Fight Or Flight (Tempted Series Generation 2.0)

by Janine Infante Bosco

  Twenty-Three

  Eric

  I thought sitting down with my parents and explaining everything about my future would clear things up and give me room to breathe until I left for basic training, but I was wrong. Once my parents knew, everyone knew. The next day, we sat down my siblings and told them my news. Bella didn’t really get it, Anthony thought I was too cool for school and asked me for my autograph, but Robert had the most surprising reaction of all, he stood up and called me a selfish prick.

  Now, normally I would’ve gone a couple of rounds with my brother. My mother would have started screaming and my dad would’ve broken us up, just like always. But I let him go because something told me he needed time. Rob is easy to read, he doesn’t hide how he feels. I know when he’s mad and when he’s hurt. I also know when he’s afraid, and I think he was feeling a combination of all three.

  Think about it, we’re only a year apart. For sixteen years we have lived in the same house, tormented the same parents, and shared nearly everything—from toys to shaving cream. Every childhood memory I have, he has. Neither of us knows what life is like without the other.

  So, I decided to give him until Saturday, then I’d take him out for breakfast, and we’d talk things out. Saturday came, but there was no time to take my brother for pancakes because my dad had other plans.

  “Rise and shine, G.I. Joe,” he said, pulling the comforter from my body. It took me a second to process what was happening, and my eyes instantly sliced toward the basement window and then to the clock on the end table.

  “It’s five o’ clock in the morning on a Saturday,” I groaned, taking the pillow from behind my head and covering my face. He could keep the fucking comforter if he wanted to. “Go away.”

  “Get your ass out of bed,” he ordered, kicking my shin.

  That fucking hurt.

  Forcing myself to sit up, my eyes cut to him and widen. Not only was he wearing a camouflage t-shirt and a pair of cargo pants, but he ditched his signature moto boots for a pair of tan combat boots.

  “Why are you dressed for Halloween?” I asked.

  He widened his stance and crossed his arms.

  “Because my kid decided to join the Army and I ain’t sending him without first giving him an education.”

  It was way too early for this.

  “Um… that’s what basic training is for.”

  “That’s nice, then you will be ahead of your class. Put your clothes on, you’re going to learn how to properly shoot a gun and you’re going to learn from me.”

  I thought about arguing, but once he lifted his aviators from his face, I decided against it. If teaching me how to shoot a gun gave him peace of mind, I’d deal with the early wake-up call and the Halloween costume.

  Once I was dressed, we climbed into his pick-up truck and were off. I figured he was taking me to a shooting range in New Jersey, but two hours later we pulled up to an old cabin the Satan’s Knights owned in Upstate New York that mostly acted as a safe house for when times got tough. There, we were greeted by my Grandpa Wolf, Uncle Jack, Uncle Pipe, and Blackie.

  I turned to my dad.

  “What is all this?”

  “Consider this bootcamp,” he said. “We’re about to see if you’ve got the guts and glory it takes to be a soldier.”

  I lifted an eyebrow, mildly amused at their antics, but the humor quickly faded. I followed my dad to the shed on the property and my eyeballs nearly fell out of their sockets when he opened the doors and revealed a collection of firearms.

  Then with Blackie’s help, my dad taught me how to assemble and disassemble every gun. Once I got the hang of that, it was time for me to learn how to shoot. Until then I had never seen my dad hold a gun, much less fire one. He was a fucking pro and Blackie wasn’t so bad either and they were determined to teach me how to be as good as them.

  Three hours later, after I successfully hit three consecutive targets—beer cans, in case you were wondering—Uncle Pipe stepped in. The man whose road name paid homage to his craft, showed me how to expertly build a pipe bomb. I was joining the most extensive military in all the world, where I would learn to fire the deadliest weapons, yet there I was, sitting in the middle of nowhere making pipe bombs.

  After my stint in chemical warfare, they turned the hose on me and had me run the perimeter of the land with my Grandpa on my back. Now, the guy had dropped some weight since I was a kid, but he could eat an entire tray of eggplant parmigiana in one sitting. He was no lightweight.

  I was soaking wet.

  My arms burned.

  My legs threatened to buckle.

  I could barely breathe.

  All I wanted was to go home.

  But they weren’t done with me.

  For their last act as drill sergeants, I stood eye to eye with Uncle Jack. He stood on a step stool but whatever. I couldn’t laugh if I wanted to, my face was numb, and every part of my body hurt.

  “They’re going to try and break you,” he shouted in my face. “They’re going to fuck with your head and make you think you’re a liability to your brothers, and what are you going to do?”

  I just stared at him, my teeth chattering. Did he expect an answer? That’s when I looked at my dad and found him pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes.

  Was he crying?

  He turned his back to me for a moment and when he faced me again, his sunglasses were back on his face.

  “I think we’re done for the day,” he called out. “Same time and place next week.”

  Wait—I had to do this shit again?

  A couple of days after the twisted version of bootcamp, Robert was still acting like a little twat. He was taking his anger out on the basketball hoop in the driveway and I decided it was time for me and my brother to duke it out and what better way than by demolishing him in a little game of b-ball. Plus, making nice with my brother gave me something to do while I waited for Brooklyn to finish getting ready for our date.

  That’s another thing. I wanted to die, every part of my body ached and all I wanted to do was sleep. But I wasn’t canceling my date with Brooklyn again, I had already broke plans with her last night after my dad basically had to carry me in the house from his version of bootcamp.

  Brooklyn and I haven’t spent nearly as much time together as I hoped we would. Between her grueling school schedule and me assuring every single family member I’m making the right decision, we’ve barely seen each other. A strict no-sleepover policy was enforced at Casa del Tiger after the snake situation. Which, in case you were wondering, put a damper on the sexcapades. But tonight, that’s going to change. I don’t care if we get arrested for public indecency; I am going to make my pretty little hurricane come.

  That’s of course if she ever finishes getting dressed.

  Jogging across the front lawn, I make my way toward my brother. As soon as my Jordan’s hit the pavement, he turns his head and the permanent scowl he’s worn on his face for the last seven days appears.

  Yep, still a twat.

  I tip my chin and hold up my hands, silently commanding for him to pass me the ball.

  “Get lost,” he growls.

  “What’s the matter, Rob? Afraid I’ll kick your ass?” I ask, advancing across the makeshift court that is our parents’ driveway. He scoffs and spins away from me, dribbling the ball. I reach around him and knock it out of his hands. We both chase it down the driveway, but your boy Eric is like lightning—especially when he’s determined to make things right with his brother. I quickly gain control of the ball and dribble it away from Robert. He tries to steal it, but I’ve got a couple of inches on him, giving me an advantage. I hold the ball high over my head and meet his scowl.

  “If I make this shot, you start talking.”

  “I said all I had to say,” he grinds out, reaching for the ball.

  “So you’re still going with the selfish prick thing. Noted.” I divert my eyes to the hoop and take my shot. Rob turns his head and we both watch
the Spalding slam into the net.

  “Fuck,” he hisses.

  I smirk and jog around him to take the ball back.

  Passing it to him, I start, “You know what I think?”

  “I don’t care,” he says, bouncing the ball between his legs.

  “I think you’re hurt I didn’t tell you I was joining the Army,” I continue. “I also think you're even a little scared for me.”

  “Like I said, selfish prick,” he mutters. Then he surprises me by spinning around and slamming the ball against my chest. “It’s always about you. What about the rest of us, huh? Did you stop for one minute to think about what you leaving means for this family? Mom and dad might tell you they support your decision, but it scares them shitless. And what about me, huh? What the fuck am I supposed to do without you?”

  Okay, so maybe he’s not a total twat.

  “Rob, nothing is going to happen to me.”

  “You don’t know that,” he rasps, tearing his eyes away from me.

  There are no guarantees in life. This ball can roll into the street and a car can strike me down as I retrieve it. When the clock runs out, there is no overtime. The game is over. But my brother doesn’t give me a chance to tell him that. Instead, he brings his eyes back to mine and drops the ball, letting it bounce between us.

  “You don’t have to join the Army to be a hero, Eric,” he chokes. “You’ve been my hero my whole life.”

  I feel those words in my gut and it’s like I swallowed a million knives. For as long as I can remember my dad preached about brotherhood and whenever Rob and I fought, he’d reprimand us and say we shouldn’t fight, that it wasn’t part of the plan. They had four kids so that we’d always have one another. Someone to play with not fight with.

  Then mom would rebut that and tell us he only said those things because he was an only child and despite having a fleet of brothers, he didn’t understand. Siblings fight, she’d say. It’s how they show their love. Dad didn’t realize he and mom gave us so much more than playmates. Especially when it comes to me and Rob. I love Anthony and Bella, but Rob and I…we’ve got a different kind of relationship. Maybe it’s because we’re so close in age—I don’t know—but it’s a bond that can’t be broken.

  Not by distance.

  Not by war.

  I may be his hero, but he’s my best fucking friend.

  “Robert,” I start, but he quickly interrupts me.

  “I give you shit because you’re older and it’s my job to torture you, but there isn’t a person on this whole fucking planet that I look up to more. I think what you’re doing is amazing, I just hate that I can’t come along.”

  This fuck is going to make me cry.

  “I’m sorry I called you a selfish prick,” he sighs. “You’re not selfish, but you’re a total prick.”

  That makes me laugh and I pull him toward me. He resists because again, he’s a twat, but I’m bigger. Stronger. A selfish prick who hugs his brother tight, and I’m not sorry for it either. Life is short and there are no guarantees.

  My talk with Rob made me realize I needed to spend more time with my siblings before I left for basic, so after I scored the winning shot, I left Robert in the driveway and went in search of Bella. I made her pick out a story for me to read to her. Brooklyn was still getting ready, and at this rate, my little sister could’ve asked me to read her one of those old school encyclopedias and my girlfriend would still ask for another five minutes by the time I closed the book. But Bella didn’t pick an encyclopedia, she wanted her big brother to read her a fairytale. A book where the hero gets the girl and they live happily ever after. The book my sister picked had all that, but it wasn’t a traditional storybook. It was a scrapbook my mom had given to my dad on their tenth wedding anniversary. The hero was no prince, and the girl was prettier than any princess. Every page had handwritten notes from my mom to my dad and pictures that told the story of how they became Kitten and Tiger.

  On the last page, there were no pictures, just words.

  When you find the one, time stands still.

  They were wise words and fucking true too.

  Time has officially stopped in the back seat of my mom’s Range Rover. I no longer give a shit if Brooklyn and I miss the previews of the movie—I won’t even be here to take her to see any of those movies, anyway. I’m not worried about the long lines at the concession stand either—the promise of buttered popcorn and Sour Patch Kids can wait.

  Nothing outside this truck exists.

  Threading my fingers through Brooklyn’s hair, I pull her mouth down to mine. Her warm, wet pussy slides over my cock, and her nails dig into my shoulders as she chases her orgasm and rocks her hips.

  Such a pretty little hurricane.

  Yeah, when you meet the one, time stops all right.

  I untangle my fingers from her hair and reach for her ass, grabbing and squeezing each globe as I arch off the leather seat and push deeper. She clenches around me and with no worry of anyone but the people in the parking lot hearing her, she goes off like a firecracker.

  She lights up my whole fucking sky.

  Flips my whole world upside down.

  Her tight pussy tremors around my cock and it’s all over for me. There’s no holding back. My fingers dig into her ass cheeks as I drop my head to her shoulder and let go. I come hard and long…so long that I wish I had a fucking stopwatch because I’m pretty sure I just broke the book of Guinness World Records with that orgasm.

  Seriously, is there someone I can call?

  Brooklyn goes lax on my lap, my dick still buried inside her as she pulls away and pushes the hair away from her face. Her eyes find mine and a grin spreads across her lips.

  “That was good, like really good,” she exclaims. Her tongue sneaks out of her mouth and runs along her lips. “Did you like it?”

  She may be new to this, but my little hurricane is a quick learner and an A-plus student. Where I’ve spent countless hours of my teenage years slapping my dick to free porn I’ve found on the internet, she’s getting her education in the back seat of my mom’s Range Rover. It’s a beautiful thing.

  “Is that a real question?” I ask, staring at her mouth.

  Her grin spreads wider as she leans forward and smacks those full lips to mine. My hands move to her hips and I hold on as I deepen the kiss, sliding my tongue into her mouth. After what seems like five minutes, we pull apart and she sadly gets off my cock.

  Until next time.

  She starts to scramble around the back seat for our clothes.

  “I can’t find my panties.”

  Not really a hardship if you ask me.

  “We’re going to miss the movie if we don’t hurry.”

  Again, not seeing the problem.

  “Eric, are you listening to me?”

  Shit.

  “Panties, right. We should find those.”

  Think if I find them first, she’ll let me take them to basic with me?

  Twenty-Four

  Brooklyn

  You would think with all the talk of me turning eighteen while my mom was dying that I would’ve realized my birthday would fall on Mother’s Day this year. But nope, it didn’t cross my mind until I overheard Riggs, Lauren, and Eric talking about it in the kitchen one morning before school. While they tried to decide how we should celebrate, I obsessed over the fact it would be the first time I didn’t make my mom a Mother’s Day card. The first time I didn’t make her breakfast—even if it was only a bowl of Cheerios and a cup of coffee. And the first time I would have to blow the candles on a cake without her there singing to me.

  I don’t care how strong Eric thinks I am.

  I am not that strong.

  That’s why on the way to school that day, I told Eric I didn’t want to celebrate my birthday and I asked him to relay the message to Riggs and Lauren. I’d have plenty of birthdays to celebrate in my lifetime, I could skip one and they could celebrate Lauren being a mom the way they have for the last eighteen y
ears.

  I’d be spending my birthday at the cemetery, honoring the woman who selflessly made sure I was taken care of my whole life, even in death.

  Of course, Eric tried to change my mind, but he eventually backed off—to a degree. This morning when I opened my eyes, I found him sitting on the foot of my bed with a bouquet of flowers. I thought they were for me, but when I went to take them, he shook his head and told me they were for my mom.

  Now here we are, at my parents’ grave on my eighteenth birthday.

  On Mother’s Day.

  The stone that once read only my dad’s name and beloved brother now reads beloved father too. Right next to his name, etched in the granite, is my mom’s name and the words, beloved mother.

  I’d have to thank Riggs for that later.

  Eric pushes the metal cone holding the flowers into the ground and glances over his shoulder.

  “This good?” he asks.

  “It’s perfect.”

  He’s perfect.

  When he first told me he was coming with me to the cemetery, I argued. That fear I’ve been trying so hard to suppress came surging back. In two months he’ll be leaving for Fort Benning and won’t be here to hold my hand whenever I miss my mom. He won’t be here to decorate her grave with the prettiest pink roses I’ve ever seen. He might not even be here next year to wish me a happy birthday at all. I had the support system nailed, but days like today I turned to Eric. I relied on him to get me through, and that was a problem. I couldn’t be dependent on him.

  The contract has been signed, and Eric has already started to prepare for the day he leaves. They only allow trainees three square meals a day—no snacks. He doesn’t want to battle his snacking habit while training, so he thought he’d get a handle on it beforehand and cut all junk food from his diet. Our midnight Oreo sessions are a thing of the past for now.