by J. A. Coffey
Milo narrowed his eyes. "You sure about that? My professional opinion says you're protesting a little too much."
"The hell." Jerry snorted and buried himself in another drink of beer. Milo had served his time in the military as well, learning some badass sharp-shooting skills. He got educated and had honed his people-reading skills, only to take a job as a small-town deputy. Some said it was a waste of talent. Jerry used to wonder the same thing, but now that he'd spent time serving his country, he understood Milo's craving for the quieter way of life.
Either way, he was pretty damn sure his friend had seen right through him. But there was no way he was admitting anything. "Can we just drink some beer and leave women out of it?"
"Here, here." Luke lifted his glass in a mocking toast. "Life is much simpler that way."
Jerry drained the last of his beer. "Tell you what, I have to go home before too long or my mom will be pissed. She's got this big family dinner planned. How about we meet back here later?" It was Friday night, and none of them had work in the morning.
"Luke and I were planning on staying here for dinner, and I'm pretty sure we'll be here when you get back," Milo replied.
Luke nodded his agreement. "Scott and Tyler will most likely stop by, too. Not much else going on. Scott owes me a game of pool."
"And Sierra's expecting me to be here to dance." Milo grinned. Out of the five of them, he was the biggest flirt.
Jerry left, happy with the knowledge he had somewhere to go later on. He expected his family's homecoming to be emotional, and knowing he had somewhere to escape to would make it bearable.
*****
Jerry's Camaro kicked up a fine layer of dust as he left the paved road and traveled down the long gravel and dirt drive to his parent's home. The old red-brick two-story home surrounded by oak trees and pines that were far older than he was had been his foundation. He'd had an upbringing most would covet. Two parents who still loved each other. Three brothers and a sister who had played together as much as they'd fought, and who'd grown up genuinely caring about one another. His grandparents had passed, but plenty of extended family still lived in the area, and they were all pretty close, too. More than anything, he wanted to continue that tradition with his own wife and kids.
The numerous trucks, cars and SUVs that lined his parents' drive were proof of the closeness of his family. They'd all come out to welcome him home. He wasn't surprised, but it still touched his heart.
He turned down his stereo as he neared the house, now a little uncertain about the grand entrance he'd planned of showing up in a hot car, looking, on the surface, like a big, bad soldier returning from war. But now that he was home, he realized these were the people he shouldn't have to pretend with.
He wasn't sure they would understand how things had changed since he'd left. He'd changed. Now that he'd been out and experienced the harsh, real world, he was no longer the naive man who thought he knew everything.
War had left its mark, and there was no undoing that.
Kimber hadn't been able to deal with it. Would they? She'd run at the first sign of danger. There was no way she could handle hearing about the ugly side of war. About the men they'd killed.
It turned out the volume of his music didn't matter. His mom had set up picnic tables beneath the grand oak next to the house, and most of his family had gathered there. He'd barely exited his car before a squeal rippled through the air, and his beautiful sister came running for him.
The youngest of the bunch, Starlee had been spoiled because she was the only girl. Their mother treasured her, and all four of her brothers had watched and protected her.
"Oh my God, Jerry." Tears streamed down her face as she leapt into his open arms. He buried his face in her soft, blond hair, fighting like crazy to keep his own emotions under control. At nineteen, she was the picture of innocence, and the perfect example of why he'd been willing to lay down his life to protect his country and family.
"Hey. It's okay." He pulled back, and she swiped at the moisture on her cheeks. "Your big bro is home, safe and sound."
"But you weren't. They shot you."
"Yeah, well, they weren't tough enough to kill me. And look..." He held open his arms and turned in a circle. "I'm as good as new."
Her lips puckered together as though she was trying to hold back her words. "Mom says you have a limp."
He rolled his eyes. Leave it to his mother to tell everyone the details. "It's only a little one. If I keep up with the therapy, doc says I can overcome it. And you know me. I'm not about to let anything stand in my way."
She nodded, seeming to accept his answer.
He'd spare her the grueling details of how much torture he'd gone through to get back to where he was. It wouldn't do anyone any good, and he'd make sure he kept those details from his gossiping mother as well.
Most of the rest of his family had heard the commotion and were now making their way toward him.
His mother was the next to greet him. New wrinkles had marked the corners of her eyes and around her mouth. A few more gray hairs had sprouted near her temples, and he was sure he'd probably contributed to most of them. Still, she managed to hang on to the grace and beauty of her youth.
"Mom," he said, and she pulled him into her arms. He inhaled, dragging the lavender scent of comfort into his lungs, letting it shelter his wounded soul.
"God, Jerry. I don't know if I should strangle you for what you've put us through, or brag to the world about my courageous son."
Leave it to his mother to make him laugh. "I vote for option number two."
She shook her head in gentle admonition as she let the rest of the family have a turn at greeting him.
"Welcome home, son." His dad shook his hand and then pulled him in for a hug. The fact that his father would act on his emotions proved how shaken he'd been by Jerry's injuries. "Glad you're okay."
"I'm doing well," he said to the older version of himself. "Almost a hundred percent healed."
"Good." His dad smiled, wrinkles fanning out from his eyes as well. It had only been five months since he'd last seen his parents, but it seemed as though they'd aged many years. "Your brothers are out back playing tag football with your cousins. Go say hello."
He nodded and headed around the side of the house, greeting relatives as he went. It would be good to see his brothers, but he had a ways to go before his severed calf muscle would be healed well enough to withstand a rough game of football.
*****
His mother had spared no expense, buying steaks for everyone. She'd made his favorite potato salad, and he'd eaten so much chocolate cake he thought he might puke. Thankfully, beyond the first greetings, dinner wasn't the emotional ordeal he'd feared. A few asked about his experiences, but everyone accepted what he was prepared to tell them and didn't press for any of the sordid details.
Hours later, when the sun rested on the horizon and most of his extended family had gone home, his mother finally managed to get him alone.
He'd carried some of the dishes into the kitchen and was taking a break from the family by using the excuse of washing silverware and platters as a way to get a few moments alone.
The sound of his mother chuckling startled him. He turned to find her standing in the kitchen doorway with both hands on her hips.
Chapter Four
"I'm starting to wonder if they really sent my son home, or if you're one of those science fiction implants who looks like him, but isn't." His mother approached. "You've never washed a dish without thirty minutes of nagging beforehand."
Jerry rinsed the bowl and set it to the side. "I guess people change." He picked up a platter and began washing it, the melancholy of being home finally overtaking him.
"I guess people do." The teasing look on her face dropped along with the tone of her voice. She bumped her hip against him, taking the platter from his hands. "I'll wash. You rinse."
He bumped her back. "Fine, but next time I slack on washing you can't get mad.
" It felt good to be able to let his guard down and know that his mom wouldn't freak out. "You had your chance."
She lifted a sassy, teasing brow. "I don't care if you're a hardened old soldier. I'm still your mama, and you'll do what I say."
A smile crept across his lips. "Yes, ma'am."
They washed dishes in silence for a few minutes giving him time to appreciate the simple task and letting its simplicity help to heal him.
"Why didn't you come home sooner, son?" His mom kept her eyes on the dishwater, but he knew she expected an answer.
"I couldn't."
"I don't see why not. They have a V.A. hospital in Salt Lake. You would have been closer to home, and I could have visited."
It had taken him a good four months to heal from his wound and complete the therapy necessary to allow him to walk normally again. "I just couldn't."
"Because you didn't want her to see you wounded? Because you were afraid she'd see you as less of a man?"
Damn. He'd never figured out how his mom could read him so well, but she did. "It had nothing to do with her. I felt like I could heal better without all of you fussing over me."
"Uh-huh." She handed another bowl to him.
He wanted to tell her to mind her own business, but that would be admitting she was right. "Why didn't you tell me she'd dumped Eric?"
"Would it have made a difference?"
He shrugged.
She lifted a dishtowel from the counter and wiped her hands. "You had enough to deal with, okay? You'd already taken damage to your heart. You had enough healing to do between that and your leg. What if I had told you about her? Then you would have gotten your hopes up. If she spurned you again, what would that have done to you? A man can only heal so much at a time."
He swallowed and then nodded.
A crushing look of sympathy fell over her features, and she tugged him close to her. "Oh honey. I'm sorry. I honestly didn't know what to do. I figured if she wanted to tell you, then she would. If she didn't, then you were better off not knowing. I know how much you love her-"
"Loved," he corrected.
"Okay, loved," his mom reluctantly agreed. "But still, now that you're home and doing much better, the two of you can take some time to figure things out. Sometimes, being apart from each other makes people in love do stupid things. They start to doubt, and..."
"No." He hugged his mom one more time before he pulled away. "The past is the past. She had her chance, and she made her choice. I'm done." He couldn't bring himself to tell her that the day he'd gotten the break-up email from Kimber was the same day they'd been caught in the booby trap. He still wondered if he hadn't been so focused on his loss if he would have noticed something was wrong. Maybe he could have spared some of his friends. Maybe Tim wouldn't have had to give his life to protect Jerry from most of the shrapnel that had sliced apart his friend. He blinked away the haunting image, wishing he could bury it deeper in his subconscious.
"Whatever you say. You know you have my support."
"Thanks, Mom." He scrubbed a hand over the whiskers on his face. He knew he couldn't blame Kimber for what had happened-it had been an unforeseen event, but he found it damn hard to separate the two. "If you don't mind, I'm going to take a shower and unpack. I told the guys I'd meet them later at Sparrow's."
"Sure. You could probably use some guy time after being smothered by your family."
He laughed, and she swatted him with a dishtowel.
"Hey, you said it. Not me."
*****
When Jerry arrived at Sparrow's for the second time that day, the parking lot was much fuller than before. He parked his shiny black Camaro out on the street. He preferred not to get door-dinged by some drunken bastard who was hopefully not driving, but climbing into the passenger seat.
Inside, he found Luke and Milo sitting at a large table in a corner with three empty chairs waiting to be taken. The lights were dimmer than they'd been earlier in the day, and scents of grilled steaks and hamburgers filled the air. Customers who perched on stools lined the bar, and the pulse of Sparrow's had been kicked up a notch.
"Did you survive?" Milo asked over a song heavy with the sounds of southern rock.
Jerry laughed. "Apparently." He nodded at the waitress, asking for a pitcher of beer when she arrived.
"Planning on going heavy-duty tonight, huh?" Luke asked.
"Yep. I have some serious beer drinking to catch up on. It's a little harder to go down to the local tavern and suck a few suds in the desert." Besides, he preferred party demons to the darker ones lurking in his soul.
"I hear ya," Milo agreed. "We definitely have some celebrating to do. We've got it all arranged. If we get too shit-faced, Luke's brother agreed to give us a ride home."
Luke nodded as he held up his beer. "To the brave men who fight for our country."
Jerry smiled and lifted his glass. All three clinked and drank.
"Are you driving in the derby tomorrow?" Milo asked.
"I don't know." Every year since he'd turned sixteen, Jerry had entered an old beater car in the Fourth of July derby. "Car's been sitting for a while. Not sure I can get her ready in time."
"You got us." Luke thumbed his chest. "We'll get that mother in shape if you want."
After he'd been hit, Jerry had promised himself if he ever made it back alive, he would live each day to the fullest. "Why the hell not?" No time like the present.
The live band cranked through two more songs before Scott and Tyler arrived.
"Damn, it's like old-home week around here," Scott said as he gave Jerry a slap on the back. With his dark hair, eyes and goatee, he looked like the badass of the bunch. Once upon a time, he'd actually owned the title, but he'd cleaned up his act since then and now owned a respectable construction company.
"No, shit," Tyler commented. "Good to have you back, man." He shook Jerry's hand, warmth radiating from his slanted blue eyes that always seemed out of place with his almost-black hair.
"Well, hell, now that we're all here, I say we do some shots," Milo said.
Jerry had a beer and two shots of Jack warming his veins when he spotted Kimber walking through the door. She stopped just inside the bar and did a quick search until her gaze landed on him. The sight of his former fiancée dressed in a short black sundress and sexy heels kicked him in the gut. "Shit." He turned his back to her and downed the current shot of whiskey sitting in front of him. He might regret it later, but none of that mattered now.
Milo turned to him, the other men still laughing raucously at Scott's joke about a blond hooker. "What?"
"Nothing." He scanned the room, looking for a quick save. He doubted Kimber would have the guts to walk up and talk to him, but he wasn't taking any chances. "I think I need to stretch my legs. You care if I ask Sierra to dance?"
"Why would I care? It's not like she's my girlfriend." Except Sierra and Milo were sort of a thing. Not like a real thing, but every weekend, they found themselves in each other's arms, dancing at Sparrow's. Jerry wasn't sure if they'd ever taken it further than that, and he wasn't about to ask now.
"Great." He got to his feet, the room slightly unsteady. Luckily for him, only one table separated him from Sierra and her friends.
He didn't spare a glance toward the door as he approached his target. "Hey, Sierra. Want to dance?"
Sierra turned her brown eyes toward him and tilted her head. "Wow. Really? Jerry Tierno is asking me to dance. I should feel honored."
He snorted. He and Sierra had always had that sort of relationship. He'd tossed a frog in her face in fifth grade, and she'd snubbed him ever since. "Come on, Sierra. It's only one dance."
She smiled. "Fine. Maybe I'll step on your toes and pay you back for that frog."
He led her to the dance floor, wrapping an arm around her waist and taking her other hand in his. "Are you still fretting about that after all this time?"
She grinned up at him with a smirky smile. "I swore that day I'd never forgive you."
"That was fifteen years ago. How can you hold a grudge for that long?" Before she could answer, he shifted his gaze toward the door. Kimber stood with a bleak expression darkening her beautiful green eyes as she stared at him.
A sharp pain on his big toe brought his focus back to his dance partner.
"You aren't even listening to me." Sierra frowned.
"I'm sorry. What?"
"I said, if you wouldn't have spent all those years staring at Kimber Reynolds, you would have realized I'd forgiven you a long time ago."
He laughed, giving her a sheepish grin. "My mistake." He glanced back to the door.
Sierra shifted in his arms. "What are you looking at?" She snorted. "Speak of the devil." She turned his focus back to her with a finger. "You two seeing each other again?"
"Nope. Never." He forced a smile, hoping he looked confident in what he said.
"Really?" She smiled. "It looks like she's here looking for you." She turned her gaze toward Kimber, and he wished he could ask her to stop. "I could get rid of her if you want me to."
He froze, caught in his own trap. "What do you mean?"
She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in close. He thought she intended to whisper something in his ear, but the next thing he knew, she'd placed her glossy, red lips on his.
Chapter Five
Jerry hesitated for a second, caught totally off guard, before he pulled away from Sierra. He jerked his gaze back to Kimber just in time to see a pained look on her face before she turned and walked out the door.
"Ha! It worked." Sierra grinned. "You don't have to thank me."
"But I do," he lied as he pulled away from her. He couldn't very well tell her exactly how pissed he was at the moment, or she'd tell Milo, and then they'd all have him figured out. "Why don't you join us and let me buy you a beer?" It would get him out of her arms. He'd used Sierra to keep Kimber at a distance, not shove it in Kimber's face. Even if she had deserved to see him with someone else, he was not that kind of guy.