Part of me had attempted to warn myself that I was tempting fate by attacking the second bottle of Jack when I’d gotten home from the festival. It was the part that whispered that maybe, just maybe, the wiser choice would be to call it a night and go to bed. All the way back from Sedona, where the successful concert had been held, Caylee and I had ridden in silence. Whether it was from finally being able to hear ourselves think, exhaustion, or something else, I’d found myself somewhat more subdued than usual.
I’d played off being able to handle the extra stimulation from the large crowds and noise, but it had pushed me to my limits. When Marty had pulled me aside and confided in taking Rebecca home with him for some one-on-one celebrating, I’d just been happy to get in my car and escape. The bigger the distance between me and Rock-A-Palooza, the better—not because it hadn’t been incredible and beyond epic in terms for the band—but because each second in that last hour felt like I was being dragged over hot coals.
The persistent beat battered down over my nerves, leaving them exposed and at the mercy of a very exuberant and drunk crowd. I hadn’t realized just how bad it was until the sound of a car backfired, the sharp blast echoing over the festivities. Cold sweat had trickled down my spine, causing my already damp T-shirt to cling even more to my skin. There were just a few mere seconds where I forgot where I was, my hands suddenly trembling before I regained control, but it was enough.
Marty had noticed, and so had Caylee.
And with that, I’d gracefully accepted the easy way out, helping Caylee into the passenger side of my car. Feigning a yawn, she’d sweetly apologized for being such a party pooper, blaming it on a long week at school.
But I knew.
It was me.
And I hated it.
Hated. It.
“Way to make an impression,” I grumbled, slowly tossing the blankets back and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The muscle in my upper thigh throbbed, aching under the heavy pressure of my thumb. In the beginning, there was someone at the physical therapy office who would help me work out the tightness, but I’d been on my own for a while now. I knew what to do and how much pain I could take.
Right now, the reminder of my injuries was much more welcome than the foolish remnants of my early morning bender. I could take something for it—my medicine cabinet full of current prescriptions for the variety of symptoms I had.
Unfortunately, there was no magic pill for being an idiot. Maybe to forget the fool I’d made of myself. In fact, that’s one of the reasons I’d gone to bed shit-faced. With each mouthful and swallow, I forgot—forgot the demons of my nightmares and the way my life was nothing I’d imagined.
Shit, Caylee. There was no way I could explain away my actions from yesterday. My carefully thought out plan to keep her at arm’s length and strictly in the ‘She’s-Forbidden” zone had been an epic fail. Going over the events from last night in my mind, I remembered I’d stood a chance at resisting and ignoring the growing attraction clear up to the moment I’d pulled her back into me and wrapped my arms around her.
And didn’t let go.
She’d fit so perfectly, like she was made just for me, and fuck, she’d smelled so good. For some reason, out of all the women in the world, she was the one who got under my skin, who made me act against my better judgment.
Caylee had to remain off-limits. She could never be mine.
I was a U.S. Marine—combat trained and ready. I’d faced horrors worse than most people’s imagination, staring down the barrel of my assault rifle, expected to make life or death decisions in the blink of an eye. I’d more than proven my ability to walk into any situation and neutralize it.
Everything, everyone, but her.
She was an enemy to my heart, and for the life of me, I couldn’t neutralize the way hearing her voice sent sparks through my body, or how incredible it was feeling the softness of her skin beneath my lips.
And she yielded. There was no resistance, no stepping away to place some kind of reasonable barrier between us. That’s what regular people did, right? When someone crossed a personal line? No woman I knew would’ve allowed me to stand there, holding them captive as I gave in to impulse and stole kisses, if they weren’t at least interested.
Caylee Sawyer had not only gotten under my skin, but she was fucking with my head. She was way too observant for my liking, apparently immune to my level of bullshit.
I had no idea how to handle it. That is, other than driving home in silence, grabbing a bottle of alcohol on my way to my bedroom, then passing out when it was empty.
Standing up and gingerly stretching, I fought the urge to throw up, almost tripping over a sleepy Lola. Despite being dead against her in the beginning when my parents had brought up having a companion dog, it warmed my heart to know she was never really that far away. If she could talk, she’d be chewing my ass out about now, right before telling me to get my act together.
As if to prove a point, Lola let out a soft whine as she opened her eyes, checking to see if I was okay or if I needed to wait a little longer before walking. On a good day, I was a little slow getting up. Today, I was pretty sure I’d rather pull out my fingernails than take a single step.
“Thanks for taking care of me, sweetheart.” Drawing in a fortifying breath and ignoring the sudden explosion in my head as I bent over enough to scratch her ears, I smiled when she flopped over onto her back, exposing her belly. The love I had for her went both ways. I didn’t even want to think where I’d be without her.
Lola licked at my hand once, nipping at it when I didn’t move. Without a word, she was scolding me, letting me know that as much as it sucked to be me, what I needed wasn’t in the room. Water—the wonderful cure that would help ease the bludgeoning staccato in my head to a more tolerable thud.
And lucky me, it was in my kitchen. It might as well have been on the other side of the world.
“You couldn’t by any chance just bring me a bottle, Lola?” I asked, knowing full well the answer. Her silent stare told me as much.
Stooping over one last time, I let out a sigh of resignation and headed toward the kitchen with a slight limp. While it wasn’t as pronounced as it was in the beginning, it was more noticeable in the morning—or whenever I first woke up. The physical therapist had warned me I might never lose the reminder of my injury, and that didn’t bother me.
I’d never forget that day—April 23rd. I would carry those scars forever.
The soft pad over my bare feet across the linoleum, followed closely by the faint tic tic from Lola’s paws, blended beautifully with the stillness of the house. We were alone—a man and his dog.
It didn’t happen often, and I savored every minute of peace the quiet afforded. No demands. No pressure. No thoughts.
Just me.
Cracking open the water bottle from the fridge, I drained it completely, stopping only when it was empty. The cool air from inside felt wonderful against my skin, and resting my elbow across the top of the door, my forehead pressed lightly against the closed freezer section, I simply stood there, my eyes shut. Sooner or later, I’d need to eat, and thankfully, Bryce had recently gone to the store for groceries. If it were left up to me, we’d starve.
That, or we’d exist solely on ramen noodles or days-old takeout. I’d lost count of how many times I’d shoved food into my mouth, oblivious to the taste. Chew. Chew. Chew. Swallow. Repeat. It didn’t matter what it was, only that it kept me going.
Actually, the greater surprise was that I’d managed to escape a serious bout of food poisoning. It would definitely explain some of my older brother’s recent comments about being reckless and that with each mouthful, I was taking my life in my hands. Nothing was delicious and amazing enough to risk a trip to the ER and doctor, let alone spending a considerate amount of time in the bathroom, dying.
I didn’t care.
I hadn’t cared for a while about anything.
There it was again—that thought. Most things seemed to l
ead to that thought.
That person.
So I did the only thing I knew. Gently banging my head against the freezer door, cussing below my breath, I squashed all thoughts of her down. It was just too fucking early in the day to begin obsessing over Caylee. To prove the point, I randomly grabbed the first thing my hands found, popping off the container’s lid.
Ignoring the pungent odor from days-old onions, I dipped my fingers in and scooped out the chow mien noodles, chewing twice before swallowing.
“Rough night?”
The container slipped from my hands and splattered messily onto the floor. “Fuck!” I exclaimed, my body jerking from the surprise of being caught unawares. My mind instantly triggered memories, pumping adrenaline through my system as it prepared for the approaching threat.
“Shit, Cooper. Fuck,” Bryce answered, his hand out to calm me. He was standing still in the doorway, showing no intent to move closer. We’d been living together long enough for him to know that I spooked easily and what to do when it happened. We never talked about it—even though I could still picture it perfectly—but it had taken a few incidents where I’d lost control before he’d realized things were different.
Not in the sense that, “Oh, my brother went to war and it’s changed him.” But in that one incidence where I’d been triggered so hard I blacked out, coming to with him pinned to the ground, my hands gripped tightly around his throat. He’d sworn it was okay and that he understood.
The bruises spoke differently, however.
Some things you never forget.
The fact he still hadn’t entered the room said he’d learned those lessons quickly. I appreciated it. It was a bitch having to repeatedly explain and apologize.
“It’s okay. Just give me a second to catch my breath,” I countered, desperately dragging air into my lungs.
“I thought you heard me coming, Coop. I promise. Maybe I should’ve made more noise.” His frown crinkled with concern.
“Seriously. We’re cool.” I smiled, hoping the gesture convinced him I was fine. I was used to this.
Skepticism littered his features as he eyed me. I was also used to being studied like this, stoking the hope that one day, some day, those around me didn’t have to act like they were walking on eggshells. I might be a jerk, but I wasn’t that blind to how being part of my life affected those I loved.
It wasn’t easy on anyone.
Bryce nodded, taking a seat at the small dining table. “Two questions. One, I thought things were better with you. I mean, it’s been a while since I’ve been able to sneak up on you like this.”
It had been. The last time had been . . . before Caylee and I became friends. Of course, I didn’t share this with my brother. Gripping the fridge door for balance, I crouched to gather up the spilled noodles. “I guess I’ve got a lot on my mind. It happens.”
“And that brings me to the next question,” he exclaimed, turning his head slightly as he covered his eyes. “Why the hell are you standing in the kitchen naked? No one, and I mean no one, needs to see that shit, man!”
His comment made me chuckle. No, scratch that, it made me bust out laughing, warranting another traumatized groan from Bryce. “Deal with it. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
“True, but I came home for lunch, not front row seats to seeing your junk. Put some damn clothes on.”
“Don’t look,” I countered.
“Think of poor Lola then, asshole,” Bryce countered, pointing to the floor beside me. Sure enough, my beautiful lab was waiting to see if she could sneak some of the dropped food. If given the chance, she’d have it licked up within seconds. While I had no problem personally dancing with danger and risking salmonella, there was no way in hell I’d risk her.
Right on cue, she whimpered, breaking Bryce’s serious expression down to a grin.
“She doesn’t care. Do you, girl?” She cocked her head to the side, huffing out a loud breath. “Fine. I’ll go put something on.”
“Thank God,” Bryce exclaimed, his voice trailing behind me as I ducked into my bedroom. With the door ajar, he kept talking while I hastily threw on sweatpants. “Today’s schedule’s full so there’s no time for eye bleaching.”
“Ha ha,” I snorted, returning to the kitchen. “You’re such a fucking comedian.”
“And you, dear brother, owe me lunch for that unwanted display.” Even with me now dressed, his gaze darted down to my thigh. He knew what lay beneath the fabric—the long scar that had lost its redness but not the harsh, angry appearance. I wasn’t even sure he was aware he had looked.
“I’d offer you some Chinese, but it’s destined for the trash.” Just in case, I tilted the mostly empty container to him. “Unless?”
He shook his head, curling his lips in disgust. “That shit should’ve been tossed the next day.”
Bryce was right. Rubbing my bare chest, my thumbnail scratching the small itch, I opened the fridge again, stepping to the side so he could see. “See anything interesting?”
Even with a refrigerator full of food, his response was the same as mine. “Meh. Not really.” Bryce drummed his fingers on the table, thinking. “Maybe I should just pick something up on the way back to the office.” He darted another look at me.
So the truth revealed itself. This trip home for lunch wasn’t so much about eating, but more about checking up on his little brother. I sometimes forgot how mindful he was. Bryce had made watching me like a hawk into some kind of ninja skill set. He was always doing it—I just didn’t always know.
“I’m okay.” He hadn’t asked, but it wasn’t difficult to assume he was thinking it. We were also masters of having nonverbal conversations.
“I know.” Knowing wouldn’t stop him from worrying, though. It’s what family did.
“How much longer do you have on your break?” Bryce was his own boss, in charge of his schedule. It had made coming home a little easier because, instead of looking for work and having to explain my situation to strangers, he’d automatically given me a job. At first, I’d helped with whatever he’d needed—construction, assistant, menial work with my hands. It was by chance that we’d both discovered my love to work with the earth. Most of his clients hired other contractors for landscaping, but with me on the payroll, he’d added it to the list of services he provided.
He was happy.
Clients were thrilled with the newly designed lawns.
And me . . . it was therapeutic. Hard work always helped me feel better.
“I should probably head back now, but—”
I finished his answer. “You wanted to check in.”
He didn’t even bother hiding his intent, a slight red blush spreading across his cheeks. “Yeah. It was a big weekend.” When I popped open my mouth to comment, he held up his hand to stop me. “I know, I know. You’re a big boy, and you can take care of yourself. Doesn’t mean I’m not protective. You got in after I went to bed.” He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. I got it.
In the past, I would’ve argued with him, staunchly defending my privacy, offended because it felt too much like being babied. A lot of what had happened back then, when everything was still so fresh, was trial and error. We fought a lot of epic battles of wills, titans clashing over their need to be heard. Things were said in anger and pain.
But still, he didn’t kick me out. Whether it was out of love or pure stubbornness, I didn’t care anymore.
I was just grateful he did.
“Thanks,” I finally answered. “I appreciate it.”
“So, does that mean I can expect you at work this afternoon?” Bryce cocked his eyebrow, hopeful.
“Let me shower, and I’ll ride back in with you.”
Living with my brother was a constant reminder and affirmation that life goes on. It doesn’t stop just because things get rough or messy and unpredictable.
Checking the clock on his phone, Bryce nodded. “You’ve got fifteen minutes.” Watching me as I passed by h
im for the door, he added. “And Coop?”
“Yeah?”
“New house rule. No more walking around naked. Keep that shit covered.”
Flipping him off, I chuckled all the way to my room.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Caylee
Banging my hand down angrily on my steering wheel, I bit back my tears of frustration. “Come on, you piece of crap! Don’t do this to me now!” I turned the key in the ignition again, praying that this time, by some miracle, the engine would kick over.
There was somewhere I needed to be—something I needed to do.
Years ago, I’d begun a tradition, never once missing a single week. Even when I’d been sick, I’d managed to drag my butt to the nearest church, so there was no way in hell I was going to let a dead battery keep me from going today.
“I’m sorry, baby,” I crooned, my chin quivering as I changed tactics. If physical violence didn’t help, sweet-talking my trusted vehicle might. Tracing my hand lightly over the dash, I murmured my apologies, hoping against hope that the car Gods would extend mercy. “I didn’t mean to lose my temper, I promise. I just need to get to church before it’s too late.”
Unable to keep from being disappointed, I valiantly tried again.
Nothing.
I wasn’t going anywhere soon.
Normally, this wouldn’t unravel me or send my anxiety through the roof. For the most part, I could roll with the punches and keep a level head. Being a military wife, if I fell apart every time Owen had deployed or went away on a secret mission, I’d still be locked away in the funny farm, rocking back and forth in a corner while being force-fed a colorful cocktail of pills.
Don’t get me wrong—it sucked, and my mind would constantly try to indulge in fatalistic fantasies. Every second that I didn’t know my husband was safe was a second he could have been fighting for his life, in danger, alone and scared. While Owen was by far the bravest man I’d ever known and loved, there was always that small part of me that hated not being there to protect him and see with my own two eyes that he was okay.
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