Southern Sunshine by Natasha Madison

Chapter 3

Reed

"Keep your head up." I looked around at my squad as they all nodded at me. We walked down the street, and rubble was everywhere. "Eyes open," I told them as the five of us walked side by side. We took in the shattered storefronts.

"They did this to their own people," one of my guys said in disbelief, and I just looked over at him, I held the gun in my hand as we walked past what looks like a church. A couple of people are now in the street with us.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a little girl with brown hair, she looked straight at me. My breath stopped as she turned and walked into the building. My feet moved as I followed her and called out. “Stop,” I said, knowing she wasn’t going to understand. She walked into the front door, and when I got in there, I saw baby bassinets everywhere. I stopped in the middle of the room, my body bent over to pick up a disregarded doll. The blond hair was matted, and she had burn marks all over her, the plastic melted in some spots. Movement to the side made me look back at the little girl who stood there and smiled at me. I looked into her eyes and then saw the grenade in her hand as she dropped it on the floor. I yelled right before it exploded.

I gasp as if I just came up from holding my breath underwater. Sitting up in the bed, I feel wetness all around me. It takes a second for me to gather my bearings and remember where I am. Using the light from the bathroom, I see that I’m in a king-size bed. "Home,” I say to myself. “I’m home." I look down, and drops of sweat drip off me.

Swinging my legs off the bed, I look down at the pink and snarly scar on my leg that goes from the middle of my thigh to my knee. I get up, and the skin pulls tight as I walk over to the bathroom and dim the lights. After turning the shower on, I turn to look at myself in the mirror. My eyes go to the scar on my side that I got while on a training exercise, making me think back.

I arrived at base more excited than I’ve ever been in all my life. Arriving in Georgia, I couldn’t wait to start and woke up before everyone else. It was a sixty-two-day Ranger program, and I finished at the top of my class. My body had bulked up during this. I closed myself off from my family and my life back at home, deleting all forms of social media and even suspending my cell phone. I called home once a week on Sunday using the base phone, but other than that, my life was on training. I worked my way up the ranks and trained with some of the baddest sons of bitches who ever walked the earth. I would die for each of my brothers, and I knew they would for me, too.

When I went on my first deployment, I got another cell phone, but I drew the line at social media until Quinn and Willow had a baby. I followed just my family, and by then, my life was very different from theirs. They followed me as I toured the world, and to be honest, in the past six years, I’ve missed them a total of two times—on my first Christmas without them and when Harlow graduated. Other than that, I was okay.

I hang my head as the water streams over me, my eyes closing when I see that little girl again, and I quickly open my eyes.

"The mind is a tricky place," the psychiatrist said when I went in for a mandatory evaluation after I arrived in Germany. "Sometimes, it locks memories, only for them to come out when we least expect it."

Turning the shower off, I grab a white towel and wrap it around my waist, walking from the master bedroom toward the kitchen. Turning on the lights and looking at the kitchen, I shake my head. My mother has definitely renovated this kitchen in the past two years. Everything is white.

The massive island in the middle of the room has a marble white and gray countertop with three silver lights hanging over it. I walk to one of the cupboards and open it, trying to find coffee. Once I do, I start the coffee and walk back to the bedroom, slipping on a pair of boxers and shorts. The aroma of coffee fills the house, and I grab a mug to fill up.

Walking out to the backyard, I sit on the porch step and look up at the sky. The black sky is turning a soft gray right before it turns a soft pink. I try not to think about the last time I saw this sky. I try not to think about Hazel and the last time I saw these stars. I put her back in the safe box of memories I’ll take to the grave. I drink my coffee, watching the sun wake up and shine down.

Getting up, I walk back inside, my stomach now rumbling a little. Opening the big stainless steel fridge, I see that it’s full. I also see that my grandmother has sent over some of my favorite food. I start taking out the chicken potpie when I hear the sound of a car door shut. I look over at the clock on the stove and see that it’s a little after seven.

"Welcome home." I shake my head when I hear the soft knock on the door. Walking to the door, I open it, and a smile fills my face when I see my cousin Ethan there. “This fucking guy,” he says, looking at me. “Holy shit, you grew." He holds up his hand. “I’ve got breakfast."

I move to the side. “Come in,” I say, and when he comes through the doorway, he stops and gives me a hug.

"Glad to have you home,” he says, and I nod.

"It’s good to be home." The words taste sour in my mouth. "I think,” I say, shaking my head. Out of everyone here, Ethan is the one who might understand me the most. He left home when he was twenty-one, and no one saw him for seven years.

I close the door and walk into the kitchen with him. “You were going to eat chicken potpie at seven in the morning?"

"I haven’t had that in six years,” I say, laughing. “Fucking right, I was going to eat it at seven a.m."

"Then I guess you don’t want what’s in the bag?" He holds up the big brown bag in his hands.

"What’s in the bag?" I ask, and he laughs.

"Grandma’s biscuits and gravy that she just made," he says, and my mouth waters just thinking about it.

"I’ll have that on the side with the chicken potpie,” I say, walking over to get plates out. I scoop some pie and pop it in the microwave. "Do you want some coffee?"

"Sure, I’ll have a cup,” he says. I can tell he wants me to be comfortable with him. I pour him a cup of coffee and another one for myself.

He walks over to the fridge and takes the milk out to pour in his coffee. Pulling out the stool at the counter, he sits down, opens the bag, and takes out two containers.

I grab two forks and hand him one as I sit next to him. Opening my container, I moan when I see the food. “You can’t get this anywhere," Ethan says, taking a bite. “No matter where you travel to."

I cut my own piece and close my eyes when the buttery biscuit hits my tongue. The richness of the gravy hits my tongue next along with the little pieces of sausage. “This is the best thing I’ve ever had." I chew and then take a bite of the potpie. “And this."

"Nothing,” he says, taking his own bite. “And I mean nothing is like home cooking." He takes a couple more bites, and neither of us says anything. "So what did they do?"

"Convalescent leave," I answer, not looking at him. “Doctor’s orders."

"Gives you extra time to heal," he says. “Nothing wrong with that."

"I have a training session at nine and then at three,” I say. “I’ll be fine."

"What about talking to someone?" he asks, and I look over at him. “I needed all the help I could get when I got home. No one knew but me," he tells me. “I would sit with this guy who didn’t even say a word back to me. He just let me talk." He finishes chewing and then swallows. “Might do you good."

"Maybe,” I say, avoiding his eyes. “I get re-evaluated in thirty days."

"When is your contract up?" My sip of coffee suddenly tastes bitter on the way down.

"Ninety days," I say.

"Then what are you going to do?" he asks, and I look at him.

"With what?" My leg begins to shake. This is why I didn’t want to come back home. I knew I’d feel guilty when I left them again.

“Are you going to give them another four years?" he asks, and I nod.

"Fucking right,” I say, getting up. "Wouldn’t want to do anything else."

"Have you tried to do anything else?" he asks, and I shrug.

"The farm life might be good for some people,” I say to him. “But not me. I hate it here. I always did."

"You hated it when you were eighteen," he says. “Who knows how you feel now. Things change. People change."

"I know one thing,” I say. “In ninety days, I’m signing another contract." He just stares at me. “I know that this"—I stretch my hands—“is not where I want to end up."

"Well, you’re here for the month," he tells me. “Why don’t you put that chip away and enjoy your family?”

“I don’t have a chip,” I say, and he laughs.

“You have a chip so big on that shoulder, it’s holding you down." He pushes away from the counter. "Trust me, I know. I had the same one."

"I’m not you,” I say, and he just smirks.

"We are all the same,” he says. “I have to go get my kids to school." He nods at me. “See you at nine."

"What?" I ask, surprised.

"Who the fuck you think is going to train your pussy ass." He laughs now. “And don’t think I’m going to go easy on you either."

I clap my hands together. “You sure you got it in you, old man?" I bait him, and he flips me the bird.

"I’ll remember that when I push you so hard you cry,” he says, turning and walking toward the door.

He stops and turns. “Welcome home, Reed." I don’t say anything else to him. He walks out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

"Twenty-eight more days,” I say out loud. “And this place will be a memory once again." I’m nervous about being home and having to answer the questions that might come my way. The biggest one being what took me so long to return.