An unexpected spark of nostalgia hit me as the driver exited the freeway and turned into my old neighborhood. The familiarity of it was odd. Not much had changed—there were a few new buildings, a couple of different business, the little greasy-spoon restaurant that used to serve pancakes was now a sandwich shop—but it all seemed smaller somehow.
We passed my old high school, and I was shocked to see how different it looked. The school hadn’t changed, but it wasn’t the huge, looming building I remembered it as being. I used to have to rush to get from class to class in time, but young me must have been slow as shit, because I could run laps around the building between bells now.
When the driver turned down my street, he had to slam on his breaks to avoid two young thugs standing in the way. They glared at us like it was our fault they were clogging the narrow street before slowly stepping to the side so we could pass.
“Nice neighborhood,” the Uber driver grumbled, his words heavy with sarcasm.
“Sure. We’ll go with that.” I watched out the window, pointing as my childhood home came into view. “It’s that one on the right. The little blue house with the white trim.”
The driver idled at the curb while I grabbed my bag and climbed out. I thanked him, then sent him a tip on my phone before turning to stare at the house. It was a small bungalow, built in the early nineteen-hundreds like all the other houses on the block. Dad’s old red Chevy truck was parked outside, and the lights were off, not surprising since it was just past five. Mom should be home from work soon.
The Uber motored off, leaving me standing on the broken concrete walkway, the closest thing to a sidewalk our neighborhood had to offer. I scanned the area, noting that the two thugs had drifted this direction and were watching me. Ignoring them, I hefted my bag higher on my shoulder and marched past the tiny strip of low-maintenance bushes Mom called the front yard.
The cement evened out, becoming a true walkway before it raised in steps that led to a wooden gate that reached the middle of my thighs. Bending, I unlatched the gate and it creaked as I pushed it open. Caught off guard, I stared at it pushing and pulling to recreate the sound. I’d never heard the gate creak before. Dad would have attacked it with a can of WD-40, preaching about the pride of home ownership, long before it got rusty enough to make a sound.
But Dad was long gone now.
I creaked the gate closed. Once it latched, I made my way up to the front of the house, pausing in front of the bay window. The curtains were open, and Dad’s recliner still sat in the center of the living room, nestled between the matching sofa and loveseat so he could hold court between me and Mom. Our last family portrait still hung above the fireplace, our expressions a testament to Dad’s waning patience, my abundance of teenage attitude, and Mom’s forced happiness.
Mom’s knickknacks still covered the fireplace mantle, her china cabinet that had never held china, and the coffee and end tables. The newspaper was still perched on the arm of Dad’s chair, as if waiting for him to come home and open it up so he could get in his daily bitchings about politicians, sports, traffic, and weather. They all seemed to piss him off equally, almost as much as I did. He was a gruff man, a creature of habit and tradition, hailing from an era when men didn’t talk about their feelings and children were expected to be seen and not heard.
He’d expected perfection from me, and I’d done nothing but disappoint.
When I played basketball, I was never fast enough on the rebounds or accurate enough in my shots. It didn’t matter if I made a hundred shots, he’d focus on the one I missed and lecture me for hours about working harder and practicing longer. When it came to school, I studied my ass off to make the honor roll, but B’s were never A’s and an A- might as well be a C.
“I’ve worked hard to give you the opportunities I never had, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let you piss them away, Landon!” he shouted, his face turning red as he shook a fist at me.
“Dad, I’m working with my English teacher. I’ll bring it back up.”
“Landon?”
My mother’s voice interrupted the memory. Grateful, since my last fight with Dad wasn’t something I was ready to face yet, I sucked in a deep breath and turned toward the road. Mom stood at the wooden gate under a black umbrella, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open in shock. The past seven years had deepened the lines around her mouth and eyes and added a lot of gray to her blonde hair. She was thinner now, smaller and frailer than I remembered. Her dark eyes flooded with tears and all the words I’d been rehearsing in my mind fled at the sight.
My sudden appearance had upset her.
“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I should have called. I… I can go and come back later or—”
Shaking her head, she fumbled with the latch on the gate before pushing it open and rushing toward me. Her umbrella caught the wind and flew backward, and she released it, seemingly unconcerned. She came within a foot of me and stopped, putting a hand to her heart.
“Landon? You’re really here?”
I nodded, unsure of what else to say.
Mom pounced, wrapping her arms around me. Her small body shook as she sobbed into my chest. I awkwardly patted her on the back, wondering what to do.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Mom said between sobs. Then just as suddenly as she’d plowed into me, she pushed away, wiping the tears from beneath her eyes. Turning toward the street, she made an exaggerated gesture forward. “Mercy! Come meet my son. My Landon… he’s home! Come, celebrate with us and I’ll make my chicken pot pie, my boy’s favorite.”
That’s when I realized Mom had walked home, and she wasn’t alone. A blonde woman stood at the bottom of the cement stairs watching us from under a bright blue umbrella. Long straight hair framed an attractive face with big blue eyes and plump pink lips. A dark scarf circled her neck, covering the top of a cream-colored trench coat that ended just above her knees. Dark nylons stretched over shapely legs that ended in black high heels. This was Mercy, the woman Mom mentioned whenever we talked. I’d expected her to be older and nerdy, nothing like this classic beauty in her early twenties.
“No,” Mercy snapped. She was frowning at me. Turning her attention to my mom, she forced a smile. “Thank you for the invitation, Beth, but I can’t stay. Ben is coming over for dinner tonight and I want to be there when he arrives. It was nice to finally meet you, Landon.” She took a step back.
“You too, Mercy.”
She turned to leave, showing off sexy curves that her trench coat couldn’t quite hide. The street lights were on, but they didn’t do much to illuminate the darkness and I worried about someone who looked that tempting walking home alone in this neighborhood. Especially after the thugs I’d seen earlier. Assholes like that would mess with a lady like Mercy in a heartbeat.
“Wait, hold up. I’ll walk you home,” I said, picking up Mom’s umbrella on my way to the gate.
Mercy stopped and looked at me over her shoulder. “That’s not necessary. I only live on the next block.”
“But it would sure make me feel better to know you’re safe,” Mom said, unlocking the front door. “Please let Landon walk you. Oh, and be sure to ask Ben about Christmas dinner. I’d love to have you both over again.” She froze, her gaze cutting back on me. “Will you be here for Christmas, Landon?”
The uncertainty and desperation in her voice felt like a sucker punch to my gut. Mom had been happy to see me. There was no guilt or hurt in her eyes as she watched me, just love and relief. I’d been worried about my presence upsetting her and turning her world upside down, and hadn’t even allowed myself to consider that she’d be so happy to see me.
Regardless of the mistakes I’d made, this was still my mom, the woman who always went to bat for me and loved me unconditionally. I should have given her more credit. I nodded, slipping through the gate and hurrying to catch up to Mercy. “Yeah. I don’t fly out until January thirty-first.”
Mom’s eyes widened. “You’ll be home for th
e holidays? What wonderful news! We’ll have a big Christmas dinner. It will be perfect!”
Mercy smiled back, but her eyes were hard and her lips were tight. “Have a good weekend, Beth.”
Mom’s brow furrowed. “You’re still coming for dinner Sunday night, right?”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? Maybe I should give you and Landon space and time to reconnect.”
“Nonsense. I look forward to our Sunday dinners every week. I can’t wait to try your cobbler.”
Nodding, Mercy dropped her gaze. “I’ll see you Sunday.” Waving goodbye to my mom, she turned, resuming her trek.
“I’ll be right back,” I told Mom, following Mercy.
Even in heels Mercy was almost a foot shorter than me, but she had one hell of a long stride. I had to lengthen my steps to keep up.
“So, did you go to West Seattle High?” I asked, trying to strike up a conversation.
“Yep.”
“Me too.” I didn’t recognize Mercy, which was strange since there were only about a thousand kids attending that school when I was there. Surely a girl who looked like Mercy would have stuck out. “What year did you graduate?”
“Twenty-thirteen.”
“Twenty-eleven, here,” I said, even though she didn’t ask. “I had some Running Start classes my junior and senior years, though, so I wasn’t on campus much when you were at the school.”
No response.
I tried to strike up conversation again. “How long have you been at the preschool?”
She flashed me an annoyed look before focusing on the road again. “Why do you ask?”
Surprised by her tone, I replied, “You and my mom are obviously close, so I’m trying to get to know you.” Which wasn’t exactly true. Mercy was alluring and interesting all on her own. When she spoke to my mom, her face was warm and inviting, lit up like a campfire, but to me, she was frigid and distant. Something inside me wanted to warm myself beside her, but the icy daggers she kept glaring at me kept me at a distance.
“Why does it matter to you?”
“I don’t know. That’s what people do. They talk and get to know each other. Did I do something to piss you off?”
She stopped walking and turned to face me. I caught a whiff of vanilla and jasmine; her scent was soft and sweet, nothing like the glare she gave me as she folded her arms across her chest, still clutching the umbrella. “Where have you been for the past seven years, Landon?”
The question cut deeper than it should have. She was a stranger, a nobody that I’d see off and on for the next forty-one days and never have to lay eyes on again. Yet her opinion of me mattered for reasons I couldn’t begin to comprehend.
“Serving my country,” I replied. Then, because my need to defend myself to her was rubbing me raw, I added, “Why? Where have you been, Mercy?”
Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “Serving the people of my country, the children and the moms left behind. You get thirty days of leave a year. That means you could have used any one of the two hundred and ten days you were allotted over the past seven years to come home and see her. Yet, you didn’t.”
Mercy was full of surprises, and the icicles she glared at me dug deep. “Were you in the military?” I asked, knowing full well she hadn’t been. She was too young, too soft, to pure.
“No. I looked it up online. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell Beth—I would never hurt her like that—but your mom is intelligent, so I’m sure she knows you could have come home and chose not to.”
She was way out of line, and I didn’t need some uninformed chick poking her nose in my family’s affairs, no matter how beautiful she was. “I don’t think that’s any of your business. But coming home isn’t always as easy as you’d think it would be.” I was still defending myself! Un-fucking-believable.
She scanned my face, searching for something, but hell if I could figure out what. Nor could I tell if she found it. Finally, she sighed and gestured toward the three-story apartment complex across the street. “This is me. Thanks for walking me home.”
Apparently, our conversation (if you could call it that) was over. Before I had time to object or plead my case further, she marched across the street and up the exterior stairs to the second landing. She stopped long enough to unlock her door before disappearing behind it, not once looking back at me.
Irritated, confused, and strangely intrigued, I headed back to the house. Mercy was right, and I should have come home earlier. I had a lot to make up for. And I was looking forward to Mom’s homemade pot pie.
Chapter 4
Mercy
I was being bitchy and judgmental toward Landon, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. I’d been there for Beth. I’d watched her wipe silent tears from her eyes, I’d seen her depression set in as his birthday approached every year, I knew he’d broken her heart a little more with each missed phone call or unreturned letter.
I had detested him for the pain he’d put his mother through, and now I had a face to associate with my anger.
A ruggedly handsome face.
That had been a surprise. The walls of Beth’s house were covered in pictures of Landon the child, a gangly little boy with big brown eyes and a sweet smile, but there was nothing gangly or sweet about Landon the man. He was all muscles and hard angles, his chiseled jaw covered in stubble, his eyes haunted and wary, his demeanor calculated and dangerous. And it wasn’t at all fair that he was wearing his Army uniform.
Landon the soldier was hot.
I hadn’t expected him to be so damn good looking, and did not welcome the strange stirring in my chest as I watched him move toward me, all strong and protective, offering to walk me home like a gentleman. Landon wasn’t a gentleman; he was an asshole. I knew this for a fact, because I’d been there for Christmases and Mother’s Days and birthdays, watching Beth try not to breakdown every time she glanced at her phone. A phone that rarely rang.
Seven years, two-hundred-and-ten possible days of leave, and Landon could rarely be bothered to even call his mom. Talk about a dick move if I’d ever heard one.
I wanted Beth to rage about her son, to talk about him the angry way I spoke about my parents, but she never muttered a single negative word about Landon. Instead, she made excuses for his selfish behavior. “He’s busy.” “He’s probably deployed and forgot to tell me.” “The time difference makes it difficult.” She’d tried to sell me a dozen explanations, but I didn’t buy a single one, drawing my own conclusion about Beth’s son.
Landon was a selfish asshole.
Why else would he leave and rarely check up on her after her husband died? Did he even know that Beth had been battling depression when I met her? Did he care that she had a purpose now, and a new outlook on life? She was happy. She’d moved on, rarely even bothered by his absence anymore because she had me and all the children and teachers at the preschool who adored her and would always be there for her. We were Beth’s real family.
But now he was back.
Beth’s eyes were so full of hope and joy when she looked at her son that it unraveled me. All I could see was the pain ahead of her. He was home until the end of January, then what? He’d leave, abandoning her.
She’d shatter, again, and I’d be the one still here, picking up the pieces as I cursed Landon’s name and his stupid handsome face.
Why the hell did he have to be so damn attractive?
After I gave him a piece of my mind, I expected to feel better but didn’t. Instead, I felt petty and ill-informed, jumping to conclusions when I still had no idea what had happened to drive Landon away. Beth refused to talk about it, so I knew it must have been horrible, whatever it was. And what did he say about coming home being difficult? If anyone should understand that, it was me.
And his eyes…
Landon’s big brown irises were drowning in pain and self-loathing, and with every angry word that crossed my lips, he winced. Those eyes poked holes right through my righteous indignation, making me feel like a bul
ly. Desperate to get away from him, I marched across the street to the building I’d called home for the past four years. Another complex was being built next door, and I used to live in the old building that was there before they tore it down and rebuilt it.
The old building should have been condemned long before Mom and I moved into it my freshman year of high school. The walls were paper-thin, the floors had an alarming sag to them, and the heaters stopped working when the temperature outside dipped below freezing and tenants needed heat the most. Despite all the building’s problems, I’d been happy there, living with my mom until she found her most recent true love on the internet and moved across the country to be with him.
Beth and I were close, because I understood her pain. I’d been abandoned, too. I was only sixteen at the time, and I could have gone with Mom but I didn’t want to be the third wheel in her otherwise perfect little love cycle.
Especially since I knew how often the chain came off her bike, sending us barreling down the face of heartache at eighty miles per hour before crashing us into a sea of regret.
Mom didn’t have relationships, she had thrill rides.
After she’d caught her last man lifting money from her purse, I’d convinced her to step away from the bike and focus on us. We’d been doing fine without a man, and I was angry that she’d uproot our lives for someone she met on the internet. Digging my heels in, I refused to move east with her. I never expected her to choose him over me, but she surprised me.
No, she disappointed me. Again.
I stayed behind, alone in our crappy little apartment. The rent was cheap, and the neighbors knew how to mind their own business, so I hounded both of my deadbeat parents until they agreed to cover my monthly expenses, allowing me to finish high school.
By the time I was eighteen, between my scholarships and grants and part-time job, I was able to pay my own rent as I worked on my bachelor’s degree. But then at twenty, after I’d just enrolled in Seattle University to continue my education, I was evicted. Some neighbor had finally fallen through their floor and a building inspector had been called. To nobody’s surprise, the building had so many violations it had to be torn down.
Rescuing Mercy (Special Forces: Operation Alpha): A Dead Presidents MC Spinoff Page 4