a losing battle (free at last Book 2) Page 2

  Right now, I feel ten feet tall instead of six. No, wait! I’m not even mortal. I’m a god!

  My girl is proud of me. Is there anything in the world better than that?

  “Carey’s here, too,” she says.

  I look around and see him standing a little off to the side. He looks insecure, like he doesn’t know whether he’s welcome here. I hate myself for making my brother question whether I care about him. I run over to him and pull him into my arms.

  “I’ve missed you, bro,” I say quietly, patting him on the back

  “You never wrote back,” he says, his fingers clawing into my uniform like he never wants to let me go again.

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t. I always wanted to, but I couldn’t. It would have broken my focus.”

  Carey nods. “I thought…”

  “I’m sorry, man. I always want you in my life. You’re my brother. The only family I’ve got.”

  “You’ve got Mac, too,” he says quietly, and I look over at her. She’s standing a few steps away, her cheeks shiny, looking at us but giving us privacy.

  I nod. “I’ve got Mac, too, but not like I want her.” Oops. That just came out. I wasn’t planning to tell Carey.

  But he says, “I know.”

  I give him a surprised look. “You do?”

  “I’m not blind. Your goodbye kiss was pretty obvious,” he says. “And I’m not deaf, either. Dad and Mac fight about you all the time.”

  “That bad?”

  He shrugs just as Mac steps closer. “Is everything okay, boys?”

  I nod, putting my arm around her shoulders to pull her close again. I plant a kiss on her head.

  “Hey, Tilman!” Joey calls, coming toward us. “You’ve never mentioned a girl.” He smiles at her charmingly and she steps closer to me.

  “Hands off,” I joke before I introduce him. He kisses Mac’s hand and smiles at Carey.

  “My parents want to go grab a bite to eat. They wanted to invite my friends. You coming?”

  I look at Mac and Carey.

  “They can come,” Joey says quickly.

  Mac shakes her head. “Thanks, that’s really sweet, but I need to go.” She avoids my eye, and I know she’s thinking about Dad.

  I make an effort to hide my disappointment as I tell Joey, “Carey and I’ll be there in a second.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mac whispers.

  “It’s okay,” I say, even though nothing is okay. In that moment, I realize—no, remember—that she’s never going to leave Dad for me.

  This needs to stop. Otherwise I will not survive it.

  “How long do you get off?” she asks.

  “Ten days.”

  “Are you coming home?”

  “Home. Nice word, but I no longer have one,” I say, shocked at the bitterness in my own voice.

  She nods, tears running down her cheeks. “I—”

  “Let it go, Mac. Let it go.”

  She quickly presses herself against me and runs away without turning around again. I look after her.

  “Hunt…”

  “She’s never going to leave him, is she?”

  Carey shrugs. “No idea, man. But I wouldn’t wait for it.”

  2

  Mackenzie

  I bury myself in work at the gym for the rest of the day. I would have loved to join Hunter’s friends for something to eat, but Carter’s jealous of his son and doesn’t believe me whenever I tell him I have no feelings for Hunter—other than friendship.

  I like Hunter, he’s a good man. I’m proud of him for surviving boot camp. I know he has other tough tasks ahead of him if he actually wants to join a special unit in the Marines. But I’m not in love with him. I didn’t lie to him when I said I could have fallen for him if we’d met under different circumstances. But that doesn’t mean it would have turned out that way, just that there would have been a possibility. Anyway, it’s futile thinking about it because this is how it is. Period.

  I never thought Carter was the jealous type. We’ve been together for more than two years, and he has never complained about another man before. Not about my colleagues, not about strangers whistling at me in the streets. Not that it happens very often—I’m not a supermodel or anything like that. I’m curvy, though not fat—at least I wouldn’t call myself fat—but I’m not exactly slim, either.

  Not that it matters. Carter has never let himself be bothered by any of that. Hunter, however, is a different story.

  When I get home in the evening, Carter’s sitting on the couch. I can hear music coming from upstairs, so I guess Carey’s home, too.

  “Where were you?” he asks, folding his paper.

  “At the gym.”

  “And before that?”

  Ah, so he knows.

  “At Hunter’s graduation ceremony,” I say. There’s no point in lying.

  “And when were you going to tell me that?” he asks, his voice sounding slightly sour.

  I sit down on the arm of a chair. “I wasn’t.”

  “You weren’t going to tell me?”

  “I knew you’d be pissed, but I wanted to show Hunter that I’m proud of him.”

  He laughs bitterly. “What’s there to be proud of? What he’s doing is suicidal.”

  “Carter, he’s an adult. He makes his own decisions. It’s his life. He has to be happy with it. But he needs his family.”

  Carter raises his eyebrows. “So he’s family to you, is he?”

  It feels like he’s just stabbed me through the heart. “He’s your son. I’m your girlfriend. That makes us family.”

  He snorts. “I’m his family. You’re not related to him.”

  “Family is not just marked by blood.”

  Carter laughs mockingly. “True, sweet Mackenzie. You can also be connected through other ties, such as sex.”

  It’s like he’s slapped me across the face. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. Did you sleep with Hunter?”

  “No, of course not! I would never cheat on you. And I’ve told you more than once—I’m not in love with him!”

  “But he’s in love with you!”

  “That doesn’t change anything about my feelings, Carter! I love you.”

  He puts his head in his hands. I sit down next to him and put a hand on his back.

  “Carter, please. I know the situation is not easy, but you have to trust me. It’s you I love. You and nobody else.”

  He slowly sits back up and looks into my eyes. “I wonder what a beautiful girl like you sees in me.”

  “You’re hot, and you treat me well. Also, incidentally, you’re good in bed,” I add, my voice slightly seductive. “You’re smart. I can talk to you and laugh with you. And when you take off your clothes, I get wet.”

  “Really?” he asks playfully.

  I lean against him, pushing my breasts against his arm, and lick his ear with the tip of my tongue. “Really. And, actually, you don’t even have to get naked for it to happen.”

  “Oh, really?”

  I nod, nibbling on his earlobe. “Yes, but you know what really makes me wet?”

  “Tell me.”

  “Touching your dick, kissing it, sucking it.”

  He swallows before he says, “I guess we should put that into practice.”

  I push him down on the couch and move on top of him. My lips gently graze his. I feel his hands close around my butt.

  Behind us, somebody clears his throat. “Excuse me, guys, but Katie and I would like to order something to eat. You want something?”

  Carter sighs, annoyed. “Your timing is terrible, son.”

  Carey laughs. “I’m afraid so.”

  We order some Chinese and watch a movie together. But to me, it feels like someone is missing, and I know Carey feels the same. Sometimes he can’t hide his despondent look.

  I wonder how Carter can stay mad at Hunter. He loves him. He’s proud of him. He wants only the best for him. So why is he so stubborn? Why can’t he reach out to hi
s son again? I don’t get it. But in my heart, I know it can’t just be Hunter’s career choice that’s caused the breach. It’s too drastic a reaction for Carter. He’s a great dad—and a great boyfriend. Which means the cause is me. And it eats me up inside that I’m the reason they’re not in touch.

  Like almost every night, I lie awake while Carter is sound asleep beside me. It’s quiet in the house, but my thoughts torture me. I want to help them, these men that I love, but I don’t know how. The only solution I can think of is to leave. But I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to lose Carter, and I definitely don’t want to lose Carey. And I also hate the idea of never seeing Hunter again.

  3

  Hunter

  I knew Killian was from Texas, but I had no idea he was from the middle of nowhere. Our flight from San Diego to Lubbock takes more than four hours. You’ve never heard of Lubbock? That’s because it’s in the fourth quadrant of hell. It’s hot as hell, dry as dust, and everybody who lives there thinks money can buy anything.

  Killian’s brother Caine picks us up from the airport. The two of them look so alike it gives me the creeps. And they’re not even twins.

  We drive for two hours, but when we get to their house, my jaw drops, and I can’t close my mouth again. The place looks like a plantation straight out of a book or a movie. In fact, it reminds me of that old movie Gone with the Wind. Mac made us watch it one night. It sucked.

  But that’s exactly what Killian’s house looks like. It’s an enormous white thing with columns. Doric, Ionic, or Corinthian—whatever they’re called. I don’t know but, you know, columns!

  I mean, I’m used to a certain level of wealth, but this… Normally that kind of property comes with an aristocratic title. Not in the United States, of course. But in British movies.

  “Welcome to our modest home,” Killian says mockingly.

  “Modest indeed,” I say.

  He slaps me on the back laughing. “That’s what you get for owning the biggest cotton farm in the biggest connected cotton farming district in the world—the South Plains.”

  “Fuck, man. I had no idea you owned a plantation. Where’s Uncle Tom’s cabin?”

  He runs his hand across the stubble on his scalp, looking awkward. “That’s where the slaves used to live.” He nods to a building behind the house that looks like a stables. “Not that exact structure, but the location. The actual slave quarters fell apart, and at some point the stables were built there.”

  “Fuck.” I rub my chin. “I was joking. I really wasn’t expecting that. I’m sorry.”

  He shrugs. “The American South’s past is inexcusable. But even the free state of California sent a pro-slavery senator to maintain the balance and block the abolitionists back then.”

  “Wow, that’s fucked up, man.”

  “You said it.” He looks around as we walk across the dry earth toward the house. “My great-great-grandmother Augusta—no idea whether that’s enough ‘greats’ or too many—but she fought for the abolitionists and helped slaves escape.”

  “Wow. That’s amazing.”

  “What do you know about that part of our history?”

  I shrug. “Just what you learn at school.”

  He kicks a few pebbles with his foot. “Well, after the Revolutionary War, the North abolished slavery, and the Georgia Trade set in. Hundreds of thousands of slaves were brought from the upper South into the deep South, including Texas. As you can see, it’s actually way too dry here for cotton farming. The area was only able to keep up thanks to its extensive irrigation and slaves. Augusta had seen slaves getting whipped and abused as a teenager. I think that does something to you. No idea why others didn’t feel the same, but she found it disturbing. But before slavery was abolished, she was shot by some angry farmer because she was hiding slaves.”

  “Damn.”

  “Yup. But she’s the only Hastings to behave like that. The others were less chivalrous, I’m afraid.”

  I shrug. “Who can claim one hundred percent virtuous ancestors?”

  “What did yours do?”

  I shrug again, feeling inadequate. “No idea. I think they were probably thieves, cutthroats, and vagabonds.”

  He smiles. “You’re right, I can see all that in you.”

  I move to punch him in the side, but he dodges my fist. “Asshole.”

  “Watch your language. Here in the South, people still have manners.”

  At that moment, the door opens, and a large, chubby woman with flaxen hair comes out. “Oh, my boy! I’m so happy you’re still in one piece!”

  Killian runs his hand over his face looking kind of embarrassed before he allows her to squeeze him against her giant bosom. This all-American boy’s mother looks like she could single-handedly carry one of those tree trunks they made us carry around in groups during training.

  “Mom, this is my buddy Hunter. Hunter, this is my mom. Inga.”

  As soon as he has uttered that sentence, she pulls me into her arms. Her mighty breasts take my breath away.

  “So nice to meet my baby’s friend,” she says, as she releases me from her embrace. Back on solid ground, I can see she really looks like an Inga—Swedish somehow. “Come on in. The heat is horrible. Have some sweet tea. Dad’s getting the barbecue ready.”

  We step through the screen door into the spacious house. I scurry after Inga Hastings, who keeps chatting away during our hike through the house. She has a broad Texan accent, swallowing the Gs, making As out of Is, and over-articulating her Ss and Xs. Killian does it too, but it’s not so pronounced.

  “Daddy, look who’s here!” Inga calls out as she steps onto the porch on the back of the house.

  The man lifting his gaze to greet us looks like an older version of Killian and Caine. The man smiles good-naturedly. “Calm down, Mama, or he’ll never come back.”

  Killian smiles as he hugs his dad. “Hey, old man.”

  “Hey, boy.”

  His proud smiles stings. For the last twelve weeks, I’ve tried to forget that Dad kicked me out. That he wants nothing to do with me anymore. But seeing a proud father’s smile hurts me deep in the gut. Fuck.

  I take a deep breath and try to get rid of the lump in my throat. I’m a grown man, for God’s sake. And yet…I’m close to tears because I miss my dad that much.

  “Sweet tea?” Inga asks.

  I nod, trying to smile, but I think I fail miserably. “Yes, please.”

  She hands me a glass, and I drink it down in large, greedy gulps before my taste buds recognize a sugar shock. Fuck! This is pure sugar! I can almost feel my teeth starting to rot. Who would drink this stuff?

  I can hear Killian laugh. “Your face, man!”

  Oh dang. Is my face going to stay this way forever? Or worse: Do they all hate me now because I’ve insulted the champagne of the South? Good job. Nice.

  “Sorry,” I mumble.

  Inga puts a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. If you’re from California, where everybody is such a health fanatic, it’s normal you don’t know about the good things in life.”

  I don’t know whether I would call this stuff good. But it’s definitely sweet.

  Killian’s Dad shakes my hand. “Hey, I’m Dan. How are you doing?”

  “Very good, sir.”

  He grins. “Just call me Dan.”

  “Okay.” Just in time, I manage to swallow the “sir” I was going to add—it’s like a damn reflex now. It’s not easy to forget what they’ve been drilling into us for the past twelve weeks.

  We sit down at the outdoor table, and Inga brings me a glass of unsweetened tea that tastes so much better. Thank God.

  “So, boys, what are your plans while you’re here?” Dan asks.

  “Get some rest,” Killian and I say simultaneously. He puts out a fist for me, and I bump mine to it.

  Dan grins. “Back in the day, the young fellas were not like that.”

  “When was that?” Killian asks coolly. “1912?”

&nbs
p; “You brat!”

  Again, the word stings. Dad used to say it to us, too. God, I miss him. I miss Carey, and I also miss Mac. It was so good to see her again, even for that one moment.

  The evening with Joey and his family and Carey was nice. But Mac was missing. She’s always missing. I don’t even know how I’m going to do this. This sensation in my chest. It hurts. Around my heart.

  God, I’m such a pussy. But hey. Never mind. It is what it is. I love her. And love makes you turn to mush. A mushy lump of dough or something…

  Maybe I should give Dad a call…

  No, seriously? Do I have to be the one to call him? Can’t he call me? He kicked me out, so shouldn’t he be the one apologizing to me?

  No idea, man. No idea.

  Fact is, I miss my old man. And what I miss even more than that is us. Our family.

  And that brings me back to Mac. Mac hugging my Dad. Mac moaning as my Dad fucks her.

  Apart from my career plans, there are other reasons why I can’t be at home. Why did I have to fall in love with the one woman I can’t have? How fucked up is that?

  I listen to Killian tell his parents about boot camp, about all the guys we met, about the stuff we had to get through. But my mind is somewhere else.

  In San Diego. With a curvy brunette who happens to be the sexiest woman alive.

  Why, oh why, can’t I fall out of love with her?

  That evening, I call Devon, who ended up going to Georgetown. None of our teammates understood why he went to a university known for its academic clout instead of accepting one of the many football scholarships offered to him by amazing colleges.

  But I get it. It’s the kind of man Devon is. It’s what kept him from endlessly going to parties and fucking tons of women, what makes him the mature adult he is. Sure, it would be cool to play professional football someday. But what about all the risks? You could get injured. Like Darryl Stingley, who broke his fourth and fifth vertebrae. Or Kevin Everett, who injured his neck so badly he ended up paralyzed. After a few months, he was able to walk again, but he could never play again.