Gunny
“Hey, brother,” Gunny answered the phone with one hand, the other gripping a greasy rag. “How you doin’, PBJ?”
A moment of silence, and then in a somber tone PBJ said, “Gonna be honest, man. I’ve been better.”
Spine straightening, Gunny glanced around his garage, making sure everything was in its place. Rocky and Tank the Smaller lying in their beds along the wall, the door to the house closed, but the camera he’d installed showing a split screen of the kitchen/living room and the girls’ room upstairs. Sharon was in the kitchen, bent over with her ass in the air, head in the refrigerator. He grinned, because if he were in there, she’d be bent over for a far different reason. His girls were sacked out in their beds: Cadence sprawled on her back, a toy in hand he knew from experience was a realistic-looking plastic mastiff; Katherine on her belly, head turned to the side, knees drawn under her.
All’s well in my world, he thought, seeing Tank the Larger’s head lift from his position on the rug between the girls’ beds, eyes aimed not at the door, but at the camera by the ceiling. A chill rippled through his spine. That dog. Tank had proven himself to be near psychic, knowing just where to position himself to keep the girls from falling more than once.
“Tell me,” he urged PBJ, letting his gaze drift back down to the carburetor he’d been working on before the phone rang.
“Brother.” That sounded agonized, and Gunny was suddenly 100 percent focused on the voice coming through the phone. “I don’t even know how to say this.”
“Tell me.” No longer a request, this was a demand, and PBJ gave way immediately.
“Breeder made contact. You remember when I was calling around after the bitch bailed on the dogs? None of the breeders knew of a mastiff in the area that fit Tank’s description.” Gunny’s fingers twitched, cold, and he dropped the rag over the disassembled parts on the workbench.
“Yeah, I remember. Dog’s mine.” A growl echoed in the room, and he turned to see Tank standing in the open doorway, gaze pinning Gunny to the stool. Sharon’s laughter rolled through the door and her head appeared above the dog, hands reaching down to rub and tug at the loose skin on the sides of Tank’s face. She looked up and whatever she saw on Gunny’s face froze her in place for a moment. Then she was crossing the garage to circle his waist with her arms. “Don’t care.”
“Brother. You gotta hear the story.”
“No.” Nothing more, just a flat refusal was all he could grit out.
“Gunny, man. Dude’s spent time in Walter Reed, and he’s on his way here from rehab.” That hit Gunny like a punch, because hearing that the military hospital was in play spoke to deployment, which might be the only reason a man should have left a dog like Tank behind. Still. “You need to hear the story.”
“No, I don’t. Don’t fuckin’ care, man. Dog. Is. Mine.” Sharon’s arms convulsed, and he cradled the back of her head in the crook of his elbow, pulling her close, careful of the grease still on his hands. Heat pressed against his leg and he looked down to see Tank leaned into him, Tank the Smaller and Rocky now on their feet, anxious gazes locked to the trio by the bench.
“I’ll come over.”
“Not gonna fuckin’ matter. Already told you.” Gunny swallowed, because if PBJ was this adamant, then he knew the story would be a compelling one. “Had the dog nearly a fuckin’ year. He’s fuckin’ mine.”
“Let me come over.”
“Come on, brother. Always welcome in my home.” Sharon shivered, and he realized he was shouting. Gunny tried to dial it in a little, as much as he could. Not takin’ my dog. My girls’ dog. He saved my family. “But you ain’t takin’ my fuckin’ dog.” He threw the phone sidearm against the back of the workbench, not caring when the back popped free, battery and phone parting ways to fall in separate bins.
“Baby.” Sharon’s voice trembled nearly as much as she was.
“Not takin’ him. Don’t fuckin’ care.” He took a breath, then another, forcing as much air into his starving lungs as he could. “PBJ won’t, and I know it. Just what he said hit hard.”
The heat from beside him retreated, and a few seconds later, Cade’s babbling sounded on the nursery monitor. Gaze to the screen showing the security camera feed, he watched Tank move through the living room and up the stairs, appearing a moment later in the girls’ room. Front feet to the ottoman, the big dog shoved it next to Cade’s crib, climbing over the side with a little hop. The dog lay down next to Gunny’s daughter, careful of his feet and elbows, uncaring as Cade flung herself on top of him, face buried in the ruff of fur and skin behind his ear. Glancing across the space, Gunny saw Tank and Rocky were back on their beds, heads up and watchful.
“My fuckin’ dog.”
***
Gunny walked into Marie’s and gave a low wave to Gypsy, who stood behind the cash register. The Rebel member managed the bar for the club but had been away for several weeks, so it was good to see him back in residence. Gunny reached across the bar to give him a warrior’s shake, telling him, “Good to see you, brother. Was worried for a bit that the Down Under life would prove too attractive.”
Gypsy released his hold on Gunny’s wrist, smoothing his beard with the palm of a hand. Gunny was immediately on alert, because this was one of Gypsy’s tells, a sign he was nervous. The ex-cop turned outlaw didn’t get nervous often. “Yeah, good to see you too, Gunny. Glad to be back under familiar skies.” He lifted his chin, indicating across the room, and Gunny used the mirrors to see where he indicated, there were two men seated at a booth near the back. “PBJ is already here. He, uh, said you were coming in.”
“Said I’d be one pissed off motherfucker if this chat didn’t go my way too, didn’t he?” It wasn’t a real question, but it still made Gunny angry that PBJ had resorted to older tactics to telegraph the possible fallout from today.
Lips pulling to the side, Gypsy grinned as he nodded. “Might have alluded to such a thing.”
“Bastard.” Gunny kept his tone conversational and tried to dredge up a return smile. “I’ll go put him out of his misery.” Already turning, he glanced back and asked, “Have one of the girls bring me an iced tea?”
“This really is about to get shitty, isn’t it?” Gypsy acknowledged his order with a nod. “You got it.”
PBJ was on the seat facing the room, the man who’d accompanied him here today sitting with his back to the room, but Gunny saw he was actively using the mirrored signs on the wall behind PBJ to watch his six. Wonder how fresh he is stateside? Striding up to the table, he glanced at the man, seeing scar tissue along his cheek and throat, then ignored him and stuck his hand out towards PBJ. “I’m here.”
“So you are,” PBJ returned, sliding to the edge of the seat and standing. He leaned in, pulling Gunny into a one-armed clinch, muttering in his ear, “Be easy, brother. He’s good people.”
Gunny stepped back as he turned to face the man who had also stood, finding himself in the unaccustomed position of looking up into someone’s face. Man that big, a mastiff fits him. The skin on the man’s neck pulled, strained tight and red where it disappeared into his army green tee. He stuck out a hand and Gunny reluctantly accepted the grip, impressed not that the man had strength, but that he didn’t feel it necessary to clamp down and prove his manhood.
“Gunny,” he grunted, releasing and stepping back, crossing his arms across his chest.
“Jock.” That one-word introduction was followed by a slight headshake, and a correction, “Jacob. I’m Jake, I mean. Jacob Tinney.”
Gunny stared up at the man, assessing. Now that he was looking for it, the tale-tell signs of PTSD were all right there. The slight tremor in his fingers as he fought not to match Gunny’s aggressive stance, the beads of sweat that had popped up along the man’s hairline, and even the inability to put a name to himself in a way that would stick. Fuck. I don’t want to like him.
“Let’s swap sides, man.” Treading carefully, but hoping his instincts were right, Gunny swapped places, putting PBJ on the inside of the bench, and suffering through having his back to the room. Almost immediately the man relaxed slightly, pressing his palms flat on the table on either side of his ice water. “Jock.” Deliberately Gunny used the first name provided, noting the slight jerk to the man’s head when the word hit the air. “Tell me why you think this is your dog.”
Jock’s lips twitched sideways, one corner pulling up. “Other than the bitch who bailed on your man PBJ here was my little sister’s best friend, who promised to pup sit when I needed a favor while I was deployed?”
Leaning forwards, Gunny rapped the table with his knuckles. “Yeah, other than that. Tell me what you think.”
“I think my Neapolitan mastiff named Tank got tangled up in shit after my life fell in the crapper while I was in Afghanistan. He’s a dark chocolate color, a big bastard of a dog who wouldn’t hurt a fly. I think the bitch who was paid to watch him after my bitch of an ex dumped my ass, turned around and dumped his ass. I also think I’m lucky to have found where he landed.” Jock stared at Gunny, breathing evenly but Gunny could see the pulse in his neck pounding. “Left and my wife was pregnant.” Gunny went still at those words, afraid of what might come next. “Turned out the kid wasn’t mine, and she knew that for truth soon as she had the boy. I’m kinda white—” Jock ran a hand through his light blond hair. “—and the boy wasn’t.”
“Shit, man. Sorry that happened to you.” PBJ’s mutter went unremarked by the two men locked in a stare down across the table.
“Tank’s a good dog. I didn’t want him to stay with her, not after everything happened the way it went down. My sister’s friend looked like a good solution, seeing as I was nine goddamned time zones away when I got the divorce papers.” Jock leaned in an inch. “Took me longer to get back than I expected.”
“PBJ said you were in Reed.” Gunny glanced to the side, seeing one of the waitresses with a tray of glasses. Water, tea, and beer. He waited until she’d deposited the drinks, then continued, “Said you came here straight from rehab. Where are you landing?”
Jock leaned back, shaking his head. “Not sure yet. I got nowhere to be right now. Due to Uncle Sam, my plans are…” He paused a moment and cut his eyes down to his hand and Gunny saw an indention on his ring finger. A leftover memento of a faithless marriage. “Somewhat flexible.”
“You healthy?” Gunny’s question had Jock’s gaze whipping up, an aggressive jut to his jaw for the first time. “Got a doc to follow up with here? We got a bunch of ex-military guys in the MC. We all look out for each other.” With every word, Jock’s muscles lost rigidity until he was leaning back against the cushions behind him, the first time he’d relaxed like that. “Tell me what you need, man. Bust my hump tryin’ to get it for you.”
“Tell me about Tank.” Voice hoarse with emotion, Jock dropped his gaze to the untouched glass of water slowly gathering runnels of condensation along the sides. “Tell me about my boy.”
No reason to deny Tank was the man’s dog, not with the breed and name lining up the way it was. Gunny settled back and lifted his tea, taking a long drink before launching into the story of how the mastiff had come to live in his home and be part of his family.
***
“Baby,” Gunny shouted as soon as he was through the garage door. Jock was coming in ten minutes behind him by prearrangement, this not being something Gunny wanted to tell Sharon over the phone. “Where the fuck are you?”
Sounds from the backyard had him headed towards the sliding glass door off the kitchen. It was an unaccustomed warm day, and Sharon was on a blanket on the ground, Kitten beside her, kicking and flailing her way across the uneven surface. Cade was a few feet away lying on her back, staring up at the sky overhead. Tank the Larger was positioned between Gunny’s family and the door and had lifted his head alertly. The ticking of toenails behind him warned of the approach of the other two dogs, and Gunny shifted to one side with the ease of long practice, letting the smaller dogs move around him and into the yard.
Tank didn’t lose the alert look, though, not like he normally would have, and Gunny focused on him. Sharon stood, shaking her head back and forth. “No.” The single word sounded like her heart was breaking, but for once, Gunny didn’t rush to soothe her. He took two steps into the yard, gaze locked on Tank who had climbed to his feet, head up, scenting the air. Lumbering into a quick trot, he covered the ground to get to Gunny and then was on him, nose pressed to Gunny’s right hand, snuffling and sniffing. He shook his big head and snorted, then hoovered Gunny’s hand again, his big body nearly quivering with tension. Sharon’s voice was small, quavering, “No, please.”
“Smells the man on me. All I did was shake his hand and Tank smells him. Tell me you don’t see this?” Gunny let the dog continue sniffing as he lifted his gaze to see tears trailing down Sharon’s face. “Man’s had a shit deal handed him, wife that cheated and let him believe her babe was his, then Dear Johned him while he was fuckin’ deployed to the sandbox, honey. All he’s got, and until yesterday, he didn’t know he still had anything, but all he’s got is Tank.” He took two steps towards her, Tank moving with him, nose still avidly pressed to Gunny’s flesh. “He’s my fuckin’ dog, and you know it. But Shar, he really isn’t. Been on loan with us. Done us a hell of a turn.”
“Saved my life,” she whispered, holding her hands to the side, fingers spread. “Gunny, he saved Kitten.”
“You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t thank God for this dog every single fuckin’ day?” Tank carefully stepped around Kitten, leaving Gunny and pressing close to Sharon, offering comfort for a distress he recognized. “Look at him right now, lovin’ on you like he is.”
The roar of a bike’s exhaust filled the air, followed by a quieter growl of a truck, and Gunny knew it would be PBJ and Jock. “Man’s gonna come here. We’ll see how things go. But—” He glanced down at his hand, covered in slobber. “—I’m bettin’ the dog’ll know the man.”
“Hello, the house,” PBJ called, as was the norm when a brother came over these days. Gunny turned to see him come through the sliding doors he’d left open, Jock following right behind him. There was a tentative, muffled groan from Tank the Larger, heard over the yapping barks of Tank and Rocky. Cade’s babbling for her Unka Pee competed with a louder groan, and Gunny turned to see Tank already in motion, arrowing straight to the man who stood with his arms spread wide, not even having to call the dog.
Sharon stepped to Gunny’s side, wrapping both her arms around his middle as they stood and watched the most joyous homecoming welcome Gunny had ever seen. Tank had his forepaws on Jock’s shoulders, head buried under the man’s chin and was leaping, his back legs gaining only four or five inches with each jump, but the excitement coming from the dog was palpable. His muscles quivered, tail snapping back and forth like a whip, vocalization finally happening as Tank found his voice, tinny yips and howls cut short when Jock went to a knee, wrapping his arms around Tank’s torso, holding him close.
***
Sharon
“Yeah,” Jock muttered as he shoved another forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth, “Tank’s been my bud since he was eight-weeks old. Me and him,” Jock’s hand dropped to caress Tank’s head, propped on his thigh, “been through thick and thin.”
Gunny answered, and PBJ pitched in a word or two, as did Deke, who’d come over for supper. She was glad they were supportive of Gunny, and from the look Deke had shot her way when he arrived, she knew they’d been expecting a different response about what was happening with the dog.
With one hand helping Cade navigate her meal, Sharon pushed food around her own plate with her other one, considering and discarding a series of ideas as too far-fetched. Listening to Jock talk about what had happened to him had been heartbreaking, but all she’d been able to really pick up out of the conversation was that he didn’t have anywhere to take Tank. Didn’t have anywhere to go, period, and the more she thought about it, the better her wild-haired idea sounded.
Gunny was responding to Jock as he did the men he’d been in the club with for years. He was open, unguarded, the way she loved to see him. I need to keep this guy around for Lane. Gunny still had issues with his PTSD, and she knew it would be a lifelong struggle for him, but the more she could surround him with good and decent people, the more at ease he became.
Cade dropped one hand down beside her highchair and seemed to realize for the first time that her constant companion wasn’t nearby. Little head whipping back and forth, she used her little-girl sweet voice, the one that usually got her daddy to do whatever she wanted, and always called the dogs from wherever they were at the time. “Tank. ‘Meer me. Tank.” A minute went by without the dog moving. In fact, the only reaction Cade got was a fond glance from her father. Sharon smiled, knowing her daughter. A moment later Cade pulled in a deep breath, then slapped both palms against her chest and bellowed an unmistakable demand, “Tank. ‘Meer me.”
Sharon stared across the table as Jock’s eyes widened, focused on tiny Cade. Then there were the shuffling heavy steps she expected as Tank moved around the table and to his little girl. Leaning against the legs of the highchair, Tank groaned when Cade’s fingers found his ears, tugging and rolling them in a way he loved.
Gunny, seated as he was on Cade’s other side, reached out and cradled the back of Cade’s head, pulling her sideways so he could kiss the top of her head. For his efforts, he got nothing more than a sweet grin from their daughter as she crooned to Tank, “Good doggie, Tank.”
Sharon glanced across the table and saw a look of clear longing on Jock’s face. She knew he wanted what Gunny had, wanted what Tank had, even.
“I think you should stay here with us.” Four wooden chairs around the kitchen table all creaked at the same time, as if every man had shifted in response to her words. “Give yourself time to get used to Tank again, and it will give my little girls time to get used to the idea that he’s not a fixture in their lives.” Jock stared at her, face pale, and Sharon wondered at that but then forged ahead. “I doubt any of these big, bad guys thought to tell you, but Tank saved my life.” She pointed across the room to where Kitten dozed in the portable playpen. “Saved my daughter’s life, too.”
From the puzzled look on Jock’s face, it was clear he didn’t know the story, and Sharon turned to aim a glare at Gunny. He lifted both hands in an “I give up” pose, and she laughed. Looking at Jock, she saw genuine curiosity in his expression. “So, a bit ago, I was pregnant.” Jock’s eyes cut over to Kitten and Sharon nodded. “I was here at the house when I went into labor. Alone.” Now Jock’s gaze glanced towards Gunny, and Sharon was surprised at how his face had hardened. He’s getting pissed off on my behalf.
“Things happened fast.” She shook her head, the terror of that day having receded until this seemed just a story. “But something went wrong. I remember being so scared, so terrified because I was here alone and all of this was happening to me. Cade was here, and I was terrified for her. Tank—” She dropped her hand to caress the top of the dog’s head, and he shifted, leaning against her hip. “—didn’t just help keep me calm, he was like a labor coach. He knew when a contraction was coming and he kept crowding me, getting close, giving me something to hold onto. Poor guy—” She cupped his jaw, angling his head up so she could see those intelligent eyes. “—probably thought the crazy, yelling preggo lady was going to choke him, but he kept coming back for more.”
She looked at Jock, knowing Gunny had gone still, too still, caught up in his own memories, but she needed to finish the story. “I was so scared. He kept checking on Cade, then coming back to me and one of those times I told him I needed the phone.” She leaned forwards, one hand on the dog, one flattened to the table. “He brought me the phone.” Jock’s head snapped back, and she nodded. “Yeah. Brought me the phone and then kept taking care of me and Cade. When the ambulance got here, he was in Cade’s room and let me tell you, it was a good thing the ambulance guy was a friend, because Tank wasn’t about to let just anyone near his girl.” She looked back down at Tank, smiling to see he’d shifted around so he was touching both Cade and her.
“All the way to the hospital he stayed by me. Then at the hospital, he stayed with Cade.” She glanced at Gunny, seeing his hand still moving on their daughter’s head, stroking her curls soothingly. Covering his hand with hers, she smiled at him. “And Kitten was born, alive and well, healthy and whole. All because my big guy brought home this big guy.”
Pulling in a deep breath, she lifted her gaze to Jock, seeing wet in his eyes. “I’m not being a super-nice silly girl when I offer for you to stay here. You seem to need a place to just be who you are for a while, and I think it’s great we can offer that. But this is me being a little bit selfish and wanting a few more days to tell the Tankster goodbye.” Fingers working through the folds of skin under Tank’s jaw, she felt as well as heard his groan. “Even Tank agrees!” Sharon smiled and waited, watching as Jock’s eyes danced around the room, taking stock of Gunny’s reaction along with the other two men. Jaw tight, he cut his gaze back to her and nodded once.
***
Gunny
He came awake, holding himself still and unmoving, listening in the dark to the sounds inside his house. All he heard were the normal environmental control noises of the air conditioner, the squeaky fan in the ductwork over the master bath that he kept reminding himself to oil, the quiet murmur of the baby monitor telling him all was well with his two girls. Nothing that would have pulled him from sleep.
Then he heard it. The tiniest gasp of an indrawn breath that hitched then cut off.
Gunny turned over in the bed, shifting Sharon from his shoulder and pressing one forearm into the mattress next to her head. Looming over her like this always emphasized the size difference between them, her so tiny her arms wouldn’t wrap all the way around his waist. Still, perfect for me. “Baby,” he murmured, leaning down to brush a kiss across her forehead, “why you cryin’?”
“I’m not crying.” Her whisper was airy, breathy in a way that put the lie to her words and he grinned.
“Babe.” Lips to her temple, he traced a kiss down her cheek to just behind her ear, pressing gently.
Stubborn, she angled her chin away, in one motion refusing to respond and yet responding, giving him the access he needed to get his mouth on her neck. Kissing softly, he worked down to her collarbone while his hand swept up her side, finding and cupping her breast. She shifted her lower body closer to him and he gave in to her silent demand, bringing his thigh up to rest on her legs, pinning her in place, his arm, leg, and body serving as a living frame.
“Mmmm,” he murmured, feeling her arch up into his hand. “Jesus, baby.”
“Gunny.” The single word that slipped past her lips was filled with a longing he recognized, her desire painted on the air in a way that hardened his cock. Shifting against her rubbed the length of him across her hip, the head of his cock growing in a way that pushed his foreskin out of the way, sensitive flesh stroking across her heated skin.
“Gonna love on you, babe.” That would be all the warning she needed, because every time they fell into each other’s arms began the same way—words that had come to mean so much to both of them, echoing through the years back to the first time he’d been inside her after weeks of waiting.
As she did every time, that broad smile shone up at him. Even in the dark, he knew her eyes were dancing when she complained as if he’d been taking hours to get to this point. “Just love me already.”
He bent to her, chasing the heat of her mouth with his lips, and as he kissed her, warned, “Don’t think I’m forgetting my question, baby.”
She gasped as he tugged the gusset of her panties out of the way, tracing the pads of his fingers through the wetness he found. “You—” She gasped again, hips moving up, responding to his touch. “—never forget anything.”
“Damn straight,” he told her, sliding down the bed, mouthing her breast through the nightshirt she wore. “Gonna eat you first, then fuck you.”
“Okay,” she agreed, and obligingly lifted her hips so he could divest her of the panties. Knowing what he wanted, knowing him so well, she bent at the waist and shucked off her shirt, falling to her back naked.
Afterwards, she cuddled into his side, hips angled so she could throw a leg across his thighs and he heard her sigh. “Tell me, babe.”
Her voice was quiet and small when she said, “I should go clean up.”
Gunny ran his palm down the sleek skin of her back, cupping her ass and squeezing before he trailed his fingers up her spine, shifting her hair off her shoulder so he could stroke the skin of her throat. When the doctor had given Sharon the all clear for sex after she’d had Kitten, Gunny made an appointment to go in and talk to the man by himself. Bulldog had told him the issues with Kitten’s delivery were serious, but if he and Sharon wanted more babies, it was something they could watch out for differently. In other words, having another kid wasn’t off the table.
He wanted another kid. Another two or three kids, in fact.
So from the time they started back with sex, he hadn’t gloved up. Hadn’t talked about it, because his Sharon wasn’t dumb; she’d know it wasn’t an oversight on his part. She also wasn’t afraid to speak up, not anymore, and that meant if she didn’t want to be pregnant, wasn’t ready to add to their family, she would have said something or pressed a condom into his hand. She hadn’t, and he hadn’t, and now, he knew what had her crying.
“You’re pregnant.” Whispered softly, reverently, he waited a beat for her to respond, but she seemed frozen. “Tits are sensitive as hell, like you always get. I saw you ain’t got any kind of appetite, and baby,”—he grinned into the darkness—“you were hot for me tonight.”
“I’m always hot for you.” She rolled, burying her face against his abs. He stroked down her back, and back up, again and again, giving her time to put her words together. “What if—”
“Nothing bad is going to happen to you.”
“You can’t know that.” Her hair moved across his skin, delicate traces of a barely-there touch. “I’m not worried about me, anyway. What if something happens to the baby?”
“You love me?” She jolted in surprise at his question, then nodded, her hair again dragging across his skin. “And I love you. Nothing is going to happen, Shar.”
“You can’t know that.” She fell back on the same argument, and while she was right, she was also wrong.
“I can know. Big man upstairs isn’t going to put me through hell on earth and then give me an angel only to take any part of her shine away.” He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her tight to his side, lifting her jaw with a curled knuckle. “You’re my Rose of Sharon. My shining star. You—” He bent and kissed her forehead, then her nose. “—are my reward for coming out the other side.” He brushed his lips across her forehead again, holding her close. “How far, baby?”
“Just a few weeks.” She stretched up, and he tipped his chin, letting her capture his mouth. She pulled back and whispered, “Barely even preggers.”
“Bullshit.”
“What? No, it’s just I’m barely even pregnant.” Rolling her eyes, she shook her head as he laughed.
“Sharon, you can’t be just a little bit pregnant. It’s one of those all-in things. You either aren’t—” He paused, waiting, and she shook her head. “—or you are.” She nodded. “Bulldog, first thing tomorrow.” She nodded again, settling in beside him. “Love you, Sharon.”
“Love you, too, big guy.”
***
Gunny startled awake, hyperaware of every current of air moving through the room. Sharon was sleeping deeply. Just over eight weeks pregnant, her tummy was still tender, and without eating like she should while chasing after two kids, she was exhausted each night when she fell into bed. Something that made him feel guilty and worry, but God, the end result would be so worth it. Still, whatever woke him wasn’t her.
A muffled sound from the hallway had him moving towards the door, 9mm in hand. As he neared the door, he heard the sound again, recognizing it as Tank the Larger’s distinctive deep growl. Gunny’s eyes darted around the darkened room, verifying nothing was amiss. Then he palmed the doorknob, holding it steady as he slowly turned it and drew it open just a crack.
Jock stood near the top of the stairs, facing towards the girls’ bedroom, fingers tearing through his hair. The lines of his body screamed tension, and Gunny was about a half a second from tackling the man when a shadow near the girls’ doorway moved, resolving into the mastiff. For once Tank’s footfalls were soundless, but as the dog advanced towards Jock, that determined warning growl came from deep in his chest again. Gunny didn’t have to see the dog to know he was serious, the noise rolling from the dog’s throat held a threatening edge.
Easing the door closed behind him, putting a barrier between whatever was about to happen and Sharon, Gunny considered the situation for a moment. Jock was between him and his girls, but Tank was between Jock and the girls, and regardless of who the man was to the dog, Tank didn’t seem to be in the mood to back down. Gunny waited a moment, then another, but Jock didn’t move. Like a statue, the man stood so still Gunny wasn’t certain he was breathing. Dead man walking. That thought sent a chill down his spine. I remember those days. Jock didn’t acknowledge anything, not even the dog standing only feet away. Gotta be me. “Jock,” he called softly, unsure at this point if the man was sleepwalking—not something Gunny had seen evidence of in the weeks he’d lived with them—or if he were caught in the grip of something more powerful than sleep. “Jock, man. You okay?”
No reaction, and until Tank’s head shifted position slightly, Gunny wasn’t certain he’d spoken aloud. “Jock,” slightly louder, he was still hesitant about approaching, and then it happened. With an abrupt movement that had Gunny leveling the gun, Jock twisted to face him, and Gunny saw the tortured expression on his face. Folding at the hips and knees, Jock went to the floor, Tank barking at him, a massive and deafening roar of a sound. Belly to the floor, Jock wrapped his arms around his head, holding tight, hands curved as if they were still cupping a gunstock. Tank barked again, and Jock shrieked in response, the noise so loud Gunny felt it up through his bare feet on the wooden floor. It was a moment or two before he made out the words, and that only barely over the sudden screams of his daughters, frightened out of sleep by the ruckus.
“They’re all dead.” Those words, in various configurations, at times spliced together with a fusillade of names. Call names for a team that never left the patch of sand where Jock had been injured.
Gunny had talked about his own experience over backyard beers one night, the simple miracle of open sky and lightning bugs framed by the background sounds of Sharon getting the two girls ready for bed. Talked about the ambush that took his team, admitting his own feelings of culpability because of the bitch he’d bedded. Words had rolled out of him, covering the time spent in the desert alone, wounded and terrified. How he’d gotten back to Camp Chesty, taking a chance on a stranger who turned into a savior. Jock had listened, nodding his head at times, wincing at things that might have cut a little deep. Listened, but didn’t offer his own story.
Knowing there was one, Gunny had Myron dig deep, and what he’d found had been horribly familiar. An isolated convoy decimated by hell raining down from the hillside, help five minutes too far away, explosions and bloody wounds and death everywhere. Twenty-two men rolled out from behind the wire on that patrol, and twenty-one came back in body bags. Jock had been pinned by flaming debris, suffering burns over much of his body. The scars Gunny had seen above the collar of his shirt were the least of them, and he knew from the grapevine that the rehab place in San Antonio where Jock spent time usually only accepted the worst cases.
Gunny heard the handle of his bedroom door jiggle, and before Sharon could open it, he called out softly, “No, baby. Stay inside. I got this. Girls are fine.” The last thing he wanted was to have her injected into the scene. She'd be warped because of Jock being on the floor and without knowing what the guy's triggers were, Gunny was wary of approaching the guy himself, forget Shar who weighed a buck five on a pregnant day.
“Okay.” There was a distinct tremor in her voice but, thank God, she trusted him.
Fuck. Staying out of reach, he knelt and started talking. Easy conversation, he kept to areas that would help pull Jock back into now, extending topics from last night’s dinner, spinning stories out and then pulling back to cover ground a second, then a third time. Jock’s only reaction was a flinch when Tank eased to the floor, lying alertly, propped on his elbows.
Jock rocked back and forth on his elbows, wiggling away from the door and towards the stairs. Tank groaned and Jock stopped. They stayed like that for minutes, Gunny talking and Jock and Tank stock still as the girls’ cries slowed and stopped, trailing off as they slipped back into a doze and then sleep.
Finally, fucking finally, he heard Jock sigh. It sounded like the weight of the world was still on the man. Gunny shifted from his awkward position on his knees and sat on his ass, leaning against the wall. He held out a hand and Tank’s head swung, looking at him. Gunny curled his fingers a couple of times, silently calling the dog, then pointed at Jock. Tank stared at him for a moment, then looked over his shoulder towards the girls’ door before returning his gaze pointedly to Gunny. This is on you if it goes bad, he seemed to be saying, and Gunny nodded.
Jock tensed when Tank lumbered to his feet and shook, the tags on his collar jingling. Then Gunny saw that tension flowing away as the dog settled back to the floor pressed tightly along Jock’s side. He gave it a minute, then queried quietly, “You back, man?”
Silence for a moment, then Jock spoke, his voice grating over too-dry vocal cords, sounding as painful as Gunny knew it had to feel. “Yeah.” Tank moved his head, twisting sideways to reach Jock’s hand, his tongue slowly licking the back. “Good boy, Tank.” Tank shook his head, tags jingling again. “Yeah, you are. Don’t argue, asshole.” Tank groaned and twisted more, resting his massive head across Jock’s shoulders, his eyes trained on Gunny. The man’s pain was echoed in the dog’s eyes, and Gunny swallowed hard.
“Brother.” The title felt right to Gunny, felt like he and Jock had survived something together right here in this hallway. “You got some shit in your head.”
“Yeah.” Jock sighed, and Tank’s head went up and down with the movement. “I don’t know why I’m up here.” Another sigh, Tank’s eyes still fixed on Gunny. “I got no reason to be up here by your family. Fuck.” Jock turned his head away, burying his face into Tank’s neck. “I got no reason to be here at all.”
“You believe in fate, brother?” Gunny did. He’d lived through too much to think lives connected by chance. If he’d not taken the job with the city, he would have never met Deke. Not meeting Deke meant no Rebels. No Rebels meant no Sharon, no babies. “I think your dog wound up with me so we’d meet.” Tank’s eyebrows went up, his nose wrinkling. “Not sayin’ your life falling to shit is so you can say you know me, but I think me knowing you was a done deal once your shit hit the fan. I’ve been where you are. Been around that block so many fuckin’ times, I know where all the cracks are. I’ve been you, brother. And I think you came to me because I can help.”
“What the fuck am I supposed to do, man?” Muffled against Tank’s fur, the tears were thick in Jock’s voice. “I’m not…fuck. I’m not useful. I got no job, got no woman. Fuck. Got nothing to hold on for except…all I could think of was finding Tank. Kept my finger off the trigger, because I had to know where my dog was.”
“You held on, brother. Held on and found him.”
“Yeah, but now what the fuck do I do? I can’t even take care of him.” Jock slipped sideways, curling around Tank and the dog let him, adjusting his position to stay in contact while his gaze never left Gunny. Find a way to fix this, he seemed to be saying.
“You don’t do this alone. That’s the first thing you have to understand. You try to do it on your own, and you’ll fail. It’s too big, brother. Give some of it to me. Let me help you get what you need to find your way out the other side of the valley.” Gunny slid close, resting one hand on Jock’s shoulder, feeling the heated gusts of Tank’s breaths rolling across his wrist. Jock was shaking, shivering, his body throwing off the adrenaline in a way that would make him feel weak. Gunny knew how it felt because he’d been caught up in this more than once. “Let me help you.” He pressed hard, pushing to hold Jock down, easing the quivering of muscles causing him to jerk in place. “I got a doc who can be here in twenty minutes, you greenlight me to call. He’s good, brother. No bullshit. He’s the thing that helped me find my way back when I nearly lost myself after I met Sharon.”
“What?” The shock in Jock’s voice was sharp, biting. “I thought…”
“Fuck, no. Love of a good woman helped, but in some ways”—he wasn’t saying anything she didn’t already know, so Gunny didn’t worry about hurting her if she was still listening—“it made things harder for a while. I kept flashing, and then I’d freak because what if I hurt her? What if I hurt my soulmate? What if the things in my fucked-up head got twisted around and I put my hands on her? Too precious for words that woman, and I couldn’t stand the idea, but once it started, it burrowed deep. So deep I wasn’t sure I’d ever dig it out. This doc, the one I mentioned, he helped me sort out my head.”
“He pushes drugs, doesn’t he? They all do.” Jock sounded disbelieving, but that was threaded through with hope.
“Drugs have a place, brother. They can. But if it’s a no-fly for you, then he’ll work with what you give him. He’s not an idiot, though, so if he says they can help, he’s probably right. They’re a tool, just like anything else.” Tank sighed, his head rocking to the side as his eyes closed, finally, and Gunny knew it was because he could feel Jock relaxing. “We can’t turn our backs on help, brother. Let me make the call.”
“I could have hurt your girls.” Jock’s voice was thin as he spoke the words, the man’s worst fear laid bare for Gunny’s ears.
“Nope. Tank had your back, brother. He wasn’t gonna let you get close to doing anything you couldn’t come back from.” Thank you, God.