Brandon wouldn’t look at him, but he knew the sergeant must be staring at him as if he were one cold son of a bitch.
“They were the only family you had, and as far as I know, you have no close friends. You have to be feeling something, and you can’t keep all of it inside you. It’s not healthy.”
The sergeant paused, but Brandon wouldn’t respond to that. He felt nothing, and because of that, he was convinced now he’d already turned into his father. He was certain his old man would consider therapy weak too.
“You’ve got to let some of what you’re feeling out, or it’ll only build until you finally blow.”
Brandon stared straight ahead, both arms to the side of him. Hatch had no way of knowing that blowing up—breaking down—was not anything Brandon would ever do. If witnessing his mother torn apart then walking around gathering the pieces of her body hadn’t broken him, he knew nothing ever would. “Sir, I’m fine. I don’t need therapy.”
He heard the sergeant take a deep breath then sit back down. “Have a seat.”
Taking the seat across the sergeant’s desk, Brandon saw the displeasure on the older man’s face. “It hasn’t affected your work, so I can’t force you into therapy, but you will be evaluated.” He lifted the folder in front of him and motioned it toward Brandon. “You have all the qualifications to enter DI school, and I’ve already signed off the go-ahead to start all the preliminaries, but you’ll have to pass a psych evaluation before you’re accepted. Now are you sure you wouldn’t like to speak to someone before going through that? If you don’t pass the eval, you don’t get in. They don’t give a shit that you just lost both your parents. You need to be one hundred percent ready, both physically and mentally, to get in.”
“I’m sure, sir,” Brandon said without hesitation.
The sergeant exhaled, pressing his lips together as he shook head. He wrote something in Brandon’s file before handing it to him, wishing him luck then excusing him.
As Brandon walked out the door, he knew he had to get accepted. Failure was not an option. He was born to be a drill instructor, and since the Marines had been the only thing he’d been proud of—never let him down—this was what he’d pour his heart into instead: The Corps.
Chapter Three
Regina
Then
Grasping on to the cold handle of the gun, Regina’s body shuddered uncontrollably. Before tonight, she’d never even held a gun much less used one. Crouched down in a cold corner, she rocked back and forth, and the sobs came louder and louder.
Her entire body began to shake as thoughts of her family came to mind and what they’d say when they found out. Her father had a weak heart. Would this kill him? They’d all be devastated, no doubt.
“Why!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Why, Ryan? Why did you have to be so fucking selfish?”
Staring at her bloody knuckles, she chuckled grimly. All she’d wanted to do was break a few things to help ease the anger, and she couldn’t even do that without hurting herself. A few things like some dishes and then a bottle had quickly turned into her smashing every piece of furniture she owned. She stood up sloppily, holding on to the walls for support. The blood on her hands was smeared against the expensive blossom branch tile she’d taken so long to pick out, and now all of this meant nothing. The anger inundated her again. “This is all your fault! Do you hear me?!” She held the gun up over her head. “You did this! You! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”
Falling against the wall, she pressed her face against the cold tile and sobbed. Her entire face was one slobbery mess. Never in a million years would she have guessed she’d become this pathetic person. Never. Yet here she was holding the gun that would soon seal her fate. That she’d had succumb to such weakness riddled her with shame. Yet this is what it’d all come down to.
The knock on the front door was completely unexpected, and she froze. She waited, and then there were more knocks.
“Mrs. Brady?”
Recognizing her neighbor Quinn’s voice, Regina squeezed her eyes shut.
“No!” she muffled her own whispers against her fist. “Go away.”
He knocked again. “Is everything all right? I heard you screaming, and Mrs. Shimley said she heard the sound of things breaking and crashing in there earlier. Are you okay? Do you need me to call someone for you?”
Still sobbing, Regina slid her body down the wall until she hit the ground with a thud. She couldn’t even put two words together. She was crying so uncontrollably.
“Mrs. Brady, please answer me, or I’ll assume you need help.”
If he came in now, he’d see what she’d done. He’d try to stop her and ruin everything. The sound of the pounding on the door was now like a body slamming against it, so she scurried herself off the floor and rushed into the front room. Her thoughts were spinning. She couldn’t let him in!
Something slammed against her door again, and the third time, the door crashed open. She stood there frozen, staring at a stunned Quinn breathing heavily. They stared at each other for a few silent moments, and then his eyes began to quickly look around the room. They opened wider and wider as he took it all in. She saw the moment his eyes noticed the gun in her hand, and she began to lift it, her hand shaking violently.
He shook his head, his eyes nearly bulging out now in terror. “Mrs. Brady—Regina—don’t shoot, please!”
Chapter Four
Brandon
Now
Ronald Reagan National Airport
Washington D.C.
Taking one last look at the flight status board, Brandon frowned. As frustrating as it was, he was at the very least grateful that his flight still read delayed and not cancelled like so many of the others. That was one thing he wasn’t going to miss about the East Coast: this frigid weather. He may not be thrilled about having to go back to San Diego, but the warm sunny weather was one thing he’d welcome with pleasure. He’d already checked ahead, and even in January, the temperature there was in the sixties. He thought about how he actually considered turning down the promotion just to avoid having to go back and possibly face his demons. He was glad now he’d come to his senses and didn’t allow the past to dictate his future. He’d earned this promotion, and nothing and no one was keeping him from it.
Glancing out the snow-laced windows, he shook his head. “Good riddance.”
The line at the deli counter had shortened considerably since he first arrived, so he decided he may as well grab something to eat. He still had a five-hour flight ahead of him, and from experience, he knew, unless you were in first class, the in-flight food sucked ass.
The dark haired girl who stepped in line just before him nearly knocked over her very expensive looking carryon as she rolled it along too hastily. Her other hand was at her ear, where she held her phone. Brandon didn’t know much about bag brands, but he could tell just by looking at it, it was expensive. Everything about her said expensive from her long leather coat to her high-heeled sleek city boots to the equally expensive purse that hung on her shoulder. The sunglasses that sat on top of her head alone probably cost more than his airline ticket. She even smelled expensive.
“No, Daddy, I’m fine.” Her bracelets jingled as she reached out for a tray. “I have a car service picking me up at the airport, and I’m all set up in a condo when I get there. Don’t worry.” Brandon stared at the side of her face dryly. It figured the princess was well looked out for. “Yes, I’m meeting abuelita at Flemings for dinner tonight if I make it on time. My connector flight was delayed. I’m in D.C. right now.”