My Fiancé's Brother (The Guilty Series Book 2)

by Odette Stone

  “No!”

  “She was 15 but I swear she looked like she was at least 22.”

  “Jackson!” I started laughing.

  “Her dad was resigned. He knew exactly what his daughter was like.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Do you understand why Alien needs to be a boy?”

  Jackson’s phone rang.

  Chapter 39

  “Hello.”

  I watched as Jackson’s face freeze as he listened to whomever was talking on the other end.

  “Are you for real?”

  “Jesus.”

  He hung up and looked at me. His eyes were full of anguish.

  “Jackson, what is it?”

  “Chris is dead. He was killed in a motorcycle accident.”

  “What?”

  “We have to go.”

  The drive back to the base was silent. I looked over at Jackson a million times but he was stone man. Completely blank.

  “I’m so sorry, Jackson.”

  It was like he didn’t even hear me.

  He pulled up to our house and looked over at me. “I have to go see Chris’ wife.”

  I nodded and got out of the truck.

  ***

  I was in shock. I went into the house and Jackson drove off. Ten minutes later, Lauren was calling me.

  “Did you hear?”

  “Yes. I can’t believe it.”

  She was crying. “Chris has a wife and a toddler.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “I guess he went for a motorcycle ride this morning. He was hit by a drunk driver.”

  Tears rolled down my face. “Jackson went over there.”

  “Yeah, all Chris’ unit will go over and do whatever they can to help.”

  “Lauren,” I said. “What should I do?”

  She sniffed. “Be there for Jackson.”

  ***

  I spent the rest of the day cleaning, mostly because I had no idea what else to do, and I needed to keep busy. I didn’t hear from Jackson.

  I waited until I couldn’t keep my eyes open and then I climbed into bed.

  ***

  I woke up to the front door slamming. I lay there listening. Jackson was downstairs and making a lot of racket. Pulling a robe on, I crept down the stairs. He was sitting on the couch. There was a half empty bottle of Jim Bean between his legs. He lifted his head and looked at me. His expression was one of defiance and frustration. My husband was extremely angry.

  He watched me as I approached. I sat on the couch beside him. I had no idea what to say. I knew grief. Other people talking didn’t help. Talking only helped when it was the grieving person who did the talking. So I put my knees to my chest and just waited with him. He occasionally took a long haul off the bottle but he didn’t say anything either. He made no motion to touch me and I was pretty sure if I attempted to touch him or comfort him, he would push me off.

  His voice jarred me awake. “I went through BUDs with Chris. It was Stubbs, Bixley, Chris and I. We were all in the same graduating class.”

  Stubbs and Bixley were the two men that had been killed on Jackson’s bad tour. Now Chris had died. These men were his family. These men were not just co-workers. He loved these men as much as I had loved my parents or my granny.

  He continued. “I was his best man at his wedding. And today, I had to sit with his wife while she cried and cried. All because some dumb fuck was too drunk to call a cab.”

  My eyes filled with tears. I couldn’t imagine her level of pain. I couldn’t.

  “It’s one thing to die in the line of duty, but now his death has no meaning. Now his little daughter is going to grow up without her daddy. And tonight his wife is alone.”

  That is what death is like. That first night is the worst. The pain, the disbelief. It’s almost too much to bear. I knew exactly what that woman was going through tonight. My heart ached for her.

  “Chris loved her so fucking much,” Jackson looked at me. “I remember the first night they met. We were at a bar. We had a weekend off BUDs and he saw her sitting at a table with her girlfriends. He looked over at me and told me that she was the woman he was going to marry. He knew from the moment he saw her that she was different.”

  Tears smarted my eyes. I nodded.

  “What Chris and Dena had between them was real. It wasn’t make belief. They were the real deal. Before them, I never really understood what love was. But they knew.”

  Tears streaked down my face, which I hastily wiped off.

  He looked over at me. “I think you should leave me alone.”

  This is the man who had pushed Harper away after Bixley and Stubbs had died. Grief was a powerful emotion. It made you feel crazy. When you are grief stricken, you don’t want to be around anyone, yet you don’t want to be alone. It was also one level above anger and fear. Today he got a pass on everything. Whatever he thought he wanted, he would get from me.

  “Okay.” I stood up.

  He looked up at me. “Just like that?”

  “Just like what?”

  “You’re going to leave me alone?”

  I stood there in front of him, unsure what to say. “Isn’t that what you said you wanted?”

  He gave a dark laugh. “You’re not going to fight me on that? You’re not going to tell me that I shouldn’t be alone?”

  “I think you know what you need right now,” I said quietly. “I love you and I just want to give you what you need.”

  He glowered at me. “You just think you love me.”

  I paused. “No, Jackson. I actually do love you.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t know me. You don’t know who I am. So how the fuck can you say you love me?”

  Jesus. This was a dark side of him that I had never seen before. “Then tell me who you are.”

  He shook his head. “That would be a bad idea.”

  “You could tell me anything, Jackson, and I would still love you.”

  Our eyes met. He grabbed my hand and tugged me so I was standing in front of him. He looked up at me. The man was drunk but coherent.

  “Why did you trust me today?”

  It took me a moment. “When we jumped out of the plane?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Because you asked me to.”

  He frowned. “But you were so scared. I could feel your entire body shaking.”

  “You asked me to jump out of a plane with you. I knew it would be fun for you. And you asked me to trust you, so I knew we would be safe.”

  “You thought we would die. Yet you still flung yourself out of a plane because I asked you to?”

  It felt like a trick question, but that is exactly how it happened. “Yes.”

  “Why do you trust me?”

  “I believe in you. When you tell me that you will keep me safe, I believe you.”

  He just stared up at me, his eyes searching mine. And then he reached up and tugged at the belt of my robe. It fell open. My stomach fluttered as he tugged me so that I was straddling him.

  His hands went up to my breasts and I arched my back as his mouth sucked on my nipple. He pushed open his pants and then he was pulling me onto him. I cried out as I felt him push inside of me. I put my hands on his face. His red eyes stared up at me. So serious. So intense.

  With his hands on my hips, he slowly began to move me up and down on him. It felt wrong yet so right. After such a tragedy, it was a moment where we both needed to remember that we were still alive. We needed to connect. Our eyes locked as I slowly moved up and down on him. I was becoming distinctly out of breath.

  His big hands moved to my hips, helping me lift up and down. My hands pushed into his hair. My mouth on his. Kissing. He tasted like bourbon and Jackson. I couldn’t get enough.

  “Oh God,” he groaned, as he pulled me down harder on his thick length.

  “Why do you love me?” he was out of breath. Green eyes were looking up at my face.

  “What?” I was almost delirious with desire. I couldn
’t think.

  “Tell me why.”

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and put my forehead against his. I was trying to think of a coherent answer. “I love how kind and protective you are. You make me feel safe.”

  I continued to move on him, moaning at the sensations that coursed through my body.

  He watched my face, his pupils were so wide his eyes look almost black.

  I put his face in between my hands. “You’re the most amazing person I know. I trust you.”

  “But why do you love me?”

  “Jackson,” I was breathless. “I don’t understand.”

  “Why me?”

  “I don’t know, I just do,” I said.

  One strong hand came behind my neck, pulling me down to his face. His lips were against mine. “Tell me why.”

  I felt my whole body tightening. My climax was roaring towards me. I fought it as he moved beneath me. I opened my eyes and looked into his. I could barely speak. Thinking of that little kid who was repeatedly told that he wasn’t worthy of love.

  “No one deserves to be loved more than you.”

  “If you knew who I was, you wouldn’t love me.”

  I was teetering on the edge, as he pumped up without mercy into me. “I want to know you. I want to know everything about you.”

  I held his face in my hands and we looked into each other’s eyes as he drove me off the edge. I cried out hard, shutting my eyes as waves so intense washed over me, I couldn’t even think.

  “Look at me,” he begged. “Look at me.”

  I opened my eyes and focused on his face. There he was.

  “Jackson,” my voice sounded strangled.

  “Oh God, Emily,” he winced, his green eyes were wide on my face as he found his release. We stared at each other. And then, as if he couldn’t take the intensity between us, he wrapped his strong arms around me and buried his face against my neck. “Emily.”

  My arms wrapped around his head. We stayed like that for a really long time. Just holding each other. Without meeting my eyes, he lifted me off him, back onto shaking legs.

  Without looking at me, he said, “Now you should leave me alone.”

  I nodded, my cheeks wet with tears. “Okay. I’ll be upstairs in bed if you need me.”

  Chapter 40

  Three days passed. Jackson was gone long before I woke up and he came home long after I went to bed. I heard him come in at night, but he never came upstairs. The man was mourning and he wanted nothing to do with me.

  Lauren was my seeing eye dog through all of this. She told me about the funeral. What to wear and how there was going to be a massive get together at the community hall after the military funeral service.

  She explained that pretty much the entire community would want to pay their respects to Chris and his family. Instead of making the widow foot the bill for such a huge gathering, it would be a giant potluck with a cash bar. All proceeds from the bar would go towards his wife. Everyone would pitch in to help serve and clean up. The men would setup and tear down the tables. Together, everyone would work together as a team to say goodbye to Chris.

  ***

  The morning of the funeral, I brought my food to the hall. Lauren had coordinated the food and I was responsible for bringing a pan of brownies, a potato salad and a fruit tray. I dropped the food off at the community hall, where men were already setting up the tables.

  I got dressed for the funeral and waited. Jackson came home. Without saying a word, he shaved and put on his dark military uniform. We drove in silence to the cemetery.

  The service was devastating. Jackson, Alphie, Guinness, Forbes and Typhoon were all pallbearers. Chris was given a full military service that included soldiers firing their weapons. Chris’ wife was flanked by her two parents and Chris’ parents. The ceremony was short and hard to watch.

  ***

  There must have been two hundred people at the hall. It was surreal. Chris’ widow and the parents sat at the front table. Everyone took their turn, filing past them to give their condolences.

  I was an interloper. I had only met Chris once and I had never met his wife. Jackson stood with his unit. None of them were talking. They just stood there together, silent and drinking. Brothers banded together. They didn’t talk to anyone else and no one approached them. Not even their wives.

  I walked into the kitchen and looked at Lauren.

  “Put me to work.”

  Her eyes were red from crying. “Okay. We need a dishwasher.”

  She showed me how to use the industrial dishwasher. And then I spent the next three hours, spraying dishes and running them through the machine. Another woman, came and took away the clean dishes for me.

  ***

  Finally the onslaught of dishes slowed down to a trickle. Lauren came back and looked at me.

  “Are you still doing dishes?”

  “Of course.”

  She put her arm around my waist. “Come. Lets find you some food.”

  I ate with the woman who had helped me with dishes. We didn’t speak. I picked at my plate of food. I was hungry but I didn’t feel like eating.

  Finally, I pushed my plate away and stood up. I needed to go to the washroom.

  ***

  I was washing my hands when the door opened and shut. I looked up to see Harper standing with her back against the door. She looked stunning with her blonde hair pulled into a chignon and a slash of blood red lipstick that contrasted with her black dress. Leave it to Harper to look sexy at a funeral.

  I ignored her while I studied my reflection in the mirror.

  “I don’t know why you are even here,” she said. “You’re not part of this group. You don’t belong here.”

  I began to dig through my purse for my lipstick, hoping that she could not see my hands shaking.

  “Jackson hates being tied down to you. He resents everything about you. Your neediness. Your lack of friends. This baby. You represent everything that he never wanted.”

  Without my permission, my head swivelled so I was looking at her but words failed me.

  She gave a knowing smile. “That night in San Lucas. Did he ever tell you what he did? He dragged me onto the beach. He couldn’t get enough of me. He was an absolute animal. Savage, insatiable. That was the night he told me that as soon as you gave birth, he was going to leave you.”

  Dark fear clawed at my throat. I took a deep breath. “You need to remember that we are at a funeral. Have some respect.”

  “You don’t belong here. You don’t understand this world and you never will,” she said.

  I had so many things I wanted to say to her, but the words were stuck inside of me. Without looking at her, I walked out on shaking legs.

  ***

  Jackson drove us home. He didn’t say a word. We walked into the house. We went upstairs to change. I let Chloe outside and was standing on the deck when I heard a tremendous crash from inside.

  I opened the back door and stood there in shock. Jackson had thrown one of our dining room chairs across the room, smashing one of the lamps. I held my breath as he stalked across the room and picked up that chair. And then he began to repeatedly smash the chair against the dining room table.

  Chunks of wood were flying everywhere. He continued to hammer the table with the chair until the chair smashed into three pieces. He turned and fired part of the chair against the wall. A photo on the wall, dangled and swung before crashing to the floor. Jackson picked up another piece of the chair and threw that across the room. It bounced off the living room window. I was surprised that the glass didn’t shatter.

  I stood transfixed as Jackson flipped the dining room table. The flower vase, papers, books and candlesticks all went flying with a messy loud crash. I watched in mute horror as he started to repeatedly kick at one of the upturned legs of the table until it splintered off. Then he picked up the table leg and heaved it against the giant mirror in the front hallway. Glass shattered with a deafening crash.

  He t
urned and looked at me, his face was a mask of anguish. I stood there in shock. Then he was stomping out the front door, slamming it hard behind him. I heard the roar of his truck and then he was gone. I looked in disbelief at our living room. It looked like a tornado had hit it. I didn’t even know how to process this. My husband, who never showed his emotions, had absolutely no idea how to process his pain.

  Keeping Chloe outside, I put on my shoes and vacuumed up the glass. I cleaned everything up to the best of my ability. I was exhausted. Emotionally defeated. I climbed into bed with Chloe and fell into a dreamless sleep.

  ***

  I woke up to a warm body pulling me against him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low.

  I didn’t say anything. I just lay there, staring into the dark.

  I felt his big hand stroke my hair. “Did I scare you?”

  I thought about that. The entire time I had watched him go ballistic, not once did it cross my mind that he would hurt me.

  “No.”

  A long pause between us. “I would never hurt you.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

  I twisted around, so I could face him. “You didn’t scare me.”

  He shut his eyes momentarily. “What I did was unacceptable.”

  I lifted my hand up to his face. Here was a man who had spent his entire life not showing his emotions to anyone. It came as no surprise that he had no framework in which to deal with his anger and his pain. “Jackson.”

  “That will never happen again. Okay?”

  “I know.”

  We lay there in silence for a long time.

  “Chris was 24 and I was 21 when we met in BUDs. He was older than all of us. We were all just a bunch of dumb kids, but he was wiser than the rest of us. He showed us how to be men.”

  I stroked his arm, listening.

  “I had a lot of issues. More than you could imagine but he was never afraid of me. He was always there for me.”

  “Jackson,” my heart was breaking for him.

  “I can’t imagine my life without him.” His voice was so full of anguish, my own tears started to fall. I wrapped my arms around him and hold him. He buried his face into my neck.