Page 108 of Nixon’s Promise

I smiled.

Really there was nothing else to do. Nixon Swagger was protective. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Jameson Grant

“A Civil War reenactment?” Jameson laughed.

“Jesus, Do you listen?” Nix muttered. “Not the Civil War. It’s the Tea Party.”

“And people come from all over to see this?” he questioned.

“I’m not fucking with you. Look it up. It’s a thing. Memorial weekend, every year. Cliff City descends back to Colonial times. It’s wild.”

It didn’t sound wild to Jameson, it sounded like torture. Zack had droned on about the food vendors and how The Tea Party was the best place to get funnel cake. Apparently the people around here liked the doughy cake because even Micky was excited to get one.

Mandy had told him that there were droves of people, and if they wanted to get a good spot to watch the cargo boxes of tea being dumped from the Sultana into the Chester River, they needed to be at the dock an hour before the reenactment.

It wasn’t the greasy food that had Jameson’s gut in a knot—it was the people.

He wouldn’t say he had any form of post-traumatic stress. He didn’t have any triggers or nightmares. It was people.

He’d seen what men and women were capable of. Old and young alike. People were assholes. And when given the right opportunities, they behaved like savage beasts who would slit their mother’s throat if it meant they’d get what they wanted.

Jameson Grant had a handful of people he liked. Recently, that number had grown by three. But he had no interest in expanding his circle further.

If that made him a dick, he was okay with that. All he wanted was peace, quiet, and to be left the fuck alone. Lucky for him, his size and perpetual scowl wasn’t conducive to making friends. Most people took one look at him and ran a mile.

But not Micky. She was an exception. Mandy and Zack, too. He was happy to have them in his life and it was a good thing, too, because Nixon was in deep with all three of them.

“Did you guys get all settled?” Nixon asked, changing the subject.

“After this, me and Mandy are headed out to Middletown. If there’s something you need, we can grab it,” McKenna added from the back seat.

Jameson turned to look at McKenna, thankful he no longer had to brace when his gaze hit her face. Six weeks had done wonders. The bruising was all but gone, and what was left she artfully covered with makeup. In another week, you’d never known the woman had been beaten within an inch of her life.

See? People were assholes.

One more nail in humanity’s coffin.

“We’re all settled. Rooms have been assigned, beds and furniture delivered. Nixon’s old house is actually livable,” Jameson joked.

“And Holden is really living in his airstream?” Micky inquired.

“Yep.”

Last week, Nixon had officially moved in with Micky, and the kids and the rest of the team had taken over his house. Everyone but Holden. He’d driven back down to Virginia Beach and towed his restored Airstream back up to Maryland. Holden was damn proud of that thing and it cost him a mint to overhaul. He was happy to park it up near the barn and live in it.

“That’s crazy.” She giggled.

Jameson glanced at his friend, and even though it was in profile, he saw Nixon’s smile at the sound of McKenna’s giggle.

Damn. His friend was in deep. Something Jameson never thought he’d see.

“Not crazy. Smart,” Jameson returned.

Two hours later and at least five miles of walking in circles, Jameson was done. The street was packed shoulder-to-shoulder full of people. He couldn’t say any of them had been rude, but he was over getting bumped, jostled, and simply breathing other people’s air. He needed a break.

With a lift of his chin he silently communicated to his friend just that. He was peeling off to find someplace others weren’t.