Chapter 2
Jordan
Are you ready to get out of here, little brother?” Josie asks as she closes the last of our belongings and the shiny new wheelchair in the trunk of our Uber ride. Sergeant Montgomery offered to give us a ride, but I refused without mentioning it to Josie. She may be the best sister ever, but she’s never been good at accepting help.
She’s been that way all her life, even before our parents died while we were in high school. In elementary and middle school, our parents would leave her in charge of me and the house while they worked double shifts. After she graduated, Josie did the same, working multiple jobs and selling paintings to keep me out of foster care, put food on the table, and pay the bills.
It’s why our parents’ house is in such disrepair. Neither of us knew anything about plumbing or construction or yard work. Plus, it’s sat empty and forgotten for the past eight years while I served, and Josie chased her dreams. A neglectful combination no structure can survive, no matter how good the bones are.
I plan to fix it up with the money I saved and maybe one day start a family there. Nora is not one to jump on the commitment train—or the kid train—but I can be very convincing when I want to be.
As we travel through Richmond and typical traffic for this time of day, I watch the world around me and wonder why she’s not answering my texts or calling me back. Josie said she heard Nora left town to deal with some family drama in Northern Virginia. Her mother is a bit of a handful, and Nora’s always putting her life on hold to pick up the pieces when her mother goes off the rails. But why keep me in the dark about that? She knows I will support her through anything.
Of course, Josie keeps telling me to stop worrying, but it’s not like Nora to ghost me. Okay, even I can’t think that with a straight face. Our relationship hasn’t exactly been fairytale-like. Although I like to think of myself as her prince charming, she’s slow to acknowledge the princess she is to me. She’s too busy taking charge of her life like Mulan to wait around for a prince as Cinderella did. But that’s okay. A strong woman is sexy.
Badass Marine training aside, maybe I’m the princess in this relationship. After all, she swept me off my feet the moment we met with her quick wit and caramel eyes. I love how she doesn’t hold back, her foot always unapologetically on the gas pedal. I may not always like what she says and does, especially when she’s being stubborn about her feelings for me, but I appreciate not needing a translator for her thoughts.
After we met at the Marine Marathon years ago, we got together occasionally when she was in the mood, and I had a night off. My favorites were the weekends we met up before I deployed. Her appetite for me was insatiable, like she wanted as much of me as she could get in case it might be our last.
A shiver runs down my spine and activates my lower half. Good to know that section of my body wasn’t damaged in the crash.
Those days, separated from the outside world for forty-eight hours, we felt like a couple. Then, I’d ship off for eight weeks or more, and we’d start all over again when I returned. I didn’t mind. Casual worked for us, and we didn’t need labels, both content to use each other to satisfy our cravings, no strings attached.
But after my former unit—before I transferred to Sergeant Montgomery’s—was attacked overseas, everything changed. The distance she put between us grew more than usual, and it took extra effort to close the gap. And when she finally let me back in, her emotions were unpredictable, and I couldn’t gauge what she was thinking.
Eventually, after relentless pursuit, she agreed to be exclusively mine. It’s not like we were sleeping around before that. She just refused to call me what I was—her boyfriend. On the other side of it, I labeled her my girlfriend every which way I could until she accepted it.
Things were good—are good—and as soon as I get her back in my arms, we can pick up where we left off.
◆◆◆
Where we left off…
“I’m starving. Let’s go get some dinner and a beer,” I suggest, jumping out of Nora’s bed as if my legs weren’t weak from thirty-plus hours of extracurriculars.
It’s late on Saturday, and we haven’t left her bed since my leave kicked off on Friday morning. As much as I hate asking her to cover that gorgeous body, I need nourishment to continue what we started.
Plus, I have two other reasons for wanting to take my girl out tonight. First, I’m tired of keeping our relationship secret. We’ve been an official couple for two months, and there’s no reason to continue hiding in her apartment. Second, she means more to me than our current arrangement, and I’m not sure she knows that. After four years of sneaking around and treating each other like a one-night stand on speed dial, I want more.
“We could go.” She throws off the comforter, revealing every inch of her silky skin. “But that means covering up all this.”
My fingers and other parts of me throb to touch her. But the mission has already been declared. The plan is clearly defined, and I’ve executed step one. Since a Marine never abandons a mission, she can’t sex me out of following through on this one.
It would be tempting to let her try. I consider it until she flashes me a smile that isn’t her usual come-ravage-me look. It’s too smug, like she’s exploiting my weakness and doesn’t care if I know it.
Challenge accepted.
Tossing the shirt I collected from the floor, I leap on top of her. Greedy hands roam her body while I kiss her senseless—a little payback for the attempted diversion. I’m not the only one with weaknesses, and it doesn’t take much effort to get her hips bucking against mine, begging me to finish what I started.
She thinks she’s convincing me to stay right here to do what we’re good at, but it’s time for step two. “Put on your tightest dress.” I trail kisses down her neck and breasts. “I want to see and feel every one of these delicious curves. Something that will take a long time to peel off you later.”
“Are you seriously planning to leave me wanting?” she purrs, but the sensual tone isn’t working—not enough to change my mind, anyway.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make it worth the wait.” I smack her on the ass and crawl back to grab my shirt at the foot of the bed.
“Maybe I’m not hungry.”
“Then you can decorate the table with your beauty while I eat.”
“Not interested.” She sits up, leans back against the headboard, and crosses her arms in a show of defiance, not bothering to cover up.
Her comfort in her skin is one of the many qualities I adore about her. She doesn’t give two shits about me drinking her in every chance I get. Although, the opportunities she allows makes me think she likes it when I do. Our favorite pastime, other than the obvious, is to play cards, mainly various poker games. I’ve beat her a time or two. But I make little effort to win at sex poker—her invention—since her ideas for payment are infinitely more creative than mine. We play strip poker, too. The view may be spectacular, but it’s not as much fun as the alternative. Nothing beats watching the most beautiful woman come undone under my touch.
Speaking of Nora’s nude body. “And don’t you dare wear anything underneath in case I change my mind.”
A deep hum rumbles in her throat in response. My demands turn her on something fierce, but she holds back a reaction this time. Not what I hoped for, but exactly what I expected.
“If you insist on doing this,” she begins with her usual rebelliousness. “I’ll wear whatever the hell I want.”
“Go ahead. Your expensive panties mean nothing to me, and I’ll have no problem ripping them off you when the mood strikes. If you’re willing to sacrifice them…”
I know my girl and love pulling her strings. After all, what happens when those strings snap is quite satisfying for me, too.
“Damn you,” she growls and jumps off the bed to shower.
◆◆◆
“We’re here,” Josie announces, interrupting my glorious daydream.
I crane my sore neck to see the red brick apartment towering outside my window.
“It’s the only one I could find within walking distance to the veteran therapy center. Since we’ll both be spending a lot of time there—”
“Other than dropping me off, why will you need to be there?”
She stares at me like she’s trying to read me before answering. “I’m painting a mural behind their reception desk.”
“Oh. That’s great. We can go together.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
She climbs out, but not before instructing me to wait for her. Since I’m twice her size, it takes plenty of maneuvering, pauses, and readjustments before I’m sitting in the wheelchair. Every inch of me screams from the jerky movements and her compact frame trying to support me. I’m afraid she may have a few new bruises just from this one exercise.
“My bad, sis.” I breathe deep, which hurts like hell, too.
The next several weeks of recovery and physical therapy may test our sibling relationship. We share everything. We’ve been best friends all our lives, but there are some things my sister doesn’t need to see.
I chuckle to myself, thinking about my 115-pound sister trying to get my slippery naked self out of the tub, and all the jokes I could make afterward. Even more hilarious would be her comebacks, falling just off their intended mark. She’s too sweet to make crude jokes, but she doesn’t know that.
Maybe sponge baths are a better idea.
“277 Smithfield Avenue,” I repeat out loud a few times to commit it to memory.
“What are you doing, silly?”
“Memorizing our new address so I can send it to Nora. Dr. Elvis said it might be hard to remember things for a while.”
With a curt nod, Josie lifts our bags from the trunk and drapes the straps over the wheelchair handles. She doesn’t want me dating Nora, and that’s fine…for now. She just needs to see Nora and I together to understand that we have more than a random hookup relationship. And now that Josie’s moved to Richmond, she’ll get to know Nora better and, hopefully, let go of the resentment she’s harboring for no good reason.
She pays the driver and pushes me up the ramp to the main entrance with everything we own either hanging off my chair or sitting in my lap.
“Thankfully, we’re on the first floor,” she says, stopping outside apartment 103. “The living room has sliding glass doors facing the courtyard.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“You haven’t seen it yet.”
“I’m sure it’s fine, Jo Jo, and temporary, right? You’ll be moving back to New York after I’m self-sufficient, and I’ll go back to Quantico.” I pause, confused why her eyes are glistening. Is she worried about me getting hurt again? Does she not want us to be apart? Is she embarrassed about the apartment? I focus on the last since we’ll have plenty of time to talk about the rest. “Plus, this will feel like a luxury apartment compared to what I’m used to.”
“We’ll see.” With a sniff, she inserts the key into the lock and pushes open the door. “Well, at least it smells better than the last time I was here.”
She rolls me over the creaky hardwood floors to the center of the small living room. I can see the entire apartment from my vantage point. A small galley kitchen with off-white flat cabinet doors trimmed in medium-stained wood. The new white stacked washer and dryer at the end of the counter standing out like a spotlight. The curtainless glass doors Josie mentioned and the courtyard beyond to the left. Two doors leading to a bedroom and a bathroom on the right. And not a single piece of furniture.
“At least I came with my own chair,” I joke.
“Don’t.”
“Big city luxury in my mind.”
She rids me and the chair of our belongings and sets them on the floor. “You have more imagination than I thought you did if that’s what you see here.”
“I’m used to wobbly folding tables and sleeping on the floor or on cots that feel more like a bed of rocks.” I hold out the hand that’s not trapped in a sling, and she slides hers into it. “Because you’re here, this will feel like home.”
Her body reacts to the home comment before she hides behind a smile. But knowing her as I do, I notice the eye twitch, her muscles tightening ever so slightly, and the pad of her thumb rolling over her fingertips in slow circles. Her stress signals. Regret punches me in the gut for using the word in jest.
We lost everything that represented a traditional home the day our parents died. As if high school wasn’t hard enough, we were dumped into the foster care system before our young minds could process what happened. We were expected to be model students, refrain from causing any disruptions, and go about our lives as if our hearts weren’t ripped from our bodies. From that moment on, home became each other.
“You’re not sleeping on the floor in your condition,” she informs me, fully recovered.
But I’m still mentally punching myself for the careless slip. We’ve always protected each other, and in this situation, she’s the vulnerable one. It’s like we’re teenagers again—the last time she changed her life to support me. I need to do better and stop making it harder on her.
“I’ll grab two air mattresses until we can buy some beds,” she continues. “You’ll take the bedroom.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Jordan, I’m not backing down on this.” Her free hand finds her hip as she glares down at me. It’s the stance she takes when she’s in sacrifice-myself-for-others mode. It’s the most stubborn one. So, I try another route.
“But what about the safety of my eyes whenever I want a late-night snack?”
“What are you talking about?”
“All the hot guys you’ll be bringing home and getting to know in the living room.” I wiggle my brow and wait for the joke to settle into place. Punchlines usually register for her well after delivery.
“You’re ridiculous,” she says finally with a huff. “If you didn’t have a concussion, I’d smack you on the back of the head like Dad used to do.”
“Since you can’t retaliate, I’m not shutting up until you take the bedroom.”
“And since I’m in control of your transportation, you’ll go where I take you each night…which will be the bedroom. I win.” With a toss of her hair, she saunters toward the kitchen.
“What are you doing?”
“Grabbing my phone. The mattresses can’t order themselves.” She shuffles through her bag, pulls out the phone, and starts her search. While she shops, she rambles about what she finds or whatever pops into her head to fill the silence. “When do you want to visit VETS? They’ll take care of all your appointments after we sign up and provide physical therapy, mental health counseling, and anything else you need.”
“Doesn’t matter. When did you want to paint the mural?”
“Crabcakes,” she says with the punctuation of a curse word, warming my sore body like a heating pad. “All my supplies are still in New York…at Ryder’s.” Her eyes circle to the ceiling, then back to her phone.
“Why did you say his name like that?”
“Like what?” she asks, her disdain glaringly evident.
“Like you’re mad at him.” If they’re over, it will be the best news I’ve heard in forever. The rich bastard is such an arrogant tool and not even close to good enough for her. “I thought you two were all in.”
“I was mostly in. He was all the way out and just hadn’t told me yet.”
“What’d he do?” There goes my easily excitable blood pressure.
“Calm your stallions. He just cheated and sent a text to break it off.” She went back to scrolling as if none of what she confessed bothered her, but I know better. The bastard did more than wound her pride. “It’s not worth causing yourself a headache over.”
“I have a headache 24/7. So, too late. He really ended it over text? Such a heartless coward,” I bark out. “When was this?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“When Josie? Before or after you came here?”
She looks up from her phone to meet my heated gaze, and thankfully, her eyes are dry. At least she’s not wasting any tears over him. “After. But that—”
“Damn that asshole. How long had he been cheating? Did you know?”
“I did.” She holds up a hand to stop the next outburst forming on my tongue. “I was working on getting out. New York is expensive, and I had nowhere else to go. From the penthouse, it was a two-block walk to a job I loved. I had space to paint with wall-to-wall windows overlooking the city. I had no bills and the best wine to drown my sorrows. He was kind enough not to kick me out, even though we had grown apart. You can think less of me if you want for not jumping from that into homelessness.”
She’s not telling me the complete story, protecting me as usual, but I don’t push her. “Josie, I could never think less of you. What about Grant? Couldn’t you have stayed with him?”
“He may be my best friend, but he’s also my agent. I’m sure living together would be frowned upon.”
“Well, how are we going to get your stuff…if it’s not in a dumpster?”
“It’s not,” she says flatly.
“How do you know?”
She looks up again. “Grant collected it and is bringing it here soon.”
“Good. Did he give that asshole what he deserves while he was there?”
“He did.”
“Guess I’ll let him back on my good side then.”