Governor (Governor Trilogy 1)

by Lesli Richardson

  “Just water, please,” I say, and she leaves to get them. My focus darts across the table, meeting his dark brown gaze. Flecks of other colors make a subtle appearance there, amber and hazel and dark chocolate. “Thanks.”

  A hint of humor returns to his features. “You haven’t had to put up with one of my nightmares yet. I’d like to build some goodwill while I still can.”

  “You did that by helping me get organized. Sorry again for that. I swear I’m not a slob.”

  He shrugs. “Some people don’t learn the skills. Can’t do something you were never taught.”

  “I’m usually much more organized. I have a lot more room at home.”

  “And where is home?” His focus returns to the menu in his hands.

  “Orlando. I mean, my mom lives in Orlando. Where are you from?”

  “Vermont, originally.”

  “Why’d you come to Florida for school?”

  He doesn’t look up from his menu. “No damn snow, for starters. Then there’s the James A. Haley Veteran’s Hospital right off campus. I wanted a school close to a large VA hospital.”

  I feel the click in my throat as I swallow, the image of his back flashing through my mind again. “Oh.”

  He doesn’t move his head, but I feel his gaze on me anyway. “Ask, if you want to. Either I’ll answer, or I’ll tell you I don’t want to talk about it. I’m rarely offended by the ask, if it’s polite.”

  “I don’t want to be…rude.” Everything about Carter so far knocks me off-balance, but he’s not doing it deliberately. I realize it’s all me, on my end.

  Like I’ve forgotten how to adult properly.

  Then again, he’s eight years older than me, so maybe he thinks of me as a kid.

  Now his chin tips up and to the side as he studies me. “As long as what I tell you doesn’t get spread around, I’ll talk about most stuff. Assume anything I tell you is to be kept in confidence, unless I say it in front of others. Even then, assume on the side of privacy.”

  “When I saw your back earlier, you kind of sounded like you didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “That was before I realized you’re not an asshole.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  He smirks. “You’re welcome, kid.”

  I’m not going to ding him for that, because hell, he is older than me.

  And he is paying for my dinner. “How long were you in the Army?”

  “Nearly eight years. Enlisted at eighteen. Pissed my father off.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I didn’t want to go through ROTC. For starters, the instructor at our high school was a dick. Always discouraged minorities and girls from wanting to join. Fuck that shit. I didn’t want anything to do with him and decided to take my chances. I also didn’t want to go to college first. Once I was done with my time in, I wanted to be out and done. My brothers all did ROTC in college and went in as commissioned officers. My dad retired from the Army after nearly forty years. Two of my four brothers are still in. Two aren’t.”

  “Four brothers?”

  “Six brothers, total.” The waitress brings our beverages and says she’ll be right back to take our orders before she heads over to another table of eight people just seated by the hostess.

  “What do your other two brothers do for a living?” I ask once we’re alone again.

  He sips his iced tea and doesn’t meet my gaze for a moment. “Killed in action,” he quietly says.

  That’s Carter to a T. Economy of speech, economy of living. I’m left sitting there feeling like shit, but Carter takes pity on me. “You have any siblings?”

  I shake my head. “Only child. Well, by my father, I have two much younger half siblings I’ve never met. They live out in Nevada. Sister and brother. Basically, I’m an only child.”

  “I take it your parents are divorced?”

  “Yeah. Dad lives in Las Vegas with wife number three and the two kids. My mom was wife two. My mom and Austin, my step-father, live in Orlando. They got married when I was ten. I haven’t seen Dad since before then.”

  “Ah.”

  “Yeah. We don’t talk about Dad much at my house, unless it’s Mom and Austin inventing descriptive new ways to insult him.”

  Which is a mild way of putting it. It’s actually an Olympic-worthy sporting event in my mother’s house, and everyone’s expected to actively participate or risk being viewed as giving aid and comfort to the enemy.

  “Sorry,” Carter says.

  I shrug. “It is what it is.”

  “I heard that.” He picks up his glass of tea and holds it out to me. I realize what he wants and grab my glass of water. “To a good year,” he says, gently clinking glasses with me.

  “To a good year,” I echo.

  “Cheers.”

  “Cheers,” I reply.

  His gaze locks on mine for a long moment. I don’t understand why the intensity I suddenly read there does…something to my insides.

  Not in a bad way, either.

  I’m straight or I’d label it attraction or desire, anything in that realm.

  I sip my water and return my attention to the menu.

  * * * *

  When Carter finds out I can’t even scramble eggs—and that I survived my freshman year thanks to the meal plan paid for by my scholarship—he decides that’s where we’re going to start my culinary education.

  “Most people can eat breakfast at any time of the day,” he says. “If you end up with hungover buddies, you’ll be their hero if you can scramble delicious eggs and make French toast.” He glances my way. “Or if you want to impress your girl when she sleeps over.”

  I laugh at that. “You kind of need a girlfriend to make that happen. I haven’t had time for a social life, much less a love life. I can’t afford to let my grades slip.”

  “Good. We’ll get along great, then.” He’s leading me through Publix, back to the dairy section to get eggs, milk, cheese. We buy sugar, cinnamon, vanilla extract. Then over to the bakery, to pick up a baguette.

  “Is the kitchen equipped?” I ask. I haven’t even looked. Last year’s room was in this same building but on a different floor. We didn’t have a “kitchen,” just a communal fridge, sink, microwave, and two-burner induction cooktop tucked into a tight corner of the common room. I was too busy today futzing around organizing my crap to even look in the kitchen.

  “No, but I have what we need. Large blue tote in my closet marked Mess. I don’t mind if you borrow stuff from there as long as you make sure you wash and dry it immediately and put it back the way you found it when you’re finished. And don’t loan anything to anyone without asking me first.”

  “Sure. Thank you.”

  He nods, then pauses. “You really ate every meal like that last year?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “What if the dining halls were all closed?”

  “I kept some granola bars and beef jerky in my room.”

  He literally groans. “Dude. You seriously need to learn how to take care of yourself better than that.”

  “All right, Dad,” I grumble.

  When he laughs it sounds genuine, warm. Friendly. He hooks an arm around my neck and pulls me close, scrubbing his knuckles over my scalp. Not painfully, but playfully. Affectionately. He releases me before I barely register he did it. I’m six-four, and Carter’s got to be maybe only five-ten, but he feels…larger.

  Not to mention I sense the restrained power in him.

  For the first time in my life, I realize what it might feel like to have a big brother, although I never would have wished the emotional hell of my upbringing on anyone else, much less a sibling.

  “Come on.” He turns the cart around.

  “What?”

  “We need more stuff. Basics. I’m going to teach you how to eat like a grown-up.” While his words chafe a little, again, he’s not wrong.

  I tuck my hand-basket, which holds a few essentials like shampoo, into the cart. Carter is now grabb
ing more groceries, like oatmeal, dried fruit, all sorts of stuff I’m trying not to total up in my head.

  “I can’t afford to spend a lot,” I finally admit.

  He shrugs. “This one’s on me.”

  I have my pride, but I’m not an idiot. “Can we take it in trade or something?”

  There’s a playful twinkle in his eye when he cocks his head at me. “How do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. I can do your laundry for you or something.”

  He studies me for a moment before nodding. “Deal. Although I’ll never turn down a blowjob.” He follows that with a wink and starts moving again, so I know he’s kidding.

  At least…I think he’s kidding.

  He’s kidding, right?

  Like hell am I going to ask and look like an even bigger doof than I’m sure he already thinks I am.

  Of course he’s kidding.

  I’m…pretty sure.

  Chapter Four

  The meal plan I have doesn’t kick in until Monday. I really don’t want to shell out money at a dining hall when Carter has graciously purchased groceries for us.

  He has me go first in the checkout line, since I have so few items.

  “I always wanted a little brother,” he says as he stacks groceries on the conveyor belt.

  “You don’t?”

  “I am the little brother. Mom made Dad get snipped after I was born. She’d always wanted at least one girl. After she had me, she told him if he ever wanted to have sex with her again, he would get it done.”

  “Poor woman.”

  “Yeah, well, she holds her own against all of us, trust me. We’re all terrified of her. I mean, in a good way. She had to be tough with Dad off on deployment so often. I’m not giving her grandkids, though.”

  “Why’s that.”

  “I got snipped a few years ago, while I was stationed in Germany. Kind of had a thing going with someone then, and it helped with logistics.”

  “Oh.” I’m still waiting for the elderly woman in front of me to count out every fricking coupon in the known galaxy to the checkout clerk, who apparently has an infinite well of patience. “What happened with her?”

  He isn’t looking at me when he answers, but his voice drops in a way that makes me think it’s a painful topic he doesn’t really want to discuss. “Things didn’t work out.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Old news.” He shrugs. “You?”

  “I’m single.”

  “I meant kids.”

  “Kind of need a relationship to have kids.”

  He gives me a “look.” Like a big brother might give a little brother, something between “you know what I mean” and “don’t be a smart-ass.”

  “Eventually, yeah, I’d love to be a father. It’s always been a dream of mine.” I try not to think about all the emotional baggage surrounding that. “I definitely want kids. School comes first, though. Relationship will have to wait, too. I can’t lose my scholarship.”

  “I don’t want to lose my scholarships, either,” he says. “I could use government money to pay for an apartment, but I’m trying to save as much of that as possible. That’s why I went dorm instead of my own apartment. Way cheaper for me. Keeps me on-campus. Not like I’m not used to bunking with a bunch of other guys. Having only one roommate is sort of an upgrade, for me.” He snorts. “Hell, having a real bed and air-conditioning is an upgrade from what I was used to.”

  I hadn’t even thought about all of that that. “I figured you picked the dorms because you’re from Vermont.”

  “Nah. Everything I own, with the exception of a few boxes stored at Mom and Dad’s place, is in the dorm room. Got used to living light. Raised that way, as many times as we moved when I was a kid for Dad’s stations.”

  “Wow.” I mean, I don’t have a lot of room to talk, but at least I have a storage unit.

  I had more stuff before Mom “cleaned” my room for me. She’ll likely never admit it was because I pissed her off by not driving home for Easter dinner because I had spent the entire night before on the toilet, shitting my guts out, thanks to bad sushi.

  Mom never gives a sick pass, unless it makes her look good to do so, or it’s something like ending up in the hospital, or a communicable bug she might catch.

  Likewise, I’ll never confront her about what she did, because I know she’ll deny the motivation. Which means she’ll take satisfaction in lying about it and knowing how much it really bothered me after all.

  It’s far more satisfying for me not to confront her about it, denying her the satisfaction of knowing it burrowed under my skin. It’s the only weapon I currently have against the narcissist.

  I’m getting the feeling Carter and I will likely get along well this year.

  “Not to get ahead of myself,” I say, “but if things go okay this year, mind me calling dibs on you as a roommate next year?”

  He smiles. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

  The cashier finally rings me out and I pay for my stuff using my debit card. I try to hand Carter a twenty, the only cash I have on me, but he waves me off.

  “It’s okay. If I couldn’t afford it, I wouldn’t do it. Another benefit of this is I have very little in expenses. Besides school, I have my cell phone and car insurance.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. I’m drawing a disability pension right now, and I have the stipend from my scholarship. VA takes care of my medical. I’m okay.”

  Back at the dorm I help him carry everything inside, trying to grab the heaviest bags myself since he’s the one who bought it all.

  All the cold stuff he bought fits neatly in the two small fridges in our room.

  Well, Carter makes it neatly fit. I suspect if I’d tried putting it away it wouldn’t have worked.

  “Bring me one of your empty totes,” he says.

  I do, and the rest of our non-perishables fit in that, with plenty of room for it to sit next to the fridges and still be out of our way.

  His voice drops. “Once we get to know the others, then maybe we can store our stuff in the big fridge in the kitchen. I don’t want to have to drop into asshole mode our first weekend here because someone ate our shit.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me.”

  He toes off his sneakers. “I go for a run most mornings, if you’d like to join me. Let me clarify—I go out every morning. Might be more of a slow stroll than an actual run tomorrow, depending on my pain. I need to scope out the exercise room in this dorm and see if I like it, or if I’ll have to go over to the gym. I’ll probably do weights or machines some mornings if I can’t manage a walk or run. I get bored on a treadmill.”

  I’ve been wanting to get into an exercise routine and this sounds perfect. “Thanks. I’d like that.” I find myself…I don’t want to use the word “clinging,” but there really isn’t a better word.

  I’m already clinging to Carter.

  Except I don’t have siblings—who I actually know—my parents are worthless, and I really don’t have any close friends.

  Carter’s good with it, right? Has kind of already adopted me as a little brother. That makes it okay.

  Doesn’t it?

  * * * *

  Carter hits the shower while I’m catching up on Facebook and e-mail. I picked a dorm this year because my scholarship would pay for it, and if I wanted an apartment—or a better dorm room—I’d have to get a job to afford the difference.

  I’m not going to risk my grades to do that, and it’s my good luck I’m rooming with Carter.

  When Carter re-enters the room, he’s shirtless, hair damp, has a towel draped over his shoulders, and is wearing loose shorts. I get a look at his back again as he returns to his side of the room. I now see the scars extend under the waistband of his shorts and make a reappearance down the backs of his thighs and calves.

  “How long were you in the hospital after it happened?” I ask.

  He glances my way. “That’s an interesting question to lead wi
th.”

  “Why?”

  He settles on the end of his bed. I’m sitting on the far end of mine. Like this, we can see each other around the bookshelves and desks that usually provide a natural privacy screen between the beds.

  “Most people assume there’s some sort of story attached to it. Like they want to hear violence porn or something. And the answer is six months. Another two in a rehab facility before I was discharged.”

  He scrubs the towel over his short brown hair. “I applied to college while I was still going through rehab, started working on that almost as soon as I was transferred from the hospital into the rehab center.”

  I do the mental math. “Wow. That means you were injured—”

  “Less than two years ago, yeah.” He smiles. “I don’t do well bored. Kind of a family trait.”

  “Would you still be in the Army if you hadn’t been injured?”

  He studies me for a long moment. “I don’t honestly know. I didn’t want to be career like my dad and brothers, but I thought I’d be in a little longer than I was. I had always planned to go to college and be an attorney after I got out.”

  “What kind of law do you want to practice?”

  “Something that pays well.” He smirks. “Maybe go into politics, working for campaigns. You?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. I want to help people. Make a difference.” I lean against the bookshelves. “I mean, obviously, I want to be able to support myself. But I don’t want to be some ambulance chaser, or trying to get people out of traffic tickets. Maybe go into environmental or civil rights law or something. I don’t know.”

  Carter leans back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “That sounds very specific.”

  “I’m not fond of my step-father.”

  He doesn’t uncross his arms, but he makes a small gesture with his left hand, indicating for me to continue.

  “Austin works for one of those really big-ass law firms. You’ve probably seen the ads on TV or heard them on the radio. Have their own 1-800 number, offices all over the state, and even up in Georgia and Alabama. Listening to him talk at home, you can tell he doesn’t give a shit about the people he’s representing. His favorite clients are corporations who basically pay him to keep them legal, or to get them out of jams for the least amount of money possible. That’s not the kind of attorney I want to be.”