Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
JOSEPHINE “JO” BOOKER
The moment I uttered those words and heard the harsh intake of breath come from Mann, the fragile dam broke and gave way to more tears. Luckily, Detective Reynolds was there to take the phone from me and explain my reasons for calling. Unlike he did with me, Reynolds didn’t leave anything out and hearing him tell Johnny Andrew took his own life, somehow made it real for me.
I am not going to wake up from this nightmare.
I’m going to bury my only brother and I’m going to have to do it all by myself.
“Here you go,” Detective Reynolds says as he sets a Styrofoam cup of coffee in front of me. I lift my chin and offer him my thanks before taking the plastic lid off the cup. Adding some sugar and a drop of half-and-half, I use the red plastic stirrer to mix it all together. I bring the cup to my lips and take the first sip as Reynolds takes the seat across from me.
He looks just as tired as I feel and a pang of guilt slices through me as I take another sip. I’m sure Andrew’s case isn’t the first of its nature, Reynolds has probably even seen worse, but that kind of tragedy has to affect a person. It traumatizes them and makes them reflect. In fact, I bet he can’t wait to go home and hug his loved ones.
I wish I could.
I wish I could pick up the phone and call Andrew. I’d tell him all the things I didn’t get to say during our last call. I’d tell him I loved him, and I’d ask him if he was okay. I’d give him the fucking money he asked for without hesitation.
Staring at Reynolds, I set the coffee on the table.
“You don’t have to stay,” I tell him. “I promise not to leave until Johnny gets here.”
Go home to your family.
Here today, gone tomorrow.
Reynolds smiles faintly at me as he shakes his head.
“Even if Mr. Mann didn’t ask me to swear on everything I cared about, I’d still be here waiting with you.”
After Reynolds briefed Johnny on what happened, he didn’t get back on the line with me. Instead, he instructed Detective Reynolds to make sure I didn’t leave the station until he got here. That was two hours ago, Johnny lived about two and a half hours from here, so it shouldn’t be much longer before he arrives.
“Is he a friend of the family?” Reynolds questions, drawing my attention back to him.
Andrew and Johnny didn’t know each other very long. They met while they were both in Afghanistan, training for a special ops mission. Much to his dismay, I would routinely send my brother care packages. I took my role as a military family member very seriously and even though my brother could give a shit less if he had a supply of our Aunt Barbara’s banana bread or not, I still sent those packages like clockwork. Sometimes I even got fancy and decorated the boxes to fit with the season. I think that’s how Johnny wound up with one of my care packages. Where Andrew didn’t appreciate my scrapbooking skills or the little felt Christmas tree I shoved in the box, Johnny did, and he even wrote me a letter to thank me.
I remember how excited I was when I went to the mailbox and saw the envelope. Of course, I thought it was from Andrew and I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a moment where I felt a little disappointed. I mean, aside from Aunt Barbara, Andrew was all I had, and he never once bothered to reply to any of the letters I sent him. He video called once in a blue moon—but those calls were always rushed and thinking about it now, they seemed forced. Like he felt obligated to check in on me.
But there was something special about holding a physical letter in my hand. That first letter didn’t say much other than ‘thank you’ and yet for reasons I still don’t I quite understand, it meant so much to me. After that, I started sending Johnny packages and letters…so many letters. He responded to every single one.
After their mission failed, they were both discharged. I didn’t hear much from Johnny. He’d call here and there, but mostly just to check on Andrew. Occasionally, he’d ask me how I was doing, but whenever the conversation veered that way, he’d quickly shut it down, like he slipped up and caught himself. I started to get the impression that I had served my purpose in Johnny’s life.
I was just a season.
Then Thanksgiving came around, and the doorbell rang just as I started rolling out Aunt Barbara’s favorite china, setting the table for the three of us.
“Grab another plate,” Andrew said, as he started for the door.
My brows furrowed.
“Why? Did you invite a date?”
He shook his head. “I invited Mann.”
I almost dropped Aunt Barbara’s favorite serving platter at the revelation. I had given up on every coming face to face with Johnny, making me completely unprepared. That knowledge should’ve stalled me or at the very least sent me running to my bedroom to make sure I was presentable.
But it didn’t and instead of grabbing the fourth setting of fine China like my brother instructed, I moved behind him as he opened the door. It was like a great force had taken over my body, obliterating my common sense.
He was taller than I figured and had the bluest eyes I had ever seen. His hair was thick and wavy—totally different from the picture I had seen. Then again, that photo was taken while they were active military and required to keep their hair short.
He wore a pair of Wranglers that had seen better days and a tight fitting black thermal. His muscles rippled beneath the material and the sight caused my pulse to quicken. Johnny Mann was ruggedly handsome in all the right places and he stole my fucking breath that day. He also robbed my ability to formulate a sentence because I stood in the doorway staring at him with my mouth agape.
Technically he was a stranger standing on my Aunt Barbara’s porch, a stranger who someday wanted to build his own house. Someone who loved banana bread but didn’t care much for actual bananas. A man who could dismantle and fire a weapon on demand. He preferred two wheels over four and had visited twenty states during his life. He hated hunting, thought fishing was for pussies and could take down anyone in a game of pool. He was a stranger who confided in me, letter after letter. A private man who shared his deepest secrets and greatest desires. The more I stared at him, the more I had to remind myself he wasn’t there for me. That this wasn’t some scripted story between pen pals. He was there because my brother invited him—nothing more and nothing less.
Wrong.
His eyes locked with mine, and it felt like all the air was sucked out of my lungs.
“Aren’t you going to say hello?” He asked, his tone almost playful as his eyes gleamed. There was affection there in those blue orbs and it was all for me.
“Hi,” I croaked.
His lips quirked and he choked out a laugh. “Get over here, Jo,” he said, spreading his arms wide. It didn’t matter that my brother was standing next to him, his gaze bouncing between us like he was watching a ping-pong tournament, I ran to him.
Johnny’s strong arms wrapped around me, his scent wreaking havoc on my senses as I plastered myself against his chest. A whoosh of air left his lungs and his hold on me tightened as he buried his nose in my neck, lifting me slightly off the ground.
“You’re real,” he murmured against my ear. Then his arms loosened around me, and he pulled away, but his gaze swept over me, like he was committing every inch of me to his memory. I did the same.
Andrew cleared his throat, reminding us that we weren’t alone, and the moment was broken. Johnny’s expression went from soft and affectionate to a mask of stone as he regarded my brother. Aunt Barbara emerged from the kitchen, and Johnny greeted her while I stood still as statue, acutely aware of my brother’s glare.
When it came time for us to move into the dining room, Johnny’s pinky wrapped around mine, and he sat in the chair next to me. We didn’t speak—at least not with words. Our bodies did most of the talking. His hand found my thigh under the table, and he drew soft circles on my skin with his thumb.
By the time dessert rolled around, Johnny revealed he had joined a motorcycle club and was living in Knightdale, North Carolina. He was also in the process of starting a new business, one that centered around training canines for the military, and he wanted my brother to be his partner.
It sounded great, and I was excited for him. I was even more excited for me, though, figuring if he and Andrew became business partners, I’d see a whole lot of Johnny.
They took their discussion outside, and that was the last I saw of Johnny. He didn’t even say goodbye or thank Aunt Barbara for having him, and for some reason that hurt more than when his letters stopped filling my mailbox. I tried calling him later that night.
Texted him a bunch of times the following morning too.
All went unanswered.
I knew Johnny didn’t do relationships of any kind, he revealed that much in one of his very first letters. If you no longer served a purpose to him, he cut you out of his life. It was as simple as that. But I didn’t imagine the way he looked at me when our eyes locked, or all those stolen touches under the table.
His abrupt departure confused me.
And his avoidance afterward angered me.
I wrote him off. I took a page out of his book and pretended like he never existed.
Andrew didn’t talk much of Johnny for a long while after that and I was grateful. Occasionally he’d slip and reveal something. Like, I knew he went on to open the business without my brother as partner and he became a patched member of the motorcycle club he joined. But that’s where my knowledge of Johnny Mann ended. In the recent months, Andrew never mentioned him at all.
I look back at Reynolds and shrug my shoulders before finally replying to his question.
“My brother and Johnny were stationed in Afghanistan together.” I cross my arms and settle back against the hard chair. “He breeds and trains dogs for police departments and military organizations. I think he might work with therapy dogs too.”
As I explain my reasoning for calling Johnny, I pause. Johnny being the one responsible for getting Andrew the dog makes perfect sense.
I lift my eyes back to Detective Reynold’s. He’s opens his mouth to say something, but the words die on his tongue as his gaze flits behind me. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention too. I don’t have to turn around to know Johnny is behind me, I can sense his presence. I can feel the shift in gravity just like I did that Thanksgiving morning.
“Jo,” he calls hoarsely, and my eyes drift shut at the comfort I find in his voice.
I hate it.
Bracing myself, I drag in a deep breath, and slowly turn my head. His cerulean blue eyes meet mine from over my shoulder and my throat instantly goes dry.
It’s not his ruggedly handsome features that paralyze me this time.
Nor is it concern I spot in his eyes.
It’s the realization that I called, and he came.
No questions asked.
No hesitation.
Reaching me, he turns my chair fully around. The legs drag across the linoleum, and in one swift move I’m on my feet. His strong arms wrap around me and the scent of gasoline and leather waft past my nose. Gone is the cedar and pine scent from that Thanksgiving.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs against my hair. “I’ve got you.”
I didn’t realize how badly I needed to hear those words. How much I ached for someone to hug me. It has nothing to do with Johnny and everything to do with knowing I’m not alone. My arms instantly tighten around his middle and I close my eyes.
And I hate that too.
Johnny wasn’t by himself, something I discovered once he released his hold on me to dry my eyes with his thumbs. That’s when he turned to the man standing off the side. He wore a leather vest similar to Johnny’s, one that declared him a member of the Satan’s Knights motorcycle club and he stood about three inches taller than him, with wide shoulders and a thick beard that didn’t hide the scowl painted on his face. Johnny introduced him as Ink and asked him to keep an eye on me while he spoke with Detective Reynolds.
Ten minutes later, Johnny finally returned. He bypassed me and went straight to Ink. They talked in hushed tones for a moment before Johnny’s blue eyes cut back to mine.
“You drove here by yourself?” he asked.
I nodded in response.
“Alright, here’s what’s gonna happen,” he said, reaching behind him to squeeze the back of his neck. “The detective is anticipating that we won’t be able to get into the apartment for at least another day or so. In the meantime, we’ll swing by the house and grab the dog from the landlady. If it’s okay with her, I’ll leave my bike at the house and pick it up tomorrow. We’ll take your car back to my place, and I’ll help you with whatever arrangements you need to make.”
He was talking so fast, my head started to spin.
“Back to your place,” I repeated hoarsely.
His hand fell from the back of his neck as his eyes bore into mine.
“You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
I didn’t argue. When all you want is for someone to shoulder some of your grief, you don’t ask questions. You don’t think about your pride or even what is right and wrong. You let help in.
Even if it might break what is left of your already broken heart.
Johnny led me out of the police station and when he asked for the keys to my Nissan Rogue, I gave them willingly. He opened the passenger door for me and once I was safely situated, he closed it. Ink left his bike at the station, which we’d later go back for, and straddled Johnny’s Harley to follow us to my brother’s apartment.
We rode in silence until we pulled up in front of the house and my anxiety started to rear its ugly head. I couldn’t bring myself to get out of the car. I didn’t want look at Mrs. Jacobs again. I didn’t want to see the horror in her eyes or worse, listen to her retell the story of how she found Andrew.
Johnny got out of the car and a short while later he returned with Andrew’s dog. The poor thing looked just as miserable as I felt. I wanted to crawl into the back seat with him and console him, but I didn’t know the first thing about dogs.
Mrs. Jacobs wound up letting Johnny park his bike in her driveway and Ink slid into the backseat with the dog so we could drive him back to the police station to get his Harley. I fell asleep once we hit the highway and by the time I awoke, we were already approaching Knightdale.
Now fifteen minutes later, I’m staring out the window wondering where the hell we are. He hooks a right turn into a gated compound and the first thing I notice is the excessive number of motorcycles that fill the lot. I turn to Johnny, taking in the strong line of his jaw and the scruff that lines it and I realize this is the first time I’m going to be alone with him. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to act. What am I supposed to say?
Too much time has passed, and too much hurt festers.
My throat tightens and my palms suddenly begin to sweat. I glance over my shoulder and stare at the sleeping dog sprawled across the back seat. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be in this situation, and yet, as anxious my current predicament makes me, I’m not mad. This dog provided my brother something no one else could.
Support.
Comfort.
“Chestnut,” Johnny murmurs quietly and my eyes cut back to him. He doesn’t look away from the windshield as he continues, “That’s his name.”
I look back at the dog and I try to picture my brother petting and playing with him—loving that big, sweet animal.
“He’s one of mine,” he reveals as he kills the engine on my car. I turn my attention back to him and he meets my gaze. “A couple of months ago, I paid Andrew a visit. I had been calling him for weeks with no response and was getting worried.” He pauses, reaching out to twirl a strand of my hair around his finger. The simple touch surprises me, but before I can even react, he continues. “When I arrived at his apartment, he was drinking heavily and looked like he had been up for days. There were dishes piled high in the sink and a hole in the wall next to where the T.V. used to hang in the living room. Pieces of sheetrock decorated the floor, so I knew it was fresh.” His fingers leave my hair as he draws in a ragged breath and turns his eyes back to the windshield. “He told me the nightmares had returned.”
My brows furrow. I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“He was having nightmares?” I croak. Johnny’s gaze snaps back to me and his confusion mirrors mine.
“You didn’t know?”
This question feels like a punch to the gut and reminds me just how disconnected me and Andrew truly had become.
Why would I know about Andrew’s nightmares? He wasn’t the type to offer information when it came to himself, and I was too busy with the salon to give a damn. My brother returned from war, damaged and struggling and the best I did was call him to shoot the shit about our eccentric aunt. I didn’t ask him how he was doing or if he needed anything and when he did call me to ask for help, I turned him away.
“Jo, Andrew was suffering from night terrors,” Johnny says, cocking his head to the side as he studies me for another moment. “It’s all part of PTSD. You do know he was diagnosed with that right?”
I’m too embarrassed to even answer him. Johnny must take my silence as confirmation that I didn’t know and continues.
“After the mission failed, neither of us were mentally fit to serve. That’s the main reason we were discharged. Then about five months later he sought treatment by the V.A. Started taking anti-depressants and something to aid with sleeping.”
My stomach twists in knots as I slick my tongue over my teeth.
“But you… you’re fine.” I stammer, searching his eyes for confirmation. “Right?”
“Sure,” he rasps. “Or at least I’m as fine as I can be. Part of my healing came with opening Booker & Mann, but the bigger part came from this place,” he says, tipping his chin toward the windshield.
I follow his gaze, catching sight of a large group of men—all dressed in leather and huddled around the front door of what appears to be an industrial type of building.
“What is this place?” I ask, dragging my eyes back to him.
Biting the inside of his cheek, he turns to me.
“Home,” he replies evenly.
I glance out the window, squinting against the darkness of night to spot a house but all that sits on the property is that building, a swing set, and a fancy trailer. Maybe he lives in there.
“You live here?” I ask, hoping the question doesn’t come off as judgmental. He keeps his eyes on mine and simply shrugs.
“Don’t see the need to pay a mortgage on a place when I got all I need right here. The bed is warm, and the sheets are clean. There’s hot water and the fridge is always stocked with fresh brews. Man don’t need much more than that and if he does, he knows where to get it.” He pauses for a moment. “You need more than that, say the word. I’ll find us a hotel in Raleigh.”
I draw my lower lip between my teeth and tear my eyes away from his. The thought of sharing a hotel room with him is unsettling. I stare back at group huddled by the door and force a swallow. Nothing about them screams warm and inviting.
“When Detective Reynolds called, he didn’t give away much. All he said was that Andrew was in an accident. I left my client in the chair and ran out of the salon, straight to my car. I didn’t think about packing a bag.”
He clears his throat and from my peripheral I see his hands tighten around the steering wheel.
“Make a list. I’ll send one of the prospects to the drugstore to get whatever ya need.” He turns his head and I meet his gaze. “As for clean clothes, I’m sure I got a t-shirt or something for you to sleep in. That should tide you over until tomorrow.”
A hot shower sounds like heaven and despite the nap I took on the ride here, I’m emotionally exhausted, therefore clean sheets and a bed sound pretty fucking lovely too.
“Thank you,” I whisper hoarsely as I stare at him. His throat bobs as he swallows, then without a word, he exits my car, carefully helping Chestnut out of the backseat.
I open the door as he closes the back one, and his gaze cuts back to me. When I don’t make any attempt to slide out of the passenger seat, he stalks over and holds out his hand. I stare at his palm for a beat, then lift my eyes back to his.
“I’m not usually…” My voice trails as I try to find the right words. Only one comes to mind, though.
Helpless.
“Just take my hand, Jo.”
I don’t know what it is about those words, but they cause tears to flood my eyes.
Jesus, Jo. Get a grip on yourself.
I slide my hand against his, and his fingers immediately tighten around mine. His gaze bores into me, those blue eyes so bright even in the dark.
“I got you.”