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I groaned in frustration and pinched the bridge of my nose. Yeah, of-fucking-course. I’d read the damn notes earlier.
“I have a conference call in ten minutes, Em. Remember to pick up the files at Loretta’s—and two more things. Go easy on Danny. He’s more than a hardened Green Beret.”
I barely refrained from rolling my eyes. “And the second thing?”
“It’s more of a suggestion,” he said conversationally. “But try to read his file from another perspective. Less stone-faced, devoid of emotion, SAS operator and more…oh, I don’t know, loving, caring, nurturing Daddy Dom.”
What the fuck?
Before I could even respond, he hung up on me.
“What the fuck?” I stared at the phone.
Why would I read Danny’s file as a—
For the fucking record, I wasn’t stone-faced or devoid of emotion. The sheer balls on my brother sometimes—Christ. Wait, as a Daddy Dom? Hell, my mind was fucked. And that wasn’t my kink. I was the one who fucked cute boys up in the head, if they were into that sort of thing. I didn’t appreciate having it done to myself. I also didn’t appreciate putting Danny in those Little shoes. He didn’t need a Daddy Dom. Did he? Why would he?
I banged my head against the wheel.
Ten minutes till dinner was ready back at the cabin.
I’d pulled my truck over by the side of the dirt road. Not far away from where I’d found the first of Danny’s damn notes earlier.
He wasn’t supposed to take up so much space in my brain. Last time we’d seen each other, he’d been one of twelve young men. I’d studied his information in bursts here and there over the course of two months. Now I’d gotten my refresher, a crash course reminder, in half an hour. Official records, notes taken by superiors and Army medical personnel, my own evaluation notes… Like all soldiers, he’d had to sit down with psychologists at some point or another. Before deployments, after, during regular checkups, and so on.
Daniel Rose. Twenty-eight years old. 5’10”. Born in Fayetteville but grew up primarily outside Tulsa. Two long-term deployments before he’d begun his training to become a Green Beret. After that… Jesus. Of course, with his having been part of one of the most decorated groups of the Special Forces, based in Kentucky these days, I’d always known his deployments would take him to some of the world’s most dangerous places. He wasn’t sitting at some base in Germany. The 5th group sent their detachments to the Middle East, Central Asia, and the Horn of Africa.
Danny’s list of missions was impressive, and most were classified.
I wanted to punch my brother in the face.
I was a professional. I was supposed to read Danny’s file and be proud. I was proud. I’d told other soldiers about him, obviously leaving out the shit that grated on my nerves. But now, Arden had tugged on the strings of another side of me, one I didn’t unleash in a work environment.
I leaned back in my seat and scrubbed my hands over my face.
Danny hadn’t waved goodbye to a loving mum and dad when he’d decided to enlist. He’d escaped. I mean, I remembered a “broken background.” He wasn’t the only soldier to replace a shitty family with military structure.
His father had never been around. His mother had been an alcoholic who’d brought around a series of abusive stepfathers. More than one counselor in the Army had expressed concerns about Danny’s violent upbringing.
The boy had dropped out of school at fifteen to support his mother. To make rent. To keep from tripping CPS’s radar. He’d forged signatures and been caught with fake IDs—not to buy booze, but to cover his mum’s reckless spending and addictions.
At eighteen, he’d gotten his GED, despite it all. He must’ve been preparing for said escape.
Old hospital records revealed frequent trips for busted lips, cut eyebrows, bruises, and minor fractures. That was from when he was ten years old, eleven, twelve, thirteen…
It was fucking tragic. I’d been one of his superiors who’d remarked on his field medicine skills. And no fucking wonder. He’d been patching himself up for years.
Arden was wrong about one thing, though. I hadn’t read all of this before. I’d known the gist; I’d read some of the concerns, some of the charges, some of the evaluation notes. I sure as fuck hadn’t known just how alone Danny was, or the extent to which he’d been abused and mistreated.
He had no listed family. No emergency contact.
During some of the therapy sessions, they’d talked about an old social studies teacher who’d let Danny sleep on his couch sometimes. A Mr. Chavez who’d been “real nice.”
How the fuck could I return to the cabin and treat Danny like a soldier?
How could I sit down and eat dinner with him and tell him he should take his ass back to Kentucky and beg them to let him back in the Army?
The armed forces had been a massive part of my life. But I’d also had loving parents, and you needed both. The military wasn’t known for handing out hugs and affirmation. We drilled survival techniques into the minds of our young men and women so that they could come back home and see their families again. And if they didn’t have a family, well…
