by Cait Jarrod
“Come on, Matt.”
He focused on the new voice joining the mix. Trina’s brother, Bradley Lovett. “Perfect!”
The people on the dance floor allowed them a wide berth, but they didn’t leave.
Sweat covered his forehead and his nostrils flared. Every bit the bull Sally mentioned, he let his fury shove aside his forced horniness and challenged the trader. “You were my friend,” he growled as he stepped forward and poked a finger into Bradley’s chest. “Why didn’t you call to let me know she’s engaged? She’s your sister but hell, I would have called you.”
Bradley caught his finger and bent it backwards.
He drew back his free arm and let loose a blow to Bradley’s face. Travis moved quickly, but not fast enough to stop his fist from connecting to Bradley’s eye.
“Get out,” Jim, the bartender yelled. “Or I’ll call the police.”
“I got em.” Travis twisted Matt’s arm behind his back and nudged him forward.
“Search and rescue saves the day,” he taunted, sobering immediately. “Always the champion.”
“Shut your trap! I could lose my job. So could you.” Travis shoved him out the door with Bradley following.
The evening air slapped him in the face, dissipating the alcoholic fog. “Why are you here, anyway?” he asked, entangling himself from his brother’s hold.
“Trina’s worried about you,” Bradley said.
“So worried, she shut me out of her fu-u-cking life!” he shouted, rage stinging his throat.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“And you,” he seethed and closed the distance between him and Bradley, “didn’t say a word.” He spit on the ground at his ex-friend’s feet.
“I can’t get between you two.”
“Pussy!”
Bradley’s hands fisted. Good. He wanted to knock the shit out of someone. “Bring it on.”
“Not here,” Travis ordered. “If you two insist on acting like juvenile delinquents, take it out of sight.”
“Let’s go,” he said, following the sidewalk to… he didn’t fucking know where.
“She’s inside.” Bradley’s voice aired on the side of uncertainty. “She phoned from Molly’s Café, worried. I called your brother to help search for you.”
He went rigid, his thoughts flying the distance as if they’d crossed the ocean. Every day his desire for her had increased. He couldn’t accept she didn’t feel the same and wouldn’t until she looked into his eyes and admitted her feelings for this other man. “Why?”
“Can’t answer.” Bradley stepped in front of him. “She’s my sister. You’re my friend.”
“Was.” He corrected him.
“It’s not my place to tell either of you anything, but like I said, she’s inside waiting to talk to you.”
He groaned and peered at the door. Going inside with a full head of steam might open a hell of a lot of hurt neither he nor Trina would recover from. He needed time and space, more from himself than her. But damn, going inside and kissing her until she melted appealed.
His shirt pocket rung.
Travis grabbed his cell before he had a chance. “It’s Frank Gunny.”
Groaning, he rubbed his eyes and accepted the phone. His gunny calling wasn’t good. He pressed the talk button and put the phone to his ear. “Sergeant Carson.”
“You’re late,” Gunny said, no teasing to his voice.
He checked his watch. Damn, tonight he was supposed to meet Gunny for a drink and introduce Trina. “On my way.” He disconnected and faced Bradley. “She’s gonna have a long wait.”
“Hey,” Cadence shouted loud enough to be heard above the band and gripped Trina’s tricep from behind. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To follow them. I have to get to Matt.” She moved past people staring at Matt and Bradley leaving. “I have to talk to him.”
“No, you don’t.” Cadence whirled her around by the arm. “Let your,” she lowered her voice when the band stopped playing, “brother and Matt’s brother handle it. He needs time to sober and cool off. You go after him, there will be no talking. He’s upset, hurt, and won’t think rationally.”
She was right, but shit had hit the fan and not going after him was wrong. He needed her.
“Stay,” Cadence jerked out her ringing cell from her purse and answered it. “Okay. I will,” she said after nodding a couple of times. She slid her phone into her purse and pressed her lips together.
Nerves beat the inside of her belly like angry birds. “What?”
“Sit, let’s order a drink then talk.”
Drinks? Code for ‘what I’m about to say will hurt.’
She dropped into a booth where a server cleared the last dish and wiped the table.
Cadence sat across from her and rested a hand over hers.
“Here you are,” an unfamiliar female voice said. “Compliments of the hotties.” A server with a long ponytail and dimples placed two half-filled glasses on the table. “These are atomic apples. It’s a fireball and apple schnapps.”
“Hmm, my favorite.” Cadence purred and sipped the drink. “Yum. I bet it's as yummy as the guy who ordered them.”
Who was she talking about? “My brother? You think Bradley is yummy?”
The server giggled, the indentions in her cheeks grew even deeper. “All three of those guys have my vote. Would you ladies care for something to eat, an appetizer?”
Cadence dismissed her question. “How ‘bout it? Let’s save the day by devouring comfort food.”
Her stomach rumbled as she spotted an Italian dish on the front of the menu. “Pasta.”
“We have an Out-of-this-World Lasagna,” the server suggested.
“I’ll have one. Thanks.”
“I’ll take the same, and I want the BLT bites with crab.” Cadence pointed to a table sign wedged between the wall and salt and pepper shakers, a picture of cherry tomatoes on the cover.
“Thank you, ladies,” the server hummed and scooted off.
She finished her drink, clanked the glass on the table, and eyed her friend. “Spill.”
“Matt’s on his way to meet his gunny.”
“He can’t leave.”
“He can and he has.”
They didn’t get to talk about their problems. He couldn’t leave. “He can’t.” She tugged out her phone and punched in his number, not relying on stored contacts.
It went straight to voicemail. “Ugh.”
“Hey,” Cadence snapped. “Clear your head, and we’ll work on figuring out a solution tomorrow. A good drunk-on and a good night’s sleep do wonders for figuring out problems. It worked in college.”
That it had. “You’re right.”
“Of course I’m right.” A flicker of something flashed over her friend’s gorgeous face before she grinned. “I’m always right.” Cadence motioned to the server for more drinks.
In the off-chance Matt called, she set the phone on the table. “Did I tell you with Mom’s help, Cal blocked Matt’s number? I haven’t checked yet, but I imagine one of them blocked his email address, too.”
The server appeared with the appetizer and two more drinks.
She tapped her glass. “Two more when you bring the entrees, please.”
“Certainly,” the server said and went to help a loud customer.
She gulped the drink. “I never thought my mom would be so underhanded,” she fretted in an attempt to stay angry. The mad-on waned with the alcohol.
“I did.” Cadence’s tone had a disgusted, staidly sound to it.
The band returned from break and played an upbeat melody. She absorbed the music, letting it seep into her mind and relax her body. Loud laughter spilled from a large group in the rear. She giggled, forwent the silverware, and popped a cherry tomato filled with crabmeat and cream cheese into her mouth. Delicious flavors burst over her taste buds. “Hmm,” she moaned. “Sorry, these are sinful.”
Cadence groaned an erotic sound. “
Delicious.”
“Sorry I keep harping. I can’t believe it, Cal, my mom…my stupid actions.”
“Give yourself a break. You thought Matt hadn’t tried to contact you.”
“But you knew I made a mistake.”
“I thought you had, but I didn’t know for certain. I went for the least severe path when we talked about him not having time to contact you. In truth, I wondered.”
“Here ya go,” the server said, interrupting them.
Garlic, basil, cheeses, and Italian seasonings assaulted her senses. Her mouth watered. “It smells delicious.”
“Hence its namesake,” the server said. “Out-of-this-World Lasagna.”
“The kitchen’s fast,” Cadence said.
“They are.” The server said and placed two more drinks on the table. “Enjoy.”
Once the server left, Cadence said, “I got one for ya.”
‘I got one’ meant smack for joke time. Once Cadence started with the jokes, she wouldn’t stop. “Go.”
“A man and a woman are creating a new password for their computer. The man inputs, ‘mypenis.’ The computer flashes a message.” Cadence paused as she always did before the punchline. “‘Not long enough.’”
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. “That’s kind of funny.”
“Kind of? It’s hilarious!”
An hour and half later, lasagna eaten, several drinks consumed, and nearly every joke in Cadence’s arsenal giggled at, she rested in the booth and folded her hands across her bloated stomach. “Ugh, I need sleep. My face feels puffy,” she slurred. “I resemble one of those fish with big eyes. Remember the one I had as a kid?”
“A dragon-eyed goldfish?”
“Yes, those.” She formed her lips in the shape of an ‘o.’ “See.”
Amusement danced in Cadence’s eyes and her mouth twitched. “Hey, I scheduled one of those private taxi-type cars to pick us up. Bradley’s getting my car later.”
“You count on him as much as I do.”
“Sometimes. Come on.” Cadence tossed some money on the table and headed for the door.
“This is my first time riding in one of these taxi services.”
She followed Cadence into the night. A draft blew her hair and stung her cheeks. “What are we looking for?”
Cadence stared at her cell. “A yellow compact car with a taxi magnet on it,” she said and lifted one side of her mouth. “Hey, at least you’ll be losing your taxi virginity.”
“Har, har,” she said sarcastically, but couldn’t stop the smirk from spreading across her lips. “Thank you for making tonight better.”
“Hey, what are best friends for?” Cadence put an arm around Trina’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. “It will be okay. You’ll see. Give it time.”
She shivered and prayed her friend was right. “It’s cold.”
“There it is.” Cadence pointed to a small, yellow compact car with an identifying magnet on the trunk.
Once Cadence verified the details of the car with the information she received on her cell, she greeted the driver and they climbed in.
The driver already had their destination from Cadence’s reservation, so they relaxed as he drove down the city street.
“Tomorrow,” she said, “I’ll get a hold of Matt and work this all out.”
“What is he doing?” the driver boomed and swerved.
She collided with Cadence.
An SUV swerved into their lane then jerked back into the other one.
The rancid taste filled her mouth. Her forehead and hands grew damp, her armpits even wetter.
“Seat belt,” Cadence shouted, hurrying to buckle hers.
“Son of a bitch!” The loud growl came from the front and snapped her attention to the windshield.
Cars lined each side of the narrow street, not giving them much room to maneuver.
She clicked the buckle a second before a loud crash, and her body lurched forward. The seat belt dug into her stomach. Her back slammed against the seat.
The car spun in a circle, her body weightless on a merry-go-round. Adrenaline mixed with panic shot through her. She was helpless as the scene unfolded in slow motion. Images flashed in her mind—Matt at the river. Matt smiling. Matt saving her.
Another jolt, her head bobbed and banged into a window. Glass broke. The feeling of hot knives impaled her head as a smashing noise echoed in her ears.
She grabbed the seat in front of her. The top of the headrest filled her palm. She gasped, grimaced then cried out. The pain intensified. She tightened her hold on the seat.
Out the window, the horizon filled her vision as the ground disappeared. Metal crunched. The car vibrated and stopped.
Blood rushed to her head. Trembling, she squinted through the pounding in her head and took in her surroundings. Her hair curtained her face and shoulders.
I’m upside down!
Her heartbeat erupted into an outburst of rat-a-tat-tats. “Cadence?”
Her friend moaned, the sound weak, almost nonexistent.
Crashing metal blasted her ears. The car jolted and her world spun as the car went airborne.
No-o-o-o!
The effects of a fast-moving ride slammed her body sideways. Her vision swam as she glimpsed red brick. Feeling helpless, she dug her fingers into the seat, held her breath, and braced for impact.
Chapter Five
Bullets flew. With every passing second, more holes littered the outer brick wall beneath Matt. Lying on his side atop a roof, his gun perched on the short wall bordering the edge, he breathed in Afghanistan’s dirt-filled air.
Somewhere on the hillside hid an enemy sniper, killing Americans.
Sweat that had showed his nervousness at one time vanished. No more blackout incidents, this was it. He lived the life of a sniper. Living what he thought his dad would want him to do.
“Son of a bitch!” Another American, an angel, fell.
The enemy sniper had the perfect vantage point. The men were sitting ducks, as if they paraded back and forth in a carnival game. The ping of bullets blasted the wall.
Off in the distance, more men approached. Not Americans.
“Shit! Any sign of the sniper?” he asked through his earpiece and stayed low.
A loud bang pierced his ears; a blinding flash followed. An American stun grenade.
He shuffled and rose a few inches to peer in the rifle’s scope, past the enemy the explosion took out, to the hillside.
More gunfire polluted the air.
“Take cover,” Gunny ordered, his voice strained.
Fuck! He ducked, flattened to the surface, and waited. Blasts shook the ground and rocked the building under him. Men groaned.
Then a lull, an eerie quiet encompassed the air. The sound of death.
Matt’s blood pressure spiked, as it did every time the enemy closed in.
Climbing the stairs to find a place to setup wasn’t hard. Shooting the enemy to protect his comrades didn’t require a debate. Waiting idly for the enemy to make a move was excruciating. He returned to position.
Several bodies scattered the area. One Marine, a gunshot to the gut, held his side as he stood dazed in the middle of the chaos.
“Keep cover,” Gunny ordered. “Savages in the vicinity.”
He always obeyed, but this time if he didn’t hit the target he’d fail the men. He secured his hold and kept his focus on the other end of his scope. Several meters out, a light flashed. “Bingo!”
“Stand down, Sergeant,” Gunny demanded, his voice firm. “Enemy on attack!”
“No can do, sir,” he said, eyeing the enemy sniper wearing a Ghillie suit, the camouflage clothing to hide in heavy foliage. “Target in sight.” Gunny’s groan echoed in Matt’s ears as he pulled the trigger.
The Ghillie suit dropped.
“Got him!” He bowed his head, letting his chin rest on top of his rifle. Now, his comrades had a chance to fight without the fear of being plucked off one by one. Tension lessened
in his shoulder and neck muscles. They had a ways to go before getting out of this clusterfuck. Overhead the hum of reinforcements approached. Maybe they’d be out of this quicker than he thought.
Combat medic jeeps arrived. Navy Corpsmen peeled out and raced toward the wounded. He aimed at the enemy on the street blasting bullets trying to stop the rescue, and shot off a couple rounds.
An explosion sent raging, hot metal slicing through his leg. He flattened to the rooftop, rested his back on the short wall, and sucked in a deep breath, then another. Fire ran through him. He puffed out another breath toward the sky before peering at his leg.
A piece of shrapnel protruded out of his skin, right below his knee. “Son of a bitch!”
“You good, Sergeant?” someone other than gunny asked.
“Affirmative,” he lied. Sweat beaded his forehead and neck. His hands trembled, but that was the least of his troubles. He wobbled, his eyes heavy and mind fuzzy. His head dropped against the rough surface of the wall.
Trina’s pleading face appeared, begging him to talk. Events from the past raced in his mind like a movie reel.
The reoccurring notion he should have stayed at Molly’s Café to talk with her, instead of running like a wounded puppy to chase tail, replayed in his mind.
“Hey!” Someone yelled, penetrating his fog-filled brain. “Get up!” Strong hands clutched his bicep and shook.
He roused and took in the blood soaking his fatigues. The burn lingered. His body had grown cool, numb.
He took in the face of someone he’d seen before but didn’t recognize.
“I’m Private First Class, Bruce Driscoll. I’ll carry you.” The private grabbed Matt’s gear.
“No,” he said. “Give me a shoulder,” he groaned to a standing position. Circulation slowly returned to his body, warming it. “I got this.”
Using the private for a human cane, he dropped his arm around the man’s shoulders and hobbled toward the stairs. “Fucking steps.”
“You got this,” the private said. “Remember?”
The private’s earnest expression stopped him from calling him out for his sarcastic tongue.
At the bottom of several flights of stairs, a first aid truck waited. He nodded his thanks to the private. “Tell the gunny, I’m okay.”
