Page 59 of The Way Back Home

“You did the right thing, darlin’, and you couldn’t have known. None of us knew.”

“I just don’t know how I didn’t see it. He can stay here, right? As long as he needs? I’ll pay his way . . . Of course, I might go to jail for kidnapping.” I laugh, but it hurts my whole damn face. “Then I’d have to submit to an overly large cranky lesbian and become her bitch, ’cause I can’t throw a punch to save my life.”

He leans forward and kisses my hair. I close my eyes. Who’d have thought my angry Marine could be so careful, so sweet, and capable of so much tenderness? “I’ll protect you from the big scary lesbians. No one’s taking you away from me, princess.”

Despite the pain, I smile.

No one’s taking you away from me. I like the sound of that.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

August

IAM GOING TO MURDERa man, not in battle, or for self-defense, but because I need him to know that you can’t hurt what’s mine and not pay for it. I sit in my truck parked across the street, and I wait. The house is busy; people mill around. The odd junkie climbs the stairs to get a fix and disappears again just as quickly as he shows up, and now Josiah’s father, Cole Webb sits on the porch alone.

I’m gonna teach that son-of-a-bitch a lesson he should have learned long ago—you fuck with a Marine, you get fucked back. Only I won’t pull any goddamn punches. If Shona wants to arrest me, she can. Maybe now she’ll stop ignoring the shit her brother does. Maybe now she’ll see the kind of cesspool her nephew was living in and the hell he survived at the hands of his father. Until this asshole is behind bars, Josiah will be staying where it’s safe.

I saw the fear on Olivia’s face, like she expected me to kick them both out when she stood in my house, staring up at me with ruin in her eyes, terror in her heart, and blood spattering her T-shirt. I didn’t care about another mouth to feed. She could bring as many kids and dogs into my house as she wanted, and I wouldn’t dream of turning them away. I’d do anything for her. She hasn’t figured that out yet, and I’m not about to tell her because the truth is she can do better than half a man. Fuck, she could have any man in this whole goddamn world. She hadn’t figured that out yet either, but she will, and her leaving will hurt worse than having my leg ripped apart by an IED.

I step out of the truck. I should leave Zora behind, but the truth is I can’t be sure I won’t need her. I’ve gotten into plenty of bar brawls since my accident. Sometimes I come out on top, and sometimes I don’t. I was looking for death then, seeking out darkness in anything and everything just to feel closer to the edge, to feel like a man again, or to die like one. With both my legs I could beat the shit out of someone like Cole Webb and not even break a sweat, but I no longer have both my legs, and I’m not the same fighter I once was, so I may need Zora’s help. Of course, Liv might kill me when I make it back, if I make it back, but I’m not about to let Cole get away with hurting her or the kid.

I cross the street and walk the few paces to the front porch.Stairs. I hate stairs. I fucking loathe them. Most of the time I don’t feel any different on the outside. I know my limits, I know what I can and can’t do on my prosthetic, my everyday life isn’t that limited by the fact that I have a leg I wasn’t born with, but sometimes, I forget. I feel like any other man, and then I encounter a set of stairs, and the guilt and shame come slamming right back into me again. Just like now, when I long to race up the stairs and choke the life out of this asshole. I have to stop and take each one slowly or run the risk of falling headfirst into the porch. I grab the railing and take two steps at a time with my right leg and then plant the prosthetic as effortlessly as possible. It’s easier two at a time—gets you there quicker, and there’s less chance of falling on your face. I don’t need this asshole thinking I’m weak.

“Well would you look at that? Even the town cripple’s darkenin’ my doorstep to give me a piece of his mind. You gonna fight me too, Cotton?” He chuckles. “I ain’t got no problems hittin’ a lady, but a cripple? And a vet at that? You gotta be shittin’ me. You gonna take that chunk of metal you call a leg and beat me with it?”

“Nah, I’m gonna use my fists, you dumb fuck.”

He laughs again. “Well, this I gotta see.”

He stands up and Zora barks, her teeth snapping together. “You gonna get your puppy there to fight for you?”

While his attention is on my dog, I strike, slamming him into the ground. I go down with him, it’s impossible not to, but knowing that I’m at a severe disadvantage, I’m not afraid to fight dirty. He connects with my jaw, wraps his hands around my throat, but I slam my body down on his, driving my fist up under his ribcage into soft unprotected organs. He’s winded, gasping for breath. I pull my arm back and hit him twice, one in the jaw, another in the cheek. His head snaps back with the blow. He’s out cold. I got half a mind to finish the bastard off, but Bett’s face flashes before my eyes, and I slowly and painfully get to my feet, though it takes every bit of core strength I have. I groan, wincing as I move my jaw side to side and spit on his prone body.

Zora lunges toward him the second I’m out of the way, but a sharp command from me stops her dead in her tracks. She’s not happy about it, but she follows me down the stairs and we retreat to the truck.

Every nerve in my body thrums like a live wire. I’m drunk on adrenaline and when I climb in the truck beside Zora, taste metal in my mouth, and hear my heart thundering in my ears, I feel alive.

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