“Yeah. In a minute.”
“Cool. See you in the mornin’.”
“Yep. You will.”
Finally alone for the first time since he woke that morning, Brantley stared out into the night, beyond the pitch-black water to the flashing lights in the distance. The lapping of the waves down below lulled him toward sleep. His ass was numb, his mouth dry, and he knew he needed to locate that soft mattress if he was hoping for any chance of avoiding a massive hangover in the morning. He wasn’t exactly eager to make the three-hour drive back to Coyote Ridge, but he damn sure didn’t need a pounding head to accompany him.
He debated on going inside but thought better of it. He wasn’t willing to take a header over the rail if and when he stumbled. And with his luck as of late…
Brantley found himself smiling, recalling all the stories his brothers had told tonight, all the idiot things he’d done. The one thing he hadn’t done was settle down, but that seemed to be in the cards for his brothers and sisters, not him. First Sadie, then Tori, now Cal. Wouldn’t be long before the rest of them were getting hitched. If all went well for Cal, one day soon, Brantley’d be donning another tuxedo, this time standing up for one of his brothers who pledged to spend the rest of his days with one person.
“And they call me the idiot,” he chuckled.
Chapter Two
After a week at the beach and another doing his damnedest to keep a low profile, Brantley’s luck with avoiding his extended family had finally come to an abrupt end. Noticeable by the fact his cousin Travis was standing in his kitchen watching him as though he was a caged animal about to break through the bars keeping him contained. And here Brantley was thinking he was hiding his restlessness rather well.
“Four months,” Travis stated. “You’ve been here four months. Think maybe it’s time to furnish this place?”
Brantley flashed a smile while he waited for the coffee to finish brewing. “What’s wrong with my place?”
“Well, for one … where the fuck’s the couch?”
That was Travis Walker for you. Brantley’s cousin was always looking out for them. All of them. And if Brantley didn’t know better, he would’ve thought he’d become Travis’s personal pet project in recent months. Not that the guy had time to do much of anything else with all those rug rats, a wife, and a husband to tend to. Couldn’t forget the six brothers Travis ran roughshod over, or the demolition company he’d built, or the fetish resort Travis had, with help from his brothers, turned into some destination hot spot over the years. Guy should’ve been too busy to sleep much less take up extracurricular activities.
Yet here Travis was, harping on Brantley for his lack of decorative abilities.
“Don’t need a couch,” he countered, passing over a cup of coffee, then taking one for himself.
“I beg to disagree.” Travis picked up the mug before taking a leisurely stroll through the open space.
If he were being honest, Brantley was just content to have a place to lay his head. He hadn’t been too terribly concerned with the condition of the house or the amount of furniture he could stuff into it. Having spent the better part of his life in the military, it was taking some time to adjust to this unexpected, and not entirely wanted, civilian life. He figured that meant he deserved props for buying, rather than renting, and impressing a permanent footprint in the small town of Coyote Ridge. Who the fuck cared if he had a couch or a dining room table? Or anything else, for that matter.
“Did you stop by at the ass crack of early just to give me shit?” he asked Travis.
“Yep.” It was simply put, and Travis had no shame, evidently.
“Liar.”
The smirk he got in return said it all. Travis was clearly up to something. The question was what.
“Tell me you at least have a bed.”
“And a television,” Brantley boasted.
Travis’s gaze swung to the living room. “You SEAL boys have nifty invisible gadgets these days?”
Chuckling, Brantley pushed off the counter, strolled toward his cousin. “It’s in the bedroom. Only time I’ve got to watch it.”
His cousin grunted. “Beds are meant for sleepin’ or fuckin’. Who the hell has time to watch TV in the bedroom?”
“The single guy, Travis.”
That got him a grin.
He didn’t bother telling Travis sleep didn’t come easily these days. In the same regard, he was happy to say it wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d thought it would be. Having been in the Teams for the past decade, it hadn’t been easy processing the fact that he’d been forced out. A medical discharge, they called it. Thanks to his femur being snapped like a twig and the subsequent issues that had arisen from the building falling on him and damn near crushing his skull, Brantley was no longer fit for duty. Rather than ride a desk for the rest of his days, he’d begrudgingly taken the discharge, walking away from the Navy, the Teams, his other family.
