Breaking Brandon (Fate), Page 3

  “Yes.” She squeezed his hand. “Always remember, Brandon, you had no control over what happened in the past. Arm yourself with the lessons that your past—good and bad—has given you, and take control of your future. It’s time to leave all that behind and move onward, son.” She smiled, lifting her glass quickly, but even seeing her immediate change in mood, he couldn’t summon so much as the tiniest of smiles. He forced himself to at least not frown. “To our bright future,” she said, clinking his glass.

  Satisfied with their toast, his mother thankfully changed the subject after taking a sip of her water. She started talking about the neighborhoods in Georgia she’d seen online. This was a much better topic. He’d rather think of their new beginning.

  ~~~

  Just as she promised she would, Brandon’s mom was up before dawn. “Let’s get moving, sunshine” she said, holding up her cup of coffee and smiling. “I didn’t make you one because I know you hate the stuff.”

  Brandon nodded, grabbing their things and heading out. They were off to a better start this time. Yesterday, his mom had jumped on the freeway heading in the wrong direction, and it was miles before the next exit where she could get off and they could turn around. Maybe this did mean they’d make it there on time after all.

  Everything was going smoothly for the first fifteen minutes until his mom swerved suddenly, and Brandon saw she’d blown a tire.

  “Fucking great,” he said through his teeth, looking into the rearview mirror.

  He turned on his own hazard lights and followed closely behind as she made her way onto the tight shoulder. She made it there, but it took Brandon a few more minutes to park his much larger truck in a way that he wasn’t sticking out into traffic. He glanced up at his mom as he continued to maneuver the big ass U-Haul, but he had to wait until there were no cars coming so he could twist out then back onto the shoulder. His mom stayed put in the car as he mentally ordered her to. She’d be no help coming out anyway.

  Groaning at the thought of having to take everything that was so tightly packed in the back of the minivan so he could pull the spare out he decided right there he was done humoring his mom. They were getting a trailer as soon as he replaced her tire. He didn’t have time for all this shit.

  He did a double take when he saw the driver’s-side door open and his mom start to get out. “Stay in the van!” he yelled, motioning with his hands, but his window was still closed, and she obviously hadn’t heard him. “God damn it,” he mumbled as his finger hit the button to lower the window.

  Just as the window went down, he was startled by a truck’s loud horn as it flew by him so close it shattered the side mirror loudly. Brandon lifted his arms and hands up in front of him in reaction. Between his arms, he saw as his mother, who’d already stepped out of the van, didn’t even have a chance to react. She and the entire open minivan door were literally blown away by the truck’s massive force.

  ~~~

  “I don’t need it, sir.” Brandon stood at attention in front of Master Sergeant Hatch, who sat behind a desk.

  Hatch stood now. “Son, you gathered your mother’s remains in pieces just days after burying your father. Then you came straight here without taking a single day off.”

  “Sir, thanks to the Marines, I was prepared for that and much worse. And there was nothing I could do during the investigation but report to duty until it was over. Her remains were then cremated and sent to me. I didn’t need to take time off.”

  Brandon wouldn’t look at him, but he knew the sergeant must be staring at him as if he were one cold son of a bitch.

  “They were the only family you had, and as far as I know, you have no close friends. You have to be feeling something, and you can’t keep all of it inside you. It’s not healthy.”

  The sergeant paused, but Brandon wouldn’t respond to that. He felt nothing, and because of that, he was convinced now he’d already turned into his father. He was certain his old man would consider therapy weak too.

  “You’ve got to let some of what you’re feeling out, or it’ll only build until you finally blow.”

  Brandon stared straight ahead, both arms to the side of him. Hatch had no way of knowing that blowing up—breaking down—was not anything Brandon would ever do. If witnessing his mother torn apart then walking around gathering the pieces of her body hadn’t broken him, he knew nothing ever would. “Sir, I’m fine. I don’t need therapy.”

  He heard the sergeant take a deep breath then sit back down. “Have a seat.”

  Taking the seat across the sergeant’s desk, Brandon saw the displeasure on the older man’s face. “It hasn’t affected your work, so I can’t force you into therapy, but you will be evaluated.” He lifted the folder in front of him and motioned it toward Brandon. “You have all the qualifications to enter DI school, and I’ve already signed off the go-ahead to start all the preliminaries, but you’ll have to pass a psych evaluation before you’re accepted. Now are you sure you wouldn’t like to speak to someone before going through that? If you don’t pass the eval, you don’t get in. They don’t give a shit that you just lost both your parents. You need to be one hundred percent ready, both physically and mentally, to get in.”

  “I’m sure, sir,” Brandon said without hesitation.

  The sergeant exhaled, pressing his lips together as he shook head. He wrote something in Brandon’s file before handing it to him, wishing him luck then excusing him.

  As Brandon walked out the door, he knew he had to get accepted. Failure was not an option. He was born to be a drill instructor, and since the Marines had been the only thing he’d been proud of—never let him down—this was what he’d pour his heart into instead: The Corps.

  Chapter Three

  Regina

  Then

  Grasping on to the cold handle of the gun, Regina’s body shuddered uncontrollably. Before tonight, she’d never even held a gun much less used one. Crouched down in a cold corner, she rocked back and forth, and the sobs came louder and louder.

  Her entire body began to shake as thoughts of her family came to mind and what they’d say when they found out. Her father had a weak heart. Would this kill him? They’d all be devastated, no doubt.

  “Why!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Why, Ryan? Why did you have to be so fucking selfish?”

  Staring at her bloody knuckles, she chuckled grimly. All she’d wanted to do was break a few things to help ease the anger, and she couldn’t even do that without hurting herself. A few things like some dishes and then a bottle had quickly turned into her smashing every piece of furniture she owned. She stood up sloppily, holding on to the walls for support. The blood on her hands was smeared against the expensive blossom branch tile she’d taken so long to pick out, and now all of this meant nothing. The anger inundated her again. “This is all your fault! Do you hear me?!” She held the gun up over her head. “You did this! You! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”

  Falling against the wall, she pressed her face against the cold tile and sobbed. Her entire face was one slobbery mess. Never in a million years would she have guessed she’d become this pathetic person. Never. Yet here she was holding the gun that would soon seal her fate. That she’d had succumb to such weakness riddled her with shame. Yet this is what it’d all come down to.

  The knock on the front door was completely unexpected, and she froze. She waited, and then there were more knocks.

  “Mrs. Brady?”

  Recognizing her neighbor Quinn’s voice, Regina squeezed her eyes shut.

  “No!” she muffled her own whispers against her fist. “Go away.”

  He knocked again. “Is everything all right? I heard you screaming, and Mrs. Shimley said she heard the sound of things breaking and crashing in there earlier. Are you okay? Do you need me to call someone for you?”

  Still sobbing, Regina slid her body down the wall until she hit the ground with a thud. She couldn’t even put two words together. She was crying so uncontrollably.
r />   “Mrs. Brady, please answer me, or I’ll assume you need help.”

  If he came in now, he’d see what she’d done. He’d try to stop her and ruin everything. The sound of the pounding on the door was now like a body slamming against it, so she scurried herself off the floor and rushed into the front room. Her thoughts were spinning. She couldn’t let him in!

  Something slammed against her door again, and the third time, the door crashed open. She stood there frozen, staring at a stunned Quinn breathing heavily. They stared at each other for a few silent moments, and then his eyes began to quickly look around the room. They opened wider and wider as he took it all in. She saw the moment his eyes noticed the gun in her hand, and she began to lift it, her hand shaking violently.

  He shook his head, his eyes nearly bulging out now in terror. “Mrs. Brady—Regina—don’t shoot, please!”

  Chapter Four

  Brandon

  Now

  Ronald Reagan National Airport

  Washington D.C.

  Taking one last look at the flight status board, Brandon frowned. As frustrating as it was, he was at the very least grateful that his flight still read delayed and not cancelled like so many of the others. That was one thing he wasn’t going to miss about the East Coast: this frigid weather. He may not be thrilled about having to go back to San Diego, but the warm sunny weather was one thing he’d welcome with pleasure. He’d already checked ahead, and even in January, the temperature there was in the sixties. He thought about how he actually considered turning down the promotion just to avoid having to go back and possibly face his demons. He was glad now he’d come to his senses and didn’t allow the past to dictate his future. He’d earned this promotion, and nothing and no one was keeping him from it.

  Glancing out the snow-laced windows, he shook his head. “Good riddance.”

  The line at the deli counter had shortened considerably since he first arrived, so he decided he may as well grab something to eat. He still had a five-hour flight ahead of him, and from experience, he knew, unless you were in first class, the in-flight food sucked ass.

  The dark haired girl who stepped in line just before him nearly knocked over her very expensive looking carryon as she rolled it along too hastily. Her other hand was at her ear, where she held her phone. Brandon didn’t know much about bag brands, but he could tell just by looking at it, it was expensive. Everything about her said expensive from her long leather coat to her high-heeled sleek city boots to the equally expensive purse that hung on her shoulder. The sunglasses that sat on top of her head alone probably cost more than his airline ticket. She even smelled expensive.

  “No, Daddy, I’m fine.” Her bracelets jingled as she reached out for a tray. “I have a car service picking me up at the airport, and I’m all set up in a condo when I get there. Don’t worry.” Brandon stared at the side of her face dryly. It figured the princess was well looked out for. “Yes, I’m meeting abuelita at Flemings for dinner tonight if I make it on time. My connector flight was delayed. I’m in D.C. right now.”

  Grabbing a tray, Brandon glanced around at the choices of chips he had to throw on it, trying to ignore the girl’s annoying conversation with Daddy. She struggled to push the tray along while pulling her carryon and holding her phone at the same time. Cradling the phone between her shoulder and her chin, she looked up at the lady behind the counter who was waiting to take her order. “I’ll have a chicken salad with no tomatoes or egg with light thousand island dressing and a Coke Zero.”

  “The salads are premade.” The bored-looking lady held out a premade salad in a plastic container. “We only have regular thousand and Diet Pepsi.”

  “No, I already told Mom I’d look into buying a car when I got there.” Princess glanced up at the lady behind the counter and held up a finger. “You can’t just give me your car, and besides I don’t drive stick shift.” She glanced back at Brandon and offered an apologetic smile for holding up the line. “Daddy, let me call you back. I’m in line right now. Okay. Okay.” She smiled at the lady behind the counter then at Brandon again.

  Brandon stared at her unsmiling, taking in the small details of daddy’s little princess. The lip gloss that she wore was barely there but enough to accentuate her already plump lips. They were subtle and flawless, as were her well-manicured French-tipped nails. She had dark features: dark, thick, shiny, near-black hair that flowed down halfway to her elbow and dark lashes that draped over those big brown eyes. The fact that this grown woman was standing here talking to an obviously overbearing daddy and that she referred to her grandmother in Spanish brought back the annoying reminder of . . .

  “Yes, I promise,” she said, finally sounding as impatient as Brandon was beginning to feel. “Okay, bye, bye. I love you too.”

  She hung up, smiling crookedly at Brandon, who again offered no smile in return. Turning back to the lady behind the counter, she waved the salad away and glanced around. “Is there some place here I can get a salad made?”

  The lady behind the counter pressed her lips together, taking the salad back. “You can try Gordon’s,” the lady said, and with that, she was done with the princess, moving on to Brandon. “What’ll it be?”

  Brandon put in his order for a turkey sub and an iced tea, not noticing which direction the princess had gone. He ate quietly, sitting on the floor near a window overlooking the runway, his back against the wall.

  He was over being bitter about having to transfer back to a place he’d vowed he never return to. San Diego was a huge city, and the truth was just as in South Carolina where he’d been a DI for the past four years, he’d be spending most of his time on the base anyway. Whatever time he spent off the base he’d be sure to steer clear of La Jolla.

  “Well, I was just gonna go back to the same gym I always went to.”

  Brandon glanced up to see the princess on her phone again, standing in front of a seat in one of the nearest rows of seats to him. He studied her for a moment as she removed her coat, revealing the rest of her long high-heeled boots. They went all the way up past her knees. What she wore under them—skin hugging leggings and a gray sweater that draped over her round but tight little ass and hips—said a lot about how much time she must spend at the gym.

  As his eyes made it all the way up to the scarf around her neck and back to the full lips that had caught his eyes the first time, he noticed she was watching him watch her. The expression on her face was an amused one. Brandon was anything but amused. Her lips curved into a smile, and he looked away. Pulling himself up, he gathered his trash. He threw his military bag over his shoulder and walked away, annoyed that he’d given the pampered princess yet another reason to feel better about herself, as if a girl like her didn’t already have enough reasons to feel superior to those around her.

  ~~~

  A few days after Brandon arrived in San Diego, he was all set. They’d given him a week to relocate. Who needed a full week? His things along with his Jeep were delivered the day after he arrived, and his apartment was already set up before he got there. They’d offered to put him up in the NCO condo complex on base, but as he did in North Carolina, he preferred living off base. It was the only time he ever left the base, but living on base meant closer contact with some of his co-workers. Everyone who lived on base spoke of the base as a small town-like place where everyone was a close-knit military family. He wanted no part of that. All the relationships he’d ever made in the Marines were strictly professional. Having no emotional attachment to anyone, even his fellow Marine brothers, was how he liked it. He lived and breathed the Corps, and if he ever had to, he’d take a bullet for any of them any day. He respected them all, and they could trust he was absolutely dependable, but there was zero attachment.

  On occasion back in North Carolina, he’d had a beer with some of them at the local watering hole, and they’d talked work and sports. Mostly he’d listen, adding little to the conversation. He was used to the jokes about him being a hard-ass. Some of the guy
s even tried breaking him out of the character they accused him of being in at all times, but it never happened. It never would because it wasn’t an act. He just had no desire to open up to anyone and talk about his personal life. As he told them all, he didn’t have much of a personal life, so there was nothing to talk about.

  Now that he was at a new base, he already knew the invitations to have a beer with his “brothers” were going to be inevitable. But just like back at his old base, he didn’t want his lack of socializing to do just the opposite of what it was supposed to do—keep the attention off his personal life. It seemed the more of recluse he was, the more mysterious and interesting he became to those around him.

  Already, he’d only been there a few days, and the questions had started. He’d been asked twice by a couple of his superiors why he lived off base if he was single. “Why fight the traffic every morning when you could just be here already?”

  Another one of the single DIs had questioned if there were other motives. “Is it so the chicks here don’t see who you take home every night?” The DI had laughed when he’d also asked, “You don’t want them comparing notes?”

  This morning, he was meeting with the previous Gunnery Sergeant in charge of the platoons and lower ranking DIs that Brandon would now be in charge of. He wanted to touch base with Brandon and show him around the building he’d be calling home for the better part of his weekdays.