Hot As Hell by Vivian Wood

Author:Vivian Wood [Wood, Vivian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-01-04T16:00:00+00:00

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His To Keep

1

Connor

Connor’s mother hugged him tight. She smelled of that familiar blend of vanilla extract and fabric softener. “Bye, baby,” she said. She held him out at arm’s length as tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

“Mom, don’t be sentimental,” he said. “You act like I’m leaving forever. I’m thirty years old and have been on five deployments, and you’re sad that I’m going to my fiancée’s place?”

“You’ll always be my baby boy, no matter what. And I’m sure your dad and Sean will be upset that you’re moving out, too.”

“Right, heartbroken,” he said.

In his Mercedes-Benz, he revved up the engine and waved to his mom. She looked more like their housekeeper standing out front of the Georgian mansion, dwarfed by the soaring pillars. He angled the car out of the curving McLean neighborhood, and tried to shake off the dread that came from living with his parents and Sean again. All three are miserable in their own ways, he thought. Thank God I’m out of there.

Connor couldn’t forget how many glasses of whiskey Sean had knocked back during his homecoming dinner out. “Think you ought to slow down, bud?” he’d asked him. Sean had given him a hateful look he’d never seen before.

“What, you’re a SEAL for eight years, and suddenly you think you’re in charge of everyone?” Sean had asked.

“Connor, don’t be a prick to your brother,” his father had said without even lowering the menu. “Some of us are trying to enjoy a nice meal out. Oh, can you tell me where your halibut is sourced? It’s not frozen, is it?” his father had asked the waiter, who’d scrambled to satiate him.

His mom had done nothing but stare at her lap. When did she get so depressed? She’d always been emotional, but he thought returning from deployment would give her some sense of happiness.

He sighed as he turned a corner. A cyclist suddenly appeared, nowhere near the bike lane. “Jesus!” he yelled, and swerved into the suicide lane.

“Watch it, dick!” the cyclist shouted over his shoulder, speeding off down the hill in his padded red spandex.

Connor gripped the wheel, closed his eyes and counted backward from ten. That’s not an insurgent. That’s not an insurgent. That’s just an asshole, he repeated to himself. He maneuvered the car back into the lane, and his heart pounded. For just a moment, as that flash of red had shot out in front of him, he’d reached for the gun in his ankle holster. Maybe the therapist was right. Maybe you do need to stop being armed.

But he couldn’t help but see flashes of the war all around him. Last week he’d passed by a group of kids as they waited for their bus, and suddenly thought they were beggar children clawing at his coat.

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