Gambled - A Titan Novella (2 page)

Rocco cleared his throat. “You trying to kill yourself?”

“Yup.” Why bother with a lie?

“You’re doing a good job of it.”

His head tilted to the side, and not because he wanted to move. It was more of a list, a weight too heavy to hold up. “Not really.”

Winters crumbled the wrapper and licked his thumb. “We’re not going to let you do that, fucker.”

Absurd. It took a lot of energy, but Brock laughed. It came out in a garbled, scratchy cough. “Yeah, all right. Don’t let me die.”

Rocco shook his head. “Eat. Shower. This is your intervention, or whatever it’s called.”

“Whether you like it or not,” Roman leaned forward on the table, “we’ve been a team for years, and screwing up isn’t a death sentence.”

Yeah, it was, actually. “It is when you’ve done what I’ve done.”

“We all know what you did.” Roman’s intense stare burned into him. “Shit got harsh, Brock. You made a wrong decision.”

“I crossed the line.”

“No kidding. But we move on,” Roman volleyed back.

“I don’t deserve to.”

Rocco downed his soda then shifted his focus back to him. “No, you don’t, asshole. But that’s how it’s going to be.”

Why did they care? “Go away.”

“You have a good woman. A family none of us knew about. And no one here can say that they wouldn’t lose their mind to save them either. Not Parker or Cash either.”

“But Jared.” Brock’s head swung side-to-side, spinning. “He’s a different story.”

“True that. But you know who else has a fan? Sarah—in Sugar. Nicola and Mia too. And because all you fuckers are love struck and bringing girl talk into our inner circle,”—Rocco gestured to Winters and Brock—“we’ve got chicks gossiping. And they like Sarah. Man, we’re family. Estranged at the moment, but the roots are still there. So we can’t let you kill yourself.”

Winters reached for another burger and threw it at him. It landed on the floor. “Brock, buddy. Eat. Get dressed. Get sober. Get your wife back and claim your life.”

***

One solid week. That was how long it took to sober up and keep down a meal.

One solid hour. That was how long Brock had sat a few houses down from his mother-in-law’s house. He contemplated how badly his rehearsed speech sucked then glanced at the dashboard clock.

He gave a self-imposed deadline. One minute to pull it all together. His mother-in-law had left Sarah alone at the guest house, and the kids weren’t at home either.
They were at school. What a novel concept
. Brock walked up the driveway, past the main house, to the backside of the property. The guest house loomed ahead.

The only thing he knew for certain was that his life awaited him on the other side of the door. He twisted the knob but stopped. Took his hand off and sucked down a breath and ignored the urge for a drink. Barging in wasn’t the right move. Knocking was.
Knocking to see my wife. This blows.

Two quick raps and he stood there, unsure what to do with his arms. He ran a hand over his freshly shaven jaw. Checked his hair in a reflection on a nearby window and then pocketed his fists into his jeans to keep his fingers from tapping.

The door didn’t have a peep hole, and she couldn’t see who was there from the front windows. The angles were all wrong. He tried to ignore how this house had little in the way of security, not that his ramped-up safety measures had kept his family from danger.

The door cracked and Sarah peered out, one big brown eye wide open. “What are you doing here?”

“Hi.” His heart clutched. What
was
he doing here?

“Brock?”

He couldn’t read her voice. “I’d like a chance to…” To what, explain? Justify? Beg? His mind remained blank. “Can I come in?”

She pulled back. “No.”

He’d expected that. The muscles in his chest tightening and the ache in his throat, he hadn’t. “Five minutes, then I’m gone.”

“No.” She inched the door closed but didn’t click it shut.

The Sarah he knew had been bubbly and smiling. This surprised version of his wife seemed hardened. How someone could give an impression like that while only showing an eye and saying a few words, he didn’t know. But he knew he couldn’t leave. Not yet.

“Three minutes.” How would three minutes make a difference when he couldn’t string his thoughts together and—

“Fine.” She swung the door wide.

He lost his thoughts again. It’d been weeks since he’d seen her. Titan missions lasted that long, but today was different, and wasn’t she the most beautiful thing he’d ever set eyes on.

Her petite frame that always fit under his arm, her perfect freckles that he could map in the dark. The way her auburn hair fell over her shoulders. How familiar it always smelled, like sunshine and summer.

“Three minutes. Then it’s good-bye.” Nothing in her tone was sunshine or summer.

He nodded, words not coming.

Her brow pinched. “If you’re coming in, then come in, Brock. Otherwise—”

“No, I’m here. Coming.” He stepped through the threshold into a small living room that very much reminded him of his mother-in-law. Doilies and pristine furniture. A few cardboard boxes were flattened and leaning against a wall. The kids had toys strewn on the floor, and he’d kill to have a Barbie to step over in the middle of the night again.

The living room opened into a kitchen, and he followed Sarah to the table. A newspaper had been laid out. Pen marks and circles decorated what looked like the classifieds. Heaviness hung on his chest.
She’s slipping further away from me.

He tried to read her notes without being obvious. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” she countered, sitting down and snagging her pen.

Sarcastic Sarah. Again, not expected. “I didn’t mean…” God. Could he really not form coherent thoughts around her?

She studied him then tilted her head to the side, slowly twirling the pen. “I’m looking for a job.”

“A job?”

“You know, what people do to make money? Not everyone kills and maims in order to put food on the table.”

He deserved that one. Time was ticking, and he had no response. “I’ve missed you like crazy, angel.”

Angel
had just popped out. It was natural, more than saying her name, but maybe not appropriate. Too bad. She had always been his angel. Nothing had changed for him.

Her bottom lip quivered until she thinned it into a line. Sarah twirled the pen again and studied the paper. “Here’s one for a preschool teacher.” Her voice waivered. “I’d be perfect for that.”

He took a step closer, and his arms ached to hold his wife. “Yeah, you would.”

“How would you know, Brock?” Her chin jutted up, her eyes watery and wounded. “We don’t know each other.”

“You don’t mean that.” He pulled the chair out next to her. So close, but he wouldn’t touch her. He shouldn’t. No matter how badly he craved her. “I need to explain things to you. Be upfront whereas before I was… vague.”

“Vague? Vague wasn’t my problem.”

“I didn’t know what to do. I messed up. Bad. But it was like my world went black when you all were taken. I couldn’t think. Nothing was logical. It was all survive and react.”

“I never knew how close our family was to danger. Brock, you almost had another woman
killed.
That’s not an environment I want to raise our children in.”

She was concerned about Sugar? He wanted to shake Sarah. So what? God love Sugar. But he loved his family. His wife. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t sacrifice to return them to safety. “Sugar is not your problem. And I know, from the bottom of my soul, you wouldn’t care what I did if it protected Jess and Kelly. Let’s boil it down to basics. Bad things happened, and I was the cause.”

She looked away, and tears streamed over her cheeks. “I can’t talk about this. I can’t even breathe thinking about it.”

He needed to wipe them away. Needed to make her hurt dissipate. But he didn’t know the rules right now. Couldn’t risk scaring her. “I take the blame for all of this. Things should’ve been different before you were taken.” Guilt exploded in his gut. He threaded his fingers into his hair. “I would’ve done anything to bring you girls home safe. You can’t see that, and I can’t explain that. So just know I did what I thought was best while I was out of my mind.”

She sniffled, wiping away the waterworks. “I’m not sure what to think.”

The minutes were clicking by, and he hadn’t said anything worth a damn. “I want my wife back. I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you feel safe again.” It was rushed. Not eloquent, but there it was. The truth.

Her eyes locked on his, the look caressing him down to his soul. What he wouldn’t do to kiss her right now. That was how he always felt about her. Especially when he came off the job. He needed her touch. Her kiss. Salve to the wounds she couldn’t see.

Shutting her eyes, she licked her lips and refocused on him. “Three minutes are up. I think you should go.”

His heart sank deep in the murky waters of abandonment. “Angel—”

“I can’t do this. I can’t risk the girls again.”

“I can make this better. Safer. Don’t take my girls from me.” His voice cracked. Time was up; he needed a last plea. “Don’t walk away. Not from us.”

She shook her head, and he tried to remember everything Mia Winters had told him when she’d shown up shortly after her husband had left, touting her therapist card. That Sarah probably felt victimized. That she didn’t understand her own feelings yet, that she needed to place blame and have an outlet. That shutting down and barricading herself were self-preservation mechanisms.

Thank God his buddy’s wife was a psychologist with a major case of two-cent-itis, because Brock hadn’t thought past his own feelings. He’d been content to wallow and drink.

“I love you. And I love our girls.” Against all of Mia’s advice, he pulled an envelope from his back pocket and slid it on top of the newspaper. “If they’re okay to stay with your mom for a little bit, maybe you can take a chance with me, focus on rebuilding our family again. Rebuilding us.”

Sarah rubbed the corner of the envelope. “What do you mean? What’s in here?”

“Airplane tickets.”

“Airplane tickets?” She yanked her hand back like the envelope had bitten her. “Why? To where?”

“A private island in the Caribbean.” He took her hand, enveloping it between his palms. Her arm stiffened, but she didn’t pull away. “We can, ya know, focus on you and me. We’ll hash everything out in a neutral setting. Reconnect.”
Neutral, reconnect
. Two buzz words Mia had used over and over.

“I don’t want to reconnect.”

This was the best idea he had. His go-big-or-go-home strategy, and it’d taken a lot of help from Mia. There might be simpler ways to rebuild their life other than jet-setting to a tropical getaway, but this was the one that worked best in his head. Mia said the idea was too big, and maybe he should’ve listened. Maybe he should listen to anyone but himself where his family was concerned, because his choices weren’t working.

Brock pressed her hand in his grip, unwilling to let go and give up. “I talked to, um, somebody. A therapist. Mia Winters. She works with Titan sometimes and said this idea was too much. Too bold or aggressive. But why hold back? I’ve got nothing left to lose.”

Sarah’s bottom lip dropped open. “A therapist?”

“She also said there was stuff we could do. Talk about. Think about. Do, to work shit out.” Why did talking to someone make him feel like a pussy? Such an awkward conversation, with Mia, and now Sarah. But screw it, whatever it took. He brought her knuckles to his chin, not daring to kiss them but needing their touch.

“I’m not sure…”

This was
the
most uncomfortable conversation, maybe ever. But if it had to be said, then fine. He was saying it. “We could go see a counselor, or whatever they’re called. Do that once-a-week appointment thing for a few months. Or we could take off, just the two of us, for as long as it takes. I’ll answer your questions. We’ll make changes that work for us. Make us
us
again. Better than before.”

“But…”

She wasn’t saying no. That was a good thing. She hadn’t reminded him that he was long past the three-minute mark. “It’d be like a second honeymoon,” he urged.

She snatched her hand away.

Wrong thing to say. Honeymoons were all about flirting and screwin’ and—well, he’d take that too. “Angel.”

“Time to go.” She stood up, nearly knocking over her chair.

Still seated, he looked at the floor, dropped his forearms to his knees, and bent over. So close, and she was backing away again. He scrubbed a hand over his face then raised his head to rake his gaze over her. That knockout was still his wife, and there wasn’t a thing wrong with wanting her like he always did. Perfect breasts. Perfect hips. Pouty lips that could kiss and suck. No, nothing about the word honeymoon was off-putting to him.

Brock unfolded himself from the chair. He crossed his arms and studied. Dilated pupils. Shorter breaths. Her sharp stare dropped to the tattoos on his arm then roamed across his chest. He might not be Titan anymore, but he still had the skills to decipher the micro-emotions of a victim. Sarah wasn’t reacting as a victim. Not right now. She was reacting
aroused
. Shocked, maybe at how she felt, angry that her responses betrayed her attitude. But
honeymoon
didn’t scare her from him, just their conversation.