by Kristy Marie
I’ll agree I’m being a bit irrational, but I’ve already decided.
I’m doing this shit.
Jess tries again, this time softening her normally sharp tone by reminding me, “He has a family, Breck. He doesn’t need you to come save him.”
Ugh.
“I know he does, Jess.” It’s like I’m talking to my grandma when I slow my words down so she can fully comprehend what I’m saying without having to repeat it a bazillion times. “But you didn’t see him,” I say, snatching the newspaper article from my bag—the only way I can think of to get her to understand the gravity of his situation. The paper’s edges are crumpled from pulling it out, crying for the man my brother used to rave about being so full of life but now only existing.
I’ll never forget his eyes. Haunting, yet sharp and aware. A jawline that is all straight lines and good bone structure from his Irish heritage.
No, I could never forget Major Cade Jameson as I blinked back tears and mourned the once strong and fearless leader my brother looked up to. There, in black and white, was a man in tattered rags, slumped in an alley, his head down as he ate something that looked like soup from a can.
My heart spasmed in a painful beat as I looked on, reading the article about not enough space or resources to get the homeless off the street. Tears spattered the thin paper as I cried for my brother’s hero. I cried for a man who gave everything for his country and was left hollow and empty inside.
I tried for a couple years after Bennett’s death to find Cade but never could track his whereabouts. His parents hadn’t seen him in years. It was like he disappeared until I found him by chance, in the Madison Times, a freak happening I can only describe as fate. I received an email, meant for my father, about the possibility of buying up property in the small town of Madison, Georgia.
I intended on forwarding it. I really did. But something about the headline stopped me. I had been searching for him and he was there the whole time.
He was homeless.
And that’s when I knew what I had to do.
I owed it to Bennett.
I owed it to Cade.
I would give up my life here in New York and help Cade find a chance at a new one.
Because Bennett would want me to.
Glancing down at the newspaper clipping in my hand, I read it one more time because I’m a straight-up masochist, and I feed on the hurt that looking at this image makes me feel.
Poverty on the rise in Madison. Many investors turning away from restoring the historic downtown due to a high volume of break-ins. Are the homeless to blame?
The headline judges me, night after night, as I lay awake with a roof over my head and clean clothes on my back. Not that I live lavishly or anything. Jess and I share a squatty two-bedroom apartment in New York City, no thanks to any of my family. My father, fuck his soul, is a greedy piece of shit and keeps his money for himself and my mother. Ever since Bennett and I moved out, Bennett going into the military, and me going to college for culinary arts, they abandoned us like the trash they thought we had become. “Brannon’s don’t join the military. Brannon’s go to Georgetown like their ancestors and become wealthy businessmen and fuck people over at every opportunity.” Okay, he didn’t say the last part, but that still doesn’t make it any less true. Even after Bennett’s death, my parents still ignored me like both of their children died from that bomb.
Jess’ sigh pulls my head up from the article. Her tortured expression breaks my heart. I don’t want to leave her. She’s the only family I have left. I’ve worked so hard here at the Culinary Institute of America to make something of myself. Top of my class, I scored the coveted internship at À Votre Goût after I graduated, working with head chef Philipe Christianson. It’s my dream come true and I’m giving it up. I know Jess thinks I’m crazy, and maybe I am, but I feel it deep in my heart that this is what I am being called to do.
“Can you just wish me safe travels?” I beg her, as tears clog my throat. My best friend sniffles, folding my Batman socks and placing them silently in my suitcase. Reaching across the mound of clothes, I pull her hand into my lap. “And call me every day? I can’t do this without you.”
Jess’ chest heaves and silent teardrops trail down her face, taking the mascara she applied perfectly this morning with them. “I love you, dumbass,” she sobs, pulling us together atop the mound of clothes. We lay there, crying in each other’s arms until the tears dry and Jess says, “Come on, let’s go look in my closet for something for you to wear that doesn’t look like you came from Comic Con.”
Laughing, I lift off her chest, noticing the remnants of our cry-fest on her silk shirt. “My clothes are fine,” I argue, but she waves me off, already up and headed to her room across the hall.
“B, if you want to score a piece of ass like Jameson, you’re gonna have to up your game.”
I don’t tell her I’m not going to fuck him. I want to help him. But it makes no difference to Jess. Help him or fuck him, either way, you dress with the intent of seduction. Wiping the last of my tears, I tuck the newspaper clipping in my pocket and follow her to her bedroom where we inevitably cry again while promising to grow our small movie blog. Along with our online friend Milos, our blog, The Three Musketeers, has been with us through everything. It’s important that we keep it going.
It’s not long after our cry-fest that Jess drives me to the bus station and refuses to tell me goodbye. I kiss her on the cheek anyway and wave at her from the window of the bus.
She flips me off.
Text me back, bitch!
Breck!
I swear, I will come find your ass!
I’m getting really scared, B. Please call me.
My phone buzzes with hateful love messages from Jess, but I can’t bear to answer her right now. All I can do is watch them. He’s healthy and vibrant, laughing at something she says from across the table.
I’m too late.
I should feel grateful that someone found Cade and got him off the street, but I don’t. Something like jealousy burns in my throat and tastes bitter as I swallow it back down. I know I said I came out here for Bennett, but the damn romantic in me dreamed up all these scenarios on the twenty-hour bus ride here of Cade and me living together and helping each other cope with our losses.
But’s that’s not what I found when I finally made it to Madison, Georgia.
What I found was a small town buzzing about a local physician named Anniston McCallister taking in six homeless veterans. The locals at the diner I stopped in were all in agreement that her boyfriend, a pro baseball player, was not happy about her recent life change, and they were all placing bets on when he would lose his shit publicly and bring the media to their small, quiet town.
I knew it was Cade when the older lady swooned, talking about the handsome fella with the enchanting green eyes. You don’t forget eyes like his. Or an ass like his—not that granny mentioned his ass, but she had to be thinking it. I listened to their tales of Anniston and her defiant nature until they changed topics and started arguing over politics. That’s when I paid my tab and bummed a ride from a friendly guy—okay, he was a little sketchy, but they don’t have cabs in Madison. I was desperate to get out of there and find Cade.
I told Frank, the sketchy guy, about Anniston, and he knew exactly who I was talking about. After several uncomfortable minutes of him talking about how hot she is, he agreed to drop me off in the square, at the Farmers’ Market, claiming Anniston frequented it almost daily. Which is where I currently sit, hiding in the trees like a total stalker watching her lightly punch Major Jameson in the arm as they dine outside at a rickety picnic table.
I can’t hear exactly what they’re saying but it’s obvious Cade is listening intently as his eyes focus on nothing but her. My stomach roils as I realize he’s found a home and he looks … happy. Something tight squeezes my chest but I refuse to cry over this. My mission was simple: find Cade and help him get back on his feet.
&nb
sp; Anniston beat me to it.
And, unlike me, she’s incredibly beautiful. Jess was right; I am crazy for doing this. Now I’ve lost my internship and probably the only opportunity I would have had to establish my name in the culinary industry. I’ll have to start over, probably at a fast-food joint. It won’t be with Philipe, but whatever, as long as I’m in the kitchen, I’ll be happy.
I think.
After a few more seconds of spying, I pull out my phone and brace for the I told you so and type out a text to Jess.
Cade’s fine. He’s with some doctor who found him. She’s beautiful.
I’m just about to type I’m coming home when I hear Anniston’s voice much closer than it was before.
“Yes, Theo, we’re on our way home. We stopped for lunch.” She pauses and then huffs out, “Don’t be an ass. I said I would pick you up. How was I supposed to know your flight would be early?”
Anniston paces around the grassy area, rolling her eyes and smiling into the phone when she says, “Keep talking like that, Von Bremen, and I’ll make sure that’s the last time you speak for the day.” She laughs hard, holding the phone away from her ear while Theo yells through the speaker. “I’ll tell you what, Theo. If you can refrain from being a total asshole in the car, I’ll give you a blowie when we get home.”
I don’t know if he agrees or what because she winks at Cade who looks as though he could vomit any second. She hangs up the phone and asks, “Want me to drop you off at the house, Gorgeous?” Cade quickly nods his head in relief.
I watch as Cade holds the door open to the SUV parked along the street, and helps Anniston in. As she passes, she strokes his face with her fingertips, and I tense up with … I don’t know what. Cade isn’t mine. Just because I’ve sacrificed my potential career for him and left behind everything I have ever known doesn’t make him belong to me. My stomach is just upset from the move and all.
That has to be it.
Cade and I share something special, something no one will ever understand but the two of us. Without even knowing each other, Cade and I are bonded.
We both loved and cared for Bennett Brannon.
And his death broke both of our hearts.
I realize two things in that moment. One: My stomach really is revolting against the greasy diner food. Two: Cade isn’t homeless anymore and doesn’t need me to intervene and save him like I thought. Bennett’s letter flashes in my mind.
You don’t leave the brotherhood.
Call it insanity.
Call it fate.
Call it curiosity.
Call it me being a stubborn ass, but the promise I made to my brother roots me to the ground. I delete my previous text message to Jess and go with, Found him! He’s even more gorgeous than I remember. He’s living with a local doctor. I want to be sure he’s okay before I come home. I miss your face. I’ll call you when I check into a hotel, and we’ll work on the Avengers review. I end the text with a string of heart emojis and hit send.
Two minutes later I get, You better, whore. Sneak a pic of him and send it to me. I want to know what the face of your demise looks like. She also sends emojis after her text but they vary between hearts and the middle finger. It makes me smile.
With a renewed outlook, I take a deep breath and look up at the heavens.
I’m doing this.
One way or another, I’m going to get to know Bennett’s mentor; the person who held his hand as he took his last breath.
I don’t respond to Jess but instead wander over to the Farmers’ Market. I need a job and a place to stay, but other than that, I have nothing better to do than browse all the fresh grown produce and handmade trinkets. If I didn’t have to conserve my money, I would buy a ton of this stuff. All the homemade jellies and sauces intrigue me.
“Can I show you anything?”
I’m shaking my head when I look up and meet the eyes of a woman who has the sweetest expression, reminding me of home. Reminding me of Jess.
“I’m sorry,” I start, eyeing the jam, considering splurging on one jar when I see a handwritten sign propped against the table of jams.
Help Wanted.
One year later
“Fifty bucks says I can get that chick’s number.” Drew’s eyes dare me to take the bet.
I’ve never been a man to turn down easy money, or girls for that matter, so instead of agreeing, I up the ante, countering Drew’s bet with one of my own. “A hundred says I get her number and her friend’s.” I tip the neck of the beer in the direction of the two girls at the high-top table we’ve been eyeing all night.
The cute blonde is my type. Long ringlets of soft hair spiral down her back, ending at the edge of a tiny white crop top that showcases her flat, tanned stomach. Her friend, although not what I typically go for, is just as appetizing with her chestnut hair pulled tight into a sleek ponytail.
Someone is getting laid tonight.
And that someone is me.
Drew’s hazel eyes narrow, silently weighing his odds. “You’re drunk. No way are you getting both their numbers.”
Oh ye of little faith.
The dinky wooden chair slides across the tile from the force of my weight as I stand, situating my already thickening length. Just the thought of this challenge is getting my dick hard. Throwing back the last of my beer, I flash Drew a cocksure smile that clearly reflects my confidence in this matter. “You in, or are you out, bitch?”
He drags in an exaggerated breath and frowns. “I’m in.”
I’m feeling all kinds of cocky, and I square my shoulders, slamming down my empty bottle of Corona before engaging my swagger toward the poor, lonely girls. My approach seems almost expected when I stop at the empty chair at their table. Both girls smile, bat their eyes seductively, and track over the muscles flexing under my shirt. All that mascara will look phenomenal when it’s streaked down their faces in two hours.
Oh yes, these girls are going to be a lot of fun.
Eighteen months, stuck in the asshole of the world, I’m ready to indulge. And these pretty ladies look exactly like my flavor.
“Ladies.” The Georgia accent is thick when I drawl out the word. Women love the twang. I can’t remember the last time it’s failed me.
The dark-haired girl giggles, whispering into her friend’s ear. I can’t hear what she’s saying but the blonde one licks her lip before biting down. I’m certain I’m about to be a hundred bucks richer. The brunette invites me to sit with a wave of her hand. “I’m Laura, and this is Candece.” I flash them the “Jameson smile,” and they giggle.
“I’m Cade.” I hold out my hand and Candece, the blonde one, wastes no time grabbing it. I kiss the top of her hand, dragging my lips across the smooth skin as slowly as I possibly can, making sure my eyes remain on her baby blue ones. She giggles.
Not surprising at all.
I reach forward, extending both hands to catch Laura’s, and repeat the same greeting. They look at one another, then at me.
Moment of truth. Let’s see those lady-balls, girls.
“How ‘bout we get out of here?” I suggest, making sure my lips mouth the words against their hands.
Eager eyes stare back at me and … blink. And blink again.
Come on, ladies.
Okay. Obviously, they need more incentive. My tongue—always my ace in the hole—snakes out, licking Laura’s finger, inching down until the tip of her manicured nail is at my lips. I slip their hands together, and their eyes grow wide. Since I’m a betting man, I wager they’re not even breathing.
It’s go time.
With what I hope to be a sexy smile, I lean down and suck their fingers into my awaiting mouth.
Together.
Hard. Soft. Swirling of the tongue… I’m sucking on their middle fingers like I can already taste the sweet flavor of their clits. Back and forth, I switch speeds until Candece moans.
Bingo.
Lifting up, I let go, licking my lips like I would if they had come all ove
r my face.
“Whad’ya say, ladies? Curious?”
Laura speaks first, with no hesitation this time. “I’m in.”
I smile, letting her know wordlessly how much I appreciate her willingness to play and then arch my brows at Candece. I’ll take just Laura, but I would much rather double my pleasure. Afghanistan was a lonely-ass time. There’s nothing better than this welcome home present right here.
A one-night stand.
Even my mom’s homemade apple pie isn’t going to taste this good.
I’m shifting in my seat, my dick raging against the seam of my fatigues. Just imagining myself balls-deep in hot, wet pussy has my dick leaking into the fabric.
Please, Candece. Please make my motherfucking night.
I turn on the charm and poke out my lip like I’m fucking pouting and … she giggles. “Okay. I’m in. But I don’t do anal.”
What a shame.
I look at Laura. Her returning smile says everything I need to know—she absolutely does anal.
I swear my dick tries to high five me, jumping in my pants with celebratory glee.
Staying cool, I stand, offering my elbows. The girls each take a side—giggling of course—and we head for the back exit of the bar. The wink I flash Drew as I pass has him scowling. “Don’t wait up, honey. This might last all night.” Laughing, I push past the other patrons with my new company in tow.
“Cade! Wait.”
I turn around, ready to negotiate the terms if Drew wants to join us, but when I face him, his hands are dripping blood, pooling onto the dirty tile of the bar.
“What the fuck, dude? What happened?”
Did he cut his hand on a bottle?
I’m pushing through the crowd, trying to get to him, when his words stop me.
“Why did you do this?”
Every ounce of blood drains from my face when I look at him again. I barely recognize him. His body is mangled, his arm nearly detached. Blood is fucking everywhere. Even his eye is hanging by tendons, almost resting on his cheek.
