“I can take care of myself, thank you very much,” I huffed.
“Of that, I have no doubt, but please take extra precautions. I have personally witnessed what Jason can do when he’s this obsessed, and it’s not pretty.” Brian put his hat on and sauntered down the steps to his truck.
I closed the door, locking it and replacing the chain. Leaning against it, I listened to Brian’s truck start and back away. I replayed the last ten minutes in my head, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Jason was acting like he owned me. As if! Brian, on the other hand, had only acted in my defense or protection. I have always taken care of myself, but the idea of a big, strong, sexy man wanting to protect me melted my insides a bit. To trust someone enough to give over that job was something I secretly craved but had never expressed to anyone.
Most of my relationships during my life were ones where I took charge, mainly because the guys I chose didn’t have a backbone. That was why I had sworn off men for the last few years and simply lived my life alone. Brian’s protective nature, his attentiveness, and his keen eye began to stir my buried hope that there was a man out there who wanted to take care of me, one I could trust enough to do so.
I shook my head and went back to the kitchen. The letters still sat on the table, waiting to be read. “Okay, Gran, what is it you wanted me to know.” I sat with my now cooled cup of coffee and opened the first letter.
The paper was yellowed with age, and the handwriting was rushed. It was merely a few lines and signed with a name I didn’t recognize.
My dearest Sarah,
I only have a few minutes to pen this note to you. We are being moved again, and we don’t know where to. Fighting is going on all around us at all hours, and the simple thought of you waiting back home keeps me going. The vision of starting our life together when this is all over helps me put one boot in front of the other. I feel your love all these miles away and hope you can sense mine. I anxiously await your next missive. They are calling our names, so I must end here to get it to the post before we march out.
It was signed, “All my love, Don.” Grandpa’s name was Chester, not Don, and he didn’t serve in the military. I sat for the next two hours reading through all the letters, filled with declarations of love, plans for the future, dreams of their life together, and the depression of war. When I finished the last one, I was more confused than when I began. There was never a last name, always just Don. “Who was this, Gran? Why did you leave these to me? What am I supposed to do now?”
I sat back, taking in the comfort of her kitchen. The ancient stove she loved so, the avocado green refrigerator, the cracked linoleum floor she always kept scrubbed clean. The table I sat at was scarred with years of use but polished with care. The counters were uncluttered—the only things sitting upon them were the coffee pot and her canisters of flour, sugar, and coffee next to a set of salt and pepper shakers. The cupboards were an oak, darkened with age, but free of grime and grease. The walls were light green with a wallpaper border depicting all kinds of kitchen utensils and aprons. Gran loved her kitchen; she called it the heart of a house where everyone always gathered. “A full belly led to a happy heart,” she used to say.
The old cuckoo clock chimed, and I realized I was late for lunch. I carefully replaced the letters and stood stretching the kinks out of my back I had gotten from sitting too long. Thankfully, the diner was only a few minutes’ walk away. It was time to go find out what Brian and Jason had to say for themselves.
As I was locking the door behind me, my phone rang deep in my purse. I didn’t glance at the screen, expecting it to be either one of the men waiting on me.
“I’m on my way, don’t freak out.”
“Hello to you, too,” an unfamiliar voice greeted me.
“Oh, I thought you were someone else.” I glanced at the caller ID and saw a Florida number but no name listed.
“Obviously. Is this Genevieve Brown?”
“Who wants to know?” I replied with a little more sass than I had intended.
The voice on the other end erupted into laughter, which warmed my insides. “Oh boy, Brian has his hands full. My name’s Brody, and you have my brother all in a twist.” His mirth continued and made me smile.
“How can I help you?”
“Actually, I want to help you.” Brody’s hysterics died down. “I have some information that I think you should know about your old friend Jason.”
“What do you mean? Did Brian put you up to this?” I bristled.
“Hell no, and if he knew I was talkin’ to you now, he’d have my head.”
“Then, why are you?” This man didn’t know me, and my suspicion rose.
“Because my brother likes you and would never tell you the truth. I, on the other hand, want you goin’ into any confrontation you have with this man prepared with his full history.” Brody continued on, and what he revealed to me turned my stomach.
“But that was years ago,” I replied, trying to merge the image this man gave me with the one I remembered of Jason from high school.
“Yes, but it wasn’t the first time. It’s happened three times since, and how he has a badge now, I haven’t figured out. He must have friends higher up who were able to scrub these incidents from his record. It took me longer than usual to unearth them. Genni, be careful. He isn’t fully sane, and his tendencies have been to break the women he is with using any way possible. This man is someone who gives our lifestyle a bad name.”
Brody had given me a quick lesson on the BDSM lifestyle—he’d had to in order to explain what Jason had done and why. I had read about it in my romance novels and had even been curious, but never enough to look into it in real life. It didn’t help that I always lived in small towns far away from a city that might have a BDSM community I could check out. As I let everything sink in, I assessed the situation and recognized in both Brian and Jason the signs of a dominant nature.
“Thank you, Brody.”
“You’re welcome, pet. Now, be careful, and if you need help, you just call, even if it’s help with my brother.” He chuckled and disconnected the call.
Our conversation had lasted the whole trip to the diner. I took a deep breath, dropped my phone in my purse, and opened the diner door. My eyes found Brian immediately, a newfound appreciation for him running through me. Jason stood next to him, brooding and dangerous. I straightened my shoulders and went to join them in the corner booth. Far enough from the main crowd to have a private discussion but still within full view of the patrons and staff. Brian ushered me into his side of the booth before Jason could say a word.
He had our backs to the wall. Both the front door and kitchen entrance were in eyesight. Brian slid in next to me, and Jason plopped down across from us.
“Okay, boys, now, what do you want to discuss with me?”
This diner had been here since I could remember—a local joint with a homey atmosphere. The waitresses still wore the old pink and white uniforms, which reminded me of the old show Alice that Gran used to watch. The booths had recently been recovered in a maroon vinyl; the tables were scarred but still polished to a shine. There was a counter running the length of the diner, which again was polished to a shine, with swivel stools bolted to the floor and covered in the same vinyl and trimmed in silver. Display cases showed pies of the day, and in the morning, it had doughnuts and cinnamon rolls.