Deploy, Part One (Rawlings #1)(97)
“You’re going to let me be your forever?”
“I am.”
“Justice Rawlings. That sounds right to you?”
“Since before I could remember.”
She felt the cold metal slide on her hand and smiled. A beat later, she felt his lips on hers. His kiss was claiming, deep and powerful just the way she liked it.
He did lift the blindfold, but she took her time opening her eyes and when she did she didn’t see much beyond his eyes, the gray shattered with blue, the wars they’d seen, and she was sure he was seeing hers, something they both chose to take the time talk about, at least once a day.
They’d made the choice to face what they’d overcome, to not let it eat away at them. A decision that was easier said than done, but something they were both felt strong enough to face.
“You like it?”
“What, you? No, I love you,” she said as her hands landed on his face. He blushed and swayed his head and moved out of her line of sight, revealing a light blue country frame house, nestled on seven acres, surrounded by Georgia pines, just a few miles from the family they loved the most. Far enough for independence, close enough for strength.
Knowing what he knew about this town, what was seen and unseen, Declan had thought long and hard about whether he wanted to raise his son there or not, if he really wanted this job before him.
When it came down to it, his family was there, a host of Rawlings that might as well be their own army. There was no other place in the world he could ensure the same.
Staring at the house he’d bought for her, Justice’s eyes grew wide with shock.
“Yeah, I got your number,” he taunted, proud he saw love in her eyes.
His broad steps took him to the truck where he unfastened the infant carrier as he smiled down at his son. “I’m gonna show you how it’s done, boy,” he said to him as he made his way to Justice.
“You gotta sweep ‘em off their feet, make ‘em blush,” he said as if he was teaching a lesson, and right then he ducked his shoulder and with one arm managed to put Justice in a fireman’s carry.
He had his woman on one shoulder, his son on one arm, and he marched forward into their new home. “Oorah....” he said over her laughter as he made his way up the steps then spun them both around just inside the door.
He was home...
~
Just over eleven hundred miles north east in the great state of Maine, at a port in Portland in a cavern nestled at the far end of the docks on the lower level, in the dankest of pubs, Norman Brumble, miserable as ever, was scrubbing down the bar as his nineteen-inch three decade old TV fuzzed in and out, more so because the distant storm outside was about to arrive than because of its age.
His only customer was his worst enemy and his best friend. A man he’d known for nearly seventy years, his brother Roman. Neither were saying a word, both still angry that the other forgot their snuff at their apartment and neither one was willing to face the wind to get it.
All at once the doors blew open and down the stairs came young JR, and as always the constant grin on his face just made you want to slap him.
Roman shook his head, and pulled a quarter out of his pocket and slid it toward Norman. They had a wager JR would never make it off his last trip. Norman swore the kid was born with sea legs and Roman claimed there wasn’t a grain of salt in his blood.
In all truth JR didn’t know either way—he went where he had to and when.
“I won’t lose the next.” Roman pointed his finger at JR but the arthritis made it seem more or less like he was pointing at the T.V. “This one has let his willy loose in the wrong pond.”
Norman shook his head. “Na, he’s a con. Too damn calm.”
JR’s boyish grin never faded as he shook out his damp, dark hair. Right now it was jet black because it was soaked, but when he was in the sun, the very tips were light brown, much like his beard, the one he had just past his chin.
His eyes, which were hauntingly clear because of how tan he was, glinted with amusement. His bold strides took him to the bar where he pulled out two different pouches of snuff, handing one to each of the old codgers.
When no expression came from either of them he pulled out two sacks, an ounce each of marijuana, and set it before them.
When no expression came then, he shook his head and pulled two flasks out, filled with apple moonshine.
Then a flicker of a smile raced across both men’s aged eyes.
JR pulled out a seat next to Roman.
“Who forgot today?” JR asked, knowing by the tension in the air one of the brothers was pissed about something.
Norman leaned forward. “Who’d you kill? Just tell me. I already asked. If there’s not a reward I’m not turnin’ you in. Whatcha steal? Running more than Mary Jane up the coast? Blackmail, maybe? Hit man?” He pointed at him. “You should have figured out arson, no evidence, down to ashes—scatter that shit.”
JR shook his head and nodded to the shot glass and without looking, Norman filled a dram for him. Roman leaned close to him. “Was she a tight little thing? Redhead, right? I always liked the redheads. Did you knock her up? She after your ass? You gotta watch them wild ones, they’ll cut it off just as soon as look at it sometimes. Sleep with one eye open and your hand on the jewels—safest way.”
JR playfully narrowed his gaze. “This is the best you got?” He’d never really been completely honest with anyone about his past, but he’d come the closest with these two harmless old fools, mainly because they reminded him of something he couldn’t put his finger on.