by Jen Talty
The man checked his watch, then glanced in her direction. “Can I help you?” he asked with a clipped tone.
She supposed she deserved that for staring. “Sorry. I’m Kinsley. You must be Dylan.”
“In the flesh.” He raised his beer. “I take it you know my mother.”
“And your brothers.” She stood, taking her glass of wine, and made her away across the yard. No reason to yell, and her curiosity had gotten the better of her, considering her profession. As a therapist, specializing in PTSD and brain trauma, she’d seen her share of military men after combat.
Dylan’s case, at least from what his mother had told her, appeared to be extreme, though she had not gone into details, only mentioned perhaps making a recommendation for her son to make an appointment with her at her office.
She stood at the bottom of the steps, feeling uneasy about the way Dylan eyed her. It wasn’t sexual in nature, but it didn’t seem friendly either.
“Are you the shrink my mother thinks I should talk to?”
Kinsley swallowed. Not out of fear, but the anger laced to every syllable struck her skin like fire. “I’m psychiatrist.”
“Well, you can tell my mother I’m just fine.”
“I can’t tell her that because I don’t even know you, and for the record, I’m not soliciting business. You asked who I was, so I told you. I’m just trying to be neighborly. Your mother talks about you often.” Now who spoke with a defensive attitude?
He grunted. “I’m sure she does. Either trying to marry me off or now get my head examined.”
“Is your mom home?” Deciding Dylan didn’t want to have anything to do with her, she opted to move on, and it seemed only appropriate to visit with his mother, or at the very least say hello.
“She’s at the Vanderlin estate with the rest of my family.”
“Logan’s wife,” Kinsley said softly. “I’ve never met Mia’s folks, but I hear they are very nice.”
“That they are.” He stood, scrunching his face, but his eyes went wide, and he winced.
“What do you need? I’ll go get it for you.”
“I’m not an invalid,” he said, glaring.
She stared back with narrowed eyes. “I never said you were, but why be in pain when someone is offering to help, or are you too prideful for that?”
Gripping the seat, he lowered himself into it. “Ouch.”
“I really didn’t mean to be rude.”
“But I did, and if my mother knew that, she’d tug at my ear, and nothing hurts more than that.” His finger and thumb rubbed his earlobe while he made a weird face. “If you wouldn’t mind getting me another beer and grab one for yourself. Might as well join me until the limo comes back to take me to dinner.”
“I’m good with my wine.” She set her plastic glass on the table before entering Catherine Sarich’s home. For the last few weeks, Kinsley spent hours in the evening listening to her neighbor express her concerns regarding her youngest son’s hospital stay. Kinsley had been honest about what she knew about the injuries, more specifically, the brain trauma, but did her best to ease Catherine’s mind.
Seeing Dylan face to face, Kinsley didn’t know what to think. His closed-off demeanor emulated anger and sarcasm in a way she wouldn’t expect from a Sarich. All the brothers could be described as broken souls in some way, but they managed to patch those wounds and build solid foundations with their families.
Dylan seemed to be a lost man with no sense of self, except as tied to being the kind of man that would die for his brothers-in-arms.
She wondered if that was half his problem.
Kinsley popped open the beer before heading back out. The sun hovered over the Intracoastal as it descended in the sky.
“Thanks,” he said as he took the beer and brought it to his lips. A raised cut that had yet to finish healing lined the side of his face. All his mother had been told was that Dylan and his team had been in hand-to-hand combat with the enemy and lost. The mission, though failed, was classified, even her father couldn’t get her the information and he was friends with some high ranking generals.
She sat in the chair he offered, trying to ignore the tickle of guilt for trying to find out any information about Dylan, or what had happened to him.
It was none of her business, and she didn’t think it would be a good idea to take him on as a client, no matter how fascinated she was with his case.
“I’m sure you don’t need a lecture from me on alcohol and—”
“I’m not taking any pain killers, this is my second beer, and I don’t know what my mother is filling your head with, but when I left the hospital in Germany, they ran a bunch of tests, and my cognitive abilities are much better, and they suspect I will fully recover.” He raised the glass longneck and swigged as if to prove a point.
“For the record, your mom didn’t fill my mind with anything other than asking me for some medical clarifications on the information she and your brothers were given from the doctors in Germany.” She stood, taking her half-empty glass of wine. “If there is anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Wait,” he said, letting out a long breath. “I’m sorry. I’m being an asshole, and you don’t deserve that. Please, sit and hang out with me while I wait for my ride.” He glanced at his watch. “Let me make up for my bad behavior, please?”
Who was she to ignore a perfectly good apology? “I don’t really think your behavior is all that bad considering I invaded your space without an invitation.”
He let out a chuckle. It had a nice throaty timbre, sending a warm wave across her skin. Even though he had a darkness in his deep-sapphire eyes, hidden somewhere behind them, she could sense a lightness begging to come out.
“To be totally honest, my mother has sent me three text messages about how I should go introduce myself to you, and she makes me nuts constantly trying to fix me up.”
“I can understand that, but if it makes you feel any better, she hasn’t said anything to me about dating you.”
He dropped his chin to his chest, arching a brow. “That, I don’t believe.”
“Oh, she might have shown me a picture or two of you when I first moved in, but obviously her focus changed when you were injured.”
He set his beer on the table and shifted, taking in a short, raspy breath. “My mother means well, this I know with all my heart, but really, I’m happy with my life, and I’m recovering well.”
She didn’t know if he was trying to sell her, or himself, but she’d let that part of the conversation end there.
“So, how long are you in town for?”
“Not sure,” he said, turning his head back toward the water. “I’m supposed to be the center of attention at the Fourth of July parade.”
“That’s in two weeks.”
“This will be the longest visit I’ve had since my very first deployment.”
“Enjoy it and let your mother spoil you. Before you know it, you’ll be back doing whatever it is you do for the military.”
He dropped his head back. “I hope so. My career is my life.”
No sooner did she open her mouth to respond to his declaration, a limo rolled around the corner, parking in front of the trailer.
The rear passenger side opened, and Ramey stepped from the vehicle.
“Hey, Kinsley. I see you met the youngest brother, Baby Dyl.”
“Watch it, bro, I’ll kick your ass if you keep calling me that.” Dylan stood, gripping his cane.
She resisted the urge to rush to his side. After only spending a short time with him, she knew his pride would get in the way of allowing her to assist him physically.
“I best be on my way.” She picked up her wine glass. “It was nice to meet you, Dylan.” She nodded as she headed down the steps. “Good to see you again, Ramey. Say hello to your beautiful bride and all your spunky little girl.”
“We’ll all be back for the parade. I hope you’ll join us.”
“I will pr
obably do that,” she said as she strolled back to her front porch, glancing over her shoulder. “If I don’t, I fear your mother will give me her evil eye.”
“That isn’t anywhere near as bad as the ear tug.” Dylan hobbled down the steps, his face scrunched in pain. “Thanks for joining me for a drink.”
She stood on the edge of the steps to her trailer and watched as the sexy, broken man slid into the limo. Letting out a long, slow breath, she tried to ignore the pull Dylan had. She told herself the desire to get to know him was simply a hazard of her job.
Not any kind of attraction.
Dylan eased himself back in the luxurious sofa in the Vanderlins’ vast family room that had to be the size of his mother’s double-wide. He let out a long breath, wondering why he felt so bitter all of a sudden. He never went without as a kid. Sure, his parents didn’t buy him a brand-new car the day he turned sixteen, but they did teach him the value of a dollar, the importance of a good work ethic, and how to stand on his own two feet.
The Vanderlins’ had done the same, they just could also give their kids their own pool, a view of the Intracoastal and the ocean, along with fancy schools.
Well, fuck, Dylan had gone to West Point. That was quite the accomplishment, and Mia and her family weren’t a bunch of rich assholes who treated those with less like they were beneath them. They were good people who didn’t deserve Dylan’s foul mood.
“Let’s get all these munchkins in the tub,” Dylan’s mother said as she chased down Kayla, Ramey’s daughter who had the energy of the sun and tenacity of a lion protecting her cubs. The kid had no fear and a giant-size confidence in a pint-size body.
“Grandma. Get me!” Tyler, Nick’s oldest, exclaimed as he tried to catch up, but to no avail. While he also had boatloads of energy, he had a timid side to him and a soft heart, which was going to get him in trouble with the ladies.
“Do I have to take a bath with them?” Abigail said, clinging to Logan’s pant leg. “Can’t I have a shower? I’m a big girl now. Not a baby.”
Dylan bit back a smile. Nothing like listening to children try to reason with their parents.
“I’m no baby,” Kayla said, stopping dead in her tracks in the middle of the open family room, swiping her blond curls from her face.
“You’re my baby girl,” Ramey said from his spot on the floor.
Kayla rolled her eyes, pushing out a long breath.
“You’re so in trouble with that one. The female version of Ramey,” Dylan said with a laugh.
“But better looking like her mama,” Ramey said, reaching out and grabbing Kayla, tossing her to the floor and tickling her belly while she giggled.
“Daddy!” Abigail fisted her little hand and sent it crashing into his shin. “I want to take a shower.”
“You love Nana’s big tub. Now go with Grandma. Nana is setting up the big television in Mommy and Daddy’s room for you all to watch Nemo,” Logan said.
“Fine,” Abigail said, pointing her little, pudgy finger up at her father. “But only if I get popcorn.”
Dylan put his hand over his mouth, trying to wipe the smile off his face, but damn it felt good to feel lighthearted about something.
“Don’t talk sass to your father, young lady,” Mia said, coming in from the kitchen and scooping the little girl up in her arms. “I’ll help your mom.” Mia kissed Logan on the cheek. “Tequila and Leandra have the two babies upstairs. We’ll leave you boys to catch up.”
Nick waltzed in with a bottle of wine and four glasses. He held them up in the air. “I think this family has turned me into a wine snob.”
Logan took the glasses, setting them on the coffee table. “You know, that bottle doesn’t cost more than thirty dollars. My father-in-law has an entire cellar full of inexpensive wine and that’s his favorite.”
“I don’t think I ever even tried wine until you and Mia got back together.” Nick plopped himself on the sofa. “And now I think I prefer it over beer half the time.”
“It’s called being a mature grown-up,” Dylan said before he burst out laughing, then coughing as he clutched at his side. “Shit,” he muttered. “That fucking hurts.” He breathed slowly and not very deeply. The last x-ray showed his ribs were close to being healed, but not close enough.
“You okay?” Nick rested his arm on Dylan’s shoulder.
Ramey and Logan had both moved closer, sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table.
“Do I look like I’m okay?”
“You’re a bigger baby than any one of those toddlers,” Ramey said in a teasing tone. “Every time you got hurt as a kid, you’d ball like a little girl.”
“That’s funny coming from you since when you thought you broke your arm, you screamed like a dying cow, and it was only a sprain.” Logan finished pouring the wine, making sure the glasses were filled and the bottle empty. “Here’s to one for all, and all for one.”
Dylan clinked his glass with each of his brothers. “I’ve got your back.”
His brothers repeated the mantra. A deafening silence filled the room. Dylan sipped his wine, his thoughts going back to his father. Images of his childhood flashed across his mind. Running and playing in the street with his brothers. His father and Logan teaching him how to swing a baseball bat. His father and Nick teaching him how to shoot a gun. And he and Ramey building a picnic table for their neighbors under the watchful eyes of their father.
But it always came back to their last fishing trip.
The last time his brothers had seen their father alive.
The next day, Dylan watched his father take his last breath.
Logan swirled his glass. “Dad hated wine.”
“But he drank it for Mom,” Nick said. “Every anniversary and every birthday, he’d bring her a bottle.”
“And daisies,” Dylan added.
“He’d harass the hell out of us for actually enjoying this bottle.” Ramey took a big swig. He enjoyed wine, but he drank it like he was doing shots. “I can hear him say, ya’ll are a bunch of wusses. Real men drink Crown.”
“God, I hate that stuff.” Logan shook his head. “I remember right before I went off to college, Dad gave me a shot. I thought I was going to puke right there.”
“I’ve got news for you,” their mother said, waltzing into the room with another bottle and a glass for herself. “He hated that shit too.”
“Such language, Mom. Really. My poor innocent ears.” Ramey held out his glass, while his mother went about filling everyone’s before snuggling on the sofa between Nick and Dylan.
“Ramey, you’re about as innocent as Logan is funny.” His mother patted Nick’s leg.
“Hey. Thanks a lot, Mom,” Nick said.
“If he hated it so much, why did he drink it?” Logan asked, rubbing his chin. “I just always remember there was a bottle in the house, and oh boy, when Grandpa came to visit, they’d stay up drinking that swill all night.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. His father loved that stuff, and it was just your dad trying to bond with him. Your dad pretty much only liked his beer.”
“You’re joking,” Dylan said, staring at his mother with his jaw gaping open. They spoke of their father often when they were all together, but their mother rarely gave up any stories other than the usual tales.
“Nope.” His mother shook her head. “So, when your grandpa died, your father decided he should at least continue with the tradition and tried to get Logan to drink that crap.”
“He gave me and Joanne a bottle of it on our wedding day,” Nick said. There had been a time when Nick couldn’t even utter his late wife’s name.
Dylan tapped his chest. His heart beating faster. He loved his family. Loved being with his brothers, but as always, shortly after he arrived, he began counting the moments until his next deployment.
Only this time, he didn’t know when that would be.
“He wanted to carry on what his father had started.”
“I read Tyler The Little En
gine That Could every chance I get,” Nick said with a sigh. “Dad loved that story.”
“That he did. Almost as much as he did fishing.” His mother finished her drink and stood. “It’s nice to have all my boys in one place again.”
“It’s good to be home.” Dylan reached up and took his mother’s hand and kissed it. “I mean that.”
“I know you do. I also know the second you get the thumbs up, you’ll be in the back of a C-130 transport plane on to your next assignment.” She bent over and pressed her lips on his forehead. “But until then, I’m going to have my boys together as much as I can.”
The darkness of night seeped into Dylan’s bones the day his father had died. Ever since then, Dylan felt a restlessness every time his head hit the pillow. Years of training, first with the Army, then with Delta Force, gave him the strength to fend off the nightmares.
Until now.
This wasn’t his first failed mission. Nor was it the first one where good men had died. But it was the first time Dylan had been the only one from his team to return—alive.
“Dylan?” his mother called from the other side of the thin door. Growing up, he shared this room with Ramey while Logan and Nick shared the other bedroom. They didn’t have much growing up, but they had each other, and that, for the most part, had always been enough.
“Come in, Mom,” he said.
She peeked her head inside. “Do you need anything?”
“I’m good, thanks.” When his brother Ramey had taken off for West Point, the trailer had become eerily quiet with just him and his mom. Sometimes he could hear his mother crying over the loss of her beloved husband. He tried to be strong for his mother. He did what he could around the house and tried to stay out of trouble.
He also did his best to make sure he didn’t worry his mother, but it had been that year that the nightmares had begun. They weren’t anything like what he experienced in the last few weeks, but they weren’t pleasant either. Often, he barely remembered the dream, just woke with a sudden start and an utterly helpless feeling.
