Page 3 of Unveiled

Chapter Two

Rush wasn’t slated to be in Virginia for another couple of weeks, but the great state of Texas just wasn’t big enough for him and Cheri any longer.

You’d think after he walked in on her giving his boss a blowjob at their engagement party, they would’ve avoided him like the plaque, but no. They were relentless in apologizing. Rush finally changed his number just to get some peace. No one had it yet, and it was sublime not to be connected.

That didn’t stop Cheri or Myles. They showed up at his house, gym, hell, they’d bumped into him in line for a latte. It all just got to be too much. Rush wasn’t sure how many times he had to break Myles’s nose before he’d back off. He could only tell Cheri to get fucked so many times. Rush just wanted peace and they refused to leave him to it.

He flexed the knuckles around the accelerator. They’d stiffened from the swelling.

Instead of keeping a rolling count of confrontations for another minute, Rush had grabbed a change of clothes and mounted his bike. Everything else he owned was either already in Virginia or on its way. There was nothing keeping him rooted in the Lone Star state any longer.

Rush had a job waiting for him with some old military buddies at Cole Security, a new house, and a whole new outlook on life. Or he would have as soon as he could get away and let go of everything that’d happened.

As the asphalt blurred under him and the miles added up at his back, Rush had to admit, the blame wasn’t solely on Myles and Cheri.

It wasn’t like Rush had ever had a single, semi-successful, romantic relationship. At some point, he had to start looking at the common denominator—him. All his exes said the same thing. You’re too distant. You don’t seem to care. I was blowing your boss for crying out loud and all you had to say was, I take it the engagement is off, before you turned around and ate another pig in a blanket and washed it down with a beer. You never show emotion, Russell. It’s like you’re just going through the motions.

Okay, well, not exactly the same words, but the same sentiment. As he took in the scenery that was Tennessee, he realized how right they were. He didn’t hit Myles when he was coming down his fiancé’s throat. Didn’t even raise his voice. The only time he punched the fucker was to get him out of his face and make him leave him alone.

When they weren’t chasing him down to apologize, he could pretend he was an emotionally available normal human being. However, when they were begging forgiveness, he proved he wasn’t like other people. There was nothing to forgive, because he didn’t care enough. Sure, it stung his pride as a man. It was a betrayal, and he hated betrayal. It was also sad he wouldn’t wake up next to someone he cared for, but that was the extent of it all. “Fuck, that’s some sad shit.”

Yep, dead inside. So why go through the motions anymore? Because it was socially acceptable that a man his age settles down and starts raising rug rats? He wanted a loyal woman and children and all that jazz, but would he ever be emotionally available to them? Probably not.

The only people he was emotionally invested in were his parents and his Navy buddies. To this day, he would take a bullet for any of them. And when he lost one, it sent him into a tailspin.

Some shrinks, and many women, had accused him of having mommy issues, but that wasn’t the case. Perfectly loving family. Parents still happily married. No childhood trauma or hardships. Made his own money, owned property, no mountains of debt, and a pretty decent set of skills in the sack. Russell Glen Sampson was a perfect catch…on paper.

Before he knew it, the fifteen-and-a-half-hour ride was complete and he was beyond exhausted. He’d left yesterday on a whim after an intense three-hour gym session. He’d planned to pull out in a few weeks, but as he was leaving the gym, there stood the sorrowful couple begging him to forgive them yet again. He couldn’t take another minute; there was nothing to forgive. Rush went home, showered, changed, and got on the road.

Pulling into the driveway of his new life, he was pleased to see Mark hadn’t let him down. The place looked just like the pictures, on the outside, at least. Doubtful Mark had a chance to stock it yet since Rush was early. For tonight, his plan was to fall face down on the first piece of familiar soft furniture he encountered and sleep for the first time in over twenty-four hours.

Rush could deal with groceries and shit later. His exhaustion was overpowering at the moment. Punching in the code he knew Mark would’ve set opened up the garage and the door to the house. It also disarmed and rearmed the alarm. It was set to stay, which was odd. Mark was usually Johnny on the spot with security. Maybe he’d found a housekeeper and she’d set it. That made more sense than an error on Mark’s part.

Shedding his boots along the way, Rush faceplanted on his oversized couch, his jeans hanging off one leg, and slept like the dead.

He woke drooling on the throw pillow, and his neck was stiffer than his morning wood. When he turned and tried to stand, he fell back onto the sofa. He was trapped by his own pants. Shit, he was still so tired. Rush wondered, not for the first time, how he made it all the way to Virginia without killing himself or someone else.

Luck was the only possibility, because he’d practically zoned out the whole trip and slept with his eyes open for the last hundred miles. Using his bare foot, he maneuvered his jeans all the way off.

Scrubbing his hands down his scruffy face and buzzed head in an attempt to fully wake-up was fruitless. What he needed was another couple hours of sleep, but that wasn’t going to happen. It was imprinted in his very DNA at this point in his life to get up with the sun.

Barring sleep, he needed hot coffee, which was out, so an even hotter shower was his only option. After which, he could grab his laptop from his saddlebag and order groceries. Hell, he craved coffee so bad he could practically smell it. Wait, I can smell it.

Rush stood and padded to the kitchen. Sure enough, there was a nice smelling dark roast freshly brewed and hot. The glass cabinet directly above it contained mugs. After savoring the first few sips of the bitter brew, Rush’s brain finally kicked in. The pot was on a timer, so maybe someone Mark hired was due soon.

Well, then, I better get cleaned up and into something more than boxers.

Gulping down the last of the coffee, he refilled his cup, slipped on his jeans, not bothering to button them, and headed down the hall. From the pictures and video Mark sent, the master suite should be to the right. He was mere feet away from his three-hundred-and-sixty-degree pulsating water jet heaven when he stopped dead in his tracks.

Notice had come a few days past that his clothes had been delivered, and Mark texted to say he’d unpacked for him. However, that didn’t explain the bags along the wall, or the distinctly feminine clothes scattered from the chair to the dresser to the bed.

“It looks like a boutique threw up in my fucking bedroom.” He snatched a wedding veil, of all things, off the dresser and brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply. Rush was almost afraid he’d smell Cheri, but didn’t. Where Cheri smelled floral and cloying, this smelled clean and fresh. Like laundry drying in the summer sun.

He had a fucking squatter. That was the only thing that would explain why some woman was sleeping in his bed and had everything she owned, or stole, in shopping bags. Likely stolen considering the matching wedding dress haphazardly tossed in the corner. Who brings that shit when they squat?

The ambient sound changed, drawing his attention to the door on the left. The bathroom. His three-hundred-and-sixty-degree-surround shower heaven just shut off.

The squatter is still here.In his shower. Naked, and judging from the state of his room, female. Well, well, well, unless she’s a boxer or MMA fighter, then I’m in no danger from her. But she is from me.

---