Zero to Sixty

by Marie Harte

  She left her cousin laughing. The woman next to her started up a conversation with him, and she knew Elliot would have a new best friend before the afternoon ended. He was like that, sociable and charming and everyone’s funny pal. It was no wonder he never had a free evening.

  Unlike her. Ava went to the free weights and decided to try a few of the exercises she’d viewed on YouTube the night before. Her arms seemed less toned than she thought they should be for someone her age.

  As she lifted some light weights and did a few repetitions, she stared into the mirror but didn’t see herself. Instead she saw last night’s mistakes all over again. Damn. Chris had been so wonderful. So how had he become such a dud?

  She had a new date planned for tomorrow evening. A get-together for wine at a casual bar in Queen Anne on a Sunday night. Not a date that screamed “sex me up,” rather one where she and her partner could get to know each other, not become drunk, then go their separate ways to get ready for work come Monday morning. With any luck, this new guy, Charles, would prove interesting and hands off, at least.

  She sighed.

  “You’re doing it wrong.”

  She jumped and nearly dropped her weights at that deep voice. “Excuse me?”

  A glance at the mirror showed the blond man she’d been ogling—casually assessing—looming behind her. He looked even larger up close. Tall and broad and so…muscular.

  She had to swallow a bit of drool. Sue me for being human. He’s attractive—and still not my type. “Are you a trainer?”

  “Nope. My brother is.” He nodded to the male she’d accurately pegged as a relation. They both had strong faces, but the brother had black hair, not dark blond, like Mr. Nosy.

  “You’re not a trainer, yet you felt the need to correct my form?”

  He opened his mouth and closed it, then cleared his throat. “Yeah, your form. Don’t mean to be pushy, but if you keep doing it that way, you’re not going to get the full effect from your reps.”

  “But you don’t mean to be pushy.”

  He either hadn’t caught her wry tone or he chose to ignore it. “You can also hurt yourself by straining. It’s bad posture. Not like that. Like this.”

  He straightened his stance and plucked a weight out of her hand. The brief contact where he touched frazzled her. So bizarre.

  Yet she saw the difference in what he did as opposed to what she’d been doing.

  “See?” He didn’t seem to work hard at all, pumping her tiny weight with ease. “You keep your arms shoulder-height up and parallel to the ground, then slowly bring them back to your sides. That maxes eccentric contractions, building tone.” He frowned at the weight. “Does this feel heavy when you lift it?”

  “Why? Is it too light and girlie for you?” Just try to talk down to me, you big Neanderthal. After the week I’ve had…

  He bit his lip, but she saw his smile. Despite herself, she liked the expression on him. What is wrong with me?

  “I was just going to say you should lighten the load when you start, to get your form right. If it’s too heavy before your reps, it’s too heavy, period.” He placed the weight back into her hand and curled her fingers around it. She ignored the sizzle this time. “You need any help with this, ask for Gavin.” He nodded to his brother. “He won’t give you a hassle, and he knows what he’s talking about.”

  That said, he walked away. So not trying to hit on me then. She felt foolish for her snappish tone when he’d only been trying to help. Then she felt foolish for feeling foolish. Nobody had asked him to come help her. Not her fault she felt a little prickly with his gender.

  “Oh, this is all Elliot’s fault,” she steamed, then grabbed a lighter set of weights and finished her set, this time using the proper way to lift.

  * * *

  Landon watched the prickly woman finish her reps—the right way—and smiled. Man, talk about fine. If he’d been in the market for a woman, which he wasn’t, he’d have snapped her up in a heartbeat. Long, dark brown hair, a slender body curved in all the right places, and those light green eyes that had shot daggers at him. He loved a woman with fire, and he could totally imagine bossing her around in bed. Man, he’d give it to her but good.

  He sat and reached for a barbell to curl, knowing it was unwise to think about sex while wearing thin shorts in a gym. Hard-ons and respectability did not go hand in hand while exercising. He wasn’t some dog in heat. Even though for her, he could have been. Totally.

  She put the weights back and returned to the guy she’d been treadmilling next to, joining him and some young redhead while they did crunches. Damn. Ms. Correct Form really did have an outstanding rack…

  “Yo. You angling for a job?” Mac Jameson smirked at him. The guy looked like a pro wrestler, rivaling Landon for size.

  “You wish. You couldn’t afford me, Jameson.” He set down the weight.

  Mac laughed. “Right. I can afford Gavin, though.”

  “Yeah, but he didn’t take over running this place inside of a few weeks. I’d already be hiring and firing.” He pointedly gave Mac a look.

  “Asshole.” Mac held out a hand, and Landon stood to shake it. “So. Helping out one of my regulars, eh?” They both glanced at the brunette, now laughing at the people with her.

  “She was doing it wrong.” Landon shrugged, hoping he came off as disinterested. “Gavin’s busy, so I thought I’d help.” He frowned. “You should hire another on-hand trainer.”

  “Thanks for your unasked-for opinion. You’re right. I am glad I never hired you.”

  “I never said you wouldn’t be glad, just that you couldn’t afford me.” Landon forced himself not to glance over when the woman and her friends stood. “So what’s up?”

  “Nothing. Just came over to tell you Gavin’s off tomorrow and the early part of the week. I had someone cover the hours.”

  Landon nodded. “Thanks.” Mac knew what he needed his brother for, and the guy was all too willing to help. “He needs some time. Had a rough go overseas.”

  “I feel you.” Mac understood. If not for that knee, he’d still be in the Corps, like Landon. “You’re a good brother. You need my help, just ask.”

  “Will do.” They shook hands again, then Landon left. He and the family had made their preparations. Tomorrow Gavin would get the talking-to he desperately needed. Poor bastard.

  * * *

  At eleven o’clock Sunday morning, Landon waited while Gavin joined the family at their parents’ house, settling into the couch next to Theo, who sat next to Hope. Across from them in a love seat sat his parents, Linda and Van. Landon remained standing.

  “Hope and Theo? Now I know it’s a special occasion,” Gavin teased.

  His sister and brother exchanged a worried glance. He’d get to those two later. Hope, especially, wasn’t scurrying away until after he’d talked to her about her recent life choices. But not now. Not when they had Gavin to deal with.

  His mother and father waited for him to start. Good. He’d worried Linda would try to take charge. That real estate agent she was battling must have been giving her a hard time, because she looked tired. He’d check into that, too. Later. Now, time to begin.

  “So, Gavin.”

  Gavin turned to him. “So, Landon.”

  Theo chuckled, then ceased when Landon glared at him. Landon turned back to problem brother number one. “We’re here for you, asswipe.”

  “Landon.” Linda sighed. “What he means—”

  “What I mean”—Landon assumed control before his mother ruined the intervention with too much understanding and compassion. Gavin didn’t need empathy, he needed a kick in the ass—“is you’re turning into an alcoholic, and we’re worried.” Bam. Blunt, effective…and go.

  Gavin groaned and covered his face before lowering his hands and sighing. Theo and Hope started talking at the same time. Apolo
gy, concern, confusion. His father watched everything, kicked back in the love seat, one leg crossed over his knee, his hands steepled in front of his face. He wore his serious pose while their mother fretted and told Gavin how sorry she was and how much she loved him.

  “Enough,” Landon barked. Silence descended. “Okay. Hope, you first.”

  “Seriously? This is an intervention for me?” Gavin chuckled, trying to laugh his way out of it.

  “Shut it, Gavin. You have a problem. We all know it. Now man up and deal.”

  “Fuck you.” Not so happy anymore.

  “Gavin,” their father warned.

  “This is stupid.”

  “You drove home from the gym last night. Remember, I saw you before you left, and I smelled alcohol on your breath,” Hope said in a soft voice. For all that she resembled their mother, Hope didn’t seem to have that core of steel inside her. And yet, she did. So sweet and pleasant, she often took people aback with her keen wit and intelligence.

  No dumb blonds in this family. Good girl, Hope. Landon nodded at her.

  “Not true,” Gavin disagreed.

  “So you weren’t drinking last night?” Landon pounced, always able to catch his brother in a lie.

  Gavin flushed. “Sure, I had a beer or two. But not until I got home.”

  “That’s crap,” Theo said. “I’ve seen you drink at work before. And man, Gavin. That’s just wrong. You’re always telling me not to drink and drive or do drugs. How is it you can do it and it’s okay?”

  That seemed to shake Gavin, because Theo had always looked up to him. “It’s not okay,” Gavin said, his voice rough. “It’s never okay.”

  “Then cut the bullshit,” Landon ordered. “And don’t try telling us it’s nothing. You lost guys. Men you’ve considered brothers. Guys you’ve known for years. Your friends. They’re dead.”

  “Don’t,” Gavin whispered.

  “Landon,” Linda cautioned. “Be gentle.”

  He talked over her. “They died. You didn’t. End of story.”

  “How can you say that?” Gavin asked, distraught. They didn’t talk about his time in the service because it hurt him. But not talking about it hadn’t helped, either.

  “Because it’s true?”

  Gavin narrowed his gaze. “Yeah, it’s true. Good men are dead. What’s your point?”

  “That it wasn’t your fault.”

  “I know that.” Gavin snorted. “Jesus, I’m not a moron. I wasn’t with them when the bomb went off.”

  “No, you were back at camp smokin’ and jokin’,” Landon said, being deliberately cruel. He met his father’s gaze and was surprised by the understanding there.

  “Fuck you.” Gavin stood, his fists clenched. “I was recovering from a bullet wound, you asshole.”

  “Exactly.” Landon stood toe to toe with his younger brother, aware they had roughly the same height, the same anger for the wrongs they’d witnessed, the lives they’d lost. But they chose to deal with those emotions differently. “So cut yourself some slack, Gav. Drinking yourself into oblivion won’t bring them back.”

  Gavin growled, “I know that. This little meeting of yours is pointless.” He turned to leave, and Landon grabbed him by the shoulder.

  “Wait.”

  “Get off me.”

  Hope’s eyes grew wide.

  Theo sank back into his seat, looking nervous. “No, Gavin. You have to stay and listen.”

  “Why? So Landon can be the hero?” Gavin snorted. “Ease up, big brother. You’re always right, we’re always wrong. Better now?”

  “Nope.” Landon swung Gavin around and socked him in the stomach. Not hard enough to do any real damage, but enough to wind the bastard.

  His brother sagged back onto the couch and rasped, “What the hell?”

  “Landon, stop it,” his mother cried.

  “Oh my God. You hit him?” Hope gaped.

  Theo blinked. “Remind me not to make you mad.”

  “Hit him again if he gets up,” their father said. Cool, calm, collected Van Donnigan had just prescribed violence?

  The entire family stopped and stared at him.

  Their father knelt in front of Gavin, still clutching his stomach. “Gavin, Son, look at me.”

  Gavin glanced at his father, his gaze guarded. “What? Are you going to hit me now too?”

  “Avoidance won’t change the fact that you survived and others didn’t. That you should have been with that convoy when it blew up. Nothing can change you being here, with family who love you. Who can see you hurting. Drinking yourself silly only hurts you, and possibly others. How would you feel if you ran over John Schaefer’s daughter because you were too drunk to drive? Or Micky Duncan’s widow? Or Luke Barkley’s sister? Would that make them being gone any better?”

  Landon felt like shit seeing his brother pale, his eyes well up, but the truth had to come out. Fuck. It took all he had to hold back his own tears. He’d lost men over there. Had known others in 2nd Battalion who hadn’t made it back. And every Marine gone left a hole, wide and deep, inside him. But drinking the pain away didn’t solve a goddamn thing. And fuck if he’d lose his brother to a bottle of booze after Gavin had survived so much worse.

  Gavin glared through tears at his father. “You don’t know—”

  “Don’t tell me I don’t know,” Van said in a low, intense voice. “I patched up my share of Marines when I was in, and I saw plenty of loss.”

  Gavin quieted. Hell, you could have heard a pin drop in the room. Their father had never talked about the troublesome parts of a career spent in the Navy, caring for men in combat. But they all knew.

  “It’s sad, and it’s tough to get past. Heck, sometimes you never get past it. You just deal with it.” Van smiled, but his eyes showed buried grief. “I get past it by being positive, meditating.” He gave Landon a wry glance. “By singing ‘Kumbaya,’ if that’s what it takes.”

  Obviously his dad had heard some of his complaints about that carefree attitude.

  “But, Son, you can’t bury your grief, or it will eat you alive.” Van clasped Gavin’s hand in his.

  Linda remained silent, tears streaking down her cheeks.

  “Too many guys were lost over there,” Landon agreed, wishing he sounded less gritty and more in command of himself. “Unfortunately, a lot are still lost over here. PTSD, booze, pills. Afghanistan was hard, man. No denying that. And you saw a lot of shit we’ll never know.” And didn’t want to know. Landon had been in awe of Gavin’s talents in the Corps, his skill with a rifle. He just wished Gavin would take to the civilian world and let go of that bottled-up pain.

  Way easier said than done.

  “Wouldn’t tell you anyway,” Gavin tried to joke and wiped his eyes.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not cleared to hear it, no doubt.” Landon smiled back, an image filling his mind of lifeless Corporal Leonard in his finest dress blues. Of visiting the man’s wife and newborn, paying respects months later. Leonard had never seen his daughter cut her first tooth, or his wife trying desperately to hold it together. Compartmentalize, he ordered himself.

  Landon clenched his jaw, cleared his mind, then continued, not missing a beat. “Point is, little brother, we’re home now. For good. No going back.” He added a bit of levity. “Now you only have to take orders from me.”

  Van sighed. Theo and Hope smiled. Even their mother snorted and gave a tiny, relieved laugh.

  Gavin shook his head. “You’re not the boss of me. And if you slug me again, I’ll give it right back.” He sighed. “But I guess I know I’m not right. Not yet.”

  “Gavin, I know someone you can see.” Linda crossed to sit next to him, scooting Theo out of the way.

  “Geez, Mom. Just ask.”

  She ignored her youngest and hugged Gavin, stroking his hair. “She’s very good. She
helped your aunt and uncle get back on their feet, and you know how stubborn your uncle is. She deals with problems people can’t solve on their own.”

  “Not yet, Mom. But thanks. I will see someone when I’m ready.”

  Gavin said all the right things, but Landon didn’t trust that easy compliance. “You can’t fill that void with drink until you’re ‘ready.’”

  “I’m not an alcoholic.”

  “Yet,” Landon countered.

  Gavin glared. “I know, okay? I heard you.”

  “Then you should be fine with staying away from booze, period. At least until after you’ve seen some counselor and gotten help. ’Cause I’m telling you, man, you hurt or kill someone while you’re drunk, and you for sure will never forgive yourself.” Landon stared into his brother’s eyes, brown gaze to gray, and saw Gavin’s ugly realization, his haunting guilt and self-loathing, come to the surface.

  “I understand,” came the hoarse reply.

  Landon felt as if a weight had lifted off him. Gavin was by no means healed, cured, or better. But he was finally on the road to right. They’d keep a close eye on him, and Landon would make sure the guy saw a therapist. One he determined would help. Just because some shrink had helped Aunt Beth and Uncle James didn’t meant the doc could handle serious PTSD, because sure as shit Gavin had issues.

  But one thing to check off Landon’s to-do list, at least. Gavin had acknowledged he had a problem, and that was huge.

  “Good. That wasn’t nearly as tough as I thought it might be,” Linda said, trying to be positive.

  Everyone just looked at her.

  “What? Can I help it that I like life to be easy?”

  Hope snorted. “Whatever.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Before his sister could get into it with their mother, Landon nodded for Gavin to distract the family matriarch. Gavin smiled and charmed Linda into laughing with him, proving what Landon had suspected—that Gavin did better with purpose, something to take his mind off dire memories. Gavin and Linda occupied, that left Hope to her own devices. He watched her stand and try to sneak away.

  Landon pounced. “Your turn,” he murmured and cornered her while Theo argued with their father about what to have for brunch.