Nobody Knows (SWAT Generation 2.0 Book 11)

by Lani Lynn Vale

  I snorted.

  “Bobo was a military working dog like me,” I acknowledged. “Originally, I was supposed to be the one with him. I’d gotten him from a man that tries to place them into homes—the ones that don’t look like they’re going to make a great match with a regular family. When we got him, Bobo was a ‘no dogs, no kids’ placement. He’d suffered great trauma both during the war and after he got home. You heard about him and Dillan?”

  Dillan belonged to Booth, and Bobo had saved her life when an obsessed man that couldn’t back the fuck off tried to kill her when he couldn’t have her for himself. Bobo had saved her life twice.

  Once in an alley where she was being strangled, and again at the vet’s office after he’d gotten shot.

  Needless to say, it wasn’t a hardship on my end to take him home.

  He deserved to live the rest of his life in happiness.

  “You didn’t want to keep him?” she asked after a while.

  “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to keep him,” he said. “It was because he took one look at my grandmother and found a kindred spirit in her, I guess. She loves on him, keeps him happy, and ultimately has no one but him in her life. Which, I think, was what he needed. He was happy with me, but I believe that we were too much alike—both too broken to help each other heal.”

  She looked down at her feet as she walked across the parking lot toward my bike.

  “That’s sad,” she admitted.

  It was.

  But he had a somewhat happy ending… unlike me.

  Our drive home was fast and painless, and the entire time, I tried not to overthink how good it felt to have Sierra’s fingers plastered against my stomach. Or how great it felt to have her body pressed to mine.

  In fact, I was so relaxed by the time we got home that it never occurred to me that my parents would still be there until I was literally pulling up into the driveway and saw their car.

  “Fuck,” I grumbled as I pulled right up to the front steps and shut the bike off.

  “They’re still here,” she mused as she got off the bike, using her hand on my shoulder for balance.

  I got off with her and gestured toward the door when I saw their car doors opening.

  “Hurry,” I suggested.

  She took the steps two at a time and was opening the door by the time I’d thoroughly glared my parents down.

  My mother’s face was an expressionless mask while my father’s was angry as I closed the front door behind us.

  “I’m going to let Axe outside,” she said softly as she made her way toward the back door.

  Only, Axe—my Maxie—wasn’t following her. His face was pressed up against my leg as he thoroughly shook his hindquarters in excitement.

  “He loves you,” she said softly. “I think he missed you.”

  “I think he probably thinks that I abandoned him,” I admitted. “My parents are such assholes.”

  She looked at him thoughtfully, studying how Maxie didn’t so much as acknowledge her.

  “I want to say that I’m sorry,” she said. “That I hate that they did that to you, but Axe—your Maxie? He’s brought a lot of joy to my life. I love him.”

  I loved that she loved him.

  “If I could’ve chosen anyone to take care of him while I was away, it would be you,” I told her.

  The truthfulness of my words rang in the air, and she smiled faintly.

  “Let’s go, Axe.” I put emphasis on the name that she’d chosen. “I have to admit, though. You couldn’t have gotten closer to his name if you tried.”

  She grinned as she followed me to the back door.

  Seconds later, Axe was going outside and doing his business.

  “Bobo uses the front yard,” she said as she watched Axe. “Axe uses the back. They’ve crossed paths once, and only growled at each other, but I swear my heart was in my throat the entire time.”

  I could imagine.

  Bobo was a trained military dog. Axe, though he could probably hold his own, wasn’t.

  There would’ve been no contest.

  “Y’all are doing good,” I admitted. “Much better than I gave y’all credit for.”

  She smiled at me just as there was a knock on the adjoining door that separated Sierra’s place from Grans.

  I walked over to open it, unsurprised to find her slipping through the door and closing it in Bobo’s alert face.

  “Grans,” I said. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  She beamed at me. “It is, isn’t it?”

  I grunted something under my breath and walked to the back door, opening it.

  As I did, my forearm brushed Sierra’s breast, and both of our breaths caught.

  She didn’t acknowledge it, though, so I chose not to either.

  Instead, she turned and walked over to my grans before wrapping her up in her arms. “You’re a conniving, smart, exceptionally awesome woman.”

  Grans laughed. Actually, it was more like a cackle, but I was so used to it that I went with laugh just so it wouldn’t be creepy.

  “I knew that it wouldn’t take him long to see you,” she admitted.

  I felt my head start to shake and stopped it before she could see how much she amused me.

  “Now if you’d only met him earlier and convinced him to have a baby with you…” she mused.

  Sierra’s eyes went comically wide at that comment.

  “I—” Sierra started, but I interrupted.

  “Grans, did you know that this is the girl that I’ve been writing to since she was in high school?” I asked as there was an all-too-familiar knock on the door.

  “What?” Grans gasped as she turned to look between Sierra and me. “This is the girl that convinced you to come back to Kilgore?”

  Now that hadn’t been something I’d told her.

  “What?” Sierra asked.

  And before I could interrupt and tell her that it was nothing, Grans started talking.

  “After his imprisonment, Malachi wasn’t originally going to come back here. There are a lot of memories here, mostly bad.” She gestured at the door where my parents stood waiting beyond it. “And he knew, of course, that I would go wherever he went. But he came back and stayed in Kilgore because he knew that you were somewhere in the area. That you might need him one day and he could make it here fast if he stayed where he knew you might be located.”

  Sierra’s shoulders slumped slightly, and her face softened as she looked at my grandmother.

  “That’s really… sweet,” she admitted. “I didn’t know that. Thank you for telling me.” She turned accusing eyes my way. “You wouldn’t have told me that, would you?”

  I wouldn’t.

  She didn’t need to know that she was a major part of the reason that I’d made it out of that hell hole in the first place.

  She didn’t need to bear that kind of responsibility.

  “Now, let’s go open that door,” Grans ordered as she walked forward. “Get this shit over with.”

  Sierra’s face changed to amused as she went to her living room couch and sat down.

  The couch was some hugely massive, likely very comfortable, thing. Something that my parents wouldn’t have had in their formal living room if they had nooses hanging around their necks.

  I fucking liked it.

  A lot.

  I also loved the dog bed that she had in the corner—yet another thing my parents wouldn’t be caught dead having in their house.

  Grans opened the door and tried to block the opening with her body, but as usual, my father just barged in, not caring that he wasn’t invited.

  “We’ve been out here for hours, Mother,” he said stiffly, taking a look around.

  My mother did the same, scooting in behind my father, and came to a halt when she saw the dog.

  She glanced at it with no recognition on her face, then sniffed and turned her eyes to the not-so-formal-anymore living room.

  She curled her lip up in distaste.


  That lip curled farther when she spotted Sierra on the couch.

  I wanted to punch her in the throat.

  Sadly, I knew that was wrong and I wouldn’t do it in a million years. But the thought was there.

  “Hours,” my mother said, dismissing Sierra to stare at my grandmother. “How are you, dear?”

  I rolled my eyes at her overtly sweet use of pet names.

  “I’d be better if you wouldn’t barge into someone else’s house. This isn’t my house anymore. And I told you that it wasn’t over the phone. Let’s go outside and we’ll discuss this there.”

  “It’s hot outside.” My mother waved a hand in front of her face as if she was sitting outside for the last hour and not in the air-conditioned car.

  “It’s not. It’s actually a quite nice day,” Grans disagreed.

  Of course, my father talked over her like he always did.

  “Our house was destroyed by a hurricane,” my father murmured, his eyes moving around just like my mother’s had. “We had to come home while the renovations are taking place. There was nowhere for us to stay.”

  “There isn’t a place for you here anymore. As you can see, I rent this place out, and she signed an ironclad contract with me,” Grans said, sounding not the least bit apologetic as she looked my father in the eyes and lied.

  My mother turned to Sierra then.

  “Now,” she said sweetly, pouring on all that sweet, southern charm that she could so easily fake. “I’m sure that you don’t want to see two elderly people displaced, now do you?”

  “You’re not seriously trying to kick my pregnant girlfriend out of her house, are you?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest and staring at my mother as if I’d never seen her before.

  But I’d seen her.

  Oh, how I’d seen her.

  Which was terrible because a mother was supposed to be sweet, and caring, and loving.

  My mother? She was none of those things.

  The day that I’d left for bootcamp? They didn’t see me off. They didn’t come to my graduation from boot camp or my swearing-in ceremony. The day that I graduated high school? I spent it with Luca’s family and not my own because mine had decided to go on a cruise. The day that I graduated bootcamp? Again, Luca’s family and my grans, who had driven eighteen hours all by herself when she hated driving.

  Hell, now that I thought about it, I barely ever saw them very much. When I did, it was to receive a reprimand, for them to remind me what a disappointment I was, or both.

  “I’m… what?” My mother gasped, her hand going to her throat as if she couldn’t quite believe the news.

  “Congrats, you’re going to be a grandmother. Would you like him or her to call you ‘grandma’ or ‘grandmother?’ Grans is, of course, forever taken.” I rolled my eyes hard. “Now, it’d be super if you could get out.”

  My mother’s face was fucking priceless.

  The look of abject horror on her face was awe-inspiring.

  “I’d… I think that she could call me Marilyn,” she admitted. “If she or he had to address me at all.”

  I grumbled something under my breath, and the little giggle-ass on the couch couldn’t hold her laughter in any longer.

  I shot her an amused scowl—one that was new for me seeing as those happy emotions didn’t usually happen for me.

  “What are you naming her?” Grans asked. “Marilyn and Deon?”

  “Actually,” Sierra said. “I was thinking Lucille. I could call her Lucy for short.”

  Grans gasped in shock.

  I looked at Sierra.

  She knew Grans’ name.

  I’d spoken about my grandmother, Lucille, thousands of times over the course of our letters.

  The fact that she was saying that meant that she was actually thinking that.

  “Lucy is an older name. You should probably go with something newer, more modern age, so she’ll fit in. It was always so embarrassing for me to be named after my mother.” My mother flipped her hair as if she hadn’t just insulted my girl’s choices on names.

  “Why are you here again?” I asked, pushing my annoyance hard so that I didn’t lash out in anger like I wanted to.

  My mother crossed her arms over her chest.

  But it was my father who answered.

  “I’ve already explained why we’re here,” he said. “We’re coming home, and we want to stay in our house.”

  “It’s not really your house, nor has it ever been your house,” I pointed out.

  Axe came up to press his nose into my hand, and I looked at my grans in thanks that she’d let him in.

  She winked at me.

  Damn, she was something.

  To be able to stand in the presence of Marilyn and Deon Stokes and not shed a tear when they were playing the poor, pitiful me card? That took guts.

  But, I guessed that it helped that she knew the type of people that my parents were.

  “We better go or we’re going to be late,” Sierra said as she stood up, totally and completely ignoring my parents. “Grans, are you coming with us?”

  Oh, man.

  I was marrying this girl.

  She didn’t know it yet, but she was already mine.

  “Sure am, honey,” Grans said. “I’m sorry, Marilyn and Deon. We’re going to have to ask you to leave, as we have a prior engagement.”

  My mother and father were pissed as Grans ushered them out of the house.

  I watched from the kitchen window as they walked down the path instead of cutting across the yard to their car.

  Once they got to their car, they opened it up, got in, and just sat there.

  “We’re actually going to have to leave,” Grans said. “Or they’re going to just come back.”

  I knew that was right.

  “Fine, we can go,” I said as I gestured to the front door. “We’ll just go to my place.”

  “Hey,” she said softly. “Since you have a truck and all…”

  I looked at her with raised eyebrows.

  “It happens that,” Sierra said as she made her way into the room with shoes on. “I have a few errands I need to run. One of which is picking up a new recliner that just came in from the furniture store.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Bitches see nice weather and want to day drink and BBQ. It’s me. I’m bitches.

  -Text from Sierra to Malachi

  SIERRA

  Sierra,

  Today was not a good day. Let’s just say that, on a scale of one to ten, it was a 22 on the shit scale.

  We haven’t taken a shower in so fucking long that I won’t even know what to do when we finally get to.

  So anyway, they tell all of us that we’re gonna get one today. Only, ten minutes before we are, they announce that we’re actually going out on patrol instead. It was the biggest fucking let down in all of history.

  Then, when we get out there, the Humvee breaks, and we have to hoof it back to base, ten fucking miles. Did you know that sand gets in places, no matter how hard you try to make it not?

  Needless to say, if I never see a grain of fucking sand again after this, it’ll be for the best.

  Hope your day is better than mine,

  Gabriel

  • • •

  “You’ve never driven a standard transmission before?” he asked in surprise.

  I shook my head. “No. So that’s why I can’t drive your truck. You’ll just have to go to the furniture store with me.”

  He frowned ferociously. “I don’t do furniture shopping.”

  “I’ll just ask my dad.” I scrunched up my nose.

  Though, that sounded like the very last thing that I wanted to do.

  I loved my dad, but to borrow his truck I’d then have to deal with the Spanish Inquisition, and that wasn’t really something I wanted to do today.

  “No, he’ll take us,” Grans said from the back seat where Axe was cuddled up close to her. “He’s just a whiner. Let him whine.”

  I g
lanced with amusement at Malachi’s grandmother, Grans, and flashed a smile her way. “So that’s all I have to do? Just let him whine and he’ll take us?”

  “He’s a big boy. He knows how to do the hard things—like shopping—without too much bickering.” She paused and leveled me with a look. “But knowing how to drive a manual transmission is something that you’ll be learning, too. Today, actually. I don’t see my son leaving any time soon, we have lots of time to practice.”

  I didn’t argue with her, mainly because she was right. Having that skill would be helpful—like the times that I wanted to drive my brother’s or my dad’s vehicles, but they were conveniently manual transmissions and therefore, undrivable by me.

  Which, might I add, sounded like a convenient excuse.

  “Malachi,” I said after he started driving again. “Why did you get a manual transmission? Was it because it was cheaper and easier to find?”

  He looked over at me in surprise. “Cheaper? Not really. Easier to find? Hell no. I had to wait for this truck to come in from New Hampshire. Nobody wants a five-speed anymore.”

  “Six-speed,” Grans piped in from the back seat. “This ain’t no five-speed.”

  I snickered at the look of exasperation on Malachi’s face when it came to his grandmother’s quips.

  “Six-speed,” he corrected. “But no. Not easier, and not cheaper. Why do you ask?”

  I gave him a sour look.

  “My brother and my dad both have one,” I admitted. “When I asked them why they got it, I think it was because they didn’t want me borrowing their trucks.”

  “Why would you need to borrow their trucks?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Sometimes because I need potting soil… or mulch. Other times because I need to go pick up a piece of furniture that I ordered off of a furniture reconstruction group.”

  “Either they don’t want you driving their trucks, or they just want you to be reliant on them.” He looked over at me. “You’re fairly independent, so I doubt it’s because they want you reliant on them.”

  I scrunched up my nose in response.

  “I might or might not have had an accident or two in my time,” I admitted as he took the road that led to the Lay-Z-Boy store. “But I have to point out here that none of those times were my fault. They’re always someone else’s fault.”