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“Yeah, well, I can come up with other nonviolent ways to make you pay for being so overprotective,” I warned.
Dad was used to our friendly bickering but still urged, “C’mon, kiddo. Don’t give Andrew a hard time for doing his job as your big brother.”
“Like what?” Andrew looked up at the sky while stroking his chin, pretending to consider those options. Then he snapped his fingers and exclaimed, “I know. You could mashed potato my lawn like you and your friends did that one time during your junior year.”
“I cannot believe you just tattled on me like that,” I cried, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Mashed potato?” my dad echoed, his brows drawing together. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Andrew snickered as I explained, “You know those fake mashed potato flakes that come in the box that you used to buy before I learned how to make real ones from scratch?”
Dad nodded. “Yes.”
“Well, we…um…bought a few boxes of those and poured them on Zachary Bryant’s yard when he dumped Tori the day before junior prom,” I admitted. “His parents had the sprinklers programmed to go off every morning, so they fluffed up all over the grass by the time anyone realized what we’d done.”
My dad’s eyes widened, then he threw his head back and laughed. “That’s a hell of a lot more original than the toilet papering your brother used to do when he was in high school.”
“It sure was.” I stuck my tongue out at Andrew before beaming him a satisfied smirk.
“But you still shouldn’t have done it,” Dad chided. “There would’ve been hell to pay if you’d gotten caught.”
I jerked my chin toward Andrew. “The only reason he knows about it is because he was home on leave and eavesdropped on our conversation. Then he tailed us to that jerk’s house and waited with the lights off until we finished. I have no idea how we didn’t notice him while we were walking there, but he got us into his car and safely back home before anyone saw us.”
“Of course, I followed you. Making sure you didn’t get into trouble, or worse, was my job as your big brother.” Andrew shot me a triumphant look. “Just like I’m doing now when I tell you that you’d better give me the name of anyone you date so I can have Phillip check to make sure he doesn’t have a record.”
My lips pressed together as my pulse quickened. “I’m pretty sure he’s not allowed to do stuff like that for personal reasons.”
“He has younger sisters.” Andrew shrugged. “So he understands the challenges I face.”
“Um, no. If anyone faces challenges due to their sibling’s behavior around here, it’s me,” I scoffed, pointing my thumb toward my chest. “I’m the one who has to put up with your ridiculously overprotective behavior.”
My brother jutted his chin out. “Perfectly reasonable, brotherly behavior.”
“That’s enough.” Dad leveled us with a look that brooked no arguments. “You two will just have to agree to disagree.”
“Okay, Dad,” I said swiftly, sending up a mental apology to whichever man I eventually ended up with because he wasprobably going to have to deal with their obnoxiousness for the rest of our lives.
2
Kade
“Simon,” I greeted my friend as I approached him. When I reached the table, he stood and shook my hand.
“Sir.”
“Cut the sir shit, sailor,” I grunted with a grin as I slid into the booth.
We met at a diner for lunch, like we did every Wednesday.
Simon remained in a hospital for a week before returning to the States. I’d sat in on his debriefing, and his experience had been truly fucked up. He and his teammates had been tortured, then killed one by one. Simon was young, but he was a big guy and a tough motherfucker.
But being a big, bad SEAL didn’t make us infallible. What this sailor had endured was the stuff of nightmares, and it was no surprise to me when he called and told me he’d been admitted to a psych hospital. Simon wasn’t crazy, but he had demons that would need to be sorted out if he was going to have any kind of life.
We’d been friends since he transferred to Coronado, and we lived about ten minutes from each other. So I stopped by onWednesdays to check on him, and when the doctor felt he was ready to go home, I picked him up and drove him there.
I wouldn’t hover like an old woman, but I made him promise to check in with me weekly. After two weeks, I could tell he was fraying around the edges, and I knew he’d been holed up in his apartment. So I threatened him and forced him to meet me for lunch.
For the last four months, he’d been in therapy, and I could sense that he was beginning to heal. But PTSD can be a lifelong weight, and he would most likely deal with the effects of it for the rest of his life. However, with the right treatment, he’d learn how to cope and not let it overrun his life.
