Table of Contents
Title Page
Sonata by Moonlight
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
A Little Night Music
Chapter One
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
“I’ll cook lasagna.” She pulled out all the stops. He could never resist her grandmother’s special recipe. The boys had probably eaten a ton of that delectable dish back when they were playing football. Carb loading and just plain old growing boys.
He was weakening. That was a good sign. He’d come.
“Saturday night. Six okay? I don’t like to eat late in the evening.” She winked. “Diet tip. Eat too much too late, and you wake up hungry as a horse the next morning.”
Brodie laughed. “I don’t think you need to worry about diet tips any more. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working. You look great, really great… It’s nice to see you again, Ally.” His voice softened, and her traitorous pulse kicked into a fast tempo. Brodie was as dangerous to her heart now as he had been in high school.
She smiled with pleasure when he leaned down and gave her a gentle peck on the cheek. Allison inhaled his familiar citrusy fragrance. He smelled so good. She’d never forget that smell—all Brodie.
Her heart thumped once in her chest, and a cold shot of pure adrenaline pumped through her body. He still had the power to turn her heart to mush.
“It’s really nice to see you again, Ally Cat,” he whispered in a gravelly voice.
Her face grew warm. One more curse from the past she hadn’t outgrown. Flustered, her words stumbled. “S-six. We can get reacquainted then.”
He laughed under his breath, and chucked her under the chin. It was the laugh she remembered from years gone by, full of mischief and oh, so beguiling, If she wasn’t careful, he’d steal her heart all over again.
Sonata
by
Moonlight
by
A. E. Easterlin
Heroes and Half-Notes, Book One
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Sonata by Moonlight
COPYRIGHT © 2015 by A. E. Easterlin
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Kristian Norris
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Champagne Rose Edition, 2015
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0288-1
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0289-8
Heroe and Half-Notes, Book One
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To my family:
Shelly for her encouragement, Bart for his support,
and Caitlin, who shared my dream.
To Cassidy and Alexandra for their unconditional love.
And to the man I've loved for a lifetime—my husband.
You have always been my hero.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Nan Swanson for sharing my vision and to Stacy Holmes for not letting me get away with rookie mistakes. Also to the members of the Florida Romance Writers, local chapter of the Romance Writers of America, for their support and encouragement.
You have all been instrumental in helping me achieve my dream, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Prologue
Sonata quasi una Fantasia
Adagio sostenuto—sustained, controlled, subdued with feeling
Allison Chandler rushed through her final practice session of the day and scurried to her car. Brett had called, saying he was coming to stay the night. The man she loved more than anyone else on earth—her brother and best friend, the last of her family. Her personal hero. Stalwart protector. Most ardent supporter. She could hardly wait to see him in the flesh and make sure he was okay.
His voice had sounded tired, and not like himself. Off. She’d feed him, let him have a few drinks, relax and let it all hang out. That’s what they both needed—a little R&R, just the two of them, telling family stories, catching up, hanging out.
Brett needed a place to crash before joining his unit for a last deployment to the Middle East. If he could keep safe through this one last tour, they had it made. His duty done, he could come home, find a nice girl to settle down with, live a quiet, normal life, and get her some nieces and nephews to spoil.
Allison grinned as she checked her mirror and changed lanes. She was beyond excited to tell him about her upcoming European tour with the Juilliard String Quartet. All that hard work and Brett’s insistence on chaining her to the piano for hours on end to practice had finally paid off.
Life was going to be good. Brett would get out of the army, and she could quit being a worry wart every time she turned on the evening news. With her dream of being a concert pianist finally achieved, her future looked bright. Yeah, it was all good. In a few short months, they could be a family again. Live close. See each other often. She could help him wind down, become the brother she knew and loved once again, not the hardened warrior who’d seen too much bloodshed, done too many things that conflicted with his true nature—so gentle, so caring.
As she thought of how her brother had been before joining the army, a name from the past echoed in her brain…Brodie. No matter the years since she’d seen him—he was never far from her mind. Wonder where he is—what he’s doing. He and Brett enlisted together. Is he out? Home? She’d have to pump Brett. Surely he’d heard from his best friend.
Allison smiled to herself. Reconnecting with Brodie Miller—high school crush, nemesis, and hottest guy she’d ever known, might actually be possible. And didn’t that send a shiver from her head to her toes?
Yeah, life was good. And tonight she’d see Brett, see him with her own eyes, make sure he was in good shape, and weasel out intel on Brodie, the tall, sexy guy with his cute, crooked grin and teasing sparkle in his eye. Yum.
Brett, Allison, Brodie. The three of them together again. Allison turned on her signal and pulled into the parking garage of her apartment building, anticipation slamming into her as she parked and ran upstairs.
Yeah—life was good.
****
The doorbell rang just as Allison took the lasagna out of the oven. She slid it onto the hard surface of the stove, burning her hand in the process.
“Coming,” she hollered. Brett’s here. A big grin on her face, she sucked out the sting from the burn as she skipped to the door. He�
��d better appreciate her making his favorite meal after a long day preparing for the upcoming concert tour. If she knew her brother, he would.
Allison threw open the door and launched herself into her brother’s arms.
“Come here, you rascal. Give me some love,” she commanded, her heart pounding in excitement, her arms squeezing his big shoulders.
Brett stumbled back as they collided. “Geez, sis, what have you been eating? Trying to get back the freshman twenty you lost? Give a guy a break.”
“That’s just plain mean!” She slugged him in the arm. “Wow…the army has done a good job keeping you fit, I see. You took my twenty and turned them into solid muscle.”
Brett stepped inside and dropped his gear by the closet. “Yeah. Keeps the women happy.” He grinned.
“Any women I might know?” She raised her brows, hopeful.
“Not before I get home.” His face grew serious, and she peered into it. Something was off. His comment wasn’t unexpected, but the light, the soul light that was Brett, had dimmed since she saw him last. Her heart turned over in her chest, and she hurt for him. He’d carried so many burdens for so long it had taken a toll. Whatever it was, she’d get it out of him after they ate, after he’d had a few beers.
“You never know, love can tap you on the shoulder when you’re least expecting it,” she quipped.
“Look who’s talking,” he teased. “Miss I’m-too-busy-to-date.” His dark eyes narrowed. “You’re not still holding a torch for Brodie, are you?”
Silence.
“Ally—” he protested.
“I don’t have time to date. I’m too busy. Dinner’s ready. You want to wash up before we eat?” she interrupted before she could get a repeat of the standard lecture: Brodie wasn’t for her. Brodie wasn’t interested. Brodie wasn’t the right man for her. She needed to move on…and on and on and on. Too bad she couldn’t.
“Excellent way to change the subject, sis.” Brett inhaled through his nose. “Smells great. Haven’t had any homemade chow since the last time you cooked for me. Won’t have any until the next time you cook for me,” he added ruefully.
Allison pushed him toward the table, got him a cold brew, and served him a gigantic portion of lasagna. “So tell me. What’s the plan?”
Brett shrugged. “This is my last tour. Well, not really a complete tour. Just this one last mission. My discharge came through, but the colonel held it up. One last assignment with the guys and he’ll sign it. To tell you the truth, I probably wouldn’t be going on this mission if they didn’t need an explosives tech. I’m done, kid. Ready to be out.”
The way he sounded as he said those words pierced her heart. He was right; he was done. She could see from the look on his face, the sound of his voice, and the controlled stiffness of his body that her brother had given all he could.
She reached across the table, rubbing the tops of his rough, familiar hands with hers. “Are you okay? No bullshitting me, Brett. Are you up for another assignment?”
The expression in his eyes when his face lifted to hers sent a punch of dread straight to her stomach. No…no, he wasn’t okay. Far from it. But he was going, and she swallowed hard.
Brett dropped his fork beside the plate and stared into his half-eaten food. His hands fisted, white-knuckled, on the smooth, wooden surface. His voice tight and face pale, he pushed back the mask to reveal the man beneath.
“I’m going because they need me. Because that’s what me and my brothers do. But truth, Ally? I look into the mirror each morning and the face I see is mine. But I don’t know the man that owns that face. And that scares the shit out of me.”
“Oh, Brett!” She flew to his side and slipped into his lap. Hugging tightly to his neck, she whispered his name. “Can’t you stay? Can’t you get out of this mission somehow?”
“That’s not how it works.” His arms came slowly around her, and a hand rubbed comfortingly up and down her spine. “It’s my job, sweetheart.”
“Promise me you’ll be careful. Stay safe. Don’t take chances. I mean unnecessary chances. Hang on this one last time, and come home to me.”
Brett’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of her sides, and his gaze locked onto hers. “I promise, sis. I’ll hold it together a few months more. If you’ll promise me not to worry. I can’t do this knowing you’re living on eggshells, waiting for something to happen. I’m well trained and smart—I’m not going to let anything happen to me. You hold on to that thought, and I’ll be home before you know it.” More than a promise—a vow.
It didn’t help. The enemy didn’t care how well trained, smart, and careful you were. But she put on a brave face. He was right—he didn’t need to worry about her. A distraction like that could get him killed.
“Counting on it, brother. Counting on it. Love you.” She buried her face in his neck and held on for dear life. If anything happened to her brother, her life would be over. She’d lost her parents, grandparents—everyone who’d made her world what it was. She couldn’t lose him, too.
“Love you, too, sis. Love you, too. Now I need some shuteye. Got a blanket and pillow?”
“No way. I get the couch. You’re taking my bed. Who knows where you’ll be sleeping the next few months.”
“I can take the couch…”
“Brett.” She drew his name out, exasperated.
“Okay. I give. I know better than to argue when you use that tone on me. Your bed it is.”
He kissed her cheek, grabbed his gear, and closed the door to her bedroom behind him.
The smile faded from her face. Her brother was walking a tightrope. Wobbling on that tightrope. She hoped it wouldn’t break before she could take steps to make him better.
Allison heard him in the night. Moans built into screams. She flew to his room and found his body slick with sweat, and the bed wet with it.
“Brett,” she called, trying to shake him awake. He woke suddenly, eyes wide and wild, and grabbed her throat, choking, blocking the air from her lungs.
“Let me go, you’re hurting me! Brett…” she croaked, fighting to stay conscious.
Something must have penetrated the fog of his delusion. He let her go, shaking, horrified by what he’d done, and covered his face with his hands. It was then Allison finally understood the depth of the darkness. Her brother was sick; he needed help—what he didn’t need was a return to the battlefield.
She calmed him as best she could, her assurances that he was fine falling on deaf ears.
And in the morning, when she woke, he was gone, a soldiers’ call to duty stronger than a sister’s pleadings for reason. Should she notify his commander, or stay out of his business? Brett was his own man—he wouldn’t appreciate her interference. In the end, Allison decided all she could do was hope for the best and pray. And love him. Always love him.
Chapter One
Allison said her goodbyes at the airport. She and her fellow musicians had all flown to JFK on the same plane, sad to say farewell but glad to be home from their most recent tour. No more long nights on the road and meals eaten too late to be enjoyed. What an experience. A good one, and gratifying.
She’d enjoyed the accolades of hundreds, built a comfortable balance in her savings account, and received several offers for future engagements. In that respect it had been a rousing success. So why wasn’t she happy? Why so empty?
She was worried, that’s why. She’d kept in touch with Brett as much as possible, but it hadn’t been satisfactory, not like seeing him in person.
Hailing a cab, Allison leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. It should take only about thirty minutes or so to reach her apartment. She wanted to rest but couldn’t with her mind consumed by what lay ahead of her. The tour concluded, she could concentrate on Brett. He needed her.
He was home—for good this time, and temporarily staying at her place until he could decide where he wanted to settle. His physical injuries had healed. He was—as far as she knew—attending therapy session
s every week. So why couldn’t she shake the feeling that it wasn’t enough?
Allison had read every article, every book, listened to every interview about men who returned from the theater of war suffering Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. If he’d lost an arm or a leg, people would understand. An obvious injury. But the trauma to his brain, his psyche, his soul—that was invisible, and when an episode hit, it was with an element of surprise. He looked the same and, for the most part, functioned normally. But neither of them could predict what he would do or how he would act when an episode began, and the oral medications weren’t the answer. They only made it worse. Their life since his return? Difficult to understand; difficult to deal with.
Headaches, visual disturbances, nightmares, mood changes. He had it all. She had insisted he stay in her apartment, even though it was too small. She couldn’t bear to think of him on his own. It scared the bejesus out of her to think what he might do when he was in the throes of an episode.
She should be concentrating on her own career, but how could she? Brett had always been there for her. Always. She wouldn’t abandon him now. Not when he needed her most. There was no way she would schedule another tour and leave him to his own devices again. No. He needed her, and that was that. The music would have to wait.
Traffic backed up on the bridge. Allison pulled out her cell, scrolled to Brett’s contact information, and hit Call. It rang and rang and rang.
“Pick up, Brett,” she muttered under her breath. “Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.”
Nothing.
Maybe he was resting or out or something. Fatigue rolled over her in waves. The constant traveling, the rush of adrenaline from the performances, the endless flight over the ocean, customs, luggage, and now this traffic. She wanted to be home, home to her own bed, her own bathroom, and her own cooking—and to her brother, who needed her.
“Can you see anything?” she asked the taxi driver as they inched along even after the bridge was behind them.
“No,” he replied. In heavily accented English he continued, “Lots of flashing lights and fire trucks a few blocks ahead.” Then, “This where you’re going, miss?”
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