandage she’d wrapped around his leg, her warm breath fanned the inside of his thigh. She might as well have wrapped her amazing mouth around the head of his dick the way his shaft pulsed with delight.
He must’ve jumped or sucked in a sharp breath or something, because she looked up at him sharply. “Now how in hellfire did that hurt? I didn’t even do anything.”
“Uh…sorry,” he told her, disgusted to hear his voice was little more than a gravelly croak. “Just a…a…phantom pain, I guess.”
She curled her lip before finishing her work, using the little metal cleats that came with the Ace bandage to secure the loose end. Then she sat back on her heels, cocking her head.
“I think it should hold,” she declared, her expression tinged with satisfaction.
He pushed to a stand—happy his loose cargo shorts disguised the semi he had going—and tested the strength of his leg as well as the integrity of the dressing. Both held up surprisingly well.
One more mark in the Maddy Powers plus column.
Like she needed one. By his calculations, when it came to Maddy, every mark landed in the plus column. “It’s good,” he told her. “Thank you.” Then, without thinking, he reached to hoist her up.
The minute they were palm-to-palm, a flash of awareness blazed through him and he nearly lost his balance. He hoped to cover his stumble by making a grab for his weapon.
He must not have been all that successful at hiding what he was feeling—contradicting his earlier thought that he could have a job on the stage—because Rick narrowed his eyes and blurted, “So, are you two, like, an item or what?”
Bran’s spine did its best impression of a ramrod.
“No. We aren’t an item. We’re just…”
What are we exactly? Not mere acquaintances. Those hundreds of emails and those few heart-to-heart phone conversations had pushed them far beyond such an insipid term. Friends, maybe? But that implied a strictly platonic relationship. And even though there was only that one kiss between them—that one amazing kiss—every time they touched it was obvious they were more than just friends.
So, what? How to define them?
“We’re…um…pen pals,” he finished. And the minute the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to call them back.
And the trophy for Asshat of the Year goes to…Bran Pallidino! Otherwise known as King Dipshit from Dipshit Island!
Mason made a strangled noise like he’d accidentally swallowed his tongue. Maddy just narrowed her eyes at him. And Rick nodded enthusiastically and said, “Oh, that’s good.” The underlying because I’m hot to trot and looking to fill that slot was so obvious the guy might as well have said the words aloud.
“Oh yeah?” Is that my voice that sounds more like the growl of a grizzly bear? “Why is that good?”
Rick’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “Uh…” He glanced sheepishly at Maddy. “I just meant that…” He trailed off when something outside suddenly snagged his attention.
“What is it?” Bran demanded, marching over to nudge Rick aside so he could see. He assured himself he didn’t use more force than was necessary, but the wide-eyed look on the ranger’s face called him a big fat liar.
“I…” Rick swallowed again, backing away from Bran as he hitched his chin toward the window. But he didn’t say anything more. Too scared Bran might point the business end of his M4 at his head, maybe? And why wouldn’t Rick be scared, given the way Bran was acting?
Shiiiiittt!
And this was why Bran insisted his relationship with Maddy remain exactly as it was. She provoked the part of him he was most ashamed of.
“One of the girls just crossed the bridge and is headed our way,” Mason said, his big shoulders tense as he angled his rifle through the open front door and scanned the face of the fort for additional movement.
“One of the girls?” Maddy’s voice broke, the sound of the fear she’d been holding at bay bubbling up through the crack.
Bran could feel her come up beside him. She spotted the blond girl with the ponytail hustling over a little dune at the same time he did.
“It’s Sally Mae!” she cried, throwing an arm around his waist and hugging him tight. “Oh, thank heavens she’s okay!”
Her relief, her excitement was catching. So even though he knew better, he hugged her back. Just as he’d suspected, the instant he had her in his arms, he didn’t want to let her go.
Chapter 8
7:36 p.m.…
“Oh, come on!” Maddy huffed. “It’s not like I asked you to skin your neighbor’s cat. So you can stop with the googly eyes. I just asked to come with y’all to rescue Donna and Louisa.”
“No.” Bran shook his head while sliding out the magazine on his machine gun to check how many bullets he had left. Or at least that’s what Maddy assumed he was doing since that’s the reason the movies always gave for that particular move.
Sally Mae had managed to escape her captor’s clutches when he was dragging her across the grassy parade grounds inside the fort. The way Sally Mae told it, a bit of cat and mouse had ensued with him chasing her, and her hiding in various places before she was eventually able to make it to the entrance. Her pursuer had stopped there, not daring to follow her further. And after seeing the light on in the ranger’s station, Sally Mae had headed straight for it. Now she was sitting on Rick’s bed, drinking the bottle of water Maddy had pressed into her hand and watching them with wide, red-rimmed eyes. But she was especially watching Bran, who was being obstinate and tyrannical and…and…male.
Truly, Maddy was tempted to smack the handsome right off his face. Of course, if she was being totally honest with herself, some of her temper might have a smidge to do with that whole “pen pals” comment.
I mean, pen pals? Really?
If he believed that, he was crazier than a catfish carrying a can
teen, as her grandma used to say.
“Those girls out there don’t know you from Adam.” She pointed to the front door. When he simply lifted a brow, she curled her finger into a fist. “What if they don’t understand that you’ve come to save them?” she continued, infusing her voice with determination. “And what if that causes them to do somethin’ silly? Like, not obey your orders? Or run off the first chance they get? Or…or…” She searched her brain frantically, but it’d run out of examples. “Or somethin’ else equally foolish?” she finished with far less oomph than she would have liked.
“That’s a lotta hypotheticals,” he said.
Her jaw clenched. It would be so easy. Just pow! And there would go the handsome. In her fantasies, at least. In real life, he’d probably look even more tough and delectable with a fat lip. Ugh.
He slammed the magazine back into his weapon. The move made his biceps bunch, drawing Maddy’s attention to the tattoo inked onto the skin on the inside of his forearm. For RL the scrolling black letters read. And she knew it was both a testament and a promise to a fallen teammate. Rusty Lawrence’s horrific and untimely death was the reason Bran and the others had retired early from the Navy. And their pledge to Rusty to live life to its fullest was the reason they were all now determined to find the lost treasure of the Santa Cristina.
And see! That’s not the kind of stuff people who are mere pen pals share with each other!
As soon as she had the thought, she brushed it away. Stay on target. Stay on target. Right. When all else fails, fall back on Star Wars references.
“Bran…” She took a step toward him. Up close, she was struck again by just how powerful he was. Big enough to hunt a bear with a switch. Another of Grandma Bettie’s favorites. A smarter gal would’ve taken one look at his scowl and backed down. But Maddy had been dealing with overgrown buttheads her whole life. “I know the ins and outs of Fort Jefferson. I have a mental blueprint”—she tapped her temple—“right up here.”
“And how’s that?” Bran asked, but she could tell he wasn’t really interested. He was just humoring her while he planted his foot on the kitchen chair and checked the knife strapped to his calf.
Hot as Hell (The Deep Six) Page 13
