“Don’t fucking pity me.”
“Ten dollars.”
Joanna felt compassion for him, not pity. Although she hadn’t grown up with money, she had been raised to believe in community and responsibility. Her father often said a person’s character was revealed in how they treated the vulnerable. There was real despair and self-hatred in his eyes and it broke her heart.
The hair on the back of her neck had stood up when he’d admitted he sometimes enjoyed ending someone’s life. When he’d explained why though, she’d been reminded of stories her grandmother had told her about her grandfather after she’d had a few cups of moonshine. He’d been drafted right out of college, even though the government had claimed that wasn’t their policy. He’d been sent to fight in the front lines of a war he’d done nothing to create and had been powerless to end. Her grandmother said he’d fought like a hero only to come home to be spit on by the public.
Although she’d never met her grandfather, long afternoons with moonshine and her grandmother had given her a pretty good idea of how haunted he’d been by what he’d seen and done. Her grandmother had once said, “The line between heaven and hell blurs, Joanna, when good people are asked to do heinous things to save others.”
It took time for Joanna to understand what that meant, but the more she’d learned about her grandfather the more she understood why he’d taken his own life. She didn’t agree with his decision, but she understood that the choices he’d made weighed on him and that weight had eventually been too heavy for him.
My parents would have never let Grandma watch me had they known how much she shared with me. The night before her grandfather had taken his own life he’d confessed something to her grandmother that her grandmother had confessed to Joanna on her own deathbed. During his last tour he’d caught two men from his unit playing poker with the stakes being a young girl who was sitting there terrified. Her grandmother told her he’d tried to get them to do the right thing, even threatened to expose them if they didn’t. They said they would kill the girl and anyone else they wanted and that blood would be on his hands because he’d made it so they couldn’t release them. Her grandfather killed those two men and released the girl.
The deaths of those two men had been blamed on an attack that happened early the next morning, an attack that took out everyone in his company except him. He’d been injured, but alive. Had his life been spared because he’d spared the girl’s? Had releasing her cost the lives of everyone in his company?
He was never the same after that night. Was he a hero? Was he a killer? A traitor? Her grandmother said he suffered a breakdown after that incident and that was why he was discharged. He lived a quiet life for many years, long enough to raise a family and be a good husband, but he’d never conquered the shame and self-loathing.
When she looked into Bradford’s eyes she saw a pain she understood. Grandma would have liked Bradford.
Bradford shifted beneath the sustained silence from Joanna. He opened the car door, took out his wallet, pulled out a stack of twenties and stuffed them in the jar.
It was comical, but Joanna fought back a smile. “That’s not the way the jar works.”
He slammed the door of his car shut. “It is now.”
She did smile at that one, then her expression turned serious. “What you think is pity is actually compassion. I don’t know what you’ve been through, or what you’ve done, but if you did it to save others—you’re a hero in my book.”
He leaned back against his car. “I’m no hero.”
She didn’t doubt that he believed that about himself. “Let’s go for a walk.”
In a strangled voice, he asked, “Why aren’t you fucking running from me?”
She held his gaze. “Would you ever hurt me?”
“Never.”
“Then let’s go for that walk. I have a story I think you should hear.”
He pushed off his car and glared down at her, but she was beginning to think all of that anger was directed at himself, not her. When she held out her hand to him he looked down at it and froze.
There was no encouragement in his body language, but she had to believe their paths had crossed for a reason. He needs to know he’s not alone. She continued to hold out her hand to him.
For a long moment he neither moved nor said anything, then he laced his fingers with hers. “You’re trouble, Joanna Ervin.”
“So I’ve heard.” She pulled him until he fell into step beside her. They started down a path along the edge of the pond. A couple going in the opposite direction passed them, but once they were alone again Joanna started to tell Bradford about her grandfather.
His hand tightened painfully on hers when she told him about the night that had forever changed her grandfather. He didn’t say anything though, and she took that as encouragement. “After both of his children were out of the house and he thought my grandmother could survive on her own, he confessed everything to her then took his own life.”
Bradford’s expression was tight. “I can understand that.”
She pulled him to a stop. “I can’t. I feel cheated that I never got to meet him.”
Bradford nodded.
She continued, “For me, the saddest part is that my grandfather died thinking he was a traitor—a murderer. And after he died my grandmother carried his guilt and shame until cancer took her from us. I’m not ashamed of what he did. He chose humanity and mercy.”
“And would have rotted in prison for it had his secret been exposed.”
“Probably, but it wasn’t. He couldn’t have known that sparing her would get his company killed.”
Bradford shook his head. “He should have. It was common for the enemy to use their children as scouts and weapons.”
Real sadness swept through Joanna. “How could anyone tell an enemy from an innocent in that war?”
“You couldn’t.”
“So, was he right? Was he wrong?”
“It’s not for me to stand in judgment.”
“What would you have done?”
“I would have fucking killed those men.”
They began to walk again, hand in hand, without speaking. “I hate that my grandfather didn’t believe my grandmother could handle the truth about him. He wasn’t as alone as he felt.”
“He wanted to protect her.”
“But he left her. That didn’t protect her. She could have stood by him and helped him conquer those demons if she’d known what he was fighting. Connor says part of the Gold Star initiative he runs for Clay includes mental health services for veterans who make it back, but need mental health support. A soldier’s pain ripples through whole families.”
“I’m not a soldier.”
“But—aren’t you? You might not wear a uniform, but if you’re risking your life to save innocents . . . do you need a label?”
“You don’t know the things I’ve done.”
“So tell me.”
He shook his head.
She yanked him to a stop. “Because you think I can’t handle it? Or because you don’t trust me with the truth?”
“A little of both.”
She released his hand. “I can’t make you trust me, but I’m stronger than I appear. If you really are the person you say you are, your secrets won’t crush me—or endanger you. I could be wrong, but I have to believe my grandfather wouldn’t have taken his own life if he’d trusted someone with his secrets earlier. You don’t have to tell me, but you should tell someone.”
They walked on, greeting another couple who passed, before stopping on a small bridge that crossed a cement dam. He gripped the railing with both hands. “I told you about my parents, but I also lost my sister.”
In a monotone voice he told her about how he and his sister had been separated after his parents’ death. He told her about how she’d returned to the streets, joined the gang his parents had belonged to, and what an ugly path that had led her down.
Joanna was fighting back tears
when he described the beating that had nearly killed him and how ultimately, regardless of how he’d fought for her, he’d lost her to an overdose. She hugged her arms around herself when he coldly described how he’d hunted down those responsible for her death and eliminated them.
After a short silence, she asked, “How did you meet Ian?”
He told her about joining the Army and the kidnapped schoolgirls both he and Ian had set out to save. “We’ve worked together ever since.” He laughed without humor. “Well, until he met Claire.”
There was no reason for Bradford to lie, and his story fit with everything she knew about Ian and his change in careers. It was also too reminiscent of what her grandfather had done for her to believe she’d met Bradford by chance. “What kind of missions did you and Ian go on?”
He told her about several, including the one with the Somalian pirates that convinced Ian he couldn’t continue that lifestyle and have a family. “Ian understood that he had to choose. Caring about anyone while doing what we do is a liability.”
“Because?”
“Someone could use you against me.”
That gave her arms goose bumps that she rubbed away with her hands. “So you could never have a normal life.”
“That about sums it up.”
“But Ian can?”
“Ian has me watching his back.”
“Doesn’t he watch yours?”
“You don’t understand.”
She didn’t, but she had a feeling he wasn’t being entirely honest. “I do. You’re scared.”
He spun on his heel toward her. “Don’t go there.”
“It’s okay to be afraid. You’ve lost people you loved. It’s natural to want to protect yourself from that kind of hurt again. It’s just sad because you’re the one writing the rules that hold you back.”
His hands clenched at his sides. “I’m not afraid.”
“I get that it’s scary to even admit it.”
He rubbed his hands over his face. A deep growl emanated from deep in his chest. “Fine. I’m a fucking mess on the inside. I don’t care about anyone because I’ve seen what happens when I do. I refuse to give anyone that power over me again.”
His words ripped through Joanna. She felt his pain so deeply it might have been her own. “Then they win.”
“What?”
“Ultimately, those two horrible soldiers my grandfather killed won because they stole his ability to see the value of his own life. He gave them the ultimate win when he killed himself. You’re doing the same.”
He leaned down and growled in her face. “Don’t pretend you fucking know anything about me or what I’m doing with my life.”
She raised her chin. “If your goal is to scare me, you won’t. You know what scares me? The people you remove from the planet. Cold-blooded criminals. Especially those who go after the weak. I don’t understand cruelty simply for the sake of being cruel. I am constantly shocked by the violence and hatred people spew toward each other, especially when they feel they can get away with it. I can barely watch the news each night because humanity scares the shit out of me. But you? You’re sad and angry. Were all the choices you made right? I’m sure they weren’t, but there is no absolute right or wrong. That’s a lie they tell us as children. Good or bad, hero or traitor, it’s never as simple as one or the other. That’s what makes life messy. So swear—yell—let that anger out on me, but know that when you do . . . you lose and they win.”
She started walking, leaving him to either choose to stay behind or follow her.
Chapter Six
Go.
I don’t need you or your motivational speeches.
My life is fine just the way it is.
The farther she walked from him, the more he questioned the stance he was taking. He hated his life. Hated himself. Nothing brought him joy. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.
Except her.
He took a slow step after her then lengthened his stride. When she disappeared from view, he broke into a sprint. Rounding a bend in the path, he caught up to her. She smiled at him as if he hadn’t just sworn at her and she hadn’t just walked away from him.
He fell into step beside her. This was uncharted territory for him. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” She offered her hand again. His heart raced in his chest as he took it back in his. “I asked some tough questions. Thank you for being honest.”
They walked in silence for a while. He’d never been as aware of another human being as he was of her. His senses were not only in overdrive but exclusively focused on her. He loved the way she glanced at him then away again. She had no problem leading when the path narrowed, and he was perfectly happy following.
“Is there anything you’d like to ask about me?” she asked.
“Can’t imagine there’s much I don’t already know.”
She paused. “Really?”
“It’s common for me to do a background check on anyone I know will be in the mix.”
They started walking again. “A background check. Sounds serious. So, somewhere there’s a file on me.”
He tapped one side of his temple. “I don’t write things down.”
“Right. Less evidence.”
“You catch on quick.”
“How do you gather information? Social media? Or do you hunt around for information like they do on detective shows?”
“Depends on what I need to know about someone.”
She stopped and turned toward him. “Me. How did you gather information about me?”
He shifted from one foot to the other. “You were a special case.”
“A special case?” Her eyes lit with interest. “Why?”
“Because no one is as perfect as you seem. I was sure you were hiding something.”
“Wow. Okay. What did you uncover?”
A corner of his mouth twitched with a smile he held back. “You’re either a boring fuck or you choose men who are.”
Her mouth rounded and she yanked on his hand. “I didn’t see that one coming. For your information, I’m far from boring in bed.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” He liked how easy it was to rile her, and she looked adorably flustered.
She released his hand and poked a finger into his chest. “If you’re ever lucky enough to be with me I’ll prove it to you.”
He laughed and wrapped his hand around hers. “Promises. Promises.”
She pursed her lips and pulled her hand free. “Why would you think I’m bad in bed?”
“It might not have been you, but you barely had sex with your last boyfriend.”
“How would you know how much we did or didn’t have?”
“He told me.”
Her hands went to her hips and she did not look happy. He was beginning to think he might have overestimated the humor in this for her. She said, “Well so much for not kissing and telling. No, I don’t believe he would have told you anything. Rob and I ended things on a good note.”
“He was pretty shit-faced at the time.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You got him drunk so you could ask him questions about me?”
He held her gaze and shrugged.
She looked about to tell him what she thought about that, then her expression softened. “You asked my ex about me because you like me.”
“I told you, it’s my business to know everything about who I’m dealing with.”
She smiled. “And that includes drinking with their exes? I call bullshit.”
She was good. “I may have inquired into your background more than most.”
“Because you like me.”
He leaned down and growled into her ear. “Because I can’t get you out of my head.”
She shivered and her eyes half closed. He almost kissed her then. He wanted to. She wanted it as well. He held back only because he heard voices coming down the path toward them. In a husky tone, she asked, “What would your ex-girlfriends say about you?”
“N
othing,” he said while tracing her jaw with his thumb. “I don’t date.”
She tipped her head to one side. “Isn’t that—frustrating?”
He chuckled. “I never said I’m not having sex. I just don’t do the whole ‘see you tomorrow’ thing.”
“One-night stands only.”
“Nothing wrong with variety.” She was definitely judging his lifestyle, but in that area, at least, he’d never done anything he was ashamed of. He liked sex. The women he hooked up with had a good time while they were with him. No strings. No promises. No regrets.
She stepped back. “I couldn’t do that.”
“You’d rather date men you don’t want to fuck.”
“Not that I owe you an explanation, but I’ll admit I have chosen a few who would have been better off left in the friend category.”
He gripped her chin and tipped it upward. “I don’t want to be your friend.”
She licked her bottom lip. “Then don’t bore me in bed.”
He laughed once, released her chin, then laughed again. She constantly surprised him, but in the best ways. “Okay.”
“Okay.” She straightened her clothing.
It felt completely natural to hold out a hand for her to take. She laced her fingers through his just as a group of teenagers walked by. “I was wrong.”
They started walking down the path side by side again. “About?”
“There’s a lot I don’t know about you—but I want to.”
A huge smile spread across her face. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
The women he’d chosen in the past enjoyed his bad-boy image. None had ever pushed him for more or tried to rein him in. What was he doing with a woman who did? “No one has ever accused me of being nice.”
Her hand tightened on his. “Then they must not have taken the time to get to know you.”
They rounded a corner that opened up to a field nearly filled with a huge white tent. A sign beside it read: PRIVATE EVENT.
A man in a white tuxedo waved to them to come over.
Reluctantly Rescued (The Barrington Billionaires, Book 9) Page 8