by Elle Boon
“Come on, man, we’re done here. I’ll show you what we do next.”
It took Jase a moment to realize he’d been daydreaming, his body had been moving, doing the job at hand while his mind had wandered. Shit! Way to go Tyler. If he didn’t get his head on straight, the next one they’d be burying for real would be him, only he was pretty sure it would be in an unmarked grave. No flag draped casket for him. Why hadn’t Admiral Frazee been buried at Arlington Cemetery? Jase shrugged, then picked up the tools they’d been using.
With one last glance toward the crowd gathered under the tent set up for a soldier who didn’t deserve the love and respect being shown him, he sighed. Jase had held the Admiral to a high standard, only to find Mark Frazee had sold out his country. His fists clenched in renewed anger at the deception and lives that were destroyed because of the admiral. His eyes sought Brooke one last time, stopping on the sight of her walking back toward the line of limos, holding a small child. Next to her, he saw a couple, their arms around each other as they stayed near Brooke and the kid, ready to stop anyone from getting close. Jase wanted to snort at the absurd notion. If he wanted to get close, he could without breaking a sweat.
He waited ‘til she and the others filed into the car, frowning when she didn’t get into the lead one with her mother. Instead, she and the child, along with the other couple piled into the second car. Although he still had feelings for Brooke, he couldn’t allow them to sway him from his course of action. He’d come to watch his old admiral be buried, not get involved with the one woman who held his attention and heart. Nope, Jase Tyler was dead. In his shoes was Tyler Jackson. The irony wasn’t lost on him, but in the new world he was now ensconced in, they made the rules. He just broke them occasionally.
Chapter Two
Brooke buckled her son into his car seat before settling in next to him. Her best friend Brenda and her husband Brian sat across from them. She and Brenda were both hair stylists, while Brian owned a garage. They were so different from the type of people her mother thought she should be friends with, but Brooke didn’t listen to Nancy Frazee. They didn’t see eye-to-eye on many things, especially the type of people she should associate with. Now, sitting next to her son, she glanced across at the pair who were closer to her than family, giving thanks for not listening to her mother. “Thank you for being here today. I don’t think I could’ve made it through that without knowing you were there for me and Jack.”
Brenda reached across the aisle, her long fingers with their hot pink nail polish that matched the tips of her hair made Brooke smile. “You don’t have to thank us. I wish the need hadn’t been there, but you know Brian and I will always be here for you. Do you want us to take Jack back to your place or ours for the night?”
She thought of allowing her friends to take her son home with them. There, he’d have another child to play with and not a crying mother, because as sure as the sun sets each night, Brooke knew she’d be a mess when she got home, but she wasn’t going to take advantage of her friends. Taking a deep breath, she shook her head. “No…I know you both have to work early tomorrow. Besides, Carly isn’t feeling well, and your parents…well, I know you’d like to have her with you tonight.” The funeral would be followed by a small reception at her parents’ home. When Brooke had offered to help her mother with the preparations, Nancy had coldly informed her she was having it handled by a professional organizer.
“Your dad was a good man,” Brian said breaking into her thoughts.
She reached for the bag that had been left in the car, pulling out a tissue and wiping her eyes. “Yes he was,” she agreed.
The next couple hours were going to be some of the hardest as she would have to listen to men and women tell her how sorry they were for her loss. God, why did he have to…no, she couldn’t allow herself to ask questions as to why things happen.
“If you two don’t want to come in, you can take Jack and go either to my place or yours. I’ll give you a key to my apartment so you can…”
Brenda placed her hand over Brooke’s. “I’ve got this. If you don’t need us, we’ll take him and head out. We’ll go to your place, since it’s got all his stuff there.”
Brooke looked at her family home, seeing the vehicles already beginning to fill the street and driveway. “This is no place for a two year old.” She opened her mouth to say thank you, but a glance at Brenda’s face let her know it wasn’t needed.
“Thankfully, I parked on the road this morning,” Brian muttered as he motioned to the cars blocking the driveway.
Brooke looked down at her sleeping baby. He was getting so big. He’d lost his father and now his grandfather. Heck, before he was ever conceived, before she was old enough to think of sex, his uncle had committed suicide. Was every man in her life doomed? There was no way in hell she’d allow anything or anyone to harm one hair on his dark head; she silently swore, running the back of her fingers over one plump cheek. “If you need me for any reason, call me. I don’t care what time or how small, you holler. He’s my everything.” She kissed Jack’s cheek then unbuckled him before passing him to Brenda.
“You know I will. We’ll take him to your place where all his things are and let him go crazy,” Brenda promised.
Brian got out first, holding the door open for Brenda and Jack, waiting until Brooke got out then shutting it. “Do you need anything before we leave?” he asked, his bright blue eyes looking around the yard.
She shook her head, leaned up on her toes and kissed her sleeping boy. “You can let him climb the walls if you want, just take care of him. I’ll call you when I get ready to head home. Thanks for being here you two.”
Her friends left, taking all the happiness with them. Lord, now she had to go inside the house that no longer felt welcoming. Straightening her shoulders, she took a deep breath. Her father had always told her that believing in oneself was half the battle. He’d talked about going into meetings, or battles, not knowing what the outcome would be exactly but told her to always believe you’d be the victor and you would be. That belief he said had kept him alive on more than one occasion. Why she felt like she was going into battle she had no clue, but anytime she faced her mother without her father as a buffer, it seemed that way. “She’s your mother, not a…well, she’s sort of like the evil queen, but she’s still your mother,” she muttered as she made her way to the front door.
The sense that she’d entered someone else’s home slammed into her. Whereas before, the living room was filled with her father’s memorabilia, now, it looked as if it had been overhauled by someone with a black and white canvas. She couldn’t stop the gasp of shock as she searched for the family photos that used to adorn the fireplace mantel. “Mother, what have you done?” The whispered words escaped from a throat gone dry.
“Pardon me, ma’am, are you okay?” A voice asked from beside her.
Brooke looked at the woman, wondering who the hell she was.
“I’m Helen, the housekeeper. Can I get you a drink of water perhaps?” The thin, grey haired woman asked.
She took a moment to collect herself, taking in the changes her mother had made in the last week since her father had been killed. For crying out loud, Nancy Frazee hadn’t wasted a moment to make sure her father was erased from more than just the earth.
“Where is my mother?” she asked the housekeeper.
The woman’s eyes widened. “My apologies. I didn’t…I will escort you to her quarters.”
“This is my home I think I know where my mother’s bedroom is, thank you.” Brooke nearly growled. Hell, she may have if the woman’s step back was anything to go by.
“If you need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Brooke felt sorry for being so harsh and made a mental note to find the woman and apologize. It wasn’t her fault that the lady of the house hadn’t told her she had a grown daughter. God, what else had her mother changed. A knot formed in her stomach. Her brother’s room had sat like a shrine since the last da
y he’d been alive. Nothing was allowed to be moved with the exception of what her mother took, and that was only for cleaning purposes, to Brooke’s knowledge. However, Brooke’s old room was now a guest room. None of her old stuff could linger after she’d moved out, except a few tubs and boxes in the basement.
She stopped at the double doors that led to her parent’s bedroom. Taking a deep breath, again she squared her shoulders, feeling like she was getting ready to face a den of lions. Her mother wasn’t a sweet woman, but she hadn’t been an…ogre. Well, she was, but Brooke wasn’t going to allow that to stop her from confronting the woman who birthed her. Nancy Frazee had another think coming if she thought it was okay to toss her father’s things out.
Brooke raised her hand and knocked. “Mother,” she said while giving the door two hard knocks. At first, she didn’t think her mother was going to answer, and then, the door was opened by a man she’d known her entire life. “Admiral Davis, what are you doing in my father’s bedroom?” Brooke looked past him, pain lashing at her when she didn’t recognize anything of her father inside.
“Hello, Brooke. How are you holding up, dear?” The admiral’s hands gripped her bare arms, giving them a gentle squeeze before he pulled her in for a hug.
Brooke’s eyes narrowed as he carefully sidestepped her question. The stern man had always made it hard for her to accept any form of affection from him. There was always an aloofness to him that her father had said came with the position he held. Now, as she stepped away from his embrace, the feeling that the older man just didn’t like her made her rub her arms. “I’m fine, Sir. I’d like a moment alone with my mother please.”
The sight of the slightly rumpled bed had Brooke’s eyes narrowing on the couple.
“Not now, Brooke. I have guests I need to greet.” Nancy stood, smoothing down her black Dior dress.
The memory of the last time Nancy had worn the dress flashed into her mind. It was when Mark Junior was laid to rest. That day would forever be burned in Brooke’s brain as Nancy had tossed the dress off after raging at Brooke’s dad in the hallway. At eleven, Brooke had picked it up and hung it in her mom’s closet, only to have gotten slapped across the face for daring to touch her mother’s things. Of course, the incident had been brushed away by her mom like every other such time, because she’d been drunk like many other occasions. Yes, her mother was an ogre.
“Yes now, mother. I’m pretty sure you don’t want me asking you in front of your guests where the hell my father’s things are, do you?” Brooke moved around the admiral who seemed to have become her mom’s bodyguard.
Nancy’s blue eyes narrowed. “You don’t speak to me that way, young lady. Not in my home.”
Her mother’s voice became calmer the angrier she got. The fact her tone was level let Brooke know Nancy was seething. “This was my father’s home; the house he built and paid for. His body isn’t even cold and buried, yet, look around, you’ve almost erased him from the place.” She was shaking as she took in the master bedroom and how different it was from her last visit just over a month ago. “What the hell did you do, have renovators on standby, just in case?”
“That’s enough,” the admiral said, gripping Brooke’s arm. “Your father wouldn’t want you and your mother arguing. Grief does different things to different people. I’m sure your mother has your father’s things in a safe place.” He looked over his shoulder.
Nancy nodded. “I just couldn’t look around everywhere and know he was never c…coming back to me. Everything I touched reminded me of him, so I called and had it changed,” she cried.
Brooke stared at her mother, thinking she was putting on a good show for the admiral. She could always tell when her mom was faking it to get her way. Just like she was attempting to now. “What about his study? Did you get rid of him there as well?”
Her mother sniffed. “No, that room hasn’t been touched. Yet. Listen, darling, I don’t want to fight with you. This has been a stressful week. Let’s get through the rest of this circus, and then, when the will is read, we’ll sit down, and you can have whatever you want of your father’s.”
The finality of the reading of a will had tears welling. “When? Do you know when that is?” Please don’t let it be today.
“The lawyers are supposed to call me. I’m assuming in the next couple days. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to go out and play hostess.”
Her mother stood tall and regal as always, no sign of the fake tears showed, reminding her of the master manipulator Nancy Frazee was.
“Mother, a word of warning. Don’t let me find out you’ve gotten rid of one thing of my father’s,” Brooke warned her mom.
Nancy stopped and looked Brooke in the eye. They were both blonde and stood about the same height of five feet seven inches tall. While Brooke wore a pair of two-inch wedges, her mother had on a pair of stiletto’s giving her an extra inch or two in height. Her mother was also thin like Brooke, but there was where their similarities ended. She had tattoos and several piercings, while her mother abhorred anything that wasn’t classy and in her mother’s words, posh darling. The scent of Chanel No. 5 wafted through the air as Nancy exited, stopping outside. “You coming?”
She took a deep breath then wished she hadn’t. Her mother’s perfume was one she would always hate as it reminded her of the woman. Gah, get over it, Brooke.
Like a good soldier, she took one last look around her parent’s…no, it was her mother’s room now, then followed at a slow pace. Lord, she hoped there weren’t going to be any more surprises today.
By the time they entered the large family room, it was filled with friends and coworkers of her father’s. Brooke’s face hurt from smiling or attempting to at least. She didn’t want to listen to the stories of how such and such met her father or how great of a man he was. Her father was the greatest, and she didn’t need anyone else telling her things she already knew.
Knowing she couldn’t stay a moment longer, Brooke looked around for her mother, finding her leaning against the admiral. The image seemed too cozy for Brooke, but again, he was like a member of their family. She took a shuddering breath and eased out one of the french doors that led to the backyard. The summer sun had gone down while she’d been inside, leaving the lawn in shadows. Small lights lit up around the pool, along with twinkling ones along pathways so people could see where they were going. Brooke didn’t need any lights to be able to navigate to the treehouse she and Mark had used. As she stood under it, her thoughts of one day watching Jack play inside were evaporating. After Mark had died, Brooke and her mother’s relationship became even more strained. Her older brother was the one their mom had doted on, the beloved one, and when he was gone, it was as if a light had died inside Nancy, too. Death did strange things to people, and for Nancy Frazee, it made her a cold-hearted bitch.
Brooke thought back to when Mark had died. The pain of losing her best friend and older brother still hurt as if it were only yesterday. Mark was so vibrant and fun, until his senior year of high school. She wasn’t sure what had happened, only knew he’d come home from school with a black eye and several cuts and bruises. When she’d asked him what had happened, Mark had shoved her out of his room and told her to mind her own business.
“Mark, can I come up there?” Brooke called up to her brother from below their treehouse. It was really hers now, but for some reason, her big brother was inside.
The sound of breaking glass had her stepping back. “Jesus Christ, Brookey, can’t you just leave me the fuck alone?”
She bit her lip. Her brother was Brooke’s champion, always looking out for her, never raised his voice, let alone cursed at her. “I’m sorry…I just thought,” she whispered.
Her brother’s bruised face looked over the edge. “Come on up, peanut.”
Swiping at the tears on her cheeks, she secured her backpack on before climbing up the ladder. Once inside, she saw whatever Mark broke had been cleaned up, but the scent of alcohol hit her. “Are you okay?” T
he backpack gave her a reason to look away from his tall gangly form.
He let out a sigh. “Growing up is hard to do, peanut.”
“I brought you something to eat since you missed lunch and dinner.” Brooke showed him what she’d smuggled out of the house, making him laugh. She loved to hear him laugh. He was always so serious that it didn’t happen often.
“Thank you for this.” He bit into the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. They ate in silence. She handed him a soda when he finished off his second PB&J. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. You know you’ll always be my best friend, right?”
Brooke smiled around the bite in her mouth. “I’m the peanut to your jelly,” she agreed.
Mark nodded, but looked away, a strange look on his face.
Brooke wished she knew that would’ve been the last time anyone saw her brother alive. The last dinner they’d ever eat together. “God Mark, why’d you leave me alone. You said you’d always protect me, but where are you now? I’m all alone now that daddy’s gone, too. It’s not fair,” she whispered brokenly, slapping her hand against the sturdy oak that held so many memories.
*****
Jase watched as Brooke cried out, wishing he could go to her, her pain eating at him. If things were different, he’d be there holding her in his arms, promising that everything would be alright. It would be a lie, but he’d have done his best to ensure she was safe. He waited until she went up to the house, surprised when she didn’t go back inside where all the people were. It was no secret there was tension between her and Mrs. Frazee, but surely, in times like these, they’d lean on each other? Keeping to the shadows, he followed Brooke until she got into her neon green Bricklin. He still couldn’t believe her father had helped her rebuild such a fast car, let alone allowed her to drive it. The engine roared to life without a hitch, reminding him of the fact she was more than just a gorgeous girl. A tomboy. That was how she’d described herself, but to him, she’d always been all woman.