Garrison's Creed (Titan)

by Cristin Harber

  “I’m so sorry.” She repeated it over and over, feeling less like a woman in her thirties and more like a child.

  Wrapped in warm arms, one of them smoothing her hair, another holding her tightly, the pain began to ebb. There was shushing and murmuring. But the only thought she had was how strong their love was. Their forgiveness, too.

  She wasn’t worthy.

  But everything they did communicated that was exactly what she was. Worthy.

  Blinking and wiping away the tear streaks, Nicola took a deep breath. Then another. Until she could inhale and exhale. Her chest felt lighter. The weight of her ice-cold guilt melted.

  Her mom grasped her by the shoulders. “We love you.”

  “And we understand,” her father tacked on.

  All she could do was nod, knocked over again by the emotional blow. The tears started again. Her sight blurred.

  “None of that now. This is a happy day,” her mom said, wiping at her eyes. Her dad nodded.

  They smiled. Really, truly smiled. She couldn’t feel any hatred toward their lying daughter. She didn’t see it in their expressions. They simply held her.

  Roman walked outside, stood next to Cash, and she tried for a weak smile. It came easier than she’d expected.

  “Why don’t you bring this whole thing inside before the neighbors get too nosey,” Roman suggested, then laughed. “Nic always could make a big entrance.”

  Then she did smile without having to try, and she laughed, loving her brother more in that moment than she ever had.

  “All right. In, in.” Her mother shooed everyone in the door, keeping an arm wrapped around her, directing her to the living room. “I hope you’re hungry, angel.”

  Angel. She’d never thought she’d hear her mom call her nickname again.

  The house smelled delicious and familiar. Nicola sighed, sitting on the same couch in the same spot as always. Cash settled down beside her, an arm thrown over her shoulder. For a second, her stomach jumped. Her parents didn’t know about her and Cash. Not before, and she wasn’t sure how to define them now, other than that they were a they.

  Her overprotective father didn’t bounce a sideways glance when he kicked back across from her.

  In the background, she heard Roman rifling through the pantry, asking their mother where the snacks were. It all felt so normal.

  Mom brought dad and Cash beers and Nic an orange juice, knowing that she would need her odd comfort drink. She’d drunk gallons of OJ with her mom over the years, rehashing teenage drama.

  “Thanks, mom.”

  Roman walked in, beer and dip in hand, potato chips under an arm.

  “So CIA, Nicky?” Dad always called her Nicky. Drove her crazy until right now. He looked proud.

  Nodding, she tried to think of what to say. “Yeah—”

  “Little sister’s a spy. Who’d a thunk it?” Roman laughed, stuffing chips and dip in at the same time. “And from what I’ve seen, she could give James Bond a run for his money.”

  “Double-Oh-Seven here can shoot and fight with the big boys,” Cash said, giving her a squeeze.

  The guys were bragging on her. Not what she’d expected and her cheeks heated.

  “Well, as long as you’re safe, angel. That’s what I tell the boys as well. The three of you are safe out there, right?”

  Roman, Cash, and Nicola all nodded some version of, “yes ma’am, yes mom, you got it.” Mom smiled ear to ear.

  “Dinner’s ready in twenty minutes. Roman, don’t ruin your appetite. Nicola Beatrice, would you join me in the kitchen?”

  Uh-oh. Breaking out the middle name. She was in trouble. No one else seemed to notice as a football appeared out of nowhere, soaring across the living room, and her mom didn’t give her a chance to wiggle out of that request. Nicola walked the familiar path to the kitchen, hearing the same floorboard creak as it had so long ago.

  “Why don’t you make the salad?” Her mom pointed to everything lined up on the counter.

  “I can do that.” This had been planned, but she was okay with it. The lineup of incoming questions made her nervous, but better to stay busy with her hands than fidget with her shirt.

  “Thanks. So I’m going to skip all the boring and sad stuff and skip to you and Cash. That okay with you, angel?”

  Nicola choked, spilling all the cherry tomatoes she had lined up to split, salt, and pepper. “Cash?” Her voice squeaked. Yeah. That’s not a dead giveaway of anything hot and heavy.

  Rolling her eyes, her mom laughed. “All right. We can dredge up years of missing—”

  “I can talk Cash. I ran into Cash and Roman—”

  “Angel, I know that already. You think either of those boys can keep a secret?”

  I guess not.

  Her mom smiled. “The more I feed them, the more they talk. It’s the only way I’ve stayed sane knowing what they run all over the world doing. I’ve also known the two of you have circled each other from afar since you were—honest to God—believers in cooties. And now, he’s holding your hand. Arm around the shoulder. Clearly, cooties aren’t a problem anymore.”

  Nic knew her cheeks blazed bright pink. “You noticed?”

  “I notice everything. Mothers always do.”

  “What about fathers? Do you think dad, um, noticed?”

  Her mom laughed. “Maybe. Do you like him?”

  “Of course I like him, mom. It’s Cash.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “Mom!” Nic’s eyes bugged out like she was in the twelfth grade again.

  “You know, before everything happened,” her mom gestured to the window. Her dad, Roman, and Cash were outside tossing a football with one hand, nursing their beers in the other. “Cash had called your father. Wanted to talk to us. Without Roman or you there.”

  Silence. I had a ring. His voice echoed in her head. She hadn’t doubted him when he threw that jab at her, but—

  “Know anything about that?” Her mom cocked an eyebrow, smiling like she knew a secret. “Keep chopping, angel. We have hungry men to feed.”

  Nicola stared out the window instead and let her mom remove the knife and salad makings. She watched them in the backyard. Laughing and roughhousing. Cash threw the ball, spun round, and caught sight of her through the glass.

  They locked eyes, and her stomach jumped when his half-grin and a half-nod were directed her way. He’d been her best friend her whole life. He was more gorgeous than any man walking the face of the Earth. And here he was, making her tummy flip.

  The football hit the side of his head, and Roman cheered his direct hit. She laughed. Cash laughed before he turned and speared her brother, football in hand. Dad laughed. Everything felt like it should.

  The doorbell rang. Somewhere in the background, she heard her mother fussing for a hand towel, wiping her hands on the way to answer the front door. Nicola was mesmerized, watching her family. Being home—

  Chk-chck.

  And just that fast, the unmistakable sound of a pump-action shotgun dumped an ice bath on her warm-and-fuzzy worldview. She palmed a steak knife from the kitchen island, slid to the wall, and listened.

  A floorboard creaked. She knew that floorboard, knew every one that creaked and groaned, thanks to years of sneaking out with Cash and Roman. Nic looked out the window. The men were back to their casual game of drink-and-toss, shooting the shit.

  She rounded the corner and knew that knife wouldn’t be worth the silver it was plated with if her hearing was right. And she had no doubt it was. Tucking the steak knife into the back of her shorts, she had only one more corner—

  “Jackson?” She was struck completely dumb.

  He turned toward her, pivoting her Remington 870 Super Magnum pump action away from her mom. Thank God.

  “Nicola, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. You haven’t been home in days.”

  Jackson looked delirious and smelled like booze. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy. He hadn’t shaved in at least a day and his cl
othes were… tactical.

  “Here I am, Jacks. Why don’t you slip the safety back on that baby, and we can go for a walk?”

  “Not yet. Is Cash here?” he asked, so calm and casual that the hairs on the back of her neck did the wave.

  “I think this is between you and me. Whatever it is—”

  “This is your mom?” He sounded desperate and distant.

  How to answer this one… “Jackson, listen to me—”

  He swung his gaze to her mom, but thankfully kept the shotgun aimed at her. “I’m Jackson Dale. You must be Mrs. Garr—” He took a step from her mom and sliced a glance to Nic. “Wait, I don’t even you know your real last name. How is this possible? How could you do this to me?”

  Her mom spoke up. “You can call me Janet.”

  Jackson smiled at her, but his eyes didn’t focus. “It’s nice to meet you, Janet. You have such a lovely house.”

  “Thank you, Jackson,” she said, her face pale and eyes wide. “I’d love to have you join us for dinner. But I do have a strict no guns in the house rule.”

  “Nic and I aren’t staying.”

  Good. She could get him the hell out of the house and that gun away from her mother. “Jacks is right, mom. We’ve gotta go.”

  The stench of sweat and liquor overpowered the room. He lowered the weapon slightly but kept a finger on the trigger. She knew how ultra-sensitive that trigger was. A slight breeze on the right setting would slip it to fast action.

  “Let’s go. Nice to meet you, Janet.”

  The back door opened and slammed shut. Grumbling and laughing male voices overwhelmed the house.

  Damn it, she was so close. “Jacks. Come on.”

  Roman called out from the kitchen, cabinet doors opening and closing. “Mom, we’re starvin’.”

  Jackson’s eyes darted toward the voices. His voice slurred. “Who’s that?”

  “Just my family, Jacks. No one who needs—”

  Cash and Roman both rounded the corner and cursed. Her dad slammed into the twosome when they pulled up short.

  Jackson leveled the shotgun on the men and pleaded. “He’s here. Nic, you didn’t say Cash was here. Nic, why didn’t you tell me? Nic?” With a pendulum swing, Jackson swayed unsteadily, the shotgun now aimed at her. “Nicola?”

  All hell is about to break loose. She could feel it. She didn’t know which way it was coming from first, but they all teetered on the edge of disaster and watched to see who jumped first.

  Nicola drilled her eyes to Jackson, mentally pleading with him. In her peripheral vision, Roman, Cash, and Dad flicked glances past her and Jackson. Another round of hair-raising gut instinct took over.

  Crash.

  The rush came before she even heard it. Nic wasn’t sure what her body was doing, but trusted her training. Everything else was in slow motion. Glass shattered from the windows. Roman grabbed their mother, tossing her to Dad. Cash grabbed Jackson. Nic jumped out of the way but was knocked down. Definite yelling, definite firings. The sting and burn of glass exploding scrambled her senses.

  And when she tried to look up, she saw the red. Everything burned. Her nose ran, eyes running. Cash had her on her feet now. What the hell is going on? But she couldn’t stand on her own, that much she knew. Her face. Her arm was on fire. Help me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Everything burned. Nothing made sense. The only thing that kept her from screaming was that she was hurt. Not her parents. Not her brother. Not Cash. Nicola could deal with her pain. No one else’s though. She’d brought enough hurt home already.

  Hands touched her face. Damn it. “Stings… Burns.” And smells?

  “Get her to the bathroom.” A woman, not her mother, ordered.

  The dizzy spin in her head was confusing. Who all was there? Cash’s strong hands lifted her. She knew the feel of his touch, the definition of his chest. Even if she couldn’t open her eyes, she knew Cash’s arms.

  “What is that stuff?” Now that was definitely her mom. She sounded concerned, not hurt. But damn if she didn’t want to concern her mom ever again.

  Her dad mumbled something.

  The snap of her mom’s voice followed them. “Obviously, not the blood. That stuff. It’s everywhere.”

  A cold cloth pressed to her face, wiping over and over. Slowly, the boiling sensation on her skin plateaued. Didn’t stop, but became bearable.

  “Drink this.” It was Cash. He held a glass to her lips, then spoke to someone else. “No. Don’t call for an ambulance. I’m driving.”

  Her vision wasn’t what it should be. Her lips burned. Water would be good. Accepting the glass, the cold—

  Ick.

  Not what she was expecting. She spit it out. “What is that?”

  “Milk. It’ll help.”

  What the fu—

  Oh.

  “Cayenne shells,” she mumbled again. “He hit me with—”

  “I know, sweet girl. Beth told us.”

  “What? Beth?” It was all she could manage and it did nothing to ask the important question like when did she get there and why? Cash wiped her face, then her arms. It helped some, but only for flashing cool moments.

  “Beth shot out the window. Glass hit you. The shotgun fired, not a direct hit thanks to Beth. But you got up close and personal with an exploding twelve gauge pepper blast. Bet all this pepper stings like a bitch.”

  She nodded, curling into his arms. Her ankles hit the bathroom vanity. They had to be sitting in the hall bathroom, with her in his lap. “I mess everything up.”

  “Nah. You’re enough to drive a man crazy. Any other lunatic ex-lovers I should know about? They’ll be gone before dawn.” He repositioned her. “Can you open your eyes?”

  She shook her head a tiny bit, feeling like a baby. “They burn. I don’t want to.”

  “All right. That settles that. Don’t try in case there’s glass in ‘em. You’re going to the ER. No idea how I’m going to explain this though.” Cash paused, leaning out the door. “Your mom is cracking me up. I’m pretty sure Beth gave up and okayed the use of a vacuum, even though a cleanup team is on the way.”

  “Is Beth still here?”

  “Yeah, Roman’s trying to hit on your girl, but she’s having nothing to do with it. And Beth may be on an adrenaline high.”

  Nic laughed, then stopped short, her lips stinging anew. “Ow.” She ran her tongue tentatively over her lip and tasted her blood. “Don’t make me laugh. What about Jackson?”

  “We’ll deal with that later.” Cash called over her shoulder. “Hey, Beth. C’mere.”

  Nic heard Beth bounce into the bathroom, her mouth running highway speed before she could make out the words. “—believe that? I just knew it. And how much did I save your life with that cayenne shot. I told you, pack the pepper. Next time one of those boys shows up, knocking each other out—no offense, Cash—you can put them in place. When I gave you that box of ammo, it was a joke. A joke. And then those creepy-assed, drunk calls from Jackson. My timing pretty much rocked—”

  “Beth.” Cash coughed to hide a laugh. “Take a breath girl.”

  “How did Jackson find me?” Nicola asked Beth.

  “I don’t have all the details, but Jackson found out that two Titan guys disarmed a bomb at your parents’ house. I don’t know. Maybe the bomb-disarming crowd likes to chat? And from all Jackson’s ramblings, I’m pretty sure he’d triangulated your burner phone and monitored your location. That’s how I found you. Throw that thing away. You sure as hell don’t answer it. I called you a million times today.”

  “You’re the best, Beth.”

  “They should put me out in the field. I’m a rock star.”

  Nic smiled again, ready for the sting. “I know. I love ya, you know that?”

  “Of course. God, Cash. She looks awful. Take her to the doctor.”

  If Nic’s eyes had been open, they would’ve rolled. Cash threw Beth some version of, “yes, ma’am.” Nicola seriously loved both of them.
>
  “Angel?”

  “Nicky?”

  Her parents replaced Beth who left, babbling. Nicola felt like a blind spectacle, but didn’t shy away from her parents. “I’m sorry.”

  “So it goes.” Her dad clapped Cash on the back. “Roman’s got your vehicle ready and running. Nice looking car, by the way. Is that new?”

  What a week.

  Her mom smoothed her hair. “We’ll see you two here for dinner again soon. I packed a bag of food. You both need to eat. Had Roman put that in your car too, Cash.”

  Cash lifted her up, they said their goodbyes, and she was in the passenger seat of his car again.

  The door was still open, and Roman walked up. She knew him by the cadence of his gait. “You know how to make an entrance and exit. Don’t ya, Double-Oh-Seven.” He had stolen that from Cash, but she still loved it. “Anyway, Jared just called me back. He said if she could stand the extra thirty-five mile drive, he’d take care of everything through Titan’s docs.”

  She shrugged.

  “I got the feeling he wanted to talk to you two,” Roman continued. “Prepare yourself for the dickhead version of Debbie Downer.”

  Roman shut her door, patted the outside twice, and Cash backed out the driveway. She didn’t need to see to know he flew down the highway, passing cars right and left.

  “I’m not dying, Cash. No need to get a ticket.”

  “Sweet girl, unless the speed limit is enforced by sniper fire or an air assault team roping down from a screaming helo, we aren’t slowing.”

  ***

  Dr. Tuska waited for their arrival and had her with a surgical ophthalmologist and ocular trauma specialist doing a thorough onceover before she could shrug them off and ask for a saline wash.

  The nurses marched into action, cleaning her up. All in all, Titan’s medical team took an hour and fifteen minutes to get Nic seeing again. Not bad.

  Now, she waited. No had one checked her in, per se, so she didn’t know what else to do besides wait for Dr. Tuska’s discharge instructions and the tube of antibacterial ointment she was promised.

  The room looked normal enough, but the sheets weren’t standard hospital linens. They were smooth and felt like high thread count. Even the pillow was soft, given that it was probably one of those plastic, liquid resistant types. But it was still a hospital bed, and the place still smelled like cleaner. She hated hospitals, and the only reason she didn’t push the button to call her nurse was Cash. Leaning up against the bed, he calmed her with his large hand covering hers. Despite the trauma and drama of the evening, she relaxed against him.