by JB Salsbury
I knock on the door with a closed fist. “Deek! Open up!”
Silence is followed by a rustling and a mumbled, “You’re shittin’ me.” Seconds later the door swings open. “Daniels, you son of a bitch!”
I don’t know who moved first, but somehow, we end up just inside his room in a back-thumping man hug. “It’s good to see you, man.”
He pulls back with a little struggle, and when I look down, I see it. He’s missing a leg. I quickly avert my eyes and motion for AJ to come inside while Deacon’s mom quietly slips away. “This is AJ. AJ, this is Deacon.”
His blue eyes sparkle as he takes her in, and with his focus on her, I see some of the same scarring on his right side as well. “AJ, your Vegas girl?”
Her eyebrows rise and she grins up at me. “You talked about me?”
“Eh . . . maybe a little.”
“A little.” Deacon laughs, and with the burst comes the smell of booze. “Honey, he wouldn’t shut up.” He lumbers over to a chair where there’s a half empty bottle of tequila at his side. “Have a seat.” He groans as he sits. “Can I get you guys a drink?”
I guide AJ through a maze of empty booze bottles, a walker, and crutches to sit with her on the corner of his bed. “Nah, man. We’re good.”
“Braeden fucking Daniels . . .” His eyes gloss over with what I assume to be a permanent buzz. “It’s been a long time, brother.” He tilts his head to study my face and right arm. “You look like hammered dog shit. But, hey, you made it out in one piece. Good for you, man.” He frowns but quickly hides it behind the bottle as he swigs back a healthy mouthful.
Fuckin’ Deek.
He looks like shit: cheeks sunken in, lost whatever muscle he had, hair overgrown and kissing his shoulders. Not that I judge. I know what it feels like to be where he’s at: to stare at the same four walls and know you’ll never have any kind of life outside of them, to look down at your body and not recognize it, to wonder how the fuck you got here and where you’ll go from there.
Yeah, I’m all too familiar with the blank stare my friend is sporting now.
As much as I hate it for him, I know there’s hope beyond it.
He sniffs, his already glossy eyes turning watery. “Guess you heard about everyone else: Swizz, Sarge, Mitch—” He clears his throat and blinks in rapid fire.
“Yeah, I know.” There’s a tug on my chest to follow into that dark hole Deacon’s leading me to, a draw to sink into depression and focus on all we lost—our men, our bodies, our minds—but AJ’s hand on my thigh slices the noose that tethers me there.
“My shrink says we should be thankful we made it.” His lips tremble with the wave of emotion crashing over him. “You fucking thankful, Daniels? ’Cause I sure as shit am not.”
I drop my head between my shoulders. “It hasn’t been a picnic.”
A thick silence simmers between us while he sucks back booze like it’s water.
“Something tells me you didn’t come all the way here to see me just to say hi.” He motions to me with his liquor bottle. “This part of one of those twelve-step programs? You here to tie up loose ends?”
“No.”
He stares between AJ and me, and I watch as the fire of fury builds in his eyes. The helplessness, anger, guilt, fuck . . . seeing it all on Deacon makes it seem so fresh.
“I’ve got a business proposition for you.”
He snorts and throws back two cheeks full of booze.
“If you’re not too busy burying yourself in bottles, I wondered if you’d be willing to come back to Vegas with us.”
“Oh yeah?” He nods to AJ. “This a polygamy thing? Two halves of a man make a whole—”
“Deek.” I get where he’s at; I remember how quickly the anger rises and spins out of control, bubbling up and pouring from the lips before you have the chance to bite it back. He can take that shit out on me all he wants. He disrespects AJ? We’re out of here.
“Alright, alright.” He waves a hand around. “A man can hope.”
“Come to Vegas.”
“Why?” He motions around the room. “And leave this paradise behind? Do I look stupid to you?” He crosses his eyes, and I can’t help it. I bust up laughing. “I’m not going to Vegas, man. I got no business in a place like that.”
“Come to Vegas. Give me a week to change your mind.”
His eyes narrow. “No.”
“Five days.”
“Fuck no.”
“God, you’re a stubborn prick.”
He laughs, and I’d swear tears were forming in his eyes. “I got nothing, man. Whatever you want from me, I’ll only let you down.”
AJ shocks the shit out of me by crossing to him. She plants her feet and crosses her arms at her chest. His eyes roam her body, and I fight off the urge to jump up and stand between them, blocking her from his view. But I know my AJ; she can handle her shit. “Come with us, Deacon. Right now. We’ve got a car waiting, we’ll help you pack a bag, and you have a place a stay.”
He looks up at her for a few seconds then blows out a breath and shakes his head.
“What do you have to lose?”
He shrugs, and his eyes roam the room as if he’s contemplating his situation. He frowns and his gaze meets hers again. “Eight hours in a car? Let me pick the music, and I’m there.”
“As long as U2 isn’t on your playlist, I think we have a deal.”
He gapes at her then me. “You’re dating a woman who doesn’t like Bono? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Don’t look at me! I’ve tried. She likes Justin Bieber.”
AJ whirls on me. “One song! I like one song and you won’t let me live it down.”
“It’s cool, muffin. I Bieleb you.”
Deacon barks out a laugh, and AJ squats, facing him head on. “So? What’ll it be? You want to stay here . . .” She looks around, punctuating her words. “Or are you game for possibilities?”
He seems to think about it for a second, and then he groans. “Fuck. Alright. Let me grab a bag.”
~*~
Six months later . . .
AJ
“I think this is stupid.” Braeden glares at the giant scissors in his hand. “Why can’t we use regular scissors? Or just rip the thing with our hands?”
I finish with his necktie and make sure it’s straight. “It’s a ribbon-cutting ceremony. The ribbon is big. The scissors are big. It’s all publicity for the gym, so stop bitching and just do it.” I push up to my toes, and even with his eyes still on the scissors, he leans down, giving me the scarred side of his face. It took only a few weeks of me turning away the undamaged cheek he’d always offer before he finally caught on. I press a kiss to the puckered skin of his jaw. “You know what seeing you in a suit does to me, right?”
He blinks down at me, and his eyes flash with hunger. “You say that shit to me now, right before I’m supposed to walk out there in front of God knows how many news cameras?” He looks down at his crotch. “I should’ve worn a coat.”
“Oh, please, you’ll be fine. You have more self-control than that.” I turn away, only to get snagged by the waist from behind and slammed back into the wide, firm chest of my fiancé.
His lips come to my ear where he growls, “We’re going home right after the ceremony, and I’m ruining this fucking dress, you hear me?”
I shiver in his arms at the promise in his words.
“Yeah . . .” He licks up my neck and nips at my ear while he pushes one spaghetti strap off my shoulder. “Now you know how it feels.”
I tilt my head, and he kisses a path down my throat. “Jerk.”
His low chuckle vibrates against my skin. “You love me.”
“I do—”
A knock on the door startles me and makes Braeden groan. “What?”
“You two fuckin’ in there?” Deacon, the guy has the dirtiest mind and makes no apology for it. “’Cause there’s like a billion people out here waiting for you to finish.”
I
giggle, and Braeden heads to the door of his new and expansive office, adjusting the front of his pants on the way.
“If you need help finding her G-spot, I’ve got long thick fingers—”
Brae swings open the door. “Do not finish that sentence.”
“Whoa! Cranky.” Deacon’s sparkling blue eyes come to mine, and he smiles. I thought Blake got the most enjoyment from messing with Braeden, me being a close second, but since Deacon moved to Vegas, I’ve realized no one likes fucking with Braeden more than him.
After Deacon decided to come to Vegas with us, Braeden told him about his idea. Deacon wasn’t sold until he met Zach. That’s when I noticed something stir in him. At first, it was subtle—he’d drink less, get up early with Braeden, and ask a lot of questions. Then after the preliminary week in Vegas was up, he started searching for a place to stay and moved out of our townhouse. It wasn’t long after that he agreed to be part of Braeden and Cameron Kyle’s vision.
+IMPACT—a UFL-sponsored gym dedicated to people with disabilities.
Vets. Amputees. People of all ages were welcome to come.
Cameron even wanted me to be involved. “I know weights, and I know fighting, but this gym is for people from all walks of life. We’re gonna need a gymnast’s touch.”
The facility offers everything one would expect from a UFL gym, but it also includes an Olympic-sized pool, hot tub and sauna, all wheelchair accessible. Axelle will spend two days a week doing massage therapy, and I have my own wing complete with gymnastic equipment and a room where I can teach aerial silks classes.
It took a month to find a warehouse big enough to fit our dreams, but we did it, and now after five months of construction, it’s opening day.
Deacon’s dressed similar to Brae: a dress shirt, tie, and slacks. He walks into Brae’s office with all the swagger you’d expect from a dude who looks just like Chris Hemsworth. If you didn’t know better, you’d never know he has a prosthetic right leg. He carries a scar like Braeden’s on the right side of his face; although it’s smaller, just like Braeden’s, it makes him look dangerously handsome. Edgy and sexy. “You’re really using those clown-ass scissors?”
“You know what they say about the size of a man’s scissors . . .” Brae wiggles his eyebrows at me.
You’d think after all this time he couldn’t make me blush, but I have to turn away and pretend to organize the nothing on his desk to keep from being caught.
“You guys ready?” Blake comes into the room with Jonah and Killian following behind.
Deacon props a hip on the desk. “Soon as Brae tucks his dick back into his pants.”
Braeden smacks Deacon upside the head but checks his fly.
Blake smacks Brae upside the head. “You horny bitch, can’t you keep your hands off the girl for more than five fucking minutes?”
“I didn’t do anything!”
Blake offers me his elbow. “Come on, AJ. Let me walk you out or he may maul you.”
“Thank you.” I hook my soon-to-be brother-in-law’s arm. “He really cannot keep his hands off me.”
“You started it!” Brae yells, following us out.
“Whatever, dude!”
Zach rolls up in his wheelchair, his eyes wide. “You guys, there are so many people out there.”
Jonah walks next to Zach. “Good. Hopefully we’ll get some donations.”
“You gonna tell them about the donor?” Killian whispers to Blake, and because we’re walking arm in arm, I hear it.
“What donor?”
Blake stops just outside the double doors, and Braeden comes to stand next to me, those big ass scissors in one hand, and his other wraps around my waist.
“Turns out we got a high-roller who wrote a pretty hefty check to Cam recently. A one-time donation, half a mil,” Blake says.
Deacon whistles. “Damn.”
“Who is it?” I ask, but there’s a whispering in the back of my mind that tells me I might already know.
Brae must sense it too as his grip on me tightens.
Blake shrugs. “Don’t know. He asked to remain anonymous.”
“No shit,” Zach says.
“Well . . .” Deacon peers out the glass doors to the waiting crowd. “If you get a chance, thank Mr. Moneybags for me, will ya?”
Braeden and I look at each other.
“Do you think . . .?” he asks.
Maybe. “Nah . . .”
“Let’s do this!” Cameron’s booming voice comes from the massive warehouse behind us where the entire UFL team and their families wait impatiently for the ribbon cutting and official door opening.
The front doors swing open, and sunlight pours in while everyone huddles around the obnoxious red ribbon, but Braeden holds me back and pulls me aside.
I stare up at him. “What is it? Are you okay?”
He wraps his arms around my waist and smiles. “Never better, muffin. Listen. If I haven’t told you lately, thank you.”
“You don’t need to—”
He presses his lips to mine. “You never gave up on me. I don’t know how to properly show you how much that meant to me. Your love saved me.”
“I always dreamed of being a performer—”
“I know you did, and I hate that you had to give that up—”
This time I press my lips to his to silence him. “That window closed, but it opened a huge door to something better. I get to use what I love to do to help others. There’s nothing better than that. No amount of money, status, designer clothes, and expensive dinners, nothing could compare to what we have. I love you, Braeden. There are no more dreams outside of you.”
He leans down and kisses me with all the love and passion of a man brought back from the dead. And I kiss him right back.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Deacon’s voice calls us from our kiss, and we both burst into laughter. He throws an arm over me and shoos Braeden to the doors. “Go! My God.”
He drops one more kiss on my forehead. “Wish me luck, muffin.”
“Break a leg.”
Deacon leans down to talk softly as we head outside to face the crowd and cameras. “For what it’s worth, thanks for bringing my boy back.”
“You’re welcome. And thank you for agreeing to do this with us.”
The crowd cheers as Cameron takes the podium, Braeden at his side.
My future husband turns back and winks at me.
His scars, his smile, his life . . . it’s all mine.
And my heart and soul are all his.
From here, a new story begins.
Do you love a military hero?
Check out JB Salsbury’s standalone military romance Wrecked.
When you can’t trust yourself, how can you ask anyone else to?
It’s been months since Aden Colt left the Army, and still the memories haunt him. When he moved into a boat off the California coast, he thought he’d found the perfect place to escape life.
Then Sawyer shows up, and turns his simple life upside down.
Beautiful and sophisticated, she seems out of place in this laidback beach town. Something is pushing her to experience everything she can—including Aden. But as much as he wants her, starting a relationship with Sawyer puts them both at risk.
For Aden, the past doesn’t stay there; it shows up unexpectedly, uncontrollably, and doesn’t care whose life it wrecks.
http://jbsalsbury.com/work/wrecked/
Acknowledgments
There are so many people to thank it’s hard to know where to start.
First, I thank God for the beautiful gift of storytelling. Thank you for blessing the world with incredible writers who inspire me daily.
A huge thank you goes out to my husband, who has defined the term hero in my heart. His love and support have not only been great sources of inspiration, but also my greatest comforts.
Thank you to my family, who has always stood by me as my biggest fans. Words of appreciation will never be enough.
Alw
ays a big on-my-knees thank you to my editor, Theresa Wegand, who single-handedly combed over every word ever written in the Fighting Series. Since Fighting for Flight, she has not only cleaned my pages with her precision eyes but also taught me things that have helped me become a better writer. I am forever grateful.
This book wouldn’t have been possible without the valuable insight of Amanda, my PIMA, who not only designed the Fighting Series covers, but also guided me through the military ins and outs. Not to get all gooey, but this series wouldn’t be what it is today if not for her.
Thank you to the beautiful Fighting Girl Natalie Piper for critiquing my chapters and offering feedback. Let it be known that she claimed Braeden at chapter one. There, I made the announcement.
As always, a big thank you to my dear friend Claudia Connor, who has been a steady force and guidance from day one and a great help with all my books, this book being no exception. Love you, D.
I always have to give a huge thank you to the amazing and talented Elizabeth Reyes, who encouraged me to start writing. If it weren’t for her support, I never would’ve finished my first book.
To all the bloggers and readers who have stood by me through eight Fighting Series books, I cannot express my gratitude and appreciation enough. You have been the encouraging voice in my head, pushing me forward on days when I wanted to give up. Your support and love for these characters is what gave them life, and I am forever grateful.
To all the Fighting Girls who aren’t ready for this series to end, thank you for wanting to keep the series alive. I promise you that although I have no plans to write another Fighting book, you will see your favorite characters pop up in future books. Even I am not fully ready to say good-bye.
About the Author
J.B. Salsbury is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author. She lives in Phoenix, Arizona with her husband and two kids.
Her love of good storytelling led her to earn a degree in Media Communications. With her journalistic background, writing has always been at the forefront, and her love of romance propelled her career as an author.
