Survivor (First to Fight Book 2)

by Nicole Blanchard

  “I don’t know how to process Livvie and your underwear in the same sentence, so I’m going to ignore all of that and go grab your shirt. Then Doctor Jack says it’s time for breakfast.”

  “Yes, doctor.”

  I stop myself short of the office and press a forearm into the wooden doorframe. Resting my head on my arm, I exhale one long, slow breath. I thought she was dangerous when she was younger, but Sofie all grown up is lethal.

  The water stops behind me, so I straighten and hunt for a shirt from her suitcase. It’s one of those deals where the top part of the suitcase has a clip that unhooks and hinges down for another layer of storage. I undo the clip and shirts tumble out onto the table. I flip through them, guiltily enjoying the scent of her perfume when my finger slices along the fine edge of a piece of paper.

  Cursing, I pull it out from between two T-shirts to set it aside and find a letter addressed to Sofie. From Damian.

  What the fuck?

  I read it before I even make the conscious decision to do so. I should feel bad about it, but when I process its contents, I move passed guilt and straight into pissed off. In it he writes about their amazing night together. How he can’t wait to see her again now that she’s back in town. I have to read it two more times before I can fully process the words.

  Wet feet slap against the wooden floor followed shortly by a soft inhalation. I turn, the world shifting on its axis, to find Sofie wide-eyed and dressed only in a towel. Thrown back ten years, unable to make my thoughts align, unable to catch my breath, unable to think, I growl, “Sofie, what the fuck is this?”

  She blinks a few times, otherwise unresponsive to the letter I thrust in her direction. Glancing down at the piece of paper, she knots one hand in the towel at her chest and takes it in her hand. Her eyes flick across the words and then back at me. “It’s a letter,” she says calmly, striding passed me.

  My throat constricts with ten years of angry arguments. “Care to explain it?” I say after I collect myself.

  She jerks a thin robe from her suitcase with quick, efficient movements and wraps it around her, ditching the towel and cinching the robe up at her waist. “I don’t think it’s any of your business anymore, Jack.”

  My vision flashes red. “Don’t fucking play games with me.”

  Coolly, she wraps a towel around her damp hair and curls it on the top of her head. “None of this is a game to me.”

  God, who is this woman? This cool, disengaged creature who is nothing like the girl I used to know. The evidence of her betrayal shakes in my outstretched hand, a demand, a plea. “Then, please, explain to me why one of my friends is writing you love letters?”

  She lifts one slim shoulder, the collar of her robe slipping down to expose one creamy white shoulder. “How the hell am I supposed to know? People do crazier things all the time. That doesn’t mean it means anything.”

  Rage bubbles thick and hot inside my chest. “You brought it with you. Obviously it means something.”

  “What do you want me to tell you, Jack? What answer could I possibly say here that you would believe?” She presses a hip into the side of the desk, her gaze even.

  “For the first time in ten years, I just want you to tell me the truth. No bullshit.” I study her for any show of emotion whatsoever, but her face stays empty of response.

  “The truth is, it’s none of your business.”

  I jerk back, her words a slap in the face. The friendship we had, the love I thought transcended everything, apparently meant nothing to her. I take three steps forward and toss the letter on the graveyard of her clothes scattered over the surface of her desk. “So you fucked him? Is that why you left town? Why you left me?”

  She sighs, as though having this conversation is beneath her, not worth her time. “Do you want me to say it? Fine, I fucked him. I fucked him the night mom and I came back from New Orleans. I wasn’t sick that night. I was with him.” She pauses, weighing the tense silence. “Is that what you want to hear, Jack? Do you want to hear how many times he made me come?” For the first time she shows a slice of emotion across her face, just a tightening of the muscles around her eyes and mouth, the slightest sneer around her lips. “How much I screamed for him?”

  My fists clench by my hips, my feet are rooted to the ground. She slept with one of my friends. “Jesus Christ,” I breathe, at a loss for words. Did I even know her at all?

  “I think it’s time for you to go,” she says firmly.

  Time passed.

  I turn without another word, my steps heavy, and walk out of the room.

  When I get home a few hours later after driving aimlessly around town, I email the contact information on the press release Grady gave me and make arrangements for my reenlistment.

  Present

  “WHERE’S JACK?” DONNIE asks, looking around the interior of the car like he’ll find Jack hiding behind the seats. “I thought he was going to go to school with us today?”

  “He couldn’t make it,” I murmur absentmindedly. I adjust my sunglasses and peer through the windshield, urging the cars in front of me to creep down the school driveway. Five more minutes and they’re going to be late for the first day back at school.

  “But he promised!”

  “Something came up.”

  Donnie sniffles and my heart trips over itself. Goddamn Jack. “Will he be here to pick us up?”

  I catch his eye in the rearview mirror. “I don’t think so, buddy, I’m sorry.”

  “Probably because you guys were arguing the other day.” When I look in his direction, Rafe is staring out the window, his shoulders slumped and his mouth pulled down in a frown.

  Pulling up to the drop-off zone, I turn in my seat to look at them. “Or he’s just busy,” I say.

  “He was always around before you came here,” Rafe retorts.

  Before I can snap off a response, Rafe jumps from the car and onto the sidewalk. Donnie just gives me this pitiful look and then both boys trot off down the sidewalk.

  Neither of them look back at me.

  A horn beeps behind me and I glance back at an impatient soccer mom frowning through my rearview. “All right, all right,” I mutter, pulling away with one last look at my brothers’ retreating backs. Day one as responsible sister is a complete failure.

  My new job as a tech analyst for a local private investigations firm pays nowhere near what I used to make at my old job, but the people seem nice, and it has a great insurance plan for the boys. After I drop them off at school, I head over to the office to finish some last minute paperwork and to meet the interdepartmental secretary, Anita.

  “I sure am glad to get another female in this department,” she says as she gives me a tour of the facilities. She’s around fifty with salt-and-pepper hair and a mile-wide smile. “These boys are great, but they aren’t much for socialization and a lady gets damn crazy without a little chitchat.”

  I’m not exactly what you’d call the gal-pal type, but I can’t help the responding smile when she beams up at me. “I don’t know how much good I’ll do with the chit chat, but I can try,” I tell her.

  She pats my arm as we walk through the break room. “Don’t you worry, child. I’ll do all the talking. All you have to do is listen. Which is more than I can say for any of these fellows.” She gestures around the room at the four or five guys on break. They’re all submersed in their phones or laptops. The only sounds in the room are the humming coming from the appliances or the click-clicking from the laptops. She gives me a raised eyebrow. “See what I mean?”

  Laughing, I follow her out of the break room. “Must drive you crazy.”

  “Well, me, not so much. I could talk to a wall if I had to, but my husband…he likes to say I store up all the chatter just for when I come home. I’m sure he’ll be so happy to hear that I’ve got someone else to talk to during the day.”

  God, it’s been a long time since I’ve just been able to have polite, easy conversation with someone. Conversation that do
esn’t involve the past or even more recently, the present. “Well, I’m happy to help,” I say. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around Nassau before. How long have you lived here?”

  “Me and my husband, John, we moved here about five years ago to retire.” She plops down in the big swivel chair behind her desk in the center of the large room that houses all the tech analysts. “We just couldn’t stand the cold weather up north anymore. Too hard on our old joints, the doctor said. John’s family used to live here a while ago, and we used to vacation here when our kids were little.”

  “It’s pretty here in the summer,” I say.

  “Damn sure is,” she says with a smile. Leaning close, she adds, “It’s been like a second honeymoon!”

  We share a laugh. “I think I’m gonna like you,” I tell her.

  “You’re too sweet. So tell me a little about yourself. What brought you to Nassau?”

  Since I haven’t officially started work yet, I don’t for a couple more days, I sit back in the guest seat next to Anita. I don’t have any plans until the boys get out of school, and honestly, the sympathetic ear is welcome. “I used to live here when I was younger. My mom passed away a couple weeks ago and left my two younger brothers. Since my dad died of a heart attack when they were still little, there just wasn’t anyone else to raise them.”

  “Oh, you poor thing. I’m so sorry to hear that.” She clucks around and offers me a cool can of soda and a homemade lemon square. “You eat this, okay? I bet your brothers sure are a lucky pair to have a sister like you.”

  I nibble on the sweet and sip the drink. “I wouldn’t say that. Right now they’re pretty upset with me. I’d like to say it’s just teenage angst, but I wasn’t there for them as much as I should have been.”

  She waves that away. “I wouldn’t be too worried. Boys are always getting upset about one thing or another. It’ll blow over.”

  I contemplate the thought over another bite of lemon square. “I guess. I just have no idea what I’m doing. I never planned on having kids and now I have two.”

  “And teenagers at that, bless your heart. Well if you ever need any advice, I’m here to help you, sugar. Mine gave me all this white hair so I have plenty of experience.” She gestures to her head of all-white and giggles delicately.

  “I may take you up on that,” I say.

  “Feel free. Once you finish that snack there, I’ll show you where your office will be, and we’ll get that paperwork taken care of. While we do that, you can tell me all about your brothers.”

  A couple hours later, I leave the office feeling, for the first time in longer than I can remember, excited about the future. The job here may not be as lucrative as the one I gave up, but if every day is going to be spent like the one I just had, I could get used to it. I’m damn near bouncing on my toes as I head down to the employee parking garage. I’m even humming to myself, and I can’t remember the last time I felt relaxed enough to do that.

  My sweet little car is parked in the spot already affixed with my name. A piece of paper fluttering on the windshield catches my attention and my steps slow, my heart lurching into my throat. With trembling fingers, I reach for the note, nearly dropping it twice before I bring it up to read.

  The advertisement for car wash services pulls a laugh from my chest. God, I’m getting paranoid. Tossing the advert in my purse, I unlock my car door and slide in. My keys tumble to the floorboard as I set my purse down in the passenger seat. Cursing, I fold down to get them, scrabbling at the scratchy floorboard until my fingers snag them.

  I straighten up and jab the keys into the ignition when I look up to see a shadow looming over the driver’s side window. For a second, I think it’s Jack, but this shadow is far too wide to be his lean frame. Fear lodges in my throat as I come face to face with the man whose face haunts my nightmares.

  He leans down, his scarred lip twisting into a smile that sends shivers down my spine. “Hello, Sofia,” he says.

  My insides freeze, tensing, and my elbows dig into my ribs as though I can disappear inside myself. I gasp for breath and when I speak, the words come out in tiny explosions. “Damian. What-what are you doing here? I thought you were in jail.” My ears start to ring and my first thought is of the boys. Oh, God. Their faces flash through my mind. I don’t want to stain them with this. Don’t want them to be faced with such horrors.

  He chuckles and wedges his body in the open door, crowding my space. I jerk back, though there’s nowhere for me to go. The center console jabs into my back, but I don’t feel anything except the sharp, icy edge of fear.

  “You know why I’m here, mi cielo. A cage can’t keep us apart and we have unfinished business, you and me.”

  The click-clack of heels against the concrete echoes through the parking garage and my panicked eyes dart for the source of the sound automatically. When I recognize Anita, I swallow the automatic scream for help. Damian looks back, his body tensing for a moment while Anita crosses the garage to her late model sedan.

  “Unfinished business?” I ask, though the words sound weak, even to my ears. Anything to get his attention off of her and back onto me. I couldn’t bear if someone I care about got hurt, and though I just met her, I already consider her a friend. One of the few I have left. For a few tense seconds, I can feel him weighing his options. When he lets her get into her car and drive off, I let out a heavy breath.

  He lifts one arm—still as powerful and filled with threatening potential as I remember—and trails a finger over my cheek. My eyes close, my brain filling with thoughts of those hands on other parts of me, his touch just as soft as I remember it can be. A tear breaks through my wavering composure and meets his finger. His body stills and he rubs his finger into the moisture then brings it to his lips.

  I tremble under his weighted observation. “What are you going to do?” My voice is barely a whisper and I gasp for breath in between each word.

  I don’t know if I can survive it again. Just seeing him now, here, is enough to send my heart into overdrive, enough to drown me in adrenaline. My brothers’ faces flash in my mind, and I clench my stomach and press my lips together to stave off the wave of nausea.

  He leans down, his head now inside the car, close enough for me to smell the mint and coffee on his breath. “Whatever I want,” he growls, threading a hand underneath my prim little bun and forcing my head backward. “You tell that to Jack when you see him. Tell him to stay away from what’s mine or you’ll both regret it.”

  I choke down a sob, my body now trembling uncontrollably. I manage to nod, feeling my hair tearing at the roots from his inescapable hold. “I w-will.”

  He stays there, his eyes roaming over my body like he owns it. And doesn’t he? Didn’t he prove it irrevocably that night?

  A few minutes pass and they seem to last both an eternity and a millisecond, when he says, “I’ll be seeing you around, Sofie. Real soon. Remember to tell Jack what I said.”

  Tears blur his retreating back before he disappears altogether around a corner. The trembling intensifies until I collapse into a pile of unrelenting convulsions and dry heaves. Apart from the single tear he stole, I don’t cry, though it’s not for my body’s lack of trying. I’m almost certain he stole all my tears the night he took everything else away from me.

  An hour later, I pull up to the school having finally regained some measure of self-control. I jam my sunglasses back on my face in spite of the weather turning overcast. Rafe and Donnie don’t need to see my bloodshot eyes and red, puffy cheeks. My fingers grip the steering wheel a little too tight and I can’t quite get my stomach to settle, but I put on a happy face for my brothers, even if it pulls around the edges.

  They dive into the car, bringing with them the scent of sweat and feet—must be a teenage boy thing—still dressed in their basketball uniforms and sweating profusely from practice.

  “Don’t get on my side,” Rafe growls, buckling in. “I’m sick of you getting in my space dude. You do it on the c
ourt, you do it at home.” He heaves a frustrated breath. “God, I can’t wait to get out of here.”

  Donnie wilts a little, and I notice he takes extra care not to cross the center of the backseat. He stares out the window to cover his hurt, his eyes bright.

  “Hey, guys,” I say with false cheerfulness.

  They both grunt, neither looking up. Sighing, I give up, waiting for my turn to pull out of the car pool and onto the main street that will feed out onto the highway. My phone vibrates, and I check it absently, a text from Livvie managing to pull a genuine smile to my lips.

  Livvie: Did I tell you Hank got the neighbors’ Jack Russell Terrier pregnant? They just called to let us know the last puppy is available for adoption if we want it. I’m having the hardest time convincing Ben and Cole we don’t need the last one. Save me!!!!!!

  I peer at my sullen brothers in the backseat and make an impulsive decision. Ten minutes later, I pull up to Livvie’s house.

  “What are we doing here?” Rafe asks. “I’m hungry and I want to go home.”

  “You’ll see,” I respond, unbuckling and swinging out of the front seat. I think I need this as much as they do.

  Hank, the proud father, a smush-faced Boston Terrier whose whiter in the face now than black, struts up to us and winds around my legs. I squat down to scratch behind his ears. “Hey, handsome.”

  Livvie appears on the porch. “Thank God, you’re here,” she says, holding a squirming mass of fur in her arms. “They were about to riot.”

  “What’s that?” Donnie asks, coming to stand beside me.

  I turn to him, glancing at Rafe, who is now at full attention, and say, “We’re picking up our puppy.”

  The boys’ attention snaps to me and for a moment they’re absolutely stunned silent. By this time Livvie’s reached the bottom step and placed the exuberant puppy on the ground. It bounds toward us at full speed and by the time it reaches us, Rafe and Donny are bending down and loving on it with excited sounds that remind me more of kids than two surly teenagers. Cole squeals and bounds down the stairs to join them, the three of them sporting matching smiles.