#cominghomeseries #homefront #grumpysunshine #secondchanceromance #bookstagram #bookstagrammer #angstyromance #booksofinstagram #booknerd #romancereads #romancebooks #contemporaryromance #booktok #militaryromance #bookofthemonth #goodreads #tbr #netflixbooks #netflixromance #passionflix #virginriver #sullivanscrossing
BOOK OF THE MONTH: HOMEFRONT
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Go away.”
Gale stood on the opposite side of a deep magenta sheet that Jamie had stapled across her doorway. Gale smiled at the petulant defiance in her voice.
She sounded like her mother. He wondered how she’d react if he told her that.
He decided against it. He was there to try and make the peace, not stir up the revolution again.
He was used to dealing with petulant kids. Hell, half his company was only a couple years older than Jamie. He could handle a cranky private.
Daughters were a whole ’nother ballgame.
He supposed it was different when said disgruntled teenager was one’s own spawn, as opposed to someone else’s kid. He was starting to think that dealing with a platoon full of nineteen-year-old boys was infinitely easier than dealing with his own kid.
Still, he’d never backed down from a challenge, and this one was so much more important than anything he’d done before.
He knocked on the doorframe again.
“Are you deaf? Leave me alone.”
“Jamie, it’s me.” He wanted to say it’s your fatherbut the word was awkward. Like a shirt that didn’t fit and cut too tight beneath his arms.
The sheet yanked open. For a moment, she looked genuinely curious about his presence, then the angry mask dropped back into place. “What do you want?”
Gale stuffed his hands in his pockets and tried to figure out how to get into that room without violating her space. She needed to invite him in, otherwise it would be defeating the purpose.
He couldn’t just give her orders like one of his soldiers.
That made the entire situation trickier than anything he’d dealt with and he’d dealt with a lot.
“Can I come in?”
She scowled. “Aren’t you just going to barge in like mom does?”
“Nope. Not until you invite me.”
“What are you, a vampire?”
Gale covered his mouth as he laughed out loud. Holy shit, his daughter was a budding smart ass. He wondered if she knew how funny she sounded. She stepped back to throw the sheet in his face. He caught it. “I wasn’t laughing at you, Jamie. Swear. I thought your vampire comment was funny, that’s all.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, only slightly mollified. “Fine. Come in.”
He stepped into a minefield. There were clothes all over the floor and every exposed space on her dresser and bed. He fought his ingrained reaction to tell her to start picking up her shit. She wasn’t one of his soldiers.
But the mess did something to his anxiety levels. His palms actually started sweating. There were clothes everywhere. Torn sheets of paper and old homework, and he didn’t even want to think about what might be under the bed. Stuff was everywhere, except for a small space where it looked like she’d been curled up with a hardcover book.
His little girl was a reader. Somehow, he felt tremendous relief at that insight. “What are you reading?”
“The Hunger Games.”
“Can I sit down?” He pointed toward the edge of her bed.
She shrugged. “Sure.”
“What made you pick it?”
Her eyes lit up with excitement. “It’s about this girl Katniss Everdeen. And there’s a guy in it who has your name, which is weird because I’ve never met anyone else with your name before.”
“It’s not common.” He shifted, not wanting to interrupt her when she was clearly in the flow of telling him about this book. It did something funny to his heart knowing she might have picked the book up because the boy’s name matched his. Something that might have been guilt for not being part of her life for so long that she latched onto a character with his name.
“And Katniss and Gale have to take care of their families because they’re dirt poor. And when her sister gets called to fight in the Hunger Games, she volunteers to take her place.”
Gale frowned. “I’m not following. What are the Hunger Games and why would Kat-” He struggled over the name.
“Katniss,” she said. “Well, the Capitol makes the twelve districts provide tributes every year as punishment for rebelling. Each year, tributes are drawn from each of the districts between the ages of twelve and eighteen. And there’s only one survivor every year.”
“So this is a book about kids killing each other?”
“Yeah but it’s more than that. It’s…it’s powerful, Dad. It’s so good.” Gale watched her face light up in a way he hadn’t seen before.
He’d never been a big reader but watching his daughter’s energy, he made a decision then and there. “So can I read with you?”
She leaned back against the bed, her eyes narrowed. “Really?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, why not? I mean there are adults reading it, right?” She looked wary but not completely opposed to the idea. “I mean, why not? I can go pick up a copy, right?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Is this a trick?”
“Why would it be a trick?”
“Because I haven’t talked to Mom in days. It’s total bullshit that she took my door off.”
“Watch your mouth.”
“Why? You swear.”
He shifted on the bed, drumming his fingers on one knee. “I’m a grown-ass man and in the infantry to boot. It’s part of my job description. You, however, are an almost-sixteen-year-old girl. There is plenty of time for you to swear later in life when doing so isn’t going to give your old man a heart attack.”
Jamie giggled. Gale was honestly surprised he’d managed to get all of that out without her storming out of the room. Instead, she surprised him by laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“You. You come in here all disgruntled that I swore. I’m not seven anymore, Dad.”
A lump swelled in his throat. Suddenly and unexpectedly, she’d carved a piece out of his heart with that simple declaration. “I know you’re not, honey. But I would like to keep my illusions that you’re not ready to hit the stripper pole just yet, if that’s okay with you.”
Jamie covered her mouth and laughed, doubling over until she gasped for breath.
“I had no idea I was that funny,” he said dryly.
“Sorry.” She swiped at her eyes, her lips still curled in a warm smile. She pulled her knees up to her chest. “Why isn’t it this easy to talk to Mom?” she asked.
“Because you and your mom have forgotten how to do anything other than fight,” he said. “And your mom is doing the very best she can. She’s done a damn good job with you, if you ask me.”
“She’s a Nazi control freak,” Jamie said, her eyes darkening.
“Nazis are a very specific evil,” he said gently. “Calling your mother one trivializes the evil that they did.”
She sobered at his correction. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I just want my privacy.”
“Honey, you scared the both of us pretty bad when you went into the hospital.” He reached for her then, covering her hands with his. She was tiny, the bones in her hand small and fragile beneath his.
Something surged inside him, something that made him realize he would do violence to protect his daughter. “Your mom is still afraid for you.” He waited until she met his gaze to add, “So am I.”
“I’m not…I’m not doing that anymore,” she said. “I’m trying to get better. Why won’t either of you believe me?”
Gale opted for silence. This was so far outside of his area of expertise it wasn’t even funny. The stakes, though-damn it, he couldn’t screw this up. “Because we have to trust you. And sneaking boys into your bedroom when you’re skipping school is not exactly a solid way to earn our trust.”
She shot him a baleful look that was so much like Mel when she’d been younger that Gale paused and fought the urge to laugh. “That’s so not fair.”
“Trust is earned. It’s actually quite fair.”
Jamie folded her arms over her chest. “I’m not getting my door back any time soon, am I?”
“That’s up to your mother.” Gale shrugged and struggled not to grin at the sound of her disgruntlement. “You could start by talking to her. You know, act like a grown up?” He bit off the last of his thought, the part where he said instead of a petulant child.
Jamie made that disgusted ugh sound again. And Gale stood, taking the mild victory while he still could.
***
Melanie sat quickly on the edge of the couch, trying not to look like she’d been eavesdropping. She couldn’t hear much from the bottom of the stairs but she’d heard her daughter laugh and figured things had to be going better than if she’d attempted to talk to her.
Another moment passed and she heard Gale’s footsteps on the floor overhead.
Descending slowly. Each step brought him closer to her. Closer to where she could reach out and touch him.
That kiss had rocked her world. She hadn’t expected the strength of her response to his touch. She hadn’t planned on letting it get that far. In her head, she’d pulled away before his lips had touched hers.
But then the memory of his kiss wouldn’t burn against her lips. It wouldn’t chip at the ice around her heart and threaten to melt the wall she’d erected the day all those years ago when she’d walked away from him.
To be fair, she had been a willing participant in that kiss. No one had ever made her blood heat like Gale just had.
He descended the stairs and paused, leaning against the wall, a look of confusion and triumph on his face.
“Well?”
“I’m not sure if I won or lost,” he said, walking over to the couch. “But I’m now going to the bookstore to pick up something called The Hunger Games because there’s a character in it with my name.”
“The one about kids killing each other?”
He frowned. “Yeah. You’ve heard about this?”
“Yeah. A couple of the agents in my office were talking about it.”
“I can’t believe this is a kids’ book,” he said. “But I offered to read it with her and she took me up on it. So there you go.”
“You have made a great peace offering.” Mel swirled the wine in her glass, needing something to do with her hands. “I’m jealous.”
“Don’t be,” he said. “Remember, united front. She should be downstairs in a little while. I may have talked her into breaking the silent treatment.”
“How did you pull that one off?” She hadn’t been joking. The green-eyed monster settled around her shoulders and she felt petty and small and childish for not shoving it away. It wasn’t fair that he could go upstairs and get Jamie to talk to him so easily.
She felt peevish that she’d been there through music recitals and school plays and lost teeth and Gale could just waltz in and talk Jamie out of a pissy mood.
She looked away, hoping to hide the amazing shot of bitterness that had just burst through her. She should be happy that he’d made progress. Happy that he was there trying.
Not bitchy that he’d gotten a prize she so badly wanted for herself.
Her daughter’s affection.
“Mel?”
He hadn’t approached, hadn’t come any closer to where she sat on the couch. She didn’t want him to see how she was feeling. She didn’t want to admit it even to herself.
She pushed away from the couch and walked into the kitchen, needing a moment to pull her emotions back from the brink.
She didn’t hear him follow her. She wasn’t sure what she’d say or do if she turned around and he was there.
She’d invited him over to talk to Jamie. He’d talked to her. Maybe even smoothed things over.
It was what she’d wanted. So why did it hurt that Jamie was so willing to jump at her father?
She closed her eyes. She was such a bitch. Gale’s hand closed over hers where she held the wine glass.
“Talk to me, Mel?”
There was crisp dark hair on his forearms, dusting the backs of his hands. His palm was rough and hard over hers but his touch was gentle.
He stroked his thumb along the edge of hers. “Tell me what I did to make you sad.”
Such a loaded question. So many ways she could answer.
Maybe she shouldn’t have been drinking tonight. Maybe she shouldn’t have invited him over. Maybe she should have suffered her daughter’s temper until it burned out.
Maybe she should never have let him back into her life.
But she had. And in doing so, she’d opened herself up to all the old hurts, all the old memories that she hadn’t been good enough for him to put her first over the Army.
And now she wasn’t good enough for her daughter to choose her over her father.
What a fucking disaster she was.
“I’m fine, Gale,” she said, finally meeting his gaze.
“You’re a terrible liar, Melanie.”
He said her full name. He always called her Mel, except when he was upset with her.
She looked up sharply.
There was something dark looking back at her. Frustration, maybe. But not the warm sensuality that had looked back at her when they’d kissed.
She felt the loss like a tangible thing. The truce violated, the peace shattered.
She poured the rest of her wine and slipped her hand from beneath his and decided that for once, she would be an adult and tell him the truth. “I’m jealous.” There, she’d said it and now it would be an ugly, twisted thing between them.
“Of what?”
She turned away, taking a long pull off her wine to steady herself. Or maybe give her the courage to destroy the fragile peace between them.
Either way, she knew if she opened her mouth, she was going to ruin whatever this was between them. And she hated herself for doing it.
“Jesus, Mel, you’re serious?” She caught a shadow of his reflection in the microwave over the stove. He shoved his hands angrily through his hair. “I thought I could smooth things over with her and you’re pissed about it?”
“I’m not angry,” she said. Her words were heavy, a lead weight of failure. She lowered her forehead to the glass in her hand. It was cold and wet against her skin. “I’m sad.”
“I am utterly confused right now.” He paced behind her. She could hear him prowling, feel the frustration pulsing off him in palpable waves.
“About this. You can go upstairs and get her to read with you and make everything better. Nothing I do works with her and you come in and work your daddy mojo and everything’s perfect.” She drained the rest of the glass. “I’m sorry if that makes me a terrible person but I’ve done everything I know how to do with that girl and nothing I do is good enough. Nothing. And I’m sorry because this isn’t your fault or your problem.” I’m just a shitty person. There’s a reason I’m alone. But she kept that to herself. Barely.
She finally turned to face him. His jaw was tight, his shoulders tense. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.
“Jesus, Mel. I’m–” He stopped and she held up one hand.
“Look, thank you for coming tonight,” she said softly. “I’m glad you got her to talk to you.” She sighed and it did nothing to ameliorate the tension in her chest. “But you should probably go now.”
Before I cry in front of you. Before I give up the last bit of my pride and ask you to stay.
But she said none of those things.
Because she’d screwed up enough in her life.
CONTINUE READING…
Jessica’s Bookstore | Apple Books | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Google Play
