“I know, babe. And I love that. I’ll never forget. But you...” He caught a t-shirt she’d flung at him. “I don’t want you to see me go through this, okay?”
Uh huh. Same song and dance. It was always about protecting her. Poor little Jenny. Incapable of anything more complicated than fucking. “Don’t play me like I’m stupid, Brody. I’ve made it pretty damn clear that I’m not afraid to get dirty—bleed even—if it means being there for you. Don’t insult me.”
He threw his hands in the air and roared, “I’m not trying to! I’m just saying this is gonna get a hell of a lot worse before it gets better. I told you that before. I can’t bring you along for that!”
“Do I look like a goddamn shrinking violet?” she snapped, stabbing a finger into the center of his chest. She was losing her shit and fast. Still strong, but not in the way she’d planned. Self-protection she thought she wouldn’t need again kicked in full force. “If you want to take the coward’s way out rather than deal with this together, fine. But don’t pretend it’s because I can’t handle it.”
He gave a low, humorless laugh. “Believe me, babe. I know how tough you are. The problem is—I’m not right now. And I’m too damn proud to let you hold me up through this.”
“That’s what people do when they love each other!” she cried, every fiber of her being shaking. “They lean on each other. They wipe away each other’s tears. They—”
Brody shook his head, his dark eyes clearer than they had been in days, and the truth sliced through her like an sharp blade of ice. Silence, loud and clear, filled the room.
“Oh.”
“Jenn...” He grabbed for her arm, but she was already halfway to the bathroom. “Don’t. Not like this.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve, I’ll give you that.” Somewhere deep inside, her armor began to chink back together, click by click, giving her the power to turn around and look him square in the eye. “Congratulations, Brody. I didn’t think it was possible, but you’ve turned out to be an ever bigger asshole than Reed.” A single tear slid down her cheek. “At least he never pretended to love me.”
Chapter Twenty-One
He could’ve gone after her. He could’ve told her that she was the best damn thing in his life and that his feelings for her were one hundred percent friggin’ real. He could’ve made her regret that comparison to Reed mother-fucking Fletcher in a goddamn heartbeat.
But he didn’t. He let her go, because it didn’t change the fact that he had to hurt her now or hurt even more later.
Thirteen days later in a biker bar in Oklahoma City, nursing who the hell knew what number beer, he stood by his decision. This was where he needed to be right now. The smoke and the booze and the bone humming rock lulling him into complete numbness.
“Hope you’re ready to hate yourself in the morning.” Sam, suddenly the voice of fucking reason, shook his head when Brody waved the bartender over for another shot.
“That would be different than every other morning how?” He downed the Jameson and crooked his fingers for a refill. The burly dude with a braided goatee and a dozen piercings in his face smirked, took a twenty from Brody’s stash, and left the half-filled bottle on the bar. “Much appreciated, man.” Lifting his knuckles, they swapped skin before the guy went on his way, working the rest of the rough, loud-mouthed crowd.
“Jesus Christ.” Sam snorted before the lip of his beer. “This is about her, isn’t it? I fucking told you this was going to happen.”
“Yep. You did.” Brody spun around on the stool, Jameson in hand, feeling heavy limbed and a few shots away from sufficiently inebriated. “Let’s shoot pool.”
“Where? With those beauty queens over there?” Sam jutted his chin toward a group of OKC Devil Chasers currently using a redhead as a shooting prop. Her tits spilled out onto the table as the dude behind her spent more time lifting her skirt and slapping her ass than he did eyeing up his play.
Looked like a good time.
“Yeah. Sure.” He stepped off the stool and Sam grabbed his arm.
“You on a suicide mission or what? Sit your ass back down.”
“I wanna shoot.” And find that solitude he’d only get by hitting rock fucking bottom. If he needed to piss someone off to get there, so be it.
“You really are fucked in the head.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” He rounded on Sam so fast, the room spun. Getting closer. “You did not just say that.”
Sam sat back on the stool, crossed his arms, and smirked. “Sure did.”
Funny bastard. “You don’t even know the half of it, asshole.” Taking a swig, he glanced back at the OKC table. Apparently the pool sticks in this joint were multi-purpose. The redhead looked pleased.
“No?” His friend laughed, pure instigation rattling his lungs. “I was there, too, Nelson. I saw the same damn shit you did. You think it doesn’t creep in on me every now and again? I see Troy more now than when he was fucking alive!”
Brody closed his eyes and conjured up the image that was never too far off. One minute, Troy was jaw jacking about getting laid and the next he had blood pissing from his femoral artery.
“I get that you were in charge that day. That you feel some sort of responsibility for what happened. You think the Commander hasn’t gone through worse? Reality check, motherfucker—this is what we do. Every one of us, every goddamn tour.”
No shit. None of that was new to him. Even before therapy, he’d tried—repeatedly—to remind himself that the shit in his head probably wasn’t any different than any of his fellow Marines dealt with on a daily basis, too. Didn’t matter, though. It didn’t stop him from picturing Ernie with a kid on his shoulders, or dragging a Christmas tree through a field with a woman and a couple little ones in tow. Didn’t stop that same old guilt from stabbing through his chest when he pictured himself doing those same things with Jenny and their kids.
Dammit, he wanted a future with her. More than he’d wanted anything, maybe ever. But he couldn’t give her that until he got his head straight. Until then, he’d just bring her down with him.
“Well, it looks like my days are numbered anyhow. I’m out next year.”
Sam half-snorted, half-laughed. “What-the-fuck-ever, dude. You’ll be camped out at the door, waiting to reenlist. Don’t kid yourself.”
“Nah, I mean it. This isn’t what I want anymore.”
“Oh, really?” His buddy’s sneer made Brody’s blood boil. This was his decision, dammit. He’d made it and he was sticking with it. “You giving up because of the diagnosis or the pussy?”
Crash! Brody slammed the bottle of Jameson down on the bar, shattering the glass and slicing open his hand in the process. He hissed with the burn, watching crimson roll down his arm and drip from his palm. Fuck yeah.
“I’m out because I say I’m out, motherfucker.” Something he could control. Unlike anything else in his life.
Sam’s muttered curse was the last thing Brody heard before two sets of beefy hands grabbed him from behind. He grinned as Sam rose from his stool, panic on his face.
Seconds later, his back hit the gravel in the parking lot and he watched with eager eyes as one gnarled, tattooed fist zeroed in on his face. The punishing metal of a ring crunched the cartilage in his nose at the same time a boot snapped the right side of his rib cage.
He closed his eyes and let the numbness carry him away.
Rock bottom never felt so good.
***
“Fuck him and his micro penis, too.” On the floor in front of her, Nicole shook the bottle of Arrest Me Red nail polish while Jenny taste-tested Ally’s nonalcoholic chocolate martini.
“Tastes better with booze, but it’ll do.” She handed the drink back to her pregnant friend and tried to keep her ticklish toes steady while Nicole went to work, making her look and feel beautiful. “For the record, Brody most definitely does not have a micro penis.”