The Hero I Need: A Small Town Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  A road lined with hell and the sickest emotional torture known to man.

  It left me alone with a husk of the woman I pledged my life to—every last bit of her gone—devoured from the inside out by an invisible demon no one in their right minds would ever summon.

  She barely weighed ninety pounds when she died. Hadn’t been able to eat for weeks. Her body couldn’t function in so many ways.

  In hindsight, I blame myself for keeping her alive longer.

  I was the jackass who insisted on the feeding tube, still praying for a miracle, not fucking ready to lose her.

  If I hadn’t been so selfish, if I’d just let her go, she might have died with an ounce of dignity.

  Instead, thanks to me, she’d withered until there was nothing.

  I’ve saved dozens of lives overseas, faced down foreign enemies in Iraq and domestic criminals back home, and survived a slug in my shoulder that nearly killed me on a sweltering street in Baghdad.

  I got used to hearing the word miracle in the service more times than I can count. I started to believe in them and that’s what set me up for a fall.

  But the one thing I couldn’t survive, couldn’t accomplish, was save my wife.

  Brittany hadn’t gotten out of bed for over two months before the end came.

  The memories still break my heart all over again like a jackhammer.

  She was so alive, once upon a time.

  So charming and beautiful and fun.

  The day she stepped out of the bathroom screaming with the positive pregnancy test in her hand, waving her arms, she’d leaped on the bed and jumped up and down like a five-year-old.

  We did it!

  We made ourselves a baby, times two.

  Two endlessly gorgeous, talented, whip-smart little girls.

  I think the smile I wore after I heard the news lasted for months.

  Several years later, she didn’t even know who Sawyer and Avery were.

  Didn’t remember how she’d changed her mind a hundred times before choosing those two names, because they had to be a thousand percent perfect.

  We wanted to give them names they could be proud of, gifts from a loving mom and dad that’d always remind them how special, how precious their lives are.

  She didn’t remember my name, either.

  Or even her own name by the killing end.

  The last words she said to me, a month before she’d died, were simply, “Thank you, doctor.”

  They came out so faint and so slurred it was hard to comprehend, but I’d understood them, all right.

  I understood she didn’t know me enough to love me anymore, didn’t know where she was, who she was, but in her own, sweet way, she still found the energy to say thank you for helping her.

  Thank you and goodbye.

  Unfair doesn’t begin to describe it.

  Unfair is what happens when you just miss the jackpot in Vegas, or when you’re passed up for a promotion because you didn’t kiss enough ass.

  This was a fucking murder.

  Of her. Of us. Of the future we should’ve had.

  All I have left now are memories, and I’ll protect them with everything I have. Keep them front and center, sealed up behind a mile of treacherous barbed wire in my heart.

  I’ll hold them tight and cherish them because losing Brittany broke me for love.

  Losing her meant losing my heart forever.

  * * *

  The memories strike closer to home the next morning when Hank arrives to pick up the girls.

  At one time, he was one of my best friends. He was Brittany’s older brother—her only brother—and the greatest uncle in the world to Sawyer and Avery. Not like my own brother who moved out of state years ago and left Weston here.

  Hank adores them, too.

  No surprise.

  He was a strapping human rock for them in good times and bad, ready to help out at the drop of a hat since the second they were born.

  Do I appreciate it?

  Hell yes.

  I appreciate him.

  Good family is the only thing that’s harder to find than good help.

  It’s just that I struggle to look him in the eyes.

  Seeing my brother-in-law is fucking torture. Even after all these years.

  He’s never said anything to me, no deep tearful conversations. There’s nothing but warmth behind his smile. But all the shit that goes unsaid?

  That shows up in subtle movements and awkward glances when he thinks my back is turned.

  I have to believe he blames me for dragging out Brittany’s death, for letting her waste away to papery flesh stretched over frail bones, a living ghost.

  Why shouldn’t he blame me as much as I blame myself?

  Call it collateral damage.

  The kind that poisons a relationship when someone passes, rather than bringing them together.

  Fuck it.

  Some things can’t be fixed in life, and this is one of them. And on the dark, restless nights like the one that just passed, when I hold up a mirror to my soul, I know the truth.

  Hank should hate me.

  I don’t blame him for it.

  So I try to forget the last five strained years of our life as I walk to the center of the driveway where he’s stopped his old, slightly battered blue-and-white Dodge. The windows are already down.

  “Thanks for coming and taking them today, Hank. I should be back by early evening.”

  “No problem, man. I have a new colt I’ve been wanting them to see.” His brown eyes, as dark as Brittany’s had been, twinkle as he opens the door. “Oh, and Babe had her pups! Nice big litter, all six of them healthy and barking up a storm.” He laughs before leveling me a look. “Take that as fair warning. You’re gonna hear a lot of puppy begging from the duo real soon.”

  “Great,” I mumble. More begging from the girls for an animal.

  They don’t get it.

  They’re too young to understand. It’s not just about the responsibility...I can’t get them an animal and risk having it die.

  After Brittany, after growing up without a mother, I can’t have them experiencing that shit again.

  Another crippling, unexpected, soul-stealing visit from the Reaper.

  Another loss they can’t get back.

  “Uncle Hank! Uncle Haaaank!”

  I smile. They always shout his name twice as they come flying out of the house. Two at a time, just like most things that happen around here.

  The third person with them is what makes me do a double take.

  Sawyer and Avery each have a fierce hold on Willow’s arms, pulling her toward Hank.

  “You have to meet Willow!” Sawyer chirps. “Uncle Hank, look, here’s our new nanny.”

  Hank’s smile grows, but so does the gleam in his eye as he looks at me, one brow raised. I can already feel the punch to my stomach.

  “Nanny, huh?” Hank asks.

  “Nanny,” I echo dryly. “Had to hire one. Didn’t have much choice with how crazy it’s been around here lately, plus the bar—”

  “Come on, man,” he cuts me off. “You don’t owe me no explainin’. There’s nothing wrong with a little hired help, Grady. Or with anything else, you know. Hell, Britt would’ve wanted you to—”

  “Not now, Hank,” I snap, more harshly than intended.

  His brows arch up.

  I can’t deal with this again, here in front of the girls and Willow.

  Yeah, he’s told me a hundred times how Brittany would want me to get on with my life, not stay mired in the past.

  Let him think that.

  Let him tell me everything’s just fine and dandy, and we don’t think about how she died every time our eyes meet.

  Fuck.

  We both know the truth.

  I know what Brittany would’ve wanted, and so does he.

  She didn’t want to die.

  She wanted to be here, raising her daughters, plus the other kids I’ll never have a chance to make. />
  She damn sure wouldn’t want me to start over—much less with some random pixie blown in by an ill summer wind, carrying the kind of trouble that could literally swallow up our family alive.

  I’m already defying the past, spitting in the face of what my dead wife would’ve wanted.

  No ifs, ands, or buts about it, and it sucks.

  “Hey, friend. Willow is it?” Hank says merrily as Willow arrives at his truck with a girl still hanging on each arm.

  He’s always been a people pleaser.

  “You got it!” she answers. “And you must be the infamous Uncle Hank? I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things.”

  “Aw, careful what you believe now. These little meerkats exaggerate everything,” he says, using both hands to rub the top of each girl’s head through the window as they laugh.

  “I, uh...I wouldn’t do that, Hank,” I tell him. “Summer camp shut down a day early because of head lice.”

  Hank throws back his head and roars. “Oh, Grady, Grady...there are days when I don’t know if I should feel sorry for you, or just laugh, because there’s nothing else I can do. Good thing for you little ladies I’m cootie-proof.”

  I frown, not sure what he means.

  “I don’t know what he thinks lice are, but it has him a little freaked out,” Willow tells Hank under her breath, but loud enough for me to hear.

  My shoulders bow up.

  “You never had cooties growing up, Grady?” Hank asks with another barrel-like chuckle.

  “No,” I say coldly, wondering if I’m the only person who never had lice growing up.

  One thing’s for sure—it’s an experience I don’t care to have as an adult.

  “I did. Every frickin’ summer,” Hank says, looking at Willow with a smile. “My mama shaved my head until I was as bald as an eagle’s egg. To top it off, I got sunburned on the top of my head and it peeled for weeks.”

  “Oh, dear,” Willow says, trying not to laugh. “Why didn’t you wear a hat?”

  “That’s what happens when you’re a kid who loves swimming more than thinking,” he says, overexaggerating his hand movements like he always does.

  “Will you take us to the lake, Uncle Hank?” Avery pleads, her little hands grasping his. “The big one Edison always likes to drink from?”

  Hank laughs again, his permanent state of being.

  “Sure thing, munchkin, after we get those chores done your daddy drafted you two for,” he says, then turns his eyes to me again. “Man, Drake and Bella are gonna lose it if that damn Einstein of a horse makes another break for Big Fish Lake. They had to catch him two times last week.”

  Even I can’t resist smiling at that.

  It’s a running joke around here how often the Larkin’s iconic horse, Edison, manages to break into town, the lake, or other people’s barns no matter how much they escape-proof their property. The old horse always finds a way to have some fun traveling, along with his mare, Edna.

  “Like I said, we should be back by early evening,” I remind him before there’s another walk down memory lane from Hank. “Willow’s truck broke down, so I’m taking her to pick up her stuff.”

  That’s the story I’d fed him when I asked if the girls could spend the day at his place, anyway.

  “No problem,” he says. “We have lots to do.” He winks at the girls. “Roberta was making chocolate chip cookies when I left. And I just might’ve mentioned some big important guests coming over who might like them.”

  “We do, we do!” the girls exclaim together.

  For a split second, I envy what Hank has going.

  His life is neat, happy, and peaceful.

  It makes sense.

  Roberta’s been his girlfriend for years, yet the two still have no plans to tie the knot.

  Maybe he learned caution after seeing what happened to me.

  I’ll damn sure never tie the knot again, either.

  Hank opens his truck door. “Come on in, Thing One and Thing Two. Hurry, so we can eat some cookies while they’re still piping hot!”

  After quick hugs, the girls pile into his truck. I wait till they’re out of sight before I get busy loading my four-wheeler in the back of my pickup.

  Willow helps me with the ramps, and after one final check on Bruce, we head out.

  As we start down the driveway, a shiver nips at my spine.

  Not counting the brief drive the other night when I hauled her home, it’s been years since I’ve been alone in a vehicle with a woman.

  Damn. I can’t help hoping that helping her won’t wind up being another epic regret.

  The silence in the cab is too intense, so I turn on the radio after a few miles.

  Good call.

  We talk a little as the miles drift by, but for the most part, the radio fills in the silence. Then her singing starts, adding to the muted rock lyrics pouring out of the speakers.

  My brows go up at first when she closes her eyes and starts jamming like she’s the only one here.

  It doesn’t bother me, I’m just...surprised.

  I can tell she’s nervous. On edge. Wondering what the hell we’ll find at the coordinates entered in my phone.

  If she can’t clean like a whirlwind to help her nerves, this must be another coping mechanism.

  And it’s hard not to grin when “Africa” by Toto comes on and she starts belting out the lyrics. I’ll never know if it’s her inner zoologist or she’s just a freak for karaoke.

  Whatever it is, I’m laughing like hell as she holds her little fist out like a fake mic, screaming into it.

  “You always sing like you’re on stage in a strange man’s car, or what?” I ask, rubbing at my face.

  “Nope. Just when I’m jittery as a bee and you look like you could use a laugh,” she tells me as the song ends, looking at me with a dimpled smile. “You should do it more often, Grady. You’ve got a nice laugh.”

  Fuck if I know what to say to that.

  And happy distractions aside, I wonder what’s up ahead, too, wondering how this is all going to end.

  I haven’t told her everything Faulk suspects. This shit is waist-deep, dangerous territory, the kind that makes him call in some outside help.

  His top-secret connections to a mashup of active Feds and retired ones like him working for big security agencies always make me nervous.

  In this case, though, it’s absolutely necessary.

  It also gives me hope that it’ll be over and done before anyone else in Dallas discovers I’m harboring a fugitive tiger inside my barn.

  About half an hour from our destination, we turn onto a low maintenance road, and I start looking for a place to pull over and park.

  Without thinking, I switch off the radio while she’s still humming along.

  “Sorry,” she says. “One of my bad habits.”

  “What?”

  “Singing to the radio. Always terribly and I don’t really care—music takes my mind off things.”

  I chuckle. She hadn’t sounded that off-key, even if people might’ve wondered how many drinks she’d had if it happened in my bar.

  Frankly, her singing voice blended in too well with the background music.

  “That’s not the reason I turned it off.” Shrugging, I say, “Call it age or habit, but I turn it down whenever I’m looking for something. Like it’ll help me see better.”

  She lets out a soft giggle.

  “I’ve been known to do that, too. It’s one of those weird quirks I think a lot of people have.” She glances out the window, staring at the brush-lined ditches and wooded areas along the sides of the road, before turning to me again. “So, are we there yet?”

  “Not the question I thought I’d get without my girls along for the ride,” I snort. “According to my phone, yes. I’m looking for a discreet place to park. Then we can use the four-wheeler.”

  “You sure? This road doesn’t look very well-traveled.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” I agree. “But the satellite imag
e on the computer showed another road north of here that ends at the coordinates.”

  “That’s why we’re taking this one?”

  “Yes. We’ll look like a couple of run-of-the-mill ATV riders, just out for an adventure.” I nod for emphasis, hoping like hell this plan works.

  She points to a grassy area a short distance ahead.

  “How about there? That looks like a place to park. Right by that Bureau of Land Management sign.”

  “It’ll work.”

  I park and she helps me unload the four-wheeler in no time. With its compartments filled, alongside the saddlebags attached to the front rack, we head out.

  Willow sticks close behind me. I think I’d need a hammer to the head not to notice.

  I can feel every inch of where her body touches my back, hips, and the backs of my thighs.

  It takes focus I haven’t summoned up since my Army days to ignore the hot sensations every flick of her body against mine causes. To ignore how bad it hurts to suppress my raging hard-on.

  “What did you do in the military?” she asks.

  “Area reconnaissance in Iraq, mostly,” I answer. “Checking to make sure the coast was clear in caves and buildings. Then it was active combat. They couldn’t ignore the fact that I’m one hell of a shot and dropped me in a sniper unit.”

  I say no more.

  That was a long time ago, and like other jagged parts of my life, shit happened overseas that I really don’t want to remember. Some of those stories are still classified, too.

  “Wow, that’s impressive! How long were you in?”

  “Four years of active duty, two of non. I joined while I was still in high school for the post-secondary aid, and was sent overseas as soon as I was eligible. Didn’t reup after my parents died. Then I got married, the twins were born, and...” My voice fades away.

  “Your wife got ill,” Willow urges softly.

  “Yeah.” Thankful for the terrain ahead, I say, “Hold on, there’s a stream we have to cross. The water doesn’t look deep, but it’s gonna be rocky.”

  I hold my breath just before we cross.

  Nothing to do with the rocks in the stream.

  I’m trying not to react to the way her body rubs against my back as her arms hug my waist. Her tits are so flush against my skin I can feel them, even the taut peaks of her nipples through her shirt and bra from the pressure.