“Colonel,” River said and smiled at both him and the General.
“Ah yes. General, let me introduce you. This is First Lieutenant River Seeger, his partner, Captain Maddox Stone, and Sergeant Blade Hammond.”
“This is General Rhine,” Liam said.
“Retired,” Luke said, shaking hands with everyone. “It’s nice to meet you.”
The rest of Infinity gravitated toward them as a collective whole and they were soon surrounded.
Introductions were done for the rest of the group with back clasping and chuckles.
“And? I’m sorry,” Luke said to Dillon, who had stood apart during the introductions. “I haven’t had the pleasure.” The General reached out his hand to Dillon.
Dillon, looking rugged and somewhat uncomfortable in a coal black suit and tie, tipped his shorn head. He slowly reached out and gripped Luke’s hand.
“Staff Sergeant Dillon Thorne,” Dillon’s deep voice rumbled out.
“Retired General Luke Rhine.”
Dillon tugged his hand away and Luke’s smile grew. When Luke’s hand was released, Liam noticed he closed it into a light fist.
“How about a round of drinks at the bar, ladies and gentlemen?” Luke offered.
“I could use one,” Pia smiled.
“I’m down,” Oliver agreed.
“I’m good.” Liam held up his drink and smiled amidst the course of agreements, and soon Luke and Infinity were lost in the sea of people.
“Colonel?”
Liam turned and found one of the coordinators with a very serious expression on his face.
“Yes?”
“There’s a woman waiting in reception for you.”
Okay, that was unexpected.
“Thank you,” he said and placed his drink down before he headed toward the reception area.
“Liam!”
He smirked when Marly squeaked his name.
“What are you doing here?”
“Anna said you’d be at the event, so I decided to surprise you.”
Even though their marriage had ended years ago, Marly still stopped by his place regularly.
“Anna told you where I was?” He squinted, but not really in anger, it was more of amused annoyance.
“Oh poo. Don’t be mad.” She sidled up to him. “I’ll be your beard tonight.”
“I don’t need one.” And he hadn’t for years. He’d stopped hiding who he was the day he’d asked her for a divorce.
“Oh, I know, silly. But I’m all dressed up.” Her eyes were hopeful and only a bit sly.
He shook his head and held out the crook of his arm.
She squeaked again and bounced closer to clutch at his arm. Marly was a cutthroat and well-respected attorney in the city. She may have looked innocent, but she was a ball buster in and out of the court room.
Don’t forget she’s a master manipulator. He sighed inwardly and glanced around for Spencer before gazing down at Marly.
Her brown hair was pulled up in a top bun, tendrils falling around her face. There was a dash of freckles over her cheeks and nose, and with wide green eyes sparkling along with her smiling pink lips, she was lovely.
He’d known her since junior high and had married her right out of high school. A big mistake, but they’d been too young to realize that.
Liam guided her to a bar just inside the door, and she immediately ordered a drink and flirted with the bartender.
The party was in full swing and he swept his gaze around the room. Moving his attention to the doorway, he locked his eyes on the door.
Marly grabbed his arm, drawing his attention.
“Come on, introduce me to your friends.” She batted her lashes.
“Why? Are you looking for another husband?”
She rolled her eyes, her red lips stretching wide. “Maybe?”
“What happened to Tim?” He reminded her about her last boyfriend.
“He was a player. I kicked him to the curb when I found out he met his ex-girlfriend for a romp at the beach.”
Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Marly was hunting husband number three, no, wait, she was currently divorced, so that meant she was looking for husband number four.
Liam had been husband number one, before he’d told her he was gay. Back then, she’d been furious with him for coming out, signing the divorce papers, but only grudgingly. It had taken months, but eventually he’d gotten her to see how unhappy they’d been. He’d promised to always be her friend and she’d eventually accepted that. Once they’d worked the split out, she’d been onto another man by the time the ink had dried on their divorce papers.
“I don’t know if I want my friends to be on your hit list,” he teased.
She giggle snorted and tugged him through the crowded room.
“I need a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m selling my place and there’s a buyer, but I don’t have another place to stay until then. Can I crash at your house?”
He squinted at her, she smiled up at him. She owned a small condo she’d had on the market for a few months. It wasn’t like he didn’t have the room, but he really didn’t want her at his place.
“Um…” he stalled.
“That would be a hard no,” a deep voice said to his right and he gave a silent sigh of relief.
The normally happy Marly went to full hateful and angry in a nanosecond. It really was amusing to see.
“Not so nice to see you, Logan,” Marly sneered at his twin.
Logan’s lip curled back, his hard, green eyes locked on Marly.
“Same. You shouldn’t be freeloading.” Logan crossed his arms against his chest.
“Unlike you, I’m not part of the one percent,” she snapped back waspishly.
“Nor are you part of this family.”
“Screw you, Logan.”
“No thanks,” Logan said flatly. “Now, go do your gold digging somewhere else.”
“Liam!” She stomped her foot.
“No, Marly. You can’t stay at my house. It was nice running into you,” he said with an amused smile.
“Oh poo. All right,” she said, completely ignoring Logan, and sidled up close to Liam. “Call me sometime.”
Logan snorted and Marly glared at him before turning her back and marching away.
“You scared her.”
“Good.”
Liam chuckled. “I wasn’t going to let her stay.”
“I couldn’t take the chance. Why do you put up with her bullshit?”
“She’s harmless.”
“You, brother, are too nice.”
“Probably.” He grinned and then turned and hugged Logan hard. “I didn’t think you got the invitation.”
“I did. I was busy setting up the new office in Denver.”
“How’s that going?”
“Slow.” The lines at the edges of Logan’s eyes crinkled.
Logan was his identical twin with a few exceptions. Logan’s hair was sprinkled with more gray strands than his and Logan was older by two minutes.
“So, how are you, how are the kids?” Logan turned that all-seeing gaze on him, the kind that only a twin could do.
“I’m okay, the kids are doing good, considering.”
“That’s good. I’ll stop by when I can.”
“Thanks.” Liam smiled at his brother and then ran his gaze over the crowd for the twentieth time.
“Where’s Spencer?” Logan frowned, searching the crowd.
“I don’t know.” His smile disappeared.
“I thought you said he was coming?”
He mustered a nonchalant shrug. “I thought so.”
“Liam -”
Liam held up a hand, cutting off Logan’s words. “Hey… you know what they say. If it doesn’t show up, it’s not supposed to be.”
“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes.”
“Me neither.” He grabbed a drink from the bar. “But I want him and I to b
e friends.”
Logan studied him. Liam ignored his brother’s look and took a few sips from his drink.
“So, how’s Anna?” Logan wisely changed the subject.
“You can see for yourself when you come over.”
“Fair enough,” Logan said with a smile.
Liam guided his brother over to meet more people. He made the introductions while hiding his disappointment at Spencer not showing up.
Perhaps, the information that Spencer was supposed to be here had been incorrect. Liam could admit, at least to himself, that he was jonesing. The need to see Spencer was not only preventing him from completely enjoying the party, but also distracting him from his duties during the day.
What he needed to do was get his act together and leave the guy alone, but he knew that was going to be easier said than done.
Spencer
The fucking house was a mess.
His mother’s part-time boyfriend, Carl, sprawled in the ripped and faded recliner. The familiar stench of alcohol, bad breath, and filth wafted in the air. The guy didn’t say a word, only tossed him an annoyed look when he stepped in front of the television.
Spencer did the same and kept on going through the living room. He found his mom in the kitchen with the ever-lit cigarette hanging from her dry, cracked lips.
“Where’s Wesley?” He didn’t waste his time with her. He’d spent far too many years trying to get her help.
“Brat is in his room,” she sneered. The ash hanging from the tip of her smoke fell to the tabletop along with a half a dozen others, missing the ashtray that was piled high.
He clenched his teeth and spun to open the fridge.
“Ain’t gonna find nothing in there,” she snapped, shoving back from the table. “Done spent all the money you sent.”
“I gave you that money to buy food and pay the bills.”
“I had to get medicine! And essentials!” she snarled, standing with a grimace, hand to her back, the other lifting to push her matted gray hair off of her dirty, faded housedress. He looked at the carton of cigarettes and the bottles of pain pills.
“Food is essential,” he growled. “What happened to your disability check?”
“It’s gone.”
“Clean that shit off the table before CPS sees it.”
She glared at him and swiped the ashtray filled with ashes and butts to the floor.
“There, happy?”
“I mean it, clean this shit up,” he snarled, pointing to the pills, and stalked from the smoke-filled room.
He refused to call her mom or any other type of endearment. She’d made his life a living hell until he’d joined the army. That had been his escape. His baby brother hadn’t been that lucky.
“Spencer!”
Wesley lunged up from where he was sitting on his bed and hurried into his arms. His brother looked so much like their father, it brought a lump to his throat. He’d been fifteen when his big-hearted but irresponsible father was killed on the job. Wesley had been a baby at the time.
He wrinkled his nose at the sweat and body odor coming from his brother, but that didn’t stop him from crushing Wesley close.
“Hey, Wes, whatcha doing?”
“Oh, you know, school work.” His brother grinned up at him and pointed to the books spread out on his bed.
At sixteen, Wesley was almost his height. He’d worried for a while that Wesley’s growth might have been affected by their mother spending her whole pregnancy high on pills. Fortunately, her habit hadn’t affected Wesley’s height nor his mental capacity. Wesley tested high academically.
“How long has it been since you’ve showered?” Spencer teased, scrunching his nose.
“The water was turned off again.” The expression in Wesley’s eyes was suddenly too old for his age and contained a worry that shouldn’t be there. The worn t-shirt his brother wore hung on his too-thin frame, the belt he wore was cinched on the last hole and even that was not tight enough to keep his faded jeans from hanging on his rail thin hips.
“Son of a bitch.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Don’t get mad. It’s back on now,” Wesley’s voice trembled.
“I’m not. It’s okay,” he reassured his brother.
“Don’t call them,” Wesley hiccupped.
“I won’t,” he promised.
He knew his brother was referring to child protective services. What a fucking joke. Wesley needn’t have worried, that ship had sailed after the last horrifying experience. The only thing they dealt with now were the impromptu visits from CPS to the house.
He looked around at the mess and made a mental note to call the inexpensive housecleaner he’d hired a few months ago for a cleaning.
He suddenly squinted at the school books. “Have you been going to school?” The amount of work on the bed looked a hell of a lot more than homework.
“I haven’t been all week. I can’t go like this. I stink.” Wesley shoved away and paced back and forth.
“You could use the gym showers, Wes.”
“Not if I don’t have clean clothes.” Wesley threw up his hands and left the room.
“Motherfucker,” Spencer muttered.
He was caught between a rock and a hard place. If he turned his mother in again, there was no doubt in his mind that Wesley would run away. He couldn’t do that to his brother, he couldn’t put him through that again. He couldn’t keep Wesley at his place because his brother wasn’t old enough to stay on his own for the length of time he was deployed. He couldn’t afford to hire a sitter and pay a good portion for his mother’s expenses and his share of the rent at his cheap apartment on his salary.
He headed back into the haze-filled living room to find Wesley fiddling with the television. His mother was now in the other broken-down recliner. Carl ignored him.
“Grab your laundry, Wesley. I’m home for a few days, you can stay with me.”
“Yes!”
“Now wait a damned minute!” his mother started to argue. “What about us?”
“I guess you’ll need to feed yourself.”
“You good for nothing bastard! Without me, Wesley wouldn’t have a place to stay. You put him in that home where they hurt him. That’s your fault!” she hissed with hate-filled eyes.
Carl turned up the television with the remote, turning a deaf ear to his mother’s wrath. The man didn’t live there and pretty much stayed out of their business. More importantly, the guy ignored Wesley.
He glared at his mother. If she’d been any kind of parent, he wouldn’t have had to resort to CPS. The guilt over Wesley ate at Spencer. Spencer jerked out his wallet and tossed four twenty dollar bills on the trash-filled coffee table and walked out.
Wesley emerged from the front door a few minutes later, wiping at his face.
“What did she say? Did she hit you?” he raged, ready to go back in and bitch slap her.
“No!” Wesley sniffled. “I thought you’d left me.”
“No.” Spencer pulled Wesley close. “I’ll never leave you. Ever. I’ll always come back,” he soothed, trying to ease the worry from his brother’s stress-filled face.
Wesley searched his face, holding his gaze before he slowly nodded.
“Now, first stop is my place and then you want pizza?”
“Oh, hell yes.”
Spencer smiled for the first time, glad he’d held back one of the twenties in his wallet.
“Where’s Dillon?” Wesley asked after tossing his laundry bag into the bed of the truck and climbing into the passenger seat.
“Deployed, we have the place to ourselves.” Spencer shared the rent on a small, two-bedroom apartment with Dillon Thorne. Staff Sergeant Thorne was a member of Infinity, a Special Forces unit that occupied the same base where Fury was stationed.
The minute the apartment door closed, Wesley yanked off his dirty clothes, leaving a trail to the bathroom.
“Woot, hell yeah! Hot water!” Wesley’s laughed echoed from inside th
e bathroom.
Spencer chuckled with a lump in his throat. Scrunching his nose at the smell of stale cigarette smoke, he picked up Wesley’s clothes from the floor and the laundry bag before starting a load in the washer.
He stood staring at the water swishing around the clothes in the murky liquid and gently closed the lid. His spine hit the wall when he took a step back. A tightness filled his chest and he rubbed at it.
What the fuck was he going to do? He couldn’t keep up this way, something was going to break and he had a feeling it might be him. He suddenly felt like he was running. Bending forward, he braced his hands on the washer and took deep, gasping breaths, willing the worry back into its neat little box. Right into the compartment where he placed everything that he couldn’t handle.
He took a long, slow breath and released it, and then another before he shoved upright and left the small utility room.
Reaching his own bedroom, he selected a pair of sweats, a t-shirt, and a clean towel from the hall closet on his way to the bathroom.
“It’s open,” Wesley responded at his knock.
He ducked inside. “I put some clothes on the toilet. And there’s a towel on the sink.”
“Thanks, bro.” Wesley sang out.
“I’ll order the pizza unless you want to go out.”
“In is fine, and a movie?”
“We can see what’s on Dillon’s Netflix,” he agreed, but lingered for another minute.
Wesley’s head poked out of the shower curtain. Spencer stared at his brother’s bright blue eyes so much like his own.
“I’m okay, Spencer. Really. I’m just starved.”
“She hasn’t laid a hand on you?”
“Nope, I swear. Her mouth is just as nasty as ever, but she hasn’t hit me since that day.”
Only because he had put the fear of God into her. The emotional abuse was still there, though. He could see it in the shadows of his brother’s eyes and it killed him. He wanted to hit something. He made a mental note to threaten her if she didn’t stop with the nastiness toward Wesley.
“And Carl?”
“Carl’s only around during the weekend and usually gets too drunk to stand up.”
“Okay,” he rasped, rubbing his chest. “You still hungry?”
“Hell yeah! Pizza!”
Taking It Slow (Code of Honor Book 4) Page 2