Page 19 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

“Telling her no is the same as challenging her to a duel and, trust me, she’ll win,” Boone said, walking into the kitchen and leaving his muddy shitkickers at the door.

Boone was speaking the truth. His grumpy, stoic, stubborn older brother had turned into a soft teddy bear over the past year. Vivi hadn’t just opened him up—she’d saved him. And for that Colter would always be grateful. But he'd turned into exactly the kind of man Colter was afraid of becoming—pussy-whipped to the point of no return.

Whatever "the point of no return" was. Colter had a feeling he had been standing about three feet from it himself, holding a tampon-aisle memory he hadn't been able to shake in a week.

“Fine, one month. But that’s it. If nothing comes from it, we’re done with the date talk.”

Vivi and his grandmother looked at each other as if they’d just taken gold at the Olympics. Colter rolled his eyes, already plotting how to survive more awkward first dates with women who, he’d bet a hundred bucks, were looking to hogtie someone into happily ever after.

“You have my word,” Rea said and Colter nearly laughed. While his grandma's word was gold, the rule didn't apply when she was scheming.

Rea had always been a busybody when it came to her three grandsons. But ever since her son and daughter-in-laws died, she’d become as protective as a lioness guarding her cubs—fierce, unflinching, and impossible to reason with when it came to anything she cared about. Hell, she’d even take on the alpha lion if he was threatening her grandson’s happiness.

While Colter admired that kind of loyalty and fire, he couldn't help wishing she'd aim it somewhere else for once. She ran her grandsons’ lives, which was as irritating as it was exhausting, but there wasn’t anything Colter or his brothers wouldn’t do to make her happy—even if it came at the expense of their sanity.

“Get it in writing,” Eli, his younger brother, said walking through the back door. “They’ve been trying to set me up even though I’m halfway around the world eleven months out of the year.”

“Eli,” Vivi jumped to her feet and was across the kitchen giving him a huge hug. “We didn’t know you were coming home.”

“It’s a surprise,” he said.

“Damn, it’s good to see you,” Colter said, walking over to give his brother a hug. Colter tried to lift like he had when they were kids, but his knees nearly buckled. “Jesus, you’re even bigger than last time. What are they feeding you? The blood of young children?”

Eli looked like he’d just stepped off base—fatigues and all, military duffel slung over one shoulder like it was nothing. Even when he was just standing there, you could tell the guy moved with purpose, all coiled strength and quiet control, like he was ready for whatever came next.

And wasn’t that the question of the hour. What came next for Eli?

His time with the Coast Guard was nearly up and everyone was wondering if he was going to reenlist. Eli loved his station as a boatswain—he’d planned on being a lifer. But the wear and tear on his body driving the RHIB—the rigid hull inflatable boat—with its hard, flat-bottom that chopped through the water was tearing his back in two.

Boone clasped his hand and pulled Eli into his chest. “Seems they let you out of your cage. How long are you staying?”

“They sent me on medical leave so I can see a back specialist in Blue Sky. My stay depends on what she says. It could be a few days or a few weeks.”

“Well, a few days is a few more days we didn’t expect,” Rea said.

“Hey, nan.” Eli walked over to his grandmother, who was sitting on a kitchen chair like it was her own personal throne. With a kiss on each cheek, he gave her a hug. Rea held on longer than expected and Colter felt his chest pinch.

They were proud of Eli’s commitment to serving his country, but the fear that one day he might never come home was always in the back of everyone’s mind. After their parents’ death, the fear became more acute.

“Let me take a look at you,” Rea said, pulling back, cataloguing her grandson’s condition.

Eli had enough ink on his body to tell a dozen stories—each tattoo a badge of battles fought, places seen, and choices made, all wrapped up with the kind of quiet intensity that made you think twice before crossing him.

The phrase “a bull in a china shop” didn’t even explain how massive he was. He was more like “a rhino in a field of landmines.” Yet Colter would bet the ranch that he’d clear the field without disturbing a single blade of grass.

“When’s your future wife coming?” Boone asked Colter and sweat beaded on the back of his neck.

“She’ll be at the family barbecue,” Vivi said.

“The family barbecue?” Colter choked. “Meeting the family is the same as getting down on one knee.”

Boone clapped him on the back. “Well, then you better get a brace, old man, because knowing my fiancée, she’ll find you the perfect match.”

CHAPTER 8

The bar smelled of spilled cranberry juice, coconut liqueur, and a faint tang of bubblegum.

Unlike the Tipsy Cow, a true honky-tonk that sat next door, which was all dark wood, neon lights, and rowdy cheers, the Drunken Rooster looked like a cocktail lounge where Barbie threw up.