Soldier On (21 page)

I’m sitting on the couch when Brandon finally emerges from his bedroom. He’s spent the last two hours in there, and I don’t know if the call lasted that long or if he’d just needed some privacy afterward.

“I saved you some dinner.”

“Thanks.” His voice is weary as he collapses on the couch. “I don’t think I can eat, though.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He rubs his face tiredly. “Dad’s dementia has progressed to the point that the doctor thinks it won’t be long until his daily care will require more than Christian can handle on her own. My sister, the nurse, who is the strongest woman I’ve ever known, broke down while telling me that on Dad’s worse days—and there have been many lately—he doesn’t even know her name. She says she needs me to come home to help her hire a full-time nurse, but that can’t be the reason. She’s the RN. I don’t know the first thing about any of this.”

“I don’t think she needs your help. She probably just needs her brother.”

He nods. “She’s having to be a nurse 24/7, and it’s killing her. Plus, she has two little girls. I should be there. I should be helping take care of our family.”

I wrap my arms around him and hug him tight. With a shuddering breath, he buries his face against my neck. His shoulders shake, and I gently stroke his back. I know he’s crying, and it breaks my heart.

When he lifts his head, I pretend not to notice the tears on his cheeks.

“I’d like to help. Let me come with you.”

His brow furrows. “Steph, you don’t have to do that.”

“I know. I want to. Besides, you promised to show me the mountains.”

Brandon smiles and brushes a strand of hair away from my face.

“I did promise that,” he says.

I take his hands in mine. “You met my dad. I’d like to meet yours.”

“Even if he’s hateful and mean and—”

“Even if.”

He leans forward and touches my forehead with his.

“Okay,” he murmurs.

“Okay.”

The five-hour drive to Applewood, Kentucky is mostly by interstate, making it a fairly boring drive for Brandon. I, however, am amazed. Especially when the freeways turn into two-lane roads with big rolling hills and dark wooden fences that line mile after mile of the countryside.

Brandon laughs at my excitement. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a horse before.”

“Shut up. They’re beautiful.”

Brandon chuckles. “They are. I’ve just lived in the country so long I guess I’m immune to it.”

I gaze out the window. “How far is it to your house?”

“About ten more miles.”

Brandon taps his fingers on the steering wheel, but there’s no music.

“Why are you nervous?”

He turns his head in my direction. “What makes you think I’m nervous?”

I roll my eyes.

“Fine, I’m nervous. I don’t really know what to expect at home. I just hope Dad’s having a good day, and I hope my sister . . .”

His voice trails off as he makes a right turn onto a gravel road.

“You hope your sister . . .”

Brandon sighs. “I just hope she’s on her best behavior.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that she had some very strong opinions about you and me, and she probably won’t roll out the welcome mat.”

“Seriously? And you planned on telling me this when?”

“I’m telling you now.”

Unbelievable.
This trip has been planned for three weeks, and we’ve just spent more than five hours in this truck, and
now
he’s telling me this?

“What’s her problem with me?”

“Her problem isn’t with
you
, necessarily. She was just worried about the same thing you were worried about—that living together would be a distraction to graduating on time. And she was worried that I would break your heart. Which I did.”

I can’t look at him. If I did, he’d see the tears that had suddenly formed in my eyes, and I don’t want him to see that. I just stare out at the pretty scenery instead.

“She knows everything?”

“Yes.”

Great.
“I bet she hates me.”

“Why would she hate you?”

I quickly wipe my cheek. “Because I broke your heart, too.”

We don’t say anything else, but he reaches for my hand, and our fingers remain laced until we come upon an off-white, two-story house out in the middle of nowhere. It’s surrounded by what was probably at one time a matching white picket fence. Both are in need of a fresh coat of paint. Despite its outward appearance, it’s beautiful, with a wrap-around porch and wooden swing swaying in the breeze. The house is surrounded by snow-covered mountains and dirt roads, and I find myself instantly falling in love with it.

I don’t notice that Brandon has turned off the ignition until he squeezes my hand.

“Not what you expected? I know it looks a little rough on the outside, but—”

“Actually, it’s everything I expected. And everything I didn’t.”

His brow furrows. “What does that mean?”

“You’ve seen where I grew up. I had friends with big, beautiful houses, just like this one, with a gigantic porch and swing. This is sort of my dream house, to be honest. I didn’t expect that.”

Brandon grins. “Good. Ready to see the inside?”

Am I?
I can’t deny I’m nervous. I’m meeting his family, after all. And from what I’ve been told, his sister may not be thrilled to see me. But more importantly, inside those walls is a family that’s dealing with many forms of sadness and loss. A father struggles just to remember the day of the week, and a daughter tries to take care of him while raising two little girls on her own.

And your biggest problem is that you’re in love with a soldier. Kind of puts things in perspective, doesn’t it?

But this trip is not about me. I’m here for Brandon, just like he was there for me at the graveyard, and it’s that knowledge that gives me the courage to climb out of the truck.

Brandon takes my hand, and we grab our bags before walking together up the steps and onto the porch. He doesn’t bother knocking. Just walks right in, and we’re immediately greeted by the excited barking of the sweetest looking dog I’ve ever seen.

“Hey, boy,” Brandon says, dropping his bag. He kneels to the ground to let the dog jump all over him. I’ve always been a cat person, so the loud barking and constant leaping is a shock to my system and does little to calm my nerves. But the happiness on Brandon’s face is worth it.

Suddenly, a woman’s voice makes me jump.

“Duke! Why are you bark—” Her voice trails off just as she appears from around the corner. She stops abruptly and wipes her hand on the apron tied around her waist. “Oh! You made good time.”

“Very little traffic,” Brandon says, rising to his feet. “Hey, Sis.”

They share an affectionate hug.

“Christian, I want you to meet Steph.”

Christian offers her hand. “Nice to meet you, Steph. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

There’s a smile on her face, but there’s nothing warm about it. I decide to play along and force a smile, too. We shake hands, and it’s completely awkward and uncomfortable. Brandon doesn’t notice because he’s back on the floor with his dog.

“Dinner will be in about an hour,” Christian says.

“It’s too quiet. Where are the girls?”

“With their father. It’s their spring break, too. Unfortunately, the custody agreement says he gets to keep them all week. He did agree to let them come by tomorrow to see you.”

“How nice of him,” Brandon says. I can tell by his tone he doesn’t care for Christian’s ex. “What about Dad? Where’s he?”

“Napping in the recliner.”

“Good day?”

Christian eyes me. “So far.”

Yep, she hates me.

“Okay. We’ll let him sleep. I’m gonna show Steph around.”

“I made up the guest room for her.”

“Thank you,” I tell her, but she’s already headed back to the kitchen.

Brandon turns toward me. “Well, that wasn’t so bad. Come on. Let’s get unpacked.”

Reaching down for my bag, I let out a deep breath and follow him upstairs. My room, the guest room, is the last door on the left.

“Right next to mine,” he says with a wink.

I laugh and roll my eyes before stepping inside. It’s pretty, with a mint-green bedspread and matching curtains. The walls are fairly bare, except for a few family photos hanging here and there. A small television sits on top of the dresser.

“Do you want some privacy while you unpack?” Brandon asks.

“Nah. I don’t really have that much. Just some sweatshirts and jeans.”

I unpack quickly, and then we head to his bedroom. The first things I notice are the trophies and plaques lining the wall across from his bed.

“Did you play sports?”

“Basketball. I wasn’t very good.”

“Hmm. All these trophies would suggest otherwise.”

“Nah, I just had good teammates.”

I can tell he’s embarrassed, so I let it go and sit down on his bed while he finishes unpacking. With a quiet sigh, I trail my hand across his blue comforter. Sitting on his bed conjures images in my mind that shouldn’t be there, especially when we’re in his father’s house. Desperate for a distraction, I stare at the posters on his walls and the books on his shelf.

“That’s a lot of books. Who’s your favorite author?”

He doesn’t answer. I look up to find him standing there, staring at me with a look on his face I can’t even begin to describe. But just because I can’t describe it doesn’t mean I can’t feel it. Whatever he’s thinking and feeling radiates from him, and it’s all I can do not to jump into his arms.

I swallow nervously. “Why are you staring?”

“Because you look good on my bed. Like you belong there.” Brandon shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I know that probably sounds awful, but—”

“It doesn’t sound awful.”

Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath before turning back to his closet.

This is what you wanted, Steph. Time and space. Remember?

I do us both a favor and climb off the bed.

While he finishes unpacking, I walk over to his bookshelf and scan the titles. Hawthorne. Twain. Falkner. I even spot some more modern stuff by John Grisham and Stephen King. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to the arrangement of the books, which the little librarian in me finds troubling.

A picture frame on the wall catches my eye. It’s a young woman, holding a baby in her lap while a dark-haired toddler stands at her side. The woman’s eyes are deep brown. I don’t even have to ask who she is.

“Your mom was beautiful. What’s her name?”

“Diana.” Brandon walks over to me and glances up at the photograph. “She was beautiful. This picture’s deceiving, though.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, but I think that’s why it’s my favorite. I mean, look at her. Doesn’t she look like she actually loves her kids?”

“Brandon, I’m sure she—”