“Don’t get on my side,” Rafe growls, buckling in. “I’m sick of you getting in my space dude. You do it on the court, you do it at home.” He heaves a frustrated breath. “God, I can’t wait to get out of here.”
Donnie wilts a little, and I notice he takes extra care not to cross the center of the backseat. He stares out the window to cover his hurt, his eyes bright.
“Hey, guys,” I say with false cheerfulness.
They both grunt, neither looking up. Sighing, I give up, waiting for my turn to pull out of the car pool and onto the main street that will feed out onto the highway. My phone vibrates, and I check it absently, a text from Livvie managing to pull a genuine smile to my lips.
Livvie: Did I tell you Hank got the neighbors’ Jack Russell Terrier pregnant? They just called to let us know the last puppy is available for adoption if we want it. I’m having the hardest time convincing Ben and Cole we don’t need the last one. Save me!!!!!!
I peer at my sullen brothers in the backseat and make an impulsive decision. Ten minutes later, I pull up to Livvie’s house.
“What are we doing here?” Rafe asks. “I’m hungry and I want to go home.”
“You’ll see,” I respond, unbuckling and swinging out of the front seat. I think I need this as much as they do.
Hank, the proud father, a smush-faced Boston Terrier whose whiter in the face now than black, struts up to us and winds around my legs. I squat down to scratch behind his ears. “Hey, handsome.”
Livvie appears on the porch. “Thank God, you’re here,” she says, holding a squirming mass of fur in her arms. “They were about to riot.”
“What’s that?” Donnie asks, coming to stand beside me.
I turn to him, glancing at Rafe, who is now at full attention, and say, “We’re picking up our puppy.”
The boys’ attention snaps to me and for a moment they’re absolutely stunned silent. By this time Livvie’s reached the bottom step and placed the exuberant puppy on the ground. It bounds toward us at full speed and by the time it reaches us, Rafe and Donny are bending down and loving on it with excited sounds that remind me more of kids than two surly teenagers. Cole squeals and bounds down the stairs to join them, the three of them sporting matching smiles.
As I watch them, I soak in the scene and try to forget about everything else.
Jack
I keep most of my tools and a hell of a lot of materials from Dad’s various remodels throughout the years in Ben and Livvie’s shed. Mostly because there’s no-fucking-where to store them at the gym and no point in keeping them now that I’ve set the ball in motion for reenlistment. There’ll be a bit of a waiting period while I finalize things with the gym and get paperwork and class dates settled with the Corps, then I’ll be outta here.
But until then, I have promises to keep. And I’ll damn well keep them if it’s the last thing I do, even if it’s just to make a point. Or shove my indifference in her face.
Part of me wants to see her face when I drive up. See if it shocks her that my balls are big enough to confront her after her confession. Part of me wants to see if there’ll be a chink in her armor now, something, anything that will let me see through this act she’s got going on.
But most of me just wants to punish her for it. And that’s the part of me that scares me the most.
“What are you doing out here so early?” Livvie calls from the porch, clutching an oversized coffee cup between two palms.
It’s barely dawn. The sky hasn’t even lightened with the rising sun yet. She flicks on the porch light, flooding the lawn with its yellow glow.
I shoulder the planks of wood and wipe the beads of sweat clouding my vision with my free hand. “Got some work to do on Sofie’s house.”
A smile curls behind the lip of the coffee cup. “Is that so?”
Tossing the wood in the back of the truck, I say, “Stop. I’m not in the mood for that shit Livvie. This isn’t a goddamn dating game.”
“Sure, sure,” she says, still smiling. “Because the ass crack of dawn is when most people like to get up and do some handiwork for random people.”
I lift another set of planks and glare at her. “Or maybe some people work for a living and only have so much spare time.”
Her smile dies and I feel a hollow pang of guilt. “The hell’s wrong with you?” she asks, coming down the porch steps. When I don’t answer, she grips my shoulder, forcing me to face her even though the weight of four planks makes the movement cumbersome. “Hey,” she says, all joking aside. “What’s going on?”
I shift the weight of the planks. “Nothing. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a jerk.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure it comes naturally to you, but that’s not it. Something’s up.”
“Not my business to talk about, Liv. I’m not really in the mood for share and tell.” I skirt her inquiring gaze and drop the last load into the truck bed.
I flip up the door and get to the driver’s side, but Livvie meets me there, her brow furrowed. “Is there something I should know?” she asks carefully. There’s a skitter of tension underneath her voice and the big brother in me automatically ruffles her hair to knock it away.
“No, I’m just in a mood is all.”
“Are you sure? Is there something I can do to help?”
“No.” Nothing she can do anyway. “Day of blood and sweat should make it all go away.”
Livvie grimaces. “Guys are so weird. I bet a million bucks you’d feel so much better if you opted for a mani-pedi and a massage.”
“Maybe next time.” I steal a sip of her coffee and make a face as the overly-sweet taste hits my tongue.
“That’s what you get for stealing,” Livvie says.
Nudging her shoulder, I step up into the truck. “I’ll see you later.”
I’m nearly to Sofie’s house when I realize I forgot my copy of her house key on my kitchen counter. I’d taken it off of my key ring in a fit of rage after the last time I was there and tossed it. Cursing myself, my temper flaring, I flip a bitch and head back to the gym.
Friday mornings aren’t usually all that busy, but there are a couple cars in the lot. I stride into the gym, glancing around at the workout area and see a couple guys on the machines and one in the ring. Not paying much attention to them, I climb the stairs to the attic I converted into a little apartment.
It’s not much, just a studio with a futon that doubles as my bed, a kitchenette I’ve never actually used aside from nuking the occasional plate of take-out, and a stall shower with a sink. The only other thing in the place besides the bare essentials is a dresser and a big-screen T.V. All of my worldly possessions could fit in the duffle bag I’ve got stored in the only closet. I grab the key from the counter and fly back down the stairs.
I skim over the gym again by rote and do a double take when I recognize the guy sparring in the ring.
When I was stationed in Iraq and shit was going down, time would speed up. Life-threatening decisions were made on the fly, with only seconds to consider the options at hand. But now, when I look at the man who stole my future, time slows down. I rub a hand across the itch on my neck and roll my shoulders to dispel the tension coiling there.
He doesn’t notice me, doesn’t look up from his opponent, and I’m glad for it because I’m not sure what I’d do if he did. He’s a friend, well, he was a friend. A guy I used to spar with, hang out with. The thought of him with his hands on Sofie sends a flash of red over my vision. I stand there for a few more minutes, frozen, until a group of trainees nudges me aside.
Tearing my gaze away from him, I force one foot in front of the other until I’m inside my truck and pulling out of the parking lot.
“Jack!” Donnie shrieks, jumping from the car and racing across the front yard. “Wait until you see what Sofie got us!”
I drop the board I’d just yanked from the porch on top of the pile of rotten wood and wipe the sweat dripping from my forehead. “Hey, Donnie-boy. Careful there, these
still have nails in them.” I hold up a hand and ward him away from the woodpile. “What’d your sister get you?”
Rafe ambles up with a rare smile, his arms full of squirming puppy. “We got a dog!”
Scratching it’s ears, I say, “I see that. Awesome, guys.”
“Isn’t he cute?” Donnie asks.
“He’s a she,” Sofie corrects, coming up to lay a hand on Donnie’s shoulder. She turns her attention to the boys. “Why don’t you guys take her to the back yard and see if she needs to use the bathroom?”
“She means she wants to talk to Jack in private,” Rafe says.
“Backyard,” Sofie replies firmly.
The boys laugh and disappear into the house. I turn to Sofie, passing the hammer from hand to hand. “What is it, Sof? I’ve got stuff to do here.”
She tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “I thought we’d come to the agreement that you didn’t need to do this.”
I turn and grab a handful of nails and line up the new board. “I didn’t say that.”
“It was implied,” she says. “There’s no need for you to fix everything around here.”
“I promised your mom,” I respond.
“And I’m sure she’d appreciate it, but I’m also sure there are other things you could be doing with your time. You don’t owe me any favors and I can take care of myself.”
“And the boys.”
“And the boys,” she adds.
I hammer the nails into place while I chew on my response. “No matter what’s between us, I’m gonna handle my promises.”
She switches her purse from one shoulder to the other. “I know. I’m just trying to give you an out here, you know?”
“I’m a grown man. I don’t need an out.”
“Fine,” she says and walks away.
I have the briefest desire to grab her by the arm, to demand an explanation, but I shake it off, focusing on the board in my hands.
For the next three hours, I rip out rotten boards from the porch and replace them with new ones. By the time the sun starts to set over the trees, I’ve nearly finished the entire south side of the wraparound, and I’m covered in sweat and sawdust. I stripped my shirt off a while back and I have the twinge from sunburn for my efforts.
She’d opened the front windows to let in the fresh air. I don’t blame her. It’s a beautiful day. There’s a gentle breeze stirring the scents of pine and freshly cut grass. But I’m more interested in the things inside the house than the pleasant weather.
The boys bring the dog inside, a stampede of sneakers squeaking against the floor and cheerful barks. They stomp through the house to the living room and settle beneath one of the open windows.
“What should we name her?” I hear Donnie ask.
I uncap a bottle of lukewarm water and chug, taking a seat on one of the new steps to rest, but mostly just to listen to them. To torture myself with all the things that could have been mine, but aren’t.
“Terminator?” Rafe suggests.
I muffle my choked laughter in my forearm. God, that kid. If Sofie were a boy, she’d have turned out exactly like him. Stubborn, quick-to-anger, and loyal to the bone. I guess that’s the rub, then. She was supposed to be one of the people I could count on. The one person I’d have bet would be there for me through everything.
As if she knows I’m there, thinking about her and, damn it, missing her, she says, “You’re such a dork.”
My stomach clenches. How many times had she said exactly those words to me over the years?
“How about Rosie?” Donnie says quietly.
I hang my head recognizing the naked longing in his voice. Their mother’s middle name was Rose.
A tense silence descends, broken by the cheerful yaps from the puppy. Then the floorboards creak as someone crosses the room.
Sofie says, just as softly, “That’s a good name, Donnie. I like that.”
“Yeah?”
Rafe clears his throat, barks out a laugh. “Still think Terminator would be better, but Rosie will work. Huh, girl? You like that?”
“Dinner’s almost ready. I’m going to go check on Jack while you guys wash up.”
“You should invite him to dinner!” Donnie chimes in.
“Aren’t you just full of suggestions,” Sofie says.
“I’ll go ask him.”
I lurch to my feet and grab the hammer to make myself look busy. Rafe rounds the corner, Sofie following close behind.
“Hey, Jack. Sofie’s making dinner. You should stay. It’s only fair since he fixed the porch and all,” he throws over his shoulder at Sofie, who tugs her thin jacket around her shoulders against the nonexistent chill.
I hitch my hip against the railing. “Not sure that’s such a good idea, bud.”
Rafe frowns. “We’ve got plenty of food. You used to come over all the time. Did we do something wrong? We aren’t sick anymore.”
Ah, man. I rub at the ache in my chest and put a hand on his shoulder. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I just think it’s important you spend time with your sister is all.”
He stares up at me, his brown eyes wide. “We can spend time with both of you. Besides, it’s mom’s famous spaghetti. You love her spaghetti.”
I peer up at Sofie. “Did she make it?”
“Hey,” Sofie says. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We helped. Made sure she didn’t burn anything,” Donnie offers.
I glance at Sofie. She catches my eye, but only for a second. She’s pale beneath the color of her olive skin, and she must have wiped away all of her makeup because I can see dark circles beneath her eyes. Concern wars with the lingering anger and ten years of loving her wins out. Looking down at Donnie, I ruffle his hair. “Sure, kid. Let’s go make the table.”
Sofie stops me with a hand on my arm. “Jack—”
“Don’t,” I say sharply. “Dinner and then I’ll be gone.”
Her fingers fall limply to her side. “Fine,” she says, but the words lack her usual fight.
My eyes follow her as she brushes past, a furrow wedging between my brows. What the hell?
I finish tossing the rest of the old boards onto a pile and load them in the back of my truck. After I store my tools in the toolbox, I tug on a relatively clean shirt from the backseat and head inside.
The scent of garlic and tomato sauce on the air isn’t tinged with anything charred, so that’s a good sign. I follow the wriggly puppy down the hall and into the kitchen. The boys are setting the table and Sofie is stirring a steaming pot on the stove. I stop in the doorway, clutching the frame as my dreams of our future and this picture-perfect present collide.
“Can I have some more dressing for my salad?” One of the kids asks. I’m too busy staring at Sofie’s ass as she bends to take out the garlic bread to notice which or what she says in response.
Staying is a bad idea. I start to offer an excuse, but Rafe shouts, “Jack, come sit by me!” and I find myself serving up pasta to both boys and filling my own plate with salad and spaghetti with Sofie right in front of me.
The rest of dinner passes in a flurry of conversation where Sofie scolds the boys for feeding the dog from the table, they rattle on about their day at school, and Sofie tells them about her new job at work. I try to join in when they ask me questions, but for the most part I just sit back and watch them.
Soon dinner is over and the boys clean the table then race off to fight over the T.V., leaving Sofie and I alone in the kitchen with tension as thick as the history between us.
She gets to her feet with a stack of dishes in her hands, the silverware rattles as her fingers tremble. I get to my feet and take the plates from her, noting her sharp inhalation when I move closer.
In spite of the mistakes she’d made ten years ago, she’d still been my best friend. Placing the plates in the sink full of soapy water, I turn to find her leaning against the kitchen table, her fingers gripping the edge. “What’s going on with you?”<
br />
She wraps her arms around her waist. “Nothing. Just wondering why you’re here is all.”
“Yeah, so am I.” After all this time. What the hell am I still doing here?
“I don’t think you should come back,” she says.
“And why’s that?”
“I just don’t think it’s good for the boys.” She tries to meet my eyes, but she can’t, her gaze darting up and over my shoulder and then back down to the floor.
I scoff. “How would you know what’s good for the boys?”
“It’s my job now to know those things, Jack.” She gulps down a breath. “I’m the one with custody. You aren’t their father. This pretend family thing isn’t good for them. It gives them the wrong idea.”
“You mean it gives me the wrong idea,” I correct.
She pushes off from the table. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Of course it’s what you meant. It’s what you said.”
Pressing a hand against her forehead she says, “Jack, you’re twisting this around.”
“No,” I reply. “No, I don’t think I am. If anything, I’m finally seeing things clearly for the first time in a long time.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You slept with one of my friends, Sofie.” She flinches, her face flashing white, but I brush that to the side. “I was gonna marry you. Give you everything. I can’t even—fuck, I can’t even wrap my mind around it. So yeah, dinner was a mistake.” I toss the dishrag onto the counter with a wet plop and stride to the hall. With one last glance back, I say, “This was a mistake.”
She sucks in a deep breath, but over that, over the sound of our past crumbling, I hear a gasp from the hallway and my heart sinks. I turn and find Donnie standing there, his arms full of a squirming Rosie. His mouth is gaping open, his lips trembling. He squeezes the dog closer to his chest and breathes heavily.
Rafe comes up behind him, his brows furrowed just like his sister’s. “What’s the deal, dude? I thought we were gonna race.”
First to Fight Box Set: Books 1-5 Page 47