Cocky Soldier: A Military Romance (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book 6)

by Faleena Hopkins

  Meagan

  After discovering me sitting, disconsolate and bandaged, in the packed emergency waiting room, my worried older sister shakes rain off her hair and asks, “See why I made you memorize my number? You called me old fashioned but when you lose your phone it comes in handy doesn’t it?”

  Rolling my eyes with a half-smile I say, “Why don’t you just do a dance and sing I told you so, while you’re at it? You were right, okay? But I don’t want to hear it right now. I’ve been poked at, X-rayed, patched up, and I just want to get out of here, call Bryan, and find out what happened to my car.”

  Cecily pokes at the gauze on my head, brown eyebrows furrowed. “Can I see?” She lifts up the tape and makes a face, deep-caramel eyes locking onto mine. We could be twins if we weren’t seven years apart and she didn’t still have the baby weight. “Stitches! God, they look awful.”

  “Let’s hope I get a scar.”

  “Only you would want one.”

  “Makes me more interesting,” I shrug, heading for the door with her and batting my eyelashes for her help.

  “What do you want?” she groans.

  “Will you call Bryan for me? It would cushion the blow if you who told him how hurt I am. He can’t yell at you. He doesn’t yell at other people. Except me and the other chefs.”

  We step onto the mats triggering the automatic-door sensors. They whoosh open, whipping our hair back with the wind, the loud rainfall dancing into our ears.

  She glances to me from the corners of her eyes, trying to understand why I’m chickening out, when I normally never do.

  “Cecily, he’s going to be so pissed at me. But if you call, like you did when I was in grade school and Mom wouldn’t, then maybe he’ll go easy on me. We have a shot. I need you. Please try.” More batting of the eyelashes before I glance to her hands, which are empty, save for her SUV key fob. “You didn’t bring an umbrella?”

  Sighing she explains, “It broke after ten good, loyal years. And every time I go to the store to buy a new one I get distracted by Kevin, buy a bunch of other stuff with him squirming in the cart, and then when I’m on my way home, guess what?”

  “You remember that you forgot to buy the umbrella.”

  Throwing her hands up she cries out, “I’ve already put Kevin in the car seat, he’s stopped squirming, so am I going to turn around and go back at that point?”

  “No,” I flatly answer, knowing her.

  “No! I just promise myself I’ll put a note on the fridge to buy one next time I’m at Target or the mall, or anywhere, because Lord knows they sell them all over Atlanta, but do I have an umbrella in my hands? No. They’re everywhere but right here.” She holds up her almost empty fingers as thunder cracks through the air. We both glance to the sky from under this awning where it’s nice and dry, and back to each other. “Ready to get wet?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “I have baby brain!”

  “I thought that’s just when you’re pregnant.”

  “Turns out it’s when they’re two-years-old, too. Let’s hurry!”

  Forgetting I’ve got a head wound we take off running, but my noggin starts pounding and I shout over the downpour, “I can’t!”

  She stops and blinks at me with rain on her eyelashes. “Get back under the canopy! I’ll come get you!”

  Running with my hand shielding the already soaking wet gauze I mutter under my breath. “Dammit.” I was supposed to design reminder email invitations for Le Marchand’s pre-grand opening this Saturday, call the food suppliers, who haven’t gotten back to us, make sure the plumber showed up at the restaurant, and twenty thousand other tasks he pays me well to take care of so he can be the genius that he is.

  I’m good at multi-tasking. I’m good at my job. No matter what he says. It’s why he keeps me around. Plus I know he cares about me, and that’s why he’s so volatile. You should see him in the kitchen, always shouting and tearing his gorgeous hair out. And holy fuck the obscenities! But that’s how I don’t take the abuse to heart…too much. He loves kitchens more than any other place, thing, or person in the world, and he always loses his shit there. So when he explodes at me, I take it as a compliment. Plus, since I’m just his apprentice, his yelling like he does at the chefs, makes me feel like one, too. So it almost feels good.

  Her Subaru comes to an abrupt halt in front of the Emergency Room entrance where I’m tapping my feet with impatience. She waves me over, leaning down to watch me like the roof of her car just lost ten inches of space.

  Climbing in I tell her, “My gauze is useless.”

  “You want them to put a new one on?”

  “Don’t make me go back in there.”

  “It’s okay. I have some. Don’t worry.” Peering out the windshield she slowly drives into the storm. “When we learned we were going to have a boy Mike went overboard with the First Aid stuff. He and his brother were always breaking bones, cutting themselves open. And you remember how Devin was.” She meets my eyes and I glance away to the windshield. Inhaling deeply she adds under her breath, “Knew we were in for a ride.”

  “I’m feeling bad enough as it is, Cess. Why’d you have to bring up Devin?”

  “Sorry.”

  I hit the heated seat button and settle in, staring out at the raindrops, stomach tense. My mind travels back to a safer place, to my daily obsession—my boss and occasional lover.

  “When did you know that Mike was the one?”

  “I still don’t know,” she shrugs.

  I stare at her in shock. “Are you serious?”

  While focusing on the road she explains, “I don’t believe in a soul mate, Meagan, never have. You’re the romantic in the family, you know that.”

  Snorting I mutter, “Not anymore. No romantics left.”

  She doesn’t argue. Mom and Dad are still together but for years now they’ve just been going through the motions. Roommates, not romantic partners. They don’t even sleep in the same bed since Mom snores and won’t wear one of those nose thingies. Cecily and I secretly suspect she adores her private space so she can read her romance novels without him grumbling for her to turn the light off.

  “I don’t know, is there just one person meant for us? Maybe…maybe not. But what if my guy lives in India and I’ll never be truly happy because he’s afraid of flying and will die over there, never having met me? Me all the way over here in America? Can you imagine how fucked up that would be? I can’t believe that. I think we could be really happy with a lot of people. There are billions running around on the planet, and sure, many you’re not attracted to, but many you are. Find one that makes you happy then love them until you both drop.”

  We drive on in silence, with me wondering if Bryan would make me happy. No one at the restaurant is aware that our working relationship is peppered with the occasional illicit and very naked evening. Nobody knows about that tasty little secret, so I can’t claim aloud that we’re dating.

  But does he make me happy?

  Would he, if things became serious?

  Being with a famous chef would be the most amazing life.

  God, I can’t wait for his restaurant to open.

  As soon as it does I’ll be learning alongside him, soaking up everything he has to teach. Sometimes I hope while having sex with him that some of his genius will rub off on me.

  As she pulls into the driveway of her two-story home set cozily in a nook beside Midtown, I reach over and touch my sister’s forearm. “I need one more question answered before we go inside.”

  Engaging the emergency brake she turns to me. “Yes?”

  “Are you happy with Mike?”

  A smile spreads. “So happy. And he’s so great with Kevin, such a great father. But is he my soulmate?” She leans toward me with adorable mischief in her eyes. “Maybe!”

  We jump out and dash through the downpour into the house where my brother-in-law is standing in the living room, watching CNN, my two-year-old nephew in his arms. “Hey babe,�
�� he smiles to his wife, and then bobs his chin at me. “You okay, Meagan?”

  “I’ll be fine. They gave me a bunch of instructions but what I really need is a new bandage.”

  “It’s really comin’ down out there, huh?”

  “What else is new?”

  Cecily kisses Mike and then her son, grinning at him. “Hey big guy. Momma’s home.” He gives her a huge smile and holds out his arms. “Stay with Daddy a second. I need to help Aunt Meagan.” She calls over her shoulder, as she heads to the upstairs bathroom. “Have to get the First Aid kit. Be right back.”

  Baby Kevin’s eyes are locked on his momma, so I capture his attention by wiggling my fingers around and making funny noises. He gives me a smile, and I glance to Mike to ask, “Do you have soda water? My stomach is queasy.”

  “Sure, take him.”

  I’m soaked to the bone but he hands me his dry child. Men are funny. When there’s a task to be done, they do it with such focus that anything getting in the way is overlooked.

  With my nephew on my hip I head for the guest bathroom to get a couple towels. “How ya been, baby boy? I missed you!” He gazes at me, soaking in every detail of my face with a child’s silent curiosity. “I’m diggin’ how you're styling your hair. Is that a new applesauce gel you’re trying out? It’s hot!” He smiles. “Yes, you know you’re a stud baby, don’t you?” I carry him back into the living room just as Mike returns with my glass.

  “Here ya go.” He takes Kevin from me and I hand him the towel, which he stares at before he realizes. “Oh, duh,” he mutters, drying off his son and returning to the news.

  I pat my long, knotted hair with the second towel and head upstairs. “I need to borrow your clothes, Cess! I’m coming up!”

  “In my room!”

  I find her in a fresh pair of jeans and a yellow blouse, her favorite color. “Thought you’d get all nice and comfy before helping a wounded girl out? Rude!”

  She chuckles, “I was drenched!”

  “So am I!” She smacks my arm as I pass her for the walk-in closet. “I’m going to borrow one of your pre-baby dresses.”

  She grumbles, “Someone’s gotta wear them.”

  “You’ll lose the weight.”

  “I highly doubt it.”

  Thumbing through the hangers I offer, “Well, you could cut out gluten.”

  “Don’t even start, Meagan.”

  I hold up a very pretty, dark red, wrap number. “Will this look good on me?”

  She cocks her eyebrows. “Don’t make me punch you. I love that dress. Take it and be quiet.”

  As I peel off my wet clothes, dry off and slip on her neglected garment, I tell my big sister the facts. “If you change nothing, nothing changes. You know I went gluten-free because of my allergy to all the crap they’re putting in our wheat in order to mass-produce food for the surplus population.”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” she mumbles, interrupting me while sifting through the kit. “It forced you to find new things to eat. That got you into cooking. Then you wouldn’t shut up about it and I was brilliant enough to say, ‘Hey Meagan, why don’t you go to culinary school and put your money where your mouth is?’ and you, for once, took my advice. And now you’re going to be an amazing chef I’ll read about in magazines. I think this gauze is the right size, don’t you?”

  “Ooooooh, I like the sound of that famous in magazines part. Say it again.”

  “You can’t eat bread.”

  Snatching a bobby pin from the pile on her dresser I throw it.

  She ducks, laughing, “Sit down so I can fix you up.”

  Plopping onto her bed I watch my second mom gingerly peel away my soaked bandage. Since she was older and mom and dad both had to work, Cess helped raise me and Devin.

  She blows on my stitches and then waves her hand, creating a breeze to dry them off while she reaches for the ointment. “Are you in pain?”

  “It hurts like hell.”

  “They give you drugs?”

  “Prescription, but you know me.”

  “No drugs.”

  “Not if I can help it. They shot me up before the stitches, so it’s not as bad as when I woke up in that jerk’s house.”

  With goop on the pad of her ring finger, she pauses. “You mentioned him on the phone. Who was this guy?”

  “Some asshole who thinks women can’t drive.”

  Cecily smiles a little. “Wonder why he thinks that?”

  “Hey! I haven’t gotten into an accident in a long time!”

  “Uh-huh. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the dings that kept magically appearing on your car. Think it’s totaled?”

  “Probably. Maybe? I’ll find out soon.” She tenderly applies the ointment while I continue, “Can’t believe I left my phone in the car. I bet there are a million messages from him, just beeping away in some junkyard. Ouch!”

  “Shhh, I’m all done. There. Now let’s dry your hair out.” She pats it with the towel and starts to comb it like she did when I was a kid. It’s a sweet feeling and I begin to relax, love warming me. I meet her eyes, but a sad smile appears on her face. I know what she’s going to say even before her lips part. “Remember when Devin stopped letting me comb his hair?”

  “He was five?”

  “No, he was four,” she sighs, blinking away the emotion. “Such a little man even then. He never liked me babying him.” Straightening up she says, “Let me get my blow dryer. I’ll put it on low near your forehead. Don’t worry.”

  I know she disappeared to wipe her eyes.

  Soon my hair is dry and Cecily smiles at me in her maternal way. “There. All better.”

  “Thanks, Cess.”

  “You’re welcome, hon. Guess we have to Google your chef friend, since you don’t know his number.”

  “Friend?”

  “What is he then? Boss? Mentor?” she smiles, trying to pull the secret out of me. “Lover?”

  “Better.”

  Her eyebrows twitch up. “What’s better than that?”

  “A man who holds the keys to your future dream. So don’t anger him.”

  She laughs and walks to dig out the phone from her purse. “Oooo, I’m scared.” Dropping the smile she dryly informs me, “I can handle Bryan Marchand. He has nothing I need.”

  Jeremy

  Jogging up to the house I hear an unfamiliar cell phone ring and realize it’s coming from her phone. Mine is off, that’s for fucking sure. Just the way I like it.

  Aslan waits for me to unlock the door, both of us panting and needing water. I ran us hard.

  We run five times every day so I can stay ahead of my ghosts. Since we skipped the morning run due to the accident I really pushed us just now.

  I’m living off the inheritance Grandpa Jerald left us all when he died, that and the money I made as a Marine. Spent little of what I earned while I was overseas. And you save a lot when you don’t have to pay rent.

  My brother Jaxson used his inheritance to buy his ranch property an hour north of Atlanta, just after college.

  Justin used his to pay off Yale, where he’d gone away from his twin, Jason, for the first time so he could become the senator he is today.

  Jason bought a sound studio and outfitted it with the best equipment, and saved a bunch. Now that he’s married he told me the rest of what Grandpa left him is saved to put toward his kids’ colleges. Since he’s set on having at least four, it’ll be stretched to breaking, but he and his wife do well for themselves.

  Jake plans to buy Uncle Don out of his construction business someday and I know the huge house he and his wife live in now was paid for mostly by Grandpa.

  What Jett did with his money I don’t know. One day I might have to ask him, but I doubt I will.

  I let mine simmer and compound in investments until after I left the Marines. I had no need for it then. My house is paid for. I live on little. I’ve lived on less so I don’t need much.

  But while my dog loves to get outside, Rottweilers aren
’t Labs or Greyhounds. They’re not built for the kind of shit I put him through.

  I need to get a handle on my life.

  My family has hinted at all kinds of help I could get to clear my head of the guilt and traumatic stress. I haven’t taken their advice because I don’t believe in therapy. I’m a Marine. Not only that but I’m a Cocker, goddammit. We handle our own problems. It makes us stronger. I’ll claw my way out of this darkness somehow, someday. And I’ll stand tall when I do. Until then, I stand tall when I run. Getting physical gets me out of my head and into my body. My body I trust. My head is a dangerous neighborhood I don’t like to go in alone. A friend told me that phrase. I can’t claim it, but it’s so fucking true.

  I’m too late. The call has gone to Meagan’s voicemail. But while I’m standing here staring at the screen a text comes through from the same person, someone named Cess.

  Answer the phone, asshole. It’s Meagan.

  Snorting, I type, No, and hit send.

  The phone rings in my hand.

  I swipe to answer, “Pizza delivery.”

  “You told my boss I was in your bed? Are you crazy?”

  With the sound of Aslan lapping water from his dish in the background I sit on the arm of my old couch. “I see you’re feeling better. On drugs?”

  “Do you have mental issues?”

  Losing my amusement I explain, “I told him I was kidding. I have five brothers. We mess with each other. Get a sense of humor, Meagan Forrester.”

  “We aren’t related! I don’t even know you. And that was my life you were messing with!”

  “Calm down, princess. He knows you still idolize him and only him. Your dysfunctional relationship is safe.”

  She’s silent. When she speaks again her voice is quieter. “You’re a serious jerk, you know that? Stop going through my phone.”

  “Don’t worry. I got bored quick. Barely skimmed the surface before I found something more interesting to do with my time.” I get up and head for the kitchen. Aslan looks up at me from his dish. His nub wags, slobber dripping from his sharp teeth as he pants a, hey, Jeremy, where ya been?