Cockney: A Stepbrother Romance (37 page)

He frowns; “Didn’t Donald tell- Oh. Fuck.” He chuckles and looks at the floor, a lock of his dark hair falling over his face. He runs a hand up through it and pushed it back as he raises his eye to look at me with that smug grin I’d
just
started to forget about; “Well, if you were mad before, you’re gonna be fuckin
pissed
now.”

I shake my head; “Hudson what the fuck are you-“

“I’m moving in, Reagan.”

My jaw drops.

“I mean my place would be better, and safer, but Donald and I both thought there was a snowball’s chance in you agreeing to
that one
, so your place it is.” 

That smug prick is grinning at me like this is hilarious; like HIM of all fucking people moving into the guest room of MY apartment is the funniest Goddamn joke in the world. 

I don’t even respond, I just turn on my heel and march out of the restaurant; guess I’m just fresh out of punchlines.

P A S T

I’m back in the broiling heat, the shrieking chaos and the pure, undiluted hell on Earth of war -  back in Helman Province; back in Afghanistan. My back’s to the wall, my pulse racing in my ears like a goddamn jet engine as I count to three before whipping around the corner and firing. The gun jolts in staccato, hammering pulses through my shoulder as I focus on the shelled-out office building where they’ve taken defensive positions. I barely even hear the mortar warning through my com before the Humvee forty feet to my left just fucking
erupts
in fire and light, and I can fucking
feel
the hot flash of death cross my face. 

I’m screaming as I run, ignoring everything in my earpiece and barely registering the singing sounds of bullets flying around me as I pound the turf as fast as I can towards the raging, burning hull of the truck. I’m ten feet from it, the heat almost unbearable when I can hear Logan’s voice barking in my ear; ‘
NOT Bryce’s Humvee.’

Yeah but
who’s
-

Later, I’ll swear to everything in this world and the next that I could
hear
the fucking bullet the second before it tore through my shoulder. I’m down, face-down in the dust and ash as more metal screams over my head, and all I know in that moment is that despite every thought I have on freedom, and my country, and about good triumphing over evil, if I die there, in that fucking desert, I’m going to have words to say to whatever God is waiting for me on the other side.

P R E S E N T

I grunt and blink the sweat out of my eyes as I swing again, feeling the rivulets of moisture drip down my face and neck to dribble down over the ink and scars of my bare chest. The air burns in my lungs and my arms are one fire, but I just keep swinging; always swinging. The glove connects with the bag, every muscle in my arm screaming in pain and triumph at the perfect hit and the aching, numbing soreness I know will follow. Some guys when they got back, they drank or fucked it away; like I used to. Other guys like Bryce took it worse and turned to self medication, and the whole dark, broken dream that comes along for the ride with that. The fucked up part is, the pain never
actually
goes away. You can numb it a million different ways with drugs and sex and whatever else you can think of to distract you from the fact that part of your soul is missing, but it’s always there, right below the surface.

I swing again, swallowing the burning in my throat as I pant, pushing myself harder, longer; don’t stop, never stop. My breaths coming short and hard, my head swimming as I connect with the bag again, and again, and again - I connect with the bag one more time before the pain is so real I can’t actually lift my arm again, and I collapse onto the living room floor. I can barely breath, or see through the sweat, but I laugh as I glance at my stopwatch and realize I’ve been punching this damn bag for an hour straight.

I’m getting too old for this shit.

I also realize I was supposed to call Logan when I got home and let him know how things went.

Oh, yeah, you know, fantastic. Hey buddy, thanks for sending me into the fucking LION’S DEN back there with Reagan Archer.

I know he and Bryce have no idea what happened with Reagan and I that one time - the time I got so close to everything before I let it all blow away - because if they did they’d have probably killed me by now. Well, Bryce maybe, but Logan for sure. But, I also know neither of them are blind. I mean, I’d like to
think
I play things close to the chest, but you don’t go through what we went through without being able to read the other guys like an open book.

*****

“Have you
lost your fucking mind?!
“

I wince as I hold the phone away from my ear. Ok, I made two mistakes tonight. The first was taking Reagan Archer out to what was basically a thinly veiled date; the second - and maybe the dumber of the two - is telling Logan about it.

I’m supposed to be at Reagan’s, but after the way she stormed out like that, I knew pushing it by going over anyways was
not
going to lead to good things. So I’m back at my penthouse, with two of my guys keeping a low-profile guard on her building.

“Hudson, you’ve pulled some stupid shit, but this is beyond the fucking pale.” I can practically feel the venom leaking through the phone from his voice before he barks into the receiver again; “You fucking
idiot!
”

“Logan!” I yell, reaching for the pack of emergency cigarettes I keep behind the spoons in my silverware drawer and tapping one out; "Look, it was stupid, I know. I-"

"Did you
fuck
her?" Logan spits out, his voice
ice cold
; that tone he only takes when he’s about to fuck something up - like, in this instance, my face, the next time he sees me.

"Wha- No! Come on man!” I stick the God-knows how old cigarette in my mouth and light it, coughing on the dry, ancient smoke that fills my lungs like burning sand.

"Oh, and smoking; nice. Good fucking job, Hudson; hell of a night you're having."

"Will you calm the fuck down!" I spit out, making a face. The cigarette tastes like a horse’s asshole; well, at least what I imagine the butt of a horse tastes like at least. “Of course I didn't, what’s wrong with you man? She’s not that kind-“

"That
wasn't
meant as a dis on her, idiot. That's 'cause I know
you
."

I suck at the horrible cigarette, feeling the bile rise in my burning throat; "The hell is that supposed to mea-"

"The guy who slept his way through half of Italy and Turkey? The guy that almost got us shipped over to the fucking U.S. State Department in Cairo because he couldn't keep his fucking dick in his goddamn pan-“

"That was a long time ago, bud.” My voice is beyond frosty. And it was. I’m a different guy now, and I’ve worked
damn
hard to get here.

Logan is quiet on the other end of the line for a moment, his breathing coming in regular, controlled measures. Finally, he sighs; "I know; I know man." His voice is calmer, and he’s back to speaking to me like a normal person; "Look, I'm sorry, brother."

"It's cool" I mutter out. That’s one thing about the three us; we might fight like the devil amongst ourselves sometime, but we’re always quick to tamp that fire out. I guess that’s what going through what we went through does to you.

"You can't
date
her; you know that, right?"

I stamp out the cigarette in my kitchen sink and turn on the viking range to clear the smell of smoke out of the place; "Yeah, I know that."

"We're supposed to
watch
them, Hudson; that was the promise. To protect and help them, and make sure they're safe." Logan pauses; “That's
it
, brother. There are other fish in-"

"Ok! I know!
Fuck
-“ I trail off as I walk back into the massive library off the kitchen where I’ve set up my boxing bag and stare out through the tinted floor-to-ceiling windows at the New York City skyline. The old me would have
loved
to show off this view to any and every girl I could charm up here, but I’ve stopped all that now; because of the promise.

Well, and of course, because of her.

Except I can’t let that happen; not what I
want
to let happen. I toss the phone onto the couch behind me after I hang up with Logan and turn to stare back out through the window at New York. All of this - the money, the penthouse with the view, the cars, the girls, the power - all of this means nothing, really. And I don’t need Logan telling me how I can’t bring her into all of my baggage; I already
know
that. I already know that I can’t let her in; it’s why I pushed her away before as much as it’s killed me for five fucking years thinking about it.

I’m broken, and a girl like Reagan Archer is the
last
person on earth I need to sift through the pieces. 

P A S T

“I can’t go back, man.” Bryce’s eyes have a wild look in them, and even though he’s
technically
looking at me, it’s more like he’s looking through me. He’s rocking on the balls of his feet; “Fuck, man;
fuck
.”

Logan looks up from where he’s pulling the bits of shrapnel fragments out of my arm and meets my eyes, quietly shaking his head; “It’s not like we haven’t discussed this before, Hud.”

I nod grimly, wincing as he squirts disinfectant over the gash in my bicep he’s just pulled the piece of Humvee fender out of. Sure, we’d all thought it before, even
talked
about it when it was just the three of us. Any guy out here in this fucking hell on Earth is a liar if they tell you they’ve never even
thought
about the idea of just lighting out of there. Following orders and saying yes is the
one thing
they drill into your head more than anything else in training. Fuck; saying yes is the glue that hold the entire chain of command together. You say yes, you shut your damn mouth, and you follow your fucking orders;
that’s
the job. You don’t debate yourself, you don’t weigh anything against whatever moral compass you’ve got spinning inside, you just
do it
. If the call was bad, then it was bad, but you move on.